silent rehearsal

‘And I’m on the bleachers’

Originally posted by thedolangifs

Requested:  can u make one where gray is a football player and ur in band and he’s always noticed u

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1,580

Grayson Dolan x Reader

(y/f/n) = your friends name (y/l/n) = your last name

Hope you all enjoy! xx


I grabbed my tenor carrier and placed it on my shoulders, letting out a big sigh when our band director yelled for the drumline to hurry up.

“He’s a dick, you know?” (y/f/n) said placing the snare down on her carrier. 

I huffed, pulling my hair out from beneath the carrier and threw it up in a messy bun, grabbing my sticks off the shelf. 

“I really can’t fucking stand him anyways, making us come out here in like 94 degree weather and we have all this shit on. Like, why can’t we just march around and act like we’re playing?” I grumbled slowly walking down the stairs of our school stadium. 

“Yeah and it’s Tuesday which means we share the stadium with the football players.” (y/f/n) jumped off the last step almost falling over. 

“Hurry up drumline!” Our band director yelled.

“Fuck him. We still have to warm up anyways.” (y/f/n) was the drumline captain. She hardly did anything that our band director did and she truly didn’t care but damn did our drumline sound good. We were the best thing of this band. 

I let out a laugh and watched the football players warm up and some were mocking our group but hell, at least they don’t mock the drumline. My eyes landed on one football player - Grayson Dolan. Man, that kid had some good genes if I had to be honest. 

“Drumline!” I broke my gaze and looked over at our band director who you could tell from on the field that he was pissed at us. “Get to your set now! Silent rehearsal!” 

“Oh, drumline!” I looked over an seen the football players laughing. 

“Fuck them.” (y/f/n) mumbled walking to her set. 

Practice went by slower than ever. Our director was mainly yelling at us today but that was nothing new. I hated him with all my heart and soul. 

“Drumline, you owe me one lap!” He yelled over the intercom, the whole drumline groaning. 

I threw my sticks down and dropped my drum on the ground waiting for (y/f/n) to hurry up. 

“Come on.” I yelled fixing my bun. She yelled back and sat her drum down beside me and we began jogging. The football players were busy dancing around now since their practice was officially over for the day. My eyes landed on Grayson once again but this time, we both made eye contact, leaving Grayson there with a smirk plastered across his face. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I whispered to (y/f/n), “I made eye contact with Grayson.” She looked back.

“He’s watching you.” She whispered. 

“Dammit.” I groaned earning a laugh from her. 

We finally did the lap and grabbed our drums. The rest of the line finished before us because we didn’t really care. 

“I can’t wait to see him Friday night.”

“See who?”

I jumped and turned around, Grayson was leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face still. 

“When did you get right there?” I furrowed my eyebrows.

“Don’t worry about it, but hey, I can’t wait to see you Friday night either, (y/n).” He winked at me and walked away leaving me there with my mouth wide open. 

“Okay!” (y/f/n) screamed giving you a slap on your butt.

“This is ridiculous.” 


It was finally Friday night and my nerves have been crazy ever since Grayson talked to me Tuesday afternoon. I haven’t been playing good at all and I haven’t even talked to my line barely. I’m just too nervous.

I walked into the school, my feet sliding against the floor. (y/f/n) was already at the drumline closet getting her stuff out. 

“Hey.” I mumbled leaning against the wall. 

“Hey!” She smiled at me and handed me my carrier. “Better not fuck up the banner tonight.” She yelled from the closet. 

I just laughed and threw my hair into another messy bun. I quickly said hey to the guard members and grabbed my uniform from the band room. The gym door flew opened, revealing Grayson and Ethan. Grayson winked at me and walked towards the field, leaving me there speechless once again. 

I sighed and shook my head tossing my uniform down on the ground, sliding down the wall. 

“Why does he have to notice me now?” I rubbed my face and looked over at (y/f/n).

“I don’t know but your head better be on straight.” She walked outside with the rest of the band leaving me there.

“Hurry up, (y/l/n).” I looked over an saw the band director, he shook his head then did the biggest eye roll ever.

I quickly got dressed and lined up with the rest of the line. We all walked down to the field and my eyes immediately went to number 47. He turned around and let out a smile when he saw you. Never has a football player noticed a band kid at our high school. (y/f/n) nudged me in the arm making me look forward and notice our director glaring at me. 

“You know he wants to talk to you right?” I looked over and furrowed my eyebrows at her.

“No?”

“Well he does.”

Before I could answer, our director pulled me to the side and directed me to take my drum off. 

“(y/n), your drumming has been very off this week and you have been going in and out of space. I know I shouldn’t be doing this but I’m going to let you play tonight even though I shouldn’t. Get your head in the game and don’t fuck up.” he patted my back and walked away leaving me there pissed off. 

“Line up!” He yelled. 

I threw my drum back on and walked to my spot and let out a big sigh. 

Once the banner was finished, we all filed into the bleachers. My focus stayed on Grayson. I don’t know why he decided to talk to me all of the sudden but hell, I really loved the attention. Our high school was winning but they can all say thanks to Ethan and Grayson for getting all those touchdowns. 

“Get ready! They’re fixing to score again!” 

Grayson scored another touchdown making me scream. (Y/f/n) rolled her eyes and let out a laugh. Grayson looked back at me an winked making me blush. 


“Drumline, you’re cleaning the stadium tonight!” 

I rolled my eyes and tossed my sticks on the drum. 

“Chill it with the attitude, (y/l/n).”

“Fuck this, I’ll just go get the trash can.” I jogged down the stairs and grabbed the trash can, placing it underneath (y/f/n). I looked around and seen the twins taking pictures with their parents. It was their senior year and after every game, whether they won or lost, their family took pictures with them. I felt a smile creep onto my face.

“Yo (y/n).” I jumped and shoved (y/f/n)’s hands out of my face. “Come on, we’re done.” 

I put the trash can back and grabbed all my equipment and let out a sigh. Grayson probably wasn’t even going to talk to me. I mean, I’m not that popular anyways so what’s the point. 

“Later guys!” I laughed at (y/f/n).

“You’re so fake.” 

“It’s my duty to be nice to my line, (y/n).”

 I tossed my carrier on the rack, turning around and smacking into someones body. I jerked my head up and seen Grayson smiling down at me.

“Can we talk alone?” He questioned.

“Sure.” 

I grabbed my belongings and told (y/f/n) bye and walked with Grayson out to my car.

“So,” I mumbled tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

“I- um- I was wondering if you actually wanted to go on a date with me?”

I let out a laugh and tossed my stuff in the backseat of my car.

“A date? With me? A stupid band kid. You know you’ll get made fun of.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and leaned against my car. “I hope you know (y/n) that you’re actually pretty known around the school and you’re quite popular. You aren’t like the other band kids, they’re nerds and you have a bit of spunk in you that just made me become attracted to you.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes earning a sigh from him. “Really feel like this is a bet.” 

“It’s not!” He got closer to me, making me blush.

“Gray-”

He cut me off by smashing his lips onto mine. I was shocked but soon relaxed into the kiss, letting my fingers get tangled in his hair. His tongue swiped across my bottom lip but I smirked, pulling back.

“What’s that for?” He mumbled pushing a piece of my fallen hair back.

“We haven’t even went on a first date and you already wanna swap spit. How classy.” I laughed and opened my car door. 

“Well, how about a date tomorrow night, at six?”

I raised my eyebrow and looked down, “Sure.” 

Grayson smiled and left a kiss on my cheek, “See ya later, (y/l/n).”

“See ya later, Dolan.” 

Grayson winked at me and jogged over to his car where his brother was busy playing on his phone. I can’t believe this is happening.

“So?” I jumped and turned around seeing (y/f/n) at her car smiling at me.

“Ya girl got a date tomorrow night at 6!” 

She squealed and gave me a high five over the top of her car.

“Good luck.” She gave me a wink and got into her car, driving off.

