#also seems like he got possessed by jimmy page

[road-2nowhere]

The Making of "The World Needs a Hero" [ More Deth (Sanctuary Promo) ] - May 2001. ➙ [ 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 ]

[mermaidsirennikita]

If you have the time and inclination I would absolutely love a list of the best sex scenes you’ve read this year!

For sure!

Managed by Kristen Callihan. I actually just read this one and this scene... lives rent free in my head, as they say. The hero and heroine are platonic friends but staying together while the band he manages is on tour, and he finds her dirty underwear in their shared bathroom... Inhales it... and uses it to jack off. She later finds this underwear (handwashed) underneath his mattress. What makes this scene especially good is that a) he's so uptight and snappish and this is truly deranged behavior b) she starts knocking on the door mid-masturbation which *REALLY* does it for him. If that doesn't seem like ~sex to y'all, there's also a scene where he's fingerfucking her after he comes inside her and starts pushing his cum back in there. That was also nice. (THIS. HERO.)

The Bride Goes Rogue by Joanna Shupe. Obviously, the guided masturbation carriage scene. What makes this scene really really good is that he does not touch himself at all during, and just stares at her like a hungry dog.

Lothaire by Kresley Cole. Like, every sex scene in this book is an absolute banger... The dry humping on the couch when he bites her lip to scare her, is shocked when she grabs the back of his head to kiss him even harder, and completely loses his mind; the scene that goes from him biting and sucking on her finger in a trance like it's his pacifier to like.... straight tittyfucking and light d/s; the "let me give you boundless pleasure because I'm probably gonna have to kill you next week" scene, after which Ellie bursts into tears and he stares at the ceiling trying to convince himself that he doesn't love her; the "Ellie loses her virginity on the couch and it's actually very sweet because he's so nervous about accidentally murdering her" scene, which begins with his knee bouncing with anxiety because he wants her first fucking to be superlative; the blood blowjob/69 -> rough "TELL ME YOU LOVE ME" sex (she does not tell him), which is also, despite being written on the page, somehow the loudest sex scene ever, RIP for his neighbors.

Lead by Kylie Scott. I really love the "let's fuck on my kitchen table to get it out of our systems" scene, but I really really love the scene where Jimmy and Lena have SUPER INTIMATE MISSIONARY KISSING SEX and he's never had that kind of sex before and it's verrrrrrry intense.

Of Visions and Secrets by Kathryn Ann Kingsley. The hero is possessed by an evil monster thing that takes over him and kills when people scream, so he's very specifically like "I am going to fuck you on my desk now, DO NOT SCREAM" and when she does start to scream, he gags her with his bowtie. Great choice.

Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid. The scene where Ilya wins MVP or whatever so he makes Shane edge himself in front of him while Ilya sits there, fully clothed, drinking vodka, super cool, calm, and collected, UNTIL HE ISN'T and he has to go over there and fuck him IMMEDIATELY. And they're in a penthouse where nobody can hear them so they're finally able to be as loud and wild as they've always wanted to be.

The Long Game by Rachel Reid. This is the sequel to Heated Rivalry but I'm doing it anywaaaay because the scene where Ilya fucks Shane in his trophy room??? To hype him up about all his accomplishments??? And afterwards they're like "that got weird"? It was so soft and couple-y????

MacRieve by Kresley Cole. The "pump her full of cum with positive vibes or she'll LITERALLY DIE" scene. The heroine is a succubus, and has to receive semen to live, that's just the facts. The hero has a lot of succubus-related trauma and so while they had enjoyable sex (eventually) his feelings of self-loathing and resentment basically affected the... product quality. So she got SICK. And was DYING. And he took her to her succubus relatives and they were like she needs POSITIVE VIBES CUM and YOU CAN'T GIVE HER THAT so don't worry, we have TRAINED HEALERS who CAN. And, being a Kresley Cole werewolf (whose primary drive is to Guard and Protect the Pussy and Satisfy It), he basically short circuited and was like OH I'M GONNA GIVE HER ALL THE POSITIVE VIBES. Glorious. Chef's kiss. So glad I read this novel.

Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage by Jennifer Ashley. Hero and heroine are separated marrieds having breakfast together, and they basically start teasing each other. I think he's all "haha I have food on my thumb bet you won't lick it off" and she's like "oh put it on your dick and see what I'll do then asshole" and he is SHAKEN. Anyway, devolves into a lot of oral sex at the breakfast table.

When the Duke Was Wicked by Lorraine Heath. Hero licks rum off the heroine's pussy in his office, I've discussed this one a lot and I still love it. I think my favorite part is when they're in the carriage on the way home after and he's thinking to himself like "well that escalated quickly; that got really out of hand".

Preferential Treatment by Heather Guerre. It's a tie between when the heroine reverse cowgirl'd the hero in his chair while they played chess and he had to keep from coming until she said he could (they're in a femdom relationship)... or the scene where the heroine spanks the hero for being bad before they have super passionate sex on the floor. Or the scene where they're Facetiming and he has a vibrating cock ring on and she quizzes him on facts about her and every time he gets a question wrong she takes the vibration up a level?

Run, Run Rabbit by C.M. Nascosta. I really enjoy .... all the sex in this book? Though I think the sexiest scene actually isn't a sex scene--it's when the hero, who is a werewolf, can smell that the heroine (also a werewolf) is aroused and leans in and is like "You smell like prey". But there's also a scene later on where she's riding his face and is like "maybe I can smother this asshole with my vagina" and that was great.

Kiss of a Demon King by Kresley Cole. The scene where Rydstrom tied Sabine to a tree and ate her out all night, never letting her come (as revenge for his own edging imprisonment lmao). Made funnier when she has a meltdown the next day and is like "AND MY BOOBS ARE ALL RED AND SCRATCHY BECAUSE YOU JUST WENT TO TOWN ON THEM ALL LAST NIGHT" and he's like ".... my bad".

When the Earl Met His Match by Stacy Reid. Hero and heroine have really passionate sex after their marriage hits the rocks re: many issues, and she says I love you for the first time when she comes and it's like.... oops.

The Hawk by Monica McCarty. Hero and heroine are on a raft that's getting rocked by a storm, and in order to distract her he naturally starts having sex with her, and the waves literally enhance his stroke game. Iconic.

Dark Needs at Night's Edge by Kresley Cole. Conrad and Neomi's first time was so good--in part because he was like, a 300+ year old virgin, and in part because there was such a great buildup to them being able to touch, let alone have sex. Also, like, every sex scene with this pairing is him being on the brink of mindless madness and Neomi being like "WHOOOOAAAA BESSIE" and I love that. So much.

A Caribbean Heiress in Paris by Adriana Herrera. The fingerbanging scene on the Eiffel Tower. It's LIT!

The Duke I Tempted by Scarlett Peckham. The big femdom sex scene in the book is so good. Not only because we rarely see femdom in historicals, but because it's such a beautiful moment wherein the hero is finally truly himself with the heroine, and she unlocks an aspect of herself she hadn't really been able to access before. Also, bondage.

Forbidden by Elizabeth Lowell. There's a scene (hint o' femdom, I'd say) where the hero and heroine have really fallen out, and he's being such a cold dick to her, and refuses to touch her. So she starts touching him all over while he tries not to react (and fails). It's again, a surprisingly femdom-coded scene for a 90s historical, and I really loved his gradual caving to her.... ministrations.

How to Steal A Scoundrel's Heart by Vivienne Lorret. Hero and heroine both think she's not a virgin, so during their first time he sticks it in kinda abruptly. They both immediately realize that she was wrong and she just didn't understand what losing your virginity constitutes lmao. So he pulls out and slowly starts over, beginning by eating her out. And he licks the virgin's blood~ (which also occurs in Lothaire, as I realized a few weeks ago).

A Week to Be Wicked by Tessa Dare. Everyone loves the dry humping through a sheet scene, and they love it for a reason.

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall. The (trans) heroine tops the hero in their first sex scene, and I believe it's the first time she's had sex ever--certainly since she transitioned. It's a really lovely, vulnerable scene, and I found it to be super well done.

Heartbreaker by Sarah MacLean. The first time Clayborn goes down on Adelaide and realizes that she has a praise kink... So he proceeds to praise her super hard.

Fuck! Forgot these:

Bound to the Battle God by Ruby Dixon. Heroine eats this super juicy piece of fruit while the hero eats her out. Very much a memory maker.

Sworn to the Shadow God by Ruby Dixon. Heroine and hero start making out but she pumps the breaks and tells him she’s on her period. He’s like “I am the god of death, blood doesn’t concern me” and fingers her anyway.

Wed to the Wild God by Ruby Dixon. Heroine pegs the god of the wild and he comes so hard that a giant acorn falls from the tree above and hits her in the head mid-stroke.

[okadaizoirl]

ummmm so it wasn't a one-off after all?????? oops whatever writing this helps me feel better so fuck it

SO THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS FOR AGES??? SITTING?????? FINISHED????????? so here's that second "chapter" of my BCS self-insert fic

8:15am.

Jimmy pulled in to his office just to see that Mike was already there-- A sealed folder in his hand. Figures that he'd throw such a fit over how early he was asked for, just to show up even earlier. As he unlocked the door and made his way back to his office, he set his hands down on the arms of his chair before finally sitting.

"What've you got for me?"

Mike let the folder fall onto the desk from under his crossword as he stood just a foot or two away. Despite his complaints, he sounded just as alert as usual as he took a sip of his coffee from its paper cup.

"Well, first off, kid's real last name is Morrison," he began as Jimmy opened the folder he was given. Photographs spilled out first, with printed paper falling just behind. "Owns some property willed to him by his grandfather, lives there, barely seems to pay the utilities. Has a cat. And a blog."

Jimmy first looked at the photos-- The first few seemed to be a perimeter view of his applicant's home. Dandelions littered the yard, the grass tall and unkempt, yet the home's exterior and windows seemed fairly clean. The house number was visible from the street, and Alex's beat-up ride was there in the driveway.

What a bittersweet sight, that car. It tugged at Jimmy's mind in a way that kept him thinking of how this morning would go throughout his sleepless night.

He didn't realize he was speaking until the words had already left his mouth-- "And what about a connection to music?"

Mike looked up from his crossword, head slowly turning to give that blank stare Jimmy was all too fucking familiar with. That attitude never failed to start even the smallest fire of annoyance in him, even now as he found himself chasing the most irrelevant thing about this new guy. His eyes widened, brows raised, before pointing to the printed papers.

"Huh? Is it in these? Anything on that?"

It took another agonizing moment of silence, but with a sigh, Mike spoke again.

"He was in band in school. Marching band, orchestra, seemed like he wanted to shoot for Carnegie Hall but ended up playin' an electric bass with a group of kids in a shitty bar. That is, until he got a call from grandpa asking for help-- That answer your burning question?"

It did, and fuck, did he regret asking. His prior teasing did, in fact, strike a nerve as he'd suspected, but not nearly the nerve he meant to touch. For a second, he tried to speak, but only a soft noise left his throat-- But he at least got it on the second time.

"Uh-- What else did you find, then? These papers, what are they?" As he posed the question, he finally gave the documents a look over, taking in the printed website's formatting.

"Blog posts," Mike answered. "I didn't print all of 'em, but I got the ones that stood out to me."

Jimmy gave each page a quick skim-- Some seemed almost like diary entries, others written by his to-be assistant stirred up in passionate frenzies about civil rights movements. The only thing close to criminal activity in the least was admission of possession and use of marijuana. He finally looked up to Mike from those documents, a silent question posed then and there: Can he be trusted?

Thankfully, Mike answered with a nod. "He's young and dumb, but loyal. He's fine to come aboard."

Jimmy let out a sigh of relief, but he didn't know why. Mike, however, caught that sound, responding to it with a raised brow.

"But he's also barely even grown. 25, says so on his blog, on his driver's license." From relief to suddenly being put on the defensive, Jimmy at first just scoffed.

"So? He's been an adult for long enough that he knows he needs a good job, he gets one." That was met with a brief shake of Mike's head.

"What I'm saying is, he doesn't need even half of the bullshit you bring to the table in his life." Instantly, he was met with protest from Jimmy.

"What?! I do not bring bullshit to the table, Mike!"

But even so, as if nothing had been said at all, Mike continued. "He can have a good-paying job. He can keep a secret. But whenever you have anybody around that you can rope into something, you pull them in before they even know it."

While Jimmy sat back in silence, Mike seemed to think it pertinent to lean in as he finally capped off his point:

"This guy's life is just starting. Don't screw it up."

Jimmy could feel his blood boiling under his skin, but Mike just turned to leave. And he let him. Oh, he'd likely think of comebacks he could have said for days, but the first only came to him after Mike was opening the front door to head back to his car-- Said just under his breath.

"Yeah, like he wasn't going to already."

With an irritated sigh, he looked over what had been printed again. Nothing stood out to him in particular, but the greyscale printed copies of an obviously full-color webpage made some things a bit difficult; for instance, a rectangle that looked enough like a flag stamped the bottom left corner of the website, but he couldn't see any hints of what colors might make up that flag-- It didn't look like the flag of Mexico, at least, but no country he could think of immediately.

Meanwhile, back in that property in the photographs on Saul's desk, Alex was just doing his best to wake up. Wake up, get ready, make a good impression on the first day. He looked himself over in the mirror, taking in the sight of himself in the suit he picked...

... It was maybe a little tight on his hips. It'd just have to do. With a quick tug, he just tightened his tie and headed for his car. Once in the driver's seat, he could finally take a moment to take a deep breath in, and out. He just needed to keep himself collected. Work would be work, and home would be home. That's all there would be to it.

Not two minutes after he pulled from his driveway and his cell phone starts ringing. Just typical. With a groan, he opens it, putting the receiver to his ear.

"You reached Alex Lobelia. How can I help you?"

"You miserable bastard."

Oh, Alex knew that voice. All he could do at first was sigh as he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder.

"Mandy--"

"You do not get to call me that."

"Amanda. Look, Amanda, I told you before and I'll tell you again, we're over. And for reasons you couldn't help even if you tried."

"What reasons?! Was I just not ever going to be good enough for you?!"

"I didn't say that."

His calm when dealing with the sudden interrogation was from nothing more than unfortunate familiarity. Even as his past lover screamed into the phone, his mind was more occupied by making sure he remembered the directions to his new workplace. It'd just take ten or fifteen minutes, pushing twenty if something backed up the highway. His mind raced with how exactly he could stride right through the door, looking ready and chipper to file papers all day, as that yelling continued right in his ear.

It wasn't helping him much.

"Amanda, I really don't have time for this right now. I'm on my way to my new job."

"Oh, a new job, huh? You're just getting on so well without me."

"You're hearing what you wanna hear. I have to go, seriously."

As Alex pulled into a side parking spot, he snapped his phone shut and exited his vehicle with one more deep breath. Last chance to pull himself together. He slid his phone into his pocket, also double-checking that he had his wallet, his pen...

All there. Last stop. Time to walk in.

As Alex opened the front door to enter the waiting area, he found himself taking longer strides. His shoulders square, his posture straightened; yes, this would be a fresh start. No longer would he have to repress himself to get respect, and it all started here.

The door to Saul Goodman's office swung open wide, the lights flickering on one by one until Alexei's figure was fully illuminated in the doorway.

"What's the time, boss?"

"Nine o'clock," came his answer. "You're early."

"Better than late," Alex laughed in reply as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

[nightowlfandom]

Bully! Park Jimin- I’m Your Devil (DIRRRRTTYY)

So...I got a new computer and I have no clue how to screenshot on it as of now...and tbh I don’t feel like figuring out how. SO I’m gonna be experimenting with some layouts but until then you just have these annoying announcements.

Anyways, ANON ASKS  🧑🏿‍🎤  🧑🏿‍🎤  🧑🏿‍🎤 (you know who you are wink wink)

may I request a really aggressive schoolbully!jimin / sadistic!jimin smut inspired by the songs daddy issues, into it, and the hills :) 

Y’all some masochists but I ain’t mad.

Just know ya worth and if anyone treats you like this in real life, punch them in the balls. That being said, This is also LOOOONG. I didn’t plan for it to be but yeah. ALSO I GOT YOUR OTHER ASK SO I GOT CHU. I’m not sure if this is good but I hope I did you justice.

Reader who isn’t a virgin, really mean bully man, more foreplay than actual smut lol sorry, touch of diet-angst

Leggo.

