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tyforthevnm · 2 years ago

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The Father and the Frontman: Frank Iero Gets Tattooed for his Kids

April 9th, 2015 Derek Scancarelli Link to article

Under The Gun Review met with Frank Iero at Greenpoint Tattoo Company in Brooklyn to talk about his life’s new chapter and his undying devotion to being a father, all while watching him get inked.

Frank Iero’s confidence is a put-on. I know that because he told me so.

He loves to play as much as he hates to play. The 45 minutes of ecstasy he experiences on stage is the pendulum swing counteracting the 24 hours of pure hell leading up to it.

“I’ll be fucking holding, clenching my stomach, totally fucking hating my life because I have to get up there and play,” 33-year-old Iero said. But five minutes into his set, he finds himself in a state of glory.

When My Chemical Romance toured the world, Frank Iero played guitar and sang back-up vocals. Now, he’s taken center stage as frontman of his newest project, frnkiero and the cellabration. In August, he released his debut album, Stomachaches. Last week, the band wrapped up its first headlining tour.

Rather than playing at Madison Square Garden, he’s back to playing 300-capacity rooms in cities like Boise, ID. Those are the kind of places in which he feels at home. Well, the closest he gets to home when he’s so far away from it.

Last Wednesday, I caught up with Frank at a tattoo shop in Williamsburg before his show at Saint Vitus. He said the tour was a total success, but he couldn’t stand to spend another night away from his wife and children. The night prior, he’d traveled home from Philly to Jersey just to see them in the morning. He squeezed in a few hours of sleep before he brought his kids to school and swim class. Finally, he made it back to New York in time for the show.

When Frank entered the parlor, he told me that he was opting to go for two small pieces. The first was a set of roman numerals on his neck; dates documenting the births of his 5-year-old twin daughters and his 3-year-old son. The second was a tiny but meaningful piece on his shin.

“I’m getting a noodle because my little girl Cherry told me that she wanted to get tattooed,” Iero said, sporting a Mickey Mouse hoodie. “I said, ‘Well, I think that’s a terrible idea! But, what do you want to get?’ She said, ‘I want to get noodles!’ And I thought, ‘well that’s kind of an awesome tattoo.’”

The process of figuring out the proper way to tattoo a piece of pasta proved to be more difficult than you’d imagine. After contemplating some squiggly strands of spaghetti, Frank decided a single macaroni would do the trick. Plus, his daughters love Mac & Cheese. It was positioned strategically by his Jordan Jumpman logo and his homage to Metallica’s Kill ‘Em All. After all, he says his body is just a flesh-covered suitcase with stickers all over it.

Many of those stickers were slapped on while touring, a part of life that has become more difficult since becoming a father. For Frank, the modern virtual realities that easily connect us make his distance feel more apparent.

I asked him if his kids were noticing the separation, to which he immediately answered “yes.” I then asked if that drove him crazy, to which he replied, “Absolutely.”

For that reason, he cherishes every moment he gets with his kids.

“I tend to interview them a lot,” he said. “I like these moments. The other day we were talking about colors, so I said, ‘Yo, what’s your favorite color?’”

It turns out his son Miles likes green, but when he’s sick he likes red. He also enjoys yellow. His daughter Lily likes pink, but she’s been feeling more purple lately. Cherry, the noodle tattoo enthusiast, said she loves nothing.

Frank laughed and told me he related to ‘nothing’ the most, but even as an adult he can still feel in colors. He’s had some art pieces that have felt really brown. As a kid he loved black, which may explain his unaccountable love for the Oakland Raiders and Pittsburgh Steelers.

“What I love about this parenthood thing is that, before they’re tainted by the outside world, there is this innate weirdness that’s only in them,” he said. “It’s very pure and it’s very fleeting, and if you’re not paying attention you can miss it, and I don’t want to miss it.”

For most people, small moments like discussing colors may seem insignificant or forgettable. For Frank, it’s different. His children bring out the kid in him, the one that he’s unsure he ever really lost. He sees the honesty and curiosity that disappears after a life of having opinions shoved down your throat and being told how to act and feel.

The conversation shifted gears when I mentioned the “Religious Freedom Restoration Act,” a bill signed into law in Indiana that many Americans feel gives out a license for discrimination towards the LGBTQ community.

“With all the heartache and things we go through on a daily basis,” Frank said, shaking his head, “denying other people happiness, is it just like- an innate human characteristic?”

We postulate that hate is trained, but that selfishness is natural. You know, the whole Darwinism thing. But regardless of whatever characteristics we’re born with, guidance has to be the key factor.

“When it comes to seeking compassion- it’s a bit hard to just be born with empathy. I think that’s learned,” he said. “And I don’t think that’s a terrible thing. It’s great that it can be learned, and it needs to be, and it needs to be instilled.”

I’d only spent an hour or two with Frank, but I could tell that he experiences emotions strongly, even in the mildest of interactions. He’s humble and exudes a charm that makes you want to be his friend.

I’m not convinced his confidence is fake, I think it’s just on a never-ending learning curve.

Before Iero dropped Stomachaches, he was convinced he was done with touring. He was ready to write a novel, take pictures, and maybe go to school.

But he got pulled back in. Now, he’s playing shows where he can once again look at fans in the eyes. For him, it’s both heart-warming and earth-shattering. He still hasn’t fully come to grips with the press attention.

“I guess it ties into being a frontman. I never wanted that. It was never something I saw myself wanting to do. I liked being a guitar player, hidden in the wings and getting to play the shows and not being the one that had to talk to anybody,” he said.

When it comes to facing the camera, he finds it just as daunting and superficial.

“Nobody wants you to be yourself,” he said, speaking about magazine photoshoots. “It’s like, ‘Oh, I want you to ride this llama and then fucking break a window, and you know, scream at this baby!’ Like, why would I ever do any of that?”

Aside from fatherhood and fronting a band, we discussed some of the weight of being such a heavily adored and emotionally praised musician. For fans of his music, whether it be the tunes of MCR or the cellabration, it serves as much more than background noise. It speaks to them on a personal level.

I brought up a recent article called I Found Hope At A Frank Iero Show. It was penned by Cassie Whitt at AltPress, someone who I’ve had the privilege of working with a few times now. I asked Frank how it feels to read a piece like this, and if there is any pressure or responsibility associated with making music that people use to help them through their struggles. I don’t know how I’d handle it.

“I felt very flattered that I was even included in that. It ties into a lot of kids that have come to shows and given me or my bands a little too much credit for their own strength,” he said. “I feel like that was all on her, you just need a welcoming environment. I think she wrote an amazing article, and she’s a very talented girl, and I think she should give herself a bit more credit.”

For Iero, there are two factions of interactions he has with his listeners. There are the kids who want a simple photo or an autograph, then there are others he’s impacted in a very serious way.

“They’ll say things like, ‘You saved my life,’ and my response is that we may have inspired you, and maybe empowered you, but I’m saying, kinda meet me halfway on it – yeah you did take control of your own life, we were just the soundtrack.”

Generally speaking, he doesn’t want to preach too hard at his shows. But he does want two simple things to be taken away from his listeners: A) they should always give a fuck and B) they should always unapologetically be themselves.

“Whatever it is that you feel inside, be proud of it, and fucking do it to the best of your ability and don’t ever apologize for being you,” he said. “Just be the best you can be. And if you can do that, fuck, man, I think we’ll be all right.”

Written and photographed by Derek Scancarelli Guest contribution by Joseph Altobelli Special thanks to Greenpoint Tattoo Company

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yesimwriting · 4 years ago

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Anastasia (prologue)

A/n ive been talking about my Anastasia x SOC story for awhile and im finally ready to post the prequel,, ive also been working on some requests and thinking about my next multi-part fic (ive made some posts about it lol)

things to know before reading: i tend to like to make up my own countries when writing these type of politically/plot driven fics that revolve around a royal family bc i think it makes it not only easier to write but less confusing bc it takes out the issue of potentially conflicting with canon, so i made up the country ‘Anastasia’ is from,, this also follows the musical Anastasia a little more bc i feel like that version of the story is more mature and easier to write for SOC (the only difference is that not everyone is happy that Anastasia is alive and someone tries to kill her bc they hate the royal family)

Series Summary: y/n makes an unconventional deal with Kaz to save the life of her best friend. No one’s ever made a deal with the infamous Dirtyhands that resulted in them shedding the title of orphan from a revolution-torn country that can’t remember her life before the orphanage and taking on the title of Princess Anastasia. As time progresses, things are made more complicated as y/n has to deal with royals, revolutionaries, a grisha general who has a lot to gain from an alliance with a princess that doesn’t know what she’s doing, and potential feelings for a conflicted Kaz Brekker that has more to do with Anastasia’s disappearance than he’s ever admitted.

The world seems to be made up impossible things. Each day, people defy odds, strangers fall in love, the universe expands, and the Saints watch it all. I am not the kind of person to sneer at a miracle, to try to explain it away instead of acknowledging it for what it is.

But what this stranger is proposing is laughable.

I lean more into the chair, doing all I can to get away from the desk that he sits at. A nervous kind of giggle threatens to escape me, a laugh at the expense of the foolishness of the situation. If his demeanor was any less brooding, I would have already laughed at the irony. Kaz Brekker, the Dirtyhands, creating a ploy so colored by the fairytale notions of dreamers.

The longer I go without reacting, the worse this situation becomes. I haven’t seen Verne since Brekker and his people separated us. I can see the world of torment my eldest friend must be experiencing at this very moment while I sit at this desk.

“Me?” I’m the most ridiculous part of his plan. He said the only reason me and my partner are still alive is because I fit the general description of the kind of person he needs, and if I’m blackmailed into it he won’t need to waste kruge paying me. “A princess?”

He blinks, as uninterested and stoic as he’s been since he first ordered me into his office. “A pretend one,” his correction feels like a slight, “a surrogate one.”

My eyebrows furrow together. “But what--I know the odds of the real Anastasia coming back are beyond slim, but if we’re caught in a lie the Dowager Duchess of Avila will have all of us killed. She may be in Ravka now, and her title nothing more than decorative due to the revolution, but she still has people loyal to her.”

“Anastasia can’t come back.” The graveness of his voice is so certain a part of me has to wonder if he could have anything to do with her death. I dismiss the thought almost immediately, I don’t know his exact age, but he doesn’t look much older than me. He couldn’t have been more than two or three years older than Anastasia when she died, and she was a child at the time. “No one remains missing that long unless they’re dead.”

I awkwardly scratch the back of my wrist, “You’re the expert here.” No--I did not just say that out loud. “Sorry--I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Not that thinking it makes it any better, but at least then you wouldn’t know and I’d seem like less of an idiot and I wouldn’t be talking about it right now, and just rambling at a really inconvenient time for me to just...” I cringe slightly, opting to stare at his desk instead of meeting his judgmental gaze. “Sorry, again. Normally Verne is here, and he just kicks me in the shin or something to shut me up.”

“If you’d like to see what apparently is your only source of impulse control alive and in decent enough condition to kick anything ever again, you’ll agree to what I’m proposing.”

I straighten my posture slightly, nerves and guilt twisting in my stomach. “I’m going to be as transparent as physically possible.” The warning is for both of us, the urge to hide all my weaknesses bubbling in my chest. “Mr. Brekker.” That’s awkward--what am I supposed to call him? “I’m a university student that’s only in Ketterdam because of an academic scholarship. I’m from somewhere average--I’m not from a place nice enough to give me the manners I’d need to pass as a girl who spent her fundamental years growing up in luxury and I’m not from a place grimy enough to make me a quick enough liar to make up for what I don’t know.” I inhale slowly, ignoring the sting of the flaws I laid out for a cruel stranger. “I’m not particularly graceful or sly or talented in any field that someone like you would value. The closest thing I have to talent involves things that can be tracked on paper. I wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight, I was just doing a friend a favor.”

“You claim that you’re not a decent liar or a thief and yet your closest friend is one who believed himself talented enough to challenge me?”

I resist the urge to shrink back into my seat. “This is Ketterdam, you try finding someone that doesn’t dabble in crime and ambition.” He does’t reply to my retort, which I think means I won. “Cards on the table, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save Verne, but you don’t want me for something like this.”

He pauses, jaw locked and eyes too stony for me to interpret. “Every flaw you just pointed out, every reason you think makes you unfit for this job, is exactly the reason I’m offering you this.” I keep a thousand questions to myself as I wait for him to continue. “Those used to lying lack the warmth that will be needed to sell this. The Dowager Duchess is a grandmother first when it comes to Anastasia, that’s why she’s offering so much gold. She, and the rest of the royals that desire to know what happened to Anastasia, want to believe the story I’m telling. If you present yourself as someone real and warm and you understand table manners enough to not disturb the serene picture they want, they’ll squint at ugly details until they disappear.”

Wow. I know that he’s intelligent, but what he’s constructing is so much more bullet proof than I thought it’d be. “I’ll admit you’ve constructed an airtight narrative.”

I know my approval means nothing to him, but it’s the most agreeable I’m willing to be. “A narrative the background you told me of fits perfectly.” I shouldn’t have answered all those questions he asked me earlier so honestly. “A child born in Avila who was sent to a Kerch orphanage due to a war-relief effort during the revolution. A faceless orphan who was found during the height of the revolution with no memory of anything before the morning she woke up in a hospital cot.”

I say nothing. My skin burns in protest of someone knowing so much about me. He must take my silence as a sign of me teetering the line away from what he wants, because he then says, “your friend is fortunate, if things aligned a little less perfectly he’d be dead already.”

Dead already. The words elate my heart in a way that pinches. He’s still alive. Verne is alive. “If I agree, you let me see him and then you let him go.”

“If you need a contract to believe me, I can have that arranged.” The words have an almost mocking edge. I guess it’d be a little ridiculous to get an official contract drawn up for something so small. “If you at any point change your mind, I’ll do the same.”

The threat is clear. I back out and Verne pays for it in blood. Verne’s safety is once again in my hand. This situation is much more precarious than Kaz Brekker wants it to seem. “You need me to do something that will literally last the rest of my life. Tiaras aren’t something you can slip in and out of.”

“Yes, I’m forcing you to give up a life in the slums for a palace for your friend’s life. This must be a difficult choice for you.”

I look down to avoid rolling my eyes. “It’s still permanent, and it’s large because at any point I could reveal the truth and take you down with me.”

