between-the-notes

capitaine-odette  asked:

CS + mutual pining

This is my kryptonite! My brain immediately went to S3 so enjoy some canon divergence where they defeated Zelena but there was no time portal.  

T | 1.2k 


It had been a month and a half since Emma had left Storybrooke to return to her life in New York City with Henry, a month and a half of trying to get their life back to normal after the return of their memories and the defeat of the Wicked Witch of the West, a month and a half of no magic or fairytale characters–except for her parents who she called or texted regularly and two visits from the Evil Queen herself.

Regina’s third visit was scheduled for this weekend and though she usually swept Henry off to some fancy hotel for a few nights Emma wasn’t really in the mood for her sharp looks or pointed questions about life in the city. Emma wasn’t stupid and knew that the only reason Regina had agreed to let her take Henry back to New York was because she assumed they wouldn’t be staying there for long, an idea her parents had no doubt encouraged. They all seemed to think Emma was some unruly teenager and her return to New York was just a phase instead of a thought out and conscious decision made by a rational adult who didn’t want her son burned alive or captured by flying monkeys.

It was a little after five when the knock came and Emma took a fortifying breath before opening the door.

“Hook?”

“Swan!” The pirate beamed, his entire face lighting up at the sight of her, and her heart dropped down to her stomach. It had been a month and a half since she had seen him, all black leather, eyeliner, and dancing eyes; she wasn’t prepared for how good it felt. He had come after her and she knew that she should be angry, because she had explicitly told him not to follow her, but seeing him at her door all she felt was the rush of her blood and an overwhelming urge to smile. She fought the urge and forced her mouth into a thin line. His smile lost most of its brightness and his eyes flicked past her.

“Is the lad ready?” He asked in an almost formal tone.

“Henry? Why would you–?

“Regina didn’t–?“

As if on cue Emma’s phone went off and a big red apple filled the screen. With a huff, she answered.

Keep reading

When I was nine, possibly ten, an author came to our school to talk about writing. His name was Hugh Scott, and I doubt he’s known outside of Scotland. And even then I haven’t seen him on many shelves in recent years in Scotland either. But he wrote wonderfully creepy children’s stories, where the supernatural was scary, but it was the mundane that was truly terrifying. At least to little ten year old me. It was Scooby Doo meets Paranormal Activity with a bonny braw Scottish-ness to it that I’d never experienced before.

I remember him as a gangling man with a wiry beard that made him look older than he probably was, and he carried a leather bag filled with paper. He had a pen too that was shaped like a carrot, and he used it to scribble down notes between answering our (frankly disinterested) questions. We had no idea who he was you see, no one had made an effort to introduce us to his books. We were simply told one morning, ‘class 1b, there is an author here to talk to you about writing’, and this you see was our introduction to creative writing. We’d surpassed finger painting and macaroni collages. It was time to attempt Words That Were Untrue.

You could tell from the look on Mrs M’s face she thought it was a waste of time. I remember her sitting off to one side marking papers while this tall man sat down on our ridiculously short chairs, and tried to talk to us about what it meant to tell a story. She wasn’t big on telling stories, Mrs M. She was also one of the teachers who used to take my books away from me because they were “too complicated” for me, despite the fact that I was reading them with both interest and ease. When dad found out he hit the roof. It’s the one and only time he ever showed up to the school when it wasn’t parents night or the school play. After that she just left me alone, but she made it clear to my parents that she resented the fact that a ten year old used words like ‘ubiquitous’ in their essays. Presumably because she had to look it up.

Anyway, Mr Scott, was doing his best to talk to us while Mrs M made scoffing noises from her corner every so often, and you could just tell he was deflating faster than a bouncy castle at a knife sharpening party, so when he asked if any of us had any further questions and no one put their hand up I felt awful. I knew this was not only insulting but also humiliating, even if we were only little children. So I did the only thing I could think of, put my hand up and said “Why do you write?”

I’d always read about characters blinking owlishly, but I’d never actually seen it before. But that’s what he did, peering down at me from behind his wire rim spectacles and dragging tired fingers through his curly beard. I don’t think he expected anyone to ask why he wrote stories. What he wrote about, and where he got his ideas from maybe, and certainly why he wrote about ghosts and other creepy things, but probably not why do you write. And I think he thought perhaps he could have got away with “because it’s fun, and learning is fun, right kids?!”, but part of me will always remember the way the world shifted ever so slightly as it does when something important is about to happen, and this tall streak of a man looked down at me, narrowed his eyes in an assessing manner and said, “Because people told me not to, and words are important.”

