#how is it to rip off a fender

[rayr0mance]

i need to know more about this

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

Muscle Bull Virus

Written for Selfishlove for the Annual Story Exchange

Shawn lay on his couch, sweating, and feeling aches all over his body.  He worked a late shift at a diner, and the only people he had in last night was this really hot dom/sub couple that couldn’t take their hands off each other, but wolfed down their steak platter specials with gusto.  He couldn’t help but remember how good both men smelled.  They smelled like locker rooms, tobacco and leather.   It was so arousing.  As soon as the diner was shut down for the night, Shawn ran home to his apartment on the top of a four-story walk-up.  All Shawn could think of was getting off, thinking about the hot couple .  It was after his twelfth time ejaculating that he passed out from his early morning emissions.

As Shawn slept, his muscles grew.  Growth started at his neck, as it bulged thicker and thicker, veins forming cords around Shawn’s neck.  His Adam’s apple grew larger and larger, making the moans coming from Shawn’s mouth go deeper and deeper. 

The growth continued down to his shoulders and pecs.  As Shawn’s pectoral muscles inflated not with air, but with meat.   Hard slabs of meat formed on his chest, full of striations.  In order to keep up with the chest, the shoulders widened and strengthened.  It was like Shawn had his own personal fender, his shoulders were so strong and huge.

As Shawn’s shoulders grew, so did his arms.  Shawn’s biceps grew from a normal size and inflated to tennis ball sized arms.  The filled with meat and muscles growing greater and greater.  Biceps and triceps grew to the size of bowling balls, and forearms grew meaty.  Shawn’s hands grew larger and larger.  They grew so larger, Shawn would have no trouble palming a basketball. 

The muscle growth continued on to his stomach, his gut.  Shawn’s stomach folded in upon itself, with a huge cramp that woke him up.  He gained some abdominal definition, but as his gut filled with muscle, more and more of it disappeared and only left the barest hint of a six pack.

Shawn was now top heavy and so, tipped back and broke the sofa into pieces.  Shawn woke up, in shock.  “What happened?” he thought.  And then Shawn felt his body changing.  He felt what had already changed.  Shawn began to panic.  “What the fuck is going on?  I need help!  I’ll call Kyle.”  As gently as he could, Shawn took out his cell phone and got SIRI to dial Kyle’s number. 

“Hello, Kyle?”

“Shawn? It’s like 2 in the morning!  What’s going on?”

“Kyle…  Somethings happening to me.  I don’t understand.  Can you come over.  I think I need help.  I’m so confused!”

“I’ll be right over. 

As Shawn waited for Kyle to come over, Shawn felt his ass growing out, lifting his body up from the sofa debris.  It grew round and juicy.  Full of fatty muscle.  Two globes that filled out the seat of his pants and started it to rip.  Shawn couldn’t help but moan in pleasure.  “Oh, oh, oh,” he moaned, “This can’t be happening!”

The growth went down to Shawn’s legs.  Thighs, quads growing longer and thicker.  So thick and so long.  The calves, becoming solid diamonds of muscle.  Veins ran around Shawn’s legs in intricate patterns.  Shawn’s legs were magnificent!  And his feet started to grow.  Lengthening and widening to be a size 15 EEE. 

Shawn now knew what was happening.  He was becoming a god amongst men.  He was a master, and men would bow down before him and worship him.  He could feel his balls filling up, growing heavy and full.  He could feel them dropping lower and lower as they grew rounder and heavier.  He could feel the tip of his dick growing longer and longer, inching down lower and lower down his thigh.   It was electric as Shawn realized his member was so long.  It was now like 14 inches long.  As he tried to wrap his new cock with his hands, he found they wouldn’t meet and this turned him on even more.  Shawn, couldn’t help but masturbate his new massive cock.  Rubbing it up and down.   Trying to get it to explode. 

There was a knock on the door.  “Shawn, it’s Kyle.  I’m coming in.”

A torrent of cum erupted from Shawn’s cock.  It was so pressurized that some ended up on Kyle.  “Holy Shit!” both men exclaimed!

“What happened to you, Shawn?” Kyle asked.

“Come here Kyle.  I know you want a taste of this,” Shawn pointed at his new monster cock.  Kyle just stared at Shawn.  He stood in place as the bacteria in Shawn’s sperm worked to his brain.  Slowly infecting Kyle to be a submissive bottom boy to the awesome magnificence that was his new master.  “Master,” Kyle whispered.  “Yes, slave, come to your new Master,” Shawn replied.   Kyle could no longer resist, he ripped off all his clothes and with no hesitation began to suck as much of his new Master’s cock has he could.  Kyle slobbered all over the engorged cock.  He wrapped his arms around the cock and jumped up and down to simulate his Masters cock.  And he eventually got it to explode one more time, covering him, and most of the living room in another layer of his Master’s cum. 

“Come here, slave boy, my armpit needs cleaning.”  And Kyle obeyed.  He began to tentatively lick his Master’s right underarm, and as the musky smell of it filled his nostrils, Kyle could no longer help himself.  He began licking and cleaning his Master’s armpit as fast as he could.   He then went over to his Master’s left armpit and cleaned that one too.  He couldn’t help himself.  The smell was so addictive.  It was heavenly. 

As Kyle cleaned his master’s armpit, Shawn started to masturbate his boy’s cock.  As Shawn rubbed Kyle’s cock up and down, up and down, he noticed Shawn was slowly changing. 

Shawn’s arms were growing!  The were by no means as big as his arms, but they were growing bigger.  They became hard baseballs.   And Kyles chest also grew.   They held no comparison to his own mountainous pecs, but they grew to a decent size.   Shawn rubbed Kyle’s engorged nipples and heard Kyle moan.  The thing that changed on Kyle the most was his ass.  It grew rounder and rounder, juicer and juicer.  Kyle’s bubble butt was becoming the most amazing and appealing thing about him.  Finally Kyle let out a yell and ejaculated all over both men. 

Shawn was in charge, and flipped Kyle over.  “I have to try your hole.  It’s so appealing!” Shawn said, and began to prepare it for its inaugural usage.  Kyle moaned in heat as Shawn prepared his hole with first one of his sausage sized fingers and then two and three. 

Mike was Shawn’s next-door neighbor.  He heard moaning and groaning and couldn’t help but wonder what was happening next door.  Kyle had left the front door wide open so, when Mike came to investigate, he couldn’t help but see the gratuitous scene in front of him. 

Mike was entranced as Shawn prepared to fuck Kyle.  And the Mike noticed the smell of a man.  Of locker rooms of leather and of cigars.  It filled him with a passion.   He needed to join this debauchery.  When Shawn finally started to fuck Kyle, Mike joined in.  He put his substantial dick in Kyle’s mouth and the two men spit roasted Kyle. 

Mike was so heavily invested in the pleasure; he didn’t notice that he himself was growing taller.  His legs and torso were growing longer and longer. 

Kyle was amazed.   He now had two Masters who were here to use him. Kyle couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw his new Master’s legs explode with muscle growth.  His thigs ballooned out far exceeding the size of most tree trunks.  And he saw his new Master’s calves grow longer and girthier, becoming well-defined hunks of beef. 

Shawn didn’t know where the new man came from, but he was more than happy to share his pet with the other Alpha man.  He noticed as the new Alpha’s chest grew out to match his.  His pectorals were ovoid and were striated to fuck.  And the new muscle bull had an amazing muscle gut.  Shawn couldn’t resist himself, he let out a roar, and changed his boy’s possession. 

Now Kyle was once again sucking his first Master’s cock, and his other Master was fucking him.  It felt amazing and Mike’s cock grew even bigger and bigger.  Thicker and thicker.  All while fucking Kyle. 

Soon, Mike felt his arms growing longer.   Growing thicker.  His biceps ballooned in size becoming volleyballs.  His forearm became ham sized.  It was amazing to watch his body become this amazing gym bull.   He could feel his mind changing.  He was an Alpha Bull.  All he cared about was fucking and going to the gym.  This other Bull would be his lifting partner.  Together they would reach new personal bests, and round up a herd of their own boys to worship and maintain their new lifestyle together. 

Shawn was lost in his rutting.  “Fuck yeah!”  He knew he would enjoy his new life with his toy and the other Gym Bull.  All he wanted to do from now on would be fucking and working out.  That’s all that would matter to him. 

The changes in Kyle’s mind were also becoming obvious.  Kyle felt that it was his job to take care of his two Masters.  He would have to cook for them, clean for them and look after them.  And he would do his duties because he was proud of it. 

In a lab somewhere in New York, Anderson and Greg, the dom/sub couple from the diner watched on as their first testing group finished their transformation.  It was interesting to see how the third person who came across the fucking pair became an Alpha Bull.   “Do you think they will become a triad, sir?”  “Most definitely.  They’ve already started having sex together”  “I should not doubt your brilliance, but I didn’t think it would work so fast.”  “I wasn’t so sure it would activate as quickly as it did, but when you’re already aroused, I am sure the gas would go through the body in a quicker rate.  Maybe our next experiment can be at a gym.  Or at a gay night club.  I mean most of the men who go there are so turned on they would probably turn the whole dance floor in to an orgy!”

[trashland-llamas]

Accidents Happen

‘Oh shit, dad’s gonna kill me.’ Y/n had just gotten into a wreck. The first one in all their three years of driving. Lucky, it wasn’t too bad, just a fender bender. But an immediate panic attack nonetheless. Hands shaky as he showed the receiving end his insurance card. Voice meek as they spell out their address for the person to write. But now came the dreaded task of driving home.