...

“Okay class, what do you think the author was trying to say when she was describing her relationship with Damien?”

You sat at your desk, chin propped up in your hand as you gazed off longingly into space. This was one of the rare times you decided to pay attention because your class was reading your favorite book. “The Young Devil” (Completely made up lol). 

“She’s obviously a broken woman if she thinks Damien is ever gonna change his ways. She’s a stiff.” a comment made you practically fall forward. You turned your head to find the culprit of who said such a thing about your favorite character. “Anyways, she’s too safe. She couldn’t handle his issues.”

“Well maybe if Damien made an effort to open himself up, Belle wouldn’t have to pry so hard.” another girl rolled her eyes. “Men always think women can’t handle what they throw when in reality we take the heat for your dumb asses.”

“Interesting conversation. Y/N, what do you think?” the teacher took note that you were paying more attention and turned her sights on you. “What do you think about the dynamic between Damien and Belle?”

You cursed yourself for looking too interested. You hated speaking. “I...Um.” you opened your mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to say. “I think Damien’s refusal to allow Belle to see the other side of him not only puts their mental connection at risk, but physical as well.” you replied. 

“What do you mean physical?” she egged you on to elaborate. “As in sex?”

“W-well, yes and no.” you shrugged. “Belle prides herself on building connection through touch. She can’t have sex with Damien because she doesn’t feel loved by him. To him sex is just a thing you do. He gets his pleasure from bullying her, that’s his high.” you explained. “She claims she doesn’t care but if she didn’t, she wouldn’t spend her time wishing he was different...or something.” you played with your hands, staring down at your fingers.

The teacher stared at you before a smile broke out on her face. “Excellent analysis, Y/N!” she clapped her hands together. You returned the smile with the tiny bit of confidence that built up inside you. “Yes, Jimin did you have something you wanted to add?”

You turned your head to find the always mouthy Park Jimin lazily raising his hand. “She likes being bullied by him.” he said as if it was a matter of fact. 

“Excuse you?” you couldn’t help but speak out. Suddenly the entire class was quiet. They had never heard you speak so abruptly before. “What the hell do you mean she likes it.”

“She wouldn’t put up with it if she didn’t like it.” he raised an eyebrow. “She could just tell him to leave her alone, get lost or something.”

“How in the hell would Belle enjoy someone like Damien embarrassing her every minute he gets. Are we reading the same book?” you sat up straight crossing your arms. 

“Now this is getting interesting.” the teacher mumbled.

“You can tell by her actions. The rush of her blood when she blushes, the way she stammers over her words, the way she listens to his every word...much like you are right now, princess.” he winked. His smug grin alone made your blood boil.

“Oh and I suppose his possessive ways are warranted in your eyes too aren’t they.” you scoffed.

“Maybe, I mean she even says herself she feels cared about.” he shrugged.

“Because Damien is a manipulative dickhead!” you snapped. “He obviously wants her around because she’s the only girl who gives a shit about his life and he’d feel lost without her.” you snarled. “Then again I would expect this point of view from a man who changes bitches like he changes his underwear.” (A/N we don’t hate women here).

“Language Miss. L/N.” the teacher spoke. You rolled your eyes, glaring at Jimin one last time before facing forward. The whole class was silent.

“Nice one Y/N” a girl on your opposite side nudges you.

“Not bad for a quiet girl.” a boy piped up.

...

As classes were let out for the day you wordlessly avoided the looks you got from your other classmates. You walked down the halls, holding your books tightly to your chest. 

“Oi, Hey L/N!” 

You weren’t sure if the sound of Jimin’s voice made you wanna speed up or slow down. It didn’t matter because he went as far as to run and stop right in front of you. 

“Um..What?” you looked up at him.

“Oh, not excited to see me?” he scoffed with a sadistic smile. You didn’t know what he was planning but you didn’t like it. “Way to try and debate me in class today, who knew you had a mouth on you.”

“I was just answering the teachers question..I don’t want any trouble..” you clutched your books even tighter. Before he could reply a girl ran up, practically attaching herself to him. 

“JIMMY YOU HAVE DANCE PRACTICE!” she practically screeched. “Why are you talking to her?”

“Oh...Y/N here was-” he paused. “Just confessing her undying love for me!”

“What! No I wasn’t!” you tried to deny, but it was too late. Everyone who was around heard him. “I don’t have a crush on you!” You felt your face heart up.

“Oh Y/N, You don’t have to hide it! Why else would you speak to me passionately in class today.” his sick grin never left his face. You could tell this was his revenge for embarrassing him in class. “You were telling me all about how you couldn’t sleep another night without telling me. How you want me in more ways than one.”

He spoke loud enough so others could hear.

“That’s not true!” you snapped. You were trembling. Humiliation filled your body and was overflowing, much like the tears of embarrassment you couldn’t fight anymore. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Oh Y/N, you don’t have to hide it anymore. I know everything. The love letters, the staring-”

“What?!”

But it was too late, people were already giggling and staring at you with pity. You took one last look at Jimin, who was already walking away, gleefully accepting the high fives from the pigs who dared to say ‘Nice score.’

“Are you alright, Y/N?’ a girl came up to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “Should we go to the headmaster?” 

You didn’t answer, you just ran. You ran out the school, unknowingly into the pouring rain. It seemed the sky matched your mood today. You let out all the tears, not caring who saw or who looked at you as if you had lost your mind. Your house was far, but you didn’t care about that either. In that moment you felt as helpless as the character you loved dearly, Belle. 

...

You ignored everyone the next day, even your small group of lunch buddies. You worked alone, you sat alone at lunch, and by the time free period had rolled around, you had opted to hide. However, just as you prepared yourself to leave, who else but Jimin to stopped you in the middle of the halls. 

“Well if it isn’t my little admirer!” Jimin spoke loud enough to capture the attention of those around you. He ‘accidentally’ slapped your books out of your hands. “Oh, I’m sorry Y/N...Go ahead, pick those up.”

Without another word you knelt down, only to have him kick one of your books to the side. “What’s this! A diary!” 

A brown and black leather bound hardcover book sat at his feet. You instantly scrambled to get it, but he had managed to get his hands on it. “Isn’t this interesting!” 

“Jimin please don’t-!” you stood up, forgetting about your textbooks.

“Dear friend,-” he cleared his throat dramatically as he flipped through the pages of your diary.

Dear journal,

My life is nothing like stories I read about all the time. Each and every night I’d wish for my handsome devil to come. Come and take me away from here, away from the hate, away from the commotion, away from Park fucking Jimin. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him hate me the way he does. I just wish he’d be nice to me...just once. But that is one wish I know won’t come true. He’s just a sadistic asshole who bullies me because he knows I won’t say a word.

So why do i-

You snatched the book out of his hands before he could read any more, this time you were seething with rage. “If you EVER touch my property again I will- I’ll-”

“You’ll do what princess?” he smiled cheekily. “You won’t do a thing to me and we both know it...you’re just like that Belle chick. That handsome devil of yours is just a fever dream, get over it-.”

“Maybe, but I’d rather live in a dream than talk to Satan himself.” you snapped. “You’re just the devil.” you whimpered. “Why do I even put up with you?” you sighed. Jimin suddenly stepped forward. You mentally prepared yourself for the worst.

You felt his lips touch the side of your mouth, had you moved just a bit more, he would have been on your lips. “Because you love me.”

....

“For this project, I will be assigning you partners

Oh shit...please no. God, no. Dear lord if anyone can hear-

“Alex and Jackson. Lisa and Mark, Y/N and Jimin-”

“Fuck.” you mouthed. You dared looked next to you. Jimin was playfully leaning his cheek against the palm of his hand. He winked at you, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You will be doing book reports on The Young Devil. You choose the topic, this is due in two weeks. I recommend you get together outside of school.”

As class let out, Jimin followed you. “Sooo, partner! When am I coming over?”

“When pigs fly.” you answered sourly.

“Saturday at 7:00 you said? I’ll be there!” he threw an arm around your waist. “See you there, babe.”

“You don’t even know my address!” you called after him as he walked off. That probably wasn’t the best idea because everyone was staring at you again. “NO! BECAUSE WE HAVE A PROJECT....Nevermind.” you groaned. 

... (Saturday 7:30 PM)

“You’re late.” you seethed as you pulled open the door. Jimin sauntered in and you slammed the door.

Soon it was silent between you two. Before he could open his mouth, you left him standing there to bolt up the stairs. Jimin, being himself followed you. To be honest, you were already starting without him.

“Do you live alone?” he asked, noticing how empty your home was.

“I do.” you replied curtly. “My parents travel around a lot, so I never see them.” you shrugged. “They help me out though.”

“So mommy and daddy take care of everything-”

“You don’t know me.” you cut him off. You sat down at your desk and pulled up your notes, proceeding to work. “They help me because they care...unlike some people.” you scoffed.  “Shut up so I can concentrate.”

“I thought this was a partner thing.” you heard your bed creak. “I think we should put out minds...maybe bodies together and think of a concept.”

“I already have one.” you cut him off.

“Enlighten me.”

“If Damien hadn’t changed by the end of the book, would Belle still be with him.” you mused aloud.

“Probably.”

“....” you didn’t reply, because you didn’t want to admit he was right. Probably the only time you’d ever agree with him on anything. 

“What? Still mad at me for reading your little diary?” he asked. Once again, you ignored him. Suddenly, your chair was turned around abruptly and you were now staring at a red faced Jimin. “I don’t like being ignored, doll.”

He was so close, your noses were practically touching. You froze up, afraid to move. 

“Why are you so mean?” you found yourself asking. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Other than refuse to drop that good girl act of yours? We’re a dysfunctional two peas in a pod. I’m an asshole and you’re too much of a stiff to stop me.”

“Act?” you looked confused. “I don’t have an act.” you attempted to defend yourself. 

“Hm...that face you make is kind of hot.” he smirked. He slid his fingertips under your chin. Your vision went blurry, unable to process everything. You absent-mindedly began playing with the hem of your sweater.

(SMUT AHEAD, PROCEED WITH CAUTION)

“What is your deal!?” you found yourself getting angry as you stood up. Jimin stepped back looking startled. “You’re messing with my fucking head and I’ve had enough! Jimin what did I ever do to you?” you felt it again. Humiliation. “I’m not asking you to be my friend but the least you could do is be nice to me!”

“I don’t do nice, sweetheart. Like you said, I’m the devil.” he walked up to you. “Your blush is like a drug to me.” he laughed. “It’s cute.” he rested his hands on either side of your face. “Fuck, I kinda wanna kiss you right now. Do you wanna kiss me?”

YES!

“Yes, I mean no! I mean yes- I mean maybe, I mean fuck!”

Not even a second later, Jimin’s lips were over yours. Despite his bullying, his kiss was gentle. You practically melted. He protectively wrapped an arm around your waist. Your thoughts on the project were long gone. Jimin couldn’t figure out why he felt so protective of you all of a sudden, but thoughts ran through his head. Thoughts that if anyone else kissed you, touched, you even looked your way...he’d go ballistic.

And fuck, you were a great kisser. He held the back of your head with his free hand, guiding you into his touch, which you followed perfectly. His tongue slid through the gap in your mouth, yearning to taste you more. You felt lightheaded as if your heart was about to give out. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Maybe I’m so cruel because I don’t know how to act around you.” he whispered. “Maybe I’m trying to be the devil you want so bad.” you could see a flash of sadness in his eyes, which was quickly replaced with lust. “I wanna be your devil, Y/N...”

He kissed you again, this time his warm hands slithered under your clothes. You were by no means a virgin, but the way you felt made you feel shy and exposed. Jimin walked you back towards your bed and practically threw you on the plush surface while he rid himself of his shirt. Your bodies practically melted together, bodies meeting in a sweaty mass of limbs that explored one another. 

Be fumbled with your pants, almost tearing them off you. He gave you a sadistic smile before ghosting his lips over both your thighs. Your legs shook, trying to keep them steady. 

“Have you ever...done anything with anyone?” he asked.

“Once, but nothing special.” you admitted. “It was straight to the point.” you shrugged.

“Then I guess I have nothing to compete against.” he bit his lips. “You smell so good here.” he shuddered. “I wanna-”

He yanked down your panties next. His lips ghosted over your slit, pressing feather light kisses against you. 

You held your breath, unable to register what was going on. His fingers met your clit, sliding his fingers through your slickness. Before you could say another word, Jimin licked a stripe up your slit. You bucked your hips, only to be held down. He sucked harshly at your clit before playing with your little bud with his tongue. 

“F-fuh-” you couldn’t even muster up the words as Jimin played with you. 

“Fuck Y/N.” he groaned. You felt his fingers slid inside of you, coating his fingers in your water. “I don’t know what’s hotter, the look on your face or the way your-”

“D-don’t say it!” you cut him off. “I’m warning you!”

“What?” you could just see she shit-eating grin on his face. “You mean pussy? The way this pussy takes my fingers so well?” (Now from the top, make it drop- I’ll shut up)

He abruptly removed his fingers which made your back arch and lurch upwards. You sat up on his elbows only to witness Jimin rid himself on his pants and boxers. Your eyes widened when you saw his hardness. You couldn’t look away. 

“See something you like?” his voice made you snap out of it. He bit his lip with a grin. He grabbed your legs and aligned himself with you, teasing the hell out of your entrance, just barely touching you with his length. “Am I your devil, Y/N?”

“God, yes.” you couldn’t fight it anymore. 

Slowly, he slid in, groaning at the feel of you around his dick. “Shit Y/N...How the hell am I gonna move when you’re so t-tight. I won’t last 10 seconds.” he whimpered. He slowly thrust again, your juices creating a deep echo in the room. “Hah...Ungh...f-fu” he planted his hands on the bed, one either side of your head. “Y/N...You don’t know what you do to me.”

“J-jimin.” you mirrored his voice, wrapping your arms around his neck. “P-please?”

That was all the motivation he needed to start moving. 

Your moans and yells echoes through the room, the clapping sound of flesh hitting flesh bounced off the walls. Sweat kept your bodies practically glues together. His fingers moved everywhere. Grabbing your sweater that for some reason was still on, grabbing your legs to pull you back into him. Your face to move your hair out of the way so he could witness the euphoria written shamelessly on your face. His jaw went slack and he felt himself getting to that part, and he could tell you were close too.

You were first, practically convulsing under him, screams of his name escaping your lungs.

“ARGH, FUCK!” He followed suit and immediately removed himself from you, only to spray himself...all over your sweater and legs. He felt forward, practically shaking against you. He messily kissed you, not bothering to think about neatness as his tongue invaded your mouth for the umpteenth time.

“Mind if I crash here tonight?” he laughed as he plopped next to you. 

“Sure.” you breathlessly replied. “Project can wait till tomorrow.”

As you drifted off to sleep, Jimin shimmied out of bed and walked over to the open window. He felt the breeze on his skin and closed his eyes. “Please.” He whispered. “I want to treat her well...don’t let me fuck it up.” He silently wished before joining you in bed again, protectively wrapping his arms around you. “I’ll do anything for you, Y/N...I’m your devil....”

...

Cheesy ending I know but what did ya think?! 

[expectingtofly]

One Hell (Heaven?) of a Situation

2.6k

also posted on ao3

thanks to @callenofthenorth​ for beta-editing :)

15x20 Coda, Crack and Fluff, Jimmy and Kansas are in Heaven

I have no good explanation for this. I was in the middle of writing a "serious" coda... then the stuff about Jimmy and Kansas came out and this happened instead

Dean opened his eyes to a bright, blue sky.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, realizing he was lying on the ground outside. Sitting up, he looked around, trying to get his bearings, then everything came flooding back to him. The vamp mimes, that fucking piece of rebar, piercing pain—he looked down at himself and frowned. These were not the clothes he’d been wearing on that hunt. 

“Fuck,” he said aloud as it hit him. “I’m dead.”

Getting to his feet, he stared at the building he’d ended up beside. The Roadhouse? He thought his Heaven was setting off fireworks with Sammy. Then a familiar figure stepped out onto the porch and called, “Dean!”

“Bobby?” Dean asked as he approached the porch.

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?” Bobby asked, pulling him into a hug. “Thought you had several more years in you.”

“Yeah, well, bad luck.” He really was gonna have to come up with a better story for how he got here than death by glorified rusty nail.

Pulling away from Bobby, he looked at the lit windows of the Roadhouse. Was that "Dust in the Wind" playing from inside? “What memory is this?”