“Remember who you speak to.” His voice has turned to pure darkness.

Don’t wince. Don’t wince. Don’t wince. “All I’m saying is that you’ve offered Verne’s life to buy my cooperation, but you have yet to mention the cost of my silence.”

His expression is sharp enough to draw blood. “The Dowager Duchess is old and sick, wait at most two years and you’ll have more gold than you could ever spend. The revolution took that family’s power, not the wealth the Duchess took with her to Ravka the night of the massacre.”

I shift awkwardly. “I’m not trying to get kruge from you for me.” I fold my hands neatly on my lap to avoid fidgeting. “Verne--he’s beyond desperate for kruge, that’s why he risked angering you.” The urge to shy away threatens to break my resolve. I think of all the times Verne has saved me. “Let him keep what he tried to take.” The request is awkward from my lips. I’m asking for more when I should should be grateful any type of mercy came from him. Any type of offer. “Half. Let him keep half.”

He’s silent for a long moment, weighing the implications of loss. “You’re already entitled enough to pass for royalty.” I don’t let myself shrink. “Deal, but not because you threatened me--try that again and you’ll find yourself wishing you had never left the orphanage you came from.” The relief is practically crushing. Verne is going to be okay. He’s going to live and my resistance earned him enough kruge to have a week or two without worry as he plans what he’ll do in my absence. “You better be as good a study as you made yourself seem to be.”

I don’t understand the second threat. “Studying?”

“You didn’t think you could wander into the Dowager Duchess’s home, use the excuse of amnesia to explain why you don’t even know your own mother’s name, and expect them to think you more than an Avilan orphan with a desire for wealth.”

“I actually don’t know my own mother’s name because of amnesia.”

He’s in no mood to be contradicted, glowering sharply, “not anymore, anything that doesn’t fit the narrative I’m constructing is no longer true.” He straightens slightly as he begins to pace away from me. “You’ll have five minutes with your friend and then we’ll see where your table manners are at. I know someone who knows enough to correct you.”

I try to picture where someone like him would meet someone that knows about etiquette. My mind provides nothing useful, but it doesn’t matter--I’ve agreed. It can’t be undone, not without having the blood of my dearest friend on my hands.

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saiyef · 4 years ago

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Decided to make this post because I got tagged to say what I was reading. They’re all mixed bag that will range from ‘trash’ to ‘okay’ to ‘amazing’. I’ll bold series that are my absolute favourites.

Manga I was recently rereading:

The Love Doctor

Tensei Kizoku no Isekai Boukenroku ~Jichou wo Shiranai Kamigami no Shito~

Mahou Shoujo Gakuen no Suketto Kyoushi

Still Sick

Fluttering Feelings

Ihoujin, Dungeon ni Moguru

Manga I’ve recently read or are currently reading:

Mushoku Tensei

In Another World With My Smartphone

Liar Satsuki Can See Death

I Gave Birth To A Murderer's Child

The Hidden Dungeon Only I Can Enter

Kemono Jihen

Beelzebub

Dorei Tensei: Sono Dorei, Saikyou no Moto Ouji ni Tsuki

Isekai Cheat Magic Swordsman

Isekai Kenja no Tensei Musou ~Geemu no Chishiki de Isekai Saikyou~

Kanchigai no Atelier Meister

I Was Invited to Join the Country as an Otherworldly Warrior but I Refused and Decided to Start as a Soldier

I Was Dismissed from the Hero’s Party Because They Don’t Need My Training Skills, so I Strengthened My [Fief] Which I Got as a Replacement for My Retirement Money.

Kajiya de Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life

The Church in Front of the Devil’s Castle

Kage no Eiyuu no Nichijou-tan

Lv2 kara Cheat datta Moto Yuusha Kouho no Mattari Isekai Life

The Irregular of the Royal Academy of Magic ~The Strongest Sorcerer From the Slums is Unrivaled in the School of Royals ~

Tada Shiawasena Isekai Kazoku Seikatsu

Shoki Skill Ga Benri Sugite Isekai Seikatsu ga Tanoshisugiru!

Dream Life: Yume no Isekai Seikatsu

Her Royal Highness Seems to Be Angry

Level 0 no Maou-sama, Isekai de Boukensha wo Hajimemasu

The Struggle of Being Reincarnated as the Marquess's Daughter: I'll Deal with What’s Coming to Me!

Story of a "Unemployed" Champion and a Princess Who Together Find Their Happiness

Tantei wa Mou, Shindeiru

Ongoing manga I really like (off the top of my head):

The Monster Duchess and Contract Princess

Maid kara Haha ni Narimashita

Villainess Level 99 ~I may be the Hidden Boss but I'm not the Demon Lord~

Kaguya-sama: Love is War

Oshi no Ko

The Cuckoo’s Fiancee

Are You Really Getting Married?

My New Wife is Forcing Herself to Smile

Tensei Shitara Slime Datta Ken

The Ancient Magus Bride

Kusuriya no Hitorigoto

Tate no Yuusha no Nariagari

Berserk

Goblin Slayer

Goblin Slayer Year One

Hataraku Maou-sama!

Honzuki no Gekokujou

A Capable Maid

A Stepmother's Märchen

This Girl is a Little Wild

Doukyonin wa Hiza, Tokidoki, Atama no Ue.

Ossan Boukensha Kane no Zenkou

I'm a Middle-Aged Man Who Got My Adventurer License Revoked, but I'm Enjoying a Carefree Lifestyle Because I Have an Adorable Daughter Now,

Boukensha ni Naritai to Miyako ni Deteitta Musume ga S Rank ni Natteta

Isekai Yururi Kikou: Raising Children While Being an Adventurer

The Swordsman Called the Countless Swords' Sorcerer

May I Please Ask for One Final Thing?

Princess Bibliophile

Yuukyuu no Gusha Asley no, Kenja no Susume

One Piece

My Hero Academia

Black Clover

Phantom Seer

Ayakashi Triangle

SAKAMOTO DAYS

Dungeon Sherpa: Meikyuu Michisaki Annainin

Emergency! How to Deal With Love

Seamstress Girl

Magic Artisan Dahliya Won’t Hang Her Head

I was Told to Relinquish My Fiancé to My Little Sister, and the Greatest Dragon Took a Liking to Me and Unbelievably Took Over the Kingdom

Maseki Gurume: Mamono no Chikara o Tabeta Ore wa Saikyou!

Is It Odd That I Became an Adventurer Even If I Graduated From the Witchcraft Institute?

Jui-san No Oshigoto In Isekai

The 31st Consort

The Emperor Hopes for the Court Lady as His Bride

For Certain Reasons, The Villainess Noble Lady Will Live Her Post-Engagement Annulment Life Freely

The Earl's Daughter was Suddenly Employed as the Crown Prince's Fiancée

Nidome no Jinsei wo Isekai de

I Swear I Won’t Bother You Again!

Ai to Ao no Kyoukai

Hazure Skill "Kage ga Usui" o Motsu Guild Shokuin ga, Jitsuha Densetsu no Ansatsusha

The King of Cave Will Live a Paradise Life

Isekai De Te Ni Ireta Seisan Skill Wa Saikyou Datta You Desu

My Lord The Wolf Queen

Kage no Jitsuryokusha ni Naritakute

Futago No Ane Ga Miko Toshite Hikitorarete, Watashi Wa Suterareta Kedo Tabun Watashi Ga Miko De Aru

Saijaku Tamer wa Gomi Hiroi no Tabi o Hajimemashita

Tenohira Kaitaku Mura De Isekai Kenkokuki: Fueteku Yome-Tachi To Nonbiri Mujintou Life

Genjitsushugi Yuusha no Oukoku Saikenki

Shoukan sareta Kenja wa Isekai wo Yuku

The Undead Lord of the Palace of Darkness

Tensei Kizoku no Isekai Boukenroku ~Jichou wo Shiranai Kamigami no Shito~

Isekai Kenkokuki

Reincarnated as an Aristocrat with an Appraisal Skill

Please Don't Call Me Queen!

Yakudatazu Skill ni Jinsei o Sosogikomi 25-nen, Imasara Saikyou no Boukentan Midori Kashi no Akira

The Old Man Who Got a Second Round in Another World

I Came to Another World as a Jack of All Trades and a Master of None to Journey While Relying on Quickness

Shin no Jitsuryoku wa Girigiri Made Kakushite Iyou to Omou

Samayoeru Tensei-sha-tachi no Relive Game

Clearing an Isekai with the Zero-Believers Goddess

Imiko to Yobareta Shoukanshi

Party kara Tsuihou Sareta Sono Chiyushi, Jitsu wa Saikyou Nitsuki

Gakuen Babysitters

Niehime to Kemono no Ou

Yondome wa Iya na Shizokusei Majutsushi

Milady Just Wants To Relax

Assassin de aru ore no Sutetasu ga Yuusha yori mo Akiraka ni Tsuyoi Nodaga

The Reincarnated 「Sword Saint」 Wants to Take it Easy

The Holy Grail of Eris

Saikyou Juzoku Tensei: Cheat Majutsushi no Slow Life

Heartwarming Meals with Mother Fenrir

Mofumofu to Isekai Slow Life o Mezashimasu!

Another World Munchkin -Conquering the Dungeon as the Strongest and the Fastest with Only 1 HP-

The Reincarnated Inferior Magic Swordsman

Assassin’s Pride

Even Though I'm a Former Noble and a Single Mother, My Daughters Are Too Cute and Working as an Adventurer Isn't Too Much of a Hassle

Ankoku Kishi No Ore Desu Ga Saikyou No Seikishi Wo Mezashimasu

Slave of Black Knight

The Executed Sage is Reincarnated as a Lich and Starts an All-Out War

Tenkuu no Shiro o Moratta no de Isekai de Tanoshiku Asobitai

I’m just a human but I was raised by the Four Heavenly Kings of the Demon King’s Army. The Demon King’s daughter loved me and bestowed me the authority to rule over all attributes.

Ani no Yome to Kurashite Imasu

A Workplace Where You Can't Help But Smile

Hana ni Arashi

Koushin Koinu ni Koibumi wo

Can’t Defy The Lonely Girl

Adachi to Shimamura

Crescent Moon and Doughnuts

Bocchi Kaibutsu to Moumoku Shoujo

Bai Lijin Among Mortals

Whispering You a Love Song

Kami eshi JK to OL fujoshi

Dear, My Teacher

Useless Princesses

Your True Color

Nettaigyo Wa Yuki Ni Kogareru

Even if it was Just Once, I Regret it

A Monster Wants to Eat Me

Kimi ga Shinu made Koi wo shitai

APPROXIMATE

Beast of Blue Obsidian

Nito no Taidana Isekai Shoukougun: Saijaku Shoku "Healer" nano ni Saikyou wa Cheat desu ka?

Isekai Meikyuu no Saishinbu o Mezasou

Your SSS-rank Afterlife is Confirmed, Virtuous Old Man

The Strongest Wizard Becomes a Countryside Guardsman After Taking an Arrow to the Knee

Eiyuu Kyoushitsu

Saikyou Yuusha wa Oharai Hako: Maou ni nattara zutto Ore no Musou Return

Level 1 no Saikyou kenja ~Noroi de sai kakyuu mahou shika tsukaenaikedo, kami no kanchigai de mugen no maryoku o te ni ire saikyou ni~

Isekai de Shippai Shinai 100 no Houhou

People Looked Down on Me for Having a Crummy Job but it really isn't all that bad?

I Shaved. Then I Brought a High School Girl Home.

The Two of Them are Pretty Much Like This

That Inferior Knight, Lv. 999

The World's Best Assassin, Reincarnated In A Different World As An Aristocrat

Makui no Risu

Easy Amnesia

A Sword Master Childhood Friend Power Harassed Me Harshly, So I Broke Off Our Relationship And Make A Fresh Start At The Frontier As A Magic Swordsman.

A Dyad of Revenge

Fiancée Be Chosen by the Ring

Hard-Boiled Cop and Dolphin

i tell c

WITCH WATCH

The Elusive Samurai

Maou Toubatsu Shita Ato, Medachitakunai node Guild Master ni Natta

Moon Flower Country's Strange Doctor

Ore wa Mada, Honki o Dashite Inai

Noble Reincarnation

Maken no Daydreamer

Hagure Seirei Ino Shinsatsu Kiroku ~ Seijo Kishi-dan to Iyashi no Kamiwaza ~

#manga #manga recommendations #manga recommendation #manga rec list

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years ago

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A Wedding in Paris

Trigger Warning: Light mentions of setting appropriate homophobia, alcohol use

“What’s a marriage anyway? Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

Lucian and Stephen spend their first day in Paris, the first day of their new lives.

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Please leave a comment over on Ao3!

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Stephen had been nervous about Paris.

It was his first step outside of England, the first of a headlong sprint that was going to take him even further than he’d had the free time to read about in books. Paris was meant to be a gentle start, just a hop over the Channel, within three day’s reach of the country he’d grown up in all his life, but it had still frightened Stephen to imagine. A new city, a new soil, a new tongue. A new him, supposedly, a Stephen Day who wasn’t a justiciar and wasn’t alone but now had to find out where he fit into the world, starting with Paris.

It had taken him all of a day to decide he really, really liked it.

That day had consisted of waking up in a very expansive, comfortable bed, made all the more comfortable and slightly less expansive by the fact that he was sharing it with all six feet of his lover. Then he’d padded around the lavish hotel apartment he’d been too exhausted to take any notice of after yesterday’s boat ride, in a mix of wonderment and apprehension, until Lucien had woken and summoned him back to bed with a crook of a finger and a smile. Not all that different from his fonder mornings in London.

But then there had been bright sunlight, walks along boulevards familiar enough to Stephen that he could relax into the excitement of the chatter around him in unknown, lyrical languages, the smells of herbs he couldn’t name coming from the street stalls, the bright fabrics and colourful buildings. Then there was a park, open space and the smell of fresh cut grass and summer flowers, a museum with paintings from far away and long ago that Stephen felt he could fall forwards into, a patisserie with cakes that looked like perfect sculptures and tasted like heaven. Even the ether felt different, like rich velvet, less fettered by smog. There were smiles, laughter that made his jaw ache, a heart lighter than he could remember.