‘No, it’s fine. We’re okay. We’re okay.’ Y/n attempts to self soothe, the adrenaline having worn off. The tears coming slowly then all at once. Taking the backroads as he doesn’t want to deal with the highway anymore than they already had. He sees a text message pop up from his dad, Simon, as he walked in the door. A sweet and short ‘how’s your day?’ Not knowing Ghost had been feeling uneasy. You could call it a sixth sense. Well that and receiving an unexpected call from your insurance company never bodes well.

‘Hello?’ Answering after word vomiting a quick text. Deciding to rip off the bandaid

‘Talk to me Goose.’ His usual gruff response sounding through the speaker. Relief as his kid wasn’t in the hospital. Listening as y/n told him a shorten yet more comprehensible version. ‘I’ll be home as soon as Soap gets back and then I’ll come straight home.’

Y/n's pacing the room back and forth when they spot Simon walking up the doorway, unlocking the door for him. They're immediately pulled in for a hug. 'I'm just glad you're okay.' Ghost looks at the photo of the damage, noting that it could possibly be buffed out and good as new. It was really just the insurance that would be a pain in the ass. Flipping to the next photo, he see the other person's license plate, quickly discerning where the accident took place from the background.

Once getting enough information to file a claim, Simon turns to y/n. 'Have you eaten?' Still in father mode, Soap texting to take them out for ice cream. To calm the nerves but y/n wasn't really interested. 'No, I usually do that when I get home.' The accident having fucked with his daily routine. 'Is the one diner up the street good then?' Nodding, they left the house. Simon telling him how he'd have to get back up on the horse eventually. 'Don't let it stop you from driving. Remember how scared shitless I was after my first wreck.'

The rest of team 141 checking in with y/n as the day went on.

[whats-it-mean]

I loveee your writing <33 Could I req fuuta with a reader who somehow convinced es to get them a bass and they just. Randomly play and it's loud and he always tells them to stop but they never do??

Fuuta's bass player blues ☆

Fuuta Kajiyama x Reader

A/N - TYSM!!! this prompt is soo silly!! i feel like he would like guitar-bass type songs considering his songs… that epic guitar solo in salamander?? hello?? also so fun fact i dont know shit about music or instruments btw and asked my friend so if this is innacurate uhhhh,,,,,,,,,,,, no it isnt

C/W -  None !!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

For some reason, despite how unreasonable and problematic it most likely was, Es was unable to find a written rule stopping you from requesting an instrument, and Jacklope had been too busy eating when they asked him about it to really care- and so now, in prison, you had your hands on a fender bass guitar, along with the included amp and cords you had begged Es for. 

The moment they reluctantly gave you all the required equipment, you were practically bouncing off the walls with excitement, sprinting to the cafeteria area at full speed.

By the time you arrived, unfortunately not as fast as you’d originally hoped from the weight of the amp, you could see Yuno and Mahiru chatting away near one of the vending machines. Through one of the windows, you could see Shidou and Kazui taking a smoke in the spot Es had set aside for them to use, and most importantly, right by the entrance, Fuuta sat, silently chewing away at a grilled cheese at one of the tables. This was it. Your chance.

You zipped around the cafeteria for a moment before finding a plug. swiftly shoving the amp’s cord inside before turning the volume up all the way. Whilst you fumbled with the cords for a moment, Yuno glanced up at you- meeting your eyes for a moment before a devious grin spread across her face, and suddenly both her and Mahiru were off distracting a certain redhead as you connected the amp to the bass.

The moment you had everything set up, you tugged the guitar strap over your shoulder, spared one glance over the volume gauge to make sure it was as loud as could be- and then raised your hand into the air, pic grasped between your fingers.

“Fuuta! Check this out!!”

Said boy snapped his head in you direction, confused until he spotted you standing triumphantly on a table with a sick little grin, and he deadpanned immediately. Yuno was already struggling to hold in her laughter and you brought your hand down, strumming at the bass with unreasonable speed as the volume blasted throughout the prison. You could barely hear his protests and complaints with how loud everything was turned up, but kept playing nonetheless, most likely to Es’s dismay. They would probably get a pay cut. Do they even… get paid..?

You blinked, and suddenly the redhead was walking towards you, face contorted in annoyance as he huffed something about how pathetic this was, barely audible. You simply grinned, jumping off the table you’d been using as your own little stage and walking right up to him, guitar pic still in hand as you played. 

He scowled at you, crossed his arms, and went to pull down his mask. “Give it a rest, will ya? I’m tryna eat here-”

You smirked. “Can’t hear you!!!”

And by tomorrow you were doing the same thing in the same spot- probably for many days to come until Es found an excuse to rip it away from you. But that would be a while yet, and Fuuta was to easy to annoy to pass up such an opportunity.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── End

[fallingforel]

PROMPTMAS DAY 6- Gingerbread house- Sam fender

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so sorry this has taken me so long i have had a super busy week. i have no idea how im meant to get 6 more out by christmas day. but enjoy. el xx

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It was christmas eve, Sam’s and I’s second christmas as a married couple fourth together. We were currently at my family house on the outskirts of newcastle in the countryside and we were having our traditional gingerbread house making competition. Every year the couples of the extended family take part in a gingerbread house competition of recreating their own houses, the ones who were single were either judges or teamed up with another singleton and created one of the pairs house, when we were younger and for the kids currently they usually help with their parents, sometimes they help judge, but it’s usually the competiveness that stops them from participating, This year sam and I were announcing our pregnancy during this years competition, it was a great way to announce it. My sister and Brother were the judges this year for the fourth time in a row, because naturally they were the only singletons of the L/N family left.

“Welcome to the annual L/N gingerbread house making competition. Okay as always Y/B/N and I are the judges because we have had way too many dates gone wrong this year. you know the rules by now for those who have forgotten it’s as follows, we make the gingerbread cook them, do our annual presents giving for those who won’t be here tomorrow. We then come back, build the houses and by 9pm tonight we have a winner. Jeanie i’m routing for you this year” my sister jokes,great aunt jeanie was always the one to make hers the least realistic as she had a wild imagination and was a cake creator so she brought in ideas that she wanted to try out, she’s usually last place.

“Okay enough, Can we get on with it?” My dad says “yep go start making your gingerbread” My sister says becoming bored and going back to her phone, I must ask her later what that’s all about she’s been glued to the bloody thing all morning.

“we’re bound to win this year” Sam whispers next to me. “Oh for sure this pregnancy announcement is gonna blow the roof of everyone’s” I whisper making sure to keep quiet, not wanting to spoil the surprise. “You make the house, I’ll make the people and fence as always?” I say to him “Yeah we’re bound to win this darling” He says next to me before placing a kiss on my cheek.

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1 hour later and all the gingerbreads were in the ovens, and we were all gathered in the living room to open presents.

“Y/n and sam this one’s yours” My little cousin passed me a rather large present placing it in front of us.

by the time all the presents had been placed in front of everyone and had a pile.

“great aunt jeanie, open yours from us first” I say, “Okay darling, what have you gotten me this year? another phone” “mum that was one year, And they did it as a favour to me because you cannot be sending me letters every time you need me to be popping to the shop besides it was only a landline. open it anyway i’m not having this conversation” My aunt Lucy replies.

She rips the present open “awwh how lovely” she holds up the square cardboard where sam’s face sat “we knew how much you wanted to listen to sam’s music but didn’t know how to work a cd player and music online so we got you the hypersonic missiles vinyl, the seventeen going under one is to follow if you like the first one, jeanie” I say.

“how thoughtful. I think it’s only right if you open my one to you two” “which one is it?” sam asks moving his hand from my thigh to reach to the floor “the rectangle one.” “ahh found it” he says picking it up off the floor and placing it in my lap I open it and it’s a reed diffuser with mine and sam’s initial on it placed in a love heart “Oh this is cute and thoughtful” I say “Lucy found it on the face book. she already got you guys something so she got that from me to you” “It’s not preowned before you ask some woman makes them, and i asked her to make one for you guys” “oh thank you, even if it was preowned it still would’ve been thoughtful” I say

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After all the presents were done we went back into the kitchen and started building our house, sam and I had disguised the pregnant gingerbread into a normal gingerbread person and created two little balls and passed them off as “snowballs” that were going to be incorporated into the gingerbread people throwing them.

“okay do you remember how to build the house, you forgot last year.” I say “i didn’t forget i forgot to bring the sheet i write it down on and had to remember how to build it from memory and i also had to remember how our house looks from the outside. “Still can’t believe you forgot what our house looks like” “we had just moved it was difficult” sam says “whatever, it’s not too late to divorce you” I say in a whisper knowing that if anybody heard the D word it would cause a riot. “might i remind you that your pregnant with my baby” he whispers back in my ear.

we had built the house and had to wait 5 minutes until we could start decoration it so i decided to create the pregnant gingerbread while we waited.

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2 hours later and our gingerbread house was done we used white dripping icing for the snow on the roof, black fondant for the gutter chimney and arial, white fondant for our front door gold fondant for the doorknob beige fondant for our steps, green fondant for the bushes over the gingerbread fences, and then outside the front was the two gingerbread people holding hands stood on the doorstop, with the pregnant and at the base of the house was icing writing that read “welcome baby fender due summer 24”

“Okay times up, we need 30 minutes to judge everyone’s and come up with a winner. so please excuse yourself”

once everyone had vacated the kitchen about 30 seconds later, a loud “OH MY GOD, THERES NO WAY!” sam and i giggled to ourselves before subtly high fiving.

