#I hate both of these people but GOD is trump just absolutely off the rails batshit

[paranormeow7]

reblog if you’re an illegal alien going in for transgender surgery in prison

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

Through the Dark - Chapter 1

Parings: End Game Romantic Moceit, Intrulogical, and Prinxiety Main Characters: Deceit (Damian), Remus, Virgil, Patton, Logan, Roman Warnings:  Bullying, suicide mention, that’s about it Word Count: 2264

Summary: Ah, senior year. The golden year of High School. The year where Princes become Kings, Jocks become Gods, and Class Clowns become Legends. It's the year of self-discovery (or lack of), the year of make it or break it, the year where you have 9 months to leave a lasting impression.

It's the year where the star running back is failing Biology and has to get help from the person who he made life a living hell for the past 3 years.

It's the year where the coolest guy in school watches a rising star and falls into a secret relationship that not even the star knows about.

It's the year where moral enemies are forced to work together if they want to make it through the year. 

Love it or hate it, this senior year is going to be the one that trumps them all.

Ao3 Link

Author’s Note:

Well, this is by far the last thing I thought I’d write, but here I am already 3 chapters deep and no idea what I’m doing :D

I never thought I’d write an “enemies to friends to lovers” fic, but it happened. I can’t tell you whether it’ll be good or not, but hopefully, it’ll be a good time nonetheless. 

Just letting you know, Virgil, Remus, and Deceit (Damian) are not exactly nice in the beginning, so if you're not into redemption arcs, this story is probably not for you. There's also a relationship between two female OCs, but it's not the main focus... kinda a background bonus. :)

Now without further ado, please sit back and relax as I try to write a fluff fic :D

--------------------------------

Damian let his motorbike roll to a halt and turned off the engine. He pulled his helmet off his head, gave his thick hair a shake to sweep it from his eyes, and dismounted it. The leather over his shoulders hissed as he moved. He put the kickstand up and twirled the golden glinting snake key chain around his finger.

Heads of all shapes, sizes, and color turned to him. Some greeted him with a coy smile, some ducked their heads in submission while trying not to maintain eye contact, and some offered their hands to high five or fist bump him.

Ah, his kingdom. And what kind of king would he be if he didn’t bask in their adoration?

Damian acknowledged those who mattered and ignored the others. He tucked his helmet under his arm and put his sunglasses over his eyes. Really, his heterochromatic eyes were what made him the heartthrob of all the school (you know, if you cut out the star player of the football team from his title) but they made him look too mysterious to resist. One couldn’t easily see into his soul when his eyes were covered. He could blend in. He could be one of them.

He caught the real people he was looking for standing at the top of the school stairs. Damian raised his head high and strutted down the cobblestone pathway.

The first one draped himself across the stone railing, his thumb scrolling through his phone. Every once and a while, he’d read something that brought a smirk to his face, but he moved on without another word. His patched jacket, torn shirt, and ripped jeans gave off an air that he couldn’t care whether you loved or hated him.

The second one was perched on the stone by the balls of his feet, his sneakers untied like normal, and dangling over the side. He chewed obnoxiously on gum (at least Damian hoped it was gum) and draped his arms over his kneecaps. His spiked hair didn’t move in the almost Autumn breeze, but his head did turn to catch Damian approaching the stairs.

“Well, good morning King of Darkness,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Duke,” Damian responded. He turned to the other and responded, “Good morning, Prince.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled, not looking up from his phone.

“Aww, but Virgil,” the other said as he jumped off his perch. He slung one arm around Virgil and one around Damian. Virgil curled his lip in annoyance, and Damian rose a brow. He continued, “what’s a little dark humor between family?”

“You guys are not my family,” Virgil mumbled back.

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk. “Speaking of family, where is your little brother, Remus?”

“Oh, the positively perfect pixie?” Remus purred. He turned his head over the stair railing and replied, “Last I knew he was running after my car as I drove out of the driveway.”

Virgil snorted. Damian shook his head and chucked.

“Oh, you really are evil, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

The bell rang, and the trio walked into the school together. Floors so polished with wax reflected everything like a distorted funhouse mirror. If you inhaled deep enough with your mouth open, you could taste the Lysol in the air. People chattered amongst friends and caught up with acquaintances they hadn't seen over the summer.