“It isn’t one.” Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. “Heaven’s completely different now. Jack changed everything. Everyone’s together, we can go wherever we want, do whatever we want.” He gestured to the Roadhouse door. “Turns out that means a lot of parties inside.”

“Shit, alright.” Dean smiled. “Way to go Jack.”

“Wasn’t just his idea, though. Castiel helped.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat, or would’ve if it was still beating. He stared at Bobby, afraid he hadn’t heard him right. “Cas  helped?”

Bobby grinned. “A week ago, or something like that—time passes strange here—Jack showed up and introduced himself. Brought Cas with him.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean interrupted. “A week ago? What the hell? Why didn’t Jack bring Cas down to Earth? Sammy and I, we were going crazy—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to remember his last days on Earth. The way he and Sam had poured through books of lore, trying to find a spell, something, anything, to bring Cas back. The long, sleepless nights, the way his eyes burned as he scanned yellowed pages, the fear that they might never get Cas back, that he might never get to give Cas a reply… Even after defeating Chuck, returning to run-of-the-mill monster hunts, nothing had seemed normal. Nothing had seemed right.

“I don’t know,” Bobby said, frowning. “Cas said he had work to do here first. He’s inside—”

The words hadn’t left his mouth before Dean was wrenching open the door to the Roadhouse and rushing inside. Calls and greetings rose around him, but he couldn’t pay them any attention, too intent on scanning the room. 

There, in the corner, sitting at a table near a stage where a band played. The angel he never thought he’d see again. “Cas!” Dean called and rushed forward. 

A woman at the same table nudged Cas’ shoulder, and Cas turned from watching the band. His eyes met Dean’s, then widened, and a look of horror crossed over his face.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands up in defense, and holy fuck—Dean skidded to a stop in front of the table, the words, I love you on his tongue. That was not Cas’ voice. And the man in front of him was not Cas.

He was Jimmy.

Dean stared at him, the joy and relief that had urged him forward giving way to shock and disappointment. If he’d paused for one second before running over, he would’ve realized in an instant that the man in front of him wasn’t Cas. There were several giveaways. For one, the polo shirt and khakis Jimmy was wearing. Two, his arm around the woman sitting in the chair next to him—his wife, Dean was assuming.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean managed, realizing he’d been staring with his mouth open. He shut it and tried to not look as betrayed as he felt.

“I live down the road,” Jimmy said, looking affronted. “Well, not live, because I guess we’re all dead—”

“Where’s Cas?”

“He’s, um,” Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room. “He was here a moment ago, but I don’t know where he went.”

Dean blinked at him, then turned to scan the room. “Anyone seen Cas leave?” he called desperately. He got a mixture of noncommittal sounds and shrugs. Just his luck. The one time he was finally ready to tell Cas how he felt, and Cas was nowhere to be found.

Bobby reached his side. “I see you’ve met Jimmy. Again.”

“Yeah.” He stared at Jimmy, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This is one hell of a situation.” Which was ironic, considering he was in Heaven right now.

“It’s not my fault!” Jimmy protested. “I wasn’t expecting Castiel to show up looking like me! Besides, I thought angels didn’t go to Heaven when they died.”

“Well, Cas is special,” Dean spluttered. “He gets to keep his vessel, I guess. And if anyone deserves to be in Heaven, it’s him.” 

Tearing his eyes from the imposter, he turned to Bobby. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered. “Why is Jimmy in my Heaven?” It wasn’t that he hated the guy; it was just incredibly difficult to look at him—Jimmy having the same face as Cas and all.

“Like I said,” Bobby explained patiently, “it’s not  your  heaven. It’s everyone’s. Case in point, your dad has a house not five minutes from here.”

“Fuck.” Sam was gonna  love  that. “Wait.” He scanned the room again, slower now. There was Ellen, Jo, Mrs. Tran—fuck, he was gonna have a lot of explaining to do about Kevin. “Where’s mom?”

Bobby grimaced. “Her and John split up, pretty hairy situation. She’s doing well now, though, much better off without him. Do you know a stuck-up British guy by the name of Ketch?”

“You’re joking. Not him and mom… Together?” Bobby nodded and Dean swore under his breath. “This place isn’t what I was expecting at all.”

“If I might add,” Jimmy spoke up and Dean looked at him. “Castiel has been creating quite the disturbance since he got here. Heaven was… peaceful before him. Not so much now.”

“What’s he talking about?” Dean asked Bobby.

“Well, turns out Cas isn’t such a fan of John—” 

“He nearly started a fight!” Jimmy interjected. “This is Heaven, for Heaven’s sake!”

Dean couldn’t help but grin, and Bobby returned the smile. “Come on,” he said, leading Dean away from Jimmy. “Cas will turn up soon enough. I’m sure Jack will too. There’s a lot of people here who are happy to see you.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean said, trying to hide the fact that, at the moment, the only person he wanted to see was Cas. He let Bobby lead him to the bar where Ellen smiled and waved at them. “Icarus-Borne on Wings of Steel” filled the air and he frowned. That sounded pretty good for a cover band. 

He glanced at the stage and stopped in his tracks. “Is that… Kansas?”

Bobby nodded. “They all died when their tour bus crashed. I would say it’s a shame, but I’m enjoying the live music too much.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. First Jimmy, now Kansas. Heaven was… interesting, to say the least. Overwhelming was another way to put it. If only Cas would show up, he could start to appreciate it all. 

Cas? he prayed silently. I’m here, buddy. I wanna… I wanna see you. He waited for the sound of wings, but none came, and disappointment sunk in his chest.

He made his way through the Roadhouse, greeting old friends, making up a badass story for how he died—thirteen vamps, an epic car chase, and liberal use of his grenade launcher—but his smile felt forced. Where the hell was Cas? Maybe he was angry Dean had stayed silent during his love confession. In Dean’s defense, Cas had thrown a lot at him all at once. He’d been in a state of shock for days after. Even now he wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing up.

“Jimmy,” he called, returning to the table. He caught the way Jimmy rolled his eyes before looking up at him. 

“Yes?”

“Cas, he’s been alright, hasn’t he? I mean, did he, um, has he said anything about me?”

Jimmy’s eye twitched and his wife laughed. “What has he not said about you—that’s the real question,” she answered. 

“He won’t shut up,” Jimmy added. He gestured to Kansas, to the bar. “All this, it’s been for you. Giving Kansas a gig here, the free, unlimited liquor. He acts like he’s designing Heaven for everyone, but it’s painfully clear it’s all for you. He even brought in the Impala, which he won’t let anyone near, by the way.”

Baby was here? Obviously. She was as good a car as cars got. Of course Cas understood that. “So, he’s not mad at me?” he pressed.

Jimmy let out an exasperated sigh and looked at his wife. “This is the nonsense I had to put up with, the whole time Castiel was possessing me.” He looked back at Dean. “No. Not that I know of. Did you two really not get together on Earth? After all this time?”

“We’ve been busy,” Dean protested. “Saving the world, defeating God—we haven’t exactly had time for heart to heart talks.” That wasn’t strictly true, but the truth wasn’t something he was proud of. All these years and he’d never worked up the courage to tell Cas how he truly felt. But now he had a second chance, if only Cas would show. 

“Well, hopefully you two can talk it out soon because if I have to see Castiel stare at you longingly across the room one more time, even if it’s not through my own eyes anymore, I’m gonna request a transfer to hell.” With that, he turned back to his wife, and Dean stammered for a snarky retort. Unable to come up with one that preserved the last shreds of his dignity, he slunk away.

Joining Jo and Charlie at the bar, he listened as Charlie told him about the recent larping tournament she had organized. He paid attention, nodding and laughing at the right moments, but his eyes kept searching the room for any glimpse of a trenchcoat. 

The door to the Roadhouse opened and Dean turned expectantly, his heart racing. Rufus raised a hand in greeting as he stepped inside and Dean sighed. 

Please, Cas, he prayed. I have so much to tell you.

His eyes returned to Jimmy again. Same hair, same face, same eyes as Cas. But so different. So human. Cas, though… Cas was gorgeous—the way he stared at Dean so intently, the way he carried himself, the way his eyes glowed with angelic strength, such blue eyes, and his hands, holy fuck...

“For Pete’s sake!” Jimmy exclaimed and Dean startled, realizing he’d been staring for who knew how long. Jimmy jabbed his finger at a door on the back wall. “He’s hiding in there.”

“W-What…?”

Jimmy looked heavenwards—well, at the ceiling—for a long moment before meeting Dean’s eyes. “Castiel panicked when he heard you were here, something about not expecting you so soon—”

Dean stopped listening, already shoving his stool aside and rushing to the door. The doorknob didn’t budge so he knocked. “Cas? Cas, are you in there?”

A long pause, then a muffled, “Yes.”

Dean leaned closer to the door to hear better. “Cas, what the hell, man? What are you doing in there?” He waited for a response, but none came. “Cas?” he pressed, afraid the angel had flown the coop.

The door opened slowly, and Dean took a step back. Cas stood with one hand on the doorknob, an embarrassed look on his face. “Hello, Dean.”

The sound of those familiar words, in that familiar voice, made Dean weak at the knees. He forced his voice to be steady as he said, “Hi, Cas.”

Cas studied him. “You died so soon.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, sick joke, right?”

“How did it happen?” Cas started to ask, but Dean waved his hand. 

“Not important. The better question is, why have you been avoiding me?” His voice faltered at a sudden fear that he wouldn’t like the answer. Maybe Cas had had too much time to think since the night he died, maybe he was regretting everything he’d said, maybe Dean’s silence had spoiled the moment—

Cas ducked his head, studying his shoes. “I wasn’t sure… I never expected to see you again. I thought my death was final. Then Jack awakened me and brought me from the Empty, and...”

“And?”

“And I wasn’t sure how you would react to my reappearance.” Cas raised his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “I said a lot of things before I died, and I don’t know how things stand between us now.” 

“Then let me speak.” He glanced over his shoulder to see everyone watching them. In all the times he’d pictured this moment, he’d never imagined having an audience, let alone background music courtesy of Kansas. But he’d be damned if he went one moment longer without telling Cas the truth. 

Focusing on those blue eyes again, he took a deep breath and said, “You were wrong.” Cas frowned a little and Dean continued, “You  can  have me. I love you, Cas—have for years now. I just never… I never knew how to say it.” Cas watched him, face serious, eyes intent. So undeniably Castiel. “I love you. So goddamn much. Please say it’s not too late. Please tell me you’re not having second thoughts.”

A smile slowly spread over Cas’s face. “It’s not too late, Dean. I’ll always love you.”

Relief rushed over Dean. Before he could think twice about it, he stepped forward, grabbed Cas’ tie, and pulled him in to kiss him. He felt Cas’ hand rise to his cheek, then Cas was kissing him back and people were cheering, but Dean ignored them all, wrapping his free arm around Cas to pull him closer. 

“I thought you didn’t love me back,” Cas whispered, pushing his forehead against Dean’s when they broke apart after seconds, or maybe years. Time in Heaven was different, after all.

“I can’t believe you hid in a closet to avoid me.”

Cas laughed a little. “Not my finest moment.”

“I almost confessed my love to Jimmy; I thought he was you.”

“Oh, yes. I suspect his being here is going to cause some confusion.” Cas pulled away to frown at Jimmy over Dean’s shoulder. “And he was not supposed to tell you where I was.”

Dean laughed. “I’m just so glad you’re here.” He kissed Cas again, deeply, slipping his hands under the worn fabric of the trenchcoat. Cas’ fingers slid along his neck and in his hair. Finally, after so long...

Though his mind was spinning, he caught Jimmy’s voice rise above Kansas playing “The Wall,” “First I had to hear all of Castiel’s thoughts about Dean while he possessed me, now I have to share a Heaven with them—”

“Get a room!” Jo called. Dean waved her off as Cas pulled him into the supply room. He’d make a comment later on the irony of hiding in a closet. Right now, he nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to keep kissing Cas while fumbling to pull the door shut behind them. Time to start enjoying the afterlife.

Tag List

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[lee-scribbles-and-doodles]

I caved and got season 2 so....

S2 e1 reaction

The tutorial is a cute reference to the first episode.

The graphics are decent... Sam's ears wobble around.

Asdfghh Max policing Sam's vocabulary

Mr. Spatula is evil now?

"Like a sociopath or a Fox newscaster!"

Why are there tire tracks on wall???

Flint Paper!!!

The Maintron has turned on us!

"--but I don't think about throwing you out with the trash. Often. For very long."

Leonard IS STILL IN THE CLOSET

Jar O'Bliss

Maimtron: (trying to kill us)

Also Maimtron: (Pleasently converses with us)

Charlie's Angels reference???

Ok yeah I had a feeling we had to pull his wind-up key

Wait... are we going to kill Santa???

Omg, omg, we're fighting Santa. I love this!

Dear God not the soda popper again

I appreciate that Sam and Max seem to hate them as much as me

"Sam, why am I the only one to associate Christmas with the sound of gunfire?"

Yeeees I can throw snowballs at them!

"The snow will turn red with the blood of the naughty!"

Max jumping on the trampoline ♡

Asdfff the elf wants us to make her cry

Tor-tortue me Elmer!?

Aw Max jumped on Sam's shoulders while going up to topiary ♡

Santa has a reundeer rug!?

We're just stealing all of his shit while he shoots at the two elves

Sybil isn't home :( ...Well, considering her building got thrown she might be down the street.

"Quiet headknuckle."

Bosco screaming everytime someone says "them" is lovely

Oooh, we can go into Stinky's

Girl Stinky pretty 🥰

Oh, Sybil and Abe are here!

"Attacking with sanitation... That's just plain dirty!"

I love Sybil and the way she tolerates the boys

Pfft Abe has a MySpace page. I guess this did come out in the early 2000s

Oooh, girl stinky called Sam "fido" and he didn't like it.

Pfft, Girl Stinky is just using trivia to harass everyone and feel superior

"Uh oh Max, I think the c.o.p.s. may have been educational toys." "I knew there was a reason I didn't like them."

Oh cool, Punch Out

I guess we just have to leave poor Jimmy there for now

We... stole Stinky's sock???

Aw, Bosco is worried about the boys when they and his package disappeared

Wait... so the elf was possessed, not Santa???

Oh, that's what her sock is for.

Why are the spirits of Christmas in a beer bottle

I like the hippie Santa

"Don't I Crack you up now, Sam?" LOL, present Max being jealous of future Max

"What's he going to do? Give him the silent treatment?" "..." "No! Stop!! Please!!!" "Never underestimate the power of passive aggression, Max."

"Ohoho, Max. You and Sam will be dead soon enough." 👀

Well... those tourettes jokes haven't aged well. 🙃 hopefully it'll get replaced in the remaster

Anyway, I think I know how to save Jimmy

Aw, Jimmy and his wife's reunion is cute

Asdff Max just boots him

The demon is actually kinda cute looking

Santa why would you eat demon jello!

"Why won't you just die!" I feel the same about the soda poppers Max

Aw, the boys are going to deliver the toys

Minus the tourettes jokes the episode was decent. Seriously hope they remove those in the remaster. I'm sure the next episode will be better

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 12 paragraph viii

Only here’s what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can’t be trusted—? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight towards a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster? Is Kitsey right? If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or—like Boris—is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name? It’s not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn’t understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose presence you bloom out and out and out. A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help. Though my engagement isn’t off, not officially anyway, I’ve been given to understand—gracefully, in the lighter-than-air manner of the Barbours—that no one is holding me to anything. Which is perfect. Nothing’s been said and nothing is said. When I’m invited for dinner (as I am, often, when I’m in town) it’s all very pleasant and light, voluble even, intimate and subtle while not at all personal; I’m treated like a family member (almost), welcome to turn up when I want; I’ve been able to coax Mrs. Barbour out of the apartment a bit, we’ve had some pleasant afternoons out, lunch at the Pierre and an auction or two; and Toddy, without being impolitic in the least, has even managed to let casually and almost accidentally drop the name of a very good doctor, with no suggestion whatever that I might possibly need such a thing.

