#flying pickets

[deadcactuswalking]

Every UK Christmas #1 Ranked & Reviewed

The Official Charts Company – my second favourite national institution behind being miserable – claims that the biggest annual chart race for Christmas number-one started in 1952, and that’s a bit of a retcon. Sure, that’s when what is largely recognised as the predecessor to the modern chart started publishing but realistically, there wasn’t an actual Christmas song on top that week until 1955, and there only became a coherent and fully realised, modernised idea of what the chart is and means years later… kind of, you could argue it will never reach that, but pedanticism be damned, it really started in the 70s. This was when glam rock bands started releasing Christmas singles. Why glam rock bands, you ask? I’d say it’s the most glam rock thing to do, releasing a flashy novelty Christmas single and running up the charts every year, and really, when it comes to iconic Christmas songs in the UK specifically, most of our homegrown ones come from this decade onwards. So does that mean I’m ignoring those pre-Slade? No, I just like proving OCC wrong. The sales on Christmas Day rarely count for the #1 anyway, it’s all fake, nothing’s real, and no one cares. I’m cactus, I write REVIEWING THE CHARTS, a show about the UK Singles Chart, every week, and this is a special episode about the holliest hits, the jolliest jingles, the merriest melodies, and really, the only time people outside of BTS stans care about the charts or still buy singles. This is:

Every UK Christmas #1 Ranked from Worst to Best

content warning: language, UK politics, discussion of sex, death, drugs and tragedy (merry Christmas)

Now, ground rules: I’m basing my list off of OCC’s official list which is copied on Wikipedia and Spotify if you don’t want to use their… questionable site. Secondly, I’m not going to do a full grand review of every song, there’s 72 of the bastards, so this’ll more like a brief rundown of my opinions and what the hit represents – some of these I’ll have nothing to say about, some of these are fantastic pieces of music, and whilst the worst should be obvious, some of where the better songs land could be a bit of a surprise. There’s a whole compost heap of novelty garbage though so prepare for that, and yes, I am fully aware that this will be outdated within weeks, but that’s part of the fun in just how fast the chart moves and okay, I’m coping that all this work is going to be overshadowed by some AI clone of Michael Bublé making a Christmas remix of KSI’s “Thick of It” in a fortnight. Regardless, without further ado, what’s my least favourite Christmas #1 of all time?

…It’s LadBaby. Why wouldn’t it be? I mean, come on.

#72 – “Food Aid” – LadBaby (2022)

#71 – “Sausage Rolls for Everyone” – LadBaby, Ed Sheeran and Elton John (2021)

#70 – “Don’t Stop Me Eatin’” – LadBaby (2020)

#69 – “I Love Sausage Rolls” – LadBaby (2019)

#68 – “We Built This City” – LadBaby (2018)

Okay, I may be a bit biased. After all, I have been writing this blog since 2018 and I’ve had one year – just the one that passed – where LadBaby doesn’t plague the Christmas chart with a one-week wonder, novelty charity song about sausage rolls. He’s dead-set on doing it, and whilst it’s all ostensibly to fight poverty, I’m not convinced it’s actually doing much to help – after all, the government needs to be involved in that and I’m not sure this Nottingham YouTuber duo of Mark and Roxanne Hoyle really have it in them to make a protest song considering how they’ve been dodging The Kunts for all these years… and you know, the time they got the Christmas #1 with a parody of “Do They Know it’s Christmas?”, one of the most insufferable and tone-deaf attempts at charity to ever have hit the charts. LadBaby had a five-year consecutive run at the charts, I’ve reviewed every single one of these on the weekly series, and with every passing year, the songs they derived from got worse, the sausage roll parodies became more of a stretch, the charity felt a whole lot less sincere, and worst of all, they became more insensitive. “Food Aid” and “Sausage Rolls for Everyone” are impressive feats – having a charity single lack that much human compassion is something only Band Aid had done before. And speaking of:

#67 – “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” – Band Aid 20 (2004)

#66 – “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” – Band Aid II (1989)

#65 – “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” – Band Aid (1984)

These are probably worse in every way compared to LadBaby, but listen, I have a personal vendetta to fulfil. This disgusting, neo-colonial pity jam has had three renditions hit #1 – thank God its failure of a 2010s reboot hit #1 a different week – and they’re also in reverse chronological order, largely because the attempts at modernizing what are gross reminders of the past get even more desperate and embarrassing, like the rap verse in the 2004 version. Also, I kind of like the synthpop chimes in the original (the best-selling single of all time bar “Candle in the Wind 1997” [#1, obviously] has to have some appeal) but regardless, this really deserves to be the selection of songs we have at the bottom… and the wonderful thing is, I don’t really have to elaborate further! I’ve written about all of the LadBaby songs at length from 2018 onwards during the Christmas episodes, and in 2022, I had the opportunity to knock out why I hate Band Aid so much too. If you’re really craving a takedown of LadBaby and Band Aid, feel free to read that episode, I’m proud of it. It gets Biblical. But for today, just know that “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” is one of my least favourite songs of all time – maybe I’ll write about the absolute worst one day – and LadBaby… well, maybe in a few years’ time, I’ll have warmed on the guy, he is just a “humble” fellow and his wife making sausage roll songs. The wounds are just too recent for me not to put him at the absolute bottom of the list… and hey, Bob Geldof, if you’re reading, which I know you’re not: Tonight, thank God it’s them, instead of you.

Since I don’t really want to validate these as songs, I will give their respective #2s for that year as an arguably healthier alternative. In 1984, #2 was a song that we’ll see later on, but in 1989, it was “Let’s Party” by Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers – that in itself is a fascinating deep dive into British novelty – and in 2004, it was Ronan Keating’s duet version of Yusuf Islam’s “Father and Son”, a song I love but not particularly that version. As for the streak of LadBaby #2s… check the backlog of this very blog. Now for a pedophile.

#64 – “Two Little Boys” – Rolf Harris (1969)

Don’t really think I have to explain this one. At least it’s not racist, I guess, but Jesus Christ. I mean, it’s truly inoffensive outside of context, even if a bit rote and boring; at least it’s mixed okay but it’s truly a novelty track in execution despite the fact that the song is real, predates Mr. Harris and is largely about war. It became popular during the 1900s and could be potent in its paralleling of childhood play to the battlefield… if maybe he didn’t spend five years in prison for fucking kids. Separate the art from the artist, sure, but we should have separated this guy from minors. Now for the lesser evil, Simon Cowell.

From 2005 to 2008 and then for a few non-consecutive years afterwards, Cowell’s The X Factor singing competition show had a stronghold on the Christmas #1 and whilst sappy ballads, bad covers and tired gimmicks had all hit the top of the Christmas tree before, there was something so disposable about these covers, mostly at a miserable pace and produced to be the most milquetoast pieces of music on any given chart week. They don’t vary wildly in quality, or even sonically, so once again, we have a bit of a one-fell-swoop situation. I can’t even get mad at the singers, they’re new, they were exploited by the show and just wanted a chance at fame, with most failing to really capture the country’s attention past their 15 minutes and that makes me genuinely sad for these guys, many of which were forgotten soon after they competed on the show. How many of the royalties they took home is also into question considering the skeevy Sycopath in charge of their careers, but I hope they made the most out of it by doing tons of coke and playing blackjack with hookers. This’ll be our last batch before I start giving the songs actually fair shakes, so let’s run through with a small opinion and once again, the Christmas #2 that year to give a healthy alternative:

#63 – “Mr Blobby” – Mr Blobby (1993)

No, not you yet, Blobbers, you’ll have your turn.

#63 – “Skyscraper” – Sam Bailey (2013)

I don’t even like the original, man. Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” was #2, so… yikes.

#62 – “Hallelujah” – Alexandra Burke (2008)

What may get lost in all the cover versions is that there’s something truly undeniable and powerful about Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” (#36, 2008). Speaking of the truly undeniable, this is oversung slop, and the late Jeff Buckley’s version hit #2 in protest.

#61 – “When We Collide” – Matt Cardle (2010)

I genuinely love the original version by Biffy Clyro, and he was pretty cool and understanding about how people will always prefer “Many of Horror” (#8, 2010) to his renamed, recycled rendition. One thing about a lot of these covers people neglect is how close some of them were to the original release, it felt like piggybacking and especially with this version, which to me, just saps the soul of the original. It’s competent but this is probably my favourite original song when it comes to these covers, so there’s an irrational distaste I have, even if sonically, I think I prefer it to other winners’ singles. Rihanna’s “What’s My Name?” featuring BBL Drizzy was #2.

#60 – “When You Believe” – Leon Jackson (2007)

This is a complete snore. There’s a lot to dig into when it comes to these singing competition shows, how the contestants were treated and how much of a media phenomenon they became, but consuming that sheer amount of 2000s cringe would kill me so leave it to some twink video essayist. Katie Melua’s virtual duet version of “What a Wonderful World” with Eva Cassidy, itself a strange novelty, was #2.

#59 – “A Moment Like This” – Leona Lewis (2006)

This is a cover of another singing competition-winning track from stateside, that being Kelly Clarkson on American Idol, and that’s just… really singing the quiet part out loud, isn’t it? Take That’s “Patience” was #2.

#58 – “Something I Need” – Ben Haenow (2014)

The mixing’s strange on this one, but I actually really like his voice and heard some good stuff from him back in 2015 so I bumped this one a bit higher. It also made use of the natural melodrama for a good stomp-clap rock tune so there’s some actual grit to this one… barely, but hey, it’s the little things. Mark Ronson’s “Uptown Funk!” featuring Bruno Mars was #2.

#57 – “That’s My Goal” – Shayne Ward (2005)

I’ll give this one props: it was the first winners’ single to hit #1 and it’s pretty easily the best. It’s still a soppy bore sung boringly, but it’s an original song – one he didn’t write, sure, but not a butchering of a better version, and it’s probably one of the least oversung and melodramatic. It’s catchy as all Hell and I’m even slightly nostalgic for it, so I’ll give it considerable praise for just being a step above the rest of its shoddy competition. Nizlopi’s “JCB Song”, a personal favourite of mine, was #2. Unfortunately, though these three plagues on the Christmas chart are the most prevalent, there’s still a series of saccharine charity bullshit from the 2010s that needs to be covered here, and it’s a bit tricky to discuss in general because there is, either hypothetically, in practice or both, a great outcome to the single’s releases, and there’s less publicised controversy than Band Aid and LadBaby, but they still don’t form particularly good musical experiences, in fact, most of them are still awful, and this three aren’t any different.

#56 – “Wherever You Are” – Military Wives featuring Gareth Malone (2011)

Choirmaster Gareth Malone, for his BBC television series, accumulated a choir of women who were wives and girlfriends of military personnel serving abroad, trained them to sing and release this single with both his name and the poppy plastered over it. Remembrance Day and the romanticisation of war by British institutions that enforces it has always given me an indescribable ick that no matter of choral vapidity will save, and the treatment of this single as simultaneously a serious and heartwarming contender for showing the UK’s appreciation of its soldiers sent to die in unnecessary wars, but also a novelty from a television show that had to be campaigned for to get a sole week at the top, really cements that – it may actually be the anecdote I use to express my issues with the commemoration from now on. Also, it does beg the question: Remembrance Day is in November, if you really cared about the cause, wouldn’t you make the timeline align at least?

#55 – “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” – The Justice Collective (2012)

This is neither nor the time nor place to discuss either this original song, its main conceit in the title and how powerful it truly is, its religious connections, its backstory regarding its co-writer dying during its creation and its rich history of covers, or the tragedy of the Hillsborough disaster, in which due to negligence, 94 football fans died at a 1989 match’s crowd crush. It is to this day a heavy and sensitive topic, particularly in Liverpool, and I am far from an expert on the details to this case or even the song, which I suppose should be my forte but it feels way out of my depth to comment that much further. I’d love to read an essay or any kind of deep-dive one day about why this song in particular relates to football fans and why it was chosen because whilst I can assume a lot of thematic links, I simply cannot be an authority on this subject, and I shouldn’t be taken as an authority on any of this but even with research, it is plunging me into history and culture I don’t think is fit for me to comment on. For a summary of this release, it is another terrible celebrity all-star cover, this particular disaster’s Band Aid, and it is of little value sonically when compared to the Hollies’ brilliant 1969 rendition (#3) with Sir Elton John on piano. I do, however, respect that this blossomed from genuine disappointment and rage towards a series of domestic UK travesties – the idea for it emerged from a concert against The Sun newspaper during the News International trial, again, that is a huge can of worms – as well as a shared brotherhood that in other renditions, has made for powerful music. It still reeks of self-serving achievement given the all-star cast and the novelty factor, but this is the constant dichotomy of these kind of charity records, one which I covered in-depth in the aforementioned LadBaby episode.

#54 – “A Bridge Over You” – The Lewisham and Greenwich NHS Choir (2015)

Another, more indirect product of Gareth Malone, this one’s difficult to find a reason to dislike on a more principled basis other than my dislike for how the music is overly sentimental, kind of lazy in its arrangement, and produced in a muddy, distracting way that at its best emphasises the choir over their backing and at worst forms them into an amorphous blob with guitars and particularly rough drums that don’t really mesh. The campaign seems more genuine, started by a junior doctor to raise money for the constantly-undermined National Health Service of this country, but then again, I fail to see how the UK buying this single guarantees government-provided benefits or rids the plague of privatisation, it – like all novelty charity records – serves in some way to deflect, even if this is less obviously so, hence why it’s the highest entry. The government supported it by lifting tax, but had little involvement in the song, and there are no big names here in what was initially released independently in 2013, but what may soil it is the involvement of an NHS communications manager Joe Blunden, which at least to me raises some genuine concerns about how he could better channel these issues and the depressing reality that this is probably the best way he could do so. Also, I like the organs and I suppose mashing up “A Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon & Garfunkel (#1, 1970) with Coldplay’s “Fix You” (#4, 2005) is smoother here than it is tacky, and I’m just glad we can finally move onto some genuinely fun and interesting songs and trends, that I don’t have to mumble and grumble through.

#53 – “Mr Blobby” – Mr Blobby (1993)

What charity did you raise funds for? Blobsted? Blobbyline? The Blobby Heart Foundation? Get out of here. Now, with that out of the way, here is what may be my first hot take of the list.

#53 – “Lonely this Christmas” – Mud (1974)

One major part of my rationale for this list will be my memories watching Christmas music videos on those UK music channels that barely exist anymore, but I imagine still get most of their traction and viewers – if any at all – at Christmas time, wherein they can act as a holiday playlist, though with five minutes of ads after three songs and a not particularly varied selection. At least a decade ago, the presentation of these channels was something worth mentioning, one I remember being Noddy Holder – who we’ll get to – presenting his favourite Christmas singles and the effort, whilst not immense, was something, definitely more than you’ll get on anything more algorithmic nowadays. The worst part, of course, of a Christmas music video compilation will be the slow, boring performance videos of ballads, and this particular one by glam rock band Mud has always rubbed me the wrong way. The tacky festive affects and meek spoken word section are the icing on a really gross cake, one that serves as a pastiche of Elvis Presley, basically a note-for-note impression and therefore a mockery of the art of just making a damn good Christmas song, which Elvis, for all the fair criticisms, had done and will appear in this list. This is a (seemingly) sincerely longing and borderline begging song for a lover to return for Christmas, and it does so little to enforce the parodic elements that it becomes a painful slog with no reason to hear it: it’s not funny, it’s not sincere and honestly, it’s not even well-performed. I might actually hate listening to it more than the X Factor stuff.

#52 – “Long Haired Lover from Liverpool” – Donny Osmond (1972)

No, I think I’ll decline on the offer of you being my long-haired lover from Liverpool, Jimmy. Firstly, you’re from California, secondly, you’re nine years old, thirdly, your hair isn’t even long. Jokes aside, I’ve always found this one mostly just inappropriate. Sonically, it’s chintzy but fine, I’m just bothered by Little Jimmy Osmond talking about being a puppet for his “sunshine daisy from LA” who makes all the other flowers cry from her beauty. Even without the fact that he’s a child, it seems like the roles are a bit reversed in the song and like a weird choice for him to sing, just opportunistically chosen to capitalise on how popular and “cute” the Osmonds were at this point in time.

#51 – “Mad World” (2003) – Michael Andrews featuring Gary Jules

The washed-up, sugarcoated, whitened cover of a good, more interesting song has always been a thing, but this feels like the most immediate precursor to its most recent manifestation: the stripped-back piano cover by a relative nobody of a recognisable song to advertise some kind of product. Anyone who has watched British television adverts probably has an idea of what I mean, and it’s got to be a thing at least elsewhere in the Anglosphere. Hell, Calum Scott’s “Dancing on My Own” (#2, 2016) is a great example, I’m sure that’s recent enough for people to remember. The deal with this one is that Andrews composed the music for the film Donnie Darko in 2001, and its cult success led to a DVD release and two years later, this cover of the Tears for Fears track from 1983 (#3) with vocals from Jules hit #1. It’s stripped back and minimal, but suffers largely from the unsubtle and cumbersome vocal performance – I have no idea if this gains some extra potency in the context of the film but as a standalone single, it exacerbates the flaws of the song’s writing by stripping some of its layers and other than the honest performance, does little to cover it or preferably, find value in another aspect of the song – Demi Lovato took a similarly stripped down approach in her 2021 rendition but the fuzzier cinematics of the second half are a great build-up and Lovato’s vocals impress me much more than Jules, so it’s not the “overly serious piano version” trend just being written off as inherently bad here. It’s just not my particular favourite version of the song, and I’m glad that we’ve finally gotten around to one where my only problem is that the actual audio recording itself is one I find mediocre. Speaking of…

#50 – “I Love You” – Cliff Richard and the Shadows (1960)

A lot of the much, much older songs, especially those pre-Beatles, were new to me but I could find charm in them, a delightful energy or at the very least, a sweet brevity. Cliff’s “I Love You” is a strikingly basic and boring composition that, at two minutes, feels extensively longer thanks to the draining void of non-personality that is our lead vocalist, a constant fixture of the charts for a few decades and who we will be seeing again.

