#saw an opportunity to release my inner horse girl and took it

[harmonysixx]

Hiiii first of all I wanna say that a loveeee your art! And for the art request maybe could be Malon and Time? They could be doing whatever I just love them so much and your art! Thank you and have a nice day/night!!!

There you go! Thank you so much ❤️

[innaminitus]

Desires #5

Pairing: Loki x reader

Summary:  Vanaheim needs allies and since you are the eldest daughter of its king, you are a victim of arranged marriage with one of Odin’s sons - Loki.

Chapter warnings: language

Chapter word count: 1774

A/N: if anyone knows how to fix tags so they all work ~please~ tell me. I probably won’t be posting till monday, because I’ll be at warsaw comic con. So I tried not to do cliffhanger. 

When you woke up Loki was already up and dressed, this time not giving you an opportunity to cuddle. You tried to smile at him, but somehow couldn’t. You felt sore. The pain reminded you of the lair and… You closed your eyes shut and buried your face in the pillow to smell familiar scent of your new home. You were safe. You were safe.

Even if the pain you still felt in between your legs was trying to convince you otherwise.

You didn’t know why you didn’t tell Loki about what happened. It wasn’t like you were the only one assaulted by the Marauders, on Vanaheim there had to be dozens of girls like you. You weren’t special. And yet, even the slightest thought of it made your insides twirl.

But they were dead now and you were alive.

“How are you?” Loki came over to you and kneeled on the floor.

You looked at him over the pillow and shrugged.

“Do I have to leave the bed today?” You murmured, the material muted your words.

Corner of his mouth moved a little, showing a crooked smile.

“No,” he sighed “but you should.”

You felt like crying at that moment and before you could think about what you were doing, you were grabbing his jacket and using your magic to pull him on the bed. He stiffened for a moment, but sighed and let you hug him. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, needing to feel his heartbeat, to remember that your heart was still beating as well. He unsurely wrapped his arms around you as well.

“What is it?” He whispered.

You would never think that of all people you would feel safe with him.

“It hurts so much.” You broke. His warmth and the pain in your chest made you shed a single tear.

He froze. Literally. His skin became cold, cold and blueish. He gently pushed you away to look at your face.

“What did they do to you?” For just a second you could see lines on his face, but he quickly controlled himself.

You swallowed the gulp in your throat. Maybe you would feel better if you shared this? He would never tell anyone if you asked him not to.

“They…” You started, but your voice was knotted somewhere deep in your throat and you couldn’t make a word.

You pushed him away and slowly slipped the bedsheet off of you before rolling up your nightgown. You didn’t want to look, so you turned your gaze away. You knew what was there, looking worse and worse with every hour. Purple and yellow bruises blooming on your inner thighs and red, inflamed word cut in your skin.

Slut

Loki took a sharp breath. He lost control, his fingers dug into the mattress, when he couldn’t take his eyes of your thighs. You watched him, his beautiful blue skin when his Jotun form took over.

“Did they…” He couldn’t say anything more and didn’t have to.

“They tried,” you sighed. “My magic was strong enough to just… not let them.” You fixed your nightgown and turned to the side. “I am too weak to heal myself now, but the bruises will eventually go away. But the word… They used poisoned blade, I believe. It won’t disappear even when it heals.”

He clenched his teeth. You saw that his eyes were red and wondered if he noticed that he changed.

“Death was not enough for what they’ve done,” he spat out and grabbed your waist, pulling you closer. “I should’ve ripped their lungs out and make them eat them.”

You smirked.

“Or you could freeze them to death.”

He frowned and quickly looked at his hands. They began to turn beige.

“Sorry for that,” he sighed.

“Don’t be,” you whispered and raised your hand to touch disappearing lines on his face. “That’s you. Don’t hide from me.”

He hesitated for a moment, but hid his Jotun form and shook his head.

“I hate it.”

“I don’t.”

He just looked at you for a second with odd look in his eyes.

“You are too good for me,” he said so, so silently you could barely hear him.

You moved away a bit. His smile faded. He didn’t mean to say it, you could tell.

“What do you mean?”

You could swear he blushed. Oh, he so didn’t mean to say it.

“Nothing.” He tried to get up, but you pulled him back and sat on him, so he could not escape. A shadow of a smile flew through his face. “I just said it. It wasn’t true. I’m too good for you.”

You laughed and leaned closer.

“What did you mean?” Your elbows rested on his chest, your hands found themselves on his jaw.

He clenched his teeth and stopped breathing.

And just when you thought he wasn’t going to say anything-

“I’m falling for you.”

You just stared at him for a moment, not really believing you’ve actually heard him. He was heavy breathing, you could almost hear the beating of his heart, reminding you of racing horses. He was waiting for your answer and for the first time in your life you didn’t know what to say. Did you love him? Or did you just like his company?

Suddenly the weight of his confession made you unable to breathe. You quickly got up, releasing him. You kept opening and closing your mouth like a fish pulled out of the water. He raised himself on his elbows, expression of slight betrayal showed on his face for just a quarter of a second before he got up as well and fixed his clothing.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have duties,” he said silently, his voice lost all vitality it had.

He headed the door.

“Loki-“ You said quickly, but still didn’t know what to say. He turned to you with hope in his eyes. You were awful. The worst. You didn’t know how you felt, not for sure. You sighed. “Have a good day.”

He left without a word.

*

Days passed by and you didn’t talk to Loki at all. You only saw him during suppers, he moved back to his old bedroom.

You missed him more than you could admit it, but still couldn’t figure out whether it was a real feeling or not. Did you miss him, or did you miss these short moments when you felt safe in his arms? You didn’t know him enough to love him! Right?

You were training with Thor, but you were doing miserable. Eventually he sighed and put Mjolnir down.

“What is it, sister? You’re distracted today.”

You kicked some non-existent rock and sighed.

“It’s nothing,” you murmured and sat on the bench standing by the wall.

Thor joined you.

“Is it about my stupid brother?” He looked at you and you nodded. “Is he still not talking to you?”

“Yes…”

He shook his head.

“You don’t love him, so what? It’s an arranged marriage, you don’t have to love him.”

“But I should. I feel awful.” You hid your face in your hands.

Thor leaned and grabbed your fingers, pulling them out of your face.

“Marriages are not always happy. And I’ve seen a lot of them through my life.” He smiled slightly. “You can always have lovers. And so can he.”

You didn’t like the thought of that. You raised your head and looked at him. He was way closer than you expected.

“Wouldn’t that be awful?”

He smiled.

“Wouldn’t it be awful to spend the rest of your eternal life without loving anyone?”

Before you could do something about it, he leaned even closer and his lips touched yours. It surprised you so much you couldn’t move, but when the shock passed you parted your lips and deepened the kiss. His hand got lost in your hair, he pulled you closer. You leaned on him, searching for any kind of warmth, affection you lost because of your stupidity.

You were selfish. So selfish it made you nauseous.

You moved away from Thor and half a second later you heard a silent gasp. You shot your head to the direction of the door, just in time to see Loki turning away.

Fuck.

You run to him, but he was too fast, always a step ahead. You were foolish! Every cell of your body hated you now, your hands were itchy from the magic, tears in your eyes started to flow down your cheeks.

You reached him in the garden.

“Loki, stop!” You cried. “Please, listen to me.”

He turned angrily.

“What?! What do you want to say to me?!” He closed the distance between you. “That you can’t love me, because you love my brother?” He licked his bottom lip, his eyes were pure madness. “I can’t believe that I’m even surprised. He always gets what he wants-“

Your hand slapped his cheek so hard his head shot on the side.

“Listen to me!” You shouted. “I don’t love Thor!”

“Then why did you kiss him?!”

“Because you left me!” Tears of anger were running down your cheeks and chin. “You left me and I was alone!”

“So you had to kiss the first person that came to your mind?!”

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t have the answer to that.

“I just want you back in my life.”

He was just looking at you, his hands were clenching and relaxing.

“You were the one who threw me out of it. I did everything for you. And in return you kissed my brother.”

Angrily you wiped the tears away.

“I’m sorry, alright? Just… come back to me.”

“No, it’s not alright. Just because you say you’re sorry won’t change what you did.” He was so hurt you could feel it.

You made a few shaky steps and placed your hands on his chest before looking him in the eye. His jaw was clenched.

“I miss you. I miss my husband.”

You realised that now. How stupid you were. It was so obvious and yet you couldn’t see it. You stood on your toes and pressed your lips onto his. He didn’t move.

“Please…” You whispered. “Let me fall in love with you.”

He squirmed silently, but his body was still tense. He leaned and gently placed his lips on yours. You felt such relief that you almost fell on the ground, but Loki was fast to hold you.

“It won’t be easy.” He raised his eyebrow.

“Well, it’s not like we can get divorce, right?” You laughed and still shaking his head, he kissed you again.