I nodded, very seriously in the way children do, and knew this to be a truth. In my limited experience at that point, I knew certain people (with a sidelong glance to Mrs M who was in turn looking at me as though she’d just known it’d be me that type of question) didn’t like fiction. At least certain types of fiction. I knew for instance that Mrs M liked to read Pride and Prejudice on her lunch break but only because it was sensible fiction, about people that could conceivably be real. The idea that one could not relate to a character simply because they had pointy ears or a jet pack had never occurred to me, and the fact that it’s now twenty years later and people are still arguing about the validity of genre fiction is beyond me, but right there in that little moment, I knew something important had just transpired, with my teacher glaring at me, and this man who told stories to live beginning to smile. After that the audience turned into a two person conversation, with gradually more and more of my classmates joining in because suddenly it was fun. Mrs M was pissed and this bedraggled looking man who might have been Santa after some serious dieting, was starting to enjoy himself. As it turned out we had all of his books in our tiny corner library, and in the words of my friend Andrew “hey there’s a giant spider fighting a ghost on this cover! neat!” and the presentation devolved into chaos as we all began reading different books at once and asking questions about each one. “Does she live?”— “What about the talking trees” —“is the ghost evil?” —“can I go to the bathroom, Miss?” —“Wow neat, more spiders!”

After that we were supposed to sit down, quietly (glare glare) and write a short story to show what we had learned from listening to Mr Scott. I wont pretend I wrote anything remotely good, I was ten and all I could come up with was a story about a magic carrot that made you see words in the dark, but Mr Scott seemed to like it. In fact he seemed to like all of them, probably because they were done with such vibrant enthusiasm in defiance of the people who didn’t want us to.

The following year, when I’d moved into Mrs H’s class—the kind of woman that didn’t take away books from children who loved to read and let them write nonsense in the back of their journals provided they got all their work done—a letter arrived to the school, carefully wedged between several copies of a book which was unheard of at the time, by a new author known as J.K. Rowling. Mrs H remarked that it was strange that an author would send copies of books that weren’t even his to a school, but I knew why he’d done it. I knew before Mrs H even read the letter.

Because words are important. Words are magical. They’re powerful. And that power ought to be shared. There’s no petty rivalry between story tellers, although there’s plenty who try to insinuate it. There’s plenty who try to say some words are more valuable than others, that somehow their meaning is more important because of when it was written and by whom. Those are the same people who laud Shakespeare from the heavens but refuse to acknowledge that the quote “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them“ is a dick joke.

And although Mr Scott seems to have faded from public literary consumption, I still think about him. I think about his stories, I think about how he recommended another author and sent copies of her books because he knew our school was a puritan shithole that fought against the Wrong Type of Wordes and would never buy them into the library otherwise. But mostly I think about how he looked at a ten year old like an equal and told her words and important, and people will try to keep you from writing them—so write them anyway.

quotes from the music department

*Repeatedly sings part of the music in scat*

“Ben swore to Jesus that if he didn’t help me at the concert he’d do thirty push-ups in front of the entire band, and I’m just as excited for this as you guys are.”

“If it were easy, football players would be doing this”

“We were 4.75 points off of the next band, and I’ll make certain this number will haunt you until next season.”

“Tomorrow’s gonna be a rough week.”

“I’ll just get a golf cart to follow the band in the parade. Maybe one day I’ll play a halftime show in a golf cart, all by myself.”

“No, Danny, you’re not starting a group chat for jazz.”

“Someone made me a 22&½-inch stick to measure steps. Don’t make me use it.”

“Trumpets, raise your right hand, and move it over to the person next to you. You’ll be fingering the notes on their trumpet.” *leans over to woodwinds* “this is gonna be really funny”

“We don’t have Thursday night rehearsal this week, so live the lives you have outside of band. So basically, catch up on homework.”

“Here it is– wait no, that’s 32 pages, that’s not right.”

“Before we step off on Saturday, you need to focus and say the following prayer”

“All the freshmen are on break, none of them are here!” *section leader raises hand* “Adeline’s here” “She’s the only one ADELINE WHY DONT YOU TAKE BREAKS IN THE STANDS”

“I hope this is loud enough, because this is as loud as its gonna get” *glares at the saxophone that forgot the speaker* “He forgot the speaker, my own flesh and blood.”

“As usual, the bassist knows the articulation and rhythms to the saxophone parts better than the saxophones do.”

*beatboxes to metronome*

“I want you to go home, do homework, practice, do more homework, have a milkshake, and practice some more.”

“If you want to annoy the heck out of a musician, play a cadence but leave out the last chord and wait like 20 minutes”

“this passage is called ‘Glendy Burk.’ I went to high school with her, actually.”

