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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

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due to me somewhat recently finding out that both oscar and garrett can sing like sons of apollo (exhibits a & b below), i’ve been thinking of this sweet domestic scenario:

santi, benny, and doc are sitting in lawn chairs around a small fire in the backyard. hot dogs and s’mores are long eaten, the moon bright and full and the stars twinkling prettily in a cloudless sky. santi has an old acoustic resting on his lap, skilled fingers tuning it while admiring doc and benny’s playful banter.

the guitar had been leaned against an old oak tree within arm’s reach just before the fire was built, santi having a feeling that he’d be wanting to use it tonight without having to leave their fire to retrieve it. his laughter is bright and content as he watches benny pull doc into his lap, the medic making a joke about falling through the thin material as the dark blond’s hands squeeze at her sides.

it takes the other two longer than it should have to notice the old acoustic’s presence, but once santi’s voice starts to float through the wafts of smoke and harmonize with the cicadas their attention on him was rapt. he expected benny and doc to start singing with him early on; they were just too enthralled with santi’s voice and the peace that wrapped the shorter man in a comforting blanket to join before the halfway mark.

they applauded him (benny cheered obnoxiously loud) once the song ended, smiles wider than the moon was full. despite being used to an abundance of praise from the two, santi could feel the tips of his ears burning like the fire in front of them.

benny pats doc’s thigh as a cue for her to stand as he leans across the small gap between his and santi’s chairs to make grabby hands at the guitar. santi’s eyebrow arches with curiosity and maybe a tiny bit of doubt of the seriousness of benny’s actions. to him, the more realistic expectation was that benny would strum haphazardly — which would cause santi to need to retune the poor acoustic after the miller was done with it — and make up a weird little ditty about their trio. doc caught santi’s attention as she maneuvered herself onto his lap, his hands immediately on her.

what santi didn’t expect was benny to strum actual chords in a cohesive manner and it sound pretty, the taller man’s voice to sound rich and raspy and he dare say, almost sexy. doc clearly thought it was judging by the way she held onto every note with a vice grip, not wanting to let it go. he knew benny could sing, hell he did it all the time, but this was oddly different because he was putting genuine effort (although it didn’t seem like it took much) into the way he sang.

benny was treated to the same hollering and applause he gave santi earlier, the obvious flush in his cheeks illuminated by the amber light of the fire. turns out he started taking lessons here and there recently, one of his buddies at the gym teaching him a few things in exchange for benny’s help with workouts, spotting and whatnot.

both men looked to doc with jokingly expectant grins, wondering how she would react to being “expected” to sing something in front of their fire. she laughed and tried to sway them against it but they were insistent that she sing something, “doesn’t matter what it is, doc” they said. “you’re the only one that hasn’t sang, doc. ya gotta do it now, it’s just us.”

she took their challenge with what started as reluctant grace but then she had an idea. and, even though she knew there would be at least one consequence minimum after she was done, she proudly sang the j. g. wentworth “877-CASH-NOW” jingle between mischievous giggles that made it hard to keep up the façade. the looks on her lovers’ faces were priceless, their shock and amusement very apparent.

santi swatted her thigh playfully and scoffed in mock offense, his eyes telling benny over doc’s shoulder that something had to be done with their silly medic. benny took this hint, scooping doc into his arms and running her into the house, everyone’s laughter bouncing around their little sanctuary. once the fire was put out and guitar dusted off from when benny not-so-gently dropped it, santi followed them inside to continue their carefree evening.

First, the fact that you thought of my story in your free time enough to send me this is just amazing to me. I'm honored.

Second, oh hell yes my boys can sing. I didn't like the movie Country Strong but I loved the music. Especially Garrett! That's why I used the song Give In to Me for the cave scene because it's Garretts voice.

Third, oh lord this is so perfect. Doc would 100% sing the JG Wentworth song and take every consequence the boys dish out. I am a true simp for both these men and this was so incredibly perfect. @itspdameronthings wouldn't you agree

Thank you for sending this, it made my entire night!

#Autumn rambles #I need more Doc and Benny and Santi #I love this trio

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, Part 2: Positive No to Yves Tumour

Six Organs got a lot of mid-year love this time

Welcome back to part two of the Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, in which we tackle the second half of the alphabet. If you missed part one, with its lengthy description of what we’re doing here, you can read it here. Or just muddle through. Cheers.

Positive No — Kyanite (Little Black Cloud)

Kyanite by Positive No

Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No.

Tim Clarke’s take:

Positive No braid tight bursts of guitars, bass and drums into upbeat yet agitated shapes. There’s a touch of Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino in Tracy Wilson’s vocal delivery, or My Bloody Valentine’s Belinda Butcher, especially on expansive opener “Elevator Up.” At just under half an hour, the urgent economy of Kyanite’s songwriting makes all the more sense when you learn that it’s the band’s final album, released on Valentine’s Day this year. As their parting gesture, nothing is wasted, everything invested. As one of the song titles says, “Get In, Get Out. Don’t Linger. Go On.”

Raspberry Bulbs — Before the Age of Mirrors

Before The Age Of Mirrors by Raspberry Bulbs

Who picked it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan said, “Even in its heaviest metal moments, on ‘Reclaimed Church’ and excellent closing track ‘Given Over to History,’ the record’s punk vibe cuts and grins. It insists on a deadly aesthetic seriousness, and at the same time, it’s tugging the rug out from under its own feet.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Raspberry Bulbs splices punk’s antic venom with metal’s storm and roar, shifting from one mode to the other inside individual tracks, sometimes measure to measure. Consider “Doggerel” which kicks off in a pogo-ing furor, rattling violently over rapid oi band rhythms, everything clipped and percussive, even the vocals, though hoarse and splintered. Midway through, a sirening guitar riff intercedes and the singing turns ominous and measured; all the sudden it’s metal. “Midnight Line” pulls the opposite trick, beginning in clanging, feedback-morphing guitar and larynx shredding howl, then introducing a punk rock palm-muted chug and anthemry. It’s a volatile mix, at times nearly playful, at others agonizingly heavy, at still others (the “Intervals” mostly) surprisingly lyrical. I lean towards the punk-er tracks—"They’re After Me” and “Doggerel”— metal fans may feel otherwise.

Stephen Riley — Friday the 13th (Steeplechase)

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes. Derek said, “Knuffke and Riley are a directly collaborative pairing now and their partnership politely demands many more dates like this one.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

Saxophonist Stephen Riley has put together a quartet with a singular idea of playing these classic tunes on Friday the 13th in relatively straightforward and spacious renditions. Their take on Eddie Vinson's “Four” has Riley and cornetist Kirk Knuffke trading long solos. The rhythm section does its job, but it's a horn players' record. The album comes alive most when Knuffke and Riley interact more immediately. On Oliver Nelson's “Hoe Down,” they reveal how great a partnership they have, initially matching each other on the main melody before spiraling off. “Round Midnight” could have been too obvious a choice, but the combo's personalized take on the standard works out. Everyone sounds at ease enough within the song that they take a few more risks, and the horn players supplement each other nicely with more harmonic considerations. The album ends with a trio of spirited numbers, and in each case Riley and Knuffke play off each other's solos with a sharpness that by now makes sense. Riley's listening to Monk and playing like Rollins (hence the title track) as he and his group find ways to make old bop sound new.