Remus picked one person in particular out in the crowd and slammed them against the lockers with his left hand. His victim's face squished against the lockers, and their glasses creaked against the pressure. They groaned and let their eyes shut.

"Good morning, Logey bear!" Remus chirped. He dug his elbow into Logan's back as he leaned against Logan, his fist propping his head up. "You ready for senior year? That is if you live through it. I heard the student suicide rate rose 2% last year. Isn't that fascinating?"

Logan groaned and attempted to push Remus's elbow off his back, but he failed. "Hello, Remus."

"Oh, good, you remembered me! I'm honestly flattered."

"How can I forget the person who has made my life a living nightmare for the past three years?"

"Soon to be four," Remus responded. "Hey, you're short two nerds! Where are the other two?"

"You're Roman's brother. You tell me."

"Oh no, I don't mean them. Roman's probably still on Elm Street running for his life." Remus laughed at that. "No, I meant Pattycakes and Cassienova."

"Remus!"

As if on cue, the two people in question approached, looking like a squad of irritated teddy bears. The boy, Patton, looked like he just stepped off a golf course. The girl, Cassie, wore a dress so bright it’d put the sun to shame, and her black curls bobbed up and down as she stormed towards them.

“Let Logan go,” Patton ordered.

“Or what? You’ll bore me to death with good manners?” Remus asked with a laugh.

Cassie marched up to him next, her finger pointed in his face. He watched her move and quirked a disinterested smile and dared her to bring her worst. She growled, “Remus, you let him go right now, or-”

The first bell rang, warning everyone they had to be in homeroom soon.

Remus sighed and removed his elbow from Logan’s back. Logan scrambled away from the locker, adjusted his glasses, and scowled at his previous captor.

“Fine. I was tired of playing anyway,” Remus said with a wave of his hand. Virgil snorted through his nose, put his headphones up over his ears, and followed Remus down the hall. Damian watched as Logan’s two friends went to his side, both examining if he was alright. Patton shot Damian a rather nasty glare, but Damian merely rolled his eyes and walked away.

“Are you okay, Logan?” Patton asked.

“I’m fine,” Logan said with a sigh. He straightened out his shirt. “I’m used to Remus by now. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t locate me sooner.”

“The big jerk,” Cassie spat. “If he wasn’t the football team’s running back, he’d be expelled for sure.”

Patton asked, “Have you seen Roman this morning?”

“I have not,” Logan responded. He recalled what Remus said, and he winced, “but I believe I know why. From my earlier conversation with Remus, he made Roman walk to school this morning.”

Patton looked at Cassie, “I knew I should’ve asked dad to pick him up.”

“It’s not your fault, Patton. You couldn’t have predicted that.”

Cassie added, “Yeah. Besides, Roman is a fast runner. I’m sure he’ll be here in no time.”

As they spoke, the second bell to send everyone to homeroom rang. Students scattered like sheep so they wouldn’t be marked absent. Like a fish going upstream, a boy pushed his way through and excused himself. His forehead glistened with sweat, and he inhaled air like a cactus absorbed water in the rain.

“Roman!” Patton cried out. He raced over to check his friend. “Are you okay?”

“That absolute villain!” Roman yelled. Patton fussed Roman���s hair back into place as Logan pulled a tissue out of his pocket to dab Roman’s forehead. “He made me run to school! Of all the dirty deeds. Why did I think he’d actually give me a ride to school? And now my foundation is running everywhere-”

“Shh,” Patton said as he pressed a finger to Roman’s lips. “We can talk about this more at lunch.”

Roman huffed in annoyance. He pulled out his schedule and looked at the room numbers. “I guess so.”

“Have a good day,” Patton chirped as he started to walk away. Logan gave a brief nod before heading off in his own direction. Roman sent Cassie a look, and the two of them traveled down the hall together.

“At least I have someone I know in my homeroom,” Cassie said. Roman hummed in acknowledgment. And as the two of them rounded the corner, they both groaned to find a familiar person with dark bags under their eyes and headphones still covering their ears glaring at them.

“Oh great, the Prince of Darkness is here,” Roman grumbled.

Lucky for them, Virgil didn’t seem too keen on acknowledging either one of them. They took their seats in the front as far away from Virgil as they could get and waited for the teacher to begin calling out names.