And through it all, more than anything else, there was Lucien. At Stephen’s side and smiling as he stared like the dumbstruck tourist he was, walking a few paces behind with a proud, patient chuckle while Stephen surged ahead to see something new, lounging beside him and explaining the ways in which French fashions differed to British fashions with each example that passed by. He indulged his little witch completely and for once Stephen didn’t argue or allow himself to become embarrassed by it, the cakes tasted too good for him to recoil at Lucien happily buying him as much as he could eat. It brought that smile of satisfaction to his lover’s sharp features, the warmth in his eyes that their troubles in London had made rarer than either would like.

And there were the touches.

The first time it happened, Lucien casually placing a hand on Stephen’s arm as they walked, he’d frozen in place. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, certain they were still in England and even a simple, friendly touch like that would get them spat at in the street. Lucien had taken his hand away quickly with an apologetic, understanding expression, endlessly patient with Stephen’s anxieties, willing to go slowly. Stephen appreciated it, his heart hammering in his chest until the next delight chased it away.

But then, sitting in the park, Lucien had made to reach for Stephen’s hand, stopping only at the last moment when he caught himself. His quick amber eyes had noticed and, for a moment, the fear jolted through him, a sour, metallic taste on his tongue. But only for a moment, the sugar and fresh air rushing back in and, with it, a sense of giddy courage. They were in the shade, dappled by the leaves overhead, and no one was looking their way.

And if they were, what of it? Lucien had promised Stephen a life of freedom. He’d told him they’d go places where everything about Stephen- his magic, the fact that he liked men- wasn’t something to be hidden and ashamed of. And every other impossible thing Lucien had promised was apparently true, so why not this?

So he’d joined their hands together, threading his fingers through Lucien’s larger ones until they knit together naturally. Not a manipulation of the ether, not a spell, just the honest scrape of rough, callused skin against his lover’s, scar brushing against scar, fingers slotting perfectly into the gaps between hair dusted knuckles. It had been Lucien’s turn to jolt in surprise but, God, the look he’d given Stephen put every wonder they’d seen into the shade.

Possibly that look, possibly the wild and welcome sense of freedom, possibly the fact that Merrick knew of a wine bar that didn’t close until one in the morning and served the most delicious ruby red burgundy and a very reasonable price, possibly a combination of all of these factors decided how Stephen’s first day in Paris ended.

Which is to say, piss drunk and dancing with his lover in an empty Parisian street at half past two in the morning. And happier than he could ever remember being.

“Lucien!” he cackled, clinging to him for dear life as he spun him around in what a waltz might look like through a haze of wine, “Lucien, I’m going to be sick!”

His lover laughed, finally letting them stop, moving into a slightly less disorientating four step that neither of them could really keep up with, “I thought you practitioners could hold your alcohol better than us mere mortals?”

“Not when it’s this much alcohol,” Stephen snorted, tilting his head back to watch the stars lurch drunkenly across the velvet blue sky, “God, Lucien, this place…”

“I know,” Lucien purred, catching him in the pool of gas light coming from a streetlamp, letting Stephen slump bonelessly against his chest as they swayed in a lazy circle, “This is what it should be like, my love. This is how you’ve deserved to live your entire life.”

Stephen giggled, loose limbed and loose lipped with the weight of the sweet wine on his tongue, “No one cares...I’m dancing with my lover in the street and no one cares…”

Luien’s cheeks were a little red too, his speech a little slack and grin overly wide, but he was a few glasses down on Stephen, “Well, we can still get arrested for disorderly behaviour and waking the neighbours.”

“I see,” Stephen hummed with exaggerated seriousness, face still pressed to Lucien’s chest so it came out a little muffled, “We should be inside then so we can be as disorderly as we wish.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lucien chuckled, half dancing and half dragging Stephen to the door of their hotel which they’d been wonkily aiming for when they’d started their impromptu waltz.

Getting through the lobby with whatever wine soaked dignity they could muster took a few moments when Stephen stumbled on the steps and Lucien couldn’t remember his own name briefly when the front desk asked but eventually they staggered up the stairs to the apartments they were calling home until they could book passage further into Europe.

Fortunately they didn’t have to fumble with the key in the door, the French helpfully built their door knobs in brass and he sent it swinging inwards with a thought, unfortunately just as Lucien swept him up to kiss him against it. The two of them burst into helpless laughter, sprawled on the mat, giggling like children.

“Get off me,” Stephen managed to get the words out, through the laughter and the fact that shy of two hundred pounds of muscular lordship was resting on him, “I can’t breathe, you great lump…”

“Some poorly timed romance on my part, I apologise,” Lucien laughed, finding his feet and pulling himself up, snagging Stephen on the way up.

“Oh,” Stephen’s eyes glittered in the pale moonlight, the only thing keeping the apartment from complete darkness, “Well...don’t let this keep you from trying again.”

Lucien seemed to take that as a personal challenge, not letting his lover find his feet, just sweeping him into his arms and carrying him straight to the canopy bed. With a few assists from Stephen, bending the ether to shove an ottoman and curl the corner of a rug out of their path, they made it with no broken necks or barked shins.

“Did I tell you the ether feels different here?” he found himself murmuring, once they’d toppled into the pool of silk and down, his mouth doing that thing where the wine rather than his brain made it move.

“Hmm?” Lucien had collapsed next to him, looking like a scarecrow that had been dropped from a height. A scarecrow dressed in Hawkes and Cheney’s finest, “Don’t recall. Tell me anyway. I like when you talk about magic, your eyes light up.”

Stephen reddened until he was probably a similar colour to the wine they’d been drinking but he held his hands up above himself, backing them against the rich muslin of the canopy. He twitched his long fingers as he spoke, like he was stroking something.

“I work with my hands so it feels different to me. It feels richer, like I’m moving my hands through honey rather than water, like it is back home. It...drags on me, like it’s alive and it’s touching me as much as I’m touching it. Like the difference between velvet and cotton, you know? You just want to dig your fingers in and see how far it goes. I bet if Esther was here, she’d say it smelled different too and I’ll ask Saint if it sounds different…” he trailed off, glancing to the man lying beside him, realising that Lucien was gazing at him with an expression warmer and more adoring than anyone he’d ever given a magical lecture to.

“Did my eyes light up?” he asked shyly, mouth cocking into a smile.

“All of you does,” Lucien purred, looking at him the way Stephen had looked at the paintings and artefacts in the museum, like he was something precious and masterful, like the whole world around them and dimmed and Stephen was all that mattered, “This is just...this is everything I wanted for you, my love.”

“To eat my own body weight in cake twice over?” Stephen hummed,

The jesting tone was a little flat and shaky but he needed some way to blunt this. Because if Lucien kept talking like this and looking at him like that then he felt me might cry. Because they were alone in a beautiful place and everything was changing, because he loved this man so much and he loved him back and light could be as overwhelming as dark. You could drown in honey as easily as blood.

But, as ever, Lucien was the one who was unafraid. They lay practically nose to nose but it still wasn’t close enough apparently, he reached over to hold his cheek. His palm was cool from the chill night air and Stephen leaned into it instinctively.

“To be somewhere you can just be your incredible self,” Lucien murmured, keeping their voices low even though they were alone, just because the words were Stephen’s and no one elses, “Magical and powerful and mine.”

Stephen turned and pressed his lips to the centre of that slightly roughened palm, “Thank you. I know I’m going to be saying that a lot from now on and it’s never going to feel like enough but still. Thank you so much.”

Lucien kissed the bridge of his nose, running his thumb over his cheekbone, protective and comforting, “And I will always reply that you don’t need to thank me. You came with me, that’s more than enough.”

Stephen melted under the touch, sighing softly, finding a way to relax even beyond what the drink and dancing had already accomplished, “And it only gets better from here?”

“The further we get from England, the less anyone will care,” Lucien promised, fingers moving up to tease the tighter curls at the edge of his hairline, “In China I’ll be able to take you to dinners, kiss you in the street, introduce you as my partner to my fellow traders, brag shamelessly about my talented, handsome shaman…”

Stephen groaned, though he was betrayed by his lopsided grin of incredibly endearing goofiness, “Wonderful...though I like being called your partner.”

“Well,” Lucien patted his cheek and let him go, apparently too drunk and tired to engage his neck muscles, “I’d rather call you my husband but not even Shanghai allows me that.”

This certain kind of moment happens often between two people with more wine in their bloodstream than sense in their head, that one of them will casually blurt something without realising the magnitude of their words, their runaway mouths jumbling up the filing system in their head and confusing the one labelled ‘deeply personal thoughts’ with ‘casual conversation’. People said in vino veritas, Lucien recalled, though the more succinct phrase that snapped his eyes open and froze him in place when he realised what he’d said was ‘complete fucking stupidity’.

Stephen was watching him with wide, golden eyes, no expression but naked surprise, “You’d marry me? If we could?”

Lucien wasn’t often caught on the back foot, even around Stephen. His little witch could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen him blush as he was now, the amount of times he’d seen his mouth twist into the shy, vulnerable smile of a much younger man who’d been through far less in his life.

“Well...of course. Honestly, if we lived in a different time, I’d have done it long before now. Pretty much as soon as I got the slightest inkling you’d actually have me,” the blush deepened as he spoke and, God, Stephen would have been lying if it wasn’t damn endearing to see his lover’s cold, angular features having to deal with embarrassment.

Lucien caught his expression, laughing exasperatedly and dragging Stephen closer, “Oh fuck off, is this really that much of a surprise?”

Stephen giggled, wrapping his arms around Lucien in turn, “That I could land one of the most eligible bachelors in England? Somewhat...oh heavens, would that make me Lady Crane?”

That set them both off again, gripped by helpless laughter, giddy on wine and fantasy.

“I think you’d be Lord as well?” Lucien snorted, the idea of his radical little witch having a title too funny for words, “Or Lord Consort which even you have to admit is an inherently fuckable title.”

“Well, you’ve got me there…” he snickered, rusty curls falling into his eyes, “Stephen Vaudrey….”

Thinking if he was in for a penny on emotional vulnerability, he may as well be in for a pound, Lucien shook his head, “Actually, if we’re indulging ourselves completely, I’d ask you to keep your name. And, if you’d be so kind, extend it to me?”

Stephen’s jaw dropped, “Pardon? Did I hear that right?”

Lucien shrugged lazily, managing to haul himself up into something more like a sitting position against the bolsters, “Come on now, darling, like I’m going to cling to the surname of my abusive father and brother when I could join a loving family of people with actual integrity and honour.”

Stephen scrambled after him, resting his head on Lucien’s chest, gazing up at him adoringly, “That’s...I don’t even know what to say, Lucien.”

Lucien pushed that wayward hair back, his heart thudding at putting that expression of bewilderment and love on Stephen’s face and wanting to admire every inch of it, “So you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with Lucien Day?”

“I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Stephen said emphatically, turning into his hand the way a cat being petted would, “And I will. No matter what the law says.”

Lucien seemed to consider that a moment, an amusement dawning in his grey eyes, the kind of idea that could only happen when one was a little bit drunk and madly in love clearly taking root. His mouth quirked upwards at the end.

“Fuck the law then,” he grinned, “Marry me. Right now.”

Stephen blinked, clearly missing a few pieces of the puzzle, “Excuse me?”

Lucien lurched to his feet so suddenly that Stephen was left to fall face down into the space he left behind with an ungainly yelp. He turned onto his back to see Lucien straightening his lapels, trying to shake out some of the rumpledness in his suit from their raucous evening. He deftly untied his cravat, somehow managing to force hands that had held several wine glasses over the last few hours to handle the knot expertly. Then he held out his hand to Stephen.

“Your leg please, sweet boy. This can be the something new, I only bought it today, and borrowed too as I’m lending it to you. I’d say your suit can be your something old, given the state of it, as I’ve pointed out many times. Don’t think you’re getting out of Paris without some new clothes by the way. And blue…”

“Our tattoos have blue in them,” Stephen grinned at him as he complied, shivering a little as Lucien pushed up the leg of his worn trousers, “You’ve lost your mind completely.”

“It's this or we become pirates and enter into matelotage, my love,” Lucien hummed, tying the lace around his thigh in a decent approximation of a garter, “And the journey across the Channel made it clear you get seasick far too easily for that.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose, he’d had a near constant sour taste in his mouth for the entire trip, “Granted…”

“What’s a marriage anyway?” Lucien hummed, kissing Stephen’s knee before letting him go, “Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

“Spoken like a true smuggler,” Stephen gazed up at him, feeling like he could float.

Lucien flashed him the kind of grin that made shivers run up his spine, as he slid the magpie ring he’d had made to fit Stephen’s from his finger, “Now I know we already did this part but why not...take mine and I’ll have yours, if you don’t mind…”

His hand felt naked without the ring but Lucien’s larger one lying in his palm was a solid certainty, still warm from his lover’s skin. Stephen clutched it like a talisman, a delighted, bewildered laugh bursting from him as Lucien pulled him to his feet. The two of them stood facing each other like they were before an altar, framed in the enormous bay windows that lay the glittering entirety of Paris out before them. Neither man gave it a glance.

“Now, I’ll do my best to remember how it went at Leo’s though the wine might not be helping,” Lucien frowned as he thought, “Although, having said that, I was drunk for that wedding too.”

“Which one?” Stephen grinned teasingly, “The one years ago or the one last month?”

“Both,” Lucien hummed, taking Stephen’s hands in his own, enveloping them safely in his own, “Now…”

Stephen tilted his head upwards, taking a breath and focusing on Lucien’s face. Something inside him fought through the burgundy fog and the giddiness and the fear of those emotions that felt too big to hold, something whispered focus, this is important, you’ll want to remember every second.

Lucien slid Stephen’s ring back onto his finger, fitting it perfectly where it had sat since last December, “I, Lucien Vaudrey, take thee, Stephen Day, to be my completely unlawful but much devoted and adored husband to have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, when you’re vomiting over the edge of an ocean liner or in health, so on and so forth and whatever…” he clearly abandoned the traditional vows and his eyes softened with sincerity, “You are the person who woke up my heart when I’d rather forgotten i even owned one. You’ve saved me, you’ve made me a better man and you’ve put so much trust in me. All I can do is swear to you that I am yours, completely and utterly. For whatever it's worth to you, my love.”