Gil Scott-Heron and Makaya McCraven—We’re New Again, A Reimagining (XL Recordings)

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Who recommended it? Jenny Kelly.

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur Krumins notes, “McCraven lays down a lush musical backdrop that allows Scott-Heron’s words to have emotional impact.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The word “reimagine” has a sexy resonance, and for that reason, it’s often too casually used. But in the case of We’re New Again, the word is warranted. Drummer and producer Makaya McCraven doesn’t just remix Gil Scott-Heron’s final record, I’m New Here (2010); McCraven shuffles the track list, adds some relevant recordings of Scott-Heron’s voice, and creates entirely new arrangements, moods, and musical accompaniment for the earlier album’s songs. It’s ballsy — I’m New Here is justly recognized as a masterpiece, and it’s marked by a stylistic austerity. On that record, Scott-Heron sang and spoke and recited his poetry over minimalist beats, a strummed guitar, or his own piano playing. McCraven attentively reimagines the tunes, working with polyphonic, post-Bop ensembles; busy hip-hop soundscapes; gospel and funk quotations. Remarkably, none of the richness of Scott-Heron’s vocals and none of the complexity of his poetry get obscured. More often, McCraven inventively intensifies the impact of Scott-Heron’s songs. And the reordering and recontextualizing of the tracks reveals a different narrative, grounded in the resilience and the suffering of Scott-Heron’s upbringing and too-short life. You listen and you feel it. It’s a terrific record.

Six Organs of Admittance — Companion Rises (Drag City)

Companion Rises by Six Organs of Admittance

Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes. Jenny said it’s “straight-down-the-middle Six Organs, not as loud and abrasive as the first Hexadic disc, not as reticently wisp-y as the older folk-derived records.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

Back when Dusted was still a dot-com, we talked about making a site-specific canon for our 10th anniversary, a kind of “Dusted 500” field guide. There was a shared spreadsheet and talk of a benefit show and a mixtape comp and so on that never amounted to anything for myriad reasons, but I can promise you Ben Chasny would’ve figured into it somehow — and nearly a decade on from that, my promise stands. The latest (30th? Let’s call it 30th) Six Organs of Admittance record is a beautiful slow burner that shows why, all astral spirits and slow-rolling starlight guitar plucks that is, as Jenny rightly notes, a Six Organs line drive. My belief after numerous spins since early February — mostly in the mornings, for which this music also seems suitable accompaniment — is that, like the rest of Chasny’s oeuvre, it will appeal to anyone who likes guitars or reads this. On the off chance you stumbled in here or haven’t heard this record yet: Welcome. It’s always been this way.

Patrick Masterson

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? Yes. Ian said, “it’s more a record of solidarity and mutual support than it is anything more prescriptive.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

L.A. quintet Spanish Love Songs occupy a very specific point on what I like to think of as the Bar Band Spectrum, where one end is a bottom-rung covers-only collective found in just about any weeknight dive pre-COVID playing for beer money out of boredom and modest ambition… and the other end is Bruce Springsteen. This band isn’t as ramshackle as, say, Ladyhawk, nor have they yet hit a glass ceiling à la the Constantines; they sound to me more like Beach Fossils or Single Mothers, where everything from their songwriting to their slightly glossy production suggests they’re as ready as they’ll ever be for arena life. And what a record to make the case, too: Brave Faces Everyone is the sound of Run for Covers Records growing up or early onset Gen Z realizing a glass of wine after everything is, in fact, a coping mechanism for adulthood in a profoundly uncaring world. It’s got a big, young heart to match its big, old sound. It says, loudly, that in the increasingly untethered reality of 2020, we are all losers forever — but there’s still a “best of it” to be made if you wanna and the bravest face is an optimistic one. I’ll rock with that (from the quarantined confines of home and the other side of another lousy livestream, of course).

Patrick Masterson

Squirrel Flower — I Was Born Swimming (Polyvinyl)

I Was Born Swimming by Squirrel Flower

Who picked it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? Nope.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

Making the most of a dour mood, Squirrel Flower squeezes disaffection from her vocal delivery. The instrumentation is reminiscent of a less noisy Built to Spill, or maybe Julie Doiron, and is effectively now a retro indie rock sound originally from the late 90s or early 2000s. The jamminess of some of the drawn out riffs feel both pretty and sad, and could be a good soundtrack to a rainy drive. The heaviness is well developed without being bogged down. The lyrics catch your attention with their plainspoken narration of conflict (“You slap me, I’ll slap you right back” she repeats in “Slapback”). A fitting album for looking your troubles head on while still being totally surrounded by them.

Waterless Hills — The Great Mountain (Cardinal Fuzz)

Waterless Hills - 'The Great Mountain' by Waterless Hills

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

A dissonant flow that steadily increases in intensity starts this record, which is a live recorded improvisation. The combination of aching, modal violin by dbh with slightly overdriven cascading electric guitar by C Joynes makes for a feel reminiscent of “Venus in Furs” by the Velvet Underground. The percussion by Andrew Cheetham, a drum kit plug some extras like a hung Chinese gong, creates texture and mood. Sometimes there’s just a steady counting of time in the background, at other moments waves of cymbals crash and make a cacophonous emphasis as the music rises and falls. The overall effect of the jams is hypnotic, like getting absorbed in a swirling light show. The players’ sensitivity to the musical interplay of their instruments, combined with a masterful looseness, makes it a trip worth taking.

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead (Self-released)

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Who recommended it? Ian Mathers.

Did we review it? Yes. Ian Mathers notes, “tipping towards the slightly industrial/EBM side of the genre, We Mirror the Dead gains a kind of gloomy propulsion without losing any of the atmosphere or intensity of [the band’s] prior work.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The Gothic is not famous for stylistic restraint, and neither are the various contemporary subgenres that have inherited goth music’s romance of dark interiors, painfully fraught feeling and highly stylized self-fashioning. A few recent acts have cut against the grain of those established maximalist textures: see the grim industrial rancor of Street Sects, and the more experimental, sample-based austerities of Wreck and Reference. Well Yells’ music feels similarly stripped down to a pulsing electronic essence. But the record is more interested in the strobing spaces of Clubland than in decrepit factory ruins, and the darkwave gloss of We Mirror the Dead presents a more conventional relation to goth’s sensations. At its best—as on album opener “Kill the King”—the music of Patrick Holbrook, sole member of Well Yells, snaps and glimmers with compelling dread and arch sophistication. Holbrook’s breathy tenor is a useful counterpoint; his vocals are vaguely reminiscent of the best of those other habitués of Clubland, the British New Romantics (remember Bronski Beat?). It’s good stuff, somehow simultaneously polished and dirty.

Lucinda Williams—Good Souls Better Angels (Thirty Tigers/Highway 20 Records)

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Who recommended it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? No.

