banded steel

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Meet the proud new owner of the Rickenbacker 331 Light Show guitar that once lived here at Elderly…….Mr Geddy Lee of RUSH!
Much thanks to Geddy for shopping with Elderly Instruments, and for sending us this great photo and giving us permission to use it.

Thanks Geddy!!

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THIS IS MY FAVORITE THING

Fragile, the album whose cover is referenced here, is where Roundabout appears! This illustration was drawn years before the Phantom Blood anime. Considering that a chapter of JoJolion published before the anime also has Daiya Higashikata talking about how much she loves the mellotrons in Heart of the Sunrise (which is also on Fragile)….. I would bet serious money that this is Hirohiko Araki’s favorite Yes album.

anonymous asked:

juding by the tobito stuff ur working on something w/ obito in it probably maybe?

;) 

Wild blue-green light is still fading when Obito staggers through a gap in the trees, tripping and falling to his knees with a ragged gasp. He takes in the scene before him in a split second—Rin unconscious but limned with ocean-blue light, hole in her chest nothing but smooth skin now, with Kakashi collapsed on the ground and dead Kiri nin scattered across the battlefield—and then presses a hand over his face in relief.

Rin is alive, he thinks, so utterly grateful he can hardly breathe. He was too late to save her—always, always too late—but she saved herself. She saved herself and she’s alive and Kakashi didn’t kill her by accident.

White coils unwrap from his limbs, and Zetsu slides off of him to reform at his side. “Well,” he says, and there’s an odd note in his voice. “That was unexpected.”

“Kushina heals like that,” Obito says, and the pieces are connecting, sliding together. Madara’s had him playing mind-games while he works to get his limbs back under control, and after so many of those it’s getting far easier to lay out all the fractured shards of an event and look at what’s underneath. “That—that light, and the way she—she got in front of Kakashi—they put something inside of her, didn’t they?”

Zetsu makes a contemplative sound but doesn’t otherwise answer, but that’s fine, because Obito is certain that he’s right. He staggers back to his feet, and—

It’s easy. He feels light, even though by all rights he should hardly be able to stand. It’s an oddity, but not important; Rin is all that matters right now, and Obito takes a step to go to her, feels chakra flicker as it rises through him, and suddenly he’s at her side without having to cross the space between. The effort makes him stagger, but he steers his collapse, drops down next to her still form and reaches out a startlingly steady hand to touch her hair.

(It shouldn’t be steady, some small part of him thinks. He’s weak right now, hardly able to walk without losing control of his limbs. So why—?)

“You’re okay,” he whispers to her, and it aches, he’s so happy. His best friend is alive, is fine, because Kushina has something sealed inside of her, too, and she certainly doesn’t let it slow her down. Rin can be the same. They just have to get her back to the village, let Minato check her over, and then—

Very unexpected,” Zetsu repeats, leaning over them with a hum. He pokes lightly at Kakashi, who’s entirely out of it, and then moves over to Rin, flipping her still body over to lie face-down. Obito cries out in protest, struggling back to his feet—not much of a struggle at all, not nearly as much as it should be—but Zetsu ignores him, brushing Rin’s hair away from the back of her neck.

There’s a seal there, black ink and jagged lines that bear only a passing familiarity to Minato’s elegant fuinjutsu. Zetsu’s eyes narrow at the sight of it, fingertip tracing the outline, and hums.

“This isn’t going to break,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s displeased by that. Obito opens his mouth to ask something, anything—because there’s relief but underneath is yawning horror, his instincts screaming screaming screaming that something is wrong, that something’s happened—but before he can a dark shape slides out of the ground. Black Zetsu coils around White Zetsu, flesh weaving together, and in an instant they’re one creature instead of two. He opens his eyes with a disappointed hum, and says, “Well, that’s one more plan down the drain.”

Plan, Obito thinks as horror surges, and he lunges for Rin, tries to grab her, get her and Kakashi out of range, but one step and darkness swallows him. He cries out, earth pressing all around him, stifling, choking, ruinous after the cave-in that nearly killed him. Fighting back does no good, because Zetsu’s grip is as tight and immovable as steel bands, but Obito tries anyway, kicks and thrashes and tears at the strands of darkness around him even as they spill out into a familiar cavern.