Tag list:  @3nmxnxt3r @arianna-17-11 @blue-sunset-oreo-lover@connor-of-detroit @darkprincessloki92 @fuckythebuckybarnes@frommywindow10 @ginnyweasleysscrunchie @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @jessiejunebug @just-another-loki-fangirl @kneel-before-queen-loki @lokislilslut @malanix @marvel-ous-fics@marvelrose @min-yoongi-my-love @myownviperroom@princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @renownedmeme@superdrysuperfry @terrainhead @vespirin @youare-mysonshine @stxcloudy @1800-fight-me @justasmisunderstoodasloki@inlovewithmrstark @itsmadness-97 @i-think-i-am-adorable@curiousershipper @orchidjjg @curiousershipper @i-think-i-m-adorable​  @curiousershipper​  @orchidjjg​ @captainstartights​ @bluestaratsunrise​ @been-falling-for-thirty-minutes 

[daggerzine]

Sohrab Habibion from SAVAK (and Obits, Edsel, etc.) fills in the gaps.

I first noticed the name Sohrab Habibion in the Sub Pop band Obits nearly a decade ago. He’d then gotten in touch with me a few years back when he sent me the last Savak record, Beg Your Pardon (the band’s 3rd). I did some backtracking and realized he was in the old DC post hardcore band Edsel, whose music I enjoyed. We got to talking and I realized this guy’s had a pretty interesting career and I needed to find out more. He was more than agreeable to an interview on the DAGGER site. Oh and dig this....he recently he began posting some videos that he took of shows in the DC area in the mid-80’s, which is discussed below. Let’s all thank our lucky stars that someone was there with a video camera at shows back then.

Back to SAVAK, they have recently released their fourth full-length, Rotting Teeth in the Horses Mouth (on the Ernest Jenning Record Co label, like the last few) and it’s a terrific record. The kind of post-punk that’s not afraid to pOp! and vice versa. So needless to say Sohrab had plenty to talk about. Let’s take a trip both down memory lane and back to the future as well.

Sohrab.... always pushin’ the hair products.

 Did you grow up in the DC area? If not how did you end up there?

I moved to the suburbs of DC in 1979. My mom and I drove through Hurricane David from my grandfather’s house in Leonia, New Jersey to Annandale, Virginia with all of our possessions in the back of a Chevy Chevette. We had just left Iran because of the Revolution and, after a short stay in Bergen County to gather ourselves and do some research, my parents decided that we would resettle in the DC area.

Do you remember what the first record you ever bought was? First concert?

First record: It was a cassette of Love for Sale by Boney M. Actually maybe that was a gift from a friend. Either way I think of it as my first-owned album. I quickly had the lyrics to “Ma Baker” memorized and never gave a second thought to just how weird the cassette cover art was. If you’re not familiar, perhaps imagine an S&M dungeon version of Ohio Players? As a 7-year-old I think it just didn’t register. More interesting is that the producer, Frank Farian, was also the guy behind Milli Vanilli. If you’re up for it, I recommend doing some Googling about Mr. Farian, who was born Franz Reuther just after the start of World War II in a German valley settlement once known as the “Town of Leather.” It’s good stuff, I promise.

First concert: A friend’s older sister drove us to the old 9:30 Club to see one of the club’s 3 Bands for 3 Bucks nights. I remember feeling pretty excited about being in a part of town I didn’t know and seeing all kinds of people I didn’t ordinarily see. This was probably 1983 or 1984 so it was heavy on the New Wave look. In the basement of 9:30, once you’d squeezed down the narrow flight of stairs, there were bathrooms as well as a small counter that sold records and tapes. I bought The Halloween Cassette—a WGNS comp with Gray Matter, United Mutation, Velvet Monkeys, Malefice, Bloody Mannequin Orchestra and others—and the Minor Threat record that compiles the first two 7”s. On our drive home the DJ on WHFS played the song “Minor Threat,” which we literally had in our hands, and the whole thing felt tremendously serendipitous.

During his tryout with the Washington Bullets (Elvin Hayes beat him out). 

At what age did you pick up the guitar?

One night my mom came home from a school fundraising auction with an acoustic guitar that she’d won in the raffle. I actually think it might be the only time anyone in my family has ever won a raffle. I was 13 or 14 and discovering that I was not as good of a baseball player as I’d hoped or wanted to be and the guitar felt more connected to my interests, so I started to teach myself chords and rudimentary scales. It wasn’t long before I was able to get an electric guitar and make a complete mess of sound in neighborhood basements with friends.

How old were you when the punk rock bug bit you?

Thirteen, I think. I’m pretty sure it was 7th grade. I didn’t know a lot about rock music. Having spent a chunk of my early life in Iran, I missed the boat on a lot of big, American rock’n’roll moments. I was 9 when I was first exposed to KISS by neighbors who were also in the Boy Scouts and so I kind of lumped all that costuming together and the whole thing seemed silly. Special badges and membership cards and various allegiances you were supposed to declare. I felt disengaged from a lot of things in the suburban culture around me, so punk made sense upon its arrival. It took some time to sort things out, like what made the Dead Kennedys good and The Exploited bad, but once that initial door opened, I never turned back. If anything it just opened additional doors to other subcultures and underground movements and marginalized artists and thinkers. Punk helped me recognize that my sympathies will always be with the disenfranchised, the unheralded, the amateur, the wandering tinkerer.

How and when did Edsel get together?

I met Nick Pelliocciotto and Geoff Sanoff (who wouldn’t be in Edsel for a few years) at a Government Issue show at the Hung Jury Pub. Nick and I briefly played in a band with Jim Spellman (Velocity Girl, High Back Chairs, Foxhall Stacks), but that fizzled out. So Nick and I were looking for a bass player when we saw Steve Ward play a cover of “White Rabbit” at a high school talent show. Nick and I agreed that Steve looked cool (he really did) and, when we ran into him in the parking lot, he passed our test by answering that his favorite DC band was Happy Go Licky. We started practicing in the basement of the house Nick, Jim Spellman and I lived in off Reno Road in the Cleveland Park neighborhood of DC. We didn’t know what we were doing. Nick played me a bunch of records I had never heard before and we would talk about various details in the music. He made me aware of the way certain things interacted, like the bass guitar and the kick drum. I’d never considered that. I was also unfamiliar with singing in a band, so was starting from scratch. A lot of it began as rhythmic sing-song-speak-howling that could be heard somewhat above the volume of the band. I’ll never forget recording our first demo at Inner Ear with Michael Hampton. When it came time for me to do the vocals we were all surprised by what they sounded like and Michael nicely said, “Why don’t we call it a day and you go home and work on some melodies that we can record tomorrow.” Ha! When Nick and I got back to the house we listened to a bunch of albums to get ideas for vocal melodies. The one that resonated with me was Midnight Oil’s 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and it helped me understand how you could take a simple line and move it around with chord changes. I didn’t figure out what phrasing was for some time to come, but that was the start. Thank you Michael, Nick and Peter Garrett.

How/when did you end up in NYC?

Well, it’s a circuitous story, but . . . Edsel toured a lot between 1993 and 1995. So much so that I moved back into my parents’ basement to avoid paying rent for a place I wasn’t going to be spending any time in. My folks are lovely and it was a fine arrangement, but I missed having an apartment of my own. On tour in Chicago I was presented with the opportunity of a cheap living situation in a city that I liked, so I moved there. I had this fantasy that the band could keep it together while being in 3 different cities—Geoff had moved to NYC and the two Steve’s were in DC. Not a chance. I had a good year in Chicago, working at the Empty Bottle and playing with different local musicians, but Edsel basically succumbed to inertia and I decided to move back to DC to make a solo record. My parents had a cabin in the Shenandoah Valley and I went there for a period of time with my 4-track and the hopes of discovering whatever my version of Leonard Cohen and Brian Eno might be. That didn’t happen, but I learned a lot about recording myself and making mistakes and stumbling on things I liked that I hadn’t intended. Around this point I got a call from Michael Hampton, who’d moved to New York City a few years earlier. He said his neighbor in the West Village had moved out and he wondered if I might want to take the apartment. I was feeling pretty untethered and the idea of giving Manhattan a shot was exciting, so in November 1997 I packed up my books and CDs and headed up here. I’ve since crossed the bridge over to Brooklyn, but have no plans of leaving. I love this city and all of its flaws.

How about Obits? I know Alexis was in Edsel….had you known Rick already?

Alexis played in Edsel for a few reunion shows we did in 2013, but he wasn’t in the original lineup of the group. I first met Alexis in 1985 when Lünch Meat, his band, played with Kids For Cash, my band, at my local community center. He and I also share a birthday and a similar sense of humor, so when he joined Obits after the departure of Scott Gursky, our original drummer, it was an effortless transition. I’d also played with Alexis in Girls Against Boys on a 2002 European tour that Eli couldn’t do. I was Fake Eli and got to play bass on some of my favorite GvsB tunes, which was a blast. Alexis has a humorous diary from that tour: http://www.gvsb.com/euro_diary/index.html

Here’s an excerpt just so you know it’s worth the clicks:

“scott has determined that we should get rid of all the equipment and excess drummers and bass players and just travel with a painted sheet (we in the biz call this a scrim). that way he could have a band painted on it and just cut out the head of the singer and stick his own head through. this would reduce overhead and be a whole lot less of a hassle than having squabbling bass players and drummers with no IQ whatsoever.”