I smiled, turning my car on and backing out, looking over at Grayson who was steady watching my car. I bit my lip and drove off with my cheeks blushing and already wondering what I was going to wear tomorrow.

stay with me to remember 

gifted to @whatwouldflorencedo for Round Two of the @jonsaexchange

(Rated E, 9k)



He had felt the interloper on his return from the winter war.

A Targaryen bastard trying to fit into the grooves and cracks of a castle that thrummed with cold and grey and Stark.

A usurper, seizing the mantle of Lord of Winterfell for himself; he now rooms in the lord’s chambers, sits in the heavy seat that once held a king, and hears the petitions of northern people.

A thief, taking Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter for himself.

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Huntress- Part Three: I Have To Go

Sam x Daughter!Reader, takes place in S12 E2, so (duh)warning: SPOILERS

Part one
Part two

You lie awake in bed. So much had happened in just under a week. You were tired -obviously you were tired- but you didn’t feel like sleeping.

This…"bunker" wasn’t your home. Not yet.
The amount of crazy events that had happened had thrown you out of it so much you’d reached a point where you had no idea what to feel. So many questions raced through your mind but how could you pick any to focus on?

The bandage in your foot was fraying and in desperate need of changing…maybe you could find a first aid kit?
Instantly, you reached to your right side where your backpack always was. You throw your head back “idiot.”.
All of your belongings were…well, still in England.
You hoped Mick would maybe be able to find a piece of his spewed heart to send you some of it…you weren’t desperate enough to call him yet.

With an excuse to move about, you threw your hoodie back on and headed out. You waited the moment you opened your door, hearing voices.
“How long did it take you to feel like you fit in?” It was Mary.
Mary was your Dad’s Mum. She was technically your Grandma but it seemed too strange to say it aloud. She was nice. Spaced out, but nice.
“I’m not sure if I do fit in.” that was Cas.
An Angel…apparently those are real. But they didn’t seem as holy and glorified as the Bible made out in Primary school. All those hymns they made you sing in assembly and these were who you were praying to? Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Angels were more like humans than everyone was willing to admit.

You crept along the hallway to see the pair of them watching you. Unfortunately your rehearsed silent steps weren’t silent enough for an Angel’s mojo. “Hello, Y/N.” Cas nodded, he hadn’t talked to you much but you could tell he cared about Sam and Dean.
Maybe even more than Mary did.

“Hi…” you say awkwardly.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Mary asked.
“Yeah I uh…” you gulped, not used to so much concern from anyone but your Mum “was just looking for a first aid kit.”

“Why?” Cas was to the point.

You glance down at your foot “It needs changing-” Before you could finish whatever you were about to say, Castiel walked forward.

“Here.” He knelt down and put his hand over your foot. You tensed up. But, the soreness left along with a small glow beneath his palm.
“My powers aren’t all that strong at the moment, but that should heal the worst of it.”
“Thank you.” You smile at him, still not completely over the fact that he had such an ability.
He nodded sternly before completely disappearing and you try your best not to look shocked.

“You should get some sleep.” Mary advised.
You wanted to say ‘You too’ but you couldn’t manage it.
“Goodnight.” She squeezed your hand in hers momentarily before heading over to her room.
You stood in the bunker, watching her open her room and walk in like a routine shed been doing for ages.
Maybe she felt like she didn’t fit in, but she sure knew how to hide it.

Sleepily, you switch the light off before heading back to your bed and lying down. Come on sleep, do your thing.


You wake to the smell of bacon, the sound of voices, and the feeling of being more tired than you started off as.
You didn’t need to get changed: this was all you had.
You just put the same boots back on and patted your hair down with your fingers.
Thankfully your gun, phone, and headphones were still in your pockets.

As silly as it sounded, you didn’t want to go towards the voices. You wanted to change into your favourite shirt, charge your phone and hug your Mum. You wanted to go to school and see your friends. Hell, you even missed the rain.

Instead, you took a deep breath and headed out the room.
Before you’d made it past the first floorboard Mary stopped you. “Y/N, here.” She handed you a hairbrush and toothbrush. Supplies she was brave enough to find…or ask for.
“Thank you.” You took them gratefully and placed them in the room you’d slept in, giving your hair a quick brush over and your teeth a good clean before leaving again.
Mary was gone.

The smell of bacon drew you to the kitchen, you hovered in the doorway, considering turning back  when your Dad spied you.
“Sleep well?” He asked it so loudly and confidently you wondered how you could be his daughter. Sure, you weren’t a complete wreck but you didn’t exactly have tonnes of confidence.
You nodded and mustered a weak smile “Yeah, thanks.”
He frowned but smiled anyway.
“Hey kid, you like bacon?” Dean glanced up from the frying pan.
“Doesn’t everyone?” You answer, trying to seem happier than you felt.

Your Dad pulled a chair out, gesturing for you to sit. It was next to his.
You sat down, looking over the news papers and documents he had out on the table. There was so much research, but what for you had no idea.
“Do you have anything else on you, besides the gun?” He asked gently, having noticed you were wearing the same thing again, only your hair was tied to the side.

You shake your head before adding a “Just my phone an headphones. I don’t know whether to call Mick or not.”

“We’ll get you some clothes and anything else you might need.” He encouraged. You noticed he’d ignored your suggestion.

“Is that bacon?” Mary’s voice makes you smile a little more.

“It’s probably cold by now.” Your Dad pointed out.

“And? It’s bacon.” She took a bite and grinned.

“I think I found us a case.” Mary then piped up.

Online?” Your Dad seemed impressed yet suspicious.
“No…I asked Dean to pick me up some papers.”
“I didn’t know you were gonna look for a case!” Dean protested, clearly more annoyed about this.
“I wasn’t planning on it but I just found it on the page!” 
She explained the case and you listened, taking in the information and trying to assemble it in your mind. Taking a theoretical approach was something the Chapter House seemed to encourage a lot more than you thought necessary. 
There wasn’t much field work for a hunter without any hunts. Still, you were fully trained with a variety of weapons and hand to hand combat. Even if there wasn’t much actual practice.

“Look, I figured that maybe hunting will help me get back into the swing of things.” She argued her case well.

“Fine.”

Dean and your Dad got up to go after Mary who headed out to pack a bag. You got up to follow but all three of them stopped and turned around as though you’d thrown a knife at them. “What?” You squinted.

“Sorry kid, but you’re not hunting.” Your Uncle scfoffed.

“And how old were you when you started?”
“That’s not the point.” Your Dad sighed “It’s dangerous.”
“I know.” You nodded.
“You’re young and I don’t want you getting hurt.” He continued.
And? You guys are old and I don’t want you cramping out…I know how to hunt.” You argue, pushing past them.

Mary grabbed your arm to stop you. You shook it off immediately and glared at her. 
“I say she’s coming…Mother knows best.” Mary smirked.
You relaxed a little and smiled back.


The four of you stood outside an old abandoned house, decaying wood ready to splinter it’s next victim bordered the windows up where small rays of light squeezed through the cracks.
Keeping a straight face, you didn’t want to admit how happy you were that you were actually hunting. Sure, the barriers didn’t protect everything back home but it was enough to mean Hunt’s were rare. You hunted no more than once a month…once a fortnight in the summer.

Your Uncle Dean went first, you last. The door silently opened, no noise could be heard besides the quiet footsteps of you all. You closed the door behind yourself and got your gun out. “Stay close to me.” Your Dad ordered and you rolled your eyes but nodded.
There wasn’t much. Just cobwebs and rat droppings which was pretty standard when it came to haunted houses.

Despite your Dad’s firm words you slipped away when the door to a basement caught your eye. Only, a mumbled “Dammit.” Made you look back. You could just make out your Dad and Uncle and hear them clicking their torches only nothing was shining.
“What the hell? These were on full?”

“Y/N!” Your Dad looked terrified when he saw you were almost an entire two feet away from him. You sighed and wandered back over, only your torch light also switched off. Now it was pitch black.

You instantly got out your phone and switched the torch on.
Two faces stared at you in confusion.
“How did you…?” Your Uncle looked amazed. Maybe he’d start shouting sorcery and throw you in a dungeon: “She’s a witch!”. 

“It’s called a phone, Granddad.” You remarked sarcastically- he shot you a bitch face.