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half an hour later we were all gathered back into the kitchen.

“Okay, so we have a clear winner. announcing their PREGNANCY. yes. PREGNANCY. which has been a first and I certainly hope it’s not the last… I mean we’ve had marriages, divorces. that was a weird one, bless carol i miss her. but never a pregnancy. so for that. Congratulations to the fenders you won this years annual gingerbread house competition” a chorus of “oh my gosh”’s and “awwh congrats” and applauses but sam and i were in our own world hugging and him placing kisses on my cheek.

“this time next year you’ll all have a baby fender to spoil.”

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end

[moxpunk]

So, I mentioned I'd write up a trip-report/retrospective of my experience of getting absolutely buried under pies on Saturday, so here it is! Be warned, it's fucking long.

To start off, my friend Dee was very professional about the whole matter: reassured me that I'd be taken care of, helped lighten the mood a bit, and didn't have any massive expectations for someone they just met for the first time in-person who's never done something like this at such a scale. Our styles and how we carried ourselves couldn't be different though, which was extremely funny to me. Them in this very stylish coat and scarf number, while I'm bumming around in my ripped-up Fender shirt and fishnet-tights - extremely visual-metaphor, I know.

Snagging the supplies was a wild experience. I'm just sorta following along while Dee had a total game-plan in their head, bee-lining it towards the baking section and immediately shoving about 12 boxes of cake batter into the cart. I was surprised to see how little frosting they snagged, but that'll be something for next time. The other supply that dominated our cart was store-brand whipped topping for the pies. I figure we had like about a dozen tubs of that as well by the end. During the grocery-run, I told Dee that whenever someone would make a comment when I'd buy stuff for solo-experiences, I just tell them that I'm running a bake-sale or something. People will take it at face-value, and I don't have to explain that "Yes, I'm buying so much dessert-product because it's a kink of mine". But Dee, this asshole (affectionate), gets asked the question while we're checking out and puts on this bright face saying they're "Moxie's happy helper, she's got so much work to be done on her head" and I'm trying not to corpse right then and there while I'm bagging our supplies. I think my face was crimson when we bounced back to my place.

Speaking of my place, I do not live in a large apartment and my bathroom is even smaller with my shower being a one-person standing-job. Thankfully, this also means that laying down tarp to catch the massive amount of spillage was super easy, and Dee had tons of tarp and tape ready to go. Looked like that one scene in American Psycho with a singular chair in the middle surrounded by clear tarp to catch the mess. Absolutely unhinged shit if you saw it out of context.

Then came making everything! Dee had brought a bunch of pudding-cups as filling for the pies as well as some xanthan gum to thicken things. That xanthan gum stuff is wild, they mixed it with water at first, and it had the texture of drool. Great if you're into that stuff and want a body-safe way to get drenched in it! I had baked half of the crusts earlier when we got back, but I totally spaced on poking holes in the crusts so they ended up kinda jank. Thankfully, the pies were just going to be thrown at me instead of eaten. Ha! This is when my back started getting angry at me, standing a whole bunch and moving around the kitchen. Had to take a number of breaks during this, but Dee told me they have infinite energy for this sort of thing and was fine that the fat girl needed a few breaks. Took maybe an hour in total to go from nothing to a dozen pies and three 3-gallon buckets of cake batter, which was wild. I put some makeup on, Dee got the camera and tripod set up, and it was time for us to start!

The anticipation I felt when I was sitting in that chair was wild. Like, I've absolutely pied myself before and even last year I got pied by another person for the first time from my ex. So, I sorta knew what to expect. But, these pies had that gum mixed in to hold their shape better, so I wasn't entirely certain how it was going to go. Dee told me to get ready and…

SPLAT! The first pie nearly knocked the fucking air out of my lungs. It was fucking cold thanks to the topping been in the fridge-section of the grocery store about only an hour ago! It covered my whole face and stuck to my hair that I had pushed to run down the side of my head, and I nearly called for a yellow light to slow down. For a little there, I felt like I couldn't catch my breath properly before two more pies got sandwiched over my head. Dee, for their part, did the expert thing of smearing and twisting the desserts over my head to just turn it into a mask of goop. This is absolutely the point where I could feel all the weight concentrate in my hair and start to weight my whole damn head down. Looking back at the video for reference, my hair is just this curtain of white goop and pie crust.

A few pies in for good measure, and Dee finally grabbed one of the buckets of batter. The dye we snagged wasn't all that potent, sadly. We wanted a bright pink sludge that mimicked the ancient-ass game-show What Would You Do's "Crowning Glory", but we know next time not to get the gel-dye (and also to buy a hand-mixer!). Because it's part of The Kink, of course I looked directly up into the bucket above just before it cascaded over me. In stark contrast to the other pies being cold as hell, Dee used warm water to mix with the batter, so it was heavenly to have that thick warmth poured over my body. It made all the future pies a lot easier to handle, honestly, by having that mucky barrier of off-pink coating me.

Around this time is when I realized "Oh, right, I have a bunch of hair soaking in all this stuff, might as well work it in!" because I'm a dork for my hair getting the slop-salon treatment. Another few pies splatted over my face while I worked my hair like I was in a shampoo commercial, Dee grabs my arm and smears a big blob of marshmallow fluff up my armpit because the bastard knows I'm a pit-fiend. So, you folks out there that enjoy the idea of lapping dessert out of my pit, please hold onto that mental image nice and tight. The banter between me and Dee started flowing at about this point. They were asking me questions while smearing the batter over my body, and ended up zeroing in on my nipple. I'm a sensitive lady, so when I'm trying to give an answer, it came out as "Oh yeah~!" like I'm some actress in a shitty porn because I was goddamn moaning through it. They didn't let me forget that, repeating it back to me whenever I would say "Yeah" to anything. Asshole (affectionate).

Syrup came next, just some cheap-ass brand and not actual maple syrup, and I smelled like breakfast. I smelled like breakfast for like two days afterwards, even through a thorough shower. I am not complaining at all, this is a benefit to this fetish. Honestly, the syrup was the one thing that I was not expecting to enjoy as much as I did. In my head, it's watery and just kinda boring? But, it being emptied out over mess-coated me and a pie that was stuffed into my face, I'm absolutely adding it to the roster of Quick and Easy Shit to Buy When I'm Horny.

Then came The Barrage. So, in this little obsession Dee and I share, the pie-barrage is usually seen as one of the climaxes of a scene. It's taking what, up to this point, is usually singular pies being added to someone in a sensual way that builds up the mess slowly piece-by-piece. A barrage of pies is the person throwing them going absolutely feral and just wanting to see the target inundated with layer upon layer of pie. That's exactly what happened to me! The first pie hit, totally blinding me, and before I had time to react properly, a second and then a third pie was added to the vaguely human-shaped blob of pie and moaning trans woman. Even managed to muffle anything I was trying to say, which was incredible to someone like me that types out muffled syllables in text roleplay. Honestly, Dee got the best photos of me immediately after the barrage, you… can hardly see who I am, let alone what I am. Absolute peak!

When your head is absolutely coated in thick pie-slop, the world fades away in a real way. You can't see past the layers of dessert, it settles over your head so you can't hear anything but your own breathing, and taste and smell have been absolutely tossed out the window to be replaced by sugarsmell. It's like sensory deprivation, because even your sense of touch fades out since you're rocking at least a layer or two of full-body coverage. It's an incredible experience! It's also only halfway through my session!

To speed things up a bit, more pies and more batter-slime was added to the mess. Since this kink began with Nickelodeon shows for the vast majority of the Millennials that have it, it's a bit of a "tradition" when green slime is involved (in our case, green batter because I'm a Dessert Bitch) to say "I don't know" like in You Can't Do That On Television. Say the trigger-phrase, get a bucket of green dumped over you. Dee even tried to put the bucket over my head, but the three-gallon ones are just a bit too small for that. It's a shame, because if we had the five-gallon buckets, I would have absolutely done a bit of head-dunking where I get on my hands and knees before plunging my whole head into that warm goop. Dee even had some chocolate cake batter as well, which reminded me that Valentine's was only a few days previous. Chocolate-covered goblin, anyone? The irony of my most-recent art piece mirroring what was going to happen to me is absolutely not lost on me.

Eventually, we had run out of supplies, and I got to sit there in the chair just enjoying the mess I was in. My hair was so heavy at that point, and the slop had just sorta congealed into a single texture. It made it incredibly easy to just work and play with, with Dee finally realizing that the reason I keep my hair so goddamn long is for moments like this where I get to wear what felt like ten pounds of sludge from the neck up. As is tradition in these shoots, just because we ran out of supplies doesn't mean the Moxie Messing was over, because Dee had put a bucket between my legs to catch as much excess slop as possible before dumping it all over my head in this thick mashed-up mixed-up wave.

After I had run out of steam having fun with myself, it was time to wrap and get me cleaned off. Wringing out my hair was an experience for the both of us. Neither of us had really realized just how much mass my hair could hold. When I went to pull the mess from my hair, it… just kept going. I filled a damned three-gallon bucket with just the stuff in my hair alone, and even then there was more. I soaked myself in the shower for the better part of a half-hour afterwards, to which my back got very upset at me for standing so long on a slippery surface. When I came out of the shower, Dee had completely cleaned the place. Wrapped up the pool of slop in the tarps and slammed it into a contractor bag for dumping. In my past experiences of being really bad at planning, it was never that easy, so I was thoroughly impressed at the foresight. I helped Dee toss it all into the dumpster near my place, and they bounced on off home in their car soon after!