Rick and I met at an art show of his in the summer of ‘99. In fact, in looking to clarify the year I came across this email I sent to a friend:

“Last night my friend Hiroshi took me to an opening of his friend Rick Froberg’s work in some unknown Lower East Side apartment/gallery. I was shocked at how incredible his stuff was. His etchings like Goya’s, his prints like a German expressionist and his paintings like a weird amalgam of Raymond Pettibon and Norman Rockwell. But everything was very original despite its familiarity. He gave me one of his prints and I actually ended up buying one of his paintings. I’m really excited about it.”

Funny thing is that on that European GvsB tour I was wearing a Hot Snakes shirt. Little could I have guessed that I’d be in a band with Alexis and Rick 10 years later. Or maybe I could’ve? Our behavior and patterns are probably more predictable than I’d like to admit.

Anyway, long and short of it is after meeting Rick we started hanging out and as Hot Snakes was winding down in the early aughts he proposed we get together and strum our guitars. We had a good time and kept at it until things started to take shape. Fast forward a bit and our friend Speck browbeat Rick into playing with her band, Orphan, at Cake Shop. That was early 2008 and the internet did us a favor by sharing a bootleg recording of our gig, which led us to signing with Sub Pop. Seems just as weird now as it did then, but so it goes! The band was a hoot to be in and we had a grand time, particularly touring. The trips we made to Europe, Australia, Japan and Brazil were fantastic. I never thought I’d be able to do that playing scrappy rock’n’roll music. All the people that we met, the local specialties that we ate and drank . . . and drank . . . and then ate some more. Unforgettable. Until I forget them. Then I’ll refer to the documentation.

Obits.....always ready to rumble (notice the switchblade comb in Froberg’s pocket). 

Tell me about the end of Obits and the beginning of Savak? Who came up with the name?

The end of Obits was a little unexpected. At least the timing of it. All bands end, so it wasn’t surprising in that regard, but we had a French tour planned and had been offered some East Coast dates with Mudhoney, so it was a bummer not to be able to do those. But it had been a cold and miserable winter and Rick had some family stuff to marshal, so it felt best to call it, which is what we did on April 1st, 2015. The April Fool’s part wasn’t intentional, but I liked that it happened that way, what with being in a band often feeling like a cosmic joke anyway. But we’re all still good friends and very much in touch with each other. Funny thing is we’d actually written a fourth record with two drummers, as Matt Schulz had started playing with us as well (we did one show with both Alexis and Matt, which was fun), so on my hard drive somewhere are the demos and jams for that, including covers of “The In-Crowd” (https://youtu.be/KYbwk26mYJA) and Beasts of Bourbon’s “I Don't Care About Nothing Anymore.” (https://youtu.be/IpWi4OxhJXY)

Towards the end of Obits I’d started getting together with other friends to make noise. I was playing with Greg Simpson and Matt Schulz, doing instrumental versions of Hooterville Trolley and Shadows tunes, and separately with Michael Jaworski and Benjamin Van Dyke, just bashing out riffs. I asked all involved if they would want to combine the two and everyone was into it. The nice thing was Michael and I got to write with two different drummers, which opened up new ideas, and for a band that was just getting the swing of our internal vocabulary, it helped jumpstart the mojo.

I can’t remember at what point we were talking about band names, but when Viet Cong couldn’t take the heat for their name and decided to change it I made a joke about calling our group SAVAK. Then the more I thought about it the more I liked it and the group was on board, so we ran with it. The Iranian side of my family was a bit perplexed and bemused, but they all understood that this was a rock’n’roll outfit and not some creepy tribute to the former secret police in Iran. I’ve come to appreciate how that type of band name is a good litmus test. With a moniker like SAVAK you can see who actually knows anything about global political history, but more importantly you immediately know that anyone who takes issue with it isn’t likely to be interested in or even be familiar with punk rock or underground culture. So that person’s opinion on the subject doesn’t hold weight for me and I’ll attempt to redirect to a different subject that could be entertaining to chat about, like food or wine or bicycle maintenance or John le Carré books or, I dunno, HTML/CSS?

Savak has been recording pretty consistently…how did the new record come together so quickly? Who came up with the title?

Michael Jaworski, the other guitarist, singer and co-songwriter, came up with the title of Rotting Teeth in the Horse’s Mouth. Apparently it appeared to him in a dream and, well, I just liked the way it sounded. Both in that it reminded me of the DK’s classic Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables and as a play on the idiom “hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth,” since the current mouth we hear more often than is good for anyone’s mental health has enough proverbial rotting teeth to fill the mouth of a giant armadillo.

We worked on the album over a period of months. Sometimes we would get together with Matt Schulz, our drummer, and hammer stuff out. Other times either Michael or I would start something at home and build it from there. The main thing was to keep it feeling like a band had cut it together live, regardless of how accurate that may be on any given song. We started with 16 tunes, ditched 2 of them that weren’t as developed, and recorded the remaining 14. Then we picked the 10 that sounded the most cohesive for the album and the others will come out as singles later in the year. We spent many intensely focused hours editing, overdubbing and trying to really hone in on what each tune needed. I like discreet events in music and subtle details that may not make themselves evident for a few listens. A keyboard that only appears in the second verse or a backing vocal that’s buried deep in the right channel of the outro or a flanged cymbal crash at the top of the chorus. Stuff that doesn’t have to happen in the live version but makes the recording a little richer without being overbearing.

SAVAK, just before diving in. 

In Savak, re; the songwriting process, is it both you and Michael together or do you write independently?

There’s always a collaborative element. We each add or edit the other’s songs to some degree. That’s one of the things I really like about our partnership. We actively try to keep our egos out of the way. And while we may not share the exact same taste about every little thing, we trust each other’s sensibility. I think that willingness to let go of our own ideas makes them more interesting and strengthens the working relationship.

Tell us about working with Arto Lindsay?

Rick Froberg was employed as an illustrator at a web-based, digital media shop in SoHo called Funny Garbage and he helped get me a gig making music for cartoons and video games they were producing for companies like Cartoon Network. I had access to a recording studio on a floor above our office which was run by an incredibly talented musician/producer named Andres Levin. One day ‘Dre asked if I could work on a session with a friend of his for a gallery installation. It seemed interesting, so I agreed. The guy showed up with two pillow cases that he wanted to put on his arms and flap wildly in front of a mic. His idea was to pitch the pillow case recording down a few octaves and add a lot of reverb so it would sound like a giant bird was flying. I don’t remember if he was pleased with the results, but we had a blast trying, and it turned out that fella was Arto Lindsay. He got in touch with me soon after about recording his next album. I was direct about the fact that while I was brisk with the ProTools and could run sessions efficiently, I was not a real engineer who knew about microphone placement and how to apply compression, etc. He said that was fine and arranged to rent a recording rig for his apartment and we got straight to work with Melvin Gibbs, who is Arto’s writing partner, co-producer, and bass player. We made Invoke in 2002 and two years later we made Salt, once again doing the whole thing in his Chelsea living room. Arto’s a wonderful guy, as is Melvin, and we had a terrific time together. I also learned a lot. He has such a deep knowledge of avante garde music and art and a whole world of Brazilian culture that he can tap into. And Melvin is an incredible musician, so getting to see how he approached assembling Arto’s ideas was fascinating. He was also forgiving with the fact that a punker like me was trying to edit Brazilian rhythms when I was having an impossible time even identifying the first beat of the groove. There was a lot of, “Please just tell me where the ONE is.” Arto knows a wide array of people and the process of making a record with him was very much about getting it done, but not at the expense of the vibe, so if someone dropped by you’d just have to roll with it. Sometimes that person would bring their instrument and overdub on a song or two, so I had to figure out how to be flexible about the recording process to make sure it was gonna be smooth for all involved, regardless of if it was a violin player or a guy doing a percussion track using a cardboard box. I ended up calling Geoff Sanoff for advice quite a bit—to the point where Arto would joke, “Is it time to call Geoff?” Ha! But he knew the deal going in, so all was fine. The experience of making those records was great and I got to meet some interesting folks. Also my appreciation of Brazilian music completely exploded. An unexpected and super cool project with Arto, Debbie Harry and Mikhail Baryshnikov also came from that. Another side note: when we were recording Invoke there was a song which Arto wanted to get Animal Collective involved in. This was 2001 and they were still more of a record store employee kind of band, but Arto had a couple of their CDs (Spirit They’re Gone Spirit They’ve Vanished and Danse Manatee, I think) and was really into them. We arranged to go into Stratosphere Sound, the studio that was owned by Adam Schlesinger, Andy Chase, and James Iha, where Geoff Sanoff worked, and do the session there. They had an interesting way of working—they would manipulate all of the instruments, including live drums, and have everything run through their PA and then have Geoff mic the PA speakers. So the final thing was this gauzy, mushy, blur that was like a sonic paste. They totally knew what they were doing and I was particularly impressed with Noah/Panda Bear as a musician.

