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| Got Riff; *FINISHED* Het James /OFC Smut. A lot. And a bit of angst | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: September 2, 2015, 4:19 pm (4,428 Views) | |
| jaymzbabe | February 8, 2017, 3:38 pm Post #76 |
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Blackened
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Poke |
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| Dragonlove | February 19, 2017, 9:03 pm Post #77 |
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Frantic
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Thank you for being so patient. Again, it took me much longer than I would have liked... Anyway, enjoy! As the alarm goes off the next morning, the three of us are curled around each other like a bunch of kittens and it takes my sleep fogged mind a few seconds to figure out which limb belongs where and to whom. James is the first to disentangle himself so he can switch the alarm off. "Hey," he says softly and gently runs a fingertip from the corner of my eye down to my mouth and across my bottom lip. Even though we all got just a few hours of sleep, James looks more relaxed than I've ever seen him. I smile up at him, lightly rubbing my hand across his chest and shoulder. Last night's marks on his skin have already vanished, all but the weals around his wrists. I softly brush my lips across first his left then his right wrist. James smiles and combs his fingers through my tangled hair. Next to us, Fran yawns and stretches. As James caresses her cheek, she playfully catches his finger between her teeth. James chuckles softly and places a light kiss on her forehead. "Alas, no time for that," he sighs, carefully freeing his finger, "Lars has scheduled a band meeting at 11, and some promo shit at one o'clock. I'd better get ready..." "You know, sometimes I wish you'd become a... a mechanic instead of a rock star," Fran pouts. James barks out a laugh. "I'll remind you of that the next time you complain you've got nothing to wear," he smirks, fondly smoothing back her hair. Fran grins and sticks the tip of her tongue out at him. Then she stretches again, arching her back so that her breast brushes against James' forearm. "Stop that!" he chortles and lightly pinches the tip of her nose. Fran sighs melodramatically before slipping out of bed. "All right, but then the least I want is the mother of all breakfasts, if I don't get to have sex." James collapses sprawled out on the mattress. "That's what happens in a marriage. Now I'm being substituted by pancakes and bagels." "Ha!" Fran exclaims. "If I'd gone down that path I wouldn't fit through those doors by now." "Would have been cheaper than jewels and designer clothes, though," James mumbles into the pillow while Fran orders a huge breakfast for all of us. "JAMES!" laughingly I smack his tight ass. "Ouch!" "Aww, want me to kiss it better?" James narrows his eyes at me. "I know what you're doing," he grumbles. I raise my brows and he goes on. "You're trying to give me a hard-on before I have to go and face Lars." I burst out laughing and Fran snickers, causing James to narrow his eyes even more. "You're both evil, evil women and I want you to know that." "Bad to the bone," I confess. Before James can answer, the hotel phone starts ringing. "Guess they're out of pancakes," he grins and fishes for the handset, " 'Lo? Uh, no, I'll send someone down to pick it up. Thanks." He punches in three digits and waits. "Morning, Steve. Can you just pick something up from the front desk? They've got a delivery for Fran. Thanks." Fran looks at him with wide eyes while slipping into her silk robe. "A delivery for me?" James gives her a mock-stern look. "That's what they said. Looks like you lost count of all the money you spent yesterday." Fran turns to me as if she hopes I could give her an answer, but I only shrug. I'm feeling much to content and lazy to wreck my brain for something we'll find out in a couple of minutes anyway. While Fran disappears into the bathroom and James throws on some clothes I indulge in just staying in bed a little longer, stretching and then curling up again. I blink as I hear James' soft chuckle. He sits on the edge of the bed, takes a strand of my hair and tickles my face with it. "You look like some furry little animal curled up for winter," he teases. "As long as you won't shoot me," I yawn. "I won't. I might eat you alive though", he grins, lightly biting my shoulder. There's a ring at the door and James tousles my hair some more before he goes to answer it. From the bathroom I hear the buzzing sound of an electric toothbrush and suddenly I realise I got neither my own toothbrush nor any fresh clothes up here. Bad planning on my part. And my suit's still lying next to the door where James peeled me out of it. The thought makes me snuggle deeper under the duvet again, until my gaze falls upon James' flannel that he left lying on the chaise as he changed for dinner yesterday. I'm sure James won't mind if I borrow it but I wonder if it's okay for Fran, too. Wearing her husband's shirts might be considered