You then realised you had the say in where you went next. you smiled and headed back to the basement you wanted to explore. There was always something creepy in a basement.

This time a door slamming shut made you shine your torchlight in the direction of the sound. 
“Sam!” Mary cried.
“Dean!”
She didn’t call your name. She just repeated those two as they tried to bash the door down.

You raced over just as they managed to tear away enough wood to open it up. There was a boy, no older than five…maybe four. He was staring up at Mary with wide scared eyes, they were glossy and hopeful but before you could watch what he did next an iron bar swung through him and he disappeared.

Mary had a handprint of harsh red on her, but it wasn’t an attack. It was far too neat and defined to be one. It was a parley. 


“Okay so when are gonna go ask around? Get some information.” Mary piped up, walking in on the three of you researching already. You forgot how unused to the internet and modern technology Mary was. You thought you had it bad, but she unintentionally time-traveled. She was forced into a whole new life style.

“We’re already doing it.” Your Dad laughed gently, before swiveling his laptop round so Mary could see.
You stared at your phone screen, not used to researching much. There was a huge library in the Chapter House fr the monsters and there was never a case complicated enough to search through police files or anything.
You’d found a few old newspapers but that was something anyone could do. You needed to find more than that…you just didn’t know how.

“We should go burn the bones.” Dean decided, slamming his laptop shut, followed by his brother. Mar agreed but before she could stand properly she stumbled and held her head in her hand. Her eyes squinted in pain as she groaned.
“Mom?” Sam…your Dad…rushed to her side, but she pushed them off.
“I’m fine.”She lied.
“Maybe you should…stay here?” Your Dad suggested, leaving her dumbfounded.
“We’ll be back as soon as possible, Y/N, stay with her and call if anything happens.

With that they left the pair of you staring at the closed Motel room door. 
You didn’t even have his number.

“Are you okay?” You asked, sitting down on one of the beds.
“I uh,” She sat down next to you, fiddling with her thumbs in her lap “I’m not sure.”

“Me neither.” You laughed quietly through your breath.
“I just…the room looked so much like when Sam…” She trailed off and wiped her eyes even though she hadn’t started crying.
You didn’t know what to say.You weren’t one hundred percent sure what she meant. All you knew was that she had died when your Dad and Uncle were very young.
“What happened?” You didn’t want to press but you were curious.
“I suppose I should tell you…”
You listened in awe as she explained the story. A yellow eyed demon sounded far worse than anything you’d experienced in London. Or before you moved down to the SouthEast. 

“I know it sounds strange, but…” She paused, as if rehearsing what to say “I know that that little boy wasn’t trying to hurt me. He asked for my help.”
“He looked scared.” You agreed, expanding on her point.
“Terrified.”

You watched as she sat up, taking the telephone and putting it to her ear. She asked about speaking to someone, the words “I’m not everyone else.” stuck in your mind.


You and Mary crept through the Haunted house once again. Only this time with more of a plan. For starters they’d burnt the wrong bones.
This time you knew you wanted to see what was in the basement. You went straight for it, only Mary held you back. “Be careful.” She whispered, before nodding.

You crept down the steps, hearing a faint door slam followed by the shouts of Mary. You raced back up the steps to free her but the door slammed, sending you tumbling back down the stairs. Your arm scraping against a piece of old wood, gashing your arm. Blood trickled through the graze but you shook it off, determined to see more than a flight of stairs.
As far as you could see, there wasn’t much. Maybe the hunch you had was wrong. Of course it was, what Hunter does a case on a hunch?

In attempt to get the door open, the sounds of more voices, shouting, and crashing could be heard. It sounded like your Dad and Uncle had found Mary.
A flicker of movement flashed in your peripheral vision. Instantly, your head turned and a small child -again no older than 5- was staring up at you.
Their pale bony hand lifted slowly, pointing at a boarded up area you’d failed to notice. “He’s still here.” They whispered, flickering in and out of existence. 
You kicked at the wood, luckily it had rotted due to age and fell away easily. Another kick. More wood crashed to the floor.

More crashed up stairs.
More shouts.
You even heard your name.

As another decaying plank fell to the floor you crawled through the gap and there he was. A pile of bones making up a skeleton hunched in the corner.You grimaced and grabbed the salt you had on hand, shaking it over the skeleton. The smell was almost unbearable.
Your lighter took a few flicks but eventually it lit. You threw it on the bones, not waiting around to see if they disappeared or not. Instead, you raced back out of the hole and up the stairs. “Thank you.” Came a whisper.
You turned round but no one was there…not anymore. You continued to stare, just in case they decided to show themselves, or maybe they’d whisper something else and this time you could hear them properly.
The door swung open before you’d reached it, forcing you to tear your eyes away from the bare room. 

It was your Dad. out of breath and covered in dirt. But he was grinning at you. You might say he was proud.


So many questions ran through your mind.

In less than a fortnight you’d managed all this. You’d met a side to the family you didn’t know you had, a Father you’d been lead to believe was dead, and moved to a country you were told was too unsafe to go near.
Your Mum was still with you- the engraved initials on the side of your pistol.

Sat in the room you were okay with calling your own, you stood up from when the door opened. It was Mary, she looked happy but also something seemed to be troubling her. “Hi, sweetheart.” She smiled, taking a step closer to you. She took your hands in hers and squeezed them gently.
“I want you to understand that when I say this, it’s nobody’s fault. It’d my decision. I’m telling you first because I think you’ll understand a little more than my boys will.” She paused, taking in a deep breath which made you even more curious “I have to go.” 

It was barely a whisper. Perhaps she was scared someone would overhear, but maybe she just didn’t want to say it. You nodded slowly, understanding but also wanting to ask her so many more questions.
“I haven’t known you for even a week but you’re beautiful, feisty, clever, and already a brilliant Hunter. You’re my Grand daughter, Y/N. And I’m proud to say it.”
You smile, feeling your eyes tear up from the kindness “I want you to take care of your Dad for me. And your Uncle Dean. They’re really gonna need their girl.” She sniffed, taking your face in her hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. She then let go and hovered in the doorway, smiling kindly before closing it behind herself.

You didn’t follow after her. You waited in the room. Not moving.
You’d already lost someone. 

You liked Mary, you really did. Could you cope loosing another person?
Were they really lost? 

It must have been no more than ten minutes later when the door to the Bunker echoed it’s crestfallen hallways. Followed by a long creak, as if declaring her gone.
Nothing but silence crept through the building as you felt your new family’s worlds fall away.


Huntress- P4: Like Me

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Desire. (Yoongi x reader smut)

A/N: This is actually the first smut I’ve ever written so please don’t be too hard on me if it’s terrible.

REMEMBER TO SEND IN YOUR WRITING REQUESTS☀


—-

It was like the start of a bad joke.

‘Min Yoongi and Y/n L/n walk into a bar- oh, no they didn’t! They’re busy fucking!

By now, mostly every close friend or family member of yours Knew of your relationship with Yoongi- with certain details excluded, of course.  Yoongi’s closest friends new about you, although he sometimes enjoyed revealing certain aspects of your sex life to his band mates, he ultimately respected your privacy and kept a steady limit to how much information he would share.

You’d been dating Yoongi for a steady two years when the topic or sex roused it’s way into conversation- you’d been discussing the topic or university fees when he mentioned it, sudden and rushed. He’d been blushing, that you remembered clearly, and shaking like a leaf caught in a nasty storm. He was so hesitant, his words were carefully selected and almost seemed rehearsed.


‘Y/n?’

You turned to face him, you’d been sitting on your porch that night, the moonlight reflecting off the surface of his tea, creating a white cloud infront of him.

'Hmm?’

There’d been a pause, an awkward, terrible, lingering pause. You were certain he wanted to break up with you then, a pit of dread ballooned in your stomach as he parted his lips.

'I-I was wondering if you’d, I mean like, you don’t have to obviously, but I was wondering if, if you’d like to develop our relationship’ He flinched at your confusion 'have sex, I mean’

The silence that followed was comfortable, you felt yourself relax as you realised he did not intend to adjourn your relationship- infact, it was quite the opposite.  Now, you felt your relationship was as strong as bison.