#49 – “There’s No One Quite Like Grandma” – St Winifred’s School Choir (1980)

God, I hate children’s choirs. This has had practically no unironic staying power, but prevented the actually resonant and annually played “Stop the Cavalry” by Jona Lewie (#3, 1980-1) from hitting its peak, and then this school choir chiming about their old nan would be replaced by the then-recently shot dead John Lennon. Imagine there’s no grandma, it’s easy if you try.

#48 – “What Do You Want to Make Those Eyes at Me For?” – Emile Ford and the Checkmates (1959)

I feel a bit bad placing this so low because the late Emile Ford, a Saint Lucian singer, sounded like a fine enough guy who made some genuinely important steps in sound engineering, and it is impressive to have such a big hit with your debut track without much name recognition – I’m sure Ford didn’t mind that despite not having the lasting recognisability other singers from the 50s have, he could still be in the history books for technically bagging a “Christmas number one”, though before it really mattered. It is just the song itself, particularly its lyrics, are dated and uncomfortable with their approach to flirting with women, and this is likely because it comes from a 1916 Broadway play, so I assume it makes more sense within that. Regardless, it’s definitely more successful and known as a standalone hit by Emile Ford, and it’s not a particularly good one at that.

#47 – “Mistletoe and Wine” – Cliff Richard (1988)

This was the rare occasion of a Christmas #1 to be announced after the day itself, I’m pretty sure the only one but there’s no 100% way to check that. It was announced a day late on Boxing Day because Christmas Day fell on the Sunday, the day charts would be revealed in that time, and being late enough to respect tradition – despite a Christmas chart being fully acceptable Christmas programming to me – whilst also late enough to leap over the point of why anyone cares about what you’re releasing and promoting in the first place… feels pretty representative of anyone still listening to Sir Cliff Richard in 1988.

#46 – “Saviour’s Day” – Cliff Richard (1990)

Or 1990, for that matter. This one’s actually worse, I just wanted to get the joke off.

#45 – “Mary’s Boy Child / Oh My Lord” – Boney M. (1978)

Disco group Boney M. deliver a bit of a medley here, an original song tacked onto a song we will  see in like five minutes. There are very few explicitly religious songs on this list despite the theme of Christmas, and this is mostly for the best within the context of this list as a lot of religious content will fail to resonate with me, especially something this flatly commercialised. A disco nativity scene is a fun novelty idea for a satire, maybe, but played completely straight, it’s just overly blatant and I don’t find much fun in it. It’s important to note that the forward slash here references the fact that it is a mashup, not two separate songs, which is not the case for…

#44 – “Mull of Kintyre” / “Girls’ School” – Wings (1977)

…okay, Paul. I have very little to say about this snooze of a release so I should take the opportunity to explain double A-sides, which seem like quite an outdated concept now but were quite common when physical singles were the main form of consumption. We’ll see one of the first important double A-sides later on, also involving the Beatles coincidentally, but the technique has existed since at least 1949 and all that it means is there is no designated B-side. Rather, both tracks on the record could be potential hits, no one side should be prioritised over the other. There are four of these in our list of Christmas #1s, and I’ll be counting them all as one entry.

#43 – “Moon River” – Danny Williams (1961)

I’ve never really been a fan of “Moon River” as a song, possibly because I’ve never seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It’s a sweet song, but a slow one that would require a lot from its performer to ultimately sell me on, and during 1961, so many different versions of the Henry Mancini-written track (#44, 1962) were released at pretty much the same time, very few of them were going to shake up the popular arrangement, and hence, we’re left with Danny Williams who is… fine? The problem here is that the song fails to have that floaty immersion that comes with its nostalgia, and the recording feels weirdly heavy for what should be easy listening. Hell, if anything, that main choral vocal sounds haunting against the strings and Williams takes up so much of the mix, it’s really a rough two and a half minutes. Williams was sometimes called Britain’s answer to Johnny Mathis and we will see him very soon with his awkward cover track.

#42 – “Answer Me” – Frankie Laine (1953)

Much like “Moon River”, there was heavy competition on the charts in regards to what version of this particular song would chart the highest, with the two that really went head-to-head being Frankie Laine and David Whitfield, a real US versus UK competition for the chart-topper and ultimately, both went #1, though the song had to be modified for its religious lyrics because, hilariously, something this inoffensive and dull was banned by the BBC.

#41 – “Mr Blobby” – Mr Blobby (1993)

No, Mr Blobby, not the Big Blobby Corporation. Please leave, sir.

#41 – “Stay Another Day” – East 17 (1994)

This is an interesting one, and I think boy band East 17 are nearly synonymous now with this single rather than any of their other releases, which really shows you how the Christmas canon can create classics and crush catalogues. For a while, I have been somewhat captivated by this song, somehow? There is a resonance to the song’s content, one often misinterpreted as a breakup song but actually about member Tony Mortimer’s brother committing suicide. Definitely written to possess a double meaning, however, the delivery of it is sold so sincerely in spite of the rougher nasal textures of the lead vocal take that it adds that detail of personal imperfection and helplessness in preventing that death from happening. The problem is the schmaltz of the arrangement (at least until the climax) and how tedious the chorus can be turn it into as much of a bore as it could potentially demonstrate the excruciating experience of losing a loved one and having nothing to do about it but feel guilt for how you could have helped… which is all cheapened anyway by the sleigh bells added lucratively for the Christmas market. There is something to a predominantly drumless track with the constant, echoed “Stay now…” mantra but I don’t think I’m exactly there yet. Check back in five months, and I’ll have been able to separate it from years of it being a downer on the Christmas music channels, it might genuinely be in my top 10 by then because it’s this close to clicking. For now… it doesn’t reach me like it should.

#40 – “Mary’s Boy Child” – Harry Belafonte (1957)

A good performance from a legendary singer and man I really respect cannot make “Mary’s Boy Child” work for me, it’s still a remarkably dull song about Jesus. This does not take away from Belafonte’s appearance on The Muppet Show, which is kino.

#39 – “Let’s Have Another Party” – Winifred Atwell (1954)

Pianist Atwell performed this little ragtime medley of several tunes and became the first black artist to ever hit #1 on the UK Singles Chart. She’s the only female instrumentalist to have ever done so. There is probably something to be said about how her voice is silent here, and she performs through the piano, and what that could have meant in the 50s, but at the end of the day, it’s a tremendous feat for what is essentially a novelty medley, one that I don’t really get the appeal of today which should be expected. The version on streaming combines the first part on the A-side with the B-side, which is simply a second part, a continuance to the medley, so you could argue that this is a double A-side in nature too. The second half is a bit slower and easier to listen to, but both sides remind me of Cooking Mama for the Nintendo DS and the first struck me as some goofy Looney Tunes bullshit amidst all the easy listening at the start of the list. There is a really weird surf guitar line in the second part that I can only describe as a hilariously unnecessary noise.

#38 – “When a Child is Born (Soleado)” – Johnny Mathis (1976)

“Soleado” is a composition by Italian musician Ciro Dammicco, with American singer Johnny Mathis recording an English version that isn’t explicitly making reference to Christmas but is pretty blatantly about the birth of Christ. It’s mostly a sentimental ballad but it stands out particularly because of a confusing spoken-word piece in the bridge where he decides to question what race Jesus is and if we’ll really ever know: “Waiting for one child – black, white, yellow, no one knows”. I understand that this is probably an attempt at saying Jesus is all races or of ambiguous race so that he will heal suffering regardless of the believers’ ethnicity, but it is still ridiculous to apply 1970s attitudes of race to a historical figure and also, remarkably out of place in this song.

#37 – “Rockabye” – Clean Bandit featuring Sean Paul and Anne-Marie (2016)

This is not a Christmas song, this is “Rockabye” by Clean Bandit and Sean Paul. Come on, it’s tropical house! The song was written by Ina Wroldsen who was swapped out for Anne-Marie at the last minute, despite the band’s insistence on Wroldsen as the vocalist. You can figure this out without searching anything because when Sean Paul shouts Anne-Marie out on the intro, it is clearly punched in from a different take and has an audibly different mix. Yup. Next.

#36 – “Save Your Love” – Reneé and Renato (1982)

This is a song performed by a duo of Hilary Lester (“Reneé”) and Renato Pagliari. “Reneé” did not even appear in the video, she was replaced with a model, and that makes the trivia that it’s supposedly the first fully independent single to reach #1 a bit sourer of a fun fact. It was written behind the guy behind a TV robot called “Metal Mickey”, so that’s about how seriously I’m taking this bilingual schmaltz.

#35 – “Somethin’ Stupid” – Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman (2001)

Most famously sung by Frank and Nancy Sinatra in 1967 (#1), this version by Robbie Williams who, if you don’t know and you’re reading a UK chart blog, I’m slightly confused, alongside Australian actress Nicole Kidman, is completely fine. The orchestra could be better implemented or not included at all, because the more lowkey Latin flavour to the duet is pretty cute, but that’s about all I have to say, it’s not really tied to Christmas or the grand scheme of music history in any way.

#34 – “Here in My Heart” – Al Martino (1952)

Well, here we have it: one of the most important songs in British pop music history, purely because it was the first single to ever hit #1 on what is largely considered the predecessor to the modern UK Singles Chart. The late Al Martino himself is American and was very successful stateside, so I’m not sure how much he would have cared exactly, but this performance is intense, very unsubtly so, and that drama of the chorus is something to behold… but it also really relegates all of its energy to that spot. Overall, it’s not the most interesting of songs to start the journey with but considering how convincingly dramatic it is, it’s a great way to begin any listening of UK #1s. Not only does this song commence the first ever singles chart, it’s the first Christmas #1 and for my sake, the first song on this list that I actually kind of like, meaning that yes, a good 36 of these were at least decent songs. I’m probably just being generous but even then, this really wasn’t as gruelling as it could have been.

#33 – “Earth Song” – Michael Jackson (1995)

It only comes to me now that I've pretty much never had to talk about Michael Jackson in-depth for my entire time writing this blog, and I'm not exactly starting now given that this is a series of mostly brief rundowns, and MJ only appears this once. I should say that whilst the song is somewhat enjoyable and I respect it to some degree, it is still in the awkward, self-serving call to action as John Lennon's “Happy Xmas (War is Over)” (#2, 1980). I loathe that song, but I can still appreciate the self-reflective angle that it tries to go for, which is lost by Michael Jackson in his screams to pay attention to the natural world’s suffering thanks to the sheer immensity and grandiose gospel build-up that means the song perpetually looks outwards, potentially not even forwards. This is alongside a vocal performance from MJ that to me is really hard to listen to – in fact, this whole six-minute adventure, and its powerful music video, is just... difficult to grapple with for me and the more I think about it, that might be the best way to call attention to the injustices of the world. I still can't listen to the song and enjoy it fully, but there are three things I love here that allow its higher placement: the key change, Guy Pratt’s bass in the second half and of course, the strained hook of cathartic “woo!”s at the tail-end.

#32 – “Green, Green Grass of Home” – Tom Jones (1966)

1966 feels a bit late for this kind of song but you have to remember that the charts aren’t nicely split into before and after certain artists, songs or events – trends bleed in and out all the time. Regardless of when it hit #1, it feels a bit pre-destined to. It’s a pleasant enough cover of a song that had been big in the US the year prior, and Tom Jones, impressed with Jerry Lee Lewis’ version, gave it a try. It’s more impressive that Jones is still a relatively active and recognisable figure in British pop music after all this time. I remember his most recent album even gathering some critical appraisal.

#31 – “Mr Blobby” – Mr Blobby (1993)

Sigh. I own this on vinyl.

#30 – “Goodbye” – Spice Girls (1998)

In the mid-90s, girl group phenomenon the Spice Girls had three consecutive Christmas #1s with slower, more sentimental tracks, which makes sense, and I actually have them in reverse chronological order here, because they got worse every year, though you’ll see I actually like the other two quite a lot. This one was reworked to be about Geri Halliwell leaving the group, and it sounds as exhausted as the girls were at this point, this is a great soundtrack to running out of steam. Oh, and ladies and gentlemen, here’s Conway Twitty:

#29 – “It’s Only Make Believe” – Conway Twitty (1958)

This was then-unknown Conway Twitty’s first real hit, and though not really a country song, more of a slowed-down rock ballad with some doo-wop to it, I get why he crossed over and I also kind of get this one. Late in his life, my dad had a thing for old, sad country songs and this hits what I imagine is the spot those tracks hit for him, it’s alright.

#28 – “I Have a Dream” / “Seasons in the Sun” – Westlife (1999)

Irish boy band Westlife are an act I almost expected to show up more than once here, so it’s just my luck in predictions that they actually do have two songs but only show up once. These two songs are quite syrupy renditions of older tracks with real cheap synth affects, especially in the first song, but are actually inoffensive and have a little 90s cheese charm to them. The synths in their version of ABBA’s “I Have a Dream” (#2, 1979) aren’t too far from Mario Kart 64 and coincidentally, my dad really loved “Seasons in the Sun”, originally a #1 hit for Terry Jacks in 1973. I know that it’s often considered a historically bad pop song, but I’ve always thought the structure was pretty sweet and this Westlife version is particularly funny because when they sing “it’s hard to die”, a funny echo effect means you hear “die…” fade out for the rest of the measure, which like “Stay Another Day”, is an oddly morbid moment for this boy band schlock.

#27 / #26 – “Bohemian Rhapsody” – Queen (1975, 1991)

It’s fine. Bit slow to start. Something about doing the fandango, killing a man. Freddie Mercury was really a bisexual Pooh Shiesty if you think about it. This is the only song to have the same recording hit #1 on Christmas twice though, the second, after Freddie had died, was a double A-side paired with the boring trite ballad “These Are the Days of Our Lives” which I’m sorry, is just insufferable. “Bohemian Rhapsody” is fine enough and I respect its ambition, even if overstated given what advances in music had already been made by the mid-70s, but that garbage actually takes it down further. I’m sure it was potent when the man had just passed but “Days of Our Lives” is some soppy adult contemporary bullshit compositionally, it feels as long as two Bohemian Rhapsodies, and neither are the Muppets version. Enough has been said over the years about how “Bohemian Rhapsody” stretched what could be considered a hit single, and the impact it has had on music videos, but this is not a discussion of the visual history of pop music, and I’m not one to ignore how progressive and interesting acts big as the Beatles (or the Beatles themselves, who we will get to in due time) had made pop rock long before Queen… this is a ranking of Christmas songs according to my own taste and in my opinion, this is simply a cool song tied temporarily, but integrally for this blog, to a shit one, and there are dozens of tracks that say more about either themselves, the music industry, the country that took it to #1 or the festive season as a whole.

#25 – “I Feel Fine” – The Beatles (1964)

Before the Spice Girls came the Spice Boys, the Liverpudlians who notched three consecutive Christmas #1s in the mid-60s and a fourth one afterwards, with this being our first one to cover and as you can tell, my personal least favourite. It’s difficult to say that the Beatles have any singles that aren’t iconic, let alone #1 hits, but I doubt that these singles, apart from one which we’ll discuss way later on, are in that top 10. “I Feel Fine” is compositionally fairly similar to songs I prefer from them we’ll see later, but it’s much less interesting in comparison to those thanks to being a tad undercooked. Like a lot of early Beatles, it’s a very simple song but the lack of a really impassioned vocal performance or strong enough hook to counter the chorus just leaves it sounding a tad incomplete. I do like hearing an early example of guitar feedback in pop music, though.

#24 – “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)” – Pink Floyd (1979)

What a great, charming Christmas single, right? “Another Brick in the Wall”? Part of why this is so low actually originates from how it fails to be a Christmas single, or really a single overall, and that it never intended to be. This is a good song, but one born from contempt for how lead lyricist Roger Waters was taught as a child and his experience with the education system, featuring a school choir that would ironically not be the same choir hitting #1 on Christmas the year after. Even elements of its murky sound are born from guitarist David Gilmour's contempt for disco but ultimately open-minded attempt for them to embody elements of it into their sound thanks to their producer Bob Ezrin. It feels really weird to place this high on a list when the idea of it hitting #1 at Christmas isn't just not part of the appeal and the story, but directly opposed to both and not in such a radical way that it acts as protest - it's still a disco song with a children's choir by one of the biggest rock bands on Earth. Speaking of, i'm also torn on the song itself – that guitar solo is incredible but as an edited-down “part two” single, it's incomplete by design, and doesn't function as a standalone piece as well as it should. Also, God, I hate children’s choir.

#23 – “Mr Blobby” – Mr Blobby (1993)

We don’t need no Blobbyvision. We don’t need no Blob control.

#23 – “Perfect” – Ed Sheeran (2017)

Well, I do suppose this fits, it just feels a bit too modern for this list, like “Rockabye”, and not having any direct Christmas references doesn’t help. I will say that I find this a perfectly sweet, charming song in its original form and it’s largely bogged down on this list because of versions that weren’t officially credited by the Official Charts Company that week but definitely contributed to the song’s success, those being the overblown duets with Beyoncé and Andrea Bocelli.