bad manners. Don't be ridiculous, I rebuke myself, I don't mind if you fuck him but hands off his clothes? Shaking my head at myself I get up and slip on the shirt. Still, I can't help feeling a bit nervous as Fran gets out of the bathroom. She doesn't even give me - or my outfit - a second glance, though, as James gets back, dangling a Frauenzimmer-bag from his finger. "Wanna show me what's in this or is it a surprise?" James asks with a leer. Fran opens the small lilac bag, a little confused. "I have no idea..." she begins and trails off as she pulls the same red bra set out of the bag that I have bought yesterday. I shrug, thinking there must have been some misunderstanding. "Must be..." I cut myself short as Fran blanches and drops the bag as if she's been burnt. Frowning, James picks up the bag and up-ends it over the bed. A ball-gag falls out. For a moment, we just stare at the object on top of the duvet. We all know who's behind this. I can feel my hands start to shake, but I'm not even sure if it's from fear or anger. James on the other hand instantly fumes. His face has turned deep red and the vein on his forehead is throbbing with rage. "Motherfucker!" he hisses through clenched teeth. "This stops RIGHT NOW." He slams his fist against the side of the wardrobe, then stuffs the gag back into the small lilac bag. James and Fran exchange a long look. Again I get the impression, there's a whole conversation going on without one word being said. Finally, James nods and turns to me. "You're not scared, are you?" "No," I answer slowly, "I'm mad. And I'm shocked. I didn't think he'd go after anyone but me." James pulls me into a tight hug, burying his hand in my hair. "He's got no idea what he's gotten himself into. Metallica isn't just four guys. It isn't even just four guys and a road crew. It's a mean, multi-headed and far-reaching beast when it has to be. He'll wish he'd never been born." He kisses my temple and releases me from his hold to look straight at me. "You got a name of the guy handling your case? I'm going to call our lawyers, get them to kick some asses into action. And then I'm calling Gio and the guys. That filthy son of a bitch wants a war and he's gonna get it." With my stomach twisted into a tight knot I get my purse and hand James my notebook with the details of my contact person. "I'm not sure if this'll help. My case is handled in Dsseldorf and we're in Berlin now, that's another federal state. My contact doesn't have any authority here." "That's his problem, not ours, as our lawyers will soon explain to him," James says with a grim smile. He scrolls through the contacts in his phone until he's found the right one and then hits the dial icon with such force that I half expect him to punch a hole through the display. I check my watch and calculate the time difference. "You think you'll reach anyone? It's in the middle of the night..." James clenches his teeth as he listens to the dial tone. "I don't care if they're fast asleep or screwing twins... Hey Nathan, it's James. Listen, this is urgent..." Without so much as a "sorry to disturb you at this time" James rattles off a summary of what Dara has done to me and his popping up again in Berlin and sending unwanted messages to Fran. "I want you to dig that fucker out of his hole and make his life a living hell, whatever means necessary. Good. Yeah, I'll keep the phone switched on." He looks at us and nods. "That was the easy part. And now on to the Danish Dictator." My stomach sinks and I wrap my arms around myself as if that could help keeping my entrails in place. Just when I had hoped I'd get along with Lars, that I'd convinced him my presence would not interfere with his band, it does exactly that. And that's putting it mildly. I'm sure Lars is going to hate me. "Lars... Lars! Will you just shut up and fucking *listen* for a change?" James' outburst obviously works as Lars seems to be quiet long enough for James to explain. James has barely finished his explanation when I can hear Lars' gunfire talking again. Even though Lars can't see him, James nods as he listens, pinches the bridge of his nose and nods again. "Yeah, good point. Okay. Yeah, I've called Nathan. He's onto it. Okay. Thanks, man, I appreciate it." He ends the call and takes a deep breath. "Lars is going to talk to Tony and make sure all confidentiality agreements are up to date. And he'll also talk to Gio, so he can adjust his security concept if need be. So... things are being taken care of and all we'll have to do is wait until we hear back from either Lars or Nathan." We don't want to admit it, but all three of us are high-strung and it shows as the doorbell of the suite rings. I almost jump out of my skin and Fran suddenly seems to stand two meters further to my left. James knocks over a candlestick. He lets out a frustrated growl and strides over to the door, where he first checks the monitor of the safety system. He hisses out a sharp breath and shakes his head, before looking at us with a lopsided grin. "Breakfast." After the waiter has left with a generous tip, James inspects the various trays and dishes. "Geez, Fran, are