The first time had been awkward, clumsy and fumbling.

It was summer, a blanket of black velvet surrounded your house, your T-shirts stuck to your back with sweat as crickets chirped merrily outside.

It had happened a couple of months after Yoongi had first mentioned the idea of sex. You’d pushed it to the side after a while, after all, it would happen when it happened.

It had felt strange at first, him on top of you in your bedroom, in your bed, on your sheets. You marvelled at his physique, but you supposed it was only to be expected from constant, demanding dance rehearsals and training.

No doubt, he worshipped your body too. He left lingering kisses along the miles  of delicate skin below him, his hands ran along your hips, drawing patterns along your sides and left small, pink bruises along your neck and collarbone in his wake. He told you a few days after the event he had no idea what he was doing, he was acting on instinct.

Looking back on the situation, it hadn’t hurt as much as you’d expected it to. You took your time. He’d whispered sweet things in your ear to calm you down, murmurings of how much he loves you, how tight you were, how good you were doing.

'I want to spend the rest of my life with you’ he murmured that night as he collapsed in bed beside you.


There was no denying that sex with Yoongi was far more appealing than sitting around in a stuffy pub, the stench of cigarettes swirling around and booze stains being handed out to shirts like candy.

The sexual tension between you and Min Yoongi was one a string drawn taut would be envious of. Most nights would end with the both of you in a sinful haze- and soon Yoongi would be coaxing a roar from your mouth between the sheets as you dissolved into a pool of pleasure.

Evenings consisted of hollowing cheeks, tongue flicks and pounding hips. He’d fuck you in such a way that made you see stars,  an obscenity of curses and pleas hurtling from your mouth until they became nothing more than incoherent syllables tumbling from swollen lips.

Tonight was no exception.

That warm, hazy feeling had started when he moistened his tongue with his lips in concentration. You knew what that explicit things mouth could do, and a flurry of thoughts about how those lips had felt against your tingling pussy, the pink fleshy muscle diving in and out of your heat had invaded your thoughts  before you could calm yourself down. You could imagine him delving between your thighs as he had so many nights before, usually marvelling at how his girlfriend had such a 'sweet little pussy’, his words ceasing to moans as he lapped away like a starving man.

Your clit twitches at the thought of him hiking up your skirt and fucking you relentlessly on the mahogany table- slamming in and out of you at a scream worthy pace as he swirls your left nipple between your tongue, caressing the right with his fingers, as the perky nubs became almost painfully hard, his hand would glide down your form before resting between your legs, barely stroking you through your  panties, dripping with pure anticipation, a lustful need and a bubbling excitement.

You began to rub your thighs together, yearning for some sort of friction as your desire intensified as your lustful thoughts became more vivid, more intense.

Your frustration only increased when he began to card through his dark hair with delicate fingers, his short nails gliding through the sooty black locks. Christ, those fingers could work wonders-  he would lazily drag his fingers along your clit, eventually working his way to your vagina-  inserting his fingers, working you to your orgasm with a 'come hither motion’ that had you seeing sparks as he rolled his wrist against your already swollen clit.

You just couldn’t take it anymore.

A lump forms in your throat, you feel your heart rate speed up as he approaches you in long, graceful strides.

The sofa you occupy sinks.

'Y/n?’

You feel his delicate, hesitant fingers reach your chin. Suddenly, you’re looking at him with lust ridden eyes, trailing down to his pale lips.

Warmth.

His lips are gentle against yours, soothing almost. He’s kissed you many times before, yet, this time feels different; this time, there is no sense of rushed urgency, no crashing and bruising.

His hand trails to your shoulder, his lips press further into yours as his confidence increases. Your back is met with the familiar feeling of the sofa, leathery and cold against your prickling skin.

As you meet the sofa, his hands begin dancing up and down your thigh. It’s annoying, that’s for certain. You crave him now, you want him inside of you- hard, gentle, slow, fast, screening, silence, whatever- you just needed him urgently.

'Hurry up Yoongi’ you cooed, arching your hips forward slightly.

Normally, you’d be ashamed at your desperate, melting state, but this wasn’t normally and right now you needed him to fuck your brains out, capicse?

Yoongi, being the sly little fucker he was, decided to go extra slooooow, his preferred method of teasing you now resorted to a fingertip ever so lightly grazing your nub through your soaked panties.

'What was that, princess?’ A smirk graced his features, and you decided he’d make a fucking outstanding Disney villain.

'Hurry. Up.’ You demanded 'I need you to fuck me senseless’

'How bad do you want it, princess?’

Oh for fucks sake.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt his tongue against your clitoris, his knuckles turned white as he spread your thighs wide apart, sending shivers down your spine as  cold air met your sex.

'Dear God- oh Yoongi! Fuck yes!’

You’ll never get quite get a tongue as skilled as Min Yoongi’s, trust me.

He continued to lick and suck away at you, smirking at every indecipherable series of syllables you whined out.

Bingo!

There it is, the first orgasm of the night- in a record 2 minutes you’re already writhing, gasping and pleading under his tongue as the pressure in your lower regions dissipates.

And my God, you are ravenous for more.

Blazing with excitement, you push Yoongi underneath you. Gooseflesh appears as you unbutton his white shirt, taking the opportunity to run a finger down his tightened abs. You hear the rustle of the thin fabric as you turn your attention toward his jeans, and you notice Yoongi has cast away his shirt to some forgotten corner of the room.

You leave a trail of kisses, beginning just past his bellybutton and halting at the top of his pants. You unbutton the metal clasp, and rehearsing a silent prayer for the safety of your lips you pull his zipper down with your teeth.

Lips unharmed, you begin rolling his jeans down his legs. His erection standing to attention through his tight black briefs.

He lets out a strangled moan when you take him in your mouth, head bobbing backwards and forwards. He wraps a finger in your hair, pulling you closer to him. His cock tickles the back of your throat and a light mist of tears swim in your eyes.

'Jesusfuckholyshitohmyfuckinggod’ he groans, hips bucking underneath you.

He’s going to cum.

You unwrap your lips from his stiff manhood, a distinct 'pop!’ echoed throughout the room as you wiped your mouth, failing to hide the ever growing smirk on your face.

'You’ he groans, eyes narrowed 'bed’

Of course you do as you’re told, you’re far too eager to stop now.

You lay on the bed, dress discarded. Yoongi follows close behind. He’s on top of you in a matter of seconds, pressing your form into the bedsheets with his weight.

'You really thought you could tease me like that and get away with it, huh?’

'What do you mean?'  you cooed, voice oozing with fake innocence

'You know full well what I mean, princess’

'Maybe I do, maybe I don’t- care to explain?’

'When you were sucking my cock like a good little girl, then you suddenly stopped- why was that, baby doll?’

'Because I didn’t want you to come, Yoongi’

'Daddy’ he immediately corrects, eyes burning into yours 'But, princess, I let you cum under my tongue earlier, didn’t I? I fucked you with my mouth like a champ, and this is how you repay me? That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?’

His hands roam your body freely, pinching and poking at your skin. His hands seem to linger most on your breasts, assaulting them with his hands and tongue, sucking, nibbling, biting, leaving dark marks along the sensitive flesh. He rolls your nipples, now embarrassingly hard, with his fingers

'Forgive me’ you plead, trying your very hardest to suppress a moan.

Yoongi removes his fingers from your form and strokes his chin in mock thought 'Well, I suppose I could’ he smiles, eyes crinkling slightly 'but come on, where’s the fun in that?’

He hums as his fingers trail down your thighs once more, narrowly avoiding your heat as he continues on his path.

'How bad do you want me?’

'I want to feel your name burning on my flesh for days’

Immediately, he takes it as a challenge. He holds your arms steady above your head as he assaults your neck. You can feel his teeth nibbling against the flesh, and it hurts like hell, but you’re so beyond caring at this point.  It doesn’t take long before you’re allowing soft moans to slip from your mouth, running your fingers along his back.