Speaking of legends, how did you begin collaborating with Michael Hampton?

First we should be clear that we’re not discussing “Magic” Mike Hampton AKA Michael “Kidd Funkadelic” Hampton. According to Discogs, the Michael Hampton I know is “Michael Hampton (3)” of Brief Weeds fame. He’s a few years older than me so I missed his days in SOA and The Faith, but I was a fan and saw him in Embrace and One Last Wish. I attended American University in DC and ran into him on campus, told him I also played guitar and suggested that we “jam sometime.” Knowing him now this detail cracks me up because I’m positive I freaked him out and that he was horrified by the idea of “jamming” with an arbitrary, long-haired frosh. Some time after Edsel started we asked Michael to help produce our demo, as we were clueless about the studio. And when he was in Manifesto our bands played together and we got to be better friends. After he moved to New York, it was he and his wife, Monica, who encouraged me to move here. They also introduced me to my wife. And for the last 15 or so years we’ve worked together on soundtracks for indie films, documentaries and commercials. I can’t recall how that collaboration first started, but I love working with Michael. He’s got a quick wit, so there’s lots of yucks involved, but he also has a remarkable knack for music composition and knows how to layer ideas for perfect cinematic effect. As a guitar player he remains one of my favorites. Michael’s distilled Bob Andrews from Gen X and Captain Sensible and George Harrison and all these choice rock’n’roll and punk players into something distinctly his own.

Somewhere in Madrid, Spain (Spain Radio Nacional) 

Tell us your top 10 desert island discs?

That’s tough. I’d like to ensure a bunch of different moods are covered, so let’s see . . . how about:

Hamza El Din - Music Of Nubia

Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou - Éthiopiques 21: Piano Solo

Mark Hollis - s/t

Skip James - Today!

Charles Mingus - The Black Saint And The Sinner Lady

Mission Of Burma - Vs.

The Rolling Stones - Sticky Fingers

Television - Marquee Moon

The Velvet Underground - s/t

Wire - 154

Who are some of your favorite current bands?

Bed Wettin' Bad Boys, Cable Ties, Contractions, FACS, Gotobeds, Grey Hairs, Hammered Hulls, Hot Snakes, Light Beams, METZ, Mint Mile, Modern Nature, Patois Counselors, Pays P., Rattle, Skull Practitioners, Slum of Legs, Sunwatchers, Tanning Bats, TK Echo, The Unit Ama.

I know I’m forgetting stuff. There’s a ton of excellent music being made right now.

What’s next for Savak? Once the lockdown is over will you guys tour?

It’s hard to be certain about anything these days, but I do know we’re eager to play once the Javel water has cleared. My hope is that we reschedule our UK tour as well as the shows we had on deck with Archers of Loaf. We were also trying to coordinate a Japanese tour, which we’d love to do, so I’ll add that to the list.

In the meantime we have a couple of non-album singles coming out later in the year.

I love making music, so whatever form it needs to take to make it work given our circumstances I’m fine with. Wanna jam on our phones? Hit me up!

SAVAK’s new one- Rotting Teeth in The Horses Mouth

BONUS QUESTION:  Tell us about all of those shows you recorded in the 80’s and have been putting up on the Dischord page? Great stuff!

Thanks! My mom bought me a Sony Betacam in 1985. I honestly had no inclination towards videotaping anything prior to this, but I think she may have thought it was a positive thing for a teenager to get involved in instead of playing Atari or hanging out at the Orange Julius at the mall or whatever. So I had this camera and I started taping what I was doing, which was basically going to shows. I didn’t think much about it and I never watched the tapes afterwards, so just slowly built up a collection of recordings that sat in a box at my parents’ house for years. It wasn’t until James Schneider started working on what eventually became the Punk the Capital movie that the tapes were unearthed. Then Scott Crawford wanted to use them for Salad Days and had the genius idea of getting Dave Grohl’s production company to digitize them, as they wanted footage for that Sonic Highways show. So at Scott’s suggestion I sheepishly asked if it was something they could do and they immediately said yes. I was pretty stunned by their generosity. The tapes themselves are now part of the Punk Archive in the DC Public Library, which is both cool and hilarious. The idea of random stuff I videotaped when I was 15 being part of an institutional archive is pretty absurd. Now that I’ve got this extra pandemic time to spend in front of my computer, I’ve been editing down each set, adjusting the light balance so the footage is less murky and also remastering the audio so they sound better. The timing of the Dischord Records Fan Page on Facebook is fortuitous, as it provides a reasonably eager audience for what might have otherwise just been a few additional gigs of server space being cooled in a Google data center in Moncks Corner, South Carolina.

“Who you callin’ a low life?” 

www.savakband.com

www.savak.bandcamp.com

[verai-marcel]

Arthur explicitly telling you not to take on a job on your own, while he’s out doing a heist he comes back to camp to find out you do take on a job which leads to angry, punishing sex in his tent? bonus if Dutch overhears and teases him about it in the morning :)

Author’s Notes: Your wish is my command, as my first ever tumblr request, my dear.

Summary: Arthur expects you to listen to him, for your own good. When you don’t, he teaches you a lesson you won’t soon forget.

Tags: rough sex, angry sex, bondage, D/s, dirty talk, low honor Arthur, spanking

Also find it on AO3

A Hard Lesson (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+ ONLY)

“And do NOT go out on a job on your own, you hear?”

Arthur’s authoritative tone grated on your nerves at times. You two had bonded over the last few months, going on jobs together, you proving to be a good shot and a quick witted partner, especially during getaways. But damn, was he an alpha male sometimes. It was fine when he had to herd a whole group of gang members on a job. But when it was just you and him? He could stand to tone it down some, since you usually listened to him anyway, deferring to his experience.

Today, however, his behavior irked you, and as you nodded sullenly, you started formulating a plan in your head.

“Okay then. I know you don’t like it, but it’s for your own good,” he said, patting your shoulder before leaving on a job with Bill, Javier, and Sean.

To you, he sounded so condescending that you wanted to scream. You were a thief before you joined the gang, and you’d be one still if you ever left the gang. You had survived on being sneaky and secretive, and you had survived on your own before you had tried to rob the same house that Arthur and Javier were. One thing led to another, and here you were, part of the gang. It was nice, having this little family of misfits to come back to. You understood why Arthur was so strongly loyal to the gang.

But he didn’t have to boss you around like that. He had gotten an awful lot more overbearing with you lately, and it was almost suffocating. What the hell was happening with him?

As soon as he left, you went straight to Dutch.

“I’m gonna go scope out some homesteads, see if there’s anything I can grab tonight.”

Dutch just nodded and waved you off, his head still in his book.

You immediately grabbed your gun belt and bag, saddled up on your blue roan, and took off to the north. You knew the boys would be gone a couple of days. You would be back before dawn and no one would be none the wiser.

After freeing a man from his shackles an hour north, he told you of an old man living in a giant house out on top of a hill. You set off, doing your usual rounds, falling into your old thief habits as easily as breathing air. You waited for an opportune time, camping out nearby. As night was at its darkest, you snuck into the house like a shadow, found not one but two piles of hidden cash, and quickly stole away into the night.

You arrived back at the camp at dawn, feeling pretty proud of yourself. The rest of the camp was starting to stir, and you plopped a giant wad of money into the gang’s box. Writing in the ledger, you smiled happily to yourself. You still got it, you told yourself. Walking over to your bed roll, you crawled in and slept like a log, feeling quite pleased.

When you woke up, you did some chores around the camp, helped Pearson make the stew, and chatted with the ladies. You asked them if Arthur was as bossy with them as he was with you.

“No, he never speaks to me like that,” Mary-Beth said, a little wistfully. “I think he cares about you more than he thinks he does.”

You immediately blushed and then shot that idea down. You? With him? He never seemed interested in any of the women in the gang; seemed like they were all his family and he took care of them accordingly. Sure, you liked him well enough, found him attractive as hell, but you had stomped down your feelings as much as you could. He just didn’t seem interested in you.

Tilly nodded in agreement with Mary-Beth. “He certainly looks at you differently than the rest of us. I think he might be sweet on you.”

Before you could respond, Karen butted in. “We’ve known Arthur for a long time. He hasn’t watched a girl like she was a prime steak for a long time.”

Give it to Karen to be delightfully blunt. Then Miss Grimshaw came to break up your gossip party, a bit to your relief, if you were being honest. You spent the rest of the day washing clothes, rolling over the ladies’ observations in your head.

As you climbed into your bedroll for the night, you heard the thundering of horses. The boys were back from their job. Looked like it didn’t go quite as planned, as Arthur was seen pointing angrily at Bill before stalking off towards the gang’s money box. You were about to roll over and sleep, but you saw Arthur freeze as he was looking at the ledger.

Oh shit. He knew. You should’ve given your money to Tilly or Mary-Beth to write down, they would have covered for you.

He looked up at you. A shiver of fear ran down your spine as he angrily wrote in the ledger and then stalked towards you.