So, to summarize… Holy shit, I wrote a lot, didn't I? Ha! But, yeah, this was an incredible experience and hands-down the best and most-encompassing slop-session I've ever had to this point. Dee said they absolutely want to do another session before they move again, so I'm excited to have more experiences like this! Hopefully this whole thing helps show people that have no idea why the hell I'm so obsessed with being hit by pies why I enjoy it, and shows people that do understand how incredible it was for me to have this. 2023 was a rough year for me, so kicking off 2024 with a session like this is hopefully the start to a far better year. With that, let's call it a wrap!

Love you all, stay messy. 💖

[bobathirstaccount]

Fated Ch 6

Y’all - you did it to me again and did 1:1 for the vote! I had to flip a coin lmao. Anyway, let’s see what happened… 😂

***

You turned around and circled into a vendor’s stall. Pretending to check out a sarong, you watched them talk. He seemed to make a purchase and leave. Once he was well out of sight, you shot over in an embarrassingly straight line to the woman’s stall. She was selling jewelry. Finely made, too.

“Can I help you, dear?”

“Uh, yeah. I wanted to buy something. But, I don’t know where to start. What did your last customer buy? …for inspiration.” You wondered how believable your lie was. She seemed unbothered either way.

“Ohh, what a gentleman! He needed so much Help. He wanted something for a lady friend, but similarly to you, didn’t know where to start. He was so good looking, too,” she swooned.

You stayed calm. After all, weren’t you the ‘lady friend’ he was referring to? You gulped. Maybe.

“Anyway, he bought the last piece I had with this off-world gem. Very pricey. Lucky lady,” she complained.

Smiling to yourself, you found a reason to leave her stall abruptly. Time to eat and then back to work. The faster you were back at work, the faster your day would be over. Then, you could message Boba and seem casual about coming over.

***

“Anyway, what did you do today while I was working away?” You and Boba had decided to combine the drink with working on your bikes. You were lovingly disassembling your old bike so you could transfer some parts to your new bike. Meanwhile, Boba was ripping things you didn’t need off the new speeder.

“Oh, bit of this, bit of that… you know, retired guy stuff.” He heaved and pulled off the ugly fender. “Now, that looks better already. And, more aerodynamic.”

“Take it easy on the new baby,” you laughed as you stopped to sip your libation. Boba had surprised you by mixing fancy cocktails.

“Ah, it’s tough. It’ll be alright,” he tore something else off and tossed it casually aside.

“What color you painting this one?” He sipped his drink, holding the tiny umbrella still.

“Oh, I like my current color scheme. Think I’ll keep it.”

”Oh. What about a nice green shade?”

”Hm?”

He seemed amused with himself, “Nothing. That’ll look really nice.”

You put your empty glass down and crawled under your old bike. You heard Boba ask, “Refill?”

”Yes, please,” you mumbled, busy.

You heard him come over and kneel down next to you. Picking up your glass, he squeezed your thigh lightly. “Hi,” he purred. Then he was gone, leaving you slightly flustered.

You heard the sound of drinks being mixed. You put a bolt in your mouth to keep it from getting lost as you pulled a piece off your old bike. Suddenly you realized it was deathly quiet. You took the bolt out of your mouth. Just as you were about to call to Boba, you heard him say, “Now, why are you here?”

“Get what I’m owed!” An aggressive masculine sounding voice called.

“I already explained. I didn’t cheat you at Sabacc; you just suck at it. Plus, I’m pretty sure You were cheating. So it defies logic why you’re here.” Boba actually sounded friendly.

“Kark you, you nerfherder, you steal from Me and now you say I was cheating? I won’t take this insult!” You heard a weapon being drawn. Did you stay where you were? You were pretty sure he couldn’t see you from where his voice was coming from. Could you help?

Being held at blaster point didn’t seem to phase Boba. He replied calmly, “Honestly, this isn’t a great time… for me to kill you. Can we reschedule?”

The man was so mad he made unintelligible noises for a moment. Then he said darkly, “Well. It’s actually is a great time, for me to kill you. Imma take your ship! And these two speeders!”

You lithely slipped out from under your bike and crawled behind it. Did you stay put or try to help Boba?

[oliverreedmasterass]

Do you think you could write the moment Jake and his dad went to the guitar center and Jake played Sunshine of Your Love by Cream and that one guy was amazed by it cause he was 12

LOVE this concept!!

Sunshine

Words: 2k

Warnings: N/A

Jake was in his messy room, sitting on the edge of his twin bed and strumming away at his Yamaha acoustic when Kelly stuck his head in. 

“Are you playing Heart?” he asked, hardly able to contain his awe. Jake quickly dropped his hands down to his side in surprise and gave a small nod. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. Kelly widened his eyes and let out an impressed chuckle. 

“I think it’s time.” 

“Time?” Jake asked as he carefully set his guitar behind him on the bed. “Time for what?” 

“Time for you to get an electric,” Kelly replied. This made Jake spring to his feet. 

“Are you serious?” he let his voice raise in glee. Kelly grinned at his son’s response and nodded his head. 

“The point of the acoustic was to make sure you got your form down. Now I’m no guitar expert, but I think it’s safe to say you can play that thing pretty well. You’ve earned the privilege.” 

Jake’s grin stretched from ear to ear. His dad had let him play his own electric guitar a few times before, but Jake always got distracted by the pedals and whammy bar, and the guitar was promptly taken away. Kelly’s mantra had seemed to become, 

“No need to try and replicate Jimi Hendrix’s Star Spangled Banner, son.”

Jake was frankly surprised that his dad thought he was ready to transition to an electric guitar. It was something he had craved for a lot longer than he would admit - he knew it would get him attention at school (the good kind) and he loved the sheer feeling of power that surged through his body with every electrifying chord he ripped out. The acoustic was fun to play, but it had transformed his fingers into a set of rugged, calloused nubs that he was constantly peeling dead skin off of. Plus, he wanted to play songs that weren’t off The White Album or Bob Dylan’s greatest hits. Sure, he thought that his playing had improved from when he first picked up the guitar at the humble age of three, but he still missed chords and mixed up strumming patterns. A part of him worried that his rendition of “Crazy On You” had been a fluke and he somehow tricked his dad into thinking he was ready. 

As if Kelly was reading his mind, he nodded back at Jake’s acoustic. 

“Can you play me something else on that?” 

Jake could feel his face turn bright red but he obliged, settling the guitar back in his lap and scanning his brain for the right song that was possible to play, but still impressive. Kelly leaned his back against the doorframe with his arms crossed and closed his eyes with a large beam across his face as Jake played “Heart of Gold”. After Jake finished the chorus, Kelly opened his eyes again and patted the doorframe. 

“I’m gonna grab my keys,” he excused himself. The second he was out of sight, Jake tossed the acoustic back down and held his head in his hands. 

“Oh my god,” was all he could manage to grunt out. He was finally getting an electric guitar.

For the entire drive down to Flint, Kelly had a field day coaching Jake on what guitars he should try out. 

“You can’t go wrong with a Fender, but also everyone plays the Fender so it’s not that special. Les Pauls can be fun. Did you know that Jimmy Page played a Les Paul?”

Jake stared out at the rolling green fields they were zipping by and tried to envision what guitar he would be playing for years to come. When he fantasized about it, he never really had a set guitar in mind; what was more important was how well he was playing it. Jake concentrated hard and attempted to conjure up an image of a guitar that felt like it was rightfully his. He was disappointed when he came up empty. 

“I don’t know what guitar I want,” he admitted out loud. 

“Looks are one thing, you gotta play a bunch of them to find one that really feels right.” 

That made Jake feel better, even though he still felt the magnitude of the situation weighing on him. Within the twelve years he had been alive, this was by far the biggest decision he had ever had to make. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. 

Fifteen minutes later, Kelly pulled their family minivan into the Guitar Center parking lot and killed the engine, cutting off the Muddy Waters song that had been playing. 

“Are you ready?” he asked Jake. In response, Jake slumped back in his seat but, growing uncomfortable with the silence he was creating, eventually turned and nodded at his dad. 

“You bet,” he squeaked out. 

As he stepped in through the front doors of Guitar Center, Jake felt his eyes grow to the size of saucers. The place was like his own personal heaven: stunning guitars lined the walls, keyboards were tucked away in an adjacent room, and a kid around his age was bashing away on a set of drums in a soundproof room. Kelly lightly placed his hand on Jake’s back and led him deeper into the store since he seemed to be frozen in place. They found an employee and Kelly waved him down. 

“Hey there,” he smiled. “My son is looking for a guitar.” 

“Exciting!” the guy commented, nodding at Jake. “Got anything specific you’re looking for?” 

“Nope,” Jake replied. 

“All good,” the employee seemed prepared. “Feel free to grab a guitar off the wall and I can get it plugged into an amp for you.” 

Jake could feel his heart thunder in his chest. If he wasn’t so determined to find the right guitar, he would have booked it out of the store to hide in his dad’s car until he settled down. Everything was so exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. It was a lot. 

“How about I pick the first one for you, bud?” Kelly asked down to Jake. Jake had a feeling that he was doing a pretty poor job hiding how much he was panicking. 

“Yes please,” he choked through the lump that was forming in his throat. Kelly gave him a supportive smile and led him to the back corner where a Squier Stratocaster was within reach. The employee removed it from its hook on the wall and motioned for Jake to take a seat on the closest cushioned stool. Jake plopped back and, before he knew it, the guitar was in his hands and buzzing to life as the employee plugged it into an impressive amp. 