“you aren’t feeling well? Drugs?”

“while I was in the middle of complimenting you, you made a mistake”

“that saxophone line was jazzy as hell”

“you just have to play angrier”

“what’s the point if they’re all accented?”

“you squeaked in tune”

“can you take that d?”

“you can play my final pitch”

“imagine brass knuckles, but on a tambourine”

“I had to blow on my tongue”

“Bethany, you’re my number one!”

“the entire band is pianissimo, so play really loud. mezzo piano.”

“go through the head”

“BAD tambourine!!!”

“112 is the American tempo”

“the audience started clapping during the caesura. I didn’t know whether to continue on or leave the stage.”

“Matthew, while you were gone, Ed and I determined that you’re a freeloader”

“you came in early” “I don’t remember”

“did you just compare terrible bass parts to a terrorist attack?”

“Christ, Elizabeth, you’re such a violinist”

“All of our violas are at another rehearsal today, so we’ll begin today’s rehearsal with a prayer as that is the only thing that can save us.”

“We don’t have a spare bass bow to use while Ed’s is being rehaired, so you two are just gonna have to share. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Ah, yes, but what baroque style are we talkin’ here”

“It was at that point she handed the first chair violin a viola part. He proceeded to hand it back to her.”

“I went home and cradled that music. I never get original bass parts.”

“She turned the page in her score and forgot to continue conducting. Honestly, I would’ve been less surprised had she thrown her baton into the cello section”

“There are two basses in pit this year, so we’re an actual section, so he can’t just shove us in the corner this year HIGH FIVE”

“Does she really know how to buy a bow? She should make it a field trip so you get the right one.” *swings hands in air super wide* “it has to AGREE and BLEND with the instrument DO YOU SEE”

“When the orchestra director doesn’t know what to do she just asks the second chair. If he’s gone, she waits until a day he attends rehearsal to ask him.”

“Don’t be afraid to play out. Except during rests. Then you should be very afraid.”

“is it ok if I start to cry a little right now?”

“I had anaemia as a kid, and my schoolteacher’s name sounded like ‘anaemia’, so naturally, I hated her”

“she took the pen out of my hand and said, ‘no, Richard, use pencil.’ I was so mad”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that there are fewer bassists today and higher rates of suicide, gang violence, school shootings…”

“channel your inner Whitney Houston”

“play quietly, like you’re about to wake a baby. except you’re the baby, because you didn’t practice”

“I have another metronome app now. I collect them.”

“if someone calls my bass a cello one more time I’m gonna lose it”

“at the gig, a drunk guy came up to me, pointed to my harp, and called it a sideways piano”

“I want the space between these notes to be so big you can fit a little drawing of a house, a sun, a tree, and little dog in there.”

“90º angle notes”

“I want the sixteenth notes so sharp they could kill a man”

“turn the soundbox on”

“do you have a fancy phone? the answer is yes, yes you do.”

“I listened to the narration a few times before realising it was in German”

“I’ve got, like, four copies of that piece. the conductor keeps forgetting that I already have it and makes me a new copy.”

“soon I’ll have AIDS. Hearing aids, I mean. I’m old, is what I’m saying”

“more birdlike, turn on roundabout faster”

“kissing from the left is different from kissing from the right. not that I would know. asking for a friend.”

Aisles [M]

Aisle Two

Summary: Jungkook was your best friend. You held onto his secrets. And he knew all of yours. Except for one. One that would change your friendship forever. You were in love with him.

Pairing: Reader x Jungkook

Genre: bestfriend!au, college!au, angst, smut

Word Count: 6,772

Originally posted by sugutie

Aisle One Aisle Two

Your apartment was like a ghost town. The emptiness echoed every time you stepped foot in the sad space. His shoes were missing by the front door. Your keys were never on the side table. There was evidence that people lived there. Ramen packets in the trash. Used coffee cups on the sink. But no one had really been around for two weeks.

Two weeks. This was the longest you had gone without speaking to Hoseok, yet alone seeing him. The fight at Yoongi’s was the worst you ever had. His sharp tongue dug wounds that even stitches couldn’t heal. He had been keeping himself occupied at Yoongi’s or the dance studio. Your heart sank into your chest anytime you came home and heard the washing machine running, only to find that the person who was wearing them was nowhere to be found.

A small part of you enjoyed the quiet. You were able to spread all your materials out on the coffee table. Bags of chips and half empty iced lattes were littered in between stacks of highlighted notes. He wasn’t there to yell at you when you fell asleep face first on your microbiology homework, the lines of the pages leaving imprints on your cheeks.