You scrambled out of your bed roll and tried to get away. You got all of three yards before he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to his tent.

Throwing you on the cot, he closed his tent and tied it shut. Your heart started hammering; you had never seen him close his tent before.

He turned to you, anger emanating from him as he took off his gun belt and bandolier, letting them drop to the ground with a resounding thud. He prowled towards you, and you tried to scoot away from him, your back hitting the wagon as you tucked your legs up.

Arthur grabbed one of your ankles and pulled you closer to him. You didn’t dare scream, you could barely breathe past your fear. You didn’t think he would seriously hit you, but you thought he might give you the scariest talkin’ to of your life, and probably slap you for being so rebellious. Or worse, tie you up to a tree until morning.

When he took out some rope, you started to hyperventilate a little.

“You shoulda listened, girl.” He grabbed your wrists and tied them together.

You finally found your voice. “I handled myself just fine-”

“You disobeyed me,” he cut you off with a growl. Once your wrists were tied, just this side of painful, he grabbed your jaw, his grip tight enough to bruise. Staring right at you this close, you couldn’t look away. It was too intense, and your eyes teared up.

“I’m sorry, alright?” you managed to mumble.

“Not good enough,” he whispered.

And then he crushed his lips to yours.

You were not expecting this, but you didn’t reject him either. He fell upon you, his whole body crushing you into the cot, his hips grinding into you. Feeling how hard he was, a different shiver went up your spine. Desire coursed through your veins.

He only got up when he felt you gasping for air, and stared down at you. He grabbed the front of your night dress and tore it open in swift movements. Sweeping the offending cloth off to the sides of your body, he left you open to his gaze. You tried to cover up your breasts with your tied up hands, and curled up your legs to your stomach.

“Bad girls don’t get to hide,” he chided as he grabbed your legs and spread you wide, keeping you in position by slapping your inner thigh if you tried to move. Then he grabbed your wrists in one hand and forced them over your head.

“Keep your hands there,” he said harshly. “Don’t you dare move.”

You nodded.

“Say yes sir.”

“Y-yes sir,” you said shakily.

His eyes darkened with lust. He took off his suspenders and shirt, and then slowly, just because your eyes were glued to his movements, he freed himself from his jeans. He was thick, hard, and ready to punish you for your defiance.

He leaned over you, supporting himself on one hand next to your face, his other teasing the head of his cock around your folds.

“So wet for me. You really are bad.” He then pushed into you, the burning stretch making you gasp and shift yourself away from him. He slapped your cheek, not too hard, but enough to sting.

“What did I say about moving?” he growled. You stilled and let him take you. He was watching you with a heated stare as every inch slid into you. Once he was all the way in, he grabbed your breasts and squeezed. Hard. You winced, and he slapped each breast, with you gasping sharply each time. Then he gripped your hips tightly before he started to fuck you, no preamble, just hard, forceful rutting.

You managed to keep quiet at first, but as he lifted your body up and angled his thrusts to be somehow deeper than before, you gave one strangled cry before he was on you, one hand around your throat, the other over your mouth.

“Hush,” he whispered. “Not a sound outta you.”

You nodded, and he let go of your mouth so you could breathe easier, but his hand was still around your throat. His grip tightened when your inner muscles squeezed around his cock, and you were sure you were going to have bruises on your neck later. That made you more wet.

Suddenly, Arthur got up off you, releasing your neck. You swallowed as he looked at you, his breathing heavy with both exertion and anger. Silently he flipped you onto your stomach. Wrapping a hand around your mouth again, he rubbed soothing circles around your ass and you relaxed.

Then he spanked you. Your muffled cry of surprise was followed by Arthur shushing you before he delivered another hard smack to your rear. And another. And another. Never to the same spot twice. It stung, and your eyes teared up as he kept spanking you until your entire ass and part of your thighs were sensitive.

Then his soft caress to your ass was almost too much stimulation and you quietly cried a little. He reached down and forced you to turn your head to him, and he leaned down to kiss your tears away.

“You feel bad for not doin’ what I said?” he asked, knowing full well why you were crying. He rubbed your ass again, just to see you tear up again. You whimpered.

“On your knees,” he said as he let go of you, and you obeyed immediately.

“What a lovely shade of red,” he murmured as he palmed your ass. Your breathing caught as he forced his way inside of your wet center once more and pounded you relentlessly. Your sensitized skin combined with his hips ramming into you made for a heady combination of pain and pleasure. You felt his hand grip your hair at the back of your head, and he pulled on you, forcing you to arch your body to his liking.

“Such a pretty girl,” he said in a low voice, sending erotic sparks through your body. “Takin’ your punishment so good, ain'tcha?”

“Yes sir,” you said, barely a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured in your ear, before he pushed you down again and flipped you onto your back. He kneeled between your legs and slid inside of you without giving you a chance to breathe. Grabbing your still tied wrists, he held your hands to where he was deep inside.

“Feel me fuckin’ you,” he ordered. Wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, he started to slowly move in and out, your fingers sliding on his skin from your slick. You watched him start to take you a little faster.

“Take your pleasure. I wanna watch you come knowin’ it was me inside of ya.”

You started touching yourself while he thrust into you slowly, looking into his eyes and seeing the lust, the heat, a dark passion that you had never seen in him before. It burned your blood, made you hotter than you had ever been. You came around his thick length, whispering his name over and over like a prayer.

He watched you come, and then chased his own pleasure, falling on you like a predator taking down his prey, fucking you without giving a damn about how sensitive you were at this moment. It seemed like he wanted to wring every last bit of sensation from you before he finally pulled out and stood up, and seeing him like this towering over you, almost made you come again. Grabbing your hair, he pulled you close.

“Make me spend,” he rasped. You reached up and stroked him, until he came all over your chest and neck with a deep moan.

You both caught your breath for a few moments before Arthur let go of your hair and sat down on the cot next to you.

You looked up at him, he looked at you.

“You learn your lesson?”

“…Yeah,” you said, after a while.

“Sorry about your dress. I’ll go find ya something else to wear, you stay here and clean up.”

You nodded as he patted your head, put himself back together, and left his tent, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

***

Arthur walked slowly to your spot in the camp. He needed some time to collect his thoughts. He hadn’t meant to go so hard on you, but just imagining the danger you could’ve been in had you been caught just made his blood boil. Couldn’t you see that he was just trying to protect you?

“You work out your temper?”

Arthur turned to Dutch and scowled. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Dutch shrugged, but there was a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth that Arthur didn’t like.

“Just sayin’, glad you found an outlet for your anger. I’m guessin’ she liked it,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Goddammit Dutch, let it go,” he grumbled, and Dutch walked away, laughing heartily.

He found a blouse, underthings, and a pair of black pants in your bag, and quickly brought them back to his tent.

***

You had cleaned up with the basin just inside of his tent. You had cut yourself free with the knife that was left on his belt, but had nicked yourself in the process. You were licking the blood off your wrist when Arthur came in, your clothes under one arm.

“Darlin’, I coulda cut you free if you had waited.”

“If I spend all my time waiting for you, I wouldn’t be me.”

Arthur shut his mouth and thought about his next words before he spoke. “Was I too hard on you?”

“Yeah, yeah you was,” you said. “But… but I understand. You was worried about me. You coulda just told me why.”

“Would that have stopped you?”

“Yeah, outta respect for your feelin’s, I woulda.”

Arthur felt like a big dumb idiot at that moment and looked down at his feet. He saw you from under the brim of his hat walk up to him and put your hands on his face.

“Just tell me straight,” you said gently. “Stop bein’ so overbearin’, I can’t stand it.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “Please don’t go anywhere without me.”

You smiled. That sentence held so much more than a simple command.

“Alright,” you said. “I promise if I go somewhere, you’ll be right there with me.”

——————

Well… that turned out longer than I thought. Send me requests via ask on tumblr @verai-marcel. I might be slow, but I guarantee quality smut for you if you’re willing to wait.

[blueangelicrose]

A New Beginning: Chapter 4 (part 3): The Bet

"What the Hell?! What the Hell is this situation?! I finally meet my Earth family, that was so good and pure hearted to take in me and my sister when we had nowhere to go, after all these years. And out of all the places that I could possibly run into them; it had to be in the last place that I would ever imagine. It just had to be in the place, that I would rather pluck my feathers off one by one, very slowly and painfully I might add, than take one step in. Ever. Except for work related business." Joan thought all of this inside her head while Cuphead and Mugman was trying to figure out what she was doing. She was just sitting there, staring, and not saying anything. "Uhhh....you okay there miss? I need to, um, take your order now if that's ok with you?" As Cuphead said that, he took out his notepad and pencil ready to take her order. If she can somehow get out of this awkward position that she's put herself in.

