I want to be your oppa Why don’t you know my heart for you? Even if you ignore me Even if you act cold, I can’t push you out of my mind I want to be your oppa I will be your man, just watch So that my heart can touch yours I will run to you right now
Annoys me when people mark this blog as spam without even giving it a chance
Sometimes when I get marked as spam I lose a days worth of promotion cause I can’t promote cause my messages don’t send to new blogs
I am not a spam blog though.
I work my arse off every day for this band and sending out messages to everyone is the only way I can promote that hard work
If tomorrow we became the big viral thing everyone would be jumping on it saying they were there first, even when they were the ones slamming their doors in our face
As an artist I will always appreciate the fans who were there from the beginning
Stuck with this band and supported it through thick and thin, I massively appreciate that and you could never understand how much I do
And as for new fans that discover our music after/if we get big then I love them too
My one, qualm is this
We are gonna get big. I am grafting harder than anyone I know to make this happen now. This band will make it.
Do you want to be one of the people that shut the door in our face? Or one of the people that lifted us up?
29 years ago Appetite For Destruction was released //
for me it is the best album that was ever made // I can listen to it all the time and I love it so much // This album changed music and my life
“In Juno, there’s this point in the movie when she says to Michael Cera - she’s like, “I jut love how you’re like, not trying to be cool at all.” And he’s like, “Oh, no no no, I’m trying SO hard!” We are basically that character. That’s Fall Out Boy.”
you can write about how much girls love you and how many girls you sleep with all you want but at the end of the day we all know that ur getting none bc ur a sexist pig and no girl would go for someone who calls their sisters “a good fuck”
The pale dawn was his best accessory. Clad in jeans, t-shirt, boots, winter coat, and glasses, he was all black. Except for his hair, which rivaled the moon in its soft, shining white hue. The sun seemed to hesitate behind him, wishing to savor the ways the morning silence caressed the strange silhouette.
Yoongi gripped his beat up guitar case leisurely, accustomed to the weight of the instrument in his hand. His footsteps were slow, undetermined, comfortable. Every morning–or as many mornings as he could manage–he would slip out of his dorm room and wander the campus. Occassionally, he couldn’t remember what he saw for his body moved in a dreamless daze. Most times, however, Yoongi’s knuckles ached with how urgently he had written his anecdotes.
The gentle thud of his journal aligned with his steps against the pavement. This journal in particular was pure. None of the pages has been stained with his ever-smudging ink or frantic musings. The cover, as of yet, lacked creases from constant bending back and forth with ideas.
For a while now, Yoongi had taken it upon himself to write almost constantly. Music was always a passion of his–he could not recall a time when he did not crave the feeling of an instrument in his hands or the whisper of melodies in his ears–but lyrics were not his strong suit. He felt there were so many things to say, and he feared always saying the wrong ones. A chummy professor offered the idea of journaling what Yoongi saw daily, a way to understand his own perspective. At first, Yoongi scowled at the idea, but it turned out to be a natural way of life for him.
The songs he composed began to develop with meaning, the production process gaining depth as well. He wished to improve, for his songs were lacking one thing in his mind: they were not personal. Every melody showed how Yoongi saw the world from a distance, a tune of background coffee shop conversations. All he wanted was to write a song that made his own heart twinge. Despite the company of his trusty acoustic guitar and journals, Yoongi could not find the skills–or perhaps the courage–to articulate himself on the pages.
Maybe Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat that morning because he knew his life would change soon. Perhaps his fingers shook because they were already growing tired from all the written words he would inevitably leave unsaid. The only thing for certain was that morning, just as the awakening sun cast a pastel yellow glow across the earth, Yoongi saw Y/N for the first time and his throat tickled in anticipation of a “Hello.”