#22 – “I Will Always Love You” – Whitney Houston (1992)

Many Christmas #1s that aren’t explicitly related to the holiday season still have the air of December surrounding them in some way, whether it be slight musical details like in “Stay Another Day”, a wintry music video and cover art like “Perfect”, or even just the novelty factor of it ever hitting #1 like “Another Brick in the Wall”, “Mad World”, “Let’s Have Another Party” and many others we’ve seen and will see later. “I Will Always Love You”, however, was a US-born phenomenon, where this trophy barely matters, and the massive, all-encompassing belt of a song is predestined to be huge. I’m not too big on what is a generally good song because I have to be in the mood for it but it obviously works and never needed any holiday sentiment or novelty factor. Like “Earth Song” which, to be fair, even MJ had to consciously pull on heartstrings to get himself to the top, this is just too big to ignore and unlike “Earth Song”, it’s a listenable length.

#21 – “Return to Sender” – Elvis Presley (1962)

Looking at this list chronologically, this is just about where the idea of what we now see as modern pop and rock music emerges, primarily because of Elvis himself, who found this song a diamond in the rough for his comeback film Girls! Girls! Girls!, the other material for which he found quite dull to record. Despite having nothing to do with Christmas at all, the horns and jaunty rhythm definitely sound like it, and it’s great to hear such a youthful Elvis performance, but other than that, it is pretty simple and non-descript. The first Christmas #1 on the Irish charts, given the theme of returning love letters, you could even see this as a predecessor to a certain other Christmas song much later down the line.

#20 – “Merry Christmas Everyone” – Shakin’ Stevens (1985)

Sure, this is schmaltz, but undeniable schmaltz, and nostalgia may blind me here but I can’t imagine disliking this song for any reason other than it being a tad too long given it’s aping 50s and 60s rock and roll that wouldn’t let it drag on further than it does. Otherwise, sure, it’s a list of clichés, but it’s delivered with such a childlike grin I can’t help but admit Shakin’ Stevens has me on this one. I know, I know, higher than the Beatles.

#19 – “Ernie (The Fastest Milkman in the West)” – Benny Hill (1971)

I know, I know, the takes keep getting worse. Listen, this won an Ivor Novello Award for songwriting, I’m not joking. Prominent comedian Benny Hill released this ribald novelty single to great success in 1971, and yes, there are more sex jokes than a 2000s teen comedy, but it goes to such weird and uncomfortable places with its food-related innuendo that you have to admire how committed Hill is to the bit. The instrumental’s chugging military percussion, string swell and choral refrain also let the stakes get bizarrely high, to the point where Ernie is murdered in a duel with a bread delivery man, and his ghost haunts his wife. The bridge wherein the song basically just comes to a drumless halt, and Hill fills in that void by delivering possibly the worst obituary ever spoken, always gets me, in part because of how stupid the name Ernie is. The first line in the bridge is “Ernie was only 52, he didn’t want to die” and the next line about him delivering milk in Heaven just barely doesn’t make Hill crack up trying to deliver it. Its style and structure is a send-up of old cowboy-story songs from the 50s and 60s, particularly ones with stories of death and consisting largely of spoken-word sections; it immediately reminded me of John Leyton’s death disc “Johnny Remember Me”, similarly about a haunting, that hit #1 in 1961. That is one of my personal favourites #1s ever, so it should be of no surprise that this, despite its content, won me over.

#18 – “Merry Xmas Everybody” – Slade (1973)

For all intents and purposes, this is the Christmas #1. It kickstarted the competitive release of Christmas songs by pop acts, it’s the third song chronologically on this list to be actually about Christmas and the first in over a decade, and even then, it references the “old songs” being the best, defining how this list is constantly looking backwards, much like Britain as a whole. It’s also funny that despite that reference, this is absolutely the first song on this list to remain as part of the semi-official Christmas canon that returns to the chart annually. Overthinking this staple of a song seems borderline blasphemous, even if it’s so basic and laddish that it can be a bit of a slog, but glam rock band Slade’s lead vocalist Noddy Holder screaming in declaration that it’s “CHRIIIIISSTMAAAAASS” may be synonymous with the British holiday experience, or at least once was. The trend of Christmas songs returning to the chart each year started with this song being reissued in the 1980s, which makes sense considering how big parts of this song sound, particularly that 60s rock and roll guitar (very back in style in that decade), and the layered group vocal of the chorus. It’s stupid, it’s worse than its closest competitor from Wizzard that year, “I Wish it Could Be Christmas Everyday” (#4, 1973-4), but it’s still such an inescapable classic to this day. It may be the first and last Christmas song I’ve ever heard and will hear, it really is that embedded into UK culture. Thankfully, though, we’re able to keep it relatively short with the next few entries.

#17 – “Can We Fix It?” – Bob the Builder (2000)

I may prefer Bob’s construction-themed re-write of “Mambo No. 5” (the 9/11 #1 – I’m not joking), but novelty aside, the 2-step rhythm helps this stand out. This clears the fucking Tweenies, those creepy Teletubbies and especially that narc bitch Fireman Sam.

#16 – “I Hear You Knocking” – Dave Edmunds (1970)

Originally recorded in Smiley Lewis in 1955, “I Hear You Knocking” makes absolutely zero sense as a Christmas single, in fact “I hear you knocking but you can’t come in” may be the antithesis of nice, warm family time. The conclusion of a long trend of blues songs using similar language, this bitter track was reinterpreted into a borderline experimental blues rock jam by Welshman Dave Edmunds after finding out that the song he wanted to cover was already taken. He heard Lewis’ recording, realised the backing beat was identical, and recorded this distorted, nasal slice of vengeance over it, with mechanical, scraping drums – especially in the right channel for whatever reason – and a layering of droopy guitars that strip the song back considerably but add a unique character through Edmunds, who sounds pridefully pissed off, but still takes time in the break to ad-lib some of his favourite rock & roll pioneers and R&B stars of the 50s, all the way back in the mix too. As a whole piece, it’s really simple and casual as a blues stomper but not only is that refrain insanely catchy, but combine it with that overly loud crashing cymbal splitting the mix, Edmunds’ whooping and “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed”-sounding guitars and it goes relentlessly hard. A fantastic song, one that John Lennon famously insisted on in interviews, including the last one he ever did, but perhaps not a merry jingle and more of a pub pleaser.

#15 – “Sound of the Underground” – Girls Aloud (2002)

This has been talked to death already like many other songs here, but there really is a loveable appeal to “Sound of the Underground”, combing that slick surf guitar with a drum and bass rumble to make something that popular music was immediately familiar with, but the manufactured pop music regime that pumped out boy band and girl group hits would have otherwise passed on immediately if it weren’t just that sticky of a hook. Technically, however, this would be the first instance of reality television plaguing the Christmas chart, as the top three that year, including Girls Aloud, was dominated by Popstars contestants – at least in this case the song was great, but for the purpose of this particular list, an awkward legacy to hold.

#14 – “Just Walkin’ in the Rain” – Johnnie Ray (1956)

This loveably nonchalant song was first written in 1952 by two prisoners in Tennessee, with rock and roll precursor and 50s teen sensation Johnnie Ray performing its best-known rendition. Apparently, he didn’t even like the song, but you’d never know, and this has everything I love about traditional pop and R&B: a gimmicky lead hook with the fuzzy whistling, a basic but sticky refrain, a melodrama leading to dangerous levels of oversinging that clips and distorts slightly in the mix. If it were less of a moaner lyrically, it could probably be higher, but he really sells the despair of being a prisoner and how society treats those who have broken the law, even for petty crimes. The group doo-wop backing vocals act as looming over Ray in a really melancholy track, I do recommend checking this out because it may be the least famous of the Christmas #1s overall, and deserves a lot more attention.

#13 – “Mr Blobby” – Mr Blobby (1993)

OCC’s playlist of Christmas #1s is not perfect by any means but it does contain, in some capacity, every single entry to hit #1 on Christmas, except for two. The first is the 1989 re-recording of “Do They Know it’s Christmas?”, though two other versions of the song are included for the original and 2000s revival, so the song is still very much there. The second, and the only song completely, thoroughly excluded, entirely non-present, is this one. “Mr Blobby” by Mr Blobby. OCC makes no reference to this exclusion on Spotify, stating that it contains all the winners from 1952 to now, except it just doesn’t. The official page for the Christmas #1 on the Official Charts Company website does not mention the Blobster in its text and silently, probably hesitantly includes him in the list table for historical purposes, without noting that their “complete” playlist of “every” number-one denies our Blobby boy his rightful position as a chart record-holder. What may hurt the most is that there is one tacit acknowledgement of Blobby in that article: OCC mentions that “cartoon characters”, plural, have held the top spot, meaning that they either acknowledge Blobby as a cartoon alongside Bob, which is a fair enough assessment considering his design and animated appearances, or they’re referring to a Claymation music video we’ll discuss later on, which would be… potentially accurate but bizarrely insensitive, much like the exclusion of Blobberson from a conversation he statistically and historically deserves a place in. You deny the Blob of his divine right, you run the risk of execution, and we wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the poor OCC interns, would we? So, I propose that when you update the page this year, to include 2024’s Christmas #1, you simply add a short passage acknowledging that not only did Mr Blobby achieve this feat but that as a company and national institution, you have been ignorant of if not actively opposed to this chart success, therefore refusing to celebrate the peak of Blobbymania. Surveys show that 80% of the British public still identify as Blobby fans and what do you mean I need to shut up and talk about the Spice Girls?

#13 – “Too Much” – Spice Girls (1997)

I do really enjoy many parts of this song, and would probably call it a great track, but there are parts that really hamper it from being perfect. The track is about equal treatment in a relationship, wherein it’d be too hard to let go completely but still needing their partner to be a better partner overall, not just a satisfactory lover and a genuine friend whom she can console in. I love that independent sentiment of demanding more from this guy, and the powerful line of “What part of no don’t you understand? I want a man, not a boy who thinks he can”, delivered by Mel C, belted right after the second chorus amidst a blast of horns, before fading (quite literally) into the brief sax solo, and returning with the same lyric to lead into the final hook, is a great moment! Hell, the song may be one of the best examples of their form of “girl power”, looking for small victories in a patriarchal world, but that moment in the bridge I just mentioned is also emblematic of a larger problem I have with the song, being that it was recorded hastily between filming their tie-in movie Spiceworld and therefore so much of it was tied together in post-production. Given how empty the verses feel, how the song just trails off and the lack of truly impressive solo parts other than the one I just mentioned, you can really tell – it’s still a great track, but one that deserved more time and a better process to elevate it even higher.

#12 – “Christmas Alphabet” – Dickie Valentine (1955)

This is a strange one, and also a relatively simple one, but I may have found a hidden gem with this one. The first Christmas #1 to actually be about Christmas, it’s so lovingly sincere in its attempt to make an acrostic children’s poem with the word “Christmas”, and to hear the choir singing not just every letter but at some point even specifying “Capital C” is really delightful. It sounds built for a stop-motion special, the intro particularly, but largely predates them, whilst still wrapping up its twinkly two minutes in a lovingly warm bow. Thank God Michael Bublé hasn’t found this one yet because Valentine’s version may not be the most impressive vocal or extensive composition but is simply a nice, pleasant tune that goes into adorable territory with the whole “Christmas Alphabet” gimmick. The dumb smile on my face is worth all the places I put it over genuine classics. How does this not return every year?

#11 – “Day Tripper” / “We Can Work it Out” – The Beatles (1965)

We have our final double A-side and second Beatles entry, with the next few coming really soon. I do like both of these songs a lot, but given how much analysis of the Beatles there is, for every angle of their discography, I’ll keep it brief, and none of these are or could even attempt to function as Christmas songs. The band promoted this single using performance videos, influencing the modern concept of music videos which would later become very important for several Christmas #1s long after, like “Bohemian Rhapsody”, “Earth Song” and another we’ll see right near the end. It’s a really effective double A-side too, as they are simple, soul-influencd rock tunes that play with their constant intensity in different ways. “Day Tripper” has a raw group vocal but a tight, one-chord riff and apparently, this particular version was chosen because it was the one take that didn’t break down entirely. “We Can Work it Out”, far from the drug-influenced lyrics of its counterpart, and probably my favourite of the two, is a personal song about an ongoing breakup of a close relationship, with a much gentler acoustic, jangly folk stroll as McCartney carols on optimistically that the relationship can be salvaged, with the desperate chorus repeating that title as a mantra until it quite frankly devolves into Lennon’s deathly waltz contemplating on mortality that itself derails with Ringo’s drum crashes before picking back up again. The intensity is instead spread out into the song’s enemy-of-momentum, stop-and-start structure in contrast to “Day Tripper” but both paint an image of guys drifting away from compassion and desperately wanting their perspective known and prioritised. Not my all-time favourites from them, well, “We Can Work it Out” might be close, but still great songs and possibly the best use of the double A-side on this list.

#10 – “Hello, Goodbye” – The Beatles (1967)

Straight into more Beatles, and despite being much later into their career, fully in their more complex and progressive, psychedelic years, it refuses to venture outside of its traditional pop qualities, in a demonstration of refrain to experiment that you wouldn’t get from the Beatles this late usually. To be fair, its B-side is “I Am the Walrus”, so perhaps a more conventional track was needed, yet in its constant repetition of the confused duality, becomes quite experimental as it has to rely on flooding the mix with instruments that carry and more often distract from the guys’ hurried abstractism, whether that be the array of strings, stray guitar slide or the rising guitar progression in the right channel – I wouldn’t be surprised if “Telephone Line” by the Electric Light Orchestra (#8, 1977) cribbed that from this, the two sound very similar, and it’s even more obvious when the Beatles have a layered harmony vocal to that guitar’s melody. Ringo has one of his more impressively chaotic drum parts on this during what I can only describe as a breakdown alongside a rawer, barely-verbal vocal rant, and the song in its very last moments decides to implode into a scattered military band rhythm with ad-libbing in abundance, which I’m disappointed fades out. Derivative it may be, and lyrically, it’s practically nothing, but it does act as a good send-off for the Beatles’ final Christmas #1 together as it has the simple and basic idea of their older tracks, but the complex, surreal approach to building off of it as their later albums. “Hello, Goodbye”, in all its whimsy, is like one of those older compositions through the dizzying lens of psychedelia, eventually becoming a cacophony that only the Beatles could really take to the top of the charts.

#9 – “Lily the Pink” – The Scaffold (1968)

There are three picks in this top 10 that would probably strike you as a bit odd, or even goofy novelty choices, and I’m not really going to sit here and defend them as anything else… okay, well, I will later on, but this one is definitely pure novelty and I have no real idea why this music hall pub sing-a-long resonated with me nearly as much as it did. The Scaffold was a silly Liverpool comedy troupe of entertainers, one of which, Mike McGear, was Paul McCartney’s brother, who released a few novelty singles, this being their most successful. I did listen to another, and it actually caught me so off-guard and made me laugh really loud when they interrupted their bizarre “Thank U Very Much” (#4, 1968) by abruptly bursting into singing the national anthem. Otherwise, I had never heard of The Scaffold before this list, and I’d never heard of this song or its subject, Lydia Pinkham, who in the 1800s marketed a herbal remedy for menstruation and menopause called “women’s tonic”, which sought to cure “hysteria” and “women’s weakness”. Mostly dismissed by medical experts, her “vegetable compound” did relieve stress even if not provably curing anything, and stayed on the market due to frivolous advertising and filling a void in the market for women who were struggling with periods and the menopause, with the adverts even claiming that the remedy made them better wives and mothers.

“Lily the Pink”, a variation of an American folk song, takes this to ridiculous proportions, with the Scaffold lads listing, over a percussive, military-esque rhythm, ludicrous responses to mundane problems that are all traced back to Lily the Pink’s medicinal compound. A song gaining this much cultural space in the UK is interesting to me, as it’s a North American folk song that probably reached Brits through the army, as it was reportedly sung on Pennsylvania universities as early as 1902, and brought to prisoner-of-war camps by Canadian soldiers. Nearly a full century after Pinkham first established her remedy in response to economic ruin, The Scaffold fuse the melody with then-topical pop culture reference (now flying right past me, though they do reference the Hollies – weird band to come up twice) and a uniquely British humour. If you have large ears, you drink the compound and you can fly, which doesn’t solve your problem, just makes you Dumbo. Similarly, the compound puts a guy who wouldn’t eat his meals in a wheelchair, strengthens the delusions of a senile Ebenezer, turned a stammerer mute, gave an old woman with arthritis just… more legs, and performed what I can only describe as instant hormone therapy to a girl with freckles. It’s such a dumb joke but it allows for enough absurdity alongside the drinking song chorus that it really chuckled me, I like thinking of all these case studies they bring up that clearly contrast with the falsified advertisements they sing about in the hook, declaring Pinkham “the saviour of the human race”. Much like “Ernie” after it, this also has a sudden switch in the bridge to a more barebones, piano backing as Lily the Pink, in regret for making bizarre inhuman creations out of mundane, everyday problems like Auntie Milly-Pede and Old Ebenezer, Emperor of Rome, drinks herself to death. It took me aback in the first listen when they go for a bizarre choral switch and even outline that when she got to Heaven, she brought her bloody compound with her, and after an exhaustingly-held build-up, we crash right back into the chorus because the angels in Heaven have problems her remedy can supposedly solve too. It strays away from the ribald or offensive nature of the military songs into a sanitised but delightfully surreal and jaunty bop that I know is a bizarre song to place this high, but it’s basically a cartoon in song form so me personally ranking it highly should not be a surprise.