He sucks on the most vulnerable part of your neck, you dig your nails into his back and leave scratches behind, Yoongi grunts at the pain, deciding to turn his attention elsewhere.

He takes a particular interest in your clitoris, he taps it once, twice, three times and moves his fingers away, instead stroking your folds.

'You’re so wet, Y/n’ he chuckles

You blush a deep red 'Shut up’

He laughs as you cross your arms over your chest and stick your tongue out at him.

Then he slips a finger inside of you.

You whine as his digit thrusts in and out, in and out, the sound of juices blaring across the room. He beckons you to your orgasm, slipping in another finger before you come undone.

You pant as comes closer to you.

'Sit on daddy’s cock’ he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe.

You don’t have to be told twice. He lays down for you, and as you crouch over his member you feel your arousal dripping.

You sink onto him, and the sight of his cock disappearing into your pussy is almost enough to make you come on the spot. You start riding him, going slowly at first.

'Fuck, you’re so hot baby’ he groans 'ride my cock like a good little girl’

You’ve only ridden him once before, it was in the back of his car, the sound of skin slapping together was far louder than the radio, the leather moulded to Youngi’s sweaty form as you gripped the seat next to you to keep your quivering thighs steady.

Your breasts bounce as you increase the pace, feeling a familiar burning in your thighs. You feel your sweat slicked back tense as the beginning of your third orgasm approaches, your pussy pulsing around his cock, fire pooling low in your abdomen, the earth stuttering on its axis.

'How good does my cock feel, baby?’

You let out a breathy moan in response.

He lightly taps your rear 'Use your words, baby girl’

'So fucking good’ you moan, not even caring if it’s audible above the skin slapping, grunting and moaning.

Yoongi groans, pushing his hips forward to bury himself into you as he chases his orgasm.

'Ohgodshitfuck’ and with a grunt you feel him spill his seed inside of you.

You tighten around him as your much anticipated orgasm finally approaches you. Lazily,you de-tatch yourself from him and collapse by his side.

'That was-’

'Fucking great’

Fly

Requests:

  • Can I request 14 with Jackson please
  • 14 w jackson? Pelase?

14) You are seated next to your bias on a plane

Member: Got7′s Jackson x Y/N

Type: Fluff


You curled and uncurled your tense fingers, gripping tight to the arm wrests on either side of you. The plane hadn’t taken off yet, but you were dreading the initial feeling of being lifted from the ground and into the air. 

You looked around with nervous eyes and bit on your lip softly. No one else seemed to be even the slightest bit concerned with the situation. Husbands talked calmly to wives, business men fiddled with stock options on their laptops, Jackson Wang sauntered down the aisle.  

You paused for a moment, furrowing your brows as your mind went over the last part of that thought. 

Jackson. Wang. Sauntered. Down. The. Aisle. 

You tilted your head, taking in his muscular frame, a loose t-shirt hanging from his chest. He ran a tired hand through his disheveled hair, tugging on a baseball cap shortly after.  His eyes searched the rows, confident in his direction. 

You had been an unapologetic Got7 fan for years now, falling into their style of Korean pop shortly after their debut. Your family didn’t necessarily understand why you were so interested in music from the other side of the world, but you didn’t care. The beats, rhythms, and words spoke to you more than most western music could. Korean pop, and Got7 by extension, had brought immense happiness to you, and you wouldn’t shy away from that pride. 

For a moment you thought you were dreaming. You held your breath as he approached your row, eying each person, and granted a kind smile to those who returned his eye contact. You felt your own creepiness emanating as you continued watching him, unable to stop yourself. His face wore slight stubble and he was bare of any makeup. You were sure he was self conscious in this state, but you thought he looked incredible. 

He glowed. He radiated. He shone. 

“Sorry, I think I have the window,” he said lowly to the woman sitting to the left of you in the isle. 

Upon entering the correct terminal, you were aware that your plane was sold out. You had some idea, as only middle seats were left when you booked your ticket, but held out hope that you’d be able to switch your circumstances upon arrival. You now silently screamed to you past self as the isle seat woman nodded, moving to allow Jackson into the row. You nodded as well, creating a small pocked of room to allow him to slide by, landing with a plop in the window seat. 

I just want to say thank you to my mother, you rehearsed silently in your head, your eyes nearly tearing up with happiness. For giving birth to me and allowing me to live in this moment. I want to say thank you to God, for giving me life in a day and age when Got7 exists. I want to thank Ms. Hainey, my eighth grade biology teacher for teaching me that dreams do come true…

“Sorry,” Jackson said quietly as you took your spot again. 

You nodded your head, giving him a small smile. You were unsure if you’d actually be able to use your voice to speak at any point of this flight. It was too much strain and you knew you were choked up by emotion. 

As you settled down once again, you actively tried to avoid Jackson’s presence, looking anywhere but at him. The longer you ignored, the more aware you became. It was almost as if he begged for attention without begging at all. You averted your gaze, quietly gasping to yourself as the rest of the members of Got7 struggled onto the plane. You furrowed your brows, reflecting on where you were going. 

Home. You cursed at yourself. You were a lousy Got7 stan.  You had been studying for exams, and were now on the flight back home to visit your family for the holidays. You knew Got7 had been doing a US tour, but you didn’t have any idea of the schedule. All you knew was that as soon as you landed, you and your friends would prepare for their concert, which would be the next night.

You looked up again, sighing as each member encountered a stranger with an embarrassed smile, trying to sidestep their way into their respective seats. Some of the members had snagged seats together, while others like Jackson had to make due with being separated. Jinyoung grinned broadly at Jackson as he squeezed into the window seat directly in front of us, spitting rapid fire Korean as he went. Jackson let out a loud and cackling laugh, nodding at Jinyoung’s brief words. 

“Um hi,” you said shortly, not being able to contain yourself any longer. You winced at the simplicity of your statement and waited for Jackson to acknowledge you. 

“Hi,” he smiled, unwinding his headphones from around his phone. The flight was only a few hours and you knew he would probably sleep. He deserved to after his schedules. 

“I um…I just wanted to say…” you began quietly, trying to recall any rehearsal of any speech you had prepared for this type of situation. You took a deep breath before beginning to speak again, attempting to calm your nerves. “I’m a huge fan. I’ve listened to Got7 since you’ve debuted…and I want you to know how wonderful and hardworking you all are.” 

Jackson’s face, which had initially been covered with confusion, slowly eased into a wide smile, his ears turning red from the attention. 

“Really?” he gasped, his tone had completely changed from the quiet man he was only moments before. 

“Really,” you nodded. “I’m actually going to your show tomorrow night. Ahgase are really happy with you Jackson. You’ve grown into a man we can all be proud of.”

“No, no,” Jackson said quickly. “We’re proud of ahgase. We’ll grow and get even better to match how amazing you all are.”

He smacked the back of JInyoung’s seat excitedly. Jinyoung turned, shooting Jackson a weary glare and pulled his earbuds from his ears. “Hm?”

“She’s an iGot7!” Jackson gasped, motioning to you.

Jinyoung smiled kindly. “Thank you for supporting us.”

“Thank you for giving ahgase wonderful music,” you nodded in return. You beamed with satisfaction at yourself. Not in a million years did you think you’d ever be able to say anything like that to the men you had loved and cherished from afar. 

Jinyoung nodded again, slinking back into his seat and returning his headphones. Jackson continued to smile at you, something you could only associate as disbelief on his face. 

“I just wanted to let you know…how loved and appreciated you are,” you nodded. “Now that I’ve said that, get some rest. You deserve it.”

Jackson’s jaw dropped with a small laugh as he continued to look at you. He had never had the privilege of riding along side a fan before. The managers and coordinators for the tour usually managed to block them off sections of the plane so they could be given privacy, but with a previous flight cancellation, they had to accept what they could find. He couldn’t have been any more happy than to be placed beside a fan. 

He continued to watch you as you readjusted, looking away from him and up to the flight attendant who was addressing some safety procedures. The plane began slow forward motion, triggering you to once again grab tightly for the arm rests on either side of you. 

“Hey,” Jackson cooed softly. “Are you alright?”