[As for Pippa: though she took the Oz book, she left the necklace, along with a letter I opened so eagerly I literally ripped through the envelope and tore it in half. The gist—once I got on my knees and fit the pieces together— was this: she’d loved seeing me, our time in the city had meant a lot to her, who in the world could have picked such a beautiful necklace for her? it was perfect, more than perfect, only she couldn’t accept it, it was much too much, she was sorry, and—maybe she was speaking out of turn, and if so she hoped I forgave her, but I shouldn’t think she didn’t love me back, because she did, she did. (You do? I thought, bewildered.) Only it was complicated, she wasn’t thinking only of herself but me too, since we’d both been through so many of the same things, she and I, and we were an awful lot alike—too much. And because we’d both been hurt so badly, so early on, in violent and irremediable ways that most people didn’t, and couldn’t, understand, wasn’t it a bit… precarious? A matter of self-preservation? Two rickety and death-driven persons who would need to lean on each other quite so much? not to say she wasn’t doing well at the moment, because she was, but all that could change in a flash with either of us, couldn’t it? the reversal, the sharp downward slide, and wasn’t that the danger? since our flaws and weaknesses were so much the same, and one of us could bring the other down way too quick? and though this was left to float in the air a bit, I realized instantly, and with some considerable astonishment, what she was getting at. (Dumb of me not to have seen it earlier, after all the injuries, the crushed leg, the multiple surgeries; adorable drag in the voice, adorable drag in the step, the arm-hugging and the pallor, the scarves and sweaters and multiple layers of clothes, slow drowsy smile: she herself, the dreamy childhood her, was sublimity and disaster, the morphine lollipop I’d chased for all those years.)

But, as the reader of this will have ascertained (if there ever is a reader) the idea of being Dragged Down holds no terror for me. Not that I care to drag anyone else down with me, but—can’t I change? Can’t I be the strong one? Why not?] [You can have either of those girls you want, said Boris, sitting on the sofa with me in his loft in Antwerp, cracking pistachios between his rear molars as we were watching Kill Bill. No, I can’t. And why can’t you? I’d pick Snowflake myself. But if you want the other, why not? Because she has a boyfriend? So? said Boris. Who lives with her? So? And here’s what I’m thinking too: So? What if I go to London? So? And this is either a completely disastrous question or the most sensible one I’ve ever asked in all my life.] [That little guy, said Boris in the car on the way to Antwerp. You know the painter saw him—he wasn’t painting that bird from his mind, you know? That’s a real little guy, chained up on the wall, there. If I saw him mixed up with dozen other birds all the same kind, I could pick him out, no problem.] And he’s right. So could I. And if I could go back in time I’d clip the chain in a heartbeat and never care a minute that the picture was never painted. To try to make some meaning out of all this seems unbelievably quaint. Maybe I only see a pattern because I’ve been staring too long. But then again, to paraphrase Boris, maybe I see a pattern because it’s there. [Do you ever think about quitting? I asked, during the boring part of It’s a Wonderful Life, the moonlight walk with Donna Reed, when I was in Antwerp watching Boris with spoon and water from an eyedropper, mixing himself what he called a “pop.” Give me a break! My arm hurts! He’d already shown me the bloody skid mark—black at the edges—cutting deep into his bicep. You get shot at Christmas and see if you want to sit around swallowing aspirin! Yeah, but you’re crazy to do it like that. Well—believe it or not—for me not so much a problem. I only do it special occasions. I’ve heard that before. Well, is true! Still a chipper, for now. I’ve known of people chipped three-four years and been ok, long as they kept it down to two-three times a month? That said, Boris added somberly—blue movie light glinting off the teaspoon —I am alcoholic. Damage is done, there. I’m a drunk till I die. If anything kills me—nodding at the Russian Standard bottle on the coffee table—that’ll be it. Say you never shot before? Believe me, I had problems enough the other way. Well, big stigma and fear, I understand. Me—honest, I prefer to sniff most times—clubs, restaurants, out and about, quicker and easier just to duck in men’s room and do a quick bump. This way—always you crave it. On my death bed I will crave it. Better never to pick it up. Although—really very irritating to see some bone head sitting there smoking out of a crack pipe and make some pronouncement about how dirty and unsafe, they would never use a needle, you know? Like they are so much more sensible than you? Why did you start? Why does anyone? My girl left me! Girl at the time. Wanted to be all bad and self-destructive, hah. Got my wish. Jimmy Stewart in his varsity sweater. Silvery moon, quavery voices. Buffalo Gals won’t you come out tonight, come out tonight. So, why not stop then? I said. Why should I? Do I really have to say why? Yeah, but what if I don’t feel like it? If you can stop, why wouldn’t you? Live by the sword, die by the sword, said Boris briskly, hitting the button on his very professional-looking medical tourniquet with his chin as he was pushing up his sleeve.]

And as terrible as this is, I get it. We can’t choose what we want and don’t want and that’s the hard lonely truth. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us. We can’t escape who we are. (One thing I’ll have to say for my dad: at least he tried to want the sensible thing—my mother, the briefcase, me—before he completely went berserk and ran away from it.) And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. And—I would argue as well—all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love. Viewed close: a freckled hand against a black coat, an origami frog tipped over on its side. Step away, and the illusion snaps in again: life-more-than-life, never-dying. Pippa herself is the play between those things, both love and not-love, there and not-there. Photographs on the wall, a balled-up sock under the sofa. The moment where I reached to brush a piece of fluff from her hair and she laughed and ducked at my touch. And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky—so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.

And that’s why I’ve chosen to write these pages as I’ve written them. For only by stepping into the middle zone, the polychrome edge between truth and untruth, is it tolerable to be here and writing this at all. Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time. And I feel I have something very serious and urgent to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life—whatever else it is—is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time—so too has love. Insofar as it is immortal (and it is) I have a small, bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.

[rogersgirlfriend]

Since I’ve been loving you

A/N: Uhm... hi!! I know it's been a long time but I'm back with a new fic! I decided that I want to be more active and now that I have more time I will come back with new fics! ❤️ I want to say a special thank you to @xgoingdownx who helped me through all of this (you're the best, ily). So enjoy the reading and let me know if you liked it, any kind of feedback will be accepted ❤️

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Female Reader

Warnings: none

Plot: you and Roger have been best friends since childhood, and you've been living together since you both attended university. You're both in a relationship but, after Roger realizes how much he actually loves you, he starts to cheat on his girlfriend with you, and you also start to cheat on your new boyfriend (Jimmy Page) with Roger.

“Y/N!” the voice of your roommate screaming interrupted your nap. You sighed strongly and after a few seconds, you got up and exited your bedroom.

“What, Roger?” you asked grumpily when you reached him in his room.

“Have you seen my socks?” he asked turning towards you. You took a look at his room and the anger grew even more. Saying it was a mess would be an understatement.

“Roger are you kidding me!? You woke me just to ask me where are your socks!? And what did you even do here!? It’s a mess!” you shouted at him. You didn’t like when he woke you up from your naps, especially if you had the night shift at the airport. Luckily for Roger, you didn’t have to go to work that night or he would’ve certainly been dead by now.

Roger rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry mom, I’ll clean this up later..” he said with an annoyed tone. “I moved here to not hear my mom shout at me, and then you do it? What was the point?” he muttered under his breath.

“Roger we both know for sure that you won’t clean your room and that I’ll have to do it, I swear to god if you don’t clean your room this time I’ll throw you out in the street!” you said turning your heels and heading back to your room.

“Hey! You didn’t tell me where my socks are!” you heard the muffled voice of Roger after you closed your room’s door. You sighed and didn’t even bother to reply.

You put on some music from the record player in your room, Led Zeppelin would be good. You threw yourself on the bed again facing the roof. As the first notes of No Quarter began to play you started to get lost in your thoughts.

Roger had been your best friend since you both were little children. Your mother was a close friend of his mother, so you basically grew up together, went to school and university together. You both even decided to move in together and become roommates. You loved Roger from the bottom of your heart but you couldn’t stand the way he started to treat you after Queen became famous. He started to be more and more absent, leaving you home alone most of the time. Not to mention the fact that you had to take care of him when he came back home drunk at night, or unwillingly heard him and his girlfriend Jo having sex in the other room. When you moved in with him you didn’t think that living with him would be like this.

Suddenly a knock at your door distracted you from your thoughts.

“Come in..”

Roger opened the door entering the room and quietly sitting at the end of your bed.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked softly looking down after a few minutes of silence. You stood up sitting next to him.

“I’m not mad at you Rog…” you sighed hugging him. He hugged you back stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry I woke you up…and that I called you ‘mom’… and that my room is a mess. I promise I will clean it by myself.” he said. A little smile formed on your face.

“You’re forgiven this time… by the way your socks are on the clotheshorse. You just had to check it before you made a mess in your room, Einstein.” You said with a sarcastic voice.

“Thanks love, you’re the best!” he said kissing you on the cheek and getting up. A suspicious look formed on your face.

“Wait.. did you just said you’re sorry only to make me tell you where your socks were?” you asked him.

“…no…” he muttered.

You picked a pillow to throw at him, but before you even turned around he had already run away. You got up and turned the record player off. You smiled. You couldn’t stay mad at Roger for too long. Maybe it was because you couldn’t resist his sad puppy face, or maybe it was because of the little crush that you started to develop on him a few years ago when he introduced you to Josephine. If you had to be honest, that crush had always been there, since he asked you to the dance on your final year of high school, when he saw that you were still alone, giving up on going with the girl that he liked at the time. You always tried to hide your feelings saying that it was just a teenage crush, but deep down you knew it wasn’t, and when you met Jo you were finally sure that you really liked Roger. Jo always seemed to hate you from the first moment she met you. She was possessive over Roger when you were around, it was as if she intended to make you jealous. When she spent time at your house she would always make sure that she was kissing Roger or that he was hugging her when you passed by. The sight of that made you roll your eyes until your head ached. And the fact that she pretended to like you made you feel even worse. It was evident as the sun that she didn’t like you at all, yet she still acted as if she really cared about you when Roger was around but when you were alone with her she didn’t even speak to you.

You exited your room and went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, you could hear Roger moving around in his room from your position.

What the hell is he doing? You decided to reach him in his room. When you opened the door you found him wearing a dark blue suit and a white button up, admiring himself in the mirror. He looked breathtaking but you had to compose yourself and clear your throat. He was caught by surprise when he realized that he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” he tried to act cool.

“I wanted to know why you were making so much noise, but now I want to know where you are going dressed like that!” you said pointing your finger towards the suit.

“Oh.. we have a stupid formal party to attend tonight, and Freddie wants us to be dressed as perfect as we can…” he said grumpily

“Sounds fun, also Freddie’s right. It’s a formal party, you can’t go in your pajamas, Rog!” you laughed.

“Yeah and I can’t meet Bonzo dressed like this, I’m a rockstar god damn it not a fucking lawyer!” he complained.

“Wait… what did you just say?” you asked incredulous.

“That I’m not a lawyer?”

“No, before that!”

“That I’m a rockstar.”

“No, you idiot, before this!”

“That I can’t meet Bonzo…”

“YOU ARE MEETING BONZO TONIGHT!?” you shouted, interrupting him brusquely.

“Yes…I told you a week ago about this event, and I told you that other bands and singers will be there too.” he said with an annoyed voice.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME LED ZEPPELIN WOULD’VE BEEN THERE! Oh Roggie you have to take me with you! Please? Please?” you started to beg Roger, taking his hands in yours.

“No, Y/N. It’s a very important event and I already asked Jo anyways…” he said turning towards his bed and picking a necktie that matched the colour of the suit. He turned back towards the mirror and tried to tie the necktie, failing miserably. You grabbed his necktie and tied the knot for him.

“Oh come on Rog, she doesn’t even like Led Zeppelin, I’ll never have a chance to meet them if you don’t take me with you! Please Roggie, please?” you insisted.

“Oh now I’m ‘Roggie’? 15 minutes ago you were screaming at me, and being mean! I won’t take you, Y/N. End of discussion!”

“Fine then, if you won’t take me with you, then I’ll never talk to you again!” you protested.

“You already tried that once and it didn’t work. Besides I said I’m going with Jo tonight.” Roger said passing a hand through his hair.

“Come on Roger, can’t you take me only for this time? You always bring Jo with you! Please just this time, then I’ll never bother you again. I will do anything if it means I can meet Led Zeppelin tonight…” you murmured.

“Anything?” he asked, suddenly interested.

“Yes, I promise!”

“Then you’ll have to clean my room for me, love.” He said smirking.

“YOU’RE A BASTARD! I KNEW IT!” you shouted pushing him and crossing your arms.

“Well, I guess you can stay at home if you don’t want to do it…”

“No, no! Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll do it, you blackmailer!”

“Good. Be ready at 8 pm, a car will come and get us.” He said still smirking.

“I hate you. But I love you because you’re making me meet Led Zep! Thank you, thank you, Roggie, you’re the best best friend I could ever ask for! Even though you’re an asshole because you blackmailed me..” you said leaving a kiss on his cheek.. You left his room with a big smile on your face.

Roger put a hand on his cheek where you left the kiss and smiled shaking his head. He had to call Jo and cancel the date. He knew she would get mad when he told her that he was going to the party with you instead of her, but at the bottom of his heart he knew that it was worth it.

TAGLIST: @xgoingdownx @violetpond @lynxinapackofwolves @qweenly@blackmambaxnx @michela-longo

[scarlettsabetlondongirl]

Read Full article here or below

Poet Scarlett Sabet talks isolation, inspiration and working with her partner, Jimmy Page

Scarlett Sabet’s spoken word album Catalyst grapples with love, politics and isolation – and features production by Jimmy Page

By Thomas Barrie

19 April 2020

Envy Jimmy Page: one of the most compelling, passionate poems of recent years was written about him. It was penned by his partner, the poet Scarlett Sabet, and it appears on Sabet’s latest spoken-word album Catalyst – which Page produced. Seems like a fair deal.

Sabet, who was born in Surrey but now lives in London, has been working with Page since they first met in 2014. She now has four written collections to her name, alongside the album. Her work is often political and, enhanced by Page’s production on the spoken-word tracks, sensual and otherworldly. Sabet names William S Burroughs and the beat poets as influences, and Jack Kerouac in particular – one track on Catalyst is named “For Jack” – though she is just as likely to write about the immigration crisis or the Bataclan massacre as she is to embrace the fluidity and experiential language of the Beats.

GQ spoke to Sabet, who elaborated on Catalyst, her relationship and collaboration with Page and how she has been working during the coronavirus lockdown.

How are you and Jimmy spending time in the pandemic? What’s it like?

Scarlett Sabet: I think, as a writer, I’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf. Social distancing has come naturally to me. From a very young age I would always read my parents’ books; my mother would have a lot of Margaret Atwood. I would kind of dive into my parents’ bookshelf and obviously that has spilled out into writing.

I think with the virus it's different, because there's this unfolding tragedy every day, so it's nothing to be glib about. I get up in the morning, have a green tea and try to meditate. I try to do yoga in the morning, something physical, and I’ve been watching the five or six o'clock news to check in with it. This is the fine line I think everyone's trying to balance at the moment – wanting to know what's going on, because things change by the hour and it's massively life-changing, but I think you need to balance your intake. So I definitely watch the news and then read and write and experiment.

We were scheduled to do a slot at Hay Festival. Jimmy was asked to talk about Catalyst. And then I'd also been asked by Van Morrison to read some of his lyrics – he's got a book of his lyrics coming out. The first one came out in 2016, so I read “The Way Young Lovers Do” at a festival in Belfast in 2016. He was going to do a similar event here as well, so that would have been nice. But I think it's going to be taken to the internet, as it were. I'm recording a video for Van at some point.

How do you keep writing during isolation? Is it hard to find inspiration?

Scarlett Sabet: Sometimes, with writing, I’ve found that discipline works – doing it every day and treating it like a job. I also have had amazing moments of inspiration. One of the poems on Catalyst was called “Fifth Circle Of Hell”. I wrote that here at home and it was about the refugee crisis. I remember seeing a tent in the rain in Calais and thinking, “Jesus.” I wrote a couple of lines down in my Moleskine notebook. And then I remember thinking like, “OK, I'm going to write more about that tomorrow.” The next day, Jimmy had a meeting in the house. So he was in one room and I just went off into a small room and I couldn't go anywhere else in the house. I had a green tea. I was in front of my computer. I typed that one up. And it just came out – it was like a channelling: these images and just a sense of, “What the hell is going on?”