For a few moments, Stephen couldn’t speak or move or do anything but stand in place with his eyes fixed on Lucien’s and wonder what the hell he’d done to deserve the place he stood in now. He only realised how long he’d been struck dumb when Lucien stifled a chuckle and pointedly cleared his throat, prompting Stephen to scramble for the ring and nearly drop it, managing to get it onto Lucien’s finger.

“Um, okay, ah…” he shook himself, “I, Stephen Day, take thee, Lucien Vaudrey or Crane or Fortunegate or Day or whoever the hell you want to be, I’ll take every single one of you as my unlawful husband and I’ll do it gladly. I’ll take you for better or worse, though God knows we’ve had plenty of the latter. For richer, hard to do in your case, or poorer, even harder to do in my case. In sickness and in health and whatever else the world wants to throw at us because I swear, you are the best thing in my life and nothing is taking you away from me now. Thank you for helping me see something worthwhile when I look in the mirror, thank you for being that little bit more stubborn than me, thank you for...everything. For the whole damned world. I don’t know what I can do to pay that back but I can promise you I’ll try.”

“You can start by kissing your husband?” Lucien’s voice was rough and thick and if Stephen didn’t know his lover better, he’d say there was wetness on his eyelashes.

Not that he had time to properly take note before he threw himself into Lucien’s arms, kissing him hard enough that he would have buckled if he was a shorter man. Instead they met and melted into each other, kissing hard enough to bruise, hard enough that there would be aching jaws to go along with aching heads the next morning.

And outside of the window, Paris still glittered, gaslamp stars in their cobblestone sea, the Seine the path to the rest of the world that lay beyond. All of Europe, all of Asia, wherever they wanted to go was waiting.

And it would have to wait. Because tonight all that mattered was each other.

#a charm of magpies #stephen day #lucien vaudrey #kj charles #some drunken shenanigans

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rfamess · 5 years ago

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This cured my boredom for a little bit. Was making a few new music playlists and thought.. hmm. I wonder what kind of music the RFA listens to? So, I made this. For no reason at all.

What Kind of Music the RFA + V/Saeran Listen To:

Saeyoung/707:

- (I always see people writing that he’d listen to all star or other cringe meme songs because that’s what seems to be his entire personality, but I like to think he has more substance than that and listens to songs that don’t have to do with memes.)

- He definitely listens to rap/hip-hop.

- Can you not imagine him driving down the road in his cars, windows down, music blasting?

- He listens to his music uber loud in his headphones while working.

- His favorite artist is probably Tyler the creator, i mean, how could you not love him.

- Listens to Mac Miller when he’s sad :(

PLAYLIST:

Who Dat Boy - Tyler the Creator

Stutter - Freddie Dredd

Evil Fantasy - Freddie Dredd

Sweatpants - Childish Gambino

Bounce - Logic

Dead Wrong - Notorious B.I.G.

Movement - Oliver Tree

Stick to Your Guns - Watsky

Both - Gucci Mane

No Sleep Till Brooklyn - Beastie Boys

Can I Kick It - A Tribe Called Quest

No Limit - G Easy

Circles - Mac Miller

Broke Bitch - TMG (lol)

Bonfire - Childish Gambino

I THINK - Tyler the Creator

Good News - Mac Miller

I - Kendrick Lamar

FACE - Brockhampton

King Kunta - Kendrick Lamar

Lovely Things Suite: Knots - Watsky

Zen:

- (Similar to Saeyoung, I don’t believe Zens entire personality revolves around musicals, he probably doesn’t listen to them that often imo.)

- I like to think he’s a... well rounded individual when it comes to music

- Listens to anything and everything.

- I could see him listening to the same music as Seven, but is also very into 70s-90s rock like the Red Hot Chili Peppers and the like.

- He runs listening to all of his music on shuffle and doesn’t have a specific playlist so there’s never a certain vibe to it— it really is all over the place.

- In addition to Seven’s playlist, here’s Zen’s

PLAYLIST:

Funny Face - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Santeria - Sublime

Badfish - Sublime

The Luck You Got - The High Strung

Dedicated to the One I Love - The Mamas and the Papas

Heart of Glass - Blondie

Come as You Are - Nirvana

Brown Eyed Girl - Van Morrison

Machu Picchu - The Strokes

Dirty Harry - Gorillaz

Love of Your Life - Red Hot Chili Peppers

The Adults Are Talking - The Strokes

Bailee - The Licks

Where is my Mind - Pixies

Hurt Like Mine - The Black Keys

Gap - The Kooks

Give it Away - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand

Hoops - The Rubens

Conquest - The White Stripes

Ten Cent Pistol - The Black Keys

Yoosung:

- Yoosung likes more upbeat music, maybe more new age/alternative pop

- Listens to music every time he tries to study, but usually get distracted by it and starts to sing along instead of actually doing his work

- Is probably trying to branch out of his style, Seven and Zen try to convince him to listen to their favorite genres

- The three of them always argue about who has the best taste in music lol

- He’s constantly wondering if his music is “manly” enough (it’s okay yoosung it’s just music)

- If this dude gets drunk and hears any of this music he goes absolutely wild and dances all over the place

PLAYLIST:

Bambi - Hippocampus

Turn - the Wombats

Paris - Magic Man

Chronic Sunshine - Cosmo Pike

Death of a Bachelor - Panic! At the Disco

Silvertongue - Young the Giant

Brazil - Declan McKenna

Unbelievers - Vampire Weekend

Baseball - Hippocampus

Australia - The Shins

Prune, You Talk Funny - Gus Dapperton

Honeypie - JAWNY

Alien Boy - Oliver Tree

Satellite - Guster

So Young - Portugal. The Man

Blinding Lights - The Weeknd

Circles - Post Malone

Unbearably White - Vampire Weekend

Tiny Umbrella - Coast Modern

Way it Goes - Hippocampus

Electric Feel - MGMT

Jumin:

- this guy has 2 modes and that’s it: classical bitch or music that has words

- He appreciates the fine art of classical music and listens to it when he has work to get done or when he’s trying to relax.

- If he’s in a good mood he’ll put on a playlist that includes “music with actual lyrics!”

- It’s a dad playlist. Billy Joel, Billy Joel, Billy Joel, Elton John, The Beatles, Billy Joel.

- He likes Billy Joel. Jumin has a dad personality you can’t convince me otherwise lol

- He tried to branch out but can get very picky in his interests. “I don’t like this guitar riff— change it”

- Either way his 2 modes are apparent in his playlists

PLAYLIST:

Dreams - Fleetwood Mac

California Dreamin’ - The Mamas and the Papas

Don’t Ask Me Why - Billy Joel

Starman - David Bowie

Miss You - The Rolling Stones

Dancing in the Moonlight - King Harvest

Come and Get Your Love - Redbone

It’s Too Late - Carole King

Movin’ Out - Billy Joel

A Horse With No Name - America

I Want to Hold Your Hand - The Beatles

Honky Cat - Elton John

Vienna - Billy Joel

The Stranger - Billy Joel

Waltz in A Minor - Chopin

Hungarian Dance No. 5 in G Minor - Brahms

Waltz No. 7 in C Sharp Minor, Op. 64, No. 2 - Chopin

Souvenir de Paganini - Chopin

Solfeggietto in C Minor - Bach

Prelude in B Minor, Op. 32, No. 10 - Rachmaninoff

IV. Allegro Molto From Quartet - Yo-Yo Ma

La Fille Aux Cheveux de Lin - Debussy

Porz Goret - Yann Tiersen

Carnival of the Animals: VII. Aquarium - Camille Saint-Saëns

Carnival of the Animals: XIII. The Swan - Camille Saint-Saëns

Jaehee:

- We all know her obsession with Musicals (specifically zens)

- Other than this she listens to...well honestly I don’t know

- Her music doubles as something she can get hyped up with and something she can listen to to relax.

- She loves to dance, so a lot of her songs and just songs that she’ll never be able to refuse to move her feet to!

- She likes the old classics and then she likes Doja Cat. Lizzo? Queen.

- She’s a barb let’s be real please. you can never convince me that she’s not

PLAYLIST:

Adore You - Harry Styles

She - Harry Styles

Call Me - Blondie

Starships - Nicki Minaj

Hey Mickey - Toni Basil

Juice - Lizzo

Say So - Doja Cat

Voulez-Vous - ABBA

Waterloo - ABBA

Cuz I Love You - Lizzo

Killing Me Softly With His Song - Roberta Flack (LOL the memories associated with this song after Killing Stalking..... hahahaha BUT ITS STILL A GREAT SONG!)

Only - Nicki Minaj

Boss Bitch - Doja Cat

Go Your Own Way - Fleetwood Mac

Beez in the Trap - Nicki Minaj

Woman - Harry Styles

9 to 5 - Dolly Parton

Blame it on the Boogie - Michael Jackson

One Way or Another - Blondie

Tia Tamera - Doja Cat

Truth Hurts - Lizzo

- indie boy indie boy indie boy indie boy

- Cmon just look at him he’s an indie boy

- If you’ve ever met a film student that gatekeeps music, they have the same exact taste but V won’t say shit to make you feel stupid. It’s just music bruv

- If you’ve ever been to an indie concert you know the fuckin dance you know what I’m talking about. he does that.

- Rolls a joint, pops the music off and he paints, does photography, whatever. Either way he straight vibes every single time the tunes come on.

- Low key thinks he has the best music taste. that’s just how dem indie kids roll let’s be real here.

- For some reason knows everything about every type of music. will spew facts about artists and songs at random

PLAYLIST:

Shuggie - Foxygen

Necessary Evil - Unknown Mortal Orchestra

Homage - Mild High Club

Another One - Mac DeMarco

Plants - Crumb

What Once Was - Her’s

Heart and My Car - Summer Salt

Cottage Roads - The Walters

Moonlight on the River - Mac DeMarco

Work This Time - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

Like Yesterday - Paul Cherry

Call it Fate, Call it Karma - The Strokes

Knowhere - Nick DeLaurentis

Escargot Blues - Guantánamo Bay Surf Club

A Side / B Side - Tipling Rock

Dark Red - Steve Lacy

That I Miss You - Vansire

Top Tier Love - Lonely Benson

Driving to Hawaii - Summer Salt

Taking Up Space - Mustard Service

She’s the Only One - King Guru

Saeran:

- emo boy emo boy emo boy

- We all know it

- As much as I’d love to say he listens to heavy death metal, there’s a part of my mind saying NO he’s not like that.

- Well he is, but he’s got more than a few single interest

- Probably listens to Nirvana, Cage the Elephant, anything similar

- Is always trying to listen to new music

- Kind of sick of Seven blasting his music all the time and listens to the opposite of hip hop whenever possible

- Honestly enjoys all types of music, but sticks to his favorites

PLAYLIST:

- All Apologies - Nirvana

- Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene - Hozier

- Soma - The Strokes

- Black Madonna - Cage the Elephant

- Hysteria - Muse

- Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High - Arctic Monkeys

- I Got Mine - The Black Keys

- Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

- Under the Bridge - Red Hot Chili Peppers

- Back Against the Wall - Cage the Elephant

- Creep - Radiohead

- Heart Shaped Box - Nirvana

- Demon Days - Gorillaz

- Bulls on Parade - Rage Against The Machine

- Matador - The Buttertones

- Holiday - Green Day

- RIP - The Licks

- London Calling - The Clash

- Loser - Beck

- What I Got - Sublime

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lupienne · 5 years ago

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Well, since it's that time of year, I dug up this unfinished scene from Days of his Wives. Wife Shanda makes spiked eggnog and Negan and the girls enjoy it around a fire up in the penthouse. However the combination of Negan getting too drunk and Nova trying to pry into his past brings out the Bah Neegs-bug. He's getting coal for sure.

---

“It just seems kind of fuckin' pointless, like the festival ain't even my fucking proclivity. Gift giving. Stupid cheesy staff parties at work. Ms Ornell trying to get me under the mistletoe but her goddamn breath always smelled like a moldy sock. Nice rack though.” Negan belched.

Amber stared at Negan over the rim of her cup. Sherry was trying to look less interested than Moo Cow, but the ole Saint had that catty, calculating look in her eyes.

“...Yeah. I never had kids, you know. You know? I ever tell you that? I guess I told you I ain't interested in making any right now. But fuck – you know, that would be the fun thing about Christmas. But no, it was all about getting fussy little things we didn't need, just to fill up the space under the tree, and then opening the shit up and fake-laughing. Pretending that we really gave a shit about this tradition cause that's what everyone used to do – they used to fucking fake everything.”

“I still fake everything,” Sherry said in a loud mutter. Negan turned his lip down sourly, and chugged more eggnog.

“...Nobody really liked Christmas. Don't fucking lie to me and say that you did. Opening another goddamn polo shirt, in some color or pattern I'd never pick in a million lightyears, but having to smile and say 'Oh thanks, honey! I motherfucking love it!'”

Nova sipped her nog and then slyly asked, “...who are you talking about, Neegs? Who was getting you polo shirts?”

Negan jolted in his seat. “...Hmmm?”

“Who were you spending Christmas with...?” Nova smiled. “A girlfriend? A hot wife?” She smirked. “A boyfriend?”

Negan fumbled to put down the cup, nearly spilling it. “Look at the fire, shit, it's just about ready to go out.” He stood up, staggering over to the wood basket.

The flames were roaring, and Sherry cocked an eyebrow. “Negan, it doesn't need any more wood. Don't waste it!”

“Shut up...” He mumbled, and Sherry stood up, her eyes flashing. He grunted and dumped the wood back in the basket. Returning to his seat to slouch sullenly, the eggnog back in his grip.

“...So who was it?” Nova pried again.

“The merry trip down memory-fucking-lane is over,” he growled, and even Nova was hesitant to tempt the darkness that was starting to cloud his eyes. “You bitches don't learn – none of that shit matters any more.” He tipped the cup and drained most of the glass in a long, slurping gulp.

Nova scowled. “Who you calling a bitch? Asshole.”

“Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole. You want to find out how much of one – then you just keep pushing me.”

Sherry rolled her eyes. “Why don't you go hit the sack, Negan? You're getting cranky.”

He slammed the glass down on the side table, the remaining eggnog sloshing out. Rising up to his full height, a long wolfen growl emitting from his throat. “Why don't you...” He burped. “....stop telling me what to fuckin' do, Sherry? I'm sick and goddamn tired of you thinking you're the one with a dick around here.” He thumped his chest. “I'm the man in this house. I'm the fucking King Dick Motherfucker.”