You did miss him. The two of you had been friends for years. But this time it was not your turn to say sorry. If Hoseok wanted things to go back to normal, he would have to swallow his large amount of pride and apologize.

But you had never heard Hoseok apologize in his life. 

Keep reading

breaking news

making watson a woman isn’t new or groundbreaking or progressive in any way. in fact it’s regressive in every way because watson is only made a woman for one of two reasons and that is either because:

A.) the romance between holmes and watson is noted and picked up on but won’t be portrayed with two men (let alone two women) due to homophobia and thus watson is genderswapped to have it conform to heteronormative ideals or

B.) the romance between holmes and watson is Not picked up on and is thus again read the wrong way and watson is made to be a female simply to be the tagalong sidekick and is then often altered as a character through watson’s classic traits such as their medical background (or lack thereof) and is often stripped of any military past, as @edwardhardwicke pointed out

conclusion: making watson a female still isn’t unique or cute or groundbreaking in any way and it’s in fact boring and getting old

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Between the Notes Presents Sabrina Carpenter: Run and Hide

Castle Cupid

(Also posted on AO3)

“What the fuck?!” Potter threw up his hands and then promptly jammed them in his hair. He stopped his pacing and stared at the archway where a door had been about… -Draco idly cast a tempus- an hour ago. Apparently, Potter had been driven to distraction simply by the idea of sharing a space with him and was flirting with a level of mania that made Draco quite uncomfortable.

Draco laced his hands together in his lap, uncrossing his legs and recrossing them the other way. He was expecting Potter to start throwing spells again if he kept to the pattern he had established so far. Hopefully, he would cast something that would rebound and turn him into something quiet, like a rabbit.

Potter spun toward him though, “Why aren’t you upset!” he snapped.

Draco raised an eyebrow, “It seems to me you’re doing a good enough job for the both of us.”

Keep reading

Thighs - Jeff Atkins smut

Summary : “Jeff’s seen your thighs okay. And words can’t describe how much he wants them wrapped around his head.” Basically, Jeff eating you out.  I got this idea from @tevinter-winter, so the credit goes to her for that! Check out the post I got the plot from.

Pairing : Jeff Atkins x reader

Warnings : Oral sex

Words count : 1,428

A/N : Sorry it took so long for me to post it! I had some troubles writing the end, it kinda sucks. Also, this is so long, I didn’t paid attention to the length before the end. I haven’t wrote a full smut in a while so let me know what’s wrong with it so I could make it better next time!

Originally posted by sadiaxxstylesxxstiles

I was laying on the couch, my legs over Jeff’s lap. We were at his house, his parents being away until tomorrow morning. The both of us were watching some movie on Netflix Jeff wanted to see, but I wasn’t really into it. I’ve been on my phone for the past half hour.

Jeff was so into the movie, he wasn’t really paying attention. His hands were resting on my thigh, his thumb stroking my skin lightly. I was getting inconfortable in my position and too far from Jeff as my linking, so I moved my legs a bit, this way I could cuddle up to his side. He looked down at me as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, smiling and then kissing my forehead before focusing back on the screen in front of him.

I started to get really bored. I didn’t wanted to distract my boyfriend from his movie, as he was really enjoying it. I innocently started playing with the aim of his shirt, rolling it between my fingers, rubbing the fabric against them. I could feel the end of the movie was near, as the characters were all finding solutions to whatever situation they had going on. My free hand slid up Jeff’s side before finding his hair and playing with it, nuzzling my face into his neck.

Suddenly, his hand moved up behind my thigh and massaged my skin, some other times grabbing it. I would lie if I said it didn’t had its effect on me. I let out a soft moan against the skin of his neck as he grabbed my butt without warning. I hear him chuckle at my reaction which leads me to straighten.

“What are you doing ?” I asked smiling at him, only waiting for him to answer so I could kiss him.

“I just love your thighs.” He eyed to them, massaging them again. “They’re so soft.” I putted my legs on each side of him so I could face him properly.

“Oh, yeah ?” He nodded in respond as my face was getting closer to his, and finally our lips connected. There started the battle between our tongues, dancing in sync, with moans escaping our mouths. I pulled away for air just a second and then slowly kissed my way down his jaw, onto his neck. “Tell me more.”

Jeff moaned louder as I was sucking on his neck, determined to leave a purple mark here. “I want them-” His sentence was cut short by another moan. My core grinning on his bulge, that was getting harder with every movement I made. “Fuck- I just want to put my head between them.”

I internally froze at his words. Jeff and I were dating for a few months  and everything was amazing, but he had never eaten me out before. Not that I didn’t wanted to, oh how I wanted it, I just didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Today’s your chance then.” Our lips were back together with a heated kiss.