My father was born in Iran, so I'm half-Persian and that made a big impact. I’m very lucky. My parents sent me to a private school and my father was studying architecture in Italy and then the UK, prior to the Iranian Revolution. But nonetheless, that changed his life, and the whole country. On the other side of my family, my great-grandfather was in the French Resistance and his life definitely would have been different if his country hadn’t been occupied by the Nazis. So this is one of the things I was saying to Jimmy: stuff has been cancelled, but it's bigger than us. It's all in perspective. So I'm definitely trying to be positive, keep a routine and check in with friends and family. It's a good time to be grateful for what you do have.

Your work seems very connected to the outside world, though – is it hard to work when you’re stuck indoors?

Scarlett Sabet: I wrote “Rocking Underground” – the first track on Catalyst – on the Tube. My computer broke and it was a deadend Sunday. I grew up in Dorking in Surrey and I love London, but any big city, whether it's New York or London, the effort it takes, sometimes, just to exist is hard. This particular Sunday, I was on the Tube and my computer broke and I just had this “Urgh” feeling. I had Walt Whitman’s Leaves Of Grass in my bag and I was reading that and I had trouble connecting to his world. I thought “This is beautiful, but this is not my reality today.” And so I put down the book and I got out my Moleskine again, and I wrote “Rocking Underground”. There weren't rewrites of that. That's how it came out the first time I wrote it. It was definitely channelling something coming through me.

How has Jimmy influenced your poetry?

Scarlett Sabet: The first poetry reading I ever did was in 2013, at the World’s End Bookshop in Chelsea. I had an apartment in Knightsbridge and Jimmy lived [near] High Street Kensington, so we bumped into each other. We had a mutual friend; we both went to this bookshop. I waitressed for my whole twenties – I only stopped waitressing last August because I knew Catalyst was coming up and I knew we'd be doing stuff for that. So Jimmy came to the first poetry reading, which I organised, and a friend of mine from waitressing, Alice, designed the poster. I just felt compelled to share my work and I invited other people. That was in November 2013. And Jimmy came along. I think that really resonated with him.

And so, our relationship started at the end of August 2014. I self-published my first book in November 2014. I was so young and I was flattered that [a publisher] wanted to publish me – I took that as a good endorsement, but I wasn't quite sure. And I mentioned to Jimmy and said, “What do you think? Do you think I should do it with them?” And he said he thought they were kind of playing me around and he said, “Are you ready to publish?” I said yes. And he said, “Well, then you should self-publish.” And I was like, “Oh, OK.” I didn't really think of that. The parallel he used was that he had been in The Yardbirds. He’d been a session musician and when The Yardbirds ended, he went back to being a session musician. He knew he wanted to create a band, but seeing how the record label’s demand for producing hit single, hit single, hit single had broken The Yardbirds, he thought “I'm not going to do that.” Instead of going to a record company and saying, “I would like to write some songs in the studio, please can I have some money?” he produced and paid for Led Zeppelin’s first album – and then went to them and said, “This is what we’ve got and this is what we’re going to do.” So in the spirit of that, I self-published. Waitressing paid for that.

Around the time my first book came out – and this was before people found out Jimmy and I were together – that was when Jimmy first brought up the idea that we might do something together. He said, “We should do that at some point.” Part of Jimmy’s genius is timing. We felt it would be best to announce [our relationship] and release [our collaboration] on the same day. And Jimmy said, “Look, some people are going to love it. Some people are not. But at least that way it could speak for itself.” Instead of there being chatter about it, people could just listen to it, make up their own minds. So we did it that way. And it was really very magical working with Jimmy. He’s really believed in me before anyone else and at times more then I believe in myself.

Tell me about “Possession”, which you’ve read for us from home.

Scarlett Sabet: It seems very sensual and it's about being in love. And it's about the divinity of our passion together and my desire for him. I know, to a lot of people, our relationship looks a certain way on paper, but to me I just can't believe it – it's like we were pulled together and it's been this amazing love and [he’s] this amazing person who's been my mentor as well. “Possession” was written trying to understand what it is that we… As soon as we came together, it was like this collision.

Jimmy didn’t really do anything to it on Catalyst. There are no effects applied to it like there were to “Fifth Circle Of Hell”. It's definitely very intimate. I remember saying I would whisper it to him. There's so much tragedy and death and I just felt like, “You know what? I'm grateful for the love I have.” Let's focus on something loving, as it were, and something a bit more intimate, because the global landscape at the moment is very brutal and sad

Catalyst can be purchased here

[sagiow]

We run a very tight ship - Chapter 4

kickass awesome moodboard courtesy of @jomiddlemarch​

Read the first three chapters here or on AO3

“Welcome aboard, Miss Green. Ready to set sail for the grandest of voyages?”

Emma smiled tightly, forcing her eyes to follow her lips, and knowing they failed. Instead, she averted them, hiding their escape behind a wholly unnecessary adjustment of her glasses. She stood between the First Mate and the chaplain in the haie d’honneur greeting her family aboard the most luxurious ship of their fleet, in the most breathtaking of atriums, by the grandest of staircases - so the heavy-handed brochure said. Captain Summers bowed low to the young lady, and lower to her mother beside her.

“Captain Summers,” she offered her hand daintily, never more the great lady then among her grossly underpaid staff. “I trust everything has been arranged as instructed?”

“To the letter, Mrs. Green. Your guests have been given all the best cabins, the most prestigious reserved, of course, for the bridal party. I must say, your daughter has truly outdone herself with the decoration and planning. Alexandria Line’s future is bright indeed,” he enthused, to Emma’s inner cringing. Dial it down, dude.

“Well she better has!” snapped the bride-to-be. “My wedding is the event of the year in this town and probably all of Virginia: it has to be absolutely perfect in every way. A question of Green family pride, which I’m sure she has very close to heart,” she added sweetly, as a cat offering a cleanly killed prey to its owner, and Emma braced for her to start eating the head. “After all, it’s probably the only Green wedding she’ll ever have the chance of organizing.” Crunch, there it is.

Ignoring her gift, Emma distributed programs to the guests, the embossed letters popping elegantly from the cotton cardstock. “We will let y’all settle in and hope you join the Captain tonight at eight for a welcome dinner,” she explained, her voice pleasant and professional, just greeting regular guests onboard as she did twice a month, every month of the year, year after year since her very first summer job as a stewardess; despite her mother's protests, Papa Green knew the value of learning the ropes from the very first rung up. “Do spend tomorrow getting acquainted with our wonderful Empress Queen and her numerous amenities; I personally recommend our luxurious spa and state-of-the-art virtual golf course. The rehearsal will be held on Tuesday, giving us Wednesday for any and all last-minute adjustments, and we’ll have the ceremony on Thursday. Reverend Hopkins is our onboard chaplain, and will be performing the service.”

On cue, the tall man next to her stepped forward, his hands clasped piously before him, visibly not as comfortable with discomfort as she was. “It’s a great honor to be marrying you, Miss Green,” he said, but cut himself short. Oh no, you beautiful doofus.

“You'll be what now, Reverend?” exclaimed the groom-to-be, his arm wrapping around Alice’s waist possessively. “Maybe buy me a drink or two before you marry my fiancée?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stringfellow,” the chaplain stammered. “I misspoke. I meant-”

“Oh, lighten up, buddy. I’m just fuc- sorry, screwing with ya. Just don’t misspeak – or stutter, ugh-  during the actual wedding, will ya?” 

God, please do, she prayed intently, while Frank turned his devilish dark eyes to her.“Hey, Soon-to-be-Sis, you better have stocked up on that premium bourbon I asked for, and left a case in the Honeymoon Suite. Which, as I also specifically requested, now better have mirrors on the ceiling and a heart-shaped hot tub."

"Oh Frank, no!” gasped Alice, shoving him away forcefully. “I insisted on 1896 Paris Art Nouveau, not 1986 Niagara Falls By-the-Hour Motel!”  

“Just fucking with you, babe,” he replied with a slap to her ass. Always the gentleman, Frank. “No, seriously though, Em, one major problem with that that fancy schedule of yours: when the hell’s the bachelor party?”

“The bachelor party’s anytime we’re not in her fancy schedule, Bro!” shouted a man descending the stairs. He was not clad in the cruise line’s signature green and white uniform, but in the most garish Hawaiian shirt and ostentatious sunglasses Emma had ever seen, as did the rest of the group of young men behind him. This time, she did not bother to hold her irritated sigh.

“Jimmy my boy! I knew there’d be no better best man for me! Finally, some good fuckin’ plannin’!” The two men embraced, slapping each other vigorously on the back. “You,” Frank then pointed to a helpless steward. “Take my stuff to my room, she’ll tell you which. And you,” he added with another clap to Jimmy’s chest. “Take me to the booze.” And without as much as a goodbye to their families, they stormed off across the atrium, a frat boy riot of jeers, shouts and high fives.

Slowly, Emma returned her attention to her overly merry mother, her smug sister, the clueless captain and the confused churchman. “Well, boys will be boys,” dismissed the matriarch, to relieved chuckles all around. “But they are right. There is so much to celebrate! Young love, and such a brilliant match! Alexandria Line and Stringfellow Sails coming together, what a dream! Come, dear, let’s get you settled in.”

With a gracious gesture, she motioned for the remainder of the bridal party to follow them and she closed the parade with a touch to Emma’s arm. “Do come by shortly, darling, I want to review the menu for tonight,” she said. “I do hope you’ve given our family’s famous desert its rightful place of honor.” That ancient apple nightmare? Yeah, rightfully in the trash, Mother, but she only agreed meekly. 

The families gone, the crew followed suit with visible relief, until Emma was left with the silent reverend, who shuffled his feet, perhaps regretting not having managed to vanish along with the rest.

“Uh... my congratulations.” He somehow made it sound like both a question and an apology. “They seem... swell.”

She could only do what she was taught best to do in such cases: smile and nod. And scream internally so loudly that each and every one of her cells shook.

“I can hear that,” he said, startling her. How the fuck- “The hamsters spinning, in your head. Something’s bothering you. Anything I can do to help?”

She looked at him, at the kind concern she’d seen so many times offered to the crew members on their long voyages away from friends and family, now focused solely upon her, and it was both wonderful and terrifying at once. She tucked an imaginary loose wisp of hair back into her bun and shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just the pressure of planning this event. It’s different when it’s... personal." Like your harpy of a baby sister marrying your jackass of a high school sweetheart.  

“I can imagine. Tall order you’ve got there. What was it, 1896 Art Deco?”

“Art Nouveau,” she corrected. “She’d have decapitated you for that mistake. Actually, no, that’s too swift and painless. Eviscerated’s more like it. With a blunt butter knife. Or her bare hands, if she hadn't just gotten her nails done.”

“Lovely. I see why the hamsters scamper thus; you’ve let the viper into their cage. You need a mongoose to chase it off: I might have just the thing.”  

Curious, she let him continue, cradling the leftover programs against her chest to muffle the embarrassingly loud drumming that emanated from it. “I have to cover for José at the jazz bar tonight, you should come by. I’ll make you the special drink I concocted for the occasion: the Blushing Bride. Now I see the name’s totally wrong. And the formula, too; I think it’ll need less subtlety and a lot more bitterness. Will you please help me?” he asked, leaning closer, with that somewhat shy smile of his that just begged to be kissed.

Instead, she pushed her glasses up her nose from the half-millimeter they had slid down, and felt in horror her body do that weird half-shrug, half-nod shuffle that it thought conveyed casual nonchalance. Real smooth, nerd. “If I’m released on time from that sure-to-be-extensive menu review... sure.”

“I’ll have you paged urgently at ten, something about the swan that’s being fattened for the wedding dinner,” he winked. “Or the peacocks they probably requested to act as ringbearers or footrests. Ha, Peacocks... that should be our safeword – uh, shit, no, uh... I meant code word. Code!” Oh no. He’s even more beautiful when he blushes.  

Oh shit. He said safeword... as in sex. Kinky sex. With him.  

Oh fuck. Now I’m blushing too. And my palms are sweaty. That’s gonna stain the paper. And leave marks. That he can probably see. Nooooo.

“I’ll... let you get to it, then,” he stammered again, backing away before waving awkwardly and turning to sprint. Don’t look at his ass, don’t look at.... oh fuck me, I'm staring at a pastor’s ass. I’m going to Hell. I’m getting brutally murdered by my family first and going straight to Hell afterwards.

I just have to find a way to stop the world’s worst wedding first, and have less than five days to do so, and a beautiful chaplain-cum-bartender that’s familiar with safewords to not fuck along the way.  

I'm so unbelievably screwed.

[twonewkidsonesouthpark]

Chapter 3: A Class Act

So let me get this straight; we moved in during the most intensive, town wide, elementary school LARP session the world has ever known, you’re all fighting over a goddamn TREE BRANCH, and all of you seem to think that me and my sister are the same person. Oh, and also boys, point for mom and dad, I guess. Have I covered all of the craziness happening here or am I missing something?

Lynnea knew she wasn’t going to get an answer -- Kyle seemed like a nice enough kid, besides the whole ‘quasi-abducting her under false assumptions’ thing, but Alyssa was the only person who she could really ever communicate with. Came with the twin territory, she supposed. Or just being raised in the same weird way.

“So? Will you join us?”

Part of Lynn wanted to say no, wanted to just go home and finish unpacking and not get involved in this mess… but Kyle sounded so damn hopeful and…

...when was the last time she ever got to have fun like this? As her, not her-pretending-to-be-Lyssie-pretending-to-be-the-same-person. And... well, dad DID tell them to make friends…

Fuck it. For once in their lives, she was doing something she wanted to do.

Lynnea nodded.

Kyle grinned, “Awesome! Okay, so first things first, you can choose from a few classes,” Kyle told her, leading her over to the well labeled shop, “You can be a ranger like Stan, a warrior, a mage, a healer… you can’t be a Bard unless you know how to play an instrument, that’s why Jimmy’s the only one.”

Well, that’s right out then unless being able to play a really shitty recorder counts. Go back to that healer class, can I heal AND hit things or is it just one or the other? She picked up the healer headband and the sword, holding them both out toward Kyle quisitively.

“Dude, that’s not the warrior armor,” Stan says. Lynn gave him a flat look, gesturing again to both, and hoping this wasn’t about to turn into a frustratingly stupid game of charades --

Kyle tilted his head, eyes going from the headband to the sword before something seemed to click, “Oh! You want to heal and hit shit?”

Ding ding, we have a winner!

Kyle looked contemplative, “We don’t really have a class for that, but… hm,” he tapped his fingers against his opposite arm, “I think we can manage that. Cartman’s got Butters as a Paladin, but he made that class human only, so we’d need to think up a different name for it. What do you call a healer who hits things?”

“A really bad healer?” Stan offers up.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Lynn tapped him on the shoulder, helpfully showing him her phone screen with the wikipedia page for Cleric opened up on it, I think THIS is what you’re looking for.

Kyle read it, then nodded after a minute, “Yeah, we can totally swing that. It’s… ugh, it’s essentially the...” he mumbled something under his breath, “Class.”

Lynn blinked, then tilted her head, putting a hand up to cup behind her ear, Wanna run that one by me again, I think I just SERIOUSLY misheard you.

“Ugghhhh, Cartman called it the Jew class, alright?” Kyle said, with an exasperated roll of his eyes, “Cleric’s a way better name, though, so that’s what we’re going with.”

Wow. Ooookay then.

“Yeah,” Kyle sighed, clearly seeing the shock on her face, “Right, let’s get you geared up.”

It was a little surprising to see just how MUCH stuff the shop had accumulated, and how creative the boys had gotten with their homemade weapons. Well, if a zombie apocalypse ever hits, these guys are set. It was a little annoying to have to spend her allowance for her ‘staff,’ though. At least Kyle gave her the armor set for free, mostly because they had to pick and choose pieces from their already established classes, and helped her get the fake pointed ears on.

“Just don’t futz with ‘em too much, we tried gluing them on but well -- a couple peoples’ moms got mad,” he shrugs. Lynn dropped her hand from where she was playing with her hair, trying to get it to settle around the pointy appendages, “Okay, so, we’ve got your class, your equipment… oh, right, add me on facebook so you can stay in contact,” Kyle said, “It’s how I usually give orders, Cartman keeps trying to assassinate me every time I leave my yard,” he rolls his eyes.