Amber cowered back into the cushions as Negan staggered over towards Sherry. Jasmine sat stiff and straight, but her hands were creeping under her hair, covering her ears against the loud explosiveness of his voice.

“You got anything to say to that, woman? Huh? You want to boss me around to my fuckin' face?!” He leaned down, thrusting his nose against hers. Sherry's teeth bared in a snarl.

“Do you want your chestnuts roasting over that open fire? Then back the fuck off, Negan! You're fucking drunk! Go lay the fuck down!”

“Lay the fuck dowwwwwn!” He mocked, but he moved back, almost tripping over the coffee table. “Put a cork in that piehole. This is the fucking shit I mean! You think your threats mean jack shit to me! I'm the top Fucker around here. I built this place!” He hiccuped. “If I wanted, I could throw all you bitches out in the cold. Put you down at the bottom of the points ladder.”

Jazzi pressed her hands tighter. Amber's eyes were wide with fear, but the other three wives wore varying expressions of annoyance. Sherry's lip curled in contempt.

“Oh, you wouldn't like that, would you?” Negan's face was marred with an ugly sneer. “You'd have to do more than spread your legs and open your mouths.”

“Negan!” Sherry snapped, but he was lost in his tirade, his gaze snapping to Amber.

“Wouldn't get by giving absolutely shitty head. Nobody else would pay you for that shit. It's practically an insult.”

Amber's lip trembled.

He glared at the quivering Jasmine. “And you, you weird-ass weirdo? Might as well knock you off and hang you on the fence for all the fuckin' good you do. You'd be real close to your fucking walkers then.”

“Negan!”

“Oh, maybe you can make a living off those little fucking paintings of yours. Let's see how far they get you.”

Shanda narrowed her eyes.

He chuckled, his eyes sweeping over Nova. He swayed on his inebriated feet. “Won't be eating five fuckin' shares of rations a day anymore, will you, little tubbo?”

“Negan, that is enough!” Sherry slammed down her own eggnog. Nova's eyes welled with tears before she unleashed an epic wail, jumping to her feet.

“You're such a dick! Fuck you!”

Negan laughed.

“Like you're Mr. Perfect!” Nova yelled. “You hump a fucking baseball bat, your stupid hairline is receding...and...and...you're not even that hot! I bet you couldn't ever get girls like us before, you fucking jerk!”

Negan merely just hiccup-snorted at that, his eyes squinted in amusement. “You chose me, babe. I didn't beg you to ride my dick. You think you can do better? Then get the fuck out. That goes for all of you.” He set his hands on his hips. “You fucking hear me?”

Sherry's eyes were burning green under her fierce brows. He seemed unaffected by her dagger gaze.

“Yeah, I mean you, too.” He puffed his chest out. Swaying on his drunk feet. “Sherry. You ain't exempt. You think you're fucking special. But you don't mean shit.”

Nova wailed – and Sherry wasn't even sure why. Because maybe if she, the first, meant nothing... then surely Nova, the fourth, meant even less.

“Go to bed,” she said, her voice icy. “Before you say even more things you regret.”

He laughed. “Regret? That's a fucking good one.” He whipped around and moved towards his bedroom. But his motions were uncoordinated. His leg slammed into the coffee table edge, and even the alcohol didn't dull the pain in his shin enough. He roared out obscenities, swinging his injured leg up to grab at it. And then his balance was gone entirely. He stumbled and fell. His long body sprawling across the floor, but not before his temple hit the edge of the end table.

The crack was awful, and he curled into a groaning, bleeding lump of drunken man.

“Shit.” Sherry rushed to him, her own coordination rather poor.

“Why...why'd you hit me?” he mumbled. “...you bitch.”

“I didn't hit you, you fucking idiot.” She scowled, trying to pry his hand away. He was clutching at the wound. “Let me see! Nova, go get my first aid bag!”

“No!” Tears streaked the teen's face. “Fuck him! He can lay there and bleed!”

“He's fucking drunk,” Sherry said. “And he's acting even stupider than usual – you know he doesn't mean it. Go get the bag!”

“How can you even want to help him,” Nova blubbered. “He's being so mean!”

Sherry growled. “Jasmine, can you get the bag for me?”

The skinny blond stood, but Nova stormed into the bathroom before she could take a step. She came back and threw the bag alongside Negan's head.

"Ow,” he mumbled, as Sherry pulled his hand away and ran her fingers over the wound. It was a small bleeding nick.

“You're fine,” she said. “You just gashed yourself. Dumbass.”

Jasmine had edged closer. “Can you see his skull.”

Sherry gave her a dirty look.

“I can help clean it.”

“I don't need help...and no, you can't see his skull, thank God!”

“Why is she crying?” he asked, as Nova continued to ham it up.

“Because you're a dickhole.”

Negan squeaked and jolted as she wiped the bleeding gash. “Ouch! Somethin' bit me!”

“No, it didn't. Stay still.” He was leaning his head away from her.

He wrinkled his nose as she pressed gauze hard to the wound, trying to stop the over copious bloodflow. Head wounds...they always bleed more... She assured herself. He'd be fine, but she wouldn't be a bit sympathetic if his head pained him for a few days.

“...Why am I dickhole?” he slurred. “Ouch.”

“What do you mean?”

“...Why do I act like one?” His eyes were unfocused, following her hand as it dipped into the kit to retreive a bandage.

“I don't know. You tell me. You're a fucking mystery to me, Negan. An idiot wrapped in an enigma.”

“You're funny.” He burped. “Ha ha.”

#fanfic #comic negan #days of his wives #fixed it up on the PC #nonsense #unfinished stuff

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roughsexwithgaga · 8 years ago

Text

Stop Running Away pt.4

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

January

The sharp sun beams cut through Lady Gaga’s eyelids and she reluctantly sat up in the bed. She felt the muscles on her back protest after last day’s work out. She smiled pleased. Her body was still functioning. Ashley entered with a tray and put it down on the foot of her bed and said good morning. Gaga rubbed her face and felt her dry, stiff hair stand up on her head when she ran her fingers through it.

”Strawberries! Thank you, Ash!” she chirped and reached for the bowl on the tray and felt the saliva in her mouth flow, for the wrong reason. Cold sweat ran down her back and she put her hand in front of her mouth. ”God, I feel sick!” she said with a surprised voice and looked at Ashley with big teary eyes.

A faint whiff of the berries reached her nose again and she flew out of the bed and ran into the bathroom.

”Shit.” Ashley muttered and let her shoulders drop.

Hugging the toilet seat with both arms and trying to get the haunting smell of the strawberries out of her nose she threw up until there was nothing left and still felt sick.

”Don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” Ashley said while she kneeled behind her and put a hand on her forehead to offer support. ”You know what, I think I’m pregnant,” Gaga slurred when she finally caught her breath between two cramps.

Gaga knew there was a reason behind her suspicious and unstable moods. The becoming mother, fending for herself and the child growing inside her. How? she thought. I use contraception. Then the warm thought that it must be Lukas’ baby, filled her. So he did leave her something. But then the ice cold thought that what if it was Christian’s child hit her and she felt an urge to flee.

She imagined her parents’ questions, but yeah, they would be happy for her. Christian? She didn’t know him well enough, she felt the panic hammer inside her brain. And Lukas, who left her, would he think she was trying to snare him getting pregnant? Her eyes ran and she wiped them with both hands. Lukas would be happy. He loved her and he was the kind of man who would welcome a child. ”Fuck,” she spat out and felt her stomach cramp again as her brain played a scent-trick on her brain with the strawberries. She needed to stop jumping to conclusions and get herself checked up.

\o/

”Do you want to see?” The woman turned the screen a bit and Gaga swallowed hard. Did she?

”It’s looking great. Based on my calculations I’d say conception happened around December 18th. Does that sound plausible?” She smiled and looked exactly like Gaga imagined a woman would be looking when delivering the amazing news of a new life. Like a saint. ”And the baby would be due September 10th.”

After I went to the Metallica show, and well before Christmas, Gaga thought. Lukas. Her heart started beating faster and she felt herself blush. She started crying and covered her face with both hands. She didn’t know if it was desperation or happiness. Probably both. The antiseptic smell really got to her head and she felt weak and shaky. The walls in the room were painted in a green color that probably was going to function as calming but everything she saw now made her feel uncomfortable and she wanted to escape.

Gaga put her pants back on and picked up her things. She thanked the woman before exiting and joining Ashley in the waiting room. She gave her a hug and her eyes were sparkling with excitement. Gaga on the other hand looked like she aged 10 years while she was examined.

”Fuck, what do I do?” Gaga sat with her hand against her forehead like it would help her think better. ”In the middle of the damn tour.” Leaning against the side window as they were driving back to her Malibu mansion. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she pulled the frail straws by her temple. She wore a grey t-shirt and her chest looked deflated. The black pants dug into her hips. She barely took up a third of the seat she was sitting in and looked even tinier than usual.

Ashley stopped at an intersection. While she waited for the light to turn green she tapped the steering wheel.

”Who-”

”Lukas.”

”Ok,” Ashley nodded. Delighted with the reply she couldn’t hide her smile. I can’t believe I asked her that, she thought, but when she turned to look at her boss she saw tears on her cheeks and she swallowed hard when she wiped them away.

”I think you need to talk to Lukas first.” Ashley glanced at her behind her sunglasses.

”Right,” Gaga muttered. ”Just don’t tell anyone yet.” She didn’t look at her assistant but kept staring out the side window. Lukas… how did she tell him this? She still hadn’t come to terms with the sudden transformation, had trouble believing it was real even and if she didn’t have the tour, the movie, if Lukas was still hers - then she knew she would be so happy. But now… fuck, she bit her knuckles and closed her eyes.

”No, of course not. It’s still too early. Did she tell you to, you know… be extra careful or anything?” Ashley tried to be delicate with the wording since she was seeing everything in the near future crumble into dust.

Gaga shook her head. She pushed the glasses up her nose and looked like she took a deep breath. ”I’m healthy and everything is looking great, I’m just going to carry on as usual. It’s meant to be, I guess.” She didn’t know what to say really and hated herself for being so indifferent when the baby was made with love. If only Lukas was hers. Everything would be so much easier.

\o/

A few days after Gaga found out about her and Lukas’ lovechild, and a week before the Super Bowl, Christian visited her while she was doing work outs in the shade together with Adam. He complimented her on her hard work, sat down next to them on one of the chairs and waited while Adam encouraged her efforts.

Eventually he lost his patience. ”I thought we could take the evening off and go out.” Both Adam and Gaga looked up at him with squinting eyes.

”And do what, Christian?” she asked but didn’t stop what she was doing.

”Kings of Leon is playing in Inglewood.”

It took a few seconds and then she sighed, she didn’t even like them. Adam looked at them in turns. The silence made him uncomfortable and he wished she’d reply to the man.

She finished the reps and sat up. ”Thank you, Adam.”

The sun hit her eyes and made them look light green. She leaned against her thighs and put her hands over her shins. While she rested Adam told her what they were going to do next and she nodded at him. He moved away to give her and Christian some space.

Her lips pouted, the corners of her mouth raised like she had a constant smirk and she sat looking at the horizon. Christian got up and squatted down next to her. ”I don’t intend to give up because you’re making it hard for me. I can’t even do my job this way.”

”Your job. Your job?” she looked at him and he saw her lips move, hypnotizing. Her lips curled while she shielded her amazing eyes from the sun. ”Last I checked your job description doesn’t involve getting in bed with me. And that is what you work the hardest on.”

Adam overheard them and blushed. He went into the house and tried to avoid hearing their conversation, even though he was curious.

”You’re an amazing woman so yes, can you blame anyone for wanting to get to know you better?”

Gaga snorted. ”Get to know me better. That’s two times now.” She licked her lips.

”But can I please treat you with a night out?” He was annoyed by the fact that she was pushing him away, while reeling him in. There was something going on in her head that he didn’t get and she probably didn’t understand it either. She needed a partner, but he was not who she wanted - yet - so she only kept him close enough so she could feel loved when she needed. It was like her body language told him to back the fuck off but still wanted to make him desire her.

She was still waiting for Lukas, and hoping, deep inside. As if he could see Christian with her and if Gaga gave in, he would be lost forever. She sighed.

He ran a hand over his chin and nodded. ”No, ok, I’m sorry, Stef. I’ll leave you alone.” He turned away slightly, just like he did the last time she surrendered to him. He knew she wouldn’t let him leave, because she had this deep fear of the word ’alone’ and he was still within her reach when she raised her arm and touched his shoulder. He had barely finished his apology before she pulled him back with her words.

”No, I’m sorry. Ok then, why not.” Her face was neutral when she said it, saw his smile and his gray stubble, slicked back hair and thought of Lukas and his young firm body, his soft long dark hair. Life isn’t fair, she thought, look what I’m stuck with. An old balding man with nearly grown-up kids. But it’s better than being alone. And she was tired of always being left alone while the others went home to their loved ones.

\o/

Gaga and Christian had dinner together and she declined alcohol. He didn’t think much about it since it was so close to the Super Bowl and understood if she didn’t want to ruin her hard work. She looked absolutely sensational in her black top, no bra (as usual) and tight black pants with cross-details on them. She wore platform boots and simple make up, just eyeliner and lipstick. Her hair was pulled up in the usual bun and when they left the house she put a leather jacket and some shades on. He already wanted to take the pants off her but figured he needed to take her to the concert first.

Her mood during the night was a roller coaster. She wanted to sulk, but then she had a good time and forgot to be sulking. As soon as she was surrounded by people she was in a much lighter mood, Christian thought, but felt neglected as she didn’t even introduce him to anyone she met, so he had do it himself. It was unlike her and he noticed how cold she seemed. Was she embarrassed for him and cared about what the others thought of her bringing him suddenly? It could only mean one thing, she thought people would consider them a couple and she didn’t want that right now. She wouldn’t be aware of it if it wasn’t on her mind as well. Even Christian wasn’t sure if they were dating.

She avoided the paparazzi outside as much as she could, but she knew they would get pics of her both when she arrived and left. Rumors and bullshit was the last thing she wanted before the big event. There was enough things on her mind. She still let him touch her, he carried her things for her and it felt good when he treated her nice among people.