Bill Meyer’s take: I haven’t listened much to Lucinda Williams; the one record I have by her, Sweet Old World, is 28 years old. The first thing that hit me when I listened to Good Souls Better Angels is what’s changed. Williams’ voice is much rougher, and she’s adjusted the music correspondingly, adding Hendrixian guitar flourishes to “Bone of Contention” and coarsening the domestic violence scenario “Wakin’ Up” with bad-trip electronics. The next is how pissed she sounds. Violent boyfriends are bad enough, but having a charmless sociopath for president is even worse. Fortunately, bile hasn’t overwhelmed her writing chops. Big-sounding roots rock isn’t really my thing these days, but if I feel the need to change that, Good Souls Better Angels is a good place to start.

Wire — Mind Hive (Pink Flag)

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Who picked it? Andrew Forell

Did we review it? Yes, Andrew said, “Mind Hive is concise yet full of restless intelligence, musical ideas and willingness to push boundaries.”

Derek Taylor’s take:

I tapped Wire late and left early. That truncated exposure lends a narrow vocabulary in describing their music contextually, pre- and post-reunions. This latest missive sounds alternately like what I remember and at least several zip codes removed with a heavy lean into synths. “Be Like Them” and “Primed and Ready” fall in the former category, while “Off the Beach” trades gangly ennui and menace for what almost resembles instrumental optimism until the lyrics stack dutifully into another ode to the disaffected and disconnected. “Oklahoma” feels inscrutably weird. “Hung” drops as the album’s extended, incremental, post-industrial dirge. There’s additional insulation sheathing this Wire, an inevitable adjunct of ascendancy to elder status, but the current foursome is still dependably conducting current.

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind (Warp)

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Who recommend it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No.

Ian Mathers’ take:

Listen to music for long enough and you might realize that most of the time when you hope any artist goes in any particular direction with their work, you’re bound to be disappointed. But every so often, maybe after a promising album that you just didn’t fully click with, an artist does exactly what you were hoping for and fully manifests all the potential promise you thought you glimpsed. Yves Tumor’s 2018 album Safe in the Hands of Love was admirable in many ways, but it was really only on crucial single “Noid” that all the combustible elements were really brought together into something that properly bangs. Well, Heaven to a Tortured Mind might not have as many showcases for the ambient/noise chops that Tumor definitely has, but it does consistently bang for 36 minutes of should-be alternate universe pop hits, from the brassy “Gospel for a New Century” to the floaty duet “Kerosene!” For anyone who loved “Noid” and then found more to respect than the viscerally love on Tumor’s last record, this is the record you were waiting for, and it is magnificent and ferocious.

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thesinglesjukebox · 5 years

Video

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ARIANA GRANDE, MILEY CYRUS & LANA DEL REY - DON'T CALL ME ANGEL

[3.69]

"Independent Women Part III: No Throttle"...

Josh Buck: Absolutely not. [2]

Katie Gill: "Don't Call Me Angel" is a fun piece of movie credits music. There's nothing special here, but it's a jam of a song that would fit perfectly well in the already established oeuvre of middle-of-the-road yet totally serviceable movie tie-in songs. Two of the singers know exactly what sort of song they're in and give it the sultry, radio-friendly, sexy spin the song needs. The third is Lana Del Rey and her inclusion BAFFLES me. This is so far out of her wheelhouse that it's hilarious. Seriously, was Selena Gomez busy or something? The music video for Demi Lovato's "Confident" was practically an audition piece for this type of thing, why the heck isn't she here? [6]

Thomas Inskeep: Ariana does some Grande karaoke, Miley sounds like she'd rather be singing "I Love Rock 'n' Roll," and Lana teleports in to do another take on her breathy schtick (and brings the song to a screeching halt in the process) -- nothing about this, apart from (I imagine) someone's discussion of market share, makes any sense. There's no cohesion here. There's barely even a song. [2]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: So, so, so cringeworthy. Ariana, Miley and Lana sound like reality music TV contestants who were forced to make a song together one week, couldn't get on the same page and ran out of time to rehearse, but had to release something anyways. Ariana is awkward and lonely on the hook, like she's waiting for help that never comes; Miley comes out of nowhere with a cloying shouted verse; and Lana is off in another world mumbling incomprehensible nonsense. Even the backing track has a nervous manic energy. If you want a good song about Charli(e)'s angels, just listen to this instead. [3]

Michael Hong: In high school, I worked on a group project where the only times we met up were when we decided upon a topic and to actually present the whole piece. Rather expectedly, the whole thing fell apart rather quickly and it was a completely embarrassing experience. "Don't Call Me Angel," gives off the same vibe, like Ariana Grande, Miley Cyrus, and Lana Del Rey were each given only the title and asked to write something vaguely empowering for women. Each artist sounds like they wrote for a different track and made absolutely no effort to meld styles, instead forcing the producers to try and mash the entire thing together. Even the chorus buries Miley and Lana completely beneath Ariana, perhaps rather wisely as I can't see the group's vocal tones meshing together very well. "Don't Call Me Angel" survives only through the one thing my group never had, natural charisma. [3]

Alex Clifton: How did Ari, Miley and Lana end up in this? I guess it echoes the three Charlie's Angels but this trio doesn't make sense. I can see how individual duets would've worked; Ari and Lana could've done something slow and spacy, Ari and Miley taking a more upbeat route, Lana and Miley singing something retro. This, sadly, doesn't play to anyone's strengths and just ends up being overproduced mush with a decent riff. If I had to pick any artist who could make this song make sense, it would be Rihanna, and the music video would be her in thirteen different outfits kicking ass. [3]

Joshua Copperman: I didn't realize how dated the Max Martin sound was until hearing "Don't Call Me Angel." Pop music is now either created with substance(s) or has substance thrust upon it. Meanwhile, the lyrics are clunkier than ever, "you know we fly/but don't call me angel" no longer endearing melodic math but shallow feminist lip service at a time when "if you feel like a girl/then you real like a girl" can sneak onto a major label record. It's the first time I can't listen to a Martin production without thinking of this unexpectedly poignant stand-up segment about Martin and Cosmopolitan. When the tropical house is so bland, further lyrics stick out more; Miley's pre-chorus ("Do I really need to say it/Do I need to say it again") is lazy, and Ari's vampire metaphors are just baffling. Lana comes out strongest, someone who seldom charts but has more cultural relevance than the former and is much hipper than the latter. Her verse is classy when Ari is unmemorable and Miley cribs from a Rihanna album reject from four years ago. "Angel", though, feels like a reject from 2013, when Miley was in her imperial phase and Ari was just breaking out from Nickelodeon -- in fact, it probably would have had Rihanna instead of Lana at that time. But no matter what trio, one thing is clear: with this lemon, you cannot make Marmalade. [3]