Oh. Thaaaaaat was going to be a problem…

Kyle raised an eyebrow at Lynn as she fidgeted awkwardly, “Dude, what? I know you’ve got a phone, what’s the issue?” Well yeah, her parents learned that lesson that their while daughters would concede to share many things - a room, clothes, an identity - a phone would not be one of them. It had only taken a few fights for them to cave and get a second phone. But only one of them had the Facebook app downloaded, and that phone? Was in Alyssa’s possession at the moment.

Sighing, Lynn pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it over to Kyle, who looked confused as he flipped through the screens, “...you don’t have Facebook?” He finally asked when he put two and two together.

Technically, no. But it’s not like I can explain that me and my twin sister have to share a facebook page that’s heavily monitored by our parents, sooo… Lynn took the phone back, opening up her contacts, and tapping the screen next to her parents’ cell numbers, “Ohhh. Overprotective parents?” Stan guessed.

Close enough, she nodded.

“W-well, we won’t t-t-tell if yyyyyou d-don’t,” Jimmy grinned. She gave him a flat look, and the grin dropped slightly, “S-ssorry. Sore sp-pot?” She shrugged, willing to let it slide. At least he apologized.

Then her phone wasn’t in her hands as Stan took it out of her grip, “Here. I’ll make you a Facebook page, that way your parents can’t get mad at you for doing it, right?”

I am pretty sure that is NOT how that works, Stan. But she didn’t try to grab it back, letting Stan fiddle with it.

“Dude, what do I put in for your name?” Stan asked, looking up at her, and Lynnea’s brain froze up. She couldn’t tell them her real name -- for a number of reasons, the current top of the list being they thought she was a guy.

“Well not his real name, obviously, if we don’t want his parents finding the page,” Kyle saves the day, “We do need to call you something, though. Unless you want to keep going by ‘New Kid’.”

Preferably not, but I can always change it later, right? She shrugged, motioning for the phone back. She’d send all the relevant people a friend request in a minute if they didn’t beat her to it, But first, let me take a selfie, she thought with an inward giggle as she held the camera up and snapped a picture. At least she didn’t feel too out of place as the friend requests flooded in -- it looked like all of the boys had their costumes on in their profile pics, at least for the moment.

It struck her, about then that, for the first time in possibly her whole life… she had friends. Friends that were hers, not hers and Lyssie’s. Lynn blinked rapidly -- she didn’t know MUCH about these guys, but crying in front of a bunch of boys probably wasn’t going to win her points. She shoved her phone in the pocket of her new robe, looking up at them.

So… now what?

‘Now what’ was apparently teaching her the rules of the game, and how to fight -- that one, at least, she already knew. She’d gotten into enough scuffles with Lyssie over their lives to know how to defend herself, at least. And that was without the solid, somewhat sharp metal rod she now had to hit people with. She also got the privilege of holding onto a slew of health and power ‘potions’ -- snacks. At least Kyle lent her a backpack for those.

“Now that you’re fully initiated into my army, I have your first task for you,” Kyle said, hopping back up into his throne once he felt she wouldn’t make a fucking fool out of herself, “The humans will stop at nothing to retrieve the stick, so we need to take it somewhere they won’t look. Stan, I want you and the New Kid to escort the Bard back to the Inn of the Giggling Donkey. Jimmy, I’m putting you in charge of guarding the stick. We’ll get our men set up inside to keep you safe.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Jimmy and Stan said.

Kyle grabbed the stick off the arm of his throne, handing it over to Stan, who took it with a firm nod, “Guard it with your lives. The Grand Fatass canNOT get his hands on it again,” Kyle said, “Now, go! Before they have time to regroup.”

“C’mon, New Kid, we’ll show you around town while we head to Jimmy’s -- er, the Inn,” Stan said, tucking the stick in his belt and heading toward the back door. Jimmy followed after him, pausing to shake mud and grass off the ends of his crutches before going inside. Lynn practically bounced along behind them.

Maybe this move wasn’t going to be so shitty after all.

[cherryfloyd-blog]

Jimmy Page - Behind Closed Doors

There are so many cookie crumbs to this story and I truly put as much research into this as my brain could handle. What started as a fun idea, soon turned into a late night adventure of notes sprawled across my bed, snacks to keep the energy going, glasses on; with a pen sticking of my mouth as I thumbed through as many pages of literature that I could get my hands on. There are several parts of this but for the sake of remaining unbiased I will keep it as straightforward and simple as I can. There has been a rumour floating around for fifty odd years, that Led Zeppelin; more specifically Jimmy Page, had made a deal with the devil. In this article, I will break down the events that have lead people to believe such things. In the end, it will remain impartial and will be open to interpretation which we can discuss further.

 To begin, let’s talk about Jimmy’s growing idolisation and obsession with Aleister Crowley, famous for being an occult leader and magician. For more back story, Crowley was a British occultist who became known for pioneering the practice of black magic (or magick as he would call it). Aleister called himself Beast 666 and wrote literature on black magic and the occult, making him a major cult figure. He joined a few popular organizations to begin with, but ventured off into his own self created philosophy. Crowley believed himself to be the prophet entrusted with guiding humanity into  the Eon of Horus, thus founding the Religion of Thelema. 

(Below is the logo of Thelema)

Pictures of Crowley have since been discreetly used in pop culture, as if a small tribute. For example; The Beatles featured Crowley on their album cover art for Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club, he can be seen in the back row, if I’m correct. Building off of Page’s affinity for Crowley, which began to noticeably build by the mid to late 60’s, Page financed to own a bookstore in Britain which specialized in selling publishings of the occult and black magik. Needless to say, Jimmy was in deep at this point but still only scratching the surface of infatuation. The bookstore was named “The Equinox” which was also the name of a book that Crowley himself had written on the occult and magic. To this day, Jimmy Page has the second largest collection of Crowley memorabilia and literature, which is no small expense. His bookstore is now closed, but back in the day had been in stock of some very pricey and hard to come by black magik publications.

Another thing I found interesting, was Page being heavily influenced by very iconic blues artists, such as Robert Leroy Johnson (okay, maybe not that interesting, everyone in rock cites him as being the backbone of rock n roll today) nonetheless, Johnson died at the age of 27 from unsolved and suspicious causes. He never became famous while he was alive, but rumour has it that Johnson had also sold his soul to the devil in return for fame, at a crossroads, which Robert mentions in a few songs. A very small, unrelated tidbit of information, but it makes you wonder if our rock star idols gave up more than a normal life, to become internationally loved and recognized.

Around the year 1970, Jimmy had supposedly asked the band to perform a ritual with him, one that would bring them power and something along the lines of everlasting life? I know right, no biggie, just dabbling with some dark forces. Anyone that knows black magik, can tell you that spells like this are not something to be taken lightly or messed with. John Paul Jones was allegedly the only one to not take part in this pact, which you’ll later realize why that makes all of this so much more strange than it already is. If you think about it, had they made such a pact it would make sense. Robert Plant has made it to the list of top 100 best singers of all time in Rock history, not only that but made it to number one (1). Jimmy Page? Well he’s seen as a god and legend by almost every guitar player in the modern world, and has been ranked number two, only one spot behind Jimi Hendrix. John Bonham has been recognized as one of the best double kick drummers in history, quite literally, every drummer looks up to him as also an almost god like figure. As for John Paul Jones? There is no doubt the man is wicked talented, but not nearly as talked about or famed. We can all acknowledge the man has serious talent, and yet seems to be left in the shadows of his peers.

The first evidence of this pact can be seen with the album Led Zeppelin III, between the end of the last song and the paper label is the outro groove written into the vinyl was “So mote it be” on one side and “Do what thou wilt” on the other. The are basic phrases that are the core of Crowley’s belief system. By this point people were determined that Jimmy had become a member of O.T.O , and organization and cult who’s most influential and iconic member was none other than Crowley. More about the organization can be read about in a link below, but it should be noted that they have four pillar rules; one of which is to not speak of the organization to others or discuss the practices of which they studied. A rule, that Jimmy Page is believed to have broken at one point.

The second piece of evidence was apparent with the release of Led Zeppelin IV, when symbolism became a driving force. Inside the album is a painting of the hermit (a powerful tarot symbol), later in life Jimmy would refer to himself as being something of a hermit despite being a major public figure. The album provides no title, and shows no band name on the cover, but on the inside are four brightly printed logos across the sleeve. From left to right, these symbols represent Page, Jones, Bonham and Plant. Page has said in interviews that the symbols (for the most part) were taken from Rudolf Koch’s 1955 Book of Signs. Plant’s symbol is probably the easiest to decipher - as it is the feather of truth and courage, from the origins of Egyptian goddess Ma’at. John Bonham’s is believed to be either a drum kit, or the symbol of trinity of a family unit (meaning father, mother, child). John Paul Jones, which was likely picked by Jimmy, was the a celtic sigil for confidence and competence. However, Jimmy’s logo has always been the hardest to breakdown and figure out. While most people believe his logo represents saturn (which controls the Capricorn sign, Jimmy is a Capricorn so it would make sense), there is a certain level of mystery behind it. Page has famously said he will never tell anyone what it means. Thought Plant has once said that Page revealed the full meaning of all four signs, including a detailed discussion of what Zoso meant. Admittedly, Plant expressed he was too drunk to remember by the next morning, and when he had asked Page about it again, page replied with saying he couldn’t/wouldn’t discuss it. Now this could very well be Jimmy’s antics, or just general mysterious persona, or perhaps he simply cannot discuss or reveal information. Perhaps, this is the one of the four pillar rules of O.T.O that Page had broken. Jimmy is an all around very private person, who very rarely, if at all, talks about his religious or spiritual beliefs or practices.

It is worth noting that Sandy Denny (pictured below) of Fairport Convention, the voice on The Battle of Evermore track, was given her own sigil. The logo is translated to Godhead or the power of female.

According to Pamela Des Barres, Pages girlfriend of this era, has said that at this point Jimmy got very deep into the studying of Crowley, and had even asked her to search San Francisco and Los Angles for Crowley memorabilia. She had not fallen short on this task, and managed to dig up some very impressive artifacts, manuscripts, and even “magical” robes that Crowley has worn. In 1970, around the time of the ritual, Page had dropped a large chunk of cash to acquire Crowley’s mansion, Boleskine, located on Loch Ness. The home, once owned by Crowley, had a large history of suicides and an even bigger turnover rate of employees as they found the home to be no doubt inhabited by dark entities. Regardless of what one may believe, the house holds a sinister vibe. Page later sold the home in 1992, and had actually been very wary of ever living there and had left the estate in a caregivers possession. Of the 22 years that he had owned the house, he only spent 6 weeks in total living there. In 2016, the house unexplainably burned down. (pictured below is Jimmy at the mansion) 

 Now this next part is where shit gets bonkers, so to speak, the rest so far has been rumours and back stories and alleged encounters. Just a man with an obsession, and depending on your personal beliefs, you may find that he took his practices too far. Perhaps his intentions were pure, but looking at his life in general, what did Jimmy have to sacrifice to become quite literally a noteable person in history. Well let’s see.

Introducing Kenneth Anger; a fellow Crowley disciple and filmmaker, drug taker and subversive. He spent most of his time drawing magic circles, burning incense and chanting spells in Enochian - trying to do a real ritual exorcism. Plans for his film Lucifer Rising began to fall apart when Bobby Beausoleil (lead actor) - had to quit. Bobby, who later stole rough cuts and cameras from Anger would soon regret this. To take revenge, Anger supposedly made a talisman to curse Bobby. Within a year, Beausoleil had ended up convicted of murder with a life sentence for the murder of Sharon Tate as part of the Manson family murders. Wild, I know. Possibly just a coincidence, or even just a tall tale.

Cue Jimmy Page, who had agreed to do the soundtrack for Angers film, and the music Jimmy had produced is exactly what you’d expect. Dark, eerie, and perfect for a film of satanic proportions. Some of which can actually be heard in the intro for “In The Out Door”, his melancholy and devilish sound coming through in the song “In The Evening”. Kenneth and Jimmy had a love/hate relationship, and what started as a mutual appreciation and dedication to Crowley’s practice and image, soon turned to ugly turmoil just as quickly. Anger moved into Boleskine, where him and Page shared a love for Crowley memorabilia. However, as their friendship deteriorated, Anger was asked to leave the Crowley mansion. At the height of Led Zeppelin’s career, Jimmy had pulled out of the film project in 1975. Allegedly, Anger soon stated that he had cursed Page and Zepp with a major spell, a spell so big that it took all of Crowley’s teachings he could muster up, to cast upon them.

 Almost immediately, the band started to experience turbulence and the eventual downfall of their career as one tragedy after another struck them to the core. Robert Plant was in a car crash, plunging off a cliff in Greece in 1975, nearly killing himself, his wife and his son Karac. Which meant cancelling the Physical Graffiti tour and having to record in a wheelchair. The make up tour was littered with negative events starting with Plant getting Laryngitis. Followed by ticketless fans in Cincinnati rioting and storming the gates. In San Francisco, manager Peter Grant and John Boham had gotten into a fight with Bill Graham, and nearly beating a Bill Graham employee to death. Both Grant and Bonham narrowly escaping serious charges and incarceration. Karac eventually fell ill, and no amount of money would make him better, as doctors had no idea what was wrong, by 1977 Karac had passed away and the tour was cancelled. At this point, Plant had quit the band and music in general in response to Page and Jones not showing up to his sons funeral.

Around this time, Page was nearly comatose on a daily basis due to a crippling Heroine addiction, and Bonhams alcoholism was raging out of control, becoming increasingly violent and unpredictable. In 1978, Sandy Denny, the goddess of the Battle of Evermore, drunkenly plunged down a flight of stairs; breaking her neck and died. The tip of the iceberg was the incident that occurred in September of 1980. Handlers had tucked Bonzo into bed after a band rehearsal, following a night of heavy drinking; assuming he would be okay, he’s done it a million times before, right? But as well know, John tragically died in his sleep from asphyxiation. It’s worth mentioning, that in the middle of all of this mayhem, John Paul Jones had remained completely untouched. While the loss of Karac and Bonham had affected John, being as they were family, he was never really directly affected. Could this be because he stayed as far away from the pact as possible? Could these events be natures way of taking something, in return for giving something such as power? Is this all the work of Angers alleged curse?

Robert Plant once addressed these very claims, as some people point fingers at Jimmy being the cosmic reasoning behind the passing of Karac and Bonham. Though, he says it’s a cheap shot. This is what Plant had to say about the matter - “The comments about how it was all connected with Jimmy’s dalliance with the dark side or whatever, that was cheap. I’ve never shared the preoccupations with him and I don’t really know anything about it. Fate is already written”. I suppose it has less to do with whether Page “sold his soul” and more to do with the possible repercussions of playing against nature, and whether such practices have a domino affect. The piling strange circumstances does make one wonder how involved Page really was, and how much the involvement took a toll on the band. Just how much of it can account for Led Zeppelin’s massive success, to the point of making history in music forever (everlasting life?). At the end it could all very well just be a bunch of mumbo jumbo non-sense. I am curious as to what you all think, feel free to leave comments or shoot me a message!

*Note; Do not take this too seriously, it’s all speculation and open for interpretation. Below are some interesting sites that I used in my search!

Resources:

https://forums.ledzeppelin.com/topic/15027-jimmy-and-crowley/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleister_Crowley

https://carwreckdebangs.wordpress.com/2015/06/09/aleister-crowley-jimmy-page-and-the-curse-of-led-zeppelin-when-myth-magick-and-weird-facts-collide/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ordo_Templi_Orientis

https://zososymbol.com/

[jincherie]

some fic recs

we love a good proverbial nutte(tm) over some quality fiction in this house!!! here are some fics that have been rustling my jimmies lately!!! [under the cut bc it got a bit long!!]

➤ by @the-protractor-writes ​

— by its cover | hoseok [ao3]

↳ ‘Your annoying little brother Jimin accepts a dare and summons a demon into your living room. There are multiple problems with this. 1) Demons are the most hated species on earth. 2) That demon happens to be Jung Hoseok, the most popular guy on campus 3) The fact that Jung Hoseok is a demon is his biggest secret and 4) Jung Hoseok hates your guts. You’re in for a wild ride. Demon!Hoseok, magic-university!au and enemies-to-lovers!au’

— a kiss to save a life | seokjin [ao3]

↳ ‘Being retainer to Prince of the Forest, Kim Seokjin is an exhausting job- he’s selfish, he’s impulsive and just has a knack for getting himself in trouble.