As they minded their own business, a small object hit the back of Roman’s head. It didn’t hurt, but it caught his attention. He turned his head and caught Virgil smirking in the back. A few other students looked mildly amused and snickered. Roman sent a glare and turned back in his seat.

Another piece of paper hit the back of Roman’s head. He clenched his teeth and hands.

“Just ignore it,” he mumbled under his breath. Cassie sent him a worried look from her seat beside him. Roman sent her a smile back just as another piece of paper clipped his forehead. He folded his head into his arms and let out a long sigh.

It was going to be a long year.

--

The first thing Damian realized when he entered his Psychology class was they had a new teacher this year. No one knew who this Mr. Picani was, what he was like, or what his teaching style was. All they knew was he’d be easy to mess with.

The second thing Damian realized when he entered his Psychology class was none of his friends were there. He specifically told them both to pick Psychology so he wouldn’t be alone. Thankfully, a few football team members were there, so he wasn’t totally alone, but he’d rather have Virgil or Remus to stir up trouble.

The third thing Damian realized when he entered his Psychology class was there were tables instead of desks with two seats at each table, and the only seat available was one next to a very annoyed Patton Shea watching him walk into the room. Obviously, he came to the same conclusion, and neither of them was happy about it.

Damian sat beside Patton and set his backpack on the floor with a heavy thump. A few football players sent him amused and pitying looks, and he resisted the urge to flip them off. The teacher walked into the room and cleared his throat.

“Good morning! My name is Mr. Picani, and welcome to Psychology 101. I think it’s mighty nice that you all decided to take this class as an elective, even if most of you are probably taking it only to graduate. It’s going to be a great year!”

Great, he reminded Damian of the very person he despised the most in this classroom.

The person in question hung on this Mr. Picani’s every word. Patton took notes, even when he wasn’t prompted, and had this attentive look that Damian absolutely despised. What a suck up. What a teacher’s pet. What a-

Wait, what did Mr. Picani just say?

Whatever Patton was doing, he snapped his head up, a look of disbelief on his face as well. He glanced at Damian out of the corner of his eye and then back at the teacher. A few groans sounded throughout the room.

“And it’ll be 25% of your grade for the semester, so I hope you work together and do your best,” Mr. Picani finished.

The bell to end the class rang, and students started to gather their things to move on. Patton hurried to grab his books and pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damian grumbled as he situated his backpack.

“Hello, Mr. Picani, I’m Patton Jo-Shea. Patton Shea,” Patton introduced and held out his hand.

“Ah, Larry’s boy! He told me you’d be in this class,” Mr. Picani said as he took Patton’s hand to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“And you too,” Patton said. He bounced on his toes. “Um, about that last assignment-”

“Oh don’t worry! You can pick any topic you want,” Mr. Picani informed.

“It’s not that,” Patton said with a nervous laugh. “You said that- well if I had known about that last rule where your table mate was your partner-”

Mr. Picani’s smile fell. He tilted his head to the side. “You have a problem with your partner?”

“Well, yeah,” Patton chuckled. “We’re not exactly… friends.”

“We actually hate each other,” Damian added as he stood beside Patton. For once, Patton didn’t seem to shy away from him or send any rude glares. For once, they were in agreement on something.

“Well,” Mr. Picani said, “if you can find two people to switch partners with you, I have no problem letting one exception fall through, especially since no one started the assignment yet.”

“Oh, thank you!” Patton said with a sigh of relief. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder. After casting one last glance at Damian, he walked out of the classroom.

Damian sent a wary glance at Mr. Picani and sighed. “Honestly, you expect everyone to work together just because they sat next to each other?”

“Well, I believe there’s a reason you all chose your seats,” Mr. Picani replied.

“It was the last one left.”

“Next time, don’t be late.”

Damian glared at Mr. Picani, who sent him a sickeningly sweet smile. Damian rolled his eyes and walked out of the classroom. He hoped at least someone would be willing to switch with him. The thought of being stuck with the boy scout mascot made him want to puke.

If he was stuck with Patton for the assignment, it was going to be a hell of a year.

--

Chapter 2 ->

[thesinglesjukebox]

THE 1975 - LOVE IT IF WE MADE IT [4.46] Get out your popcorn, it's time for another controversial One Nine Seven Five single...