Katherine St Asaph: Remember, "Independent Women Part I" stopped the otherwise great song dead on the bridge to announce it was commissioned for CHARLIE'S AAAAAAANGELS, so "Don't Call Me Angel" earns points already for not doing that. It keeps its product placement to outside context, namely the fact that the song exists despite the three artists having little in common besides having stanbases and sniping at critics. The disparate styles can work together -- see the "Lady Marmalade" remake, unfairly maligned except by a few -- but here there are only anti-synergies. Miley's verse can't decide if she wants to be the track's Mya or the Pink (probably the better idea), but its bluntness also best fits the backing track. Ariana's sighed, harmonized "angel" is a great millennial R&B hook, but one that outside of an R&B song is starved for air. Lana's bridge, though a complete non-sequitur and only empowering if you squint, is also the most sonically charged thing she's done in ages; if there isn't a reason Lana Del Rey hasn't worked with Max Martin beyond "Lust for Life" (I suspect that there is), that wouldn't be the worst career direction. Everyone's part diminishes everyone else's, the exact opposite of what you need from an event single or a Charlie's Angels shine-theory ad. [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Every big pop collab feels a little unnecessary -- pop stars work based on the idea that they're the center of the universe, and collaborations by their very nature make that seem silly. But this sounds really, really unnecessary. Two artists coming off career highs (and one coming off of "Cattitude") should at least drive some head-to-head comparison, but none of the three credited artists interact in any meaningful way. It's the Batman V. Superman of pop music -- conflict and chemistry built mostly on reputation rather than action, with nothing to defend unless you're an unabashed stan. [2]

Joshua Lu: In which Lana Del Rey learns that her reward for releasing her magnum opus is the opportunity to limp through a thank u, next reject. Ariana Grande and Miley Cyrus's voices already feel unbalanced, but Lana's mushy croons are so inapposite that they grind the song to a halt. [3]

Scott Mildenhall: It rattles along satisfyingly, but this never leaves the marks that the intermittent brass punctuation seems to signify. None of that is aided by how Del Rey, unbending in her lack of persona, has to be deployed in the manner of a guest rapper, wheeled on and off through a side door. The inability to sound at home with her collaborators in the way they do with each other is one thing, but the inability to sound anything other than lifeless in the face of them is another, and that's the precise opposite of what's called for. [6]

Will Adams: As out of place as she may seem on paper, Lana's bridge is the only point where the song becomes interesting: the key dips even more minor, and the arrangement has tangible cinematic sweep. The rest is a cluttered shamble of an Ariana Grande album cut, with her and Cyrus trading off lines with all the dubious empowerment of a Barb Wire quote. [4]

Jackie Powell: All right folks get ready for a sports metaphor, because it's coming. Ariana Grande is a bit of a ball hog on this track. What she doesn't seem to understand is if you are going to lead your team, you've got to provide the proper assist to each of your teammates. To me, saving Del Rey until the two-minute mark supports the idea that these "angels" aren't really meant to work together. I thought the purpose of this was to present a team of strong women looking to take on the world via a song that preaches empowerment for this new wave of both feminism and Charlie's Angels films. Where a point guard should pass the ball and set up her teammates on the wings (no pun intended) and under the rim, Grande instead takes all of the shots. When the mic is pointed toward Cyrus after Grande's opening hook, though, she shoots with simultaneous finesse and power, letting her head voice mix well with the potent sound in her chest. If I was reviewing the visual made to accompany "Don't Call Me Angel," Hannah Lux Davis' treatment would receive a [10]. Grande, Cyrus and Del Rey all exude a mystique, ooze sex and expel power. For a Charlie's Angels theme song, that's right on the money. But what confuses me lyrically is how the hook clearly communicates the theme, even nodding to Destiny's Child, but the verses, bar maybe Cyrus', are underwhelming. The clock-tower cowbell loop that runs through and through grabs my attention, but I think Kristen Stewart could write better poetry. [6]

[Read and comment on The Singles Jukebox]

#Lana Del Rey #Ariana Grande #Miley Cyrus #Charlie's Angels #pop #music #music review #writing

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penumbra-rp · 5 years

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Congratulations Dean, you have been accepted for the role of Rabastan Lestrange!

“Does reputation matter to you?”

“My reputation? Who do you think I am, Taylor Swift?” he questions tauntingly.

Admin Ash: Dean, from the moment we heard of your interest in Rabastan, we had a feeling he had just the vibe that would be perfect for you, and this application only proved how right we were. Rabastan is hilarious, he’s animated, he’s completely and utterly obnoxious -- just as you stated in his traits -- and I found myself cackling out loud to his antics and the numerous ridiculous things he said. Much like the gem above. He’s a proper nuisance -- wearing his place at the bottom of his graduating class like a medal and taking utter pride in spicing up any dinner party -- and I found that I adored him all the more for it. I know he’s going to give many of our Death Eaters a headache that’ll be too hard to shake. I’m so excited that you’ll be bringing our rambunctious rockstar to us!

Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra.

01. Out of Character

NAME: Dean

AGE: 21

YOUR BIRTHDAY: July 4th 1997

PRONOUNS: She/Her

TIMEZONE: GMT

02. In Character

CHARACTER: Rabastan Lestrange

CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: He/Him

FACECLAIM: Robert Sheehan

CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: July 29th

PERSONALITY:

+ Persuasive

+ Comical

+ Boisterous

- Argumentative

- Obnoxious

- Impressionable

BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:

‘What a beautiful little girl you have,’ strangers would coo, easily mistaking the boy’s long dark eyelashes as a feminine feature. The compliment felt like a stab in the heart for a woman who had mothered two sons when she had spent the majority of her second pregnancy dreaming longingly for a daughter.

The minute he had said his first words, the Lestranges knew he would be nothing like their first child. Rabastan was demanding, his mother’s disinterest and father’s sternness only making him thirst more for their approval. He’d approach the world as if it were a stage and his friends and family was his audience. Every move calculated strategically as a plead for more attention, plots intertwined intricately to remove wishfully himself from his older brother’s seemingly overbearing shadow and earn his own moment in the spotlight. When that didn’t work, Rabastan turned towards misbehaving. Playing cruel tricks on Rodolphus which were reciprocated with pure disdain from the young teenager, saying inappropriate things when there were guests around and neglecting to follow any rules. There were no limits, so long as he knew it would obtain him the measliest bit of recognition.

As his troublesome ways manifested and endangered on becoming a larger problem, Rabastan was swiftly packed up and sent to a private school. One where the tuitions were sky high since there was the promise to straighten out unruly children and turn them into well-behaved future politicians and lawyers. The first couple of years, Rabastan was no stranger to disciplinary procedures. Hours upon hours spent in detention, letters sent home on numerous occasions and not to mention the extra load of homework he’d receive on the basis that he never seemed to be listening in class. Yes, within the three years of his enrolment, the youngest Lestrange was fast becoming one of the rare cases that the school couldn’t fix. Foreseeably a failure in the eyes of his teachers and his parents.

That was, of course, until they decided to place the boy in front of a piano. Fingers gliding effortlessly across ivory keys and filling the room with delicate twinkling accents. What was meant to be another amercement spun into Rabastan’s saving grace, the first time he’d receive acknowledgement for the right reasons and actually feel some contentment in what he was doing. When he’d returned home that year for the summer, his piano lessons continued. Quickly followed by learning the guitar, the violin and even the saxophone. Essentially, it was considered to be a miracle, at long last, they’d found the one thing that installed some calm into Rabastan’s relentless frenzy of a personality.

