Spring in ParisParis is truly beautiful in the morning, Su decided as she gazed at the twinkling city lights from the cottage set way in the country side, just in sight of the bustling place. It was close to six in the morning and dawn was just creeping over the land; the pink blush still struggling against the ink black sky.
"Your up early." Adam's sleep raspy voice murmured, as he tucked her long locks of brown sugar hair behind her ear. She did not answer, but leaned back against him, savoring the warmth of his bare chest against her naked back.
The feeling of how very man he was made Su feel protected, further intensified by his warm arms around her waist. Together they watched as the sky turned from a faint pink into the blue of another morning. When they did at long last stir, Adam stated that he had something to show her. She raised an eyebrow, slate gray eyes questioning, but his answer was only to tug her towards the door. The slender woman protested that she needed a shirt but Adam c
Ice Cream“It looks like a blustery day Pooh Bear.” Adam stated, face pressed against the glass door. Su looked over at her lanky boyfriend and could not help the tender smile that came to her lips. Adam was watching the rain pour down in sheets while she browsed for video games. Adam’s random quotes were not uncommon and more often than not amusing.
The lanky girl hummed a tuneless melody as she decided between three games and opted to buy two. Upon paying and getting her games Su walked up beside Adam and leaned her shoulder against his arm. He looked at her and grinned, the edges of his honey golden brown eyes crinkling up, before he wriggled out of his black hoodie and handed it to her.
“You sure? You’re gonna get wet.” Su questioned though she loved wearing Adam’s hoodies. Somehow, some way they managed to smell like M & M ice cream sandwiches. The brunette was sure if there was cologne that smelled like her boyfriend’s favorite de
Till the Tickle MonsterIt was at the lovely hour of midnight that Till decided to text Frank. The simple message was:
Come home, I have something for you.
Now the text in itself wasn’t strange, Till had always insisted that his home was Frank’s, but the time he sent it certainly was. It was a rare event that the singer called him past eleven o'clock, and even that was only during emergencies. One could imagine Frank’s curiosity at getting a text at such a late hour and why - well, that is, if he was even awake enough at the moment to really ponder it.
“I swear I’m going to kick you so hard, Till.” He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands before answering that he’d be there in fifteen minutes. The brunette yawned and stretched, groaning in relief as his joints popped before he threw off his cozy nest of blankets, and snatched his purple hoodie off the floor. He then wriggled into his black sweatpants, grabbed his keys, wallet,
Little PiggyYou've all heard of the little piggy who went wee, wee, wee all the way home, right?
But what happens when that little piggy can't find home?
He's packed and unpacked
Settled and then moved so many times
That no one place can really be called home
All hold fond memories for him
But deep in his bones
Something is different and it cannot be changed
He knows from experience
That once your belongings are packed
Your memories tucked away with your clothes
Your heavy heart packed with as much care as the glassware
There's no going back once you've left
No reviving the death of your beloved home
As sorrowful as it is you cannot go back
So you must look and walk forward
To be ready to eventually settle down again
To let your new home collect tender memories
And encourage your heart to love this new place
For though it is as delicate as glass
It's resilience will amaze you
Insensitive FacesI know people who are far crueler
Than Vlad the Impaler
And don't think it's Adolf Hitler
Because it's not.
They wear many faces
Faces that you all know,
Benjamin Franklin for one
Abe Lincoln for another.
Their insensitive expressions
And sightless eyes
Watch with those Mona Lisa smirks
As you struggle to earn them.
They care not how much
You lose or gain.
What does it matter if they're shoved
Into the hands of a woman
Forced to sell her body?
Or snatched from the trembling hands
Of an alcoholic?
They could care less
For those who are down and struggling
For those who worked for every dollar they had.
You can't make any more money?
See your ass out the door
We'll find someone to replace you.
It's a dog eat dog world
No wonder so many try to numb
Themselves with drugs or alcohol.
"And so you return to your daily round of toil...
And each day the struggle becomes fiercer
Each day you have to toil a little harder...
And to have dreamed mighty dreams
And to see them perish-
To see a
Till the StorytellerAll Killjoys knew The Storyteller by his reddish brown hooded cloak and goggles. The Storyteller's cloak was white, anyone would tell you that, but it became reddish brown from the dust and sand storms that would kick up. It was considered an honor to wash his cloak and bring it back to its cloud white self.
How, you maybe wandering, could a mere storyteller have such acclaim?
The Storyteller's voice was a huge part of his fame. It was a mesmerizing baritone that had the habit of rolling its R's. Listening to his voice was like snaring flies in a spider's web, once caught one could not untangle themselves from the threads of his story.
The next thing was the Storyteller's tall, stalwart frame with broad shoulders, and arms and legs corded with muscle. The man's face was oval shaped for lack of better description with two lines that etched themselves between his eyebrows when he crinkled them in concentration.
Despite his intimidating height and muscle when Till began his story telling
Little OneThe petite brunette quietly slipped in giving a feeble smile to the nods of hello he got from Flake, Paul and Richard. He settled into a chair and pulled his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs with his chin on his knees. The band members did not question why Frank was here so constantly, they all knew the reason.
He came around because of Till.
Till's personality and opinions were intriguing, his baritone voice pleasing, and his looks ravishing. Frank became fascinated with him upon meeting Till and it was his fascination that had opened Bob's eyes to their dying relationship. When Bob ended it he tried to explain how something just wasn't there for them, but Frank was too upset to listen childishly ignoring him. And so Frank had taken refuge in Rammstein's music, in Till's voice and solemn presence.
Till finished what he was singing and came out of the recording to see his diminutive lover staring off into space. He gave a half smile and chuckled at Frank's
MutterTill had seen many tears over his lifetime. In joy, in sorrow, in anger and in all the emotions in between. But as he had aged tears had begun to lose their sway on him, a good thing when his daughter threw tantrums. The man would be a liar though if he said he was never moved by tears. For the man who could still bring Till to tears, and coax forth a primal protective instinct in Till was Frank.
The two men had met when My Chemical Romance had hooked up with their band Rammstein in Europe. A big brother helping out the younger as Till liked to think of it. At first Till and his boys had been quite formal with MCR, unsure of what they were like. After a week though it became clear they were all easy to get along with, most of them quick to grin and laugh. Bob was the only one who had to warm up to bring out smiles and jokes. Paul and Richard joked that Bob must've been raised German and simply labeled American.
Out of the five men it was Frank who stole Till's heart. Frank was a