His hands went to my waists to help me lay down on the couch. The kiss was broken for a few seconds and he took this opportunity to attack my neck, just like I did with his a few moments before. Moans were flying out of my mouth with his hands cupping me through my shirt? I wasn’t wearing any bra under his large tshirt I had on, and he took advantage of it, sliding one hand to touch my bare skin, the other resting on my waist. He was turning me on so much. The sens of him brushing on top of my skin made me shiver, my body letting him know by tensing up underneath him followed by a louder moan escaping my lips, which caught his attention. He began to be rougher in his touch, biting my neck where he had leaved his mark while rubbing it with his tongue. I was getting impatient, feeling the hot heat between my legs burning harder with every move he made at the surface of my body.

“Jeff, please touch me.” I was so needy at this moment, needy of his tongue, his fingers, of everything he could give me.

“Anything, princess.” His kisses stopped and for a second it felt so empty not to have him against me.

He placed a lazy kiss on my lips before removing my shirt, exposing my breast to his sight. In no time, he had my left nipple in his mouth, sucking on it, massaging the other. His adorable eyes looked up to me innocently, just to witness how it got me out of my mind? He loved it, the effect he’s got on me. Seeing his abilities to make me scream for him. He didn’t waste much time after it, bringing down his hand to where I needed him the most. It only took the light contact of his hands, hovering my core to get me crying out for more friction. I started to roll my hips over his fingers, hungry for more of him.

“Someone’s eager.” He laughed while releasing my nipple with a ‘pop’, noticing my impatient behavior.

“I just need you.” As I stated my desire, my panties were slowly  being dragged down down legs, the fabric brushing against my skin causing me to shiver in anticipation.

Jeff pushed my legs apart, laying down between them, just in font of my dripping core. Looking down at him, my breath got caught in my lungs when I saw the lust in his gaze. My bottom lips was stuck between my teeth, languidly waiting for the tension to break down, those seconds seeming like forever to me. Suddenly, I could feel the warm of his tongue, delving into my folds, leading to a high-pitched moan filling the room and echoing in my ears. I could feel him lapping every corners he explored, licking all the juices coming out the second he went in contact with it.

My head collapsed against the armrest, eyes closed, picturing the work of my boyfriend between my legs. My mouth was parted open, allowing the air to pass, and also a collection of scream. I felt his fingers parting my folds just to push one in? I cried out at the mixed sensation between my legs, almost covering my mouth by how loud I was screaming.

“Oh my god, keep doing it.” I pleaded to him.

My hands went down to grab his hair, tangling on it so hard I thought I was hurting him. But that only made him moan against me, sending vibrations through my whole body. My back was arching, Jeff pushing it back down to keep me still. His hand rested on my hip, one of my mine leaving his hair to place it on top of his. He immediately moved it so our fingers will intertwined, another tender touch connecting us. As he added another finger in, my legs began to shake around his head, tightening around it and I started to see stars behind my eyelids. Electricity waves were send in my stomach making me gaps in pleasure, as I was falling apart under Jeff’s actions. Our hands unlocked and I was back at pulling his hair again. He had to keep me still and did it by wrapping both of his muscled arms around my thighs, this way I couldn’t make a move to disturb him anymore. He kept lapping on the surface of my core and every time the knot on my stomach was getting bigger.

“Jeff, I’m- I’m gonna cum.” I murmured between breaths.

He took note of it and dragged me closer to him, making me scream even more. I felt his fingers picking up the pace inside me, and it only took that for my toes to start curling up, my legs shaking harder than before. I was embracing my release, feeling it was just on the edge. Just as I let a loud moan escape my mouth, my high send vibes all over my body, tensing up. Jeff didn’t stop until I moaned softly, letting him know I came down from my release. His head popped up on top of me and he laid it on my stomach, kissing it.

“Thank you.” Was all I said, out of breath. I stroked his hair slightly, closing my eyes.

“You’re welcome, babe.” He laughed gently at my words, which made my laugh too, just before his head came to my height and kissed me with love.

7

ok but concept: AU where kravitz acts as a mailman sometimes and passes notes between magnus and julia 

plot twist: they all fall for each other 


i’d like to thank not only god but also @prinxe for this ship that was truly a team effort between the two of us

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Between the Notes Presents Sabrina Carpenter: Thumbs

Funny Quotes on Music

From cmuse.org. Enjoy!