Throughout the years, Rabastan’s creativity and musical talent only appeared to flourish. Carefully written lyrics sang in perfect pitch over another one of his original guitar riffs, an angelic voice filtering through the house and reverberating a gentle symphony in the bleak hallways. But when the time came, the answer was a clean cut ‘no’ to his proposal of studying anywhere else other than the Slytherin school of Social Business. Despite his talents, his father would have sooner fallen into an early grave than see one of his son’s graduating with anything that wasn’t a business degree.

The confinements the course held over his time to express artistic freedom entirely reignited Rabastan’s dormant compulsion to rebel. Skipping one too many classes and spending more time drinking than he ever did in the library. When it came to graduating, the life of the party and class clown unsurprisingly had barely scraped the mark. Proudly taking the place at the bottom of his class and leaving the school entirely unqualified to fulfil a role in the family business.

Rabastan had won. One last swipe of his father’s credit card was enough to book a couple of days in a recording studio and the rest, as they say, was history. Songs that he’d masterfully been pouring all of his efforts into during his studies turned to meticulously crafted pieces of art. With a pretty face and sleek style, it wasn’t long before a record label picked him up and churned him into a full-fledged rockstar. Fame and notoriety came second nature. Orchestrating publicity stunts with his PR team and spreading his own rumours were all part of the game in establishing his very own empire. It was as if Rabastan was created for this fast set lifestyle, stepping on other people’s toes so he could climb the social ladder right to the very top.

Rabastan Lestrange had become a household name. Securing a number one in the UK charts for three consecutive months and selling out venues shortly after the release of his debut album. His quick-witted opinions and outrageous interviews going viral across social media, gaining him the admiration of many and resentment of others. It wasn’t long after that, that his family name would call on his like a curse to act dutifully to another cause.

Owning one of the major organisations that formed the frameworks of the Sacred 28 meant that the Lestrange family were no strangers to the acts of Death Eaters. Regularly, it had been part of the dining room chatter that Rabastan was effectively escorted away from, untrusted with the secrets that Rodolphus’ silver tongue was so often wrapped around. That was until they’d seen an opportunity in the younger Lestrange’s childish arrogance and increasing influence he held over the public. Rabastan’s lust for trouble and manipulative discourse fit suitably within the skill sets of a Death Eater. They would use him as a middle man, putting his sweet talk and skilled bribery to good use and when that failed, he’d follow precise orders and discard of the target.

If it weren’t for Rodolphus’s involvement, Rabastan would have never of handed his loyalty to the organisation as easily as he had. Though the Dark Lord may be the ringleader, for Rabastan this went further than ranks. It was about blood. He’d never been that ideal, pristine version of the man his parents anticipated that he’d be. Dismissing controversies to the press with blatant arrogance and refusing to comment on anything associated with Lestrange Industries and the warfare it supported. This was a chance to prove himself, to his bloodline, he was one of them.

INTERVIEW:

i. How do you feel about your current occupation?

“Adoring fans that scream your name, music royalties, fancy events, groupies,” Rabastan lists off one by on his fingers before scoffing, “no, you’re right, I should really go beg my darling big brother for a space in the family business, I’d be a really sexy secretary for a businessman- I mean, picture me in a pencil skirt.” Rabastan puckers his lips at the thought, using his hand to fan himself down, “my apologies, I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it.”

ii. What song would you say describes yourself?

Running a hand below his chin, he’s selecting his next words carefully. “Hmm, now who do I hand out this chunk of free promotion to if not myself… No, really, I say I like something and the sales skyrocket the next day, I guess it’s my charm.” Reclined in his chair Rabastan springs back up once the perfect song comes to mind, “Have you ever heard of The Cheeky Girls?” his own laughter surrounds him in a pitch almost as harmonic as his singing, “In all seriousness, Club Tropicana by Wham! really just radiates my personality.”

iii. Does reputation matter to you?

“My reputation? Who do you think I am, Taylor Swift?” he questions tauntingly. “It’s been said that I’m like marmite, you love me or you hate me. Either way makes no difference to me. This is where my manager comes swanning in to warn me to play nicely with my dearest interviewer, but you know why my fans love me? It’s because I’m genuine, I’m not going to feed them all this bullshit as other singers do- that reminds me! Buy my new EP, available now on iTunes.” he punctuates with a charming wink, though his tone was sarcastic his intent is entirely serious.

iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?

“Mummy and Daddy wanted a little girl so badly, then when I turned out to be a right old diva they still weren’t impressed” He can’t fight the look of pure delight that rules his expression, even as a boy his parents distaste in his demeanour had been hugely entertaining. “Truth is I like being the black sheep of the family, it’s satisfying work for me. That and I make our dinner parties a lot more enjoyable, I inject a healthy bit of personality into the dining room conversations and stop people from falling asleep in their soup bowls, you know?… for example, bear versus shark, who would win? Obviously, it’s the bear.”

v. What languages can you speak?

“Most days I can hardly even speak English,” he declares humorously, “I speak enough French to get by thanks to private schooling. You know the basics… Voulez-vous coucher avec moi,” he’d definitely learned that from Lady Marmalade, not his expensive education.

vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?

“The drugs- Kidding!” he’s aware that he’s yet to answer one question sincerely. “For all my beautiful fans out there, please know that I would NEVER participate in the massive consumption of cocaine, but I didn’t say anything about ecstasy.” Rabastan pauses long enough to make them feel uncomfortable, visibly revelling in the awkward silence. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m joking, again. I don’t know what I’d save, I could easily replace anything. So maybe my wallet.”

vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?

His lips are pressed together in contemplation, finally a question that couldn’t be glossed over with humour or shocking statements. “The Slytherin School of Social Science,” as he answers, he gags to dramatise his disdain. “I wanted so badly to study Literature under the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, but daddy dearest was refusing to financially support me if I didn’t follow in the family’s footsteps. ‘No son of mine is walking around reading Bridget Jones’ Diary’” Whilst imitating his father’s hoarse voice, his expression changes to an unnatural dark grimace and wags his finger in the air. “-Great book, by the way. So that’s the story of how I became a Business graduate and the bottom of the class.” A nostalgic sigh pronounces itself from his lungs as he stares dreamily into the distance, “oh the glory days.”

vix. What is your social media username?

“@RabastanLestrangeMusic, that’s the one I’m meant to plug anyway, or my publicist will have me by the throat- little does she know, I’d enjoy that,” he glances over his shoulder to see if his manager is watching before looking back to them with a delighted grin, “I do have this lesser known Instagram account, @Rab_a_stan, it’s got a couple of thousand followers, I started it last week and I put really weird unfiltered shit on there- wait can I swear during this interview? I never asked, fuck.”

#accepted

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rose-edith · 2 years

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Y/N: Jethro, what are you doing?! Why are you burning our marriage certificate?!

Gibbs: Good luck trying to return me without the receipt.

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis headcanons #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs #mark harmon x reader #jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis reader insert #ncis gibbs #mark harmon is seriously sexy though

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rose-edith · 2 years

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Can I ask for Gibbs helping reader learn some sign language after her voice is lost after an accident-her surgery is in a month but she still wants to work.