“Go for it,” the employee encouraged him. Jake looked over at Kelly and saw that he was waiting expectantly. Jake retrieved a pick from his jean pocket and shakily brought it up to the strings. Unsure how loud it was going to be, he carefully played a D chord, which rang through the store. Jake could feel his face flush red again. “Strong sound, huh?” the employee turned to Kelly to converse. 

“That’s why I chose it,” Kelly agreed. “C’mon Jake, try and play something.” 

Jake licked his dried lips and cautiously played a few bars of a Black Keys song. Even though he messed up the first notes, he managed to let off the last note of the verse with a loud, echoing ring. 

“Not too bad,” the employee nodded in approval. Jake handed the guitar back to him and scanned over the wall. 

“I think I want to try another one,” he thought aloud. The guitar was nice, but it didn’t feel quite right.

“Go for it,” Kelly laughed. Jake stood from the stool and wandered to the other wall to scan over the more flashy guitars. His eyes were drawn to the cherry red finish over the standard black and white bodies, and he found himself reaching for a bright red B.C. Rich Rich Legacy Doubleneck. 

“Really?” Kelly asked Jake as he giddily returned to the amp. 

“I need to give everything a feel to make sure I find the right one,” Jake tried to defend himself. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you try out every guitar in this store,” Kelly protested. 

“People have done it before,” the employee interjected as he plugged the guitar into the amp. Kelly pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

“Please don’t do that to me, Jake.” 

“I want a red one, so I’ll only try those.” 

Kelly looked like he wanted to remind Jake that he needed to look beyond the exterior appearance of the guitar, but he held himself back. Once again the guitar roared to life and Jake closed his eyes in glee as he tried out a few licks he had been messing around with at home. His hands fumbled between the two guitar necks and, in defeat, he turned down the volume. 

“I don’t think this one’s it,” he admitted in defeat. 

“I could have told you that,” Kelly retorted. 

Jake returned back to the tall wall of guitars and put his hands on his hips as he scanned up and down each column. There were some guitars that he knew for certain he would never touch, like the pink Hello Kitty one, or the boring old Fender Telecaster. He wanted something rugged, something unique, something that was bound to make him feel like a rockstar. Jake’s eyes finally landed on a guitar and a soft “oh” escaped from his mouth. He was looking up at probably the most stunning guitar he had ever seen: a Gibson SG Standard. 

“Just like Pete Townshend,” Jake whispered in appreciation. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, and was quickly joined by the employee. 

“Want me to take it down for you?” 

“Yes please.” 

Jake carried the guitar back to the stool and could feel the power charging through it even before it was plugged into the amp. The cable snapped and the guitar hummed to life, sending anticipatory tingles through Jake’s fingers. Jake took a deep breath and, without thinking, tore into “Sunshine of Your Love.” It was his favorite song to play: Eric Clapton really knew what he was doing when he wrote that lick. Jake could hear the bass and drums playing along with him in his head and closed his eyes to become fully immersed in the music. Colors and shapes started dancing in front of his eyes with each note and, before he knew it, he was rocking back and forth on the stool to the beat. The colors and shapes transformed into a stage, blinding lights, and a crowd in front of him. Jake continued playing to the cheers of thousands of fans like his life depended on it. It was a massive disappointment when the song came to a close. 

Jake opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of the Guitar Center employee gaping at him, and his dad nodding his head in approval. 

“This the one, son?” Kelly asked. 

“I’d say so,” Jake agreed, holding the guitar close to his body. He didn’t want to let it go; the feeling he had while playing it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Kelly seemed to understand the bond Jake had developed with the guitar since he let him carry it to the register, only letting go of it momentarily when the Guitar Center employee had to scan its tag. Kelly also let Jake pick out a guitar strap and a case, which only fueled Jake’s excitement more. While Kelly fished his credit card out of his wallet, Jake saw an older guy pointing in his direction to another employee. 

“Yeah, that guy’s pretty damn good - he can’t be more than twelve years old and he’s playing Cream. Can you believe that?” 

Jake couldn’t help but flash a toothy grin in the guy’s direction at his praise. He had known for a while that he loved playing guitar, but now it was clear to him that it was something he was meant to do, and that he should do for the rest of his life. 

“How are you feeling?” Kelly checked with him as they walked back out into the overcast afternoon to the car. 

“Alive,” Jake declared.

[imstillurfag]

I’ve talked about some of this on here before but I’ve introspectively grown up a lot this year, and I still feel and notice myself turning into my future self a little more everyday in the same way I’ve been noticing the tree outside of my bedroom window become more orange every morning from the top down. I don’t think I’m depressed anymore, for the first time in 10 years, and things that used to feel like the end of the world even a year or so ago don’t feel so crushing anymore. I believe I owe it to some 50/50 mixture of 1. natural healing with age + brain development + all of my teenage hormones settling down, and 2. a better tolerance for the emotions I used to feel a bit more intensely. The former is empowering and makes me excited for the future and whatever shape I’m taking - the latter makes me feel very helpless in such a dull way. The feelings and insecurities that you learn to live with and that don’t keep you bedridden for weeks at a time or put you in the hospital like they did or could’ve when you were 14; they don’t get better but rather become something like an old wine stain on the carpet or a dent in the fender or dead pixels on the television screen. This rings especially true for me with body image these days. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel beautiful in this life, truly beautiful. It’s not getting better like they said it would and like so many other things are. I want to know what it’s like to feel beautiful, I want to know what it’s like to feel comfortable and at home and proud in this house. I hate having a physical form, I need this skin ripped off. I hope that to everyone I am not a body but instead a soul I know that’s not how it works

[kathrynharinger]

The five stages of grief.

LOCATION: The Lost Word loft apartment above.

MENTIONED: @romanmcnulty @fenderbryne

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

Kathryn sat alone in the dimly lit loft apartment that sat above the Lost Word. It was her sanctuary of solitude which now felt more suffocating, as if the walls were closing in around her. The events of that night replayed in her mind like a haunting melody, each note a sharp pang of pain. The car bomb that had taken Roman away at the snap of her fingers one minute of life was going right and the next...it was hell on earth. It was true; the devil walked among them. That same fire that'd taken Roman away had also left its mark on her body. Her arms and back bore the scars of the explosion, a constant reminder of the tragedy that had shattered her world. Thankfully, the bandages stopped her from picking at the ugliness of them.

Denial washed over her like a cold wave, numbing her senses and clouding her thoughts. It'd been there since she got home. The house seemed cold, lonely, and he'd never even stepped foot in here. She couldn't fathom that Roman was truly gone, that the man she'd began to really like was now nothing more than a memory. She clung to the hope that this was all some cruel mistake, that at any moment now he would burst through the door with that lopsided grin and cocky remark that few people could pull off. But reality was unyielding, refusing to bend to her wishes.

Anger quickly surged within her, a burning fire that consumed her from the inside out. Her parents, Roman, Fender — the list went on of people that she had lost or was slowly losing. She slammed her fist onto the table, cursing the cruel twists of this life that constantly stolen happiness from her life. Like they were waiting for a light to finally die within her. Why him? Why them? The questions echoed in her mind late into the night when sleep evaded a relentless barrage that had no answers. Her anger wasn't just directed at the faceless perpetrators; it was directed at the universe itself, for robbing her of the future she always dreamed of having, and the second she got a taste, it was ripped away.

Bargaining followed, a desperate plea to whatever higher power might be listening. "Take me instead," she whispered into the silence, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was the coward's way out, she told herself, that bargaining would get her nowhere in life unless it was a deal out of con artistry with Fender. But at the moment, in the right now, she'd have given anything to turn back time, to rewrite the tragic ending that had unfolded before her eyes. In her mind, she replayed scenarios where she could have done something differently, where she could have saved him. But the past remained unchanged, a cruel testament to the futility of bargaining with the inevitable. She couldn't have done anything differently, no matter how many times she told herself otherwise. A girl who finally found a man who could see her for something more, not for monetary gain or as a trophy on his arm.

Depression had been there since the moment her knees collided with the pavement, and it'd settled like a heavy shroud, enveloping her in a suffocating embrace. The weight of her grief pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe while her hand gripped onto the dining room table, knuckles turning white from the force. The once-vibrant colors of her apartment now seemed dull and lifeless, mirroring the emptiness she felt within. She withdrew from the world outside. Her active social life was on its way to becoming a distant memory. The pain was a constant companion, an unwelcome guest that refused to leave. If and when Fender came home, she'd withdraw to her room as she had done so many nights since; trying to fight the urge to give up. Part was because of Roman, the other was because of the fire that'd marred her body. She felt ugly.

The final stage she was a long way off from.

Acceptance, the final stage of grief, was a distant horizon that seemed impossible to reach. And while Roman's absence was a reality, she could no longer deny, no matter how much she kept pushing forward and trying to fight — she wasn't there yet. Because it was a truth she could no longer fight against. She was waiting for that moment of clarity, when the fog finally cleared and she could begin to piece together the fragments of her struth,hattered heart. Somewhere deep inside of her, she knew that accepting his death didn't mean forgetting him or letting the way he'd died lay. But there was one realisation that did settle down within her this night, finding a way to honor his memory, to carry his spirit with her as she moved forward.

And that meant finding the person who killed him.