Will Adams: What? It's just an ordinary The 1975 s- *reads lyrics* OH MY GOODNESS! [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Matt Healy yelling Hot Takes™ in a wind tunnel as a warmed over INXS track plays is weirdly compelling, but not quite good. [5]

Claire Biddles: If anyone else tried this zeitgeist-quotes lyrical trick (it's barely a trick!) I would hate it, but a) I'm hugely predisposed to The 1975; and b) their inherent miraculousness somehow makes them the exception to every rule. The lyric tries to hold the enormity of the world and so does the music -- each electronic whoosh and whizz is a digital overspill from the heady whole, like even something this maximalist and ambitious isn't quite enough for them. [10]

Iain Mew: The sound is a great expansion of the omnivorous approach of the last album. Taking a beautiful twinkle and one shiny happy phrase and setting upon them with echo, reflections and a lot of noise, its sonic trip represents the overload of modernity in the compelling way that the lyrics resolutely don't. Maybe it's because I've been extremely online since way before The 1975 was a thing, but I'm already familiar with a great stream of context-free sourness and nonsense, and I'd rather not encounter any replications of it. If you're singing "poison me daddy" and "fuck your feelings" as slogans for satire, you're still singing "poison me daddy" and "fuck your feelings" as slogans. It's on a level with someone seeking out the most awful tweets to quote tweet them for clowning purposes, at best. [3]

Alfred Soto: Have these loudmouths gone and interpolated The Blue Nile? Sounds like it. "The Downtown Lights" relied on a steady pulse to put over its lovelorn message; "Love It If We Made It" relies on "The Downtown Lights" to pull a con job on fans born after 1985. I mean, why is this mix so crowded? [5]

Eleanor Graham: The 1975's music has this quality of dancing around your own mind in the stale air of Tory safe-seat mid-late teenhood in an endless cycle of UCAS and grey skies and girls and boys and club toilets with peeling paint. I don't expect anyone to be able to relate to that, but please don't equate my specificity with cosy familiarity. I'm talking about "Robbers" cutting straight to the core of everything that hurts about growing up within its first 30 seconds. Uncomfortable? Oh, god yeah! But when something so closely resembles the inside of your head, it is churlish to deny that you're a fan. All of this goes to say: I am incapable of being objective about "Love It If We Made It." Because it is essentially a dystopian "Robbers," with the same yearning indie thrum and a new urgency; because, well, you know, everything's decaying; because aren't we all thinking about the death of the republic on some level at all times, but don't we also need bangers? Of course, we should be cynical about pop songs that make half-hearted jabs at the administration and reference the deaths of children, which both 1975 singles have now done. In its defence, this one at least makes the statements "I moved on her like a bitch" and "thank you, Kanye, very cool" sound terrifying and surreal enough to remind me that "terrifying" and "surreal" should not have become platitudes. Is it toothless? Is it exploitative? Or will it be read in twenty years simply as addressing the elephant in the room? They've thrown the chorus in there -- raw, open, pleading, trailing off like a comet in the night sky -- to make all of those questions feel inconsequential. [8]

Juan F. Carruyo: A shocker in gloomtown, the song starts with a bang and it never lets up, swallowing everything in its path. The moody production suits the enveloping soundscape and it's worthy of mentioning how the bass plays against the keys in the refrain. By the time the song ends, it feels like this is the soundtrack for the rapture. [8]

Edward Okulicz: I'm massively fond of the 1975, but this is puddle-deep where it's trying to be ~meaningful~ and ~edgy~ and ~zeitgeisty~ and it's a hookless joy after the previous single's buzzy earworm. Big-name artists probably think they've earned the right to release indulgences, but we shouldn't pretend singles like this are anything more. [2]