we expecting guests for breakfast?" Fran slides into a seat at the table and winks at him. "Topping you is hard work. I'm starving!" Then she looks at me, pointing a finger. "You. Sit down. Eat." Obediently I drop onto a chair, but find I have no appetite. "I said eat," Fran frowns. "Better do as you're told. I wouldn't put it past her to force-feed you," James stage-whispers. He sits down between us and piles pancakes onto a plate. I don't know if he's that good an actor or if he's really feeling a lot calmer than mere minutes ago. Fran gives me another menacing look and I take a bread roll just to appease her. "Are you just going to look at it? Starving's not going to help, you know. You might even feel better with some food inside." I suppress a sigh and look at James for help but he just nods at my plate. I begin to truly feel sorry for the Hetfield kids. To my surprise I find that Fran is right. The first few bites already help to calm my stomach. By the second cup of coffee, I've reached the conviction that letting this fantastic breakfast go to waste would be pure sin. To hell with Dara and his schemes. The elephant doesn't leave the room, though. "I'd like you both to come with me to the band meeting. I'll feel better if I know you're both close and safe. And it'll make it easier for security, too, if we stay together as much as possible." I'm happy to comply. I would feel trapped if I'd have to hide inside the hotel all day with nothing to do but worry about what Dara will do next. I've gone through that before and I know that nothing good comes from it. So, I'm looking forward to the distraction that the Metallica circus will certainly provide. James grabs his biker jacket that I've dropped into a chair last night. Somehow seems like a lifetime ago. He hesitates, then smiles and tosses me the jacket. "Here, you should keep it," he says, pulling a hunting jacket for himself out of the wardrobe. My cheeks flush and my heart speeds up, this time with joy. I give him a wide smile, pressing the jacket close. "Seriously? Thank you!" James grins, enjoying my excitement. "Sure. I think you wear it better, anyway." He opens a drawer and nonchalantly slips a gun into the pocket of his jacket. Noticing my shocked look he raises an eyebrow, as if daring me to protest. I don't. |
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| Rockfan71 | February 20, 2017, 4:52 pm Post #78 |
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Frantic
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An update!!! Awesome!! I see dear old Dara has not given up. He sure is watching her/their every move. Creepy. But the gang pulls together to protect their own& so by exstention...the Hetfield's lover. Thank you. It is always a joy to read what you write. |
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| Dragonlove | February 21, 2017, 6:36 pm Post #79 |
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Frantic
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Thank you for being so patient, @Rockfan71. Your feedback always makes my day
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| jaymzbabe | February 22, 2017, 3:42 pm Post #80 |
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Blackened
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I love it. ❤ when James put the gun inside her pocket, it shows that she means an awful lot to him ❤❤ and I love all three of them together ❤❤😊😊😊 |
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| Dragonlove | February 22, 2017, 5:39 pm Post #81 |
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Frantic
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I'm so happy you're still enjoying this! You're right, Annika means a lot to James and he'll go a long way to protect the ones he holds dear. Personally I'm not sure if a gun would make me feel safer or more nervous
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| Rockfan71 | February 23, 2017, 1:55 pm Post #82 |
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Frantic
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Apparantly, americans feel safer WITH their killer toys? Plus, we know James can shoot. We will see. Am going to nag @bluity to update more |
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| jaymzbabe | March 22, 2017, 6:05 pm Post #83 |
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Blackened
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Poke 😊 |
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| Dragonlove | March 25, 2017, 12:46 am Post #84 |
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Frantic