"Think Joan! You need to say something! You can't just keep sitting here and continue to say nothing! It's already creeping them out! Especially to Cuphead. C'mon! Think! He's asking for your order! Pick up and look at the menu and order something! Or at least ask for the specials that he thinks is good! Speak up!" Joan nervously thought this to herself and finally opened her mouth to speak and was at least able to get a few words in until~..... "Actually I would like to ask for your opinio-," As she was about to finish her question, a sudden uproar of noise consisting of loud cheering and booing disrupted her from speaking any further. Especially when she heard Adrian's name come up from the crowd of voices. "Hey, isn't that your friend who I just took his order just a moment ago?" Cuphead pointed towards the dealers table where a swarm of people were gathered. She suddenly got up from her seat and made a dash towards the crowd, fearing the worst. The brothers were a little startled and tried to call her back but by the time that they tried to say something to her, she was already there and couldn't hear them calling for her.

She tried to ask politely for the people to step aside to let her through, but all that got her was a harsh shove from an impolite demon with a two piece suit, shiny shoes, and medium sized horns. She stumbled over her feet because of the push and almost landed on the floor. But someone caught her. She looked up and saw that it was humanoid person that was made entirely of poker chips. He was dressed from head to toe in cowboy themed clothes, including the boots! His voice and mannerisms were also like that of a cowboy as well. For a moment she almost thought that he WAS an authentic cowboy from the wild wild west. "Are you alright ma'am? You almost took a nasty fall there. Don't you know that you can't dive in head first into mob like that? Are you new to this casino? Or are you just crazy?" Joan noticed that he was also carrying a pistol on his waistbelt. She took that opportunity to grab it and fire a few rounds in the air. 'BAM!' 'BAM!' 'BAM!' she fired in the air until the crowd dispersed. And when they, (the crowd of people) did, she handed back the pistol to its owner, who she didn't know at the time, was one of the employees of the casino, Chips Bettigan. And let's just say, he was both flabbergasted and impressed. He also felt a little fear when she said, "Come with me for a little bit, hmm? I might need you. For 'special' reasons." Chips took a hard 'GULP!' and did what she said. Even though she didn't have the pistol in her hands anymore, something inside his gut and inner conscience was warning him to do what she said or he'd be on the wrong side of his own pistol. He clearly could tell that she was upset, but that wasn't compared to how she was going to react when she was about to find out what Adrian had done.

The dealing table was covered with scattered playing cards. And the money, betting chips, and valuable items were centered in the middle of the table. And one of those items that were placed in the center of the betting table, was Joan's precious heart shaped gold locket that she got from Elder Kettle on her and her sister's birthday. It was only a few weeks before it was time for the girls to leave, and that locket was the one of the only things that had pictures of both her mortal family and her immortal family. It had fancy engravings on both the front and the back. The front had her first name engraved in calligraphic writing and on the back was an engraved picture of a Poinsettia, which is her favorite flower. And even though it was old, it was well kept. No wear and scratches on it whatsoever. She took care of it like it was her own heart that was hanging around her neck. Though she mostly kept it in a bag or pocket to not attract unnecessary attention, since it was a very impressive looking piece of jewelry. And now seeing it on one of the Devil's Casino betting tables for everyone to see,....well it was like Hell itself was staring at her inner heart like it was some prize to be won over! And by gambling means no less! The dealer, was a skeleton racing horse named Phear Lap, said, "Better luck next time, buddy. This just ain't your game." Joan looked over and saw that a very distressed looking Adrian. He was holding his head and groaning very deeply. It wasn't till she walked over to him and calmly(?) said his name. "Adrian? What did you do?" He suddenly looked up towards her and tried to explain that he was just playing cards with only a few poker chips and then somehow, it escalated to the point where there was no return. He asked her to please forgive him and to lend him some money so that he can get it all back. But she simply turned around and walked towards Chips and asked, "Sir, I know I took your gun without your permission, and I am deeply sorry for that. But I am asking for your permission now. Please give me the gun so that I can shoot this idiot's arms and hands so that he won't ever do something this stupid again?" Chips didn't really know how to react to this request. The fact that she said something so serious and malicious with a calm but happy(?) expression on her face, just made him even more nervous. He looked over to Phear with a look that said, "Help me! Do something! Or else this can get out of hand!"

He took the hint, and said, "O-kay, hold your horses there miss. How about we settle this with a different game? If you win, you get everything you see here on the table. But if I win, this here loot will belong to the casino. Do we have an agreement?" Joan gave him a glare so deadly that Phear honestly thought that he was going to drop dead where he stood. But she breathed a heavy sigh and replied, "Alright, I'll play your game. But if you ever so much as to back out of our agreement even the slightest bit, and if there is even a hint of cheating during this game. ......You sir, and this whole bloody casino, shall burn in flames so hot that not even the Devil himself can withstand how agonizing and torturous it will be! Do you understand sir?" He nervously nodded in agreement. "What game are we playing?" He nervously pointed towards the table that had numerous letters and numbers printed on top. And right in the middle of the table was a pair of dice. "So we're playing that, huh? How cliche." Joan thought this, but didn't say it out loud. She didn't want to put herself in a situation worse than this.

As they started the game, Joan was unaware of the dangers lurking around the corner. Literally. There was an imp with a club, or in more precise description, a clover shaped, tail peeking around the corner from across the room. He stared at her closely and grew suspicious. He decided to report it to the 'Boss' and let him know that she could possibly be an enemy in their territory. Once he did this, his 'Boss' replied, "Hmmm....how interesting. Never had this happen before. Let's make this situation even more interesting. Make sure you tell the bouncers this. And to make sure my theory is right, when the spell on those pair of dice take effect, and she screws up, make sure you take that locket and bring it to me. After that, the bouncers will step in and chase them out. But make sure that our 'guests' take the money. I have a good hunch that they'll be back." And with a meniacle smirk on his face he let out an evil laugh and sent the imp to do his bidding. The wheels were in motion, everything went according to plan. And when the dice's spell took effect, it was going to land on a Snake Eyes. But before it could, Joan yelled out in frustration, and unintentionally used her cracked British voice, "Bloody Hell!!!!" Then she took the side of her fist and hit the table so hard that there was a slight dent in it. And without her knowing it, releasing her angelic powers in a wave that cancelled out all of the possible cheating spells that the Devil had casted on the games, including the dice. The dice landed on a different number and she won. But just like how the Devil had planned, everything went haywire. The imp jumped on the table and snatched the locket. And before Joan could catch the imp, the bouncers were already making their way towards them. They managed to get out with the money and other valuables, but not with her locket. She was very close to crying again, but she held in her tears and said to herself, "I'll get it next time! I'll just use the other powers that I have to sneak in there and take it back! Even if I have to anihilate that imp that took it, to get it!" While she was methodically planning her break in, Adrian tried his best to apologise. But so far his words weren't taking effect. "Well at least we have enough money to have a good time with your mom and find a pleasant stay at the hotel where they're holding the convention!" This was true, and that fact alone was the only forgiving grace that Adrian was going to get out of her. She can hold a grudge for a while and sometimes that, in itself, was going to be a problem. At least for him. But he knew that she would forgive him, eventually. And that she was already planning on something to get her locket back. For as long as he's known her, she was never the one to give up a fight. Especially if it involved with evil and dark creatures, like the Devil. Adrian sighed and grabbed Joan by the hand and told her that everything is going to be okay and that they'll get the locket back for sure. Joan WAS angry at him for getting her in this situation, but she couldn't help but be comforted by that big brother-like personality of his. She smiled and said, "Yeah we'll get it back, but first let's find our destination, then plan on how we get the locket back. Ok?" He nodded in agreement and off they went with holding each other's hands and holding the sacks of cash in the other hand and with confidence in their hearts, they set off to find the convention.

To be continued....

End of Chapter 4 (part 3).

To be continued in chapter 5.

[ladyiceflame-blog]

An Inconvenient Wedding

Chapter Five:  Girl Talk

“I....I think I’ll pass....for now....” nearly undone by her seductive tone, as he ran her invitation over and over in his head.  “Wh—why....” <why did he suddenly sound like Hinata?!?> “Why did you....stop singing?” he fought to master his sudden nervousness.  “You’re voice is....lovely...”