Will Rivitz: Leave it to The 1975 to build off an earth-shatteringly good teaser single with a follow-up nearly as bad as the first was good. Look, I'm all for politically conscious songwriting, but these lyrics could have been written by any of the interchangeable and smugly ineffective liberal Facebook pages my high school friends repost material from. I can overlook the awful lyricism of "Give Yourself A Try" ("Like context in a modern debate, I just took it out," eurgh) because a) it's only occasional and b) is utterly drowned out by an ecstasy of electric guitars, but here Matty Healy's slacktivist garbage piles are given main billing. One point for the Lil Peep shoutout, one point for the glorious jangles after the second chorus reined in too soon in favor of a bridge that is somehow worse than the verses, and absolutely nothing else. [2]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: I have to give credit where credit is due: this is an evil song that utilizes its structure as a means to elevate and justify its conceptual gambit. Matt Healy reads off a list of provocative phrases that act as a simulacrum of the discouraging news headlines, ironic shitposts and self-impressed hot takes that crowd numerous corners of the internet. The pulsating beat and claustrophobic mix amplify that particular dread, and the swirling harp is the only sound that feels unstuck from it all. It hints at a hope that is later projected in the chorus, but it turns out to be nothing more than a red herring. I don't expect Healy to provide answers -- I'd argue that he took the more effective route in providing a moment of release over anything concrete -- but I don't believe him at all when he says he'd "love it if we made it." This is the sort of dude who finds joy in crassly exploiting the tragedy of others for the sake of art, and it finds its roots in how he decided on the band's name. When the chorus finally breaks free from the monotony, his voice has a smugly arrogant tone that snaps everything into place: Healy is eager to be the source of relief for the trigger warning-necessary lyrics that he doled out in the first place. He can only be a savior for the bullshit he pushes on you, and he'll cover it up by touting we instead of I. As a political statement, this has virtually no worth. As a piece of music, the bridge makes exceedingly clear that this is just an edgy "We Didn't Start The Fire." As a depiction of narcissistic manipulation, this is excellent -- perhaps the best of the year. [0]

Vikram Joseph: Even without the viral billboard advertising campaign, "Love It If We Made It" is much larger than life, but offsets its pretensions with self-aware hyperbole and a streak of pitch-black humour. The genuine venom towards a society that permits Donald Trump and "a beach of drowning three year olds" is undercut by an awareness that we're all tied up in this mess -- they can get away with railing against modern existence without sounding aloof or curmudgeonly, because they're so self-evidently part of it, and, to some extent, in love with it too. The chorus is equal parts earnest optimism and grim humour, which just about epitomises their brand. There have been a lot of "We Didn't Start The Fire" comparisons, but it actually makes me think more of a half-speed, tongue-in-cheek "Ignoreland"; The 1975 feel better having screamed, don't you? [8]

Lauren Gilbert: See, I wrote an entire blurb about how this is "New Americana" v. 2018, and then promptly deleted it to write about what it means for modernity to have failed us. Spoiler alert: Modernity has not failed us, but the specific iteration of modernity of which Healy writes is certainly Not Great. Capital M Modernity is more (and less) than drugs and borders and Trump. At the risk of sounding like the pedantic graduate student I am, modernity is characterized by industrialization, market economies, nation states, individuality, and secularism (surely not the "Jesus save us!" Healy mentions). Healy's Modernity-as-characterized-by-this-song is not that. He's writing about the dissatisfactions of a left-leaning person in the Trump/May/dear-god-why-is-Boris-Johnson-still-around era, a modernity grounded in the specific sociocultural norms and events that shaped how certain rich English-speaking countries experienced in 2018. And if we consider that particular experience of modernity as the only possibility we have, it's pretty easy to conclude "modernity has failed us" and write a "We Didn't Start The Fire" of terrible things. And I'll give Healy some credit; "Love It If We Made It" does sound and feel like living in twenty-fucking-eighteen. But modernity the concept does not imply that we must live in our specific instance of modernity; we do not have to accept Trump and income inequality and in-the-future-everyone-will-be-famous-for-fifteen-minutes Modernity. And more than that, that specific (miserable) modernity is not even the only modernity happening right now. Around the world, people are living longer, healthier lives; fewer people live in extreme poverty; there are fewer wars. Healy's Modernity may feel like a prison, where we are trapped forever in endless cars on endless roads to places we don't want to go, but it is not the only game in town. I (and many others) am alive today because of modern(ity) medicine & honestly, I'll take Donald Trump and Brexit and "thank you, Kanye, very cool" as the price of being alive. Perhaps it's too much to ask for a band known for its cynicism to consider a fuller context, and the very real positives in the world we live in, but hey, why give themselves a try? [4]

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