  1. “A composer is a guy who goes around forcing his will on unsuspecting air molecules, often with the assistance of unsuspecting musicians. — Frank Zappa
  2. “I want to do a musical movie. Like Evita, but with good music.” — Elton John
  3. “Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.” — Jean Paul
  4. “Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.” — Steve Martin
  5. “A gentleman is someone who can play the accordion, but doesn’t.” — Tom Waits
  6. “I don’t deserve a Songwriters Hall of Fame Award. But fifteen years ago, I had a brain operation and I didn’t deserve that, either. So I’ll keep it.” — Quincy Jones
  7. “The musician is perhaps the most modest of animals, but he is also the proudest. It is he who invented the sublime art of ruining poetry.” — Erik Satie
  8. “All the good music has already been written by people with wigs and stuff.” — Frank Zappa
  9. “To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan and not quite enough time.” — Leonard Bernstein
  10. “I’ve been imitated so well I’ve heard people copy my mistakes.” — Jimi Hendrix
  11. “My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence.” — Edith Sitwell
  12. “I can’t listen to that much Wagner. I start getting the urge to conquer Poland.” — Woody Allen
  13. “Life can’t be all bad when for ten dollars you can buy all the Beethoven sonatas and listen to them for ten years.” — William F. Buckley, Jr.
  14. “Beethoven’s last quartets were written by a deaf man and should only be listened to by a deaf man.” — Thomas Beecham
  15. “The world must be filled with unsuccessful musical careers like mine, and it’s probably a good thing. We don’t need a lot of bad musicians filling the air with unnecessary sounds. Some of the professionals are bad enough.” — Andy Rooney
  16. “Andrew Lloyd Webber’s music is everywhere, but so is AIDS.” — Malcolm Williamson
  17. “All music is folk music. I ain’t never heard a horse sing a song.” — Louis Armstrong
  18. “Money doesn’t talk, it swears.” ― Bob Dylan
  19. “Competitions are for horses, not artists.” — Bela Bartok
  20. “When an instrument fails on stage it mocks you and must be destroyed!” ― Trent Reznor
  21. “I never had much interest in the piano until I realized that every time I played, a girl would appear on the piano bench to my left and another to my right.” — Duke Ellington
  22. “Let me be clear about this: I don’t have a drug problem, I have a police problem.” — Keith Richards
  23. “When I was a little boy, I told my dad, ‘When I grow up, I want to be a musician.’ My dad said: ‘You can’t do both, Son.” — Chet Atkins
  24. “I don’t like country music, but I don’t mean to denigrate those who do. And for the people who like country music, denigrate means ‘put down’.”— Bob Newhart
  25. “Music makes one feel so romantic – at least it always gets on one’s nerves – which is the same thing nowadays.” —Oscar Wilde
  26. “I know [canned music] makes chickens lay more eggs and factory workers produce more. But how much more can they get out of you on an elevator?” — Victor Borge
  27. “It’s easy to play any musical instrument: all you have to do is touch the right key at the right time and the instrument will play itself.” — Johann Sebastian Bach
  28. “Rock ‘n’ roll will never die. There’ll always be some arrogant little brat who wants to make music with a guitar.” — Dave Edmunds
  29. “I stole everything I ever heard, but mostly I stole from the horns.” — Ella Fitzgerald
  30. “Get up from that piano. You hurtin’ its feelings.” — Jelly Roll Morton
  31. “To listen is an effort, and just to hear is no merit. A duck hears also.” — Igor Stravinsky
  32. “To get your playing more forceful, hit the drums harder.” — Keith Moon
  33. “Music expresses that which cannot be put into words.” — Victor Hugo
  34. “Jazz will endure just as long people hear it through their feet instead of their brains.” — John Philip Sousa
  35. “We consider that any man who can fiddle all through one of those Virginia Reels without losing his grip may be depended upon in any kind of musical emergency.” — Mark Twain
  36. “Sometimes we pee on each other before we go on stage.” — Trent Reznor
  37. “Dogs smoke in France. “— Ozzy Osbourne
  38. “Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” — Maya Angelou
  39. “Nothing soothes me more after a long and maddening course of pianoforte recitals than to sit and have my teeth drilled.” — George Bernard Shaw
  40. “In order to compose, all you need to do is remember a tune that nobody else has thought of.” — Robert Schumann
  41. “I think John would have liked Free As A Bird. In fact, I hope somebody does this to all my crap demos when I’m dead, making them into hit songs.” — George Harrison
  42. “Nothing separates the generations more than music. By the time a child is eight or nine, he has developed a passion for his own music that is even stronger than his passions for procrastination and weird clothes.” — Bill Cosby
  43. “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.” — Bob Marley
  44. “The piano has been drinking, not me.” — Tom Waits
  45. “Classical music is the kind we keep thinking will turn into a tune.” — Kin Hubbard
  46. “There are some experiences in life which should not be demanded twice from any man, and one of them is listening to the Brahms Requiem.” — George Bernard Shaw
  47. “Wagner’s music is better than it sounds.” — Mark Twain
  48. “In the end we’re all Jerry Springer Show guests, really, we just haven’t been on the show.” — Marilyn Manson
  49. “Rock journalism is people who can’t write interviewing people who can’t talk in order to provide articles for people who can’t read.” — Frank Zappa
  50. “Too many pieces of music finish too long after the end.” — Igor Stravinsky
  51. “There are two golden rules for an orchestra: start together and finish together. The public doesn’t give a damn what goes on in between.” — Thomas Beecham
  52. “Lesser artists borrow, great artists steal.” — Igor Stravinsky
  53. “There’s nothing like the eureka moment of knocking off a song that didn’t exist before – I won’t compare it to sex, but it lasts longer.” — Paul McCartney
  54. “Do I listen to pop music because I’m miserable or am I miserable because listen to pop music?” — John Cusack
  55. “Last night at Carnegie Hall, Jack Benny played Mendelssohn. Mendelssohn lost.” — Harold C. Schonberg
  56. “Beethoven always sounds to me like the upsetting of a bag of nails, with here and there an also dropped hammer.” — John Ruskin
  57. “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” — Friedrich Nietzsche
  58. “I smash guitars because I like them.” — Pete Townshend
  59. “I once sent him a song and asked him to mark a cross wherever he thought it was faulty. Brahms returned it untouched, saying ‘I don’t want to make a cemetery of your compositions.’ ” — Hugo Wolf
  60. “I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws.” — Charles-Pierre Baudelaire
Send “FUSION!” for me to draw a fusion of our muses!