“Because I usually just sing when I’m by myself, I guess,” she returned.  Her fiery hair fanned out about her like an obedient shawl, undulating against her cloudy, voluptuous silhouette below.  “Conversation is better for company...” Kakashi set down his bathing caddie, and tested the water’s temperature with a prettier set of toes. “The water is a little warm for my taste, but you’ll probably acclimate quickly,” she advised.  “Shimogakurans are used to colder water.” Kakashi undid the sash of his robe, trembling slightly.  This wasn’t right.  This wasn’t his body.  He wasn’t sure who he was violating more, Miriyume or himself? He glanced back at her, and found her watching him with a profound look of concern on her fair face.  Had she seen through the guise?!? “You’re a shy one...aren’t you?” Miriyume factored aloud.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll turn away...” She did as promised, and rose up halfway out of the water, back turned, to pour herself some tea from a nearby teapot.  It was his first time he could notice the pearly, platinum seal that was tattooed on her back, between her shoulder blades.  He couldn’t discern much of its meaning, obscured as it was by the fronds of amber-hued hair that were plastered against it.  But it was elaborate.  The work of a fuinjutsu master. He quickly divested, and slipped into the warm water just as she turned back toward him, tea in hand. “The markings...” <were girls as blunt as guys in a hot spring?> “...on your back.  What are they?” “A mother’s insurance policy,” Miriyume returned, apparently unoffended.  “I’m indemnified...” “Against what?” “Myself, I suppose,” she smiled at her cryptic answer and sipped her tea.  “Don’t fret, I’m harmless.  Unless you are evil of heart.  Or cruel.  Or you just really annoy me.  Or if you’re a strawberry patch.  I devastate those...” Kakashi stretched his unfamiliar lips into what he hoped was a charming smile.  She was adorable, in an impish way.  And certainly not shy.  He sincerely hoped that the perpetual blush that must have been staining his cheeks would be blamed on the water’s temperature. “Devastate, you say...” Kakashi drawled back, “I heard tell once of a certain chunin testing ground in Kumogakure that was devastated by you, some years ago...” he continued, coquettishly. “Did you now?” Miriyume set the tea aside, and swam closer, stopping at the center of the pool.  “Were you also testing that day?” Despite the cloudy nature of the water, the chakra-fueled bio-luminescent aura he saw with his disguised Sharingan could supply an excruciating amount of detail about this buxom creature swimming before him.  And although a woman’s body could more easily conceal certain reactions, it was getting rather awkward. “No.  I was...not,” he returned, tucking in his long legs, grabbing the Icha-Icha novel from the caddie, and locking his eyes on the pages. New rule: Keep eyes on the book. “My chunin, and jonin exam were in Konoha, Lady Ice Flame,” he added respectfully. “Have we met before...?” Miriyume asked, swimming closer.  He could feel the turbulence of her movements, the growing radiance of her ambient chakra.  “You seem....familiar somehow...” “Everyone knows of the Lady Ice Flame, the Storm Sage-Priestess, member of the Wandering Lights Brigade.  That’s why we’re here, after all,” he/she blurted.  “To see you get....married...” he faltered at that admission.   “So...we’ve never met prior to now?” Miriyume pressed, closing in further, as she scrutinized his face with her sapphire-and-emerald eyes.  “Not in the Land of Lightning?  Or Water...?” “I...don’t get out much,” Kakashi refuted, turning a page.   “Why is that?” “Because...my students keep me pretty busy...” he squirmed, and focused harder on the book.  The steamy passage wasn’t helping matters.  Neither was the silken tendril of her long hair, brushing up against his naked skin. “So, you’re a teacher then....” Miriyume sighed, and took a seat beside him on the sofa-sized rock ledge. “I am,” he admitted, thankful for the opportunity to be honest.  “Does that bother you, Lady Ice Flame?” “Not at all.  But stop calling me ‘lady’ Ice Flame. Its so...formal.  I prefer Miriyume.  And technically, you outrank me.” Kakashi turned to regard her.  “You’re not a jonin?!?”  The surprise in his realization was tempered by the sublime sight beside him: She was in a half-reclined position, only about a foot away from him, eyes closed.  Her multi-hued chakra danced above her, lending her that strange, otherworldly glow that had haunted his dreams since seeing it in the skies above her homeland.  It made him gasp slightly. “Is it so horrifying?” Miriyume returned idly, as her fiery hair swirled with the turn of her head as she faced him. “No,” he answered, catching her eyes with his own.  There was a weariness there, hinting heavily that this was a question she had heard too many times.  “Its just....surprising, is all.” He returned his lavender eyes to the book. “What’s your name?” “Ka--” he faked a sneeze to cover the near disastrous slip.  That was close.  Too close.  Her power over him was alarming.  He invented a name: “—haru.” “Bless you, Kaharu,” she returned, and sent some of her chakra-aura his way with a lazy gesture.  The small ribbon of light contained a soothing element.  Almost a healing quality, except not as focused. He attempted to sneak another demure look at her, and found her blatantly staring at him. He felt his cheeks flush in response amidst the dancing lights that now fully enveloped him as well, and nearly fell off the ledge for embarrassment.  Had the sexy-jutsu failed?!? “Is that mashed, unripened plum fruit in your hair...?” Miriyume asked. “Ah....yes!” his relief making his answer sound forced, “I must have missed some of it in the shower...” “Is that some kind of herbal treatment...?” “You could say that...” he/she replied nervously, as Miriyume reached a hand out to pluck the novel out of his hands, and set it on the pool edge. “The acidity of that can’t be good, if left in too long.  Turn around, and let me wash it out...” she demanded, placing a firm hand on Kakashi’s narrower shoulder, and guiding her compliance.  “What charlatan herbalist talked you into this?” Miriyume asked as she pushed Kaharu deeper into the water to fully drench her silvery cascade of hair. “Ah...it was....” succumbing to the pleasure of Miriyume’s deft fingers massaging against his scalp, “...more of a prank...than a...service rendered....”  Kakashi sighed, as he let this dangerously alluring woman run her hands through his hair as he floated in ecstasy before her.   “Then you need to retaliate with a better prank...involving umeboshi, I think,” she advised, as she reeled him in closer to inspect the crown of his/her head.  He could feel the chiseled muscles of her calves juxtaposed with the more yielding flesh of her lower, inner thighs as he secured him in a vice-grip with her knees before her.  He was struck utterly paralyzed, savoring the tantalizing, nude proximity of the woman who had become his ideal since the night in Shimogakure... “...perhaps by flavoring their food for awhile.  Especially their desserts...” He was only dimly aware of her words now, focusing entirely upon the points of physical connection as he drifted at her tender mercy before her.   “...or inundating their daily routine with pickled plums...cramming jars of them in their cupboards, or leaving them in their sock drawers?  Gekido once filled my boots with pickled mackerel, because I clobbered him with a salmon.  But that kind of revenge can get expensive...” Her hands were at his ears now, triggering reactions best described by Jiraiya.  He bit down on his lip to quell the deeply appreciative noises that threatened to escape his throat.  Being in this body was torment. “...maybe just dump a bucket of fermented plum juice over their heads...in autumn,” she concluded.  “Revenge is sweetest when its unexpected.  Say....are you even listening...?” Miriyume tilted Kaharu’s head back to regard her panic-stricken eyes, as her ample bosom served as a happenstance pillow.  The Konohan teacher’s cheeks looked suddenly scorched. “Let me guess, you’re the pacifist type,” Miriyume smiled sardonically, above his/her dumbstruck face.  “That’s a strange stripe for a ninja...but a saving grace for a priestess, I suppose.  I seem to lack enough conviction in either belief to fully commit to one role myself...or so my teachers have told me...” With that announcement, Miriyume released her hold on Kaharu, and returned to her seat on the nearby ledge.  The palpable sadness of the admission was enough to snap Kakashi out of his sensual reverie, and he/she immediately resumed his book reading beside her.  He could still feel the silken press of her flesh against the nape of his neck... “Teachers don’t know everything...” Kaharu offered. “Mine claimed to,” Miriyume countered petulantly, “Even after the....’emergence’....” “The what...?” “So, what do you teach?” Miriyume veered off subject, clearly uncomfortable with the question, “Hopefully not literature...” “You’re not a fan of Icha-Icha novels, I take it....” Kakashi was quick to notice her askance look at his book. “Let’s just say that I don’t like the certain...liberties that the author takes with his subject matter.  Especially with the “Wild Ginger” installment.” “But “Wild Ginger” is one of my all-time favorites!” Kaharu defended.  “The masquerade-tango scene was–“ ”–the product of a fevered mind!  We wear more practical clothes up north!  At least, most of the time.  Jiraiya has the rest of the world believing that Shimogakurans traipse around in nothing but lingerie and furs!  And when someone ties someone else up with horse tack, its not always for amorous purposes!” Kakashi slowly turned to regard the riled storm priestess, as she scowled at the book in his hands.  Subtle realizations began to connect... “I take it that you have met the Toad Sage...?” he/she broached. “Of course I have, being a sage-priestess!  Senjutsu is a small world.  We have a tendency to run into one another.” “And he...offended you....somehow...?” “Let me just say, as a friend, that certain precautions should be taken at hot springs if you know that Jiraiya’s in the area,” she returned, and launched herself across to the other side of the pool.  She looked like a comet, the way her ethereal chakra light trailed behind her. It seemed that the little ginger-haired, spit-fire temptress of Jiraiya’s pen, and the Lady Ice Flame had more in common that Miriyume wanted to admit. Once again, the topic changed.  