Hope you like it!

Gibbs teaching you sign language would include:

•Gibbs misses your voice. The house is so very quiet without you singing along to the radio or saying the lines on the show that you’ve seen about five million times.

•but he doesn’t realise quite how difficult it is for you- you hate the way you’re silent. You hate how you have to write or text everything, and you’ve never been much good at charades.

•but it’s not until he finds you stressed, nearly on the point of tears that Jethro realises that this just can’t go on- you have surgery in a month, but you can’t struggle on for that length of time!

•so he sits you down and starts to talk, telling you how he’s going to teach you sign language. He starts simply, and he starts with things that will be most useful to you- how to ask for a drink, how to ask for a hug, how to say if you’re happy or sad.

•it takes a few days but you pick it up to a standard level.

•and then he brings Abby home- she’s fluent in it, and she’s an excellent teacher! The irony is that you learn more in two hours with her than you have in two days with Jethro! But he loves to lean against the doorframe as he watches you two chatter away in sign language.

•things take a rather more interesting turn when later that night (thanks to some studying you did online) when you start to sign the most delicious, dirty things to Jethro…oh yes, signing works well!

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis headcanons #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs x reader #mark harmon is seriously sexy though #mark harmon x reader #ncis reader insert

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rose-edith · 1 year

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Hey Bestie love you xxxx also going to the carnival with Gibbs would include? I can see him winning you a big ass teddy bear 😄

Love you too. To make this seasonal- let’s set it as a Valentine’s date! Hope you like it.

A Valentine’s Date with Gibbs at a carnival would include:

•as much as the date is your idea, our handsome man is happy enough to spend time with you. And he’s low-key a little bit cocky about going to the carnival.

•plus, an evening spending little bits of money and having a lot of fun is very much more representative of the two of you as a couple- a fancy restaurant in best clothes isn’t your style. In comfy plaid shirt and comfy jeans and boots, Jethro is much happier. And so are you, who wouldn’t be happy at the carnival with the silver haired fox? Constantly holding hands? Able to snuggle up together at any moment? All sounded like heaven to you!

•he knows you’ll want to squeeze his hand on the teacups, because as much as you’ll giggle and laugh and be curled into his side, there’s still a part of you that doesn’t like it.

•he chuckles as he finds his way through the hall of mirrors easily, but you swear up a storm when you keep walking into the mirrors! You curse his beautiful blue eyes, and then end up smiling up into them when you finally make your way out of the maze of mirrors.

•to give Gibbs credit, he does buy you whatever food you want- whether it’s loaded fries, candy floss, a hot dog, toffee apple, whatever you want you can have. And he’ll have the same too…with a strong black coffee, of course!

•and then your competitive streak comes out. You know he’s a damn good shot- can’t be a sniper if you’re not! But you reckon you can give him a run for his money, and you tell him so with sparkling eyes. It’s the start of foreplay, and you both know you won’t make it all the way home tonight. (Though fortunately, you’re in the truck and there’s lots of dark, shady spots for you to pull over and unleash your passions.)

•so you arrive at the air rifle stall, the best of five shots. You go first, hit four. That’s all Gibbs needs, he practically swaggers as he picks up the rifle, and quick as a flash he takes down all five targets he needed to get, perfect shots every single time. And the baffled, amused stall holder passes Jethro an absolutely ginormous teddy bear!

•and that teddy bear goes straight into your arms. It’s part of your present, and you love it so much! Who doesn’t like a massive teddy bear that’s given to you by the love of your life? Frankly, it’s all feeing incredibly romantic.

•the teddy tucks into your side; it sits beside you when you’re watching the circus show, it’s the stretchy acrobats that gets your attention.

•however, you don’t get to stay to enjoy the whole show…as the contortionist bends, Jethro leans down and whispers in your ear the most delicious words you’ve ever heard…and suddenly you’re sprinting out of there, teddy being dragged along with you, as the rest of your evening gets started….

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis headcanons #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis reader insert #mark harmon x reader #mark harmon is seriously sexy though #valentine’s day

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rose-edith · 2 years

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Can I have a dabble based on this please bestie 😊😊😊

Hope you like it!

NSFWish Drabble on the above Gif with Gibbs:

It’s a loud shout that pulls you out of sleep- and what an exquisite dream of Jethro it had been, you’d even been ever so slightly grinding onto a pillow you’d slung your leg over in your sleep- but then the shout cuts through the dreamy haze.

You’re on your feet in an instant, grabbing the gun from under your pillow, letting the safety catch off as you race into the room. Your follow Gibbs in, almost crashing into his back as Kate followed hot on your heels. Your eyes wash over the scene, only to come to rest on some sort of lizard laid on the pillow.

With a sigh you put the safety back on the gun and lower your arm. You almost tumble into Gibbs, but catch yourself swaying at the last second as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

“What the Hell Tony?” You bitterly complain. “I was in the middle of a lovely dream where you died.” It was a lie- but you couldn’t very well say what you were truly dreaming of! You yawn. “And in we come, guns at the ready and you were shrieking because of a lizard?!” You were panting with rage, both because of what had happened, the fact you could’ve easily slept for hours yet, and because you were left unfulfilled from your dream.

You roll your eyes. It’s only when you turn to Kate to leave that you realise she’s smirking at you. A glance over your shoulder confirms that DiNozzo is smirking at you too, while Gibbs is…looking pensive.

With a shot of dread filling your heart you look down at what you’re wearing, at what you’d slipped into bed wearing last night. It was no wonder you’d dreamt of your boss; you were wearing his shirt. Against the back of your neck you could feel the hand embroidered initials ‘LJG’, Jethro, Gibbs, had seen them himself, you assume it’s a hangover from the marines.

You’d stolen the shirt weeks ago from his clean laundry pile- even after being washed it still smelt of sawdust, soap and coffee. Unconsciously your hand grabbed the hem of the shirt, rubbing the fabric between your fingers. You’d been staying at your Boss’s house for one night only, your flat being uninhabitable while a gas leak on the building was checked and fixed- it was generous of him to invite you to stay really. And how did you repay that generosity? By stealing one his shirts, one that he usually wears fairly regularly. It never even crossed your mind that you were the only person around when it went missing, your desire to own a shirt of his overwhelmed your every thought.

Kate moved away from the door and you breathed a tiny sigh of relief! Her and Tony were bickering like an old married couple, but your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears you couldn’t hear it, you couldn’t tune in. Instead you make your way to the threshold of the door, pausing just for a tiny moment.

You give one final glance over your shoulder and meet your Boss’s eye. He smirking at you now, just as Kate and Tony had been a few moments ago before their bickering started. He nods his head at you, gesturing for you to leave.

You gulp but step forwards, waiting for Gibbs in the hallway. He’s right behind you, he grabs you firmly by the elbow and drags you into your room, kicking the door shut.

He sits you on the edge of your bed, Jethro is stood in front of you with his arms folded across his chest. For a moment you get lost in observing his bulging biceps. A smack to the back of your head gets you out of your drool-worthy, very obvious eye fucking of your Boss.