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I was ALMOST ready to post, but your poke beat me to it, @jaymzbabe. I will be busy with exams the next couple of weeks, so here's something to keep you occupied ![]() Lars gives James a tired look. "Of all the million fan girls you have to go for the one with the bat-shit crazy and violent ex-husband. That's just *so James*," he sighs and shakes his head. A tiny smile flashes over Kirk's lips at Lars' comment and a few of the others snicker. We've met everyone in a large conference room at the hotel the rest of the band and a part of the crew are staying in. To my surprise this "band meeting" does not only include the band, but also Tony, the tour manager, Gio, Metallica's head of security along with his team and a guy in a tailored suit who might as well have the word "lawyer" tattooed on his forehead. Rob and Kirk seem concerned but not intimidated by the news of Dara's threats. And Gio radiates a calm, professional attitude, almost as if he's enjoying the opportunity to proof the ability of his team. I'm relieved Lars simply accepts the situation, since I've secretly expected him to throw a scene. Still, I feel the need to apologise. "I'm sorry I'm causing all this trouble." Lars shrugs. "It's inconvenient 'cause it fucks with the timetable. But then - something always does. And I guess it's not your fault. Anyway, I've heard that punctuality is a German virtue, so I guess they'll be here soon." That's the clue for the lawyer guy to introduce himself as Oliver Rienke. "Nathan called our office, I'm here just in case the police has any legal questions about the whole situation," he explains while shaking our hands. I have the feeling, I'm missing out on something here. But before I can ask any questions there's a knock on the door and some-one from the hotel staff opens the door. "The gentlemen from the police are here. If you'd like to follow me?" Rienke grabs his suitcase and gestures for us to go ahead and so I let myself be herded into another room together with James and Fran. James has told me Metallica was a "mean, multi-headed and far-reaching beast". What he hasn't mentioned is that it's also a very fast working machine. Three hours after he's woken up his lawyer at the other end of the world, I'm faced with the highest-ranking policemen I've ever met. Almost subconsciously I compare the two. They're around the same age and even of similar built, and still couldn't be more different. The first is clean-shaven and wears a non-descript and yet expensive looking suit. The crease in his trousers is as sharp as the parting in his dirty blonde hair. The poster boy of an efficient civil servant, who obviously feels like a fish out of water in the presence of someone like James - who looks very much like a member of some biker gang with all the tattoos and his premium watch. Next to his spruced up colleague the second man with a moustache as bristly as a wire brush looks as if he's slept in his crumply leather jacket and faded jeans and would rather go to sleep again soon. At least until you look into his eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses. Cool and grey they're probably the most intelligent eyes I've ever seen. I can tell this man knows his job and that feels awfully reassuring. The first detective hands each of us one of his business cards. KD Joachim Krüger it says. KD - Kriminaldirektor. I guess Metallica's lawyers did a good job of stirring things up. Kriminaldirektor means this guy is probably the head of his department. He gestures towards the man to his right. "This is Kriminaloberrat Jens Bachmann. He'll be the one in charge of your case. He's much more a man of action than I am. So, I'll leave you all to it." He nods his goodbye and all but flees from the room. "Seriously?" James asks looking at the closing door. "That guy came here just to hand us his business card?" The wire brush in Bachmann's face twitches. "Usually people who want to press charges come to us. Maybe Mr. Krüger feels a little uncomfortable outside his office." Bachmann clears his throat and rubs his hands together. "Shall we begin?" he asks and gestures towards the chairs. He's got the slow, slightly stiff English of someone who's had good teachers but little practice. "Düsseldorf emailed me your file," he says, dropping a folder onto the table as he sits down. "So, your ex-husband's making trouble again?" I nod, show him the letter and tell him about turning up in the hotel lobby yesterday. "And this morning this arrived at the front desk, allegedly a delivery for Fran," I push the bag over to Bachmann. Bachmann's facial expression doesn't change as he pulls the lingerie and the gag out. "I take it you did not buy this?" he asks Fran. "No." "The underwear is the same that I bought yesterday. But I did not have it delivered to the hotel. We did not leave our address. Dara wants us to know he's watching us," against my will, I can feel a shiver running down my spine. At the same time my face heats up. I'm certain Bachmann's automatically imagining the sexy red underwear on me and I refuse to think about what he might make of the ball gag. But still his face doesn't give anything away. "But the delivery was addressed to Mrs. Hetfield? And none of you bought this thing?" "I think the message behind this is pretty obvious," James offers, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice. Bachmann makes a non-committal sound and scribbles something on his notepad. Then he looks levelly at James. "And the nature of your relationship is..." "Irrelevant," James growls. Rienke slightly shakes his head at him. Bachmann