[slutforsfender]

Hi I don’t know if you just do Sam fender but if you can maybe can you do one for Drew and the reader could like meet him through Sam and they both really like each other and start dating or something like that, if not that’s completely fine ❤️

Mutual Friends - Drew Michaels

Drew Michaels x Reader

You had met Sam quite a while ago through an old friend who you grew up with. You instantly got on and he even asked you to be his photographer for his upcoming UK tour.

Today was the day where you were taking all the promo pictures for the tour to be posted on social medias.

You got ready quite quick, not really being too bothered about what you were wearing as you were spending a whole day behind the camera.

You grabbed all your things before starting the car journey to the place where you were taking pictures most of today.

You arrived a while later and made sure you had everything before heading inside.

"Aye here she is, lads this is y/n" Sam quickly noticed you as you walked into the room, they were all hanging about before introducing you.

You greeted Sam with a hug before all the others did the same with you.

You quickly got started with the shoot, doing a few with just Sam in various outfits and him doing whatever he felt like doing.

As a photographer you never tried to force people into poses, you always let them do whatever was natural to them because they always turned out a lot better. You did the same with Sam which of course ended up with Sam letting his adhd brain take control even ripping up a poster once or twice.

All throughout the shoot, you could feel eyes burning into you but brushed it off as you lifted the camera to your eye.

You took a little break before starting the shots of Sam and the band. You had propped yourself onto a nearby table, looking through the photos while the lads messed around.

"Thought you might fancy a cuppa lass" Sam greeted you before passing you a tea.

"Aye cheers" you give him a small smile before taking a sip.

"I think one of my mates might have taken a liking to ya" he said nonchalantly while nodding his head towards his drummer sat in the corner, staring at you and Sam.

You look over and he quickly turns his head away as a blush crept onto his cheeks.

You just chuckle a little, a little bit of you finding yourself happy.

"I can see it. You and Drew, you'd be alreet together" he said with a light smirk on his lips.

"As if lad, we've only just met" you say, giving him a look as if he's crazy.

Secretly you thought he was actually quite cute and wanted to get to know him but didn't know how, you weren't exactly a social butterfly.

"Yanno this shoot finishes soon and I was going to ask you to join me, and lads out tonight but why don't you go and ask our Drew out for lunch after this and I'll leave it up to him to ask you out tonight" he said, before leaving to go over to his mates.

You sigh and down your cuppa before building up the courage to go ask Drew.

As soon as you walked over all the other lads went to go get ready, leaving you and Drew alone.

"So, I'm not exactly great at this but Sam has got this little idea in his that you have taken a liking to me so erm do you want to go out for lunch after this" you ask, your nerves evident in your voice.

"Aye I'd absolutely love that, there's a café nearby if ya fancy it" he says, a wide grin on his face which calms you down.

You nod before walking to fetch your camera and beginning the rest of the shoot.

Throughout the group shots, Drew sends you little winks here and there which of course Sam notices giving you a smirk before announcing it to the rest of the lads.

You laugh and brush it off before telling them to get back to what they were doing on their instruments.

The shoot soon finishes and Drew waits for you to have everything before making your way to down the café together.

You have a great lunch together, laughing and non-stop talking. He even asks you out for a night out with him and lads which Sam had mentioned earlier.

You quickly got together officially a few weeks later after lots of time together.

(I know this is a bit shit but I hope you still like it)

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@febuwhump Alt. DAY 6: Natural Disaster

Fandom: Marvel (Spider-Man: No Way Home)

Characters: Peter One, Peter Two, Peter Three

~

Peter would have loved to be anyone else but Spider-Man right now—any old common civilian who could do the smarter, safer thing by moving to higher ground and staying there until public safety officials gave him and the rest of the area the all clear.

Unfortunately there were some common civilians who couldn’t be bothered to consider their health and safety before forging thoughtlessly on into flooded streets. It was Spider-Man’s job to think for them—a job made significantly harder when one was overwhelmed by nothing but pain, pain, pain, cold, pain!

A vehicle could get swept up in only two feet of floodwater. Peter overheard the next wave coming, had shattered the windshield and scrambled to tear the screaming, senseless family out of their SUV with whatever precious seconds remained, but foreknowledge hadn’t actually prepared him.

Swept across the bridge, he went under instantly, oxygen ripped from his lungs in a gurgling scream when he glanced off the side railing. It was only superhuman strength that allowed him to latch onto a lamppost for dear life. When he surfaced, he managed a spluttered gasp—and then the SUV came straight for him. The sky was already little more than a dark blur but once the fender plowed full force into his chest, Peter registered Pain! and then the curtains of rain fell closed over him into pitch blackness.

“…got you, Petey, we’ve got you, we’ve got you.”

As he swam back to the waking world, the sound of his name wasn’t the reassurance the speaker might have thought. They knew his identity, how, how did they know? His gut reaction was to recoil but as soon as he tensed, broken ribs and waterlogged lungs viciously squeezed. Nausea surged into his throat.

“Quick, get him on his side!”

There were hands on him now, kind enough to brace his head and his rib cage as he writhed, hacked and heaved. The taste of mud and metal laced his mouth, grit caught in his gums, staining his teeth. It burned to breathe. When the wet retching finally subsided, it was followed by a raspy, rattling moan.

“We’ve got you,” Peter Three repeated, petting his brother’s bruised head, wringing water from his sodden curls.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter Two murmured, a plea and a promise.

[talandros]

CHARACTER INFORMATION:

FULL NAME: Tallahassee Andros

NICKNAMES: Tal

FACE CLAIM: Peter Gadiot

PRONOUNS AND GENDER: Cis man, he/him

BIRTHDAY: September 27,1987

BIRTH PLACE: Tallahassee, Florida

HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN IN TOWN?: Eight years

SEXUALITY: Fluid

HOUSING: Coral Coast

OCCUPATION: Freelance songwriter

TL;DR:

TRIGGER WARNING(S): DRUG USE, DRUG ABUSE, BLOOD MENTION, ALCOHOL ABUSE

has-been washed up musician in a band that comes back on throwback playlists and people go ‘oh hey what happened to them’ (the goal and the vibe is like… del amitri meets nine days meets a much less successful third eye blind)

(really though absolutely no one is gonna recognize this dude for that anywhere ever lmao) but don’t worry he will tell you all about it. sometimes he has the grace to hold off until someone asks why he was like 150k followers on twitter [after saying it’s because he’s really funny and insightful]

florida native who left home when his band got signed after years and years of playing dive bars, bowling alleys and birthday parties

minorly and mostly peripherally successful but that was all tallahassee needed to absolutely rip his life to pieces

developed a drug problem on tour, got carted off to rehab (twice). the second time was the last straw and he was kicked out of the band. (that he named and started, but whatever, he swears he’s let that go)

moved to fairford for a fresh start roughly eight years ago and my dude has done NOTHING with that

living a good and california sober life, which suits him just fine

he is genuinely annoying but maybe in a way that’s endearing in select circles

FUN DUMB STATS:

Birthday: September 27,1987

Zodiac Sign: Libra ☉ | Sagittarius ☽ | Gemini➶  

MBTI: ESFP

Enneagram: Type 7w6

Temperament: Sanguine

Moral Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Element: Air

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

absolutely anything

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS:

tbd

FULL BIOGRAPHY:

OKAY THIS IS THE FULL BIO BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ IT it’s here for posterity

All Tallahassee Andros’ life had been a vacillation of falling in love. First, it was music. The instant his uncle had put a guitar in his hands, that old Fender with nicks and dings that could barely hold its tune, a part of him never put it down. It was all he thought about during school days and baseball practices — getting home and playing that guitar. For a long time, the sound was unbearable, something only made worse by his tenacity. But he started to get better. Started to understand how to wrap lyrics around a melody — stupid little songs about missing the bus and hating homework and loving the girl who sat in front of him in math. He had heard his uncle say music brought him peace, but that wasn’t the truth for Tallahassee. Tallahassee felt this frenetic need for it, an all-encompassing, jonesing sort of itch. Later he would learn it was in his bones to need things, and music would be his bridge into the land where no one ever said no.

He started his first band when he was 14. A garage band with neighborhood kids who didn’t have much skill between them, but they were still willing to spend every day writing and rehearsing and trying to make something of themselves. Even the members remained in a sort of flux, one kid tagging out and dragging another in. By the end of it, they had only played at the bowling alley and the pizza shop across the street, and the only member who had stayed was Tallahassee  Andros. He was, after all, the front man. A position he both decided on, and clung to. He wrote the songs, after all, and his parents cared the least about a ragtag group of kids playing discordant noises late into the night. Tallahassee’s parents were two people who, at best, tolerated each other – but wanted to do right by their kids. Doing right meant a lot of letting them do what they wanted, as long as they were out of their hair. That meant, for the Andros family, a lot of late nights and loud music.

By the time he graduated high school, their still unnamed band consisted of   Tallahassee on vocals and guitar, his lifelong best friend Will on drums, a friend of a friend from down the street called Kurt on drums, and his brother Dover on rhythm guitar. They weren’t great, but they had been featured in the paper, and their gigs paid. It was barely enough to gas up the van to get there and back, but money was money, and that made them feel real. A real band needed a real name, and after spending months kicking around the first thing that came to mind, the landed on something. They were all sitting around the garage smoking — shitty, dirtbag weed that Dover had pocketed from their uncle — when they landed on something. Far more pretentious than an early 2000′s bowling alley band had a right to be, but they didn’t know it at the time. Kurt had been flipping through a Nat Geo magazine, one his dad had left from his days of hoping to be a wildlife photographer, when he started reading about this cluster of sharks off the coast of San Diego. Requiem sharks, the author called them. The Wild Requiem.