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Only a Kiss - Jack Maynard Imagine

Summary: whoever said there was anything harmless about a little game of truth or dare?

Word Count: 1547

Originally posted by joeck

“You did what?” Oli squawked as Joe took a shot after admitting that he had jacked off whilst someone else was asleep in the same bed as him. “What kind of person does that?” he cackled, throwing his head back as his entire body was shaking with laughter. 

Joe simply shrugged at him before turning towards Caspar to ask the next question. 

You weren’t sure how a casual evening watching a movie with the boys had somehow digressed into shots of tequila and truth or dare, but it had, and all the boys were revelling in it, taking advantage of all the information that was coming to light in the absence of cameras. 

You, on the other hand, were just enjoying the spectacle, having exempted yourself from the arena given that you were the only girl and therefore too much of a target amongst these boys. You were simply laying across the carpeted floor of Oli’s living room with your head in your boyfriend, Jack’s lap while his fingers ran through your hair subconsciously.

You closed your eyes as you focused on the feeling of Jack’s fingers massaging your scalp, a feeling of total relaxation sweeping over you as you felt yourself slowly drifting off to sleep. A loud South African voice pierced through your dreamless state of subconsciousness.

 "I dare you to kiss Y/N!“ Caspar Lee’s loud voice reached your ears, your eyes snapping open to see a grinning South African and a very reluctant Conor Maynard avoiding your gaze. 


"I’m not playing! So he’ll just have to snog Josh or something, who knows where that mouth has been,” you teased him, gently prying Jack’s fingers away from your scalp before he ripped your hair out of your head. Your stomach dropped when Jack jerked himself away from you as if he had been burned.

“Oh come on, Y/N!”


“Yeah don’t be a spoilsport!”

“Just give us a peck!”

You should have known better than to believe that a simple “I’m not playing” would have satisfied the boys, their grinning faces letting you know that the only way you were getting out of this was if you kissed your boyfriend’s older brother.

“Lay off it, will ya? She doesn’t have to!” Conor’s voice piped up, his blue eyes that matched Jack’s looking straight to you. Jack, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word, and in fact, wouldn’t even look you in the eye, and because of that, you did something that probably wasn’t your wisest decision.

“Fine, I’ll do it, we’re all friends here, right?” You burst out, looking between Conor and Jack briefly, noting the shocked and reluctant expression on Conor’s face that contrasted with the livid look on his younger brother’s face. 

“It’s just a kiss, nothing personal,” you waved off, already rising up on your knees and getting ready to crawl over to Conor.

“Fucking unbelievable,” you heard Jack mutter under his voice but pretended you hadn’t, instead focusing on Conor and the very reluctant look on his face as he glanced from your determined face to Jack’s murderous one. “Talk about loyalty …” Your boyfriend was continuing to mutter behind you, giving you the push to finally crawl forward to where Conor was currently kneeling.