His presence comforted her because she knew he wanted her and she felt like she belonged to someone. She knew it was ridiculous but she needed to be two. And now she was three. She shivered and Christian noticed. She felt his voice right by her ear as he stood behind her with his hands on her hips. ”Something wrong?” he asked and she shook her head.

She started to feel nauseous again. Certain smells really got to her head and she had to swallow hard several times. It started to get unbearable and she excused herself and said she must’ve eaten something her stomach didn’t agree with. Naturally he followed her to the bathrooms and waited outside. She sat on the toilet for a few minutes and tried not to throw up. Her reflection showed a pale ghost with a thin layer of sweat on her upper lip and forehead.

”Are you ok?” he asked when she came back out and she nodded and said they could might as well leave.

”Strange, I don’t feel anything. I mean if it’s something we ate.” Christian looked troubled when they walked up the stairs. The car waited for them and she hurried towards it and didn’t care to look whether Christian was behind her or not.

”I feel much better now, I don’t know what it was.” Her voice left no room for more questions as Christian sat down next to her in the back seat of the car. He put his hand on her thigh and let it slide up towards her groin. She looked at it, but didn’t care.

He interpreted her indifference as an invite for him to carry on so as soon as they were at her place he followed her inside. Tossed his stuff on the bench as if he lived there and grabbed her arm to pull her close. Before she knew what happened she felt his lips against hers.

She lost her breath and felt his hands on her ass and underneath her top. His sudden confidence caught her off guard and she found herself succumb to his kisses. He got greedier, rougher and she noticed how turned on he was. He took her sunglasses off and looked into her eyes. He caressed her chin and neck with both hands and she realized she was a little afraid of him when he was like this.

”I can’t resist, you’re sensational. You smell so good,” he mumbled with his rough cheek against face. ”I never wanted anyone the way I want you. You drive me insane, Stef.”

She felt his throat tremble when he spoke in his low voice, her fingers lightly pressed against his neck and it turned her on. Like she was feeling his pulse, she felt dizzy, inhaled his smell and parted her lips when she exhaled against his collarbones. ”So fuck me then, Christian. Show me how much you desire me.”

I just don’t care anymore, she thought and let his tongue inside her mouth while he pulled her jacket off. Turning around she struggled with her pants and felt his thumbs inside the waistline pulling them down. He forced her forward and she bent down over the same couch she’d bounced into the last time. Fuck, just split me open, she thought when he roughly grabbed her neck and she noticed how helpless she’d be if he wanted to rape her. She wondered what would happen if she suddenly said no, but she wanted it all. She needed to feel desired and she needed his thick, meaty love inside her. She didn’t want to risk him suddenly stopping and leaving her.

His hand rested on her neck and he placed a knee between her legs to make her spread. Seconds later she felt him push inside her. His cock was as thick as a wrist and she thought about how he’s too big for her when she was unprepared like this. So she closed her eyes and simply held on to the back of the couch trying to keep her balance while he thrusted inside her. How did we go from dinner to fucking on a couch in my hallway? she asked herself.

He held her hips, saw his wet cock disappear inside her soaked cunt with it’s satin pink skin. The view, the tattoo on her hip, the round, perfectly shaped fit ass, her spine and her muscular back. The thrusts got harder, and her grunts made him go faster so he held her waist to keep her from bouncing over the back of the couch.

Her pussy adapted to his size and after a few strokes it didn’t hurt. The sensational friction caused her thighs spasm and shiver. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she closed them while biting her knuckles to keep from moaning too loud and waking the people in the house up.

She felt groping hands on both ass cheeks and then he forced her down on her back on the couch. He buried his face between her raised legs and sucked her swollen pussy lips, she bit her lip and tried not to make those light, quilping moans that she knew cut through walls. But fuck, his tongue circling her holes, sucking her folds. So hard and still so soft, slipping up her slit and lapping her juices, it felt amazing and he carried on for several minutes while Gaga sunk her teeth into a cushion and grunted while she felt like she was being sucked into a field of quicksand.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her up towards his face. She was completely numb, like butter in his hands. His chin was wet and she tasted herself on his tongue. With his arms wrapped around her thighs he continued lapping her cunt. She leaned back and grunted foul words while he ate her pussy and drove two fingers inside her hole. ”Yes, fuck me. You son of a bitch, harder!”

Her thighs trembled when he penetrated her ass with his thumb and continued to lick her. She thought she’d died and gone to heaven as there was no stopping. With his mouth dripping with her juices she heard him mumble how fucking delicious she was. Her holes were burning from the rough treatment from his fingers. Especially her ass felt like it had been torn open by a glowing spear.

When it felt like her body simply couldn’t produce any more lubricants, he raised her ass from the cushions and pressed his dick against her slit again. She raised her legs and felt him slide all the way inside her. ”Give it to me,” she panted. It felt like it took forever and she inhaled rapidly when she felt his crotch hit hers.

His hips thrusted between her spread, raised legs and she tilted her head back when she felt the orgasm starting to burn between her thighs and traveling up her belly. Her clit felt like it was going to explode each time his crotch slammed into hers. Warm fireworks throughout her belly, growing all the way out through her arms and legs until they reached her fingers. She closed her eyes, felt Christian slow down and his warm breath against her neck.

An orgasm, she thought. One of her best, and she felt a prickling sensation in her fingers. She opened and closed her hands and let her fingers slide down his back. He was sweaty and breathed fast when he pushed himself up on his arms, tucked some loose hair behind his ear and looked at her with a dubious smile.

She wondered what it meant, but then realized it was the face of someone who knew they won. He sucked his lower lip and got up. She was still on her back, her tits were soar from his groping fingers and both her vagina and her ass hurt. Trying to sit up without getting cum all over the couch, she suddenly noticed Christian reached down to wipe her dry with a soft towel.

She said thank you and took his hand as he helped her up. He went from treating her to a useless piece of meat to a lady and she felt like she was adapting to it. He can do whatever, and I’m just accepting it? she asked herself, but found no strength to question his actions at all. It felt so weird, but strangely satisfying to leave herself in the hands of someone else like this when she was the one who bossed around all day long. It was like she crawled into a safe space and nothing could get to her.

Pt.5 | Pt.6

#fanfiction #fanfic #Lady Gaga #GagaXChristian #Lukas Nelson

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fableweaver · 6 years ago

Text

Arc of the Little Saint

Demi had never been through the northern part of the holy city and was glad to be traveling with the Dontamen when she had. The northern part of the city was home to the slums and the poor, vast numbers of people crammed into a small space. This place had seen the most battles of the city, and so much lay in ruins. Many of the people had set up shanty houses or tents in the ruins, making a maze of the streets and buildings. Ippa stared out at the crowded streets and the crumbling buildings here in awe.

“I thought the holy city would be cleaner,” she said staring at the piles of refuse in alleyways. From the elephant’s back they had a good view of the streets and people.

“It is, this is just the poor parts of the city,” Demi answered, wanting Ippa to give the holy city a chance.

Since the elephants could only travel the wider streets they had a limited path they could take through the city. As they rode they came to a grand square where a fountain stood with a large pool. Ippa gasped to see the statue in the middle of the fountain and Demi blushed as well. She had never seen the famous statue of Dione, the demi goddess of love. She was completely naked, and carven with enough detail to appear lifelike.

People lounged around the fountain, some even swimming in it, and Demi spotted a few ochre women. Their hair and skin dyed red with ochre so they could be spotted in crowds, these women were sworn to spread love like Dione. Demi blushed to see some bearing their breasts, others with bare legs as they lounged around the fountains waiting for men to come to them. Ippa saw them and blushed looking away to the crowds.

“Do you see your family?” Ippa asked.

“They wouldn’t be here,” Demi answered staring out into the crowd. The nomads gathered in the south of the city, all the people here were Lonemen the stationary people of the desert. As they rode through the slums they saw many people, the sick, the old, the young, and many others. There were foreigners as well and Ippa gasped when she saw them.

“That one is completely white!” she shouted pointing at a man dressed in robes with silver coins hanging from the hems. His hair and skin were bone white and when he turned they saw his eyes were red. He wasn’t on foot; he rode a camel with a caravan of other Lonemen and slaves.

“That’s a mage of the north,” Demi said having heard of them but never seeing one. They rarely traveled so far south, and she wondered what brought the mage to Evalon.

“Mage?” Ippa asked. “What is a mage?”

“They have magic powers,” Demi said grinning, Tri had teased her with the same stories and she couldn’t resist doing the same. “They can make cloth fly and stones shine. I even heard they have turned men into toads.”

Ippa squealed and hid until they passed the mage but returned to gaze out into the city again. A deep bell tolled telling it was time for Pale Hour prayers. The people stopped like a tide halting, animals brought to a halt. Prayers were offered out in the streets with little ceremony, hand signs given to the sky. The prayers were short and soon everyone was moving again.

They were traveling south through the city, and at last passed a canal that separated the slums from the craftsman’s district. Here the buildings became nicer, and a strange mix between the Xinian style and northern style. Some windows had shutters instead of curtains, and the doors were square rather than the arch entrance typical of Xinian architecture.

The people were of better class, with nicer kaftans and healthier complexion. There were still a few shady people lingering in shadows, but the working class ignored them as they went about their business. They passed by a great bazaar, Demi and Ippa getting a great view of the market through the tall arched opening. The bazaar was in a hall taller than the elephants and covered in a mosaic of colorful tiles. They saw great tables and wagons covered in piles of fine spices, fruits of every color and shape, gems and jewelry, and silks and fine fabrics. The smell of curry and saffron mixed with the perfumes of jasmine and lily.

They passed the bazaar, Demi knowing there were many just like it over the city. The main road they followed lead out into another wheel of traffic, all centered around the temple of Lun. Demi made a sign of reverence as they rode by the great white temple dedicated to the goddess of the moon. Made of all white marble the temple was a great dome supported by tall pillars.

Clerics and holy women moved in and out of the temple, wearing Lun’s symbol and silver. Ippa stared, making a sign of reverence as well. They had to ride around the temple and on through the city some more. The buildings became nicer and Demi knew they were approaching the Arc.

Here in the holy city the wealthier lived near the water the life of everything in the desert. They emerged out of the buildings and saw the greatest view of the holy city. The Arc flowed before them in a wide swath, dark blue and clear in Sol’s light. Across the water was the peninsula; at the tip was Sol’s Temple.

A great dome plated with gold burned like Sol at the tip of the peninsula a true tribute to the Sun God. The rest of the peninsula was green, a jungle in the middle of a city. It was beautiful, reminding Demi of the Oasis of Hamil. The gardens were made on a hill of the peninsula, an artificial landmass made in the middle of the city. Boats and ships of every size traveled the river, some a wealthy lord’s barge and other’s a poor man’s skiff. The shore here was small docks and homes of the well to working class, verandas and gardens looking out over the water.

To the east Demi could see the hill that the palace sat on and Isra’s temple not far from it. Below the palace were the wealthy homes of the rich traders and lords of Xin, marble shinning in the sun. They were far from the palace so it was hard to see through the heat and dust on the horizon.

“How will we cross?” Ippa asked, the water was deep and far.

“There is a bridge to the west of here,” Demi answered.

Traveling along the river let the elephant’s cool their feet and be free of the press of the crowds. Demi and Ippa looked to the south, watching the green gardens and the ships sail slowly past. There were others in the water as well, bathing or cooling themselves in the great stream. Here the river never shrank and was always cool and clear water. Many said it was the blessings of the gods, now Demi guessed it was something more.

Sol rose higher in the sky as they traveled, and Demi knew it would take them a good part of the day to even reach the bridge. There were ferries that most people used to cross the Arc here, but of course none were big enough for the elephants. The bells tolled again to call for the High Hour prayers. In the middle of the day many took their leave of the sun, but just as many flocked to the river and canals to keep cool.

“It is so beautiful here,” Ippa sighed looking out over the gardens. “Do you know the history of the city?”

“My mother taught me much,” Demi answered. “The city has been fought over for centuries in the Cursed Age. The Regarians came and saw the riches of the desert, if they wished control of those riches they needed to get control of the Arc and thus the holy city. To those of Xin this place has always been sacred, always holy. The Regarians brought the word of the gods to us and we gladly took to them.”

“For we were like the desert dry and in need of faith,” Ippa said nodding; she knew how the Sect had come to Xin.

“Yes, but while we were willing to listen to the words of the gods we would not give the most holy of places to the Regarians. For an Age we warred with them, control of the holy city shifted season to season. Until the Green Man came.”

“Green Man?” Ippa asked amazed.

“In the north his is known as Absalom of the Deep Woods,” Demi answered. “The first High King of the Nine Kingdoms. He came and spoke to the Elders of the city; Evalon was once ruled by an elite few rather than one single king. He said he wanted peace, to make it so only trade would come to Xin and our holy city would stay ours.

“The elders agreed and sent a representative to the moot of Kings. He became our first king, King Loearuna of the Lonemen.”

“The king now is Nejem,” Ippa said.

“The Nejems took Xin’s throne from the Jiras,” Demi answered; “Who took it from the Loearuna early in the history of the kingdoms.”

“I take it there is a long story to all that,” Ippa said sounding a little bored with history.

“There is but, I do not know it,” Demi answered. “Our peoples have cared only that the holy city remains ours, we do not care who rules it.”

“True,” Ippa said turning back to the view. “Look, the bridge!”

Demi joined her and looked out to see the bridge spanning over the river. Great sandstone blocks covered in white crumbling plaster arched over the river, tall enough to let ships pass by under it. It was a grand structure, symbols to the gods painted or molded into the sides of the bridge. It was a northerner’s construct; Xinians did not have the knowledge to build such a large structure. Many people and animals lounged in the shaded water under the bridge, the water there coolest of all.

A great staircase led down into the water, which the elephants used to get up the bank and onto the bridge. Again, they were granted a fantastic view of the city and river from the bridge and Demi hurried to the other side to see the city to the west. Ippa joined her to see the rest of the city. To the west there were many guard towers and walls, the buildings lower under the wall. The river continued on beyond the wall to water the fields and farms downstream.

“What is that place?” Ippa asked pointing to the south west of them. Demi looked to see the great walled portion of the city.

“That is the slave district,” Demi answered and Ippa grew morose.