#8 – “Don’t You Want Me” – The Human League (1981)

This and the next song are obviously classics, ranking highly thanks to being undeniable songs, but they also don’t need much further explanation, and feel almost like obvious picks. “Don’t You Want Me” by Sheffield synthpop act The Human League has one of the greatest choruses ever written, plainly, and a dominating synth buzz to accommodate it. It didn’t need anything else to go #1 but the deadpan delivery of the back-and-forth narrative in the verses, with both vocalists not particularly impressing anyone, and so much of the song being in a staccato rhythm you could basically speak outside of the most integral parts (namely, the “oh-oh-oh-oh”), makes it a prime karaoke classic that has sustained itself through the test of time. This is all in spite of frontman Philip Oakey thinking the song was a piece of filler that fans would be ripped off if they bought it unless it was attached with a cool poster. He was so tremendously wrong about that but the man put out “Together in Electric Dreams” with Giorgio Moroder (#3, 1984) so he can say whatever he wants.

#7 – “I Want to Hold Your Hand” – The Beatles (1963)

…Obviously, right? One of my personal favourite Beatles songs, there’s something irresistible about the jovial riffs and innocuous pleading of wanting to hold this girl’s hand, delivering that proposition as if it were the most consequential decision of their entire lives. There’s not much else to say, it’s pure bubblegum, but it’s damn good and definitely a classic.

#6 – “2 Become 1” – Spice Girls (1996)

I know, I know, I know how bad this looks. This over every Beatles song, and I’d love to tell you that it was close and despite how “I Want to Hold Your Hand” is very much one of my favourite #1s of all time… it really wasn’t close, I adore “2 Become 1”. I am a sucker for 90s adult contemporary, and this is fully in Babyface territory, so that could be why, but mostly I just think this one of the smoothest sex jams that has hit the charts, and like a lot of the best sex songs, ends up being about much more. Namely, this song has some wider depths to it, especially in the context of it being a Christmas song, as a general call for togetherness. Sure, the chorus is about making love, but it ends by asking you to set your spirit free, after verses begging you to free your mind of doubt, allowing yourself to become one with someone in a more spiritual way that I find intriguing as something they included. It doesn’t make the song more wholesome, necessarily, but it does take the sexual angle and expands it into a more constant connection that really speaks to me. “It’s the only way to be” – the song sees human collaboration, love and togetherness as some kind of ultimate goal and accomplishment that I find genuinely compelling.

Of course, that’s not the main purpose of the song, and it’s not to green-screen yourself into a New York timelapse either, it’s a gorgeous R&B song with every trademark of the genre in this era: the delicate percs in the drum loops, the constant underlying strings that swell in blissfully at the needed moments, stray Latin-flavoured guitar, and a mix that uses all available space, especially with layered vocal harmonies and riffing. One of the first songs to come from the girls, you can tell that the vocals are limited but, especially in the intimate verses, that’s for the best as you can hear the charm of these five young women coming into pop music with all the energy they did, even in what would otherwise be a laidback smooth jam. I particularly love the pre-chorus, where Baby Spice – sorry, Emma Bunton – tempts their partner but in a fun-loving way, like stop dilly-dallying, be smart, put a condom on and come closer. She even asks the mocking question of “Are you as good as I remember?”, but aside from Bunton and their general chemistry as a group, the other stars are Mel B, repeating that spiritual mantra through to the song’s end and Victoria Beckham, handling the first half of both verses with a cute, intimate delivery that fits like a glove on this cascading glade of an instrumental. Perhaps not explicitly a Christmas song but one that fits its ethos in part and absolutely, through all its glistens and twinkles, fits the sound.

#5 – “Only You” – The Flying Pickets (1983)

Bit of a weird one, and one I’m not 100% about putting this high, partly because Margaret Thatcher loved it, showing that music can bring us together, I suppose, but that doesn’t mean she’s not in Hell, just that her playlist wasn’t all trash. I do like the original version by Yazoo, which is decidedly similar and the song feels built for a male vocalist given how it was written by Vince Clarke and originally sang by the deep, bluesy Alison Moyet. The cute, synthy and simple track is full of bleep-bloops and a nuanced set of lyrics interpreted to be about Clarke’s split from Depeche Mode but out of context, are more like a half-whispered request for a lover to always be with them in spite of the distance they’ve had to hold and will have to if the recipient of the song isn’t as dedicated, which makes enough sense for a primitive synthpop already reliant on the powerful vocal, but would make even more sense if every part of the song was just a bloke.

Yazoo’s version was simply released too late (or too early?) to be a Christmas #1, peaking at #2 in May of 1982, but a cappella group The Flying Pickets took the mantle of releasing what is already a nostalgic song with plenty of twinkling instrumentation into its deserved spot of the holiday chart-topper. Further layers of vocal harmony are added to make this a really unique single of the 1980s, one that plays with the complexities of layering vocal take upon vocal take to simulate a song structurally, with each “bah” of the main backing arranged not only in perfect, intricate order but spread across all channels to make an immersive mix that, for 1983, strikes me as genuinely impressive, and it really doesn’t sound like a miraculous take either given all th affects like the intrusive sci-fi synth-bloops that commences the song after a faded rise into phased harmony. The first a cappella song to hit #1 ever, it’s an unusual one at that, feeling like a haunting church choir but also like it could have soundtracked Yoshi’s Island for the SNES. The devotion of the lyrics becomes a lot more tangible when the lead vocal is struggling to stand out amidst a sea of other voices he occasionally phases into, and that 80s production turns a cappella versions into something borderline surreal with the new “ba-da-da” refrains similarly skating across the mix hitting against a choral wave and powered by a finger-snap with so much echo that it flutters as a snip rather than a snip, gathering about as much strength as a fly against a window or a piece of paper thrown away. The sheer amount of vocals, presumably pitch-shifted in the rising bridge, is stressful, it’s more effective than the more mechanical synth production of the Yazoo version at making you feel just how intense this long-distance relationship has proven to be, but also how intense the vocalist’s personal love is in spite of it, travelling across a never-ending hallway of ghostly vocal channels. Much like “Lily the Pink”, I definitely did not come into this project looking to rank this one very high, but I think this is beautiful and, whilst most songs in this top five emerge from the same decade, it still deserves its spot here.

#4 – “Last Christmas” – Wham! (2023)

No, that’s not a typo. The Wham! classic only reached #1 last year, this being the #2 I teased from back at the start as I was discussing Band Aid. This is also the highest-ranking Christmas song on the list! Much like “Another Brick in the Wall” or “I Want to Hold Your Hand”, I won’t waste your time discussing the ins and outs of what may be one of the most famous and recognisable songs ever written and released, but I do have a unique angle here at least, because despite being about Christmas, explicitly, and having Christmas in the title and lyrics constantly, with gift-giving as a prominent conceit, I struggle to say “Last Christmas” embodies the warmth of Christmas. In fact, part of why I think it has become so popular in its resurgence post-George Michael’s passing, especially in the US where it wasn’t that big initially, is because of how cold and angry it can be, the kind of Christmas song that isn’t saccharine and ages well once the childlike joy of the festivity is gone.

Rather than anything all too jolly, “Last Christmas” is a scathing indictment of an ex-lover as not valuable and a waste of time. We may be forgetting when we sentimentalise this song that it is one of the bitterest post-breakup piss-offs in pop music history: “I wasted my time and effort with you, but now I see you don’t value me, so next year, I’ll run off and give my love to someone who’s actually worth any of my time”. The verses mostly describe, passive-aggressively, George Michael trying to avoid an ex-lover, and given he is the sole writer and producer of the song, you can tell this was cathartic for him, it really couldn’t have been anyone other than him selling this song. Sure, the 80s synthpop textures would have had a similar balance between the cold wintry outside and the gathering-around-the-fireplace warmth, especially with the sleigh bells, but the delivery of the lyrics may be the most integral part of this song: genuinely every single inflection in the verses is perfect. The switch between drawing out the notes of “Once bitten and twice shy” versus the staccato delivery of “You still catch my eye”, the whispered “Happy Christmas” in the first verse building up into a half-belt, the comical aside of “it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me”. He finds a new way to emphasise the drama and betrayal of “You gave it away!” in the backing vocals each chorus, the layering of the vocals in the second verse getting so intense that its residue crosses over into where the next line would be, making it so that him finding a new love actually comes with the literal passage of time, it’s brilliant. The change of “You gave it away” in one of the final choruses to “You gave me away” is what takes it over that last hump: it’s not about Christmas, it’s about humans valuing each others’ time and effort, and the pain, even in this decorative synthpop sound, is audible. The attention to detail with the vocals following the narrative is really something that I had to notice after years of listening to the song and it clicked with me why and how it worked all these years without getting old: it’s really a universal feeling of wanting to be cared about that can never disappear once the naïve wonders of the holiday do. If there’s a sentiment that always follows Christmas, regardless of age, it’s the knowledge that people, in spite of everything, do love you. Both that sentiment of unconditional love and attention to detail, as well as nearly everything else considering it’s another 80s pop duo, carries on into our next song, the highest song on this list to have reached #1 in its year of release.

#3 – “Always on My Mind” – Pet Shop Boys (1987)

My favourite Pet Shop Boys song is “Suburbia”, but this is a close second, and it may take a while to explain why. This song originates from Wayne Carson, who had the song in writing development Hell for a good amount of time, with the three exhausted songwriters eventually all finishing it but initially, to no success. Carson has said to the Los Angeles Times that he was a burden in the recording studio constantly working on it, with the song’s main conceit being: “It’s sort of like all guys who screw up and would love nothing better than to pick up the phone and call their wives and say, 'Listen, honey, I could have done better, but I want you to know that you were always on my mind.'” Originally a country ballad, the song’s backstory is from when Carson had to phone his wife that he needed to be in Memphis for longer than he was intending to, and how “irate” she was about that, and there’s something really heartbreaking about the distance there: Carson gives this excuse that is intended to reassure her – “I was thinking about you all the time” – when it’s his presence that actually matters. He can phone in and say that all he likes, but he’s still not there and since he’s so far away from her, he can’t exactly understand how much that matters and how meaningless of a statement that is. In 1972, the song would eventually find its hit-making vocalist in Elvis Presley (#9, 1973), and then this cover version has a perfect storm leading up to it.

Elvis’ version never hit #1 in the UK but, thanks I’m sure in part to the Pet Shop Boys’ version, it is Britain’s favourite song of his, according to ITV’s 2013 poll. The admiration for this song runs deep, partly because it’s simply been performed incredibly well three separate times by big-name artists and I would like to say partly because of how each performance exacerbates the labour that was involved in making the song. Willie Nelson won a GRAMMY with his version (#49, 1982) and deservedly so, his version is probably my favourite of the sentimental country versions, and was produced by Chips Moman himself, who owned the studio Carson was staying at a decade earlier trying to finish the song. In 1987, ITV commemorated 10 years since Elvis had died with a television special featuring covers of songs he made famous by then-contemporary acts, with one of those being the Pet Shop Boys – the reception was so positive that it was released as a single and edged out The Pogues’ “Fairytale of New York” (#2, 1987-8) for the top spot. If that did hit #1, it would be right above this one, by the way, look at that Christmas top 10 if you get the chance, it is unbelievably stacked.

This new hi-NRG version from the Boys is my favourite, and that comes mostly from the loose interpretation of it as a synth-heavy dance track that chugs along with the beeping drum rhythm and overwhelming synth horns that crash into the mix. To do electronic sound design this immersive and detailed before widely available DAWs, again, strikes me as genuinely impressive, and Neil Tennant turns the guilty admissions of Carson, Elvis and Nelson before him into flailing desperacy – he longs to reassure that he was always thinking about his partner that he could have treated the way they deserved, but the driving synthpop backing beat is actively taking him away, driving him off in a car that eventually fades out alongside the entire mix, accentuating just how likely that sentiment is to be caught on deaf ears. It’s a risky choice to update the song this drastically but it elevates it to such a grand electronic statement of unmet promises and may be the best send-off to the big 80s sound on that ethos alone. This is not really a Christmas song in any way, and no, neither are the two upcoming songs, which I say despite the first one being quite literally the year before.

#2 – “Reet Petite” – Jackie Wilson (1986)

Jackie Wilson was a wild guy. He was an ex-boxer by his teenage years, first married at 17, had a shit-ton of kids, got shot in the stomach by a crazed fan and/or ex-girlfriend depending on whose story you believe, and evaded more taxes than Jimmy Carr. His performances were a frenzied workout sesh that in the 1960s, probably felt like you were watching time speed up in front of you, he was truly one of the first to live the stereotypical “rockstar” lifestyle. He was the nightcore version of himself, and by Christmas 1986, he had been dead for two years, having long been incapacitated since he collapsed on stage in 1975. So how’d it go #1 in that year’s Christmas season?

Firstly, it’s timeless, and Wilson’s role in popular music is probably a lot more important than is given credit. Not only was he a genuine menace on and off stage in a way the tabloids post-Beatles would have a field day with, but this song funded one of the most important moments in popular music: the Motown moment. Originally released in 1957, you can accredit some of (also an ex-boxer) Berry Gordy’s cash and cred to him co-writing this song, and many others of Wilson’s catalogue, back when he started in the industry. Sure, there would be songs more seminal and integral to the Motown story, but this was the first ever successful single Gordy wrote: it kickstarted the venture that would lead to some of the most important pop, R&B and soul releases in the history of pop music, and soundtracked the civil rights era, allowing for further integration of black art into the industry and popular zeitgeist. I’m not saying Jackie Wilson started all that, or that this silly song about a girl is why Michael Jackson exists, but I really think we should give “Reet Petite” its flowers for that, and also maybe the fact that it’s a massive banger! At less than three minutes, it wastes no time with its lovestruck nonsense lyrics closer to jazz scatting and sound effects than what Motown would eventually be known for, as well as the dynamics of this racket of a song. 1957? I would have a Goddamn heart attack if I was a record executive hearing this in 1957, with those blaring horn stabs and pointless doo-wop harmonies that seem to be there to bring the chaos down to earth but actually just make it more of a cacophony. He rolls his R’s like he’s the Eisenhower-era Desiigner (could be related for all we know, he got around), and his performance is not crazed as much as it’s just infatuated, full of hooks and gut reactions to seeing what must have been the cutest girl of all time if it made him sing like this. Oh, and it hit #1 in 1986. Let’s explain that one.

So BBC Two had a documentary series called Arena – still has, apparently – but I’m not familiar with it outside of the fact that it had a sequence by Giblets that featured this song. It must have been a weird tone shift because high-art documentaries seem to be that show’s bread and butter, and this was a grotesque Claymation music video for a dusty, greased-up wolf-with-eyes-bulging-out-of-his-head tune by a dead guy from 1957. It ends up portraying the guy as a baby, going completely weak and head over heels for said finest girl you ever want to meet, and yeah, exemplifies the song’s character perfectly. The single got reissued posthumously and it hit #1 because this was basically a viral, fan-made animated music video in 1986, that is insane. The amount of tiny little influential and ahead of its time details that exist about this song, its story, its rise to #1, should be something of legend but I don’t see it discussed nearly enough. I want to change that.

So that was a long ramble. It’s not as long a ramble as I’m going to grant the #1, because it should be obvious. There’s been some trash heaps here – culturally degrading charity singles, manufactured trite, songs that just don’t work for me personally – but also some absolute all-timers, from iconic songs reigning as classics that I don’t fully get the appeal of to some of the most influential and undeniable records ever written and released. And Hell, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, you can have tons of disagreements with my list placing, and I fully expect that, music is wonderful like that. I don’t think there’ll be anyone who does not understand where I’m coming from with this one, though. Say it with me: Motherfucker.

#1 – “Killing in the Name” – Rage Against the Machine (2009)

Everyone knows the story by now, right? It’s almost cliché. Jon Morter, who is a genuinely interesting anti-corporate campaigner, was sick of those X Factor tracks hitting #1, and so was his wife – LadBaby, eat your heart out – so the couple made a Facebook page campaigning for another, less politically correct, less radio-friendly track to hit #1. So we sent one of the greatest middle fingers to authority and police brutality of all time to #1 years after it first peaked at #25 in 1993. Even better, Simon Cowell himself disproved of the campaign… and it gathered even more support as a result. Rock legends got behind them, it gathered more support. Rage go on BBC Radio to perform the track, Zack de la Rocha says “fuck” damn near 20 times, it gathers even more support. It eventually sold 500,000 downloads, with thousands of proceeds from the campaign going to homeless shelters. But I bet you don’t hear Tom Morello and Jon Morter doing soft-ball interviews bragging about their achievements on the radio, desperately keeping the charity in their mouths so it doesn’t seem like they’re gleefully parading in the fame. They let the moment happen, and it was a kickass moment. Why didn’t we send rap metal to the top every year? “Sabotage” (#19, 1994) the next year, “Break Stuff” the year after, it would have been special, guys. I’m just saying.

Ultimately, I don’t have to explain “Killing in the Name” to you – you’ve probably heard it, and you haven’t, just listen to it and you’ll get why it’s up here. You may think it’s silly, immature or even cynical to put a song that spits in the face of what a Christmas #1 has evolved to mean at the top of this list. Understand, however, that if anything, that’s what makes it so great: strip away your connotations of what a Christmas #1 should be or sound like, or Hell, what a #1 hit in general should be willing to tackle, and just focus on what it is: the song people are listening to. The song the public like the most at any given time. Isn’t it incredible that we all collectively seized control of what we earn from capitalism, we seized control of the shape an abusive web of industries takes to convince us there’s any real value to it, we seized control of the industry, to completely reject it, even if just for one week? But hey, if you’re still not convinced and think I should have put Westlife up here instead… fuck you. I won’t do what you tell me. Jedward were on the side of the people! Thanks for reading, long live Cola Boyy, and I’ll see you in the next episode!