“Not a huge fan of flying,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked shut. “Lift off, turbulence, landing…not things I generally fantasize about.”

Jackson giggled, shaking his head as he placed his large hand on top of yours. You slowly opened one eye, then the other as you analyzed the situation before you. He lifted your hand from the rest slowly, intertwining your fingers. “It’ll be alright…what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you squeaked out. You were surprised by how soft his hands were. You had never really thought about how exactly his hands would feel, but you didn’t think soft would have been the first descriptor. 

“It’ll be alright, Y/N,” he nodded. “It’s okay to be scared. Being scared means you’re about to do something brave.”

“Flying isn’t brave,” you muttered, shaking your head. “It’s the most convenient method of transportation.”

Jackson tilted his head, a small noise of indignation falling from his lips. “Flying isn’t brave? Have you not heard the concepts for our past two albums.”

You bit your tongue and grimace. Good job, Y/N. 

“Flying, literally or figuratively, is brave,” Jackson continued. “Humans weren’t meant to fly, but we do it anyway.”

“You’re right,” you croaked, your eyes sealed shut again as the plane bumped along the runway, attempting to lift into the sky. 

“Of course I’m right,” Jackson giggled. “We didn’t write two albums for nothing.”

You chuckled as well, trying to tell yourself to loosen your grip on Jackson’s hand. You had to be nearly breaking his fingers by now. As the flight eased into the sky, you found yourself slowly opening your eyes again and looking over to Jackson. His gaze hadn’t left your direction in the entirety of takeoff and he smiled as you finally became less tense. You let out a deep breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding and looked over to the woman on the opposite side of you. She was in her mid to late sixties and smiled kindly in your direction. 

“Nervous traveler?” she nodded. You suddenly became aware that she had been watching you almost as closely as Jackson had. 

“A bit,” you nodded, your hand limp in Jackson’s still. You were scared to move it and break contact. If it was an inconvenience, surely he would retract his fingers from the situation. 

“At least you have your boyfriend,” she smiled, her hand instantly flying up to her mouth in embaressment. “You two are dating, right?”

“Oh, I - we-” you stuttered as Jackson leaned over so he was able to look at the older woman as well. 

“We are! We just made our three year anniversary,” he grinned, shooting a wink at you. You hissed in amusement, unable to believe him. 

“You two make a very pretty couple,” the older woman gushed. “I wish you lots of happiness for the future.”

“Thank you,” you managed, trying to keep an attack of laughter from escaping your lips. 

The woman nodded again, lifting her book to signify the end of your exchange. You looked back over to Jackson who leaned into his seat, a large grin on his face. 

“She’s not wrong,” Jackson whispered. “We are a pretty couple. Mostly because of you though.”

“Jackson Wang,” you muttered, more as a warning than a statement. 

“Really! Ahgase are the most beautiful people any of us have ever seen. But you…you’re something else,” he grinned. “You said you are going to the fan meet?

“I am,” you nodded. “P2, so I’ll be seeing you again.”

“Good,” he nodded, squeezing your hand lightly. “I can’t wait to see that pretty face more at ease on the ground.” 

Originally posted by kookihyunnie

‘It’s always belonged to you.’

There is a lump in her throat and her vision becomes blurred with tears she refuses to shed. Suddenly she is back in Port Royal, the afternoon sun blazing hot in the clear blue sky, her clammy fingers nervously clutching a fan as the words of Jack Sparrow’s death sentence ring in her ears; there’s a flurry of crimson and white, and she finds her eyes fixed on Will’s face; and before she has had enough time to process what he said – or was it just her imagination playing tricks on her? – he spins on his heel and strides through the crowd of onlookers, his words still hanging in the stifling air, heavy with the solemn weight of emotions he didn’t dare articulate before: I should have told you every day from the moment I met you.

She blinks; she’s back on the beach, and the last rays of the setting sun dancing in his hair are a painful reminder that the boy in the ridiculous hat who made this heartfelt declaration is to be torn away from her yet again. When he turns around to face her, something in his eyes reminds her of the young blacksmith: they’re brimming with the same the quiet intensity; the same earnestness; the same awed reverence that sent shivers down her spine that day on the battlements when she declared, He’s a pirate.  

As her gaze rests on the angry red gash running across his chest, a part of her wishes she could take those words back.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Pretty please, the Father of the Bride speech Cassian has been silently rehearsing for the last four years expecting Hope and Poe to marry any time soon (somehow, despite his spy intuition, totally oblivious to the beard nature of their relationship)

Everyone sees it — the effortless, carefree friendship between Hope Andor-Erso and Poe Dameron. Everyone sees the flirtatious smiles, the eye contact, the ease with which they touch each other, whether it be hugs or arms slung across each other’s shoulders or one flopping onto the other when they’re seated.

Everyone sees it — and Cassian Andor has been dreading it since his seven year old estrella asked him how babies were made and he’d sputteringly told her to ask her mother.

She’s a young woman now, his little star, and an ace pilot, second only to Poe himself. Cassian’s done his best to keep her out of Intelligence, but the Starfighters Corps called to her even before the Jedi Academy had been attacked and she’d felt her friends die.

She’s a young woman, but she’s still his little girl, and he’d watch the galaxy burn if anything happened to her.

Keep reading

louistomlinsonherroo  asked:

Can you do one blurb where y/n is meeting his family for the first time ever and is supr nervous

You’ve checked your outfit countless times. You’ve rehearsed questions to ask his family to be polite and engaging, and answers to the questions that you think they could possibly ask. 

Shawn’s voice interrupts your silent rehearsal as his hand slips from the steering wheel to find yours. “Baby, calm down. They’re going to love you. I promise.” He gives your hand a squeeze, and even though you still feel like you’re about to freak out of pure nervousness, his reassurance works to calm you a little bit. 

2

I AM LITERALLY HYPERVENTILATING

The Theremini is a re-imagination of one of the oldest electronic musical instruments in history, and Bob Moog’s first love – the Theremin. Its design fuses the experience of performing with an instrument you don’t actually touch, with a powerful sound engine derived from Moog’s award winning synthesizer, Animoog. The Theremini guarantees immediate success to any player at any skill level, while providing new ways to experiment with music, education, and gestural control.

Assistive pitch quantization allows each player to adjust the instrument’s level of playing difficulty. At the maximum position, the Theremini will play every note in a selected scale perfectly, making it impossible to play a wrong note. As this control is decreased, more expressive control of pitch and vibrato becomes possible. When set to minimum, the Theremini will perform as a traditional Theremin - the analog heterodyning oscillator controls pitch and there is absolutely no assistance.

A built-in tuner supplies real-time visual feedback of each note as it is played, as well as its proximity to perfection. This is useful for correcting a user’s playing position, and educating younger players about pitch and scales.

The presets section allows you to select from 32 wave or wavetable-based patches, store a selected scale & root note, set and recall a specified playing range, and specify per-patch settings for the included stereo delay.

Recessed in the top of the Theremini is a compact speaker perfect for private rehearsal and quick setup anywhere. Silent rehearsal is also possible via the front panel headphone jack. Simply plug in ear-buds or headphones and the built-in speaker becomes silent.

For live performance and gestural control, the rear panel features two line level audio outputs, a pitch CV output with selectable range, and a mini USB jack for MIDI I/O and connectivity.

FEATURES

• Pitch correction w/ selectable scales and root note

• Built in tuner allows you to learn pitch and scales

• 32 Wavetable based presets

• Built in speaker

• Headphone output

• Two ¼" audio outputs

• Single Pitch CV output w/ selectable range

• User selectable scale and root note (stored per preset)

• User selectable range: highest note and lowest note (stored per preset)

• Adjustable Stereo Ping-Pong Delay

• Removable pitch antenna - built in storage compartment on bottom-side

• Built in 3/8” Mic stand and Camera stand adaptor

• High quality rubberized feet

FRONT PANEL

LCD SCREEN:  128 X 64 pixel LCD with white backlight.

HEADPHONE JACK:  1/8” (3.5mm) TRS headphone jack. Inserting a headphone plug will disable the internal speaker

VOLUME KNOB:  Controls headphone volume and built in speaker volume.