Kakashi was starting to suffer from conversational vertigo: “So, you live and work in Konoha?” Miriyume segued briskly. “I do...” Kakashi smiled at her crude evasion. “I’ve been meaning to make a pilgrimage to the First Shinobi Village, for spiritual and scholarly purposes.  Most of my time in this Land has been spent at the Temple of Fire, due to my Father’s close ties to the head priest there.” “Your father knows Chiriku?” “He studied alongside him at Chukaku-sama’s knee,” Miriyume answered.  “He even met my mother at the Temple.  So, yeah.  They go way back.  But...” “...you’re not the kind of priestess to sit around in temples all day...despite what your parents may have wished,” Kakashi dared. “How’d you ever guess?” Miriyume smiled back, sipping her tea. “I’ve heard that you are fascinated by ancient ruins, and mysterious places...” Kaharu continued. “Its true,” she freely admitted.  “I love scouring history books, re-discovering old, forgotten places.  It’s a hobby of mine.” “Then you’ve heard of the legend of the taijutsu temple, supposedly lost somewhere in the Land of Fire?” “Not ‘supposedly’.  The Temple of the Resplendent Sun can be nowhere else!” she retorted hotly.  Her eyes caught the mischievous glint in Kaharu’s eyes, as they peered over that be-damned book.  Did she enjoy ruffling her feathers?   “Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Miriyume amended more calmly.  “In fact, part of my desire to go to Konoha is to do more research on the subject.  Perhaps you could help me out...after all of....this,” gesturing to the area at large, back toward the campsites, “...is over.  And before you answer, know that I don’t ask for help often.  Or, at all, really.  But there’s something about you that feels so...immediately familiar, somehow.  I can’t explain it, but I trust it.” Her jewel-like eyes sought Kaharu’s across the luminescent mist that hovered between the two of them, as she waited for her response.  Did she affect everyone this way, or was it just him?  She was tickling nerves and shining lights into corners that usually sat numb and dark for him.  She was truly unlike any other kunoichi he’d ever met before. “Of course I’ll help you.  Whenever you ask.  Whatever you need.  And you should know that I don’t make those promises lightly, either,” he/she returned aloud.  In a much quieter voice, he added, “...even when you aren’t even aware of what help you need...” “...what was that?” Miriyume demanded, unable to clearly hear the last. “Nothing,” Kakashi returned curtly, turning a page.  Junko lay in her lover’s arms, and whispered, “...I never make promises lightly...” An omen. He had to stop this farce of a marriage....somehow. “But, won’t your new husband take offense at his wife gallivanting off in search of another Land’s history...?” “Probably.” “And you will still go?  Despite his displeasure?” “I don’t require his, or anyone else’s approval,” Miriyume snapped back.  “I am a shinobi sage-priestess, bound only by noble cause.”  A small flicker of energy flashed in the vapor that coalesced about her, lending tremendous weight to her words.  “And seeking truth is about as noble as one can get.” “I’m glad you feel that way,” Kaharu smiled blythly, despite the gnawing disgust the subject of her husband-to-be always seemed to cause, “It would be an awful loss to the shinobi world if you were to consign yourself to your bridegroom’s way of thinking.” The flickering in her aura became more intense, like a brewing storm.  “And what do you know of Asaito?” Miriyume demanded. “He’s aloof....overly pious...” he/she began carefully, as Miriyume swam closer, “And, if I may be so bold, immensely off-putting.  Very unlike the kind of man that I would want to associate with.” “Oh really?” the sage-priestess seemed amused, and began to paddle in lazy rotations at the center of the pool as her electric aura relaxed back into the friendly swirl of gentle light.  “So what kind of man do you associate with?” “Oh...you know,” Kaharu began.  “Nice guys.  The kind who....walk old ladies across busy streets....bring you flowers....love animals....remember special days...dry more tears than cause them...cook you dinner....” He/she trailed off slightly as Miriyume once again rose halfway out of the water to pour herself more tea.  Koharu’s grey eyes focused on the fuinjutsu emblem on her back, reflecting the moonlight.  Was it some sort of barrier jutsu...? “...falls so hard and fast in love that he does comically desperate things in order to be near you...” Kaharu finished. “I don’t think too many of those guys exist, Kaharu,” Miriyume sighed, as she slid back into the water with her tea.  “All the men I’ve had the displeasure of dating never had half of those characteristics...and only seemed to be after one...or two things.  Neither being my heart.” “The men in Konoha aren’t like that,” Kaharu defended. “Ahem.  Orochimaru,” Miriyume corrected. “There is always an exception.” “Madara...” “Exceptions!” “Itachi.” “Okay, most men in Konoha!” Kaharu snapped.  Actually, Kakashi was impressed by her knowledge of a place she’d claimed to never have visited.  “Are you sure you’ve never been to Konohagakure before?” Miriyume chuckled in magnanimous victory.  “Never.  So, name some of your favorite examples of ‘good guys’ from your village.” “Well....” he/she began, “All of the Hokage, of course.  Those who married chose very strong women, who complimented their lives perfectly.  And we have Jiraiya, of course,” gesturing with the book. “He is a good guy...even if he is an enormous pervert,” Miriyume admitted. “And we have Inoichi Yamanaka...Asuma Sarutobi...Might Gai...Rock Lee....Neji Hyuga...Choji Akamichi...Shino Aburame...” “Don’t forget Naruto!” Miriyume broke in.  “He’s far too young for the likes of me, but one day, he’ll make someone very happy.  I see it in his eyes.  That kid has a noble heart.” “That he does,” Kaharu replied back, carefully.  “Although, most don’t see it.  But his sensei–another good guy– does.  Perhaps you’ve heard of Kakashi?” Miriyume prompted her response with a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle.  “Kakashi of the Sharingan...?  Of course.  Who hasn’t?  I’ve even met him a couple of times.” “So...what did you think?” setting aside the novel, focusing completely on her answer. “What’s to think?  He doesn’t give anyone much to go on, what with that mask and all...” “He’s always worn that mask.  For as long as anyone can remember.” “One has to wonder why.” “Perhaps to hide a scar...or some painful memory...” “Or a compulsive need to keep a barrier between himself and the rest of the world...?” “Don’t we all do that....to some extent?” Kaharu suddenly looked rather crestfallen. “I try not to,” the Lady Ice Flame replied, “Perhaps its just a psychological side-effect of my kekkei genkai on my Father’s side: always passively absorbing what my surroundings have to offer.  Or my Mother’s Ninshu training, but I don’t ever want to hide who I am.” Kakashi was starting to feel horribly guilty... Miriyume set down her tea, and swam to the middle of the pool again.  “There’s a danger inherent in locking doors against the world.  Sometimes the world will lock the other side on you,” Miriyume added.  “But if you say that Kakashi is a good guy, I will believe you.  You obviously know him better than I.” “I know he likes you—“ he/she let slip, a new flush of red spread out over his/her cheeks, “–I mean, I know he admires your...chest grappling....IRON chest grappling....technique!” Miriyume chuckled.  “I am a brawler by heart, and blood.  My taijutsu instructors will forever despair.” “The ability is there, you just lack the proper teaching,” Kaharu opined.  “I’ve worked with students like you before.” “Oh, really?” she looked equal parts amused and offended. “Taijutsu is the foundation upon which all other shinobi arts are built.  Your sword technique is proof of at least some training along these lines.” “When did you see my kenjutsu?” Miriyume’s eyes widened in surprise. “I...haven’t.  But the way you wielded the sack of rice at the iron chest tourney....strongly hinted at your routine use of a sword.”  It was a bit of a lie, but not much of one.  It had apparently scored him some points toward credibility as a teacher, though, gauging by the expression on her face. “I’m a nightmare of a student,” Miriyume warned.  “I scared most of my teachers.” “Then your instructors were hardly worthy of the title,” Kaharu stated smugly.  Konoha sensei relish the challenging students. “So where were they when I was accidently causing chakra comas...or creating Ice Fire?” “Probably sealing the Nine-Tails into a future student, just to make things more interesting,” Kaharu returned, sending a small splash of water toward Miriyume. “Hmph.  That’s a good come-back.  Destroying the Raikage’s Summer Retreat can’t even top that one,” she chuckled, sending a bigger splash toward Kaharu, wetting her face and her book. “Is this your way of asking me for ninjutsu lessons in water technique?” Kaharu sweetly inquired, as he/she enacted a rapid series of hand jutsu.  “High Tide Jutsu!” she announced, as a swell of water carried the Lady Ice Flame to the far end of the pool, and fully doused her, her tea, and her dry towel and robe. “So!” Miriyume sputtered, as she parted the curtain of amber hair that had been plastered across her face.  “We’re playing by those rules, eh?!”  The golden stars in her eyes flashed to life as her Renkingen activated.  “I’ll indulge.” She then sat back on her submerged ledge, and adopted a pensive expression, as her hands independently signing in an unorthodox series of jutsu...based on the elements. “Hmmm....now what should I call this new technique....?  ‘Smirking Revenge’...?  ‘Kaharu’s Come-uppance...?”  She finished with the sign for ‘snake’.  “Wait!  I have it!  ‘Bracing Bath Jutsu!’” she announced. Kakashi watched in puzzled wonder as her chakra aura flared, and the water surrounding her suddenly gained a hazy, sluggish quality.  Her eyes sparkled with undisguised mischief, and her roguish smile promised payback. What had she done? Then the chill of an icy undercurrent hit him, like a cruel slap to all of his skin at once.  He very nearly lost the disguising jutsu due to the shock. “This water was much too warm for my liking, anyway,” she laughed, as Kaharu forgot all modesty and leapt clear of the ice-rimed pool and ran off to the shower room.