…

…

…

Just kidding.

#1 – “Mr Blobby” – Mr Blobby (1993)

Blobby supremacy, everyone! One nation under Blobby. Praise Blob. Glory to our gracious Blob. Blob Save the King… who is also Blobby. Merry Christmas.

[nevilleanimusic2]

# Only You #

[koshigurajumy]

The Flying Pickets - Only You

from Fallen Angels / 天使の涙 (1995) dir: Wong Kar-wai

[classycoffeecat]

[sarahthecoat]

aha, i was right, it was by @katzedecimal ! :)

To any fic writers who worry they are wasting their time... I read a fic for a relatively small and inactive fandom about three years ago. And there was one specific scene where a character watched another dancing like an idiot to a beyonce song and it was so sweet and loving that even now years later I have that song on one of my spotify playlist so every once in a while it will play and remind me of that fic, and every time it does I smile and feel a little happier.

The stats on a fic will never really tell you if your writing touched someone. There's no numerical way to show you what impact you made. Maybe you are wasting time, or maybe you are writing something that someone will remember for a long time, something that will never fail to make them smile.

[mickandmusings]

third times the charm

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: life has a funny way of putting people in your path, and ultimately making them part of your life. but what happens when the one person you never want to see stumbles in over and over again, a disastrous tornado tearing up your path of moving on?

aka: the two times tyler owens enters and, consequently, leaves, your life at the wrong time, and the one time he comes at the perfect moment and finally stays.

warnings: reader is described in a feminine manner; why are we ignoring his bull rider trope? cause i'm not babes xx; angsty mainly, but fluff too; lovers to enemies back to lovers (sorry); this author knows nothing about tornadoes or weather so sorry

shoutout to megan moroney and her banger new album where this title and idea come from :)

-

i.

"What do you mean you're leaving?!"

Tyler shuts the tailgate of his red pick-up with a loud slam, the cowboy hat on his head nearly flying off with the force. Y/N stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed over her torso as her chest heaved in short, shaking breaths. The sunlight hits her just right, and the gold chain around her neck glimmers in the sunlight. It catches Tyler's attention from the corner of his eye-it had been burned into his mind from the moment he'd bought it with a chunk of his earnings from last year's rodeo. The chain was delicate, simple, but the charm had been the main appeal: it was gold, the same shade as the chain, but in the center of the small heart shaped pendant sat a capital 'T'. She'd worn it since he'd given it to her for a birthday present, and it had been the center piece of even their most intimate moments-her bare beneath him with only the glittering jewelry adorning her as he had her unraveling under his touch. Even the thought of it had heat traveling up Tyler's neck, and he swallowed down the feeling, along with all of the guilt bubbling to the surface.

"I'm leavin', simple as that."

"Ty, I-I don't understand. You get bucked off one time and you're giving up?! You've been riding since we were kids, I-"

He turns to her, emerald eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn't put a label on.

"I didn't just get 'bucked off', I almost got my head trampled in case you forgot!" His voice is laced with anger. He's not angry with her, he's angry with himself. After a series of unfortunate injuries in last month's local rodeo, Tyler knew he couldn't ride again, it would kill him. He'd spent the last few weeks in physical therapy and doctor's offices just to make sure the damn bull hadn't left behind more than scars.

It was better this way, he could leave his town behind, and forget about the deep, gut-twisting feeling of failure that sat like acid in his stomach. But leaving his hometown also meant leaving her.

Tyler had fallen for Y/N their junior year of high school, and they'd rarely been seen without one another ever since then. She was sweet and shy to his brash and confident, his biggest supporter-always sitting in the stands for all of his rides-whether he was the talk of the town or stumbling home, his shotgun rider, and the girl who wore his heart (literally and figuratively) on a chain around her neck. Looking at her now, with tears lining under her gorgeous eyes, he wanted to just forget all of his plans and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her that he'd stay here, that he'd give her the life that he'd promised her-apple pie and babies, the perfect picket-fence life she deserved.

"Tyler, you-you can't be serious! W-What about your parents, your plans, hell, Tyler, what about me?!" Her shoulders now moved as she let out shuddering breaths, eyebrows furrowed as she grew frustrated. "Tyler Owens you promised me, you promised me a farmhouse, and a wrap-around porch, a-and babies! And now you're just gonna take off to God-knows-where to what? Storm chase?"

She stops and lets out a dry chuckle. She'd been 'chasing' with him before, vivid memories of him scaring her shitless chasing tornadoes in his truck, only to 'apologize' to her by making love in the backseat after the storm had passed. Through their time together, she, too, had grown to love the storms. Y/N took her camera into the storms with them, more than ready to capture the freakishly beautiful moments of pure disaster before it struck. She'd stand in the pouring rain next to him, laughing as wind whipped hair around her face. He'd snap a picture of her with her own camera that she'd set aside and she'd roll her eyes. They'd been happy, bonded by a mutual love of mother nature's chaos and one another. Now, she turns her back to face him, shaking her head as her bottom lip trembles.

"Ya know, I should've listened to everyone who told me to stay away from you in high school, that you'd just hurt me. I didn't believe them, not one bit, because I know you. You're running because you're scared. You don't have to run, Ty. You've never run from your fears, for God's sake you ride them! What the hell are you thinking?!"

Tears stream down her face, and Tyler feels his resolve slipping. He hadn't thought it through, not really, and now as she stands in front of him, he realizes he's only hurting her more and more. He needed an out, he needed to skip town, no matter who it hurt.

"I'm thinking that I'm a fuckin' failure at everything, no matter what I try! The only thing I'm good at is storms, chasin' them, getting close enough to see something! I fail at everything, Y/N/N, and if I stay, I'll just fail you, too. Over and over."

"Tyler, you've never failed me," she brings her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing a cut that still hadn't scarred over from his fall. Her eyes were blurry and her hands trembled. "Please, stay." Her voice was hardly a whisper, pleading desperately.

"You know I can't."

She nodded solemnly, wiping tears so she could take a final look into his eyes. She gave no warning when she launched her arms around his neck, all but hanging onto him like a child. He hugged her tighter than he ever had, and when she let go, he placed a final heated goodbye kiss on her lips. Y/N looks at him, her brain screaming pleas to make him stay, but she simply kisses his cheek before speaking.

"C-call me when you get there?"

He takes one last glance at her, taking her in completely, as if trying to memorize her. His eyes land on the jewelry adorning the spot just below her collarbone, the gold shining in the sunset, knowing he'd never see it on her again-if he ever even saw her again.

"You'll be the first person I call, baby."

Y/N's call never came.

She spent the summer miserable, but refused to take off the gold chain she hid under shirts. It burned her skin in a metaphorical sense, but she ignored it, just like the heartbreak that had festered into deep resentment for Tyler Owens. She'd decided to take off to the local university for a clean start, somewhere new, somewhere his ghost wouldn't haunt her. Things had begun to look up, and she found herself smiling again. The morning before her first day of classes, she almost took the chain off, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

When she spotted his tall figure sitting a row ahead of her in her Intro to Meteorology class, she pretended not to know who he was. It was only fair, he'd done the same to her. For a reason that neither of them could vocalize, they begin to hate one another. Without knowing it, Tyler had become the storm that had sparked her into chasing after danger forever, the one that had left destruction so fatal she wasn't sure if she'd ever recover.

-

ii.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Y/N rolls her eyes and nearly throws her laptop across her dorm room when she looks down at her field partner pairing. The name in bold stares back at her like some sick joke.

Tyler Owens.

She shuts her laptop with a force that could shatter glass and slams her face into her pillow to let out a scream that could have easily been heard four counties over. The universe had to hate her.

With one glance at her watch, she hops from her bed and packs her duffel, her camera slung around her other shoulder. After silently praying that this storm takes her away in one quick swoop, she opens the door to her room and stumbles down the stairs to the lobby, where he was waiting for her outside the double doors. She can already feel her skin flaming with anger when she catches sight of his towering frame, baseball cap thrown backwards over his head.

"'Bout fuckin' time sweetheart, thought the storm would pass before we even got out there!"

"Oh, kiss my ass, Owens."

She rolls her eyes and climbs into the red truck she had once been a permanent fixture in, feeling almost like nothing had changed since the last time she'd crawled into the passenger side. She had half a mind to let down the driver's side visor to see if her picture still sat inside it, but Tyler climbs in the second she thinks about it. The half hour drive is uncomfortable, silent, and laced with tension so thick both halves of the couple begin to wonder if the air supply is getting thin. But as the storm approaches, both of their eyes are locked on the massive twisting figure just ahead of them. Y/N reaches for her camera, focusing the lens as best as she can through the windshield of the truck. She sighs when the view is less than satisfactory. Without much thought, she begins to move the window crank on the door to let down the window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Tyler's voice breaks their silence.

"What does it look like, Owens? Getting a better shot." Her body hangs halfway out the window, camera leaning out the window as she moves the lens and clicks.

"Get your ass in the truck, I'm not payin' your hospital bills when you fall out and I run over you."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him, almost her entire body hanging out the window.

"Okay, okay, get in the truck, I'll get you closer, Jesus."

She pulls herself back into the truck and rolls the window back up as Tyler moves forward down the muddy path, closer to the storm now building ahead. The wind and rain grow more intense, shaking even the bulky vehicle that could easily withstand even the most treacherous of conditions. The spiraling tunnel only moves at a more pummeling speed, and Y/N's sharp shout fills the air.

"Stop the truck!"

He hits the brake and before the truck even stops, Y/N's rolling out of the passenger side, camera raised as she captures a monster of a storm. Tyler finds himself silent, momentarily distracted-her hair blowing with the force of the wind, the smile drawn across her face, and the long sleeve button down she'd been wearing was slipping down her shoulders, exposing her tank top and-wait-he raises an eyebrow, his heart stopping. Against her neck sat a gold chain he knew too well. It stops him completely in his tracks, shocked that she still wore his initial around her neck. The sound of a roaring train pulls him from his thoughts and sends him leaning out his own door.

"Y/N," he's shouting over the loud winds. "GET YOUR ASS IN THE TRUCK!"

The barrel of wind only gets closer, the fierceness of wind making Tyler's heart race. The girl outside his truck, however, only smiles wider, raising her camera for another shot of the approaching storm.

"I'M FINE, TYLER. WIND'S NOT EVEN THAT BAD!"

Tyler huffs as his voice, raspy from yelling, shouts again.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, SWEETHEART. GET YOUR ASS IN THIS TRUCK!"

She ignores his shouts, only squinting her eyes at the horizon as the wind picks up another notch, making the shirt now halfway down on her arms blow like a flag in the wind. Tyler gives her a minute to comply, hoping this was just a momentary phase of her being stubborn. After five minutes, Tyler cursed and stomped out of the truck over to her. He says nothing, picking her up over his shoulder.

"TYLER! WHAT THE FUCK?! PUT ME DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

He doesn't give in to her retorts, simply swinging her door open and shoving her into the passenger seat. He gets into his driver's side and slings his arm on her headrest, turning to back the truck around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have some sort of sick kink where you get off on ruining my life? I had a perfect shot, it-"

"You had a perfect shot of getting sucked into a tornado is what you had, Y/N. You're gonna get yourself killed gettin' that fuckin' close!"

"Like you would care." Her voice isn't even a mumble, and Tyler hardly hears her over the sounds of the storm.

It sends a jab of pain through his heart he doesn't expect, and instead of saying anything, he lets her stew in anger in his passenger seat. When he drops her off at her dorm, she agrees to email him her half of the project, and a week later he receives it.

He opens the email to find exactly what he imagines, the most spectacular shots of a storm he's ever seen. After the report and photos are submitted, the two never speak to one another again. They both graduate under the same Arkansas sun, but lead different lives in the same area of the country. Y/N swears she sees his truck pass her every time she goes out to shoot, and he sees her in every girl that stands in a field with a camera.

Y/N would never admit that she has a burner account subscribed to his livestreams, or that she laughed and smiled as she watched him hoop and holler with his ragtag group of friends, memories of the chases they once went on filling her mind more fondly than painfully these days. And if she had one of the red and white shirts with his stupid cartoon face plastered against it, well, no one would ever know.

When Boone and the rest of his crew would stop for food and rest breaks, if Tyler saw her name plastered in a newspaper or magazine, he'd put it on the counter next to his plethora of snacks. He'd never admit he'd cut her articles out of them and kept them in a small scrapbook that lived in his glovebox, right next to the picture of her that once lived in his visor-only because a magazine cut-out clip of her lived there now, her smiling with a massive twin barrel storm behind her, the gold chain peeking from the shirt was wearing.

-

iii.

"Ty, man, this one's a beaut! She's unreal!"

Boone's voice filled Tyler's ears from the passenger seat, but as Tyler looked out at the horizon, his attention was far from the brunette that sat next to him. He saw her car before he saw her-the same rink-dink, decked out, black Subaru she'd had in college, meaning she was here on her own, not for business.

His green eyes darted to the field across from where it was parked, spotting her instantly as she stood in the tall grass, hair blowing as she brought her camera to her face, crouching down to get the perfect shot. She shook her head when she pulled back from it, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Tyler puts the truck in park and all but barrels out of the door, his boots taking him towards her, but not nearly fast enough.

"Jesus, who's that? And why's she got Ty all in a tizzy?" Boone leans over to Lilly, who gives him an incredulous look.

"That's Y/N Y/L/N, she's a storm photographer, apparently he's got some fan girl crush on her or somethin', he keeps her work in a binder."

"Holy shit! Tyler knows the Y/N Y/L/N?"

Tyler would've blushed and denied Lilly's statement vehemently, but he was too far away to hear. Instead, the whipping winds and the sound of Y/N's delightful laughter filled his ears.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Tyler's voice carries over the noise, falling on Y/N's ears. She takes a breath and turns to face him for the first time in years. She nods slowly.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous. Got some great shots."

Her throat feels dry as his eyes peer down at her. She finally braves a look up at him.

"Um, I'm not studying it or anything, just bored, really. I'll let you and your crew have her."

She gives him a small smile, but he notes it's genuine as she caps the lens on her camera.

"It was good to see you, Ty. Good luck."

"Y/N, wait. I-I need to ask you somethin'."

She pauses her steps, turning back to face the man in front of her. For a split second, he looks just like the younger version that had left her all those years ago-the hat, the belt buckle, but none of that same all consuming fear.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you still wear it? I saw you, that time in college, and when you did that shoot outside of Kansas City, the picture they published of you, it-you can see it real clear."

Y/N stills, pushing back hair that's blowing in the wind as she looks at him. She could say a multitude of things-how she wore it because she'd gotten so used to always wearing it. That she wore it because she wanted to hold onto him the only way she could. She could lie and say that she used it as a good luck charm. None of them would be the truth, and she was sick of lying to him, so she simply told the truth.

"Well, all the best chasers, they carry their first storm with them, right?"

She pauses, realizing how vague that was.

"What I mean is, without you taking me through my first storm I never would've done this. I was terrified of them, and you and that stupid red truck of yours showed me how beautiful they can be, and now I capture their beauty for a living. I never would've had any of this without you, so-"

She shrugs, giving him a small chuckle. The silence suffocates as he looks at her.

"Tyler listen-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't. I'm the one that should apologize, I left you all those years ago. That was real shitty of me, and I didn't give you a warnin' or a reason why. So, I'm sorry, for all of it."

She nods, giving him a smile. The quiet floods between them again, and she pushes back her hair again before she speaks.

"I-I watch your videos, y-your livestreams. You're still crazy, but it reminds me of when we used to chase, and you'd scare me to death, and then you'd, uh, 'apologize' for it and, sometimes it's like I'm there with you."

He laughs with her.

"I-I've got every newspaper and magazine clippin' you've ever been in. You're pictures they're-breathtakin', it feels like you're standin' in the field right there next to you. I guess that's just because I used to be and memories, ya know?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile, one that sends his heart racing. They both turn their attention to the horizon where the storm seems relatively calm, at least by their standards.

"Uh, Y/N? I'm sorry, I promised you somethin' all those years ago, and I never made good on it. I think about that a lot, and-just-I'm sorry."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ty, we were kids." She pauses, tilting her head as she looks at the storm brewing. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for that life anymore, I like life on the road. I mean, where else do you get moments like this? The storms back home are wonders, but nothing like this."

"I agree with you there," he chuckles. His heart pounds, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. "I miss you though."

She cuts her eyes to his own, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"You were my original chasin' partner, ya know? Plus, when things got scary, you never flinched, not really. This reporter I've got now? God help us all, can't stand much more than a strong wind."

Y/N laughs loudly before she shakes her head.

"Well, you might be in luck. I hate working for that magazine, I really, really do." She turns to face him, camera pulled close to her chest. "The Tornado Wranglers hiring? I'm looking for a job. I have a portfolio if you need it, references too."

Her statement is laced with sarcasm.

Tyler finds himself laughing now, a wide smile plastered across his face.

"I'm familiar with your work, have it on good graces that you're just what we're lookin' for. Lucky for you, we've always got room for one more, that is, if you'll have us. I gotta warn you, those over there are a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm likely to fall in love with them instantly."

Y/N doesn't register the words stumbling out of her mouth until they'd already filled the air between them. Without a word, Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her in closer than people who have a history like theirs should. His calloused fingers reach out to the gold pendant lying on her neck, moving it back and forth between its fingers. It had withstood their time apart-it was scratched and a little weather-worn, but, then again, so were they.