PITCH BIAS KNOB:  Determines the amount of pitch correction from 0% to 100%

SCALE BUTTON:  Select from a list of built in scales

ROOT BUTTON:  Select the root note to be used by the scale

SETUP BUTTON:  Provides access the setup and calibration functions - also acts as a shift key.

DELAY LENGTH BUTTON:  Selects the length of delay: SHORT, MEDIUM, LONG, or OFF

DELAY AMOUNT KNOB:  Controls the amount of delay mixed with the dry signal.

PRESET KNOB:  Selects the preset played from a built in list of 32 presets

REAR PANEL

LEFT OUTPUT:  Line Level ¼” unbalanced TS

RIGHT OUTPUT:Line Level  ¼” unbalanced TS

CV OUTPUT:  ¼” TS – 0-5V or 0-10V selectable

USB:  MiniB USB2.0 for USB MIDI - Note data in not yet supported

KENSINGTON LOCK SLOT 

POWER SWITCH:  Push ON / Push OFF

POWER JACK:  12VDC/1.2A from 100–240VAC external supply(included)

DIMENSIONS:22.75”L  x 6.5”D x 15”H w/antenna (4”H without)

WEIGHT: 3lbs

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

4

‘MODISH MUSINGS' article from Sounds  magazine 7|11|1981

#DepecheMode making noises on Moogs ARP’s & other things

“Stop that clacking!” Depeche Mode couldn’t win. Even when they plugged headphones into their synthesisers, Vince Clarke’s mum complained about the noise – of clacking keys. But those eerie, silent rehearsals when they sat around in a drafty Essex garage have brought them exciting rewards.

They can make as much noise as they like, now that ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ has blasted round the nation’s jukeboxes and turned them into a band everyone wants to hear. With their last hit single selling well over 500,000 million copies all the mums of this band of 20 year olds will be glad they didn’t stay with nice, safe, boring jobs as assurance clerks.

Depeche Mode sound like they should be part of the Futurist Movement, striking dramatic poses and clad in the latest satins and feathers from Chez Knickers. In fact they are busy, earnest and slightly nervous young synthesiser operatives (first class), who have been swept along by the tide of events. And the last thing they want is to be mixed up with some kind of spurious fashion cult. At the same time they don’t want to be seen as techno freaks, only happy while poring over wiring diagrams or synthesiser manuals. The only label they won’t wince at too much is when they are called a pop group. It leaves their future wide open, and they are only just beginning.

“Remember,” say Depeche Mode, “we are a very young group”.They were busy rehearsing and checking out their keyboards in readiness for their first major tour in a South London studio last week and there was a faint hint of apprehension in the air, as they pondered on the realities of “live” gigging.

The band have been accused of being too subservient to the gods of mechanisation, particularly because they have ditched the idea of using a drummer. Andrew Fletcher, one of the triumvirate of keyboard players, explains. “When we started rehearsing, using a drummer was impractical because of the noise, and lack of room. So we used various drum machines, which were all bad! The first one was like one of those they put on organs. It had rumba and samba, and rock/waltz. All the drum machines we tried have their limitations, but now we pre-record all the drum rhythms and play tapes on gigs. We don’t use any machines at all now.”

Singer David Gahan told how they had also tried putting all their drum sounds on a cassette and then having it programmed, But when they got the tapes back, and played them in the studio the sounds had altered. “We’d tried computerising them but it didn’t work. So now we use our own tapes. The evolution of synthesisers, which has resulted in the [equipment] becoming more adaptable, portable and cheaper, has enabled bands like Depeche Mode to flourish. None of them can play piano, and Martin Gore only got his first synth a year ago.

Their new album is called ‘Speak And Spell’ and reflects the knock on effect where the human species is being more and more influenced by its own creations. It’s quite likely that a whole generation of kids will grow up talking in flat, robotic voices, and learning only the information that is stored in retrieval systems. But Depeche Mode remain disarmingly human, Martin admits he had his synth for a month and didn’t know he could change the sounds. "You know that sound that goes – WAUGH? I was stuck on that for ages. And when we made our first demo all the tracks have the same sounds on it.” He chuckles at their amazing naivety. Did they find it hard to come up with new fresh sounds, for each number?

“It’s not hard,” says Andy, “but if we do find something new, it hardly ever fits in with everything else. We normally stick to the regular synth sounds. Bad really. But if we keep on searching all the time, the band would never work.”

Andy says that they are becoming more and more involved in keyboards and have long discussions with their mentor, Daniel Miller, who is “Mr. Mute”. He runs their label and does a spot of destiny shaping. Between them they sit around and discuss the significance of the Moog synthesiser. "Daniel does everything but the menial duties,“ laughs Martin. "I ‘phoned him up the other day about our tee shirts, and he said ‘Don’t talk to me about that. That’s just menial’.”

Andy says they are experimenting with more and more instruments, even if they reject some of the tones they produce. And he gave a demonstration of a particularly discordant row on the nearest machine to hand.“We are still trying to find a drum machine to connect up with, and Vince is into it as well. He’s making a collection of synths. It’s an expensive hobby. There’s definitely fashions in synthesisers. F’rinstance. Billy Currie [of Ultravox - BB] uses an ARP Odyssey and I’m sure loads of kids go out and buy one so they can go ‘Wreeeeeeeee!’ They all want to do their Billy bit.

When Depeche Mode start imitating their own instruments they tend to sound like a paper and comb band entertaining the troops. They may have to resort to such primitive methods on occasions, as synths are still temperamental beasts and when they bought one famous and expensive make, according to Andy’s simple but graphic description, "It broke”. "We started out with the cheaper modes in the £200 range, like the Moog Prodigy. They were all little monophonic synths.“

Depeche Mode represent the grand tradition of British home taught musicianship, using the electronic equivalent of tea chest basses and washboards. "None of us play piano,” says Andy. “And it would take a long time to learn. "You’d have to go into it seriously, and we haven’t got the time. Obviously I would like to have proper keyboard lessons. The synths have given us freedom it’s true. And it’s a nice little hobby as well – music.” He said it with irony, and the band laughed at some hidden joke. “I’d recommend it – this rock’n’roll business. I used to be an assurance clerk for two years. I’ve always been an assurance person. It wasn’t too bad actually, just monotonous." They concealed their excitement about having a succession of hits and their debut album all within a matter of months, perhaps anticipating that the real testing time for the band lies ahead.

"We’re not going to put out a single from the album, and there won’t be a new one until January. It’s not worth it,” says Andy. “I think it’s bad to put out a single at the same time as an album." David says ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ took an age to record because they still had ‘New Life’ on the boil and a lot of their time was taken up with interviews.

"We just couldn’t concentrate on recording and the first time we did ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ it was terrible. We got rid of most of what we had done, and recorded more tracks. It was a relief when it came out. We wouldn’t say it was music for dancing, just in case we decide to do something else. But most of the songs are dancey. Vince wrote ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ and it’s massive in Portugal we hear. Perhaps we should do a concert there and the whole population would come to the gig."Was their hit wholly representative of the music of Depeche Mode? "It’s much more varied, as you can hear on the album. If they played a track on the radio, you wouldn’t be able to say, ‘Oh, that’s Depeche Mode’.”

How far had they got with coping with audiences, and their strange animal demands for satisfaction? "We’re still learning,“ says Andy. "Really we just get up and play. We’re only young and we’ve only been going 15 months as a band, and it’s only now we’ve started to have quite big audiences.”

Says David: “I’d like to sit down and design a show, but none of us have had time to think about it. Maybe we’d like to have a light show…" The band have their priorities. Much needs to be done in all departments. Their ambition is eventually to be able to take out a road show with props and sophisticated equipment, much more than just a blowing gig.

"We face a dilemma,” says Andy, “because a lot of our audience are under 18 and the places we play, only older kids are allowed in. So a lot of people can’t come to see us. We tried early evening shows, but it’s really tiring playing twice a night." Dave objects to getting wet with sweat and then having to wait around two hours for the next show and the possibility of a different and decidedly dodgy atmosphere. "You say, ‘Oh no, I really don’t fancy it!’ I do jump around, and work up a sweat, but that’s mainly due to the lights. It depends how much I’m enjoying it and what the audience is like.”