But when an adventure out in the human realm leads to Seokjin falling in love with a human woman and he makes a deal that threatens your entire kingdom, it’s time to start asking yourself: How far are you willing to go for your prince?Fairy prince!Jin x reader. Loosely inspired by the Little Mermaid but with a few extra twists ;)’

—  schemes and tricks to win her heart | taehyung [ao3]

↳ ‘Rich company heir Kim Seokjin has a plan to win the heart of the girl of his dreams, and you, his little brother’s best friend, are dragged along for the ride. His younger brother objects, of course. Bestfriend!Taehyung and Chaebol!Jin’ 

➤ by @chimchimsauce ​

—  sanctuary | jimin

↳ ‘YN is a young girl, bright and ambitious, but due to her busy schedule, she’s been unable to make any real friends. When an ad for Saint Mary’s Sanctuary catches her attention, she never expected her life to be changed by a certain hybrid named Jimin.’

— det cep xenu | jimin

↳ ‘Det Cep Xenu: noun// fiction// A fictional or otherwise illogical phenomenon that occurs in reality. Soulmate AU’

➤ by @ salade [ao3]

— call an uber? | ot7 [on current hiatus!]

↳ ‘Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right? What happens when all of this occurs, but you're still doing your job AND getting a large sum for it? Now there's something to think about, and it's definitely not what you're thinking.’

➤ by @ naidoo [ao3]

— everything you are | namjoon?

↳ ‘When Kim Namjoon is in a coma and becomes your patient you learn quickly that not all things - or people - are as they seem. Confronted with his attention seeking girlfriend who cares more about the numbers of likes and clicks and how often she makes a front page than she cares about him you start realizing what a lonely life he leads.’

➤ by @ ms_writer [ao3]

— seven for the price of one | yoongi (+ ot7) [m]

↳ ‘You always knew that dating Min Yoongi meant having his six friends as well. If you ever had dinner together, you were aware of the fact that you had to buy six plates of food more. If you tried to surprise him with a movie night, you knew you had to make space for the six other on the couch.

What you didn't know was that when Min Yoongi wasn't in the mood to have sex, another one of his friends could give you a hand.’

➤ by @countrysundae 

— when the planets align | yoongi, jimin, jungkook

↳ ‘In which you are plucked from Earth to be the next warrior in some intergalactic game of titans. You've been training for two years now. Why are all these awkward boys coming out of the wood work now? You have to stay focused and survive not only for yourself, but, the fate of your planet and everyone on it. You can't get distracted from your feelings. Not now.’

!! - sidenote: i am so whipped for this!!!

➤  by @ faery_kth [ao3]

— lueur de lune | (almost) ot7

↳ ‘your recent move has caused a lot of stress and you decide to take a stroll by the little lake behind your house only to find the moon and her fallen star’

!! - sidenote: i am also so very whipped for this one!!!

➤  by @ valkook [ao3]

— three pints full | jimin, jungkook, yoongi

↳ ‘You're assigned to a frightening case, a body is found in the bitter unforgiving terrain of Montana with strange bite marks, far from home and the warmth of Vegas. More casualties and victims are discovered with the same marks in your home turf. Your bravery, wit, and life will be tested.But what happens when you fall for the very killers you're hunting?

Oh, and their also your neighbors.’

!! - sidenote: !!!!!!! ugh im so far up this fics ass

➤  by @ syubkatsu [ao3]

— my housemates, the deadly sins | ot7

↳ ‘Your life went downhill as soon as you entered university. During the first year, you got so stressed that you were diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Halfway through your second year, your parents had gotten into a horrible accident and passed away. Now you were alone, a beautiful new home coming under your possession. Once your grandmother's, you had inherited it from your mother's side. That meant you never needed to handle the rent; all you needed to deal with now was your inner turmoil with no help whatsoever. or so you thought..’

➤ by @ xuhei [ao3]

— poles apart | taehyung

↳ ‘message from: nams ; knew I could count on you to be normal. have you and taehyung got anywhere yet? / message to: nams ; what do you mean? the two of us are friends. you and jimin are gonna get somewhere before i ever get anywhere with taehyung / message from: nams - ‘pzziza lads’ ; aha! i knew you liked him! / message from: nams ; sent that on the wrong chat but you’re right if you thought that was to you’

➤ by @ agentlemanshat [ao3]

— potions, magic, and otherworldly charmers | all (oneshots?)

↳ ‘So this is my excuse for writing that sweet sweet magic content I've wanted from Bangtan and never could get because what are the chances that BTS just suddenly comes out with a concept where Jungkook has to dress like a furry and Namjoon like a witch from a Tumblr aesthetic blog. Smh’

➤ by @ citronblue [ao3]

— the magic shop | namjoon, jin, jungkook

↳ ‘BTS Love Yourself: Tear Prompt #7 Magic Shop: “It’s okay to trust me. This is a Magic Shop that will console you.”You have never experienced true love, so out of a whim, you decided to write a wish to be granted by the Magic Shop. It’s a club run by seven students at your college and they are known to be able to grant any wish, besides money, to come true. Your wish grantors turn out to be Park Jimin and Kim Namjoon, two figures whom you absolutely detest. What happens when you finally learn the truth that every wish comes at a cost? (Greek mythology related)’ 

➤ by @ schluemr [wattpad]

— kitties and cupcakes | jimin

↳ ‘Y/n...can I bite you?" / Hybrid au, Reader adopts a stray hybrid cat and he helps her out at the bakery she owns’

[crimsonxserpent]

( Katie McGrath, 34, cisfemale, she/her ) Was that DIANA SINCLAIR ? I heard a rumor they work for the O’SHEA family, but who knows for sure ? they can be a bit VINDICTIVE  &  HEDONISTIC, but I also heard they can be CARING & PRAGMATIC. you’ll usually find them at SKYFALL in their spare time, when they’re not being a GENERAL. you may want to keep an eye on that one !

hi it is i, claire again (she/her, GMT+2) i present to you the second of my bbies, the myth, the legend, a bitch by the name Diana Sinclair (shh that’s not her real name). anyway she’s an old kid of mine that I’ve had for 5 years so i have a lot of thoughts on her, and if you want me to throw her at you leave a  ❤ (i love her so much but i promise i’ll contain myself) 

pinterest page STATS: ➤  NAME: Diana Odette Sinclair ➤  REAL NAME: Anastasiya Spasskaya ➤  AGE: 34 ➤  DOB: 3rd of January ➤  BORN: Sankt Petersburg, Russia Paris, France ➤  HEIGHT: 5′5′’ ➤  SIBLINGS: a twin brother (Evgeny Spassky)  ➤  MBTI: ENTJ ➤  ORIENTATION: bisexual ➤  OCCUPATION: art thief/forger, general for the O’Shea ➤  EDUCATION: bachelor’s degree in fine arts, finance  ➤  TATTOOS: yes, a rose with thorns medially from her hip  ➤  SCARS: yes, various ➤  AESTHETICS: chanel and dior and agent provocateur, goes nowhere without her jimmy choos, blood-red lipstick and nails to match, diamonds are a girl’s best friend, classic aston martin DB5, a gun strapped to her thigh, and knives in various places, sly words and a sharp smile, ‘mon cheri and darling’ thrown in when she’s talking, black sobranie and an old silver lighter ➤  VICES: tobacco, alcohol, sex ➤  PETS: yes, an akhal-teke mare named Duchess and a border collie named Nyx

HISTORY: 

➤  They were called the golden twins, as children so alike each other you could barely tell them apart, and always together, two of them against the world. Born two minutes prior to her brother, Anastasiya Spasskaya was the eldest child, and perhaps it was fated from the moment of her birth, that her life would never be normal. Spoiled to the excess, as the daughter of a Russian mobster masquerading as an oligarch in oil trade, the world Anastasiya was raised in alongside her twin was as far from ‘real’ as one could get. It was all opulence, luxury and extravagance, and yet in its core it was as limiting as a prison cell. Born in this world of violence, from the moment they were conceived, the twins had a target painted squarely on their backs. Two innocents born into the life of savagery, Anastasiya and Evgeny never knew the world outside the violence and opulence that surrounded them, and this was perhaps exactly what eventually made them more savage than the world they were born into.  ➤  Fearful that their enemies might find their children and use them as leverage, the moment a threat was uttered against the twins’ life when they were still infants, Alina and Alexander Spassky bought a deed to an estate near Sochi and rarely allowed them to leave it. A gated mansion only Alexander held keys to, the 97 acre estate held everything imaginable required for human happiness. A place large enough for the twins to get lost in, by accident or by resolve, and daunting enough for them to never want to leave it, it was the only place they ever called home. ➤  Besides, the two were given everything they needed, and more – caretakers, toys, private tutors, chefs, horses and abundance of clothes, everything except motherly love. Cold and distant, Alina was as rotten on the inside as she was fair on the outside – a former Bolshoi ballerina, she never harbored much maternal instinct. But what their mother lacked in fondness, their father made up for every chance he got, spoiling his little angels to no end, especially Anastasiya in whose fire he saw his true heir. Their parents were rarely home however, spending weeks – sometimes months – away in Moscow and Sankt-Petersburg. Devoid of love and in absence of their parents, the twins learned to always rely on each other, and the love they shared was the only love they ever knew.  ➤  Anastasiya was seven when she first witnessed a man being killed. Though such appalling scene might have scarred anyone, by the time Anastasiya was ten, she was completely desensitized to the violence and treachery of her father’s mob that it became simply another aspect of everyday life. Her father had killed, had tortured, had maimed and yet this fact never quite phased her, she would just whisper about it to Evgeny as if it excited her to see their usual routine interrupted by something, even if that something was painted red with blood. They were honed and perfect the way one would prepare a weapon, to one day become the heirs, and it felt like the world was theirs to conquer. ➤  Little did they know than in a matter of a years this illusion would be shattered into a million pieces, and that their inevitable fall from grace was fast approaching. And what a fall it was. It was their mother - their seemingly disinterested mother - who took away the one parent they cared for, committing the betrayal none of them saw coming, and one she would pay for just like Anastasiya promised. It was then that Anastasiya realised she was capable of committing monstrous crimes just to keep her brother safe, to keep them both safe. But would it be enough?  ➤  The answer came soon enough in a form of her brother’s blood, drenching her hands as she knelt beside his lifeless body. While Anastasiya managed to overthrow the apparatus her mother instated after her husband’s untimely death, partly with her own two hands and partly through a loyal apparatus of her own - dangers still lurked in the shadows, too many to keep track of for a 19 year old girl, too many to stop when they decided to kill her brother.  ➤  She left Moscow then - and she hasn’t looked back ever since. There was nothing left there that she cared for, their legacy was nothing without her father and brother. She followed the instructions her father had left her in case the empire fell apart and the two of them had to escape, and she followed them all the way to Paris, a beautiful white house in Trocadéro. A man awaited her there – somehow he knew she was coming long before even she did – a man, she would learn, whose name was a thing of shadows, deep depraved corners of the criminal world. She’d expected him to be a force to be reckoned with in his own right, but she’d never expected him to be so young and handsome and charming. He was barely 26, pulling the strings from the shadows, his presence a perilous, alluring thing - how could she resist, she was enthralled.  ➤  He taught her how you could trade names and secrets instead of weapons and oil, how art was where the money was at, how one could kill for the pleasure of it. She became his protege, his assassin, and finally his wife. It was a turbulent relationship, one could not call it love per se, but a mutual obsession. She was young and fascinated, and he was brilliant and unpredictable. And so was his death.  ➤  She never saw it coming - although in retrospective, she should have. He was unstable, a price one had to pay for the genius he possessed. He’d decided he’d won the game, conquered what he wanted, that a gun to his head was one final, ultimate check mate to his opponents. He never cared about how shattered it would leave her, how empty she would feel without him, how she was losing yet another man she loved. And as she held his body and blood painted the snow red, she decided she had to go - where? She had no idea. What was there left for her to do, but do the one thing she was good at - murder and theft.  ➤  And so she picked Chicago - a city large enough to offer her anonymity, and depraved enough to take her for what she was - a murderess. She had connections there, people both her father and her husband had been involved in - the O’Sheas. They offered her a cornerstone, something to hold on to, something to be loyal to, a purpose - and she would forever be grateful for that. Whatever life she’d once lead was behind her now, lost in the wind of time - there was nothing else to do but look ahead. 

PERSONALITY: 

+  caring, loyal, pragmatic, charming, intelligent -   vindictive, hedonistic, quick-tempered, dramatic, violent

HEADCANONS: 

➤  She drives an Aston Martin DB5 and is absolutely obsessed with it, she loves that car. It was a gift from her father back in the day and she’s kept it in pristine condition all these years. Her fierce attachment comes from the fact it’s one of those rare things that keeps her connected to her father.  ➤  The akhal-teke mare, Duchess, was an anniversary gift from her husband - she got her a few months before he killed himself, and she loves that horse dearly, making sure to visit her whenever she has time.  ➤   She has a fondness for sniper rifles - it’s a clean job and requires peace of mind and precision, something she’d learned back in Paris. It’s sort of a legacy from another time, and her preferred way of killing someone when it’s possible. Her signature shot is a bullet through the carotid artery.  ➤   She was once a girl of faith, but it’s a topic she has mixed feelings on these days - how can she believe in something when her hands are stained red with blood? Still, she likes the peace and quiet of churches, regardless which faith they belong to, and they offer her shelter and solace when she needs it.  ➤  She’s not as bad as she might appear. Though she can be cruel and heartless and her words seem sharp and aloof - she’s a deeply human creature. There’s a sense of morality about her that she abides by, it’s a way to make peace with everything she’s done in her life. She’s capable of love and fiercely loyal to those she cares about.  ➤  She actually always wanted to be a mom, to do a better job than her mother did, but she realizes it’s not a possibility considering her line of work and the life she lives. One of the more heartbreaking moments in her life was realizing her husband wanted nothing to do with children, and it was absolutely out of question.  ➤   She has an addictive personality and seems to gravitate to all things bad for her, it explains a lot about her marriage and generally life.  ➤   She actually fell in love with another assassin that worked for her husband back in Paris, probably because he was more like her than her husband was, more human and real. But unbeknownst to her, her husband had him killed and covered up so to this day she blames herself for his death, thinking she should’ve been there to have his back because they were partners in the field. Little does she know there’s nothing she could’ve done if her husband wanted him gone.  ➤  She likes dealing art in the black market when she’s not out there killing people. It’s an appreciation her father had instilled in her when she was a child, and later on something her husband showed her could be a job. She’s been involved in both art theft and forgery of paintings since painting is something she’s been skilled at since she was a kid.  ➤  She keeps her true identity a secret, partly because she doesn’t want anyone coming after her, but mostly because it’s a painful chapter of her life that she prefers to forget. She considers her pain and humanity a great weakness and is very careful about who she lets in on it.  ➤   She’s fiercely protective of people in her gang, even if she doesn’t get along with them - doesn’t matter, they’re a family and you have to have have family’s back. But if she’s on really good terms with you, you’ll see a softer side to her, there’s a lot of maternal instinct in there and she tends to care a lot (if and when she allows herself that)  ➤   She speaks Russian, French and English fluently but for the sake of appearing genuine she dons a faint French accent and throws in a ‘mon cheri’ here and there for good measure. She speaks English just fine though, bitch’s just acting and being extraTM.  ➤   Also very flirty and can be domineering, I mean what did you expect hahaha

Also connections! i’m going to post a wanted connections page soon but feel free to contact me anyway, like she needs it all from proteges, to friends, to enemies, to fwb just ALL of it, she’s a wild woman 

[asktheoutside]

Prequel cast anon again! What fighting styles do the other Egos use? Also, I noticed that I have my own tag now! Thanks!

Yip! You do! ^^ And if you want a different tag, just be sure to tell me; I’m happy to change your tag to that! (also, headcanon-related questions make me soooo happy! I love answering them

As for the fighting styles the others use, it’ll be below the cut so I can go into detail and it’ll be pretty long! Note that this is for their Outside versions, so I may write fighting styles a little differently elsewhere (i.e. Anti would definitely use his claws in any other AU, but doesn’t have them in this one anymore, or Dev would use his horns if he still had them; just stuff like that)

~Mick

Antisepticeye: Keeps hunched low the entire time; lashes out with his knife at random. He’ll be the first on the attack every time. He’ll typically go straight for the weak points–eyes, throat, belly–and won’t hold his punches. Even in this AU, he wouldn’t be afraid to maim or kill someone if it came down to a fight. If there’s technology nearby, he’ll glitch it out to cause distraction, or possess it if it’s something he can harm his opponent with.