"The clasp broke about a year ago, the rest is all original. Pure gold, willing to sell it for a good offer. The guy at the pawn tried to undersell me, I know what I've got."

Tyler's chest warms, that sarcastic, witty humor he'd missed back in full force.

"Do you take alternate forms of payment?" He pulls her in by her waist with a cocky grin.

"Depends, Owens, what did you have in mind?"

He cocks his eyebrow, giving her a sort of contemplative look as his hands rest on the small of her back, hers around his neck.

"Well, I still owe you about-," He lifts his hand from around her and pretends to count on his fingers. "A billion apologies, we could chase this stunner of a storm, drop these characters back off at the motel, find us an empty field, and I could apologize like I used to...maybe?"

She shakes her head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. They're both smiling so hard its hardly a kiss, but the feelings are there.

"You've got yourself a deal, but I'm keeping the necklace."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby." He kisses her head, pulling her back towards his group of friends, who were now whistling at the pair, obviously catching the interaction. "Fair warning, after he finds out just who you are, Boone's likely to fall in love with you."

She raises her eyebrow, pulling away and heading towards the motley crew ahead of her.

"Guess you'll just have to chase me next."

-

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

[lovelytsunoda]

you've got me under your spell | eddie brock and venom

summary: the then's and now's of halloween in the brock household

pairing: eddie brock x wife!reader (and their son!) x venom

warnings: i've turned eddie brock from a swagless loser to a dilf, venom is loaned to a child as a halloween costume, venom is almost like a second child tbh, implied smut, brief mentions of mental illness and pregnancy-related mental health issues. not to spoil anything at the end but the final section is pretty fucking funny if i do say so myself.

author's note: i have a very delayed last minute addition to my halloween fics for 2024! after flying through all three venom movies in about two days (as someone who doesn't watch marvel movies, might i add), i am pleased (and a little concerned) to annoucne that eddie brock is now my favourite marvel character.

yes, dylan brock is a canon character in the venom comics (or so i have been told) but all this dylan had in common with the canon version is his name.

2010.

she watched fondly from the doorway as eddie picked up the infant, who was currently trying to crawl towards the white pumpkin in the bay window. dylan laughed in his father's arms as eddie spun around before cradling the infant against his chest. he caught his wife's eyes from the doorway, a cheeky grin on his face as he looked down at dylan.

"hey kiddo, i think mommy's looking at us."

dylan smiled, wide and toothless, letting out the baby equivalent of a cheer as he looked over at his mother.

"are you guys ready to make the rounds? i promised mrs. chen some baby time." y/n laughed, reaching out to hold her son's small hand in hers.

the streets outside were lit up with fog machines and smiling skeletons, filled with the sounds of kids milling about. it was baby brock's first halloween, and he was dressed appropriately for it in his little pumpkin costume. after attempting to suck on y/n's finger, dylan dropped her hand and busied himself with attempting to trace the tattoos visible on eddie's forearm.

eddie beamed, kissing his wife softly before answering. "we're ready if you are. lead the way, mamas."

y/n had never pictured herself as a mother. in her twenties, when it seemed like settling down was the only thing people her age wanted to do, she was paralyzed with fear, insecurity and a little bit of self-loathing. being inside of her head was a nightmare, and she wasn't even sure she'd make it to thirty.

things had started to change when she met eddie brock.

slowly, she came alive again. she started to want things that she had thought were out of reach. she wanted to get married, have that house and that family and the white picket fence. to know that everything she had done had added up to this moment, and that everything had been worth it.

but she hated being pregnant. for her, growing another human being had been an arduous, terrifying experience. the eight hours of labour she had gone through on the day dylan was born was enough for her to decide that she didn't want more kids, and that she could still have the family she dreamed of with only one child.

she kissed dylan's forehead softly, brushing back his thin baby hair before tucking the small pumpkin hat onto his little head, and over his small ears.

the couple walked down the front steps of their bungalow, one of eddies arms around his wife, and the other holding his son (which was quite the feat, considering that the infant so desperately wanted out of his father's arms. dylan was an active baby, but he was allowed to crawl down the residential street, he would do so at such a pace that the brocks would never get him back.)

at every house they went to there was someone to coo over the littlest brock. eventually, eddie had to drop that arm around his wife so that he could use both hands to hold his son. dylan smiled that wide, gummy smile and laughed and babbled at all of the people that they passed, y/n clutching an almost-full orange bag of candy (she was convinced that some of their neighbours gave out extra candy to the couple, simply to reward them with the hit of caffeine found in chocolate that the new parents would so crave).

as they walked towards mrs. chen's house, dylan finally settled in his fathers arms, eddie looked over at his wife with nothing but reverence and love in his eyes. even carrying a little bit of extra weight around her hips and stomach, her breasts a little fuller and her arms a little chubbier, she was as radiant as she was the day that they got married. he would do anything for her, for his son. his little family.

"eddie, darling." she laughed, turning to face him. "you're staring."

eddie blushed, the rose in his cheeks barely visible in the dark. "uh, no i'm not."

"yes you are." she giggled. "i love you, eddie brock."

"i love you more." eddie beamed, leaning over to kiss her. "i think the little guy is worn out." he spoke softly, nodding towards the baby in his arms. "he's asleep."

"awe." y/n cooed, gently stroking her son's arm with her pointer finger. the sight of eddie holding their son in his arms would never grow old. she was starting a folder of pictures on her laptop of this very thing, as she knew dylan would soon be too big for his father to hold. "he's just like his father. he can go to sleep any time, any where and in any condition."

eddie laughed. "i feel like there was an insult buried in there somewhere."

"i still married you, didn't i?"

2024.

"dylan, if you want to get to eric's on time, you've gotta get going now! his mom's on the way!"

y/n knocked on her son's door, waiting until she heard the disgruntled teenage groan from the other side. satisfied that dylan had been served enough warning, she headed back out into the living room.

she had put eddie in charge of moving the halloween candy from the massive carboard costco boxes to the festive plastic bowls, and he was doing a surprisingly okay job at it.

their life had changed drastically in the years since her husband had begun to share his body with a symbiote. the symbiote had once given dylan nightmares, and she had fielded one too many concerned calls from the school after he had gone around and told all of the other kids that his father was an alien and would eat anybody who was mean to him (although, once eddie and venom had bonded, venom was steadfast in his commitment to eating any bullies that dylan may face) it had taken time, and a lot of home repairs to get used to, but alas, venom now felt like one of the family.

well, more like the cousin you don't want any of your friends to meet. or the alien that your husband is in a strangely homeorotic relationship with.

"i thought venom would have eaten half of those by now." she remarked, leaning over the back of the sofa to rest her head on her husband's shoulder, hands on his chest.

"i made him promise to behave today. i don't want him scaring the little kids." eddie shrugged, turning his had to kiss his wife softly.

"what did you have to give him?"

eddie paused, waiting a beat in order to formulate an answer that wouldn't send his wife into a spiral. in the distance, he heard dylan's bedroom door open and close, and then the fourteen-year-old came bounding into the living room.

"eric's mom is like five minutes away. is it okay if i wait outside?"

keeping her hands on eddie shoulders, y/n straightened, looking over at her son. "no costume?'

she didn't miss the way that eddie's muscles tensed up under her hands, or the way dylan's pinkie finger twitched. neither of them said a word, and when her eyes zeroed in on the full boxes of nestle chocolates, she got her answer.

"edward brock, please tell me that you did not lend your symbiote to our son as a halloween costume!"

dylan's shoulder rippled black over the top of his hunter-green sweatshirt, venom's inky head materializing next to a defeated looking dylan.

"okay, we won't tell you." the symbiote said , turning to face eddie. "you told me that this was okay with mrs. b."

eddie got up from the couch, pointing a finger at the symbiote. "i said no such thing. i said we were never supposed to tell y/n under any circumstances."

"mom, it's only for the night. you let dad have venom year-round!" dylan protested, stuffing his hands in his sweater pockets. "how is this any different?"

y/n stopped and counted to twenty, eyes closed before she breathed deeply and opened them again.

"that's because your father is the one who brought venom into this house in the first place, and i didn't get a say in the matter. also, your father is an adult, and venom actually listens to him."

"i listen to nobody!"

eddie coughed. "actually, he doesn't listen to me at all. he does what he wants half of the time."

"not the point, eddie! hosting venom almost killed you."

"actually- "

"not now vee!" eddie and y/n shouted together.

eddie reached for his wife's hand, knowing that she needed something to ground her, something tangible that she could hold on to. his hand was warm and calloused, comforting. she ran her thumb over eddie's knuckles as he stepped closer, dropping his voice in the hopes that dylan and venom wouldn't be able to eavesdrop.

"y/n, you know that i wouldn't let dylan take venom out if i didn't think he could handle it. its just one night."

"eddie, venom eats people. i don't want to get calls from parents stating that their sons hung out with my son, and then they came back headless."

"he has sworn to be on his best behavior tonight." eddie insisted. "and besides, when was the last time we had a night that was just the two of us? no dylan, no venom."

she paused, trying to think, the calm was starting to ease back into her body, the initial panic subsiding. her husband was right, she knew. while nights without dylan had become more common the older he got, with the boy staying over at friend's houses or going out late with his buddies, having a husband who hosted an alien sometimes put a damper on date night.

for the past five years, she had felt like she was in a never-ending threesome. don't get her wrong, the sex was absolutely phenomenal, but she missed her husband. she missed the days when it was just the two of them, curled up in bed on a sunday afternoon, with reruns of a bad sitcom playing in the background as they made love without a care in the world.

she realized that she was excited at the idea of having sex with her husband without an alien tentacle trying to slip into her ass (which felt absolutely incredible, by the way. after the first time venom did that, she downloaded all the monsterfucking books she could find on kindle unlimited. trying to explain the plot of ice planet barbarians to eddie had been quite the spectacle).

a honk in the front driveway snapped her out of her thoughts. dylan was looking at her expectantly, venom's head still hovering in the air next to him. if it were possible for symbiotes to give puppy dog eyes, she was sure that venom would be doing so. she looked at eddie, and then back at dylan, weighing her options.

"fine. dylan, you can take venom with you."

venom and dylan gave a cheer, the teen high-fiving one of venom's slinky tentacles.

"i promise not to eat any of the children, mrs. b. only gourmet chocolate. dylan says tonight is the best night for it."

"go on." y/n laughed. "don't keep eric waiting. and be careful!"

eddie and y/n stood by the front window, eddie's hand in her back pocket as they watched dylan run down the driveway and jump into the back of eric's mom's nissan. he had grown up so fast. it felt like just yesterday he was an infant in a pumpkin costume, cradled in eddie's strong arms. now he was almost as tall as his father.

y/n let out a small yelp as she felt herself become weightless, her husband's strong, beefy arms wrapped around her thighs.

"baby, be careful! you aren't as strong without venom! i don't want you to hurt your back!"

"i'll be fine! we have a heating pad for a reason!"

the headed down the hallway in a cloud of giggles, eddie kicking the bedroom door closed behind them with a cheeky grin on his face.

oh yeah, they were going to enjoy every second of having the house to themselves.

____

it was nearing midnight when dylan brock came home, shocked to find his father in the living room, sitting on the sofa in the dark and wincing every time he moved.

"dad? what are you doing? where's mom?"

eddie groaned, trying not to move too much. the heating pad rested against his lower back, and any movement sent a sharp pain up his spine. "she's asleep. tired out."

dylan made a face, dropping his backpack next to the couch. "god damn it, dad! i don't need to know that!"

eddie chuckled. "not like that." well, sort of like that. "this week has been hard on her. between you, me and venom, she's got her hands full."

"what's the heating pad for?" dylan crossed his arms over his chest, staring his father down.

"i hurt my back. it's nothing, not important."

"oh my god! you hurt your back banging mom!"

"dylan, keep your voice down! your mother is sleeping!" eddie scolded, screwing his eyes shut. "and she doesn't know. there is nothing less sexy than pinching something in your back while-"

"stop. please. i don't want to know."

"anyways, i waited until she fell asleep to put some muscle spray on it, and that didn't help, so here i am with the heating pad. how was your night?"

"it was good. venom's fun. we went trick-or-treating around eric's neigbourhood, where all the fancy houses are. also, i think i know what possum brain tastes like." dylan scrunched up his face. "venom decided he'd eaten enough snickers bars."

"snickers are for the weak." venom grunted. "real men eat brains."

eddie laughed. "now you know what the inside of my head is like. at least venom didn't try to eat any people. i wish i never knew what grey matter tasted like."

dylan extended his hand. "it's been fun, but i think he wants his host back."

eddie took dylan's hand in his, inhaling as he felt venom fill his veins once more, the familiar voice he'd come to tolerate returning to the back of his mind. slowly, the stinging pain in his lower back started to subside, the symbiote healing him from the inside out.

"thanks buddy. i needed that." he sighed. "and thanks for looking after dylan."

"no problem, eddie. you know, you'd get hurt less around the house if you stopped doing silly things when i'm not here."

"hey dylan, do you want the symbiote back?"

dylan laughed, heading to his room. "not a chance, dad. you're the only person in the world who could handle him."

[sarahthecoat]

i discovered the Flying Pickets, thanks to a fic!

Have you ever discovered a music artist, musical, or movie/show you ended up REALLY loving, just because someone used audio from it in a fandom AMV/PMV/meme?

[trans-axolotl]

ID: Intersex activist Max Beck standing in front of the American Academy of Pediatrics with a sign that says Silence=Death.

On October 26th, 1996, the first ever protest for intersex liberation in America took place when activists from Hermaphrodites With Attitude took to the streets to protest the American Academy of Pediatrics. Later memorialized as intersex awareness day, this important action was a milestone for the American intersex movement. Max Beck, one of the intersex activists from HWA, documented the entire protest and later published their recollection in the Intersex Awakening Issue of the Chrysalis Journal. The full piece is pasted under the cut.  

"But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. 

I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America. One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. 

We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!" 

Hermaphrodites With Attitude Take to the Streets: By Max Beck, 1997

In late October of 1996, Hermaphrodites with Attitude took to the streets, in the first public demonstration by intersexuals in modern history. On a glorious fall day, the like of which you can only find in New England, under a crackling, cloudless sky, twenty-odd protesters joined forces to picket the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians in Boston. Deeply aware of the historical and personal significance of the action, and — correctly — surmising that a notebook diary would not be practical on such a whirlwind, windy week-end, I took a small hand-held tape recorder with me. What follows are excerpts from the resulting transcript.

October 24, 1996 2:45 PM, Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport

The trip has only just begun and I am already exhausted. Hot. Starving. Fifteen minutes until take-off. Every businessman boarding the plane looks like a pediatric endocrinologist, Boston-bound. Silly thought, testimony to what? My anxiety? My fear? My giddy anticipation? If these bespectacled, suit-and-tie sporting men were pediatricians, would they be flying coach on Continental, with a layover in Newark? I’m headed for Boston, for the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians (AAP). Tens of thousands of pediatricians. I’m not a pediatrician, though, nor am I a nurse; in fact, I barely managed to complete my B.A. I’m a manager of a technical laboratory. We don’t work with children, and the AAP certainly didn't invite me, so why am I going?

With the plane taxiing toward take-off, this is a lousy time to reassess. I’m going. I’m going because I am intersexed. I’m going because the doctors and nurses who treated me as an infant and a child and an adolescent, and those who continue to treat intersexed infants and children today, consider me “lost to follow-up.” I was lost— that’s part of the problem. Now, I’m back.

9:02 PM: Boston’s North End

I’m comfortably ensconced in Alice’s warehouse condo in Boston’s North End, a renovated warehouse with a view of the city skyline, ceilings easily twenty feet high, exposed beams and brick, gorgeous tile floor. As I speak, my hostess is preparing an absolutely phenomenal meal. The aroma of roasted peppers permeates the entire space. Tomorrow, the work begins; my project this evening is to unwind and enjoy this wonderful meal. Easier said than done. I’m feeling excited, enervated, I feel very alive, something I don’t feel very often, I feel very present and aware. It could be my exhaustion, it could be the Chardonnay. But I think, rather, that the excitement is anticipation about what we are about to do. Being here, finally being prepared to raise a voice, to be heard, to be seen, a vocal, out, proud hermaphrodite who is standing up to say, “Let’s rethink this, this isn’t working, we’ve been hurt, stop what you’re doing, listen to us!” I’m really looking forward to meeting Morgan at the airport in the morning; it’s always amazing to make eye contact with someone else who has been there.

October 25, 7:38 AM Boston Commons

En route to my encounter with the AAP, walking the approximately two miles from my hostess’ domicile to the Marriott Hotel at Copley Square, I pause in the Boston Commons to enjoy a park bench, to sip my Starbuck’s decaf, and to watch a group of senior citizens performing Japanese swordsmanship on top of the hill beneath a monument to some forgotten general. The city is cool this morning, but clear, and it promises to be a beautiful weekend. That’s good: we won’t be rained out. I’ve got a stack of about ninety ISNA brochures in the bag at my side, crammed in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. If I want these pamphlets to get inside, I’ve got to get to the site of the Nurses’ Panel at the Marriott before they close the doors. Then it’s back out to the airport, to pick up Morgan. My feet are already killing me.