A keyboard line up tends to restrict movements anyway, but it was the price of breaking free from the guitar tradition. “We’ve got nothing against guitars, and we have played them in the past,” says Andy. “We may experiment with guitars again one day, but it’s so much easier with a synthesiser. There is a lot of good guitar music around but you have to be pretty good to use the guitar." Martin quoted Daniel Miller on the subject: "He says that if you have really good ideas in your head, you have to be a technically good musician to get them out. But a synthesiser helps a lot!”

“Rock musicians say you can’t express yourself with a synthesiser. Soulless is the word. But what is there in whacking a guitar? Every heavy metal riff is near enough the same anyway." The band look a bit baffled when it comes to discussing their influences, because they have grown up listening to synthesiser music and have absorbed its language in unconscious fashion.

"It’s a hard question,” says David. “People ask who inspired us. But I can’t say who inspired me to get up and sing or write a song. Some people listen to the same artists all the time and learn from them. All the moody bands will give some obscure name from the past like Velvet Underground." "We’ve been influenced by everything we’ve heard since we were eight years old,” says Andy. “Every time you hear a record on the radio, whether you like it or not, the influences combine.”

Depeche Mode clearly haven’t modelled themselves on any other band, although they will admit to quite liking Kraftwerk. "We didn’t want to stay in garages, and obviously the dream is to be successful,“ says Andy. "But we never thought it would happen. It just has! We’ve never struggled and we haven’t been gigging for years and years. When we first took our plugger ‘Dreaming Of Me’ and he said it was amazing, we didn’t really believe him.They started by making a demo tape which they took around all the record companies, and they were totally convinced they would get a deal. They listen to it now and think it’s terrible, but they were confident they had some worthwhile music to offer, even if they didn’t believe it was chart material.

Said David: "We got turned down, and no-one was interested. All of a sudden, everyone was interested and the majors were queueing to sign us. Suddenly that style of music came in, and they were all after us. We were associated with this movement and we had a tag. But we weren’t really anything to do with this Futurist thing, or New Romantic whatever." The one immediate bonus success has brought them is that the band who started out playing small local clubs and pubs are no longer a support act. "When we used to support, we got treated so bad,” said Dave. “Especially at certain places in London, which I won’t mention. They tread all over you, and to the PA blokes, you’re nothing. It’s always ‘Where’s the support?’ They won’t even mention your name. Now we are the headliners – they love us. We’re playing two nights at the Lyceum – so we are the big band now!

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anonymous asked:

Harry, getting y/n things when she has to ice her legs and joints..... and he just wants you to as comfortable and happy as possible. R.I.P. me

“Harry?” you called out, groaning as you reached for the water glass you’d left on the table, but couldn’t reach, “Can you come here?”

He’d already run off to the kitchen to grab you some painkillers to help the inflammation in your joints go down, and he jogged back over to you. Your legs were propped up and covered with two generous ice packs directly over your knees. The initial shock of the cold always hurt, but they were a comfortable numb now and finally allowed you to relax after a long night of rehearsals. 

He silently handed over two blue pills and you gladly accepted, then nodded towards the water when he gave you a questioning look as to why you’d still held onto the small pieces in your hand. 

“Couldn’t reach,” you explained with a laugh, “I’m a bit stuck right now…”

“Oi! Water would help yeh some, now wouldn’t it?” he handed the glass over to you carefully and watched as you harshly gulped the water and medicine down. 

“Thanks,” you smiled warmly in his direction and patted the cushion next to you, “Sit with me? I’ve still got a while until I can get up.”

Harry settled into the couch next to you, resting his head on your shoulder, “Yeh were gone for so long, can’t believe yeh rehearse for so long.”

“Finally understand how it feels then, hm?” you joked.

“Hey…”

You poked at his side, “Never said I was mad at you! Just like knowing that you’ve gotten a little taste of your own medicine.”

sing me like a choir

kiss me on the mouth and set me free

Summary:  The post-episode 7 fic I never wrote, when Yuuri and Victor finally find themselves alone. There are conversations to be had in touches instead of words, on lips and tongues that say nothing at all. 

Word Count: 2,441

A/N: I reached a follower milestone recently and opened to requests, if any of my followers had any, and this is the first of a few to come. This is for you, @jollysailorswan - I hope it’s what you were looking for!

You can also read this here on AO3.

When Yuuri was twenty, Phichit caught him kissing the framed poster of Victor Nikiforov he had brought with him to Detroit.

This isn’t what it looks like had been the only possible defense, and in Yuuri’s defense, it hadn’t exactly been what it had looked like. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been kissing a framed picture of his figure-skating idol and undeniable celebrity crush: that much had, unfortunately, been true. But he hadn’t been making out with it in an embarrassing sexual fantasy. He hadn’t even really been kissing it, if he wanted to get technical (which he did). Yuuri had been sad.

That hadn’t been the justification that Phichit had been expecting, and he’d stopped his teasing there, from where he’d been leaning against Yuuri’s bedroom doorframe with one hand over his heart and one across his forehead in a dramatic recreation of what was apparently Yuuri’s swooning fancies. Yuuri remembers pushing the frame face-down against the rumpled blue sheets on his half-made bed, pressing each corner down, wondering if it would even be possible to break it here if he just kept pushing hard enough. The frame, of course, never broke. So Yuuri had been left sitting there, ignoring the sharp, burning warning behind his eyes of mortification and shame, with his roommate still staring and the image of Victor Nikiforov still dancing in his mind.

“If he knew I’ve been trying to skate like him all this time,” Yuuri had finally said, “he’d hate it.”

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anonymous asked:

Hi, I don't know if you take any prompts, but I have, so,imagine, Scully never gives Will up, three of them lives together and one day William( still kid) tell them that he wishes he had a little brother or sister. Can you write something how M/S handle this situation and Scully really wants another baby. Nothing angst( maybe a little bit), just fluffy fluff. Thank you!

Anon, let me thank you dearly for this prompt, and also apologize from the bottom of my heart to have kept you waiting so long to answer it. 
Thank you @alldolleduppink for the being the best friend/beta/motivation in the world, and also thank you @therobbinsnest for your kind words and never ending support, I love you both 😘

As requested, nothing too angsty, but a major MSR fluffy fluff fic! 🎉❤️


NEVER GIVE UP ON A MIRACLE

Mulder ties up the small black Converse sneaker, making the laces form into bunny ears before they turn into a knot. William offers his other foot so he could do the same to that one. The question comes out of the blue, dripping out from his small lips with genuine interest.

“Daddy, does mommy have a baby in her tummy?”

Mulder lifts up his head to look into his son’s eyes. Scully had just excused herself from Will’s room — he can hear water running in the bathroom — and he doesn’t know if he should be sad or relieved that she isn’t here to hear their son’s question.

“No, she doesn’t, why do you ask?”

“My friend Billy’s mom has got a baby in her tummy,” he simply states, but his eyes stay inquiring.

“Does she?” Mulder answers to see if he’ll continue his explanation.

“Yeah, she’s got a big tummy and all,” Will says, rubbing his own stomach to emphasize his words, which makes Mulder chuckle. He retrieves his feet from his father’s grasp and looks up as Mulder comes back to a standing position.

“How come Billy’s mom has a baby in her tummy, daddy?” he asks as his father runs his thumb over the ridge of the coffee mug Scully just abandoned on the bureau of their son’s bedroom before rushing out. With a sigh, he grabs a comb to discipline the short red hair Will has inherited from his mother.

Somehow, Mulder knows he’s in for one of those conversations where his 3 year-old will soon relentlessly ask a question on top of another. He loves how curious and intelligent William is. Whenever these avalanches of questions happen, he can’t help but think about Samantha at the same age, perpetually asking her big brother to explain the world around them. She had looked up to him as if he was the smartest person on earth when he was really only four years older than her.

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