As much as the boys agreed on anything, they agreed on that name. Later, people would ask how they’d decided on it — and every time, every member of the band came up with a different lie. Tal liked the sound of it — liked that experts seemed to be torn on whether the name came from the French word for that old final rest, or the word for a grimace that showed teeth. It didn’t match their sound, not really —  but he liked that too. They started to work on an EP – their best songs to shop around to any label they had the gas money to get to. They burned it onto CDs and slid them unceremoniously under the door of every record shop and radio station in a 50 mile radius. They all had to get other jobs, real jobs, while they waited for something that felt like a break. They’d gotten a few bites, and continued to play in bars and small venues, but they weren’t successful — they weren’t paying bills.

Not until her. Their final addition, the one that would elevate them from a shitty little band to something with potential, was Laurel. She saw the Wild Requiem playing at a basement party, and she immediately started giving them advice as soon as they were off stage. She was pretty, so Tallahassee  pretended to listen. She was also smart, so Dover actually listened. It was a mercy Tal Andros had stars in his eyes, or he would’ve kicked up a fuss at receiving unsolicited advice from someone who had only heard 23 minutes of their material, and what did she know, anyway? A lot, as it turned out. Laurel’s dad was the head of Guilty Pleasure Records, and even if she didn’t have a foot in the door, she was a talent on her own.

Finally getting bored of her advice, Tallahassee asked her to prove herself. At their next practice, the room felt impossibly cramped with the new body, and he’d never realized how messy the garage was until there was a pretty girl standing in it. Laurel cast a disdainful look around the place, nudging an empty beer can out of her way with her boot as she stepped inside. He knew right then, she wasn’t going to try and blend in with them. She was going to try to change them —  fix them. He wanted to stand in front of her and say this had all been a mistake, they didn’t need help, and they didn’t need her. He would’ve been wrong. She sang for them, a song of her own that was far more eloquent than anything they’d managed to write. She guided them through playing it behind her. She and Tallahassee fell into a harmony, and the room seemed to come alive with it. With her, their sound changed entirely. They were firing on all cylinders. They needed Laurel in the band, and Laurel wanted to prove herself in her own right. They put together a new demo, and despite her connection, they were not picked up by Guilty Pleasure. Instead, they were scooped by one of their competitors — a nothing little studio that spawned out of GP Records, and picked up the studio head’s daughter out of spite. That was alright by the Wild Requiem, and more than alright by Laurel.

They spent almost seven months on that first album, every second that wasn’t spent writing was spent recording. For all their differences — and Tallahassee was learning there were a lot —  he and Laurel knew how to make a certain kind of magic together when it came to music. She knew how to get on his goddamn nerves, but she also knew how to fine tune his ideas. The album, for all it’s faults, was a success in a way none of them prepared for. They had received a fair amount of local buzz, but being excited about the neighborhood band that kept you up with their late night practices was nothing in comparison to what they would get. Required Listening was a sort of alternative rock, pop rock album that was easy. Windows down, singing with your friends on a July afternoon music. It wasn’t what any of them wanted to be in the end — but they knew it was a sound that would give them a beginning.

And it did. They were booked as an opening act for a three-band tour, and their set time was roughly all of fifteen minutes, but that was fifteen minutes they got to perform in big cities all around the country. They were out of Florida, and onto a lifestyle that was entirely different than bowling alleys and dive bars. When he read about how rock stars lived, how freely drugs were passed around backstage, Tallahassee believed it, but in a distant way that he didn’t think he would have to learn to deal with. He gave into it, at first not wanting to look like an amateur, like some Florida dirtbag who was out of his depth. First it was coke, and that could’ve been enough for him. It should’ve been. How quickly it sunk its teeth in, and how much more alive he felt was something he couldn’t ignore. Before he knew it, he was staying awake for days at a time, one city blurring into the next, the second leg of the tour becoming nothing but a feeling. In that time, he and Laurel had started sleeping together. She was only a half step behind him on the blow, both of them letting long nights of hooking up turn into writing songs that were nonsense in the daylight.

Their album had started to chart during that tour, and even if most of the country didn’t know they knew the Wild Requiem, they would find themselves humming their songs. No one was coming to shows for them, not really, but they were still getting attention. Tallahassee’s recreational drug use had started to turn into a habit, and they all knew he was going to have a problem by the end of the tour. He had started taking uppers in the mornings, and needed downers to get anything close to sleep. He had started to balance a combination of them during the day to keep himself running at a level, riding that high. But if anyone cared, that was eclipsed by how worried they were about Laurel. At the start of the tour, she had been right behind him. But she had surpassed him somewhere between Tempe and Seattle, and she was already getting into the shit that came from street dealers in dark alleys. Her family was intervening, and they were setting her up for a rehab stint at the end of the tour. The end of the tour was important, because despite getting in their own way, despite being on a bender reserved for business veterans, they had written some solid music. The band agreed, the label agreed. The tour would end, Laurel would get clean, and they’d meet up in four months to start on the next album.  

Tallahassee wasn’t worried about her. Not even when she would wake up with dried blood under her nose, and she had long since stopped feeling like the level-headed decisive woman he’d encountered just a few short years ago. They’d all changed on that tour, though. Shy, quiet Will had a different groupie on the bus every night. Where Tallahassee had given in to the harder substances, Dover had started to get just short of falling down drunk before every show. Tallahassee himself had, by almost all accounts, become an absolute dick. Before his tenacity had been to the band’s benefit, but somewhere in the time he started snorting Dexedrine, it was to their detriment.

They were still a fairly small band. They didn’t have room for his ego.

The tour ended, and The Wild Requiem was still riding high. Laurel was carted off to rehab, and the rest of them went their separate ways, for the time being. The band had already agreed on a house outside of Los Angeles for when recording time rolled back around. It was this ramshackle place in Pomona, five bedrooms and one bath. It was a dream home for none of them, but they wanted to grind their sophomore album out in the right place, in record time. Tallahassee headed there instead of back to Florida, living out those three months ‘networking’ for the band. It was during that time that he did heroin for the first time. Bad shit, he knew, and the one thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall into. It had been a bad look on Laurel, even he’d seen that.

That, it turned out, to be his second great love. And oh, how it eclipsed the first. Music was secondary to that feeling, to the extent that he wondered how he had ever loved it at all. By the time Laurel got clean, he was anything but. Recording their second album came with none of the ease of the first. She couldn’t be around him, and he was having difficulty tolerating her sanctimonious attitude. All of the fun of the first album turned into grit, but it didn’t suit their sound. It was sand in your clothes after a day at the beach grit, and it was hard to salvage, even with the push of the label. Their second album felt like a draft, and their label had even less faith in it than the band did. There was maybe one single worth listening to on it, but that single pushed them through. It even charted, and got them their own headlining tour. No big venues, no sold out arenas, but it was enough. They just needed to work through the rockier parts. By the time they left, Tallahassee was all rocky parts. No one told him how short the high lasted – how everything after turned into that need. When he wasn’t using, his blood felt like battery acid. He woke up with his teeth clenched, every part of him crying out for it. It became survival.

He and Laurel had long since split, if they’d ever been together in any real capacity at all. But they couldn’t stand to be around each other. They started to travel on two separate tour buses. Even in his addled state, he knew this would be the end of the Wild Requiem. Their album was critically panned. Two albums in, and crowds already demanded their ‘old stuff.’ What Tallahassee didn’t know was how it would end. He overdosed in Phoenix, but not before taking a nasty header off the stage in Austin. He thought he would get a grace period to work through it himself – he hadn’t. His team put him in a rehab facility, tour be damned. Dover stepped up and took his part, and they hired a new guitarist.

At the end of his 90 days, the tour had ended – and so had his time with the band. He pretended to understand it. Pretended right up until the moment he got high and tore their Pomona house to pieces with his bare hands – doors off frames, furniture in the yard, holes in the walls. He was a one-man wrecking ball, and when he came to in the yard with bloody knuckles and surrounded by debris, he checked himself back into rehab. Another 90 day jaunt for Tallahassee Andros, and a new album for the Wild Requiem.

They could’ve at least changed the name, he thought. He wondered if he had grounds to sue. Probably. But his only visitor had been his brother, and when he saw the worry in Dover’s face, he knew they thought they were saving him. And saving the band. The new album was good. It wasn’t great, but nothing they’d done had ever been great. It returned to the easy sounds of their first album, and Dover thought they had the start of something. Tal did too. He decided then, to let it go. He wasn’t meant for that life. He’d lived it for three years, and it had all but turned him inside out. The other thing no one mentioned when you got sober, is how much goddamn time you suddenly have. He stayed in California for a while, moving up the coast to San Francisco. In San Francisco, he tried to be a lot of different people. So many hobbies under his belt, all because he needed to replace one addiction with the next. Woodworking, gardening – the worst of them all had been when he decided to be a runner. That one lasted until he tore his ACL, because Tallahassee still hadn’t learned to do anything moderately.

While he was healing, he dared to get back into songwriting. That tapped into the very center of him, releasing something he hadn’t known he was still holding. His guitar remained untouched, gathering dust in the attic where he didn’t have to look at it, but the idea of setting something to music was enough. He left California when he turned twenty-eight. After all, he’d been a has-been by the time he turned 23, by 25 he felt like a relic. He tried Seattle for a while, but Seattle felt like Los Angeles in a suit. The novelty of ‘aren’t you that guy?’ wore off quickly, and he was craving a sort of anonymity. It was only then that he remembered the town in Washington that felt like a unique little something. Maybe it was a need for something peripherally familiar without being familiar at all – the feeling of being a strange man in a strange land.