“Zetsu,” Madara says coolly, though his eyes rest on Obito where Zetsu is pinning him to the floor. “What’s the meaning of this?”

For one fractured heartbeat, Obito feels hope. Madara is family, his ancestor—surely he’ll take offense at this, at Zetsu trying to kill Rin

“The girl’s alive,” Zetsu answers carelessly, grin wide and unnerving in the cave’s gloom. “She got the Sanbi to heal her somehow. The brat’s Mangekyo is awake, though, and you were right—it’s Kamui.”

“Of course I was right. I traced his bloodline myself.” Madara pushes up from his chair, careful and slow, but for the first time in his life Obito doesn’t want to offer his help, doesn’t want to make things easier. He hates Madara, loathes Zetsu with every fiber of his being, because Rin almost died and they planned it and now they’re treating it like some small part of something bigger, like something meaningless when her death would have destroyed Obito.

“What the hell!” he demands, and it comes out too high, too shrill. His heart is pounding, fear and adrenaline and horror in equal measure, and he shoves at Zetsu’s coils, hoping for slack. There is none, not the faintest hint of give there or in Madara’s face as he stared down at Obito.

Dark eyes, darker intentions.

Cr.

Pairing: Namjoon / Reader.

Genre:  Smut, demeaning names, dom/sub undertones.

Summary: Namjoon had always been fond of drawing out your pleasure, dragging you through your bliss again and again until all you knew was his name. With that being said, it wasn’t as if you ever complained.

Word count: 1,487

Note: Forgive me father for I have sinned ;;


Teeth sinking into bruised and searing skin had a cry tearing from your throat - toes curling in bliss and throat arching back under that attack when hips continued to collide with your own. The sheets that had been so nicely made before now lay in ruins around you; sweat, cum and saliva sinking so far into the sheets until the sex of your union was sliding over the walls and squeezing desire like a weight in your stomach as you writhed. You had already met your peak more time than you could count from when Namjoon had appeared behind you where you worked, tempting you away from the reports that sat in your drafts that begged for attention with the sinful promise of the satiation your body longed for.

Some may find your relationship with the man to be odd, some may even resent you for the dynamics you let into your bed and heart over and over again with faux accusations of weakness and misogyny, but you could only smile and pity the ignorance that was thrown at you day in and day out with barely concealed whispers and prying ears. Because the truth of it was that you like the rush of blood that spiked over you when someone clawed into your hips, loved the bruises that lay claim over your body. In fact you practically craved the attention, needed the semblance of control in your life when every hour of you work life was spent running after stuck up higher ups that sneered to your back as you pushed to do every single thing you were asked at a record speed with little other than a grunt in acknowledgement. You needed that hand that was possessively clasped on your waist to move, needed the lips that left you breathless to gasp for air, and needed the cock that burnt pleasure through your very being to clear your mind.

But you had to be clear that despite everything that happened when you were pulled into your lovers dangerously tempting embrace, you were not dominated in your relationship. The lines of your love making had been set years earlier and they were firmly never crossed. All of the painfully euphoria bestowed on your body was carefully washed away with loving words and a dimpled smile that whispered words of affection to you when you were curled up next to a warm body, ass still stung from the print of his hand and lips still plump from the ferocity of his kiss. And it was exactly how you liked it.

Your were puled from your thoughts as a hand curled around your neck, digging into the flesh deliciously to just the point between breathlessness and curdling pleasure to make way for the body that pushed it weight down onto you until your front was flush with the mattress- its coarse surface grating over your raw nipples.

“Stay with me, Y/N” The gruff timbre of Namjoon’s voice was laved into the shell of your ear, tongue darting out to pull roughly alone the sensitive flesh when you responded with little other than a cry of his name that wobbled dangerously as you trembled, “What’s your colour?” Your knuckles were a stark white against your ruddy hue as they sunk deeper into the clench you had on the pillow that was flying from your reach with each precariously powerful thrust. 

“Answer me if you don’t want me to stop, pet.”

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