They rode on over the bridge and into the gardens. Great tall trees, strangler figs, rubber trees, eucalyptus, palms, magnolias, sandalwood, teaks, and even bamboo stood shading the road. The smell of vegetation and water was strong in the dappled shade, the traffic moved slowly as everyone wanted to savor the greenery. Ippa stared with her mouth slightly agape; she had probably never seen so much greenery in her life.

Birds chattered and sang like a crowd talking all at once, many visible in the branches of the trees. It was law in Evalon that once a bird roosted in these trees it would remain free and untouched, so many birds lived here. The same applied to monkeys, frogs, and other animals. Many people came and fed them, so it wasn’t surprising to see monkeys and birds crowding the road waiting for a treat.

Demi ducked into the tent and fetched some flat bread, Vega looking at her before going back to sleep. Demi tore up pieces and held her hands out. She didn’t have long to wait as a parrot flew down to land on her arm and begin to eat.

“You really are a Pinmen,” Ippa said impressed.

“They know me well,” Demi answered and pointed. Ippa laughed as she looked up to see a whole gaggle of parrots on the top of their tent waiting for some bread. “Watch,” Demi said with a smile. She tossed the bread up into the air and the parrots flew in great flock; not even a crumb fell to the ground.

They reached Eha’s temple in the middle of the jungle, and Ippa gasped to see it. The Goddess of the Dusk’s temple was an archway, the gateway wide and the marble carven into elaborate designs. The structure was a square but the opening a rounded arch, giving plenty of space for carvings in the marble. They passed through the gate, making signs to the goddess of the dusk.

They moved on through the jungle, passing other marble statues and sculptures along the road side. Ippa laughed at a monkey that sat on the head of a distinguished statue of a king. They reached the edge of the jungle once again crossing another bridge over the other branch of the Arc. To the west was the slave district, but Ippa and Demi turned to the east to look at the rest of the city.

Just before them were the docks, ships by the score gathered along the bank and wharfs. Warehouses stood by the docks, low stone buildings for the goods the ships brought. Further upstream stood the Temple of Cael; the grand tower standing tall over the warehouses. Beyond that tower was the merchant district, the homes of the wealthy merchants of Xin. A hill rose behind the merchant district, even larger wealthier houses of the lords of Xin rested.

Just visible over the city was the palace and Isra’s temple. They seemed to hover on the horizon, shimmering in the heat of the day like mirages.

The bridge did not lead to the docks or the merchant district however. Leaning out of the tent they could look ahead and see the nomad’s district. Here there were no permanent buildings but for the temples and the walls of the city. Tents covered the whole of the plain, colorful or drab, great or poor. The animals of the nomads gathered in corals, each type of mount getting their own space since some did not get along well with the other.

They reached the end of the bridge and walked out into the streets of the nomads’ district. Demi knew this place well and was already looking for the Pinmen camp. Palm trees shaded wells and the streets, monkeys and birds roosting in the trees.

“We will go to the Dontamen’s camp first,” Ippa said. “Then we can go look for your family.”

Demi nodded, and watched reluctantly as they rode through the tent city. Each tribe tended to group together near the corals where their animals were kept. Tents tended to take on characteristics of each tribe, Pinmen hanging feathers for instance. The streets were fluid but wide, the nomads liked going where they pleased.

The Wickerfolk camped near the bridge, rather than tents they lived in woven wicker huts that were just as disposable. There were many of the Wickerfolk, their boats either still in the canal or stored on shore since they could be easily carried. The Pridesmen made camp near the slave district where all their money was made. None of the Panthra were allowed in the holy city, so the Pridesmen made their camps alone in low domed tents.

Past the Pridesmen stood the Temple of Winds, dedicated to the four gods of the winds. The temple was a giant wind flute, a tall pillar carven with holes that caused a droning sound every time the wind blew through it. The gods of the winds were never depicted in physical form; they were believed to be sounds rather than had physical bodies.

Around the temple gathered the Galesmen and their wind contraptions. They had open tents pale in color, wind chimes singing everywhere. Past the Galesmen and the Temple of the Winds were the Dunesmen. They had a good portion of the city, their tents large but conservative in color. It was slightly military here, the Dunesmen never relaxed. Ippa stared at a fighting ring where several Dunesmen were practicing with their sabers.

They rode on through the Dunesmen’s camp to the Horse Lords’ camp. Their camp was more opulent but just as large, great pens for their herds. In the middle of their camp was Mercore’s Temple. The demi god of travel was the most sacred of the gods to the nomads so here the temple was the greatest in this part of the city. The temple had four tiers, four long staircases leading up to the altar. The white sandstone was painted blue and green, kept clean and beautiful from dust.

They rode up to the temple, bells were sounding again to call for the Burning Hour Prayers. They got down off the elephant and joined the crowd around the temple and offered their prayers to the demi god. Mounting up again they set out past the Temple of Mercore. Next to the Horse Lords were the Llemen, their tents well-kept and camels pampered. They had few pens for other animals, so goats wandered around freely.

Past the Llemen were the Pinmen. Demi leaned out of the tent precariously as she gazed out at the familiar tents. They were all colorful, and many bird perches stood with tropical birds roosting and feeding at the offered seeds. The Pennam were gathered in a pen, many tribes gathered here. Demi did not see her family but the Pinmen camp was great, they could be there still.

Past the Pinmen camp was the Zarman camp. Here the tents were modest in color but not in size, Testudines resting in the sun. The Zarmen did not bring the Hannah into the city; it was too dangerous to bring such predators among the other mounts. They neared the hill where the wealthy lived and this was where the Dontamen had their camp. Their tents were great and they had a good amount of space for their elephants.

They found a space to set up camp and began unloading the elephants. Demi stood by with Ippa, waiting for the men to be done with setting up camp. She kept looking back towards the Pinmen camp as Sol began sinking low in the sky. At last Hamid came over to them, the camp set up and the elephants tended to.

“It is near our Ebbing Hour prayers,” he said looking at Demi apologetically. “I think it best we rest for the day and we can begin the search for your family tomorrow. It is dangerous in the city at night.”

“Of course,” Demi said disappointed. They went to one of the tents and sat for supper, Ippa and Demi had been too excited through the day to eat. They dined on a fair feast, pilaf, grilled goat, stewed squash, flat bread, goat cheese, and spiced pineapples. After supper it was time for their prayers, they went out and offered their prayers to the stars. Afterwards Hamid insisted they go to bed, both exhausted from their travel and excitement.

Demi fell asleep easily despite her anxiety, her sleep dreamless and peaceful. The next day she woke well before dawn and woke Ippa as well.

“What is it?” Ippa asked sleepily.

“Come on, I’m going to look for my family,” Demi said. “Let’s go before your father wakes.”

“Alright,” Ippa said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. They dressed and grabbed a few oranges for breakfast. They quickly cast their rising hour prayers to the sky. Demi grabbed a stick and carried Vega on her shoulder. They hurried out of camp, only a few other people were stirring. Demi led the way back towards the Pinmen camp, but it took longer on foot. Nearly an hour later they reached the Pinmen camp, Sol starting to rise.

Demi led the way, walking among the tents and looking for a familiar one. For most of the morning they circled through the camp, but Demi did not see a familiar tent anywhere. The Pennam all were different, their saddles and feathers marked to show what tribe they belonged to, but none were of the Kartal tribe.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find them,” Ippa said after their Pale Hour prayers. “Maybe they’ve camped somewhere else. Here,” Ippa said holding out her purse string which held several silver royals and some copper pieces.

“For what?” Demi asked.

“I would feel naked without my ivory, I am sure you feel the same without your feathers,” Ippa said with a smile. Demi smiled back to her gratefully and took a few coins. She went up to a feather merchant who was selling many colorful feathers and some Pinmen kaftans. She bought a new kufiyah, a handful of feathers, a kaftan, and a new sash embroidered with a feather pattern.

“I’ll trade you all of this for that shawl you’re wearing,” the merchant said as Demi started to take off the fine Dontamen indigo shawl she wore. She turned to Ippa who nodded; it would save her coin it seemed. Demi handed it over and dressed, feeling better to wear familiar clothes. “You are a Pinmen right?” the merchant asked.

“Yes sir,” Demi said. “My tribe is the Kartal tribe and last rested at the Oasis of Hamil. I was separated from my family and have been traveling with various tribes until I got here. I am looking for my family; they were supposed to be here weeks ago.”

“The Kartal tribe?” the merchant said seeming to think. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t heard of anyone from there arriving. Keep looking, maybe someone else has heard something.”

Demi nodded and continued on. She and Ippa continued to search the camp, but Demi didn’t see any familiar faces or Pennam. After High Hour prayers they ate at a food stand, goat stew, flat bread, and mangos. They rested through the hottest hours of the day in a common tent.

“We should ask around like that merchant said,” Ippa said and Demi nodded.

Their search continued Demi questioning other merchants and Pinmen. Sol began to sink in the sky and after Burning Hour prayers Demi called a halt.

“We said nothing when we left, your father must be worried by now,” Demi said.

“You’re right,” Ippa said. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“No one has seen them,” Demi said as they started to walk back to the Dontamen’s camp.

“There are many people here,” Ippa said.

“But my family would have gotten here months ago,” Demi said.

“Maybe they left,” Ippa said. “We should ask those that have been here since then, maybe they know when they left.”

“My mother was sent here to get answers for the omens,” Demi said shaking her head. “She wouldn’t have left until she learned something.”

“Maybe she did,” Ippa said. “We should ask about the omens as well.”

Demi sighed; she could only feel hopelessly alone. They returned to the Dontamen’s camp and got a scolding for going off alone. That night at dinner they shared a tent with the other Dontamen from the desert. Tales were being told and news shared. At first the talk concerned the rains and when they would come, until Hamid called for attention.

“Friends, we have a visitor from the Pinmen with us,” Hamid said, and everyone turned to him. “She is a lost one and has a long tale to tell. Demi.”

Demi felt her face grow hot as everyone looked at her, but she took her place in the center where the story teller was. She told her tale as best she could, everyone listening with rapt attention. When she finished she bowed and was about to retreat when someone asked a question. Before she knew it, Demi was answering a thousand questions, details of her story she had forgotten. They spent most of the night on Demi’s story, and she was hoarse by the time they finished.

Little did Demi know this was just the beginning. During the next few days she went in search for her family, but still learned nothing from those she spoke to. But word had spread in another way, from the Dontamen her story spread and wherever she went people asked to hear her tale. Soon at every meal time or just after prayers Demi was dragged to one camp or another to tell her story. Not just to the Pinmen, but to all the nomads.

She could see how the tale was popular, it was a modern-day Tales of the Lost, a wanderer facing dangers and guided by the gods. But it seemed more than that. Demi had kept out the ideas she had about what Slad had told her about the origins of the Arc, but she kept Slad in the story. The news of the Phay marching seemed to inspire people, and Demi saw elders and young alike seeming to come alive with the idea.

The news of change was interesting enough, but Demi realized it was more than that. It was the idea that there was something greater out there, that there were spirits other than themselves who were intelligent as well. Beings that as old tales said were great and powerful in the ways of nature and arcane arts. It was news of change and something beyond the ordinary.

Demi went from camp to camp daily on requests to tell her story so much she soon lost the time to continue her hunt. Umat and Ippa went with her everywhere, Demi feeling a bit strange to be escorted like she was someone of import. Her search going astray Demi was ready to give up after ten days.

“You can stay with us,” Ippa said that night as she combed Demi’s hair. Her hair was only shoulder length, but longer than Ippa’s peach fuzz. “I know my father would accept you.”

“Maybe,” Demi said despondently. She knew the way back to the Oasis of Hamil, but without someone to take her she would never reach it. But her tribe would have moved on by now and she had no way of knowing which oasis they moved on to.

“You’ve looked everywhere,” Ippa said.

“No, there is one place we haven’t looked yet,” Demi said realizing she was right.

“Where?” Ippa asked.

“The slave district,” Demi answered and Ippa gasped. “If my family was captured by Pridesmen they would end up in the holy city to be traded, it is where most slaves end up since this is where the market is.”

“Wouldn’t the Pridesmen just keep them?” Ippa asked.

“The Pridesmen sell slaves, they only keep a few,” Demi answered.

“Umat will never let us go to the slave district,” Ippa said.

“That is why I need you to distract him, so I can get away tomorrow,” Demi answered.

“I won’t let you go alone!” Ippa argued.

“I’ve faced Pridesmen, sandstorms, hyena, crocodiles, and even a Phay spirit,” Demi said. “I can face the slave district. They’re my family Ippa not yours.”

“You’re my friend!” Ippa said.

“So I need you to stay behind and send Umat after me if I don’t come back,” Demi said. “I’ll take Vega with me, don’t worry.”

“I will worry,” Ippa said churlishly. Demi smiled sadly and hugged her, grateful for her support. The next day, after pale hour prayers they set out into the city again, Umat walking alongside them with a spear resting against his shoulder. When they reached the Temple of Mercore Demi nodded to Ippa.

“Ouch!” Ippa said, maybe a bit too dramatically, and stumbled.

“Ippa, what’s wrong?” Umat said helping her stand.

“My sandal,” Ippa said hopping around on one foot and drawing Umat’s attention away. Demi slipped off into the crowd silently, Vega still perched on the stick she carried. The crowds were thick around the temple; it was a meeting place of many roads after all. Demi got away quickly, walking fast but not running.

On foot it took her a long time to walk the distance to the slave district. Shortly after High hour prayers she stood at the end of the bridge that led to the slave district. The crowds were just as thick, but many of those coming and going were Chainmen. Pridesmen led groups chained together over the bridge and to the heavily guarded district.

Over the south, on another island, stood the temple of the two demi gods Mavors and Saepit; a grand guard tower where the holy cities knights and warriors lived. The demi gods of war and guardians were the patrons of warriors, and so the guards of the city made home in their temple.

Demi took a deep breath and walked out onto the bridge. The slave district was well guarded with a thick wall, more to prevent the escape of slaves than to guard against attack. Entering the gates Demi balked at the smell of this part of the city. Stripped of the smells of spices and perfume, all that remained was the overall reek of humanity crammed into a small space. The buildings were low like barns, and as Demi walked past a few where the great doors stood open she saw people crammed into the buildings. All were Chainmen.