For weeks he tried to remember the name of the town, and for weeks he landed on nothing. He looked at old tour schedules, old pictures, anything. He finally relented and texted Laurel to ask. The band had broken up, and last he’d heard, she’d gotten married. Some British dude that Dover said was an asshole. Laurel, instead of answering, asked to meet for coffee.

They met up in Redding, California – the almost midpoint for them both. The first and last time they ever agreed to meet each other halfway. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, just as he’d known she wouldn’t be. Their meeting was filled with apologies and awkward reminiscing, something he hadn’t considered when he imagined how it would go. The terrible thing about them both being sober is they had no choice but to be present. She admitted only after they’d slept together that she was still married, she had just wanted to see if there was still a spark. Neither of them were sure if there had been. She told him the town had been called Fairford, and she only remembered because they’d impromptu played a gig at a dive bar while they were there, and because of Tallahassee, they’d wound up paying damages instead of actually getting paid.

She wished him luck there, as though his bags were already packed. Maybe they all but were. She was glad they’d had this last time, she said. He supposed she wanted it to feel like closure, but he didn’t think it had. It felt like opening up a book he’d once loved, but only remembered the high points. Still, he smiled and agreed.

He did pack his bags. He spent two months living out of motels and hotels while he tried to figure out if this was, indeed, the life he wanted. He liked the pace of things here. Liked the person he felt like when he went for his early morning run, followed by a coffee on the way back. He liked that the nights were slow and quiet. Most importantly, Tallahassee liked the person he felt like he could become here. He started to find his way back into music, even if it was no more than playing his guitar at sunset. The way the soft chatter in the down the hall would fall a little quieter if he managed something that sounded like he’d once been someone with talent. He would stay, he decided.

He moved out of the motel, opting to buy a house. The kind of roots that could, in darker moments, reach up and wrap around his neck if he weren’t careful. He was, after all, still in the business of replacing addictions, and he had gone a long way from anyone who was willing to stop him. He hadn’t relapsed since moving to the Washington, though he had adopted a California Sober lifestyle. And after 10 years, Tallahassee learned to stop changing the station when the Wild Requiem came on the radio – even if he gritted his teeth at being called a one-hit wonder.

VIBES:

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[the-firebird69]

That last paragraph is mine but I'm going to explain some things when you smooth out the wheel wolf fenders it looks much better and you don't have it connect to the front end and the front end is different it's more modern and the rear too and it has that mid-engine look to it otherwise it's very similar and it looks really really hot when you do those few things and really the fuselage is a race car look but it's more angular and it's really cool it works better

Frank Castle hardcastle

How much would the kit be and we estimate about $20,000 and he says probably not because most of it's going to be there and he's right you know you can't use the Camaro or mustang interior you can it's also an idea but the stuff's heavy so you use the other ones and it's a little more but they want the Camaro and the mustang interior and it would fit a little bit it's more like a supercar but it makes sense it would cost less that would drop it down like five grand and the dashboard and such won't fit in that configuration but all that gauges and everything else would already be compatible and why change it it's a good idea and the dashboard top won't fit but we can make the bottom fit and it would actually bolt out much easier and they like that and the controls too we can make maybe in the right place and the linkage would be right so you'd hook everything up like it was a normal factory including the lights and everything you just have an extender and it's a simple push it together and it clicks and it's done and they like it and our son and daughter like him say that's what we need that kind of kit right there and actually we hear bja and his brother and they like it so this is what we're going to work on cuz we have all those parts and we want to get them out of here and the new tires and rims that come with a Camaro are about two and a half inches and it says perfect for the look and true but most are about 2 and 1/4 and the rims are nice and they're not mad but they look nice and why change them we just want to widen the rear end and to do that you don't have to change the suspension because it's a solid axle so they're actually pretty pleased now that would actually make the kit a bit cheaper less expensive maybe 13 or 14 roughly but it is worth it because it uses all the parts now if you're coming to make one out of an existing Camaro or mustang we were talking about actually you would take the dashboard off and put in the new dash everything else would stay and that's the idea and they like it because that's what you want to do and really the fuselage on those things weighs a ton and you extend it out in the back it's the kind of job that everybody can do and won't frustrate people and when you do that with the Camaro you two have to rip the whole thing apart including the interior but a new interior comes with it but you can say with or without the control console and the seats it will help you with it we know it what stage to do it at it says if you have this year Camaro and this model with this Vin configuration you need this this and this if you're doing it and so forth and you don't need this and retain this and that's the stuff and you wanted a list of things to keep and you put them on a shelf and label them this is how it's going to go this is

Frank Castle hardcastle

It's a real dog the mustang the Camaro and a few others are dogs they just do not do it this Challenger and the chargers are dogs they still make them they don't go anywhere and we have those chassis and we can make the saline out of those and they want to and we're going to go ahead and do it I like it

Savage opress

Think of the saline might be a b**** and he says we should make the coyote a certain one and we might do that it's very similar and we got to look at it it's a little bigger but we can do it

Frank Castle hardcastle

This is a lot of talking and we're going to have to get going on it and we probably will have people out there who want to work on these and they say they will and we know it

Thor Freya

We need something to keep us there Oshkosh is one Jeep is another Humvee he wants to get going and we can help do all that stuff and he says when and we should have a meeting probably Friday and I say this it's not a bad idea I can come in a different format and we can talk about it through objects and things like we used to so I'm trying to do that and arrange it and even have Trump train participate somehow and he gets it we fight together sometimes against others and Tommy f will try and steal them from us

Bjs

Olympus

[zengroove]

I no give a fucc where a instrument is made. Is irrelevant completely. I care how it sounds. That thing u holding doesn't sound like $10,000 to me it sounds like a over priced logo and rip off. That Schecter ate it up and costs less than $1,000 and also isn't made in America. The argument for American instruments isn't made with that fender cause no part of that fender was made in America. U would need a different model.

[pinerassociates]

Fender bandmaster cabinet

Me, I like to rip the fiber out of a $5 pillow from Target and use that instead, if I want stuffing (stuffing supposedly makes the cab sound larger than it is). The older cabs were also stuffed wall to wall with big thick pieces of yellow fiberglass, and I hate fiberglass, but if you want to be totally authentic, you should use it. I didn't catch on to this when I first looked at pics of Fender cabs, but since then, I've seen some pics with the cloth removed, and they definitely did use them. I'm glad billyz remembered to mention the lathe strips in between the front edges of the cloth and the front baffle. I use the stapler to get just a little more "pull" on the grille cloth as I put each staple in at a diagonal, and staple one long side first (starting with the middle staple and going out evenly to the right and left until I finish that side), followed by the opposite long side, then the other two sides. Stapling the grille cloth, especially around the corners, can be a PITA but you just have to be patient and try different ways of folding and stapling (especially the corners) until you come up with a method that you feel comfortable with.Īn electric stapler is a must, and try to find nice strong staples about 1/2" long. It must make a sticky mess, and as noted, makes it virtually impossible to get off if you want to replace it. shoot, the Bandmaster is practically the same as one of Jim's first 45's (a Bassman clone).I'm surprised Fender started putting glue on the grille cloth. otherwise I'll never get it back to the way it is if something fully takes a dump on me and I need to start replacing resistors and caps.Ī good amp tech should easily be able to re-voice one channel on a bandmaster to sound like a Marshall. I've talked about having it "blueprinted" to find out just what the component values actually are. mine actually is stock, I'm assuming a LOT of component drift has caused the bass channel to sound as Marshall-esque as it does. A lot of folks have their "bass" chanel fully "Marshallized" by a tech. The 1st (bass) channel on the BF Bassman amps was indeed voiced more like a Marshall. Includes tilt-back legs and piggy back screw posts for attaching your vintage Bandmaster. Boy can 40+ years of component value drift change an amps tone, though! Immaculate mid-60s Fender Bandmaster Blackface 2x12 speaker cab. They should be almost the exact same amp, only with the addition of the tremolo on the Bandmaster. I haven't had the Bandmaster long enough to decide how well I really like it! So far, yea, I'm diggin' on the Bassman more. Led Zeppelin style gain would be about the most I would ever use. Is it even possible to roll one cab that will sound good with both if these amps or is it a pipe dream? As a musical reference I play mainly classic rock, blues/blues rock, jazz, and some clean indie style stuff. The HIWATT sounds terrible through the stock Oxfords which makes me think it won't sound good through an American voiced speaker. I was thinking of trying ET-65s, 55hz Reapers, 1 ET-65 1 Reaper 55hz, or 1 ET-65 1 Veteran 30. So I am thinking of experimenting with different speakers in my Bandmaster cab and using it for both amps. The closest I have gotten is a Reeves cab with Vintage Purples and it was just kinda meh, so I sold it. I know Fanes are supposed to be the only thing that sounds good with these amps. I currently have a HIWATT DR-504 that I am looking to use with the same cab. What are your recommendations for a replacement speaker? I was thinking if going with the G12c/s if I were to go American. Speakers are - Available at Thursday Vintage Guitar & Music. I'm looking to replace the speakers just to keep the originals from getting blown. 1963 Fender Bandmaster Tan Guitar Speaker Cabinet. I have a 1965 Bandmaster with matching 2x12 closed back cab that has the original Oxfords in it.