Bim Trimmer: Bim has no qualms against getting blood or flesh in his mouth, and if it came down to fighting for his life, he would go straight for the throat. He can’t land a punch to save his life, so he has to rely on scaring the crap out of his opponent with the threat of tearing their throat out, or use his voice projecting ability (voice can be projected really loudly in any direction he wants, as if using a megaphone) to startle them so he can get away. If scaring them doesn’t work, he won’t hesitate whatsoever to sink his teeth in.

Bingiplier: He flinches away from raised fists, but his frame itself could be enough to defend him from a human or non-robotic Figment by making them break their hand. He’s not likely to defend himself thanks to Red and Green’s treatment toward him, but if he’s protecting someone else he would use his skateboard/the nearest large object like a bat, or pulse his aura to electrocute his opponent.

Blue: He’s agile like a cat, and will twist in ways he really shouldn’t be able to in order to reach his opponent’s weak points. If he can get behind them, that’s all the better. If he’s aiming to kill, he’ll typically try for a quick snap of the neck: It’s easy and effective. If he’s aiming to incapacitate, he’ll try for a choke and just. Knock them out. He doesn’t really care how, as long as he’s not going to cause any permanent damage.

Chase Brody: His gun is his best friend in a fight, and he’s surprisingly quick on his feet. He’ll stay as far from his opponent as possible; dancing circles around them to avoid their attacks and firing warning shots to try and scare them off, and aim for the shoulders and legs if they don’t back down. When it comes to protecting his kids, however, he’ll aim right for the chest and head. To make sure they’re safe, he’s not against killing someone, and will feel no guilt for it. (***spoiler***)     (***spoiler***)When he becomes a cop, his style will change immensely because his first priority will be to protect the people around him, but also try not to injure his opponent if he can help it. He’ll be more likely to use a taser, with his gun only as a last resort. When it comes to his opponent having guns, he’s fearless and will dive right in to disarm them. He is bulletproof, after all. 

Darkiplier: If he’s able, Dark is most likely to use/prefers his reality warping to make his opponent see something that isn’t really there (his reality warping is mostly illusion-based) to make it easy to incapacitate them, or step back and let his aura do all the fighting. The less he has to do to avoid getting his suit dirty, the better. He’ll only use his fists if he’s caught of guard or has no other choice; but don’t let that fool you. He packs a punch.

Ed Edgar: He doesn’t fight. That’s that. He’ll pull his sunglasses down to try and Persuade his opponent, but if that doesn’t work he’s high-tailing it outta there. The only reason he seemed all threatening with Jacques was because our artsy boy wouldn’t defend himself and Ed’s a coward; picking only on those weaker than himself. He’s happy to argue with someone who could beat the crap out of him, but if it came down to an actual fight, he’s outta there.

Dr. Edward Iplier: Not very good at fighting, but he’s likely to use his (very limited) magic to grab a scalpel out of thin air so he can at least defend himself. He doesn’t stand the best chance in a fight if he’s on his own, even with a weapon, and will take any chance he can find to get the hell out of there.

Green: His fighting style mirror Blue’s almost exactly, except he’s not quite as agile and will try to trip his opponent rather than get behind them.

Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein: He’s a big guy in this AU: Broad shoulders, big hands, thick skull, and a lot of muscle and fat. As of this moment (Chapter 51 most recent) he’s not too well-trained in fighting and would mostly rely on his scalpel, sleep ability (touching their forehead with his palm, he can knock them out cold), or a well-time swing of a fist. As the fic goes on, he’ll definitely start using his size to his advantage. And pairing brute strength with the doctor’s knowledge of every square inch of a body? He’s not going down easy.

The Host: Don’t be confused by his lack of eyes; you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his fist. He’ll use his Sight to Watch his opponent’s moves moments before they actually happen, and dodge/attack accordingly. If his opponent is physically stronger than himself or caught him off guard, he’ll pull his bat from the folds of his coat and swing for the head, or use his ink-aura to drown them. He will not be the first to attack, but if he’s the one attacked the Author’s sadism comes to light and he aims to kill.

Jackieboy Man: He’ll try his damnedest not to hurt his opponent too bad, aiming instead to dodge around them and try to get in close enough to incapacitate them. He can twist in ways no normal person should, and will use that to his advantage, going so far as to use his flight to move around them quickly and carefully. If he realizes that he’ll need to do some damage to get his opponent down, he’ll use his screech to knock them back and temporarily deafen them so he can move in to pin them. The ability has a good chance to cause some serious internal damage, so he opts to only use it when absolutely necessary. 

Jacques Septique: He has zero knowledge in self defense. He’ll flinch away and cower in a corner if it came to an actual fight. His only chance would be to sketch something useful to pull off the page, but it’s more likely he’s too scared out of his wits to even think of doing that, let alone would he have the time to do so. He’s the least likely of the bunch to win a fight, and would rely completely on his feet to get him out of there. Unfortunately for Jacques, he’s really clumsy when it comes to running…

Jameson Jackson: Hand-to-hand is his greatest strength if it came down to a fight. He packs a lot of punch in that little frame, and if he’s defending himself or someone else he’s not going to care if he breaks his opponent’s nose or knocks out a few teeth. He’s probably the most likely to worry about showing his abilities and risking a human seeing, but if he’s in a situation it won’t matter that he does, he’ll likely use his Helping Hands as a second set of fists to go at his opponent. He’ll aim for the jaw and nose with every blow until his opponent is either backing down or on the ground.

Jim (News Jim): He would literally just. Stick his foot out and hope his opponent trips. Though if they actually got him, all he’d have to do was release his aura; it’s linked to his ability to See death, so it looks, smells, feels, and stains like blood. He could just drown his opponent in it if they didn’t let go of him.

Jimmy (Weather Jim): More physically fit and quicker on his feet than his brother (or most of the others, for that matter since he likes running), he’d have a very good chance of simply outrunning his opponent. His best bet would just be tiring them out; be it through if they decided to chase him, or if he ducked away from their attacks. Regardless, he wouldn’t lay a hand on them and hope for an opening to run.

King of the Squirrels: He may be small, but don’t be fooled. If he’s attacked he practically goes feral: Biting and scratching at anything to come into reach; going for the soft spots whenever he can. Once his opponent deals the first blow, they’ll have fun trying to get any more in. He’ll do anything to get them pinned and knocked out, and there’s a good chance he could cause a whole lot of cranial damage once they’re down or even kill his opponent without meaning to.

Marvin the Magnificent: Preferring to fight his opponent from afar, he’ll use his magic to attack them. Bolts of it that can burn or cut, making them levitate, throwing them backward, anything he can to incapacitate them. When he fights, it looks like he’s dancing: Cape billowing, eyes and hands glowing, aura surrounding him, every movement precise and fluid. Chances are, he’s not going to care how much damage he causes his opponent, as long as he’s the one to walk out alive.

Oliver: Goes straight for the arms. He’ll twist them, break them, crush them if he has to. He has agility to rival Blue, and will twist and turn in whatever ways he needs to to get at his opponent’s hands. Once he’s got a good hold on them, he ensures there’s no breaking free. He won’t usually aim to kill, but if he does a snapped neck is quick and easy. 

Red: Relies on brute force, often trying to get in close enough to choke his opponent. The most likely to be injured while actively fighting his opponent because he won’t care to dodge attacks, and only worry about getting close enough to get his hands around their neck. He aims to kill, and will gladly do so by crushing his opponent’s windpipe.

Silver Shepherd: He has inhuman strength, and will (try to) use it to dispatch his opponent as quickly as possible without hurting them too badly. He’ll typically try to get behind his opponent and go for the arms to pin them behind their back, or fly at them to tackle them. He tends to misjudge his own strength and hurt them more than he intended, or he’ll wind up knocking them out when he lands a punch too hard. 

Wilford Warfstache: His attacks are unpredictable, and he’s often the one to deal the first blow. Sometimes he’ll use a gun, other times a switchblade, or his magic, or just his fists. He’s a brick wall; will square his shoulders and rush his opponent with his chosen weapon at the ready. Unless he’s fighting just for the hell of it, his intent is to kill; often aiming for the stomach with his weapons, or throat when he’s bare-handed. It’s not unheard of for him to teleport just before he reaches them so he can get them from behind.

Yandereplier: Quick and graceful, he moves as if his limbs were made of water. He prefers a katana in each hand, showing off with dangerous tricks with them throughout the fight. Tricks that, if he wasn’t skilled with them, would end with him dead. His intent is to kill, usually with a slice to his opponent’s neck, or one or both katanas lodged in their gut.

Devilplier: Most likely to use his bare hands or a gun. He’s a tall, broad man, and will definitely use that to his advantage. If he’s bare-handed, he’ll buffalo his way into control over his opponent, taking any blows they deal to worry about later, then go for a choke hold, or use his aura to attack theirs. If he has a gun, he won’t so much as step toward his opponent. He’ll just start shooting until they go down.

MadPat: He’s not good at hand-to-hand, and relies solely on weapons and abilities to save his ass in a fight. While he does keep a gun on himself, he greatly prefers fire and has pyrokinesis as one of his abilities. If he’s out of it or caught off guard, he’s more likely to use a gun (like when Schneep found him injured), but otherwise he’ll try for fire. When he’s in a fight, his goal is to cause as much damage to his opponent as possible.

Natemare: He’s not a big guy and he knows it; he’s good as dead if a bigger opponent gets him pinned. He’ll teleport at random around his opponent, dealing blows when he can with whatever he can and trying his damnedest not to get hit himself. He’ll use his smaller size to duck around his opponent, having no qualms about “low blows” to the groin, or lunging up to headbutt them under the chin. He doesn’t intend to cause permanent damage, though if his life is on the line he won’t care as much if he does.

[zhugkp]

Exile story

Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. The Rolling Stones didn’t invent the formula. But they lived it like no other band in history. And when the rapacious taxmen of England came demanding more cash than Mick Jagger and Keith Richards — not to mention bandmates Charlie Watts, Bill Wyman and Mick Taylor — had or cared to pay in the spring of 1971, the Stones moved their party to the South of France.

When they couldn’t find a suitable French Riviera studio to record their 10th album, the Stones set up in the basement of Villa Nellcote, Richards’ rented 16-room mansion on the coast in Villefranche-sur-Mer. All marble and wrought iron, Richards said it looked like it was decorated for “bloody Marie Antoinette.”

He also liked to recount its history as a Gestapo headquarters, where Nazis did nasty things in the same basement the Stones used to jam all night. The hallways still had swastika-shaped air vents. “But it’s all right, we’re here now,” he assured recording engineer Andy Johns.

By making the record in Richards’ own house, band members figured they could get the famously ramshackle guitarist to show up for the sessions. They were wrong. And Richards wasn’t the only one living on the edge. For a six-month stretch, the Stones swapped partners, ingested every available drug, set fires and nearly drove each other mad while crafting rock’s most decadent record, 1972’s “Exile on Main Street.”

On May 16, Universal is reissuing “Exile” in several forms: an 18-track CD; a deluxe edition with 10 previously unreleased songs; and a super-deluxe package with vinyl, a 30-minute documentary DVD and a 50-page photo book.

The Post got an early copy of the music and the “Stones in Exile” documentary, which will premiere Friday on “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon.” From these, fresh interviews and Robert Greenfield’s “Exile on Main Street: A Season in Hell with the Rolling Stones,” we assembled the most debauched stories of sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll from the people who actually lived in “Exile.”

SEX

Gone was the Stones’ usual stream of adoring female fans. For six months, the groupie-gobbling rockers were housebound with significant others. Jagger even got married to Nicaraguan girlfriend Bianca, then pregnant with daughter Jade, during the stretch. Richards shacked up at Nellcote with Italian actress Anita Pallenberg, close pal of Marianne Faithfull and former flame of late Stones guitarist Brian Jones. Fresh from rehab, she arrived with their toddler son, Marlon, in tow.

While the recording went on, she managed to fool around with Jagger and have half-conscious, stoned sex with drug dealer Tommy Weber on a Louis XIV bed while Richards was passed out next to them.

“It was like a royal court where the nobles were sleeping with each other’s women,” says Greenfield, who spent two weeks living at Nellcote — and a third just hanging around — while on assignment for Rolling Stone that May. He wasn’t the only one to notice the band’s exploits.

“Everyone screwed everyone else’s wives and girlfriends,” Johns says. “That’s just the way it was, and you didn’t think too much about that.”

After Jagger married Bianca, Pallenberg did her best to break them up, even starting grade-school-style rumors that Bianca was born a man. Pallenberg got pregnant, too, but kept using heroin. She sought a secret abortion, not because of the drugs, but because she thought the child was Mick’s.

Richards, meanwhile, wasn’t interested in sex at the time, probably due to his heavy drug abuse. One studio regular recalls Pallenberg complaining, “All he wants is the wanking — he never f – – – s me!”

The Stones weren’t the only ones fooling around. Their sidemen were kept busy, too.

“I didn’t mind living between Nice and Monte Carlo, didn’t mind that a bit,” says Bobby Keys, the Texas-born, libertine sax man famous for honking on “Brown Sugar” and every Stones record from 1969 to 1974. “I didn’t mind all them pretty girls around the countryside. Yes sir, buddy! That’s when you’re sh – – – in’ in tall cotton!”

DRUGS

Fueling the excessive behavior at Nellcote was a huge stash of drugs, many smuggled in by Weber, a former Formula One racer turned Afghani hash runner. That May, Weber traveled from England to the Cote d’Azur via Ireland — “in case he was being followed,” Greenfield says — with a pound of coke strapped to the waists of his preteen sons, Charlie and Jake. At age 7, “my function in life was [to be] a joint roller,” says Jake, who grew up to star in the CBS drama “Medium.”

Everyone who visited the house seemed bent on self-destruction. John Lennon threw up at the foot of the stairs one day while touring the premises with Yoko Ono. Richards blamed it on too much sun and wine, but it was more likely the ex-Beatle’s methadone habit.

As Richards was picking up Marlon’s toys in the living room one night, Greenfield watched him grab a mystery pill off the floor. “Bam! He throws it down his throat,” Greenfield says. “Who knows what he put in his mouth, but that’s Keith. Could have been a vitamin, but I don’t think so. Not in that house.”

Jean de Breteuil, the so-called “dealer to the stars” who supplied Jim Morrison with a lethal dose, bought his way into a two-week residence with a toot of ultra-pure pink heroin from Thailand. Richards snorted it from a gold tube he wore around his neck and promptly passed out. Later, Richards paid $9,000 cash ($50,000 today) to a couple of cowboy boot-wearing dealers known as “the Corsicans” for more of the pink junk.

The smack arrived in a plastic bag the size of a two-pound sack of sugar, Greenfield writes, and was so potent it had to be cut with three parts glucose — hence its nickname, “cotton candy.” It lasted a month.

“With a hit of smack,” Richards says, “I could work through anything and not give a damn.”

One night, Richards passed out upstairs after “putting Marlon to bed” — his code for getting loaded. Johns found him with the needle still in his arm, blood spattered on the walls. The studio whiz poked the rock legend to see if he was still alive.

“Of course he picks up the guitar, which he was in bed with, goes, ‘Oh, yeah,’ and starts playing,” Johns says.

Another time, a chauffeur had to pull Pallenberg and Richards, naked and unconscious, from a bed they’d accidentally set on fire. But the rest of the help wasn’t so useful. The couple’s errand boys, local hoods they called “les cowboys,” were suspected of stealing at least nine vintage guitars and Keys’ engraved saxophones when drug debts went unpaid.

By December, French authorities caught wind of the scene and charged the Stones and their pals with heroin possession. As a bonus, Richards and Pallenberg were issued warrants for trafficking. But all of the Stones had high-tailed it to LA a month earlier.

Jagger, Taylor, Wyman and Watts eventually returned to France to face the charges, but a combination of fame, luck and bribes got them freed with mere slaps on the wrists.

Richards and Pallenberg were banned from France for two years, but they had no plans to return, anyway. They’d fled Nellcote in such haste that they abandoned Marlon’s toys, Pallenberg’s wardrobe, Richards’ record collection, a speedboat, a Jaguar E-type sports car and two pets, Boots the parrot and Okee the dog.