But he was smirking at you. That didn’t reassure you.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punish you for stealing my shirt.” He says. His voice is quite light, his eyes are still as observant and piercing as ever. The beautiful blue eyed bastard is teasing you!

You bite your lip…time to fight fire with fire! “You absolutely should punish me…Jethro. I’ve been a very bad girl.” You grin at him and slide yourself back up the bed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing that you’re completely nude underneath it.

“Oh really? Well I can’t have that. Guess I better teach you a new rule about how to be a good girl- in future you should just ask.” He smirking.

You watch in delight as he crawls up the bed, prowling like a predator as his body comes to rest between your spread thighs. A shiver chases across your skin, may the punishment begin!

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis headcanons #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs headcanons #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs x reader #mark harmon is seriously sexy though #mark harmon x reader #ncis reader insert #ncis gibbs

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rose-edith · 2 years

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Hi there, hope you’re doing ok. I was thinking what about if you go to visit Gibbs at NCIS and you’re sitting at his desk and the whole team is looking at you weird because you were sitting in his desk bcuz he lets no one sit there. When Gibbs goes back to his desk the team asks him who is she and he answers that is his girlfriend and the he kisses her or something idk.��‍♀️

Hope you like it!

The team meeting you, Gibbs’s girlfriend for the first time would include:

•you’ve not actually met any of Jethro’s team yet, but he’s talked of them often enough that you feel as if you know them. And you decide it would be fun to try and play guess who as you wait!

•Jethro has at least had the foresight to get you security access, a pass into the building. That’s how you now find yourself sat at his desk- it’s definitely his, it’s Spartan and has just a coffee cup on it, yeah that’s definitely his.

•you watch as his agents start to arrive back at their desk- Ziva is easy to guess, the next one makes you squint- but he’s a tad pale and stares at you curiously, McGee you guess. And then…yes, that suave and cocky way of walking…that one is DiNozzo.

•so far you’ve not said a word, you’ve just sat on Jethro’s chair, swinging from side to side, resting your elbows on the desk. You smirk at the agents who are just gawping at you.

•you point at DiNozzo- “Don’t even think about it DiNozzo, I’m a happily taken woman.” His face is almost comical as his eyebrows hit his hairline and he gulps.

•Ziva grins, and slowly steps closer, evidently trusting you, liking you. She shakes your hand, introducing herself, and so you introduce yourself too.

•that’s enough for DiNozzo, he cautiously strolls closer, saying that no one sits at the Boss Man’s desk unless they have a death wish. That makes you laugh! You spin in the chair, and then you see it- a flash of silver hair!

•you squeal in excitement as you see Jethro! He laughs and actually jogs to you once he’s seen you’re in his seat. He kneels down on one knee so he can kiss you properly, on the same level as you. The kiss is long and sweet and a very nice welcome indeed!

•it’s only when you hear DiNozzo and McGee complaining and saying ‘ewwww’ that you break apart giggling. Jethro is glaring angrily at them, but when he turns back to you he’s smiling softly again.

•he introduces you then, as your girlfriend. You two don’t stick around for long- you’ve come to take him back to your place for some dinner…or rather dessert…

•but one thing is certain, Ziva is definitely a little bit in love with you…and Tony is a tiny bit terrified…

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis headcanons #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs headcanons #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis reader insert #ncis gibbs #mark harmon is seriously sexy though #mark harmon x reader

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rose-edith · 2 years

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You're in a minor car accident, like somebody drives into the back of you and your car's undrivable so you call Gibbs (of course). And when you see his truck come round the corner you just know everything is going to be ok, cos it's Gibbs, and you never been so relieved to see him,(it's been quite stressful with the other driver etc). Plus can I get a bonus of a Gibbs hug. X

Hope you like it!

Jethro comes to your aid after a crash would include:

•it’s been one hell of an afternoon. It feels like everything that could go wrong, has in fact gone wrong!

•but things reached a terrible conclusion when, while waiting at a red light, another car ploughed into the back of yours.

•luckily no one was hurt. But your car (your poor precious car!), was a total write off! There was no saving it.

•you were also lucky that the other driver was insured, so names, numbers and insurance details were exchanged, and your car towed away safely.

•only then could you call Jethro, the minute he heard what had happened he was out of the door and on the way! You sat on the curb, waiting for him- your dazzling knight and vehicle to take you home.

•the minute his truck rounds the corner you just burst into tears. You’re so incredibly relieved, and he’s relieved to see you whole too! You launch yourself into his arms for a hug the minute you can reach him. Jethro was expecting it, he holds you tight.

•he just holds you, supporting you. He knows you’re ok, you wouldn’t have been left on the side of the street if you weren’t. He even has a tissue to give you so you can dry your tears.

•Jethro is a gentleman and sees you safely into the truck- he even kisses your forehead before he safely shuts you into the cabin of the vehicle.

•for the whole drive home he holds your hand, he talks to you, for once letting up on the awkward silence he usually insists on on long journeys.

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis headcanons #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs x reader #mark harmon is seriously sexy though #mark harmon x reader #ncis reader insert #ncis gibbs

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rose-edith · 1 year

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Going shopping with Gibbs to buy things for his house as you've just moved in together ☺️ hope you're well xx

I’m altering this one slightly/taking a liberty and hoping you’ll like it-I think that I know you well enough by now that you should like it? I hope…

Christmas decoration shopping with Gibbs:

•what Jethro very quickly realises as you drag him into what must be the fourth store in twenty minutes, is that this will be a long day of shopping so you can find exactly what you’re after.

•and he doesn’t mind that. But he does need coffee. So a coffee shop is found and a very large coffee imbibed. And then he’s raring to go again.

•you’ve come prepared- in the pick up truck, which is absolutely essential because the tree you pick out is a real Norwegian spruce, a big bushy, vibrant, green tree! And it smells incredible! And it just about fits in the back of the truck.

•Jethro can’t help but laugh as he sees the glee in your eyes, the way you’re bouncing from foot to foot as he ‘struggles’ (aka demonstrates his powerful strong manliness) to put the tree in the back of the truck by himself.

•next up is baubles and tinsels. And you dither and dally between choosing, but eventually settle. And Jethro is happy to leave the colour selection up to you! Because you pick out the most perfect decorations he’s ever seen.

•the only thing he does 100% insist on is that you get two tall nutcracker figures to stand near the fireplace- they’re wooden, painted, feathery and glittery, and utterly perfect!

•he carries the shopping, tells you silly jokes to make you laugh as you keep choosing the rest of the decorations.

•and no expense is spared! Jethro and you pay 50/50.

•then the fun can start! Once you’re home, your shared home, you two can set up for your first Christmas together in your home! With the Christmas music cued, more coffee made, and all your purchases in the house and the room ready to be made over for the festive season, let the fun begin!

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis headcanons #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs headcanons #jethro gibbs #ncis gibbs #ncis team gibbs #ncis reader insert #mark harmon is seriously sexy though #mark harmon x reader #Christmas

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rose-edith · 2 years

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I always keep going over my ankle and it's a PAIN! But this made me think of an ask, what if you keep tripping over but you always seem to fall into Gibbs. When he isn't around you're fine but when he's next to you you always seem to trip over every single thing in your way and into him.