remains unfazed. "That's for us to decide, Sir." "I'm a mechanical engineer and specialised in motor production and in my spare time I'm a huge Metallica fan. James is in Metallica and in *his* spare time he likes to restore cars. We've met through the fan club and stayed in touch. Eventually we became friends," the lie comes out so smoothly that Rienke gives me an impressed look. Bachmann sighs and closes his notepad. He shuffles through the file and pulls out a picture of Dara. "Does he still look like this?" James, Fran and I nod and Bachmann puts the photo back. "We'll try to find him and persuade him to return to Ireland on the next possible flight." Rienke speaks up for the first time. "Some of our, uhm, assistants found out the B&B he's staying in. He isn't in, but I've written down the address for you." He hands Bachmann a slip of paper. Surprised, Bachmann raises his eyebrows. "Your 'assistants' don't know where we could find him right now by any chance?" "We've been onto this case for two hours. We're quick, but we'll need a little more time," Rienke answers with a small smile that doesn't cover his smugness. "Huh, in the meantime, I'd like to talk to your security, Mr. Hetfield." James nods and we all get up to re-join the others. Bachmann gives a very short summary of our talk and then again produces Dara's photo. "That's the guy we all need to look out for. I can't promise you police protection, but I'll tell the patrol to have an eye on your hotel and the arena. If there's any problem, call me. But I presume you already have some idea how to deal with the situation." "Can I just borrow that for a moment?" Gio takes a picture of the photo with his mobile and a second later almost every mobile in the room beeps with an incoming message. He gives a satisfied nod and then continues. "We don't have enough men to staff all of backstage with our own people, so we'll have to make do with the venue's security," he says, clearly not too happy with that solution. "They seem decent enough. The inner sanctuary, though, the green room, the showers, tuning room, those kind of things, we'll handle ourselves." Gio reaches into his plastic bag and hands each of us a small, round gadget that looks a bit like miniature puck. "These are panic buttons. In the unlikely case you run into this guy, or even if you just, you know, panic, you push the soft spot in the middle and all of us," he gestures along the line of securities, "will receive an alarm along with your position on our mobiles. We'll be there in no time." Lars turns his button over. "Hey, these things are cool. How did you get them so quickly?" He asks. "I didn't," Gio answers and at Lars' quizzical look he goes on: "I've had them since the came out." "Really? Why?" "I *am* your head of security," Gio explains patiently. Lars nods. "Ja. Good point," he admits generously. Gio holds up another button. "See that little slide on the rim? If we want to know you're safe, we can send a signal to the panic button that will make it vibrate and blink red. Then you push the slide up and we'll know you're safe. Or if you pushed the button by accident and want to let us know you're safe, you push that slide. Okay? Let's try that. I'll start with you, Lars." One by one Gio tests our panic buttons until he's made sure they all work and we all know what to do. He gives a satisfied nod. "Okay. Remember you are to carry them with you all the time. Do not lose or misplace them," he pointedly looks at James, "if you change clothes, remember to take the button out of your pocket and put it into the other one. They are airtight, so you can take them with you even when you shower." James snorts. "You gotta be kidding me. I'm not going to shower with that." "Now you'll listen to me, Papa Het," Gio says slowly and deliberately, "I know technically you're my boss. But if we're talking security... You'll. Fucking. Do. What. You're. Told." James opens his mouth to protest but then closes it again with an audible click of teeth, glaring at the bigger man. Lars gapes at the two, then turns towards Gio. "How do you do it? He never stops arguing with me." He points an accusing finger at James. Gio grins and flexes his muscles. "I've got better arguments." Kirk spins his panic button on the table top, looking at Gio with arched eyebrows. "Man, aren't you overreacting a bit?" Bachman clears his throat. He looks at me and taps his finger on the folder before him. When I nod my consent he speaks up. "I don't think he is." He opens the folder and spreads out the hospital pictures from the night Dara beat me. It's as if a tremor runs through the whole room and Fran gasps as she and the band see the pictures for the first time. Even I've got to swallow hard. I haven't seen the pictures in years and I've forgotten that my face is hardly recognisable beyond the bruising. Lars just glances at the uppermost photo, his lips a thin, angry line. "You could have said something," he says to James, who spreads his fingers and slightly raises his hands in a defensive gesture. "Not my decision." Lars holds his eyes for a moment, then gives a curt nod. His