October 26, 9:15 AM: North End

Morgan and I are sitting at our hostess’ breakfast table, pulling our thoughts together. In a few minutes, we’ll have to leave to pick up Riki at the airport. The logistics of pulling together an action are mind-boggling. There’s no describing the thrill, though, of all that work, all those phone calls, all those miles. Riding a clattering subway on a Saturday morning, seated beside another living, breathing, laughing, swearing intersexual, hugging near-strangers at unfamiliar airports, then riding back, together, defiant, determined, organized, to the heart of so much of our pain, so much of our anger, so much of our need. We gathered in front of the huge Hynes Auditorium, pamphlets and leaflets in hand, and met the AAP attendees as they left the convention center for lunch. The next hour-and-a-half was a blur, as we positioned ourselves in strategic locations before the Hynes, held signs and “Hermaphrodites with Attitude” banner aloft, distributed our literature, engaged AAP members and passers-by in conversation and debate, spoke to microphones, to cameras. In all that time, I recorded only one fragment of a breathless sentence. 

Saturday, 12:20 PM Outside the Hynes

We’ve got all the exits covered, and it’s an incredible, incredibly empowering experience. I remember the words I spoke to the TV camera, if only because I had scribbled a rough outline on the airplane, pirating mightily from Cheryl’s press release. And because the moment was so salient, so real. Me, Max, bespectacled, with blisters on my feet and chapped lips, speaking out to untold numbers of invisible viewers (and a few bewildered pediatricians behind me.)

"When an intersex child is born, parents and caregivers are faced with what seems to be a terrible dilemma: here is an infant who does not fit what our society deems normal. Immediate medical intervention seems indicated, in order to spare the parents and the child the inevitable stigmatization associated with being different. Yet the infant is not facing a medical emergency; intersexuality is rarely if ever life-threatening. Rather, the psychosocial crisis of the parents and caregivers is medicalized. 

Intersexuality is assumed to be a birth defect which can be corrected, outgrown and forgotten. The experiences of members of the intersex support groups indicate that intersexuality cannot be fixed; an intersex infant grows up to be an intersex adult. This hasn’t been explored, because intersex patients are almost invariably “lost to follow-up.” The abstract of a talk that will be given at this very conference by a doctor who treats intersex infants concedes that “the psychological issues surrounding genital reconstruction are inadequately understood.”

Part of the problem is that we were lost to follow-up, and there were reasons for that. But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America.

One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!

7:20 PM: Boston’s North End

Goddess, this is so sweet, so liberating! I was so reluctant a week ago, having my Jesus-in-Gethsemane experience, reluctant to accept — not an onus or responsibility but — to accept who I am. And here’s where the hard work really begins. I’m exhausted when I think of the road before us. But then, it’s nothing like the road behind us. 

Max Beck, 1997.

[rainylana]

“I’m not always bad.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: eddie finds you crying. why does he care?

warnings: bully eddie, bad boy, awkward and meanie eddie, language, crying, upset reader, talk of cancer, readers dad has cancer. a potential series if you want it, let me know!

gif is not mine!

update! part two has been posted and is located on my masterlist!

He supposed maybe over time it wouldn’t be absolutely crazy to have some sort of care for you, after all, he had known you since the both of you were in diapers in preschool together, and ever since, he’d treated you like dirt beneath his leather boots.

He was an absolute prick to you, and you couldn’t remember one memory of him being nice to you. Maybe it was because you came from a ‘white picket fence’ home, had good grades, an honor student, actually. Maybe it was because you were pretty? Maybe he liked you? No. You had long since disregarded that idea many years ago. He wouldn’t be this mean.

You walked as quickly as you could to the gymnasium, pink heels clicking with every step and turn. Your eyes blurred with tears and you hiccuped a breath. You pushed open the door, relieved no one was in there, at least, not to your knowledge, and plopped down on the closet set of bleachers to your right. You put your head in your hands and cried like a baby pathetically.

Eddie was closing up a deal when you’d come busting in dramatically. He quickly hid his stash, thinking it was a teacher as his customer quickly left the scene, muttering a thank you as he did so. When he say it was you, he cursed under his breath and put away his things.

He adjusted his jacket, putting away his weed and wallet as he watched you. He squinted his eyes. Were you crying? He’d seen you cry before, that wasn’t anything new, but you looked upset. He walked across the gym floor, adjusting his junk like a typical male specimen.

“Why the long face, L/n?” His demeaning voice boomed and echoed.

You jumped, revealing your tear stricken face. You groaned. “Fuck! I- I didn’t know anyone was in here. Sorry.” You went up to leave.

“Woah, woah,” He held up his hands. “You’re on my turf, L/n. Crying and trespassing on my property are not to go unpunished.” He tried to ignore the fact you were visibly upset, thinking maybe you got a bad grade or tripped over your own feet and embarrassed yourself. That’s usually what it was, anyways.

Today, however, you couldn’t deal with his dramatics. Your face crumbled into tears and you sobbed, slowly sinking back down to your seat and hunched back over. Eddie, despite his antics, couldn’t help but furrow his brow. He watched you for a moment, looking to see if anyone else was around he could pass you off to. He looked back at you, and when you pushed out a particular harsh sob, he knew that this time was different. Something was wrong.

Unbeknownst to him, he frowned, pursing his lips and climbed up to bleachers to sit beside you. He looked at you like you were from another planet, eyes wide and alert like you were playing a joke on him. He didn’t like this said joke.

“Hey, uh,” He cleared his throat, looking for the quickest way out. “Stop crying.” Way to cheer her up, buddy.

“I can’t.” You sobbed into your hands. “My life’s falling apart!”

That broke him out of his shocked state and he rolled his eyes at your dramatics, leaning back into his seat. “What happened now?”

“Just leave me alone, Eddie!” You snapped angrily, jerking your head toward him so hard he thought it was fly clean off and roll onto the floor with the rest of the disregarded basketballs. “Do you have to be such a jerk everyday of my life? Can’t you let me cry in peace just for once?” You stared at Eddie, who was startled and wide eyed, looking at you like you’d gone made.

He sighed heavily, a mask of irritation and annoyance falling over his hooded eyes. “Fine.”

He got up to leave, obeying your wish for once. You watched him get up and leave, and for some odd reason, your heart seemed to sink even further. Once again, you sank back into yourself, listening as his footsteps got further and further away.

He cursed when he got to the gymnasium door, turning back to look at your weeping figure. “Fuck.” He clenched his fist and brought it up to his teeth angrily. Why? Why did he suddenly seem to care about your distress?

He was back beside you, sighing loudly like he didn’t care. “Alright, L/n, what’s going on?”

You gave him a sharp glare, shooting him daggers. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” He fired back. “But I don’t need you busting in during my deals, so you might as well get whatever it is off your chest and wipe your damn tears.” He lifted himself off the seat briefly, reaching back and grabbing his black bandana and handing it to you. You didn’t grab it, so he placed it on your lap with a huff.

It was your turn to look him strangely, like he was from another planet, a strange land you’d yet to be aware of. “You’re being weird.”

“Shut up.” He retorted. “You’ve got snot all over your face.”

You purposely rubbed your nose with his bandana, making sure to clean your face of mucus and tears. He recoiled, grossed out at the action. “Yeah, you can keep that.” He said.

He gave you a minute. Nobody said anything as you calmed down, sniffling to yourself here and there. His concern grew when he noticed the shaking of your hands. “Hey,” He said, voice deep and gruff. “What’s the matter with you?”

You looked at him sadly, shaking your head. “My dad has cancer.”

He couldn’t help it then. His whole face dropped. His jaw fell slack and his eyes widened.

“I just found out yesterday.” Your voice was full and thick with tears. “I was in math class and just had to get out before I had a public fucking breaking down like I’m doing now!” You said, angry with yourself.

“It doesn’t even make sense!” You continued. “My dad is a good man! He’s done nothing to deserve this! I don’t understand!” You cried, rambling to him at this point. He didn’t mind, he didn’t know what to say anyways.

“My whole family is just…numb. Dad’s pretending he’s not bothered by it. He’s doing everything he normally does. Mowing the grass, helping mom with the flower bed.”

You kept talking and Eddie listened, and in that moment, he felt pure sorrow and remorse, compassion and empathy for you. He listened to your words and felt his stomach sink. And you were beautiful, a random thought jostled in the middle somewhere between sorrow and empathy.

You cried to him for almost an hour. You talked about your family falling apart, but continuing on despite the downfall. The number of months the doctors had given your father to live. You talked about not being walked by him down the aisle, him not seeing his grandchildren. It was all here and there, but Eddie listened and said nothing, and after awhile, you forgot he was there and that it was Eddie.

When two o’clock rolled around, you breathed heavily and looked at your watch, then him. “You didn’t need to stay.” You were completely exhausted, mentally and physically.

“It’s alright.” It was the first thing he’d said in an entire hour. “You needed someone to talk to. I’m just being a good samaritan.”

“Still,” Your eyes were red and raw. “Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not always bad.”

You managed to smile. He didn’t.

“Well, thanks.” You said softly. “My friends don’t know yet. Nobody does. Please don’t tell?” You looked at him with round eyes that were always so full of innocence.

“I won’t say anything.” He shook his head.

You sniffled once more and nodding, standing up and fixing your white skirt. “Well, I better get back to class. Thanks for listening.”

He let you walk all the way across the room and to the door before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t look at him and he didn’t look at you, but both of your hearts seemed to lighten. The door clicked open loudly and shut, leaving him to himself.

[vidals-harkness]

ok hear me out…R is Agatha’s daughter…Nick’s (younger) twin sister. Growing up she helped her mother try to find the darkhold so they could bring Nick back but after failing and seeing what it was doing to agatha she placed a protection spell on herself and ran so her mother couldn’t find her.

She ends up dating Alice after meeting at one of Lorna’s concerts and Lorna taking her in and helping her expand her powers, they got closer and eventually started dating. But have an on/off relationship after Lorna dies…

She only sees agatha again when she gets a call from Alice’s boss- cuz as her ex gfs ‘parol officer’ she obviously gets notified by these things- and goes to pick her up, only to see her mother waiting for her and Alice when they leave the store and Alice is rambling and explaining that it wasn’t her fault…

POV: the black heart actually was for R because while helping agatha try and get nick back something happened to her (and this is the part where you make up something cool like she had to trade half her heart with his dead one but the dark magic used consumed hers instead and she uses so many names that lilia couldn’t just see one name but a bunch of different ones all being carved into a black heart)

fly away, little bird (agatha harkness)

summary: agatha’s little bird flies away after she gets the darkhold. after a rocky relationship with alice wu-gulliver, just when little bird’s life seemed to have been on track, what happens when she reunites with her less-than sane mother?

fic type: angst

pairings: agatha x daughter!reader, alice wu-gulliver x reader

word count: 1.8k

The Darkhold ruined your life. It took the picket fence around your mothers, your brother, and you, and smashed it to bits before burning it down to the ground.

The Darkhold left your heart in tatters, or rather the half that was left.

“A small price to pay, little bird,” Agatha had said. “Just one small payment, and we get Nicky back,”

How small was half a heart? Small as half a fist? Or small as half your soul?

It was the latter, it seemed. As Agatha descended into the depths of dark magic, you realised just how blind you had been to the Darkhold’s grip on mortal desire. Or rather, in this case, immortal desire.

Nicholas was your everything. Your best friend, partner in crime. The one who slapped a boy for snatching your pencil in kindergarten, the one who took the blame for smearing peanut butter all over Señor Scratchy, the one who made you feel safe all those thunderous nights, the one who annoyed you to bits but loved you the same.

You wanted him back, but not like this.

You wanted the picket fence to be remade, wanted the perfect life you had back when you were five.

You wanted him back, but with your mother sane and safe from the claws of dark magic.

But fate plays a cruel game of chance.

So there you were, your life packed into a small backpack, shuffling oracle cards in your hands as you waited at the bus station. There you were, sixteen, lost, and alone, with only your cards, your bag, and Lorna Wu blasting in your ears.

All because of the Darkhold.

The sound of the singing was, unironically, music to your ears. It was calming despite the decibel level. It was despite the fact you had none.

“Hi,” a girl with almond eyes, dark curly hair that had the orange of fire within them said, approaching you after the concert.

“Hi,” you smiled, your gaze meeting hers shyly.

Lorna Wu was a force to be reckoned with, but gentle all the same. You spent hours with her, simply because she knew how to teach you. No screaming, no fighting, no breaking down. Just her hands guiding yours as the magic came from inside you, as the soft wisps danced over your fingertips, weaving wonders you had lost after Nick.

Alice and you were an adventure of secrets swapped under the sheets, gentle touches and sinful moments ensued in the two years after that concert. Of shared happiness and sadness, but as all good things did, it came to an end.

Alice was not a rule-follower, you were. She and you were yin and yang but with a gaping distance in between. Where the darkness of your heart overpowered hers, where arguments ended in slammed doors and couches for the night.

Lorna's death only made things worse.

Alice pulled away, like the tide from the shoreline before a tsunami. She pulled away and went so far, you couldn’t hold on. The huge wave that came crashing down tore your heart, your lifeboat that was your relationship with her, to pieces, leaving you stranded and alone again, like driftwood from the aftermath.

Brick by brick you rebuilt yourself, with every step being painful and tiring. As long hours and terrible coffee consumed you, as the days turned to nights, infinite and endless, it reaped rewards in the end. Rewards like a small apartment you could call your own, like a working day that lasted only eight hours that left you tired but satisfied.

But it was one phone call that destroyed it all.

“Good afternoon, is this Y/n Vidal?” The caller asked. You had changed your last name, it was easier on you to carry the burden of your second mother rather than the one who screwed you over in the first place.

“Yes, this is she,” you said, concerned.

“I’m Alice Wu-Gulliver’s boss, you number is listed in her emergency contacts,” he said. “If you could please come on down to the store, that would be great,”

You felt your world tilt, barely keeping your mind from collapsing in on itself. That irresponsible child, that girl, that woman who left you stranded…had you on her emergency contact? Still? Strange.

A normal day turned nightmare, when you arrived at the store she worked at.

Your eyes met the familiar blue of Agatha Harkness’. There she stood in her fucked-up glory, with some sort of emo boy by her side, grinning smugly.

“Hiya, hon,” she giggled, waving at you with a graceful wiggle of her fingers.

“Seriously,” you sighed, ignoring her and looking at Alice. “Come on, you idiot,”

“It wasn’t my fault!” She protested as you led her out the door. “That lady talked about the witch’s road and all of that shit Mom talked about and—“

“So you assaulted her?”

“No, I didn’t!”

You groaned. “Look, Alice, we are way past me saving your ass constantly,”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you back into my shit,” she said, grabbing her bike. “I’m really sorry,”

“All good, just…remove me from your emergency contacts, that gives very… ‘I know I’m your ex but this is part of my elaborate plan to get you to take me back’ vibes,” you sighed.

"Yeah, I see that, now," she nodded, shrugging awkwardly. "Look, you're an amazing woman, and I wish you the best. And thank you, for bailing me out,"

You nodded in return, bidding her a hasty, clipped goodbye before you bumped into her.

“Okay, I don’t have the spiritual energy to fucking deal with this,” you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“Aw, you’re not even gonna say hi, little bird?” She asked in that tone. That sickly sweet tone which pissed you off.

“No,” you said plainly. “No, I’m not,”

“You got soft,” Agatha admitted as Alice’s bike drove away.

“I got smart,” you countered. “Unlike you. Dark magic has really aged you up a century,”

“Don’t be petty,” she laughed. “You wanted him back just as much as I did,”

“Yeah. I wanted him back. But I also wanted my mother,” you seethed. “I wanted my mother but where was she…oh yes, chasing ancient magic that she knew would leave her less than sane,”

“How long had you been holding that one under the rug?” She asked, smile vanishing.

“Long enough to know that it’ll take me time to forgive you,” you scoffed.

“Aw, but I’m your mama, little bird…” she giggled, patting your head. The touch stung, it truly did.

“Still bitter?”

“Still recovering,”

You sighed softly, looking down. “You know, I thought I mattered more than your dark magic. Turns out you wanted power all along,”

“Who doesn’t like power, silly little bird?” She laughed evilly. “Power is always better than any little wish,”

“It’s better than your sixteen year old daughter, I see,” you scoffed. “Don’t talk to me, Agatha. I don’t want you back in my life,”

She chuckled darkly as you turned around to walk off. “Fly away little bird,” she grinned. “I’ll catch you soon enough,”

ohh, i loved writing this one! i hope you enjoyed it, bao buns! requests are open!

[queenimmadolla]

Could you do a blurb where reader rolls a joint for Eddie for the first time with all her cute papers and stuff and he loves it?

Happy Stoner Christmas!

happy 4/20! 😶‍🌫️💚

“Well, if it isn’t for my favorite customer.”

  You hear him before you see him, and sit up straighter as you look up, torso twisting around to face Eddie.

  He’s walking through the tree line that acts as the ‘fence’ to your backyard. Not exactly born into wealth, your home is on the edge of Hawkins and lacks the white picket fence and concrete driveway, with nature and gravel filling in. Just down the street is Jonathan Byers’ home. 

  Confidence radiates off of Eddie as he approaches the picnic bench you were waiting on, his curls sway a little. He’s rocking a band shirt today—long sleeves rolled up his forearms—and some dark jeans. You try not to squirm under his stare, the wild grin on his face stirring something in your tummy.

  You knew you’d end up crushing on him after the first time you went to him for weed instead of Rick. He was cute. 

  Eddie was so freaking cute and charming and funny. You probably would have been fine if he had just been cute and charming, but the humorous trait was your weakness. You loved funny guys.

  Sure enough, by the fourth time he dealt to you—his tongue was in your mouth. And the fifth time, you’d gone to third base. Now, whatever happened when he came around just happened. You accepted it, even if it makes you a little nervous because you know very well you’re interested in more than just the benefits that come with your encounters. 