“Don’t be getting any ideas, Maynard, this is just for the dare, nothing more,” you grinned at him, noticing the similarities between his bright blue iris’ and Jack’s slightly darker ones and starting to feel the dread clawing at your chest. 

Taking a deep breath, you leant forward and pressed your lips to his firmly. His lips were soft but not as soft as Jacks, and his hands that were on your waist were gentle but missing the rough callouses that were on Jacks hands. Still, you were determined that you weren’t going to stress over this, so when Conor slowly moved his lips against yours, you let him, your hands resting on his shoulders as you kissed him slowly. 

You counted to five in your head before pulling back sharply, avoiding his glance and extracting yourself from his grip. You avoided everyone’s eyes as you pushed yourself up to your feet and left the room as quickly as you could, eager to escape the stares of the seven boys that were all staring at you in varying states of disbelief.

You didn’t stop moving until you were in Oli’s spare bedroom, the reality of what had just happened hitting you all at once, the panic and anxiety squeezing and crushing your chest with alarming ferocity. 

You had just kissed your boyfriend’s brother on a dare. You knew Jack didn’t want you to do it and you had done that anyway. Jack was furious with you. Jack was not going to want you anymore.Y

ou were in your own little self-deprecating bubble, pacing back and forth in an attempt to argue your way out of your own head - unsuccessfully I might add - so much so that you didn’t even hear someone walk in the room behind you, nor did your senses pick up on the very distinct aroma of Hugo Boss Cologne that you had brought Jack for his last birthday.

It wasn’t until he spoke up that you even registered that he was in the same room. “You just fucking snogged my brother,” his voice piped up, the layers of anger and betrayal cutting into you like a knife.

Spinning around, you were taken aback by the fiery look in his eyes, “You didn’t say anything though, you just pushed me away, you could have said something and I wouldn’t have done it,” you mumbled, your eyes focused intently on your socks as you avoided meeting his eyes again.

“I thought it was a fucking given!” the volume of your voice caused you to shrink back, “I thought you were loyal enough to not snog my motherfucking brother! You’re just like the rest of them, though, you only see me as a gateway to get to him,” he spat at you, the distaste and anger radiating off of him. It was his words, however, that caused you to look up in alarm. 

“Excuse me?! Have you forgotten that you literally used me to sleep with my sister the first time we met?!” You fired back, glaring at him as you crossed your arms over your chest, “You know me better than anyone, you should know that I would never do that to you!”

“I thought I did but I just saw you fucking snog my brother in front of all of our mates!” He yelled, throwing his hands up in the air and turning away from you, the muscles in his back rigid and tensed from the argument.

You looked at him for a moment, studying his angular jaw and the muscles in his forearms, right down to his long fingers that were curled together tightly. Taking a deep breath, you stepped towards him, placing a hand on his back gently and watching in relief as his muscles unclenched slightly under your palm.

Trailing your hand down, you wrapped your arms around the back of his waist, resting your cheek on the back of his shoulder blades as he sunk into your arms slightly. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I should have just told them no, I should have known it would upset you, but you pushed me off and then didn’t say a word, so I thought you didn’t care, I thought that it wouldn’t bother you and that bothered me, and I’m just really sorry, Jack,” you whispered, your fingertips drawing patterns on his stomach lightly.

Letting out a soft and reluctant sigh, he turned around in your arms, wrapping his own around your shoulders and resting his chin on top of your head. “Sorry I pushed you off,” he mumbled as he buried his face in your hair, “Of course I’d care if you kissed Conor, you’re my girl,” he emphasized, pulling back and using one hand to push your hair out of your face, the other tilting your head up.

“And I will be for as long as you want me,” you murmured as you stood up on your tip toes to press your lips against his lightly.

Jack let out a small groan, his hand pushing through your hair and holding onto the back of your skull to hold you in place. Smirking lightly as he pulled back, he trailed his mouth down the edge of your jawline to your neck, and then slowly moved down your neck until his lips brushed over the spot that made your breath hitch.

Grinning to himself, he began sucking on that spot with all he had, enjoying the breathless whimpers and stomach clenching moans that slipped through your lips, your head tilting back to give him maximum access. He nibbled on the spot lightly, your fingernails sinking into his bicep and leaving crescent shaped scars in their wake.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he pulled back, the biggest smirk you had ever seen splashed across his swollen lips. Gently, he brushed his thumb against your neck, his smirk deepening at the small hiss you released, jerking your neck away from him.

“Now nobody will be able to doubt that you’re mine.”