fingers drum out a fast rhythm on the table but his anger does not seem to be directed at James or even me. Kirk looks at me, his eyes full of pain and sympathy, probably thinking back to his own youth. I just want to hug him close. "Fuck, man, that's just sick," Rob curses, shuffling through the pictures, a look of loathing on his face. "I'll fucking kill him," James mumbles. His gaze fixed on a close-up of my bloodied and swollen face, he holds Fran's hand in a grip so tight it looks painful. He reaches out with his other hand and ghosts his fingers across the photo as if he's trying to erase the pain through the years. Bachmann clears his throat again, thumbing through my file. "I didn't hear that," he tells the folder, or maybe the room in general. James glares at him. A full-on, pissed off Hetfield-glare and Bachman doesn't even flinch. I can't help being a wee bit impressed. "Not only did that man, and I'm using the word loosely here, terrorise and beat up someone dear to me, he's now even threatening my family. I will NOT allow that. If I'd had a gun with me the other day he'd already be dead." "James!" Kirk, Lars, Gio, Fran and I chorus, causing Rob to give an amused snort. Now Bachman does raise an eyebrow. "I heard that alright, but luckily for you my English is much too rusty to fathom the full meaning of your outburst, Mr. Hetfield." James is too wrought up to appreciate the irony. "I could write it down if that helps," he snaps. "Oh for Pete's sake, James, the man is only trying to help! Calm down, before you stick out your neck any further." I snatch the picture he's been staring at and stuff it back into the file with the rest of them. "And besides, I'm not that defenceless anymore." Bachmann raises is eyes. "Meaning?" "I've got a brown belt in ATK," I explain, using the German pronunciation of the three letters. Bachmann looks equally surprised and impressed, while the others obviously don't understand what I'm talking about. "A, T What?" asks Lars. "Anti-Terror-Kampf. It's a self-defence system that has been developed by a German policeman in the 1960s. Highly effective. It combines stuff from Kung Fu and Jiu Jitsu and other martial arts with survival skills. You learn how to defend yourself against armed opponents, how to tie knots and how to survive in the wild. It really is pretty cool - and very painful in the beginning," I add, remembering the bruises and sore muscles. "As commendable as that might be, don't let it lure you into taking any risks," Bachmann warns. James still bristles. "How about you'll get him before it can come to that?" Edited by Dragonlove, November 26, 2017, 9:17 am.
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| jaymzbabe | March 27, 2017, 5:11 pm Post #85 |
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Blackened
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Love it ❤️❤️ I wouldn't mind james being that protective over me 😊😘😘😝😍😍 Hope everything goes great with ur exams and hope u can update very soon 😊😊 |
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| Rockfan71 | April 17, 2017, 10:13 am Post #86 |
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Frantic
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Oooh. That was awesome!! Metallica comes together to protect. I love it!! Happy Easter!! |
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| jaymzbabe | April 30, 2017, 11:02 am Post #87 |
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Blackened
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Poke 😊😊😊 |
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| Rockfan71 | May 5, 2017, 2:47 pm Post #88 |
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Frantic
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Mega POKE!!! Also happy to say I finally procured ticket to Metallica Concert in the Netherlands on the 4th of September. Am over the moon!! |
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| Dragonlove | May 5, 2017, 4:33 pm Post #89 |
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Frantic
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OUCH!!! Thanks for poking, girls, but I'll have to ask for a bit more patience. RL is a demanding bitch right now... Thank God I'm having September 14th to look forward to and Worldwired in Cologne
Edited by Dragonlove, May 5, 2017, 4:33 pm.
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| Rockfan71 | May 7, 2017, 4:09 am Post #90 |
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Frantic
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I shall try to exuuuude calmness & patience. Promise *nudge* Getting tickets herebwas a bitch. Even in pre-sail & vying for them on 2 PC simultaneously it was a no go. Tried again in regular sale and the system really threw me for a loop. Kept pushing me back in the waiting line. And I was not the only one. So many complaints about the system. Not Metallica 's fault but still. So there I was, no tickets. But the husband of a cousin of mine works for the main sponsor of the venue and he got me 2 tickets!!! |
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8:39 PM Jul 10