  You want him. Like, boyfriend him. It’s kind of tragic, actually, because you don’t even know if you’re the only one of his clientele he treats this way. Eddie can be fucking the rest of them for all you know and it drives you insane because you want to ask—you’re just too chicken shit.

  “You say that as if this wasn’t prearranged.” You laugh out and Eddie snorts, dumping his black lunch pail on the leaf riddled bench top next to your scooby-doo lunch box with a metal clang.

  “I’m trying to be cute and you’re ruining it.” When you laugh again, Eddie’s eyes squint in triumph, “And I’ll have you know I have been waiting—no, yearning for you to call upon me. Moved my bed over to the phone and everything. Thought you forgot allllllll about me.”

  “Me forget about you? Impossible.” You declare in a joking manner, though you truly mean the sentiment. Your mental health might be better if you could forget him. Then you wouldn’t be able to make yourself sick over the idea of him kissing other people.

  “You better mean that.” He jabs an accusatory finger, silver ring glinting, in your direction as he settles in across from you, “The usual, my sweet?”

  UGH! SEE?! Too damn cute.

  “Please?” You’re too busy opening up your own lunch box full of supplies to notice the heated look he fixes you with right then.

  Eddie clears his throat, tongue darting out to swipe over his lower lip as he pops the lid of his lunch pail open, pulling out a little baggie with your favorite strain of buds. He eyes it with a glint in his eye before it’s held out to you, dangling from his fingertips. 

  You look up once you realize it’s being offered, and pinch the top of the baggie as your other hand holds out the folded bills. Eddie flicks them out of your loose grip, and it goes flying to land in your lap while you jump in surprise.

  “My bad,” he snickers, his pretty teeth gleaming, “it’s on the house.”

  You pick up exactly where he wants you to, “In that case, please accept my offer to smoke you out with my newly acquired goods.”

  That feeling in your belly—butterflies—intensifies at the slow and large smile that spreads on his face, forcing his little dimple to make an appearance.

  It always goes like this now. 

  Eddie comes over (or you go to him), weed is exchanged and when you try to pay him for it, he refuses. Then, you invite him to smoke weed with you (and he’ll always pull from the extra inventory he carries around—never from what he’s just given you), the two of you get high and you finally feel brave enough to make a move because you know he always waits for you to do it. Gives you the power to start things, your own comfort, though he takes full control once you get going. He’s always so keen on taking care of you. You’d once thought that maybe he didn’t want you as much as you wanted him, since it was always you initiating things, but the way he’d beg for you, ramble about how much he wanted you, how desperate he was for you and his ‘finally, I thought I was gonna die’s on just your kisses alone, soothed that insecurity. 

  “I’d be delighted to! But─”

  “Nope.” You interrupt, having seen his hand reaching into his pail. “My weed—not yours.”

  He raises his eyebrows in surprise and when you don’t back down, both of his hands are lifted in surrender before one is extended to you out on the bench, palm up. Eddie’s waiting for you to give him your grinder and the weed so he can start rolling but you low five his palm instead and he chuckles, skin tingling from the contact.

  “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “I know, but I’m also rolling today, too.”

  Eddie scoffs and smirks, fixing you with that heated stare again and you quickly divert your gaze, pulling out your pretty purple grinder and getting to work. You are not gonna let him make you nervous and fumble around, “Baby…”

  Oh, god. The way he coos it out, nice and low—you’re instantly taken back to other times you’d heard him say it like that. You’d been bent into all kinds of positions as it was rasped into your ear, the sweat from both of your bodies plastering Eddie to you. Your hand twists the top of the grinder on autopilot as you stare at nothing, gaze vacant.

  Eddie knows exactly where your mind has taken you and his smirk widens.

  “You can’t roll for shit.”

  That snaps you out of your stupor, mouth dropping.

  “I can, too! You’ve never seen me put in the work.”

  “I have, that’s why I roll.”

  And you cringe as you recall the first time you’d try to roll a joint. It had been the second time Eddie sold to you, having only used pre-rolled cones prior. Those only meant you had to pack the wrap in with weed, kind of like a funnel and then twist the end closed before partaking.

  Rolling from start to finish was a whole other endeavor and you’d failed so badly, Eddie had rolled around on the floor laughing. You didn’t take any offense, too busy jumping up and down inside at having made the cute, charming funny guy you liked laugh.

  “I’ve been practicing,” You pout, placing the grinder down after you’re sure the nug of the bud you’d placed in it was now almost powder-like.

  “You tryna impress me, hm?” He hums out, and you refuse to look up, knowing those pretty brown eyes of his are gonna be lidded and it’ll do you in early. You’ll have to jump him right there, “Been practicing to show me what you can do?”

  You ignore him, focusing instead on the rolling papers you had. 

  Eddie places his chin in his hand, watching you intently as you frown in concentration before it breaks when you select a rolling paper, cherries decorating the white sheets. You pull your small rolling tray out and some part of Eddie throbs. You hadn’t had that before.

  You quickly scrunch a filter together, folding the rolling paper and placing the filter at the edge of the fold before you unscrew the grinder and begin pinching the green within to sprinkle on the paper. Once it was full, and Eddie notices with wide eyes that you’ve packed it with a significant amount, you use dexterous fingers to carefully roll it together, tongue poking out as you take diligent care to ensure no fall out. Once the green flower is properly contained, you lick the free edge and fold it over the rest of the joint before you pinch and twist the end.

  After a few moments of intense scrutiny, you hold it out victoriously, “Taduh!!! For you.”

  Eddie takes the joint, turning it this way and that as he marvels. You really had been practicing, it was beautiful. He feels an intense amount of pride bloom in his chest and something else. Always for you, only ever for you.

  “Did I do good?” You ask, voice shy as you bite your lip and this time you don’t look away when that heavy stare focuses on you. You wanna faint, but you don’t. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you know where tonight is gonna lead. 

  “Baby,” There’s that rasp again that makes you want to drop dead and smash your mouth to his at the same time, “I’m gonna need you to come over here now. Don’t think I can wait.”

[luna-rainbow]

The reason people were saying don’t forget fandom history isn’t because anyone thinks Stucky is the oldest MLM ship, or the biggest MLM ship, or the only MLM ship of its time. It’s because it was 2014 and gay marriage was still illegal. It’s because it was 2015 and MAGA was flying everywhere. It’s because it was 2016, people took to Twitter and trended #givecapaboyfriend. Mere weeks later, comics Steve Rogers was written into a Nazi.

It’s because it came at a turning point not just in superhero history but American history. MCU Steve Rogers was a return to a more sincere worldview after two decades of grim dark cynicism. The MCU, previously the domain of (mainly cis white) dudebros — you only have to look at the way Nat and Peggy were written in the early movies to know that women and other minorities, whether as characters or audience, were a distant afterthought — has gained traction with the mainstream audience. The advent of social media and internet accessibility meant a blossoming abundance of fan content that previous generations didn’t have.

This coincided with a time of intense ideological clash between progressive and conservative voices. Unlike what dudebros say, very few people believed the MCU would actually give Cap a boyfriend, but it did squarely place Captain America on the side of the LGBT community. Up until this point, MCU Steve in both canon and fanon has often been portrayed with hazy nostalgia for “the greatest generation” and the white picket fence dream. The hashtag trend was a reclamation of a character who was written by a minority, whose origin was a marginalised group for his time, and whose moral code was always supportive of people sidelined by history.

There will always be older ships, bigger ships, “more canon” ships, but you’ll never get another ship that rode the nexus of social media growth, genre popularity, LGBT recognition and political tug-o-war to breach containment the way Steve-Bucky did.

Don’t forget the history of #GiveCapABoyfriend, the BBC Steve-Bucky fan video, the “of course it’s a love story”, the “we went a little Brokeback” and the “Bucky is his home”. All of these were acknowledgement of the sheer size and international reach of the fandom. With a character many people thought of as the face of conservative America, it brought gay romance into the mainstream consciousness…and yes, without Steve-Bucky and several other concurrent massive MLM ships laying down the ground work, many of the newer canon gay romances would not have been green lit by profit-hungry studios.

[gghostwriter]

fluff request

Spencer reid x bee holding hands and skipping around. Pls and Thanks!

Love ur work!

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff! Just fluff! wc: 1k A/N: Bear, so sorry it took a while but here is your request and its just pure loving fluff of Spencer falling deeper in love! Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

In the Ether. // Spencer Reid

It was a rarity for Spencer Reid to fly out of Virginia outside of work and for any other state than Las Vegas to visit his mother. It was even a rarer sight for him to be surrounded by green pastures until all the eyes could see and fading white picket fences that keep farm animals—cows, goats, and horses—safe from one another. He was a city boy through and through, after all. 

But here he was, experiencing the tranquility of living in a countryside with just the sounds of air rustling the trees and the harmonizing voices of all living animals found in the farm. It was how you grew up and you wanted him to meet your family while experiencing your quiet childhood in a small town, even just for a short weekend. 

“Well, what do you think?” You asked as you sat beside him on the rickety swing bench your father built on the front porch when you were ten years old. 

He smiled, grasping your hand into his before bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. “It’s beautiful and peaceful. I could see why you love it here.” 

“When I was a teenager, not so much—” you laughed at his incredulous expression. “—there’s really not much to do in a countryside town where everyone knows everyone, i promise—”

“So you dreamed of moving to a big city,” he added on. 

You nodded, watching the farm dogs herd a couple of sheep strays back to the flock. “Yup, so I applied to college in a big city and ended up missing the vast space and quiet after a few years. How cliché of me, don’t you think?”’

“No, not really. It made sense for you to miss what you once had,” his voice soft and soothing like a gentle, cooling breeze in an arid desert. He had a way of guiding your thoughts back to the light—a lighthouse that pierces through the grey fog guiding you boat back to shore. It was one of the qualities that made you grateful that he chose you the same way you’d choose him again and again if needed be. 

You stood up, shaking any melancholy. “Grab your book, Spence, let’s go visit my favorite tree up the hill.”

Laughing, he guided you inside to the guest room you both will occupy and proceeded to pull out an obscure Quantum Mechanics copy from his satchel.

You shook your head, only Spencer would decide to bring an academic book as a form of light reading.

With your chosen book on hand and a picnic blanket on the other, you shouted out loud your destination for anyone to hear around the house and proceeded to pull your boyfriend of one year outside the back door with a bounce in your step.

The excitement that seemed to vibrate out of you was so contagious that Spencer found himself skipping at your same beat. Hands together swinging between your bodies, he had never felt any more weightless and unfettered by the grim reality his cases had to offer. 

Halfway through, you could spot the colossal Sycamore tree that you called your own. It had been nicknamed as yours by the family ever since you fell asleep under it at a tender age of four. It had been your own space, your own solace when you wanted to be alone. It was such an extension of you that you wanted to share its existence to the one you hoped to share the rest of your life with.

You squeezed his hand, signaling him to a stop. 

“What is it, sweetheart?”

A mischievous twinkle in your eyes clued him in before any word was even uttered.

“Race you!” You bolted, the loose skirt of your cotton dress sticking to your legs as you picked up speed. 

Both your laughters echoing in the air, mixing with the chatter of the nearby ducks, as if you and him were still kids, free from responsibility and unabashed with glee—like everything was simple in life.

With a smile threatening to split his cheeks from happiness, he loved seeing you run across the vibrant green field, sneakers leaving imprints on the moist soil, and tendrils of your long hair trailing behind you. Everything about the moment was precious. Everything about you was ethereal. A forest nymph that had bewitched him body and soul. A woodland sprite coloring his barren wasteland of life in a multitude of colors he can never hope to name. A beloved that he wishes to cherish until the end of time.

You turned around with a smile on your face, having reached the destination first and as if the skies needed him to fall any deeper for you, a soft warm sunlight streamed through the leaves, giving you a golden halo like you were some kind of goddess here on Earth, meant just for him. 

Spencer went with instinct, untethered and uncaring for anyone to see. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, twirling you around with your giggles as the music before bringing you back down to Earth and leaning in to give you a slow, soft kiss. A motion so loving that had you melting in his arms, hands clutching his button down, afraid for the moment to end. 

He leaned back a sliver. Far enough for breeze to pass between your lips but close enough for your noses to still be touching.

Eyes staring into yours, warm and golden like the morning sun breaking from the horizon, he uttered the truth of his devotion.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[red-phantom-0]

Claimed Prey

18+ Content

Dark Azriel ff ( ft.Eris Vanserra)

TWS : Possessive & obsessive behavior, stalking , dumbfication of a human , predator/prey relationship , yandere like behavior, shadow play , choking , fingering , oral play , jealous fucking , f×m×m , p^ssy slapping , attempted murder

Part 1

summary : a certain little fox thinks he can steal his little prey, but the little fox doesn't know is that this prey is claimed and her owner isn't scared to show it ~

my darling prey, let me show them how much you belong to me with my tongue

Azriel hates many things in life , to the squeaky tap in his little prey's apartment to the queasy feeling of sand in his shoes. Though azriel hates one thing with every fibre in him , people touching things that clearly fucking belong to him.

He watches in the shadows as Vanserra has the audacity to twirl his little prey around and flash her his little coy smile. Azriel fucking seethes. Azriel isn't a dumb owner , he's a good owner always labeling things with his name , thus the pretty little purple hickies prettily covering his preys neck .

Or maybe the fact that she reekes of his scent because maybe he sent his shadows to finger her while his high lord was giving his speech but can you blame azriel he was bored and the sight of watching his little prey squirm was way more entertaining.

Azriel doesn't give a flying fuck about how this ball is to improve diplomatic relations with the courts, frankly doesn't care that Eris is the next High Lord or that Eris is the only 'ally' the Night Court had at the moment .

All he cared about truly was the fact that Eris signed his death away when he fucking touched his little prey. Azriel watches as the pair twirl around on the dance floor , he watches as Eris whispers pretty little nothingness into her ears that has his little prey giggling.

Himself and his little prey knows that cutsey vanilla shit isn't for her , that cute picket fence dream with a loving normal lover wasn't meant for her . She can try all she wanted to fit that mold but he knew that she felt the fucking best when he's claiming her raw and hard against a wall in a alleyway or marking her neck in hickies while his shadows play with her cunt.

It's okay, little prey , your owner knows best, so don't worry, he'll take care of everything. Azriel watches as their little dancing comes to a stop , watching Eris lean close to his prey, probably asking her to go somewhere more private.

Like fucking hell that'd happen. Azriel watches as they leave to go down a hallway and follow after them silently . He watches as they both enter an empty room, and all hell breaks loose in Azriel's restraint.

Azriel winnows himself into the room causing his little prey to gasp in both horror and shock . Eris flashes Azriel a mocking grin but is met with Azriel's fist as a response . Eris groans in pain and falls to the ground and his shadows immediately hold the male hostage.

" You thought you can touch what's mine ?" Azriel groans out in fury as he approaches the male . His prey only gasps and attempts to run away, but it's too late for her as his remaining shadows wrap around her neck in a choking hold, stopping her in her escape.

Eris snarled , " It's not my fault she wanted me more than you " . Azriel practically began seeing red but opted to kicking Eris in his stomach as a response.

" I'll show you how much she wants me " Azriel says as he approaches his prey. His little prey was practically shaking but he could fucking smell her arousal a mile away. Azriel presses a chaste kiss to his preys lips.

" Mercy or punishment ? " He whispers to her , his pupils practical dilated . His prey , every so bratty told him to ' fuck off " earning a laugh from Azriel. " Mhmmm you haven't earned my dick for me to fuck you yet love " He drawls as his hands worked her dress off her.

His prey practically curses him out , ' Eris is better than you ' which earned her the shadows tightening their hold on her. Azriel only laughs at her little show of defiance before he practically pinned her to the nearby couch into a sitting position.

His prey squealed and attempted to run away but the shadows bounded her immediately. " Stop being a bratty slut before I seriously do something you won't like " Azriel threatens . His prey had the audacity to laugh at him along with Eris .

Azriel watches his prey dead in the face before he summons a knife that slices Eris' left ear clean . The lordling practically screamed bloody murder . Ignoring his screams he pushes his preys tighs apart and entered his tongue into her his warm cunt.

It was practically overflowing with her neediness and Azriel ate her to his full. His little prey began moaning once she snapped out of her shock , practically bucking her hips into his mouth . Some shadows trailed down and began tugging at her nipples while others began playing with her clit.

His prey kept screaming his name , over and over, and she practiced came , but that didn't stop Azriel as he kept going, not giving her a break whatsoever no matter how much his little prey begged.

" Disobedient little sluts don't get breaks they get used by their owners " Azriel says as he slapped her soaking cunt until it was pink. His prey let out a choked moan as she came undone for the third time this night. Azriel grinned as he watches his prey lean back into the sofa , too tired , too utterly fucked out of her mind to do anything .

It's okay , he's a good owner , he always takes care of things that belong to him . Azriel licks her cum off his mouth and orders his shadows to fuck her cunt. His prey let's out a whine and a broken moan as his shadows enter her and fuck her senseless.

His prey can only moan his name over and over like a broken record, which causes azriel to only smirk. Azriel walks away from her and walks towards Eris with a psychotic look plastered on . Eris tries to back away but the shadows surrounding him tighten around him causing him to cough his lungs out , desperate for air .

Azriel grabbed Eris by his hair , forcing the male to meet his gaze .

" Next time, Vanserra, don't touch things that don't belong to you " Azriel says with a grin as everything goes black for Eris .

Uhm idk anymore what this is 💀