P.S

WUV YOU BESTIE!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Hope you like it! I wuv you too 🥰

“You’ve got to stop falling for me like this.”

It was a source of incredible pain and embarrassment for you really, but everytime your Boss appears at your side you suddenly become the clumsiest human being to exist!

You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tumbled, tripped, slipped and ultimately crashed into his arms: on crime scenes tripping over tree roots, slipping on some bodily fluids you’d rather not recall in autopsy and being caught by his strong hands. Yes, Gibbs saving you from falling has become a habit. You’ve even been known to trip over thin air as you’re walking on a flat, dry surface- and still he’s at your aid. Or rather, you’ve come to realise, he’s the cause of your problem- though why you’ve no idea!

At first it was funny, the team had great fun teasing you for being so clumsy, teasing you for always being caught by the Boss man. But then it didn’t stop! It kept on happening, and it hurts! There’s not a day where your ankle isn’t sore, where it’s not bruised or swollen. And it’s not so funny anymore, Ziva, Tim, Tony, they all try to keep Gibbs away from you; they’ve spotted that you only fall when he appears too…but it’s not good.

Until today. Today had been and gone with no fall! You were just putting away the last of your papers, behind Gibbs’s desk, before going home when your luck ran out.

He catches you without even looking up from his report, you’d tripped on the metal bin at the side of his desk as you can to stack some papers. The papers cascaded to the floor like a waterfall, meanwhile Jethro had pulled you into his lap. The gasp of alarm morphed into a squeal as his hand landed on your waist and your ass landed on his thighs.

“You know you’ve got to stop falling for me like this.” He clicks the pen and sets it down, smirking as he meets your eyes. He likes how flustered you are. “Ankle rolling out again?” He asks. But he’s not even waiting for your response, he knows it is. He slides his fingers down your shin, rubbing at your swollen, sore ankle.

“Yeah, Boss.” You smile sadly, tears filling your eyes. But you don’t let them fall.

He sees your wet eyes and it makes his heart pang. “Don’t cry, we’ll get you some painkillers, we’ll get you some ankle supports…and then I’ll take you back to my place.” He says simply, calmly.

“Why your place?” But you’re not resisting the idea, you’re absolutely all for it! You settle against his lap, letting your palm rest flat over his heart so you can feel the steady, coffee fuelled beat of it.

“Like I said- you’ve got to stop falling for me like this. Instead we’re going to talk about how you’ve actually fallen for me.” He licks his lips as he finishes speaking, and your eyes linger on the path taken by his tongue…you understand what he means.

You nod. Perhaps falling isn’t so bad after all?

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rose-edith · 2 years

Text

Gibbs catches you altering your clothes when you know he’s at work:

He can’t believe he’s never caught it before- but this morning…well, now he’s seeing it for the first time! You could see from the coffee on the desk that Gibbs is at work, but there’s no sight of the man, you can’t see it, but he’s coming down the stairs.

And that’s when things get interesting. He sees you, thinks nothing of it- you’re always the second to arrive. But he does a double take. You’re rolling the waist band of your skirt up. Pushing your breasts up as you unbutton another button…anymore and you may as well not be wearing it. He hardly dares to breathe.

Jethro bites his lower lip, his hands grasp the smooth, cool metal railing and he doesn’t even realise it. His eyes are fixed on you, on the way you’re giving your hair some bounce, how you’ve made yourself look like a promise of sex on legs.

What he doesn’t realise though is that his eyes are burning a hole into you, like finely focused laser beams. It gives you goosebumps, and slowly you turn to see his eyes on you.

You gulp and lock your knees together so that they don’t start to knock too badly.

He beckons to you, one finger crooking and summoning you, it’s a call you can’t resist.

With a deep breath you walk, with your clothes now suitably sexy you can’t resist just a little bit of swagger. Your lips part in a half gasp appearance, and your eyes stay locked firmly on those blue orbs that you’ve fantasied about so many times.

The minute you’re in front of him you feel like you’ve been caught doing something you really shouldn’t be…and it’s scintillating! You grin expectantly at him as those heavenly eyes run up and down your body.

“Who are you doing all this for?” He asks hoarsely, voice giving away his arousal as he gestures at you. “Because if it’s me you don’t need to worry, I like you suited and booted as well as vixen like.”

You chuckle and step up one more step, so that your chest is brushing his waist…just a gentle flick of your wrist would mean you’ve cupped his dick, but you restrain yourself…for now…

He fixes you with a look that you’ve never had sent in your direction before by your Boss, but you love it! He watches closely as goosebumps start to cover your body, his tongue peaks out to lick his lips.

“Don’t hold back.” He whispers, before finally, finally, grabbing your face and smashing his lips hungrily against yours.

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rose-edith · 2 years

Text

Nail painting

He always, always, always complains about the smell of the polish- which you, always in return, proclaim to be very stupid because he uses far stronger varnish on the boat!

But you understand what his nose-wrinkling complaint really is: it’s a cover. It’s covering up the fact that he, THE infamous Leroy Jethro Gibbs, finds it incredibly arousing to watch you paint your nails! Little does he know, you already realise his little secret.

It’s surprisingly obvious really. He thinks you haven’t noticed him lingering in the doorway- but he’s wrong, you always know he’s watching you, which is why you paint a bit slower, taking longer with each drag of the brush against your nails, turning them a dark glittery blue.

But tonight you’re not in the mood to just let him watch.

“Don’t even think of complaining.” You say, not looking up from where you’re painting your nails. “I know you like to watch, and that’s fine. I like it. But I can do without the complaining.”

When you’re finished with this nail you look up to him, you’re not sure what expression you’re expecting…but it wasn’t this. It’s a look of total tenderness.

He laughs, sort of shaking and nodding his head all at once.

“Alright, I surrender.” His voice is laced with laughter, and you feel a little warm under his quite intense gaze. “I do like watching you paint your nails…it’s such a quiet mood, calming. I like how your nails look afterwards.”

Something clicks in your head just then. Oh, now it all makes sense. You twinkle your fingers at him in a ‘tah-dah!’ motion, you’re smirking.

“Is that why you always somehow wangle yourself a handjob the day I’ve painted my nails?” You chuckle and slowly saunter towards him. You can’t touch him, your nails are still wet and the paint would smear, but you smile at him, rest your arms against his shoulders- hands hanging down his back.

“You like seeing my pretty hands, my colourful nails against your cock don’t you?” You purr, endeavouring to rile him up a little. It’s not often you’re dominant, but tonight Jethro was happy to play at a tiny bit of submission…but not completely!

“Maybe?” He asks, smiling a little awkwardly. “If I tell the truth will you give me a handjob tonight?” He asks, cheekily.

You nod.

“Yes,” you agree “so long as you tell me your favourite nails colours too.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t resist it. He’s answering, he wants the hand job!

“Red. I like red. But,” he gently grabs your hands and inspects this new colour. “I definitely like this colour too.”

You grin. Now this means you can have some fun…you’ve just got to wait for your nails to dry!

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