Looking around at the wash of humanity Demi wondered how she could find her family in all this. She never knew so many people were enslaved and had been born into slavery; wandering for an hour she still couldn’t find her family. She feared asking questions lest she attract attention. Slaves and Pridesmen were not the only ones here. The guards of the city loitered around, armed with fine sabers and bronze mail.

There was also the Lonemen, the wealthy looking to buy their slaves. Some seemed to be servants of the wealthy, prideful and servile at the same time. Demi felt very out of place, none of the other nomads were here.

She noticed something else as well among the slaves, men in burlap cloaks whispering to the other slaves. She recognized them as like the man from Kurone, the rotted man named Jerimiah of Dalton. She was surprised at how many there were, almost every building had one man like them in it. Some were chained, and others huddled in corners begging for alms. They were lepers, people avoiding their bandaged wrapped limbs and putrid odor.

Demi emerged into the market square and stopped in awe. A great stage was set up in the middle of the square and there an auction was going on. Slaves were brought forward, and bids were called out, the overall noise of the crowd deafening. Demi looked at those up for auction but again none were her family. She moved on, Sol growing high in Empyria. Prayers were not held and Demi feared stopping to pray so she gave her prayers while she walked.

The people she passed seemed desolate, without hope, crushed under the weight of their chains. Some still bore their henna telling of their tribes or place of origin, others seemed so drained of individuality they seemed like husks. There were men, women, even children, all bearing the brand of a chain somewhere on their bodies. They wore the poorest of clothes, some even naked except for the manacles that bound them. Her heart was breaking at every empty stare she met.

“Demi!” she whirled at the sound of her name and saw her mother standing at the end of the street. She wasn’t in chains, still wearing her kaftan and feathers in her kufiyah. Demi cried out and ran, Vega giving a squawk and flying off her perch. Hemi ran to meet her, scooping her up in a warm hung. Demi felt tears burn her eyes as she buried her face in her mother’s breasts. For a long time, they just held each other, Demi drinking in her scent of jasmine and pepper. At last they parted, Hemi smiling down at her warmly.

“How did you get here?” Hemi asked.

“That’s a long story,” Demi answered. “Where is everyone else?”

“I sent them back to the oasis,” Hemi said. “We could not stay here long if we remained in numbers.”

“Mother,” Demi said hugging her again. Hemi sighed heavily as she held her, rubbing her back soothingly.

“You aren’t a slave, are you?” Hemi asked worried. “I’ve come here every day looking for you.”

“No, are you?” Demi asked. “How have you lived in the holy city all this time alone?”

“I’m not a slave, come let us leave this horrid place,” Hemi said.

Demi nodded as she took her mother’s hand. Hemi took up the perch and waved to Vega who swopped down to land on the perch. Demi felt such utter relief to know her mother was alright, and eager to tell her tale.

“When I realized we lost you all I could do was send Vega back to you,” Hemi said as they walked. “I am so sorry Demi.”

“You saved me though mother,” Demi answered. “Vega saved me. What happened after we got separated?”

“We traveled on,” Hemi answered. “The Pridesmen grew thicker as we rode north; we had to avoid many hunting parties. We reached Evalon at the end of the month of Vina. After a few weeks of searching I realized it would be best to send our family back, this quest will take a long time. I’ve made my way in the merchant district tending to a wealthy merchant’s pet birds. Every day I came here searching for you, dreading the day I saw you in chains. What of you? When did you arrive? How did you escape the Pridesmen?”

“That is a very long story…” Demi began to say just as they arrived at the market square. She stopped when she saw a man stepping up onto the platform of the slave market. He was one of the rotten men, flies buzzing around him. She wondered what a rotten man was being sold for when one of the guards shouted.

“Get off there scum!” The guard shouted but the man ignored him. He threw off his burlap cloak to reveal his body was covered in sores and peeling off his flesh.

“Brethren!” the man shouted in such a powerful voice Demi saw dust stir. Stillness reached the crowd as all heads turned to the man. “Rise up my brethren in chains. It is time to claim what was stolen, your freedom!”

He raised his arms bound in manacles and an iron chain and tore the bindings like they were rope. Slaves shouted, and chains rattled as men charged at the guards. Demi turned to see the streets filling with slaves rattling their chains. Hemi shouted as she pulled Demi along, Vega taking flight. The crowd erupted in chaos, women screaming and people running. Hemi struck out with the stick Vega had perched on, using it to club her way through the panicked crowd.

Demi gripped her hand suddenly afraid to be separated from her mother again. They pushed their way through the crowd, moving like swimmers through a stormy sea. Someone pushed Demi from the side and she lost hold of her mother’s hand. She heard Hemi shout, but she had to think on keeping her feet or she would be trampled.

Suddenly she was out of the crowd, stumbling into an empty space before the stage. There stood the rotten man, covered in gore from several dead guards around him. He saw her and his eyes flashed with a strange shadow.

“Who are you?” he asked as his eyes narrowed. Demi couldn’t answer as she looked for a means of escape, but the crowd was still thick though fleeing. Several more slaves leapt down from the stage, all strong looking men though they were still bound with their chains. “I said who are you?” the rotten man repeated as he advanced on her.

Vega dived out of the sky like an angel of victory, clawing at the man’s eyes. He shouted angrily, not in pain, and lashed out at Vega. His fist caught the vulture and she fell to the cobblestones in a burst of feathers. Demi felt a moment of fear suffused with anger. She rushed forward and attacked the man with her fists.

He laughed and grabbed her with a grip like iron, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her up effortlessly. Demi saw his eyes darken with a shadow and felt her body go cold. Her hands and feet went numb as the heat of her body leached out of her. The man grinned opening his mouth as if he intended to eat her. Demi shivered at the black maw that opened, all light seeming to leech away into that darkness.

Then he stopped, his eyes widening. Demi felt something in her stirring in response to this power, this hunger. Not a light or a similar power to it, something so indescribable it could not even compare.

“Divinity,” a voice that was not the man’s but came from him whispered. “You are a new deity.”

Then that darkness fled, not just from her but from the man as well. He dropped her, falling to his knees before her. Demi watched astonished as his skin suddenly healed the boils and rotten flesh healing over as if it never was. His eyes cleared and he looking up at Demi with tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered and began to weep. Demi felt compelled to show him some comfort and put her hand on his head.

“What did you do?” Demi turned to see one of the slaves standing over her, his golden eyes wide. He had been a Pridesmen, a failed warrior telling by his shaven head. Demi reached out to him, she didn’t know why, and touched the manacles around his wrists. With a soft click almost like the sigh of a babe going to sleep, the manacles fell from his wrists. The once slave raised his arm, staring at his hand as if he had never seen it before.

Demi heard the rattle of chains and more slaves approached her. Hands touched her gently, not groping or pulling, but soft touches as if they feared she would break. Every hand that touched her, their manacles fell away. Demi didn’t feel any overwhelming power in her doing this, they just touched her, and the locks were free. She didn’t understand what was happening but thought it best to just let it happen.

And then she remembered her mother and Vega. She pushed her way through the crowd and they parted easily from her. She moved to where Vega fell and found the vulture laying on the stones. Her heart in her throat Demi knelt next to the vulture and felt her chest. She felt the soft flutter of her heart and the slight movement of her chest, she lived.

Nearly weeping Demi took off her sash and wrapped it around Vega, lifting her up into her arms. The palm nut vulture was a large bird, her wingspan was nearly as long as Demi was tall and lifting her was no small feat. All the time the slaves did not cease in their soft touches to Demi’s head and back, but she found she could ignore them. She turned then to look for her mother, but the press of slaves around her was too great.

Demi thought then of the platform and knew if she was to spot her mother it would be from there. She hurried through the crowd and they parted to let her pass, Demi feeling them follow after her, their hands tugging at her kaftan like the wind. She got to the platform and climbed the stairs; no one followed her from there. She hurried up to the platform and looked out over the crowd and balked.

The square was full of slaves, many shaking their chains and looking up at her imploringly. She put Vega down gently and stood before them on the stage. They were shouting, chanting and Demi stared in shock.

“Chain Breaker! Chain Breaker! Chain Breaker!”

Chain Breaker, Tí Re Laricar, the man that had set free over a thousand slaves and led them to paradise in the desert; they were calling her Chain Breaker. Demi looked out over the crowd seeing nothing but slaves. If her mother was still in the square Demi couldn’t see her. Movement and shouts at the far end of the square drew her eye and she looked out to the street that led to one of the gates.

A line of soldiers was marching down the street, a captain at the head telling by his bronze helm with a white plume. They would be there in moments and the blood shed would begin. They wouldn’t kill many but they would kill enough to get the crowd in line.

“Beware!” Demi shouted, sure that no one would hear her over the chanting. But the moment she spoke the crowd fell silent, Demi feeling all eyes on her. “Beware,” she said again, putting effort in controlling her voice so it was strong and did not waver. “The soldiers are coming, you must flee.”

“Chain Breaker! Lead us to freedom!” Someone in the crowd shouted. Demi could see women in the crowd now, even some children on the strong shoulders of men. She felt tears well up, fear and compassion for these people.

“The greatest freedom is in life itself!” Demi shouted. “They can never take that from you!”

Then the guards arrived in the square. The captain shouted orders, Demi too far to hear them exactly, and the guards moved out into formation. The crowd shrank back, women crying out and Demi saw the guards draw their sabers.

Someone grabbed her from behind, lifting her from the back of her kaftan. Demi cried out as they held her out over the crowd, and she heard them collectively gasp and moan.

“Deceiver!” the man that held Demi shouted. She turned her head to see he was another rotten man, his eyes mad and empty. “Brethren do not let this liar lead you from your freedom. Take up the chains that shackle you and stand against those who steal your liberty!”

He shook Demi, and she reached up instinctively and grabbed his wrist to hang on. She felt that strange sensation again when she touched his skin and she felt his grip go lax. A woman screamed but Demi managed to grab onto the edge of the stage before she fell. She pulled herself up onto the stage shakily and looked at the man that had held her.

He was staring at her wide eyed, his skin healing of the leprous flesh that afflicted him. Demi looked back at the crowd, seeing them staring up in awe. The guards and their captain were staring as well, mouths hanging open. Demi stood again and raised her hands to hold their attention.

“I call for peace, do not throw your lives away!” Demi called out.

A chain fell with a rattle, and soon thousands joined it. The slaves fell to their knees before her, weeping and crying out. Demi felt glad no blood was spilled, but at the same time she felt a sour taste in her mouth. She felt like she had lied to them; that she had captured them in their prison just as the Pridesmen and other slave traders had done.

“Thank you,” the man said, and Demi looked at him. He was on his knees before her, his forehead on the ground in the lowest groveling pose.

“Please get up,” Demi said heartbroken.

“You freed me, you saved my soul,” the man said but Demi wasn’t sure she had done that at all. A shouted order drew her attention back to the crowd and she saw the guards were moving through the crowd now. Some were going about gathering the slaves again, their sabers sheathed as they tried to guide the weeping people away. They seemed almost shocked as well, glancing over at Demi, but she could not read their expressions from the distance.

The captain however was marching over with five other guards, the crowd parting to let him past. He covered the distance quickly and as Demi turned to gather Vega in her arms again he was already mounting the steps. He marched up on stage and Demi got a good look at him now.

He wore sandals and a cotton kaftan under a coat of bronze mail. Over the mail he wore a breastplate of polished bronze, Sol’s sun emblazoned in the metal. His helm was round and embossed with intricate details, a white plumed feather from an ostrich toping it. He was a handsome man, a Lonemen without henna or marking. His skin was dark like Demi’s but his eyes were blue, telling of foreigner blood in his line.

He marched up to Demi and loomed over her, his cold blue eyes looking down at her seeming to glow from the shadow of his helm. Then he turned away to look at the man that had attacked her, he still knelt prostrate.

“Chain him,” the captain ordered his men and they took the slave and chained him. “Who are you?” He asked the man who let the guards manacle him without complaint.

“Zackary,” the man answered.

“And are you a member of the Legion of Creed?” the captain asked.

“I was,” Zackary answered and looked up at Demi. “Until I was freed.”

The captain looked at Demi frowning and then back at the guards that held Zackary.

“Take him to the temple of Sol, his fire will find the truth from this man,” the captain ordered and the guards nodded as they dragged the man away. Demi held Vega tighter as the captain turned back to her. “Who are you?”

“Demi rah Kartal,” Demi answered in a small voice.

“Are you with the Legion?” the captain asked and she quickly shook her head. “How did you heal that man?”

“I don’t know,” Demi answered. “Please I need to find my mother; she was here when the riots started.”

The captains frown grew deeper and Demi feared he would order her taken to the temple of Sol. He reached out and she flinched away from his hand as he grasped her by the chin and made her look at him. He stared at her and Demi felt her cheeks begin to flush under his regard. At last he let her go, shaking his head.

“I am no holy man,” he muttered. “I am taking you to Euria’s temple.”

“Why?” Demi asked astonished. Euria was the most holy of the gods to the Xinians, they favored the goddess of rain over all the other gods. Her temple was just near the palace where she needed to go. But Demi needed to find her mother first; she could have been hurt from the riots.

“You just performed a miracle before a thousand witnesses,” the captain answered; “Healing a man of leprosy in an instant. Only the Grand Sect can determine if you really are a miracle worker.”

Demi was speechless, staring at him in awe. She hadn’t thought what she had done was a miracle, she wasn’t even sure she had done anything. Yet she knew she could not escape, if she tried this man would put her in chains. At least he wasn’t taking her to Sol’s Temple, where she was sure torture would be used to get the truth from her. Since she herself did not know the truth she hoped the Grand Sect would be able to see answers she could not.

“What is your name?” Demi asked not sure why she did.

“Captain Makar,” he answered. “Captain of the Fifth Battalion.”

Demi shivered, there were twelve battalions that guarded the city; the fifth oversaw the slave district. As a captain Makar commanded a hundred men of the eight hundred that made up the entire battalion. He was only answerable to the General of the Fifth Battalion; Makar was a man of standing then.

“I will personally see to your safety,” Makar said, and Demi looked up at him a little surprised to see he was earnest.

“Very well,” Demi said as she bowed her head to him. “I’m in your care.”

He motioned for her to go first and followed her, Demi feeling his shadow loom over her. Holding Vega close to her chest she walked on to another journey.

#fantasy #series #please read #writing #fairies #dragons

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