#those falsetto runs what the hell was this guy even made of

[leapinarmadillo]

I am sitting here paralyzed making this face

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

Let’s Get Something Straight

Pairing || William Miller x Reader Rating || E (18+ ONLY) Warnings || Sex in the great outdoors, sex on Will’s car Word Count || 4.1k shut up Prompt || Anonymous Request: Will and the reader have a fight that ends with them having rough makeup sex. Taglist ||   @firefeatherx @goldenhour-goldenboy @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @phoenixhalliwell @havenforafrazzledmind @living-reminder @beatriz-silva-00 @pascalz @worldominatorx @givemethatgold @agirllovespancakes @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @veuliee @briskywalker @the-bird-suit @mapache-lector @skylyknightly (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

You decided a long time ago that the worst thing about text messages is that they line up on your locked phone screen and you end up reading them without even wanting to.

What was the name of your contact in Germany?

Lost the password to the bus station locker in Boulder. Help?

Are you still alive?

William Miller has the best memory out of any person you’ve ever met. There’s no way he lost the name of your contact or, god forbid, forgot a four number combination for a locker when that man keeps track of every damn thing in his life. He’s just trying to get a response out of you.

However, there was something even worse. When the text messages….

Stop.

The emptiness of your phone screen is agony, but you can’t seem to stop checking it. After about a month of this, you’re sitting, feeling bruised, at the window of a coffee shop. Your phone is face down beside your mug and your laptop. On the other side of the window, a fall rain shower sweeps down the small town street. it wets down the leaves on the sidewalk and fills the shop with the crisp scent of wet pavement every time a patron bustles in or out.

You respond to Will’s requests for help. Just because things hadn’t worked out between you doesn’t mean you had to become an asshole. You had gotten through a month on your own; you were doing well without him.

As well as could be expected.

You’d run and gunned, fought, and made love with the adamant, selfless, hedonistic man who was William Miller for a year and a half. It had been a time of soaring, you realize, and golden, flying time full of freedom to touch, snuggle, fight, endure. You hadn’t fully realized this until it all went south–when a mission had gone wrong and Ben had let it slip that William had tried to do it on his own and that was the top of those other three botched missions and the time Will said:

No, not gonna go back through that. It’s better to move on.

Move on? How delusional are you?

You can’t escape the furious pain in Will’s eyes when you left, after he tried to kiss you like that would change your mind. Despite the ugliness of the past year, Will, in all his tall, deadly, blunt, powerful glory, made parts of you hum with contentment and warmth–something you still don’t now how you’ll survive without.

You gulp down some coffee to force back tears. You’ll survive, anyway.

And that’s when you see his car roll right past the window.

You choke, eyes fastening on the passengers–it’s them. Will driving, Ben riding. You shrink down as if you can hide behind your mug.

Oh no. Your own car is parked right in front of the shop. The Millers don’t miss a thing, but you desperately hope this one time–

Ben’s head swivels, his eyes locked onto your truck. Will notices and cranes his head back to stare at your truck, too.

Then they’re gone, and you’re sitting there, heart racing.

Well, shit.

–

“Feel like I’m in freaking high school again! Ooh, better take a different way to class so I don’t pass his fucking locker!”

Your falsetto fills the cabin of your truck as you navigate the town’s main drag. You’re talking to yourself.

Again.

“Well is the whole country going to be a high school now?” you continue. “Or… no, I’ll go be all mature and woman-power-ish, and I’ll just stick it out and pretend they’re not here–SURE, NO PROBLEM, LET ME JUST WALTZ AROUND LIKE I’M NOT A FUCKING MESS… godDAMMIT!”

And now you’re crying because dammit, you fucking miss William Miller and his fucking car and his fucking smile and the way his hair sticks up in back in the morning and the look he gets when he knows you’re bullshitting him and the way he’s never cold and the way he gloats when he makes you scream in pleasure, like he just invented the fucking wheel.

You bounce and splash through a few blocks of neighborhood, glaring furiously. The sun is cutting through masses of gold leaves, turning the streets into shiny, steaming lanes out of a storybook, and you fucking hate it.

And then, in your rear view mirror, you see the flash of a grille and the gleam of black paint. William’s turns onto the street behind you.

There’s only one person riding in it now.

A barbed-wire spasm of pain draws a gasp from your lips. “Oh fuck, that’s it. That is it.”

And then your foot stomps on the accelerator and you are getting out of town; you’re not coming back. You can’t handle this, and if he’s gonna follow you, screw him; you’re not gonna stop. The two-lane country road you’re on goes somewhere you don’t know, but you haul down it anyway, jaw mulishly set as you blow through stop sign after stop sign.

Will doesn’t stop, either.

You’ve learned several reasons why the boys call him Ironhead. This one takes the cake.

He follows you. And keeps following you. Soon, you’ve been going about three miles, and you’re starting to get more worried than angry. What if he’s off his rocker?

Suddenly, he starts to fade back. You let off the accelerator a bit as he fades back more… and then he fades so quickly, he has to be stopping.

He pulls over to the side of the road: I’m done.

Good! You keep going, William shrinking into the sunset…

… for about a hundred feet.

You curse and slam on the brakes. You wrench your truck into park and sit for a moment, gasping.

“What the hell?” you breathe. When he pulled over, you had felt pain worse than anything you felt yet.

You open your door, and cool air full of fields and trees and rain washes over you. The setting sun lays down a warm blanket as you slam the door shut behind you. You walk to the tailgate of your truck and stare down the road.

The car slowly returns to the road and crawls toward you, lurching over potholes. Your eyes devour Will’s silhouette as his car comes to a stop and falls silent about fifteen feet away. The door screeches open, and his workboots hit the pavement.

He looks pissed.

Well, you’re pissed, too. You wipe your eyes and meet him halfway, not a step more, not a step less. It’s like charging a lion. You cross your arms. It feels as if you’re seeing him for the first time all over again–it’s overwhelming how good he looks-stubble, tired eyes and all.

“Cryin’ over me, sweetheart?” he asks, feet wide, chin up.

Just the sound of his rough baritone makes you melt, but you fight it. “Following me like a stalker?” you retort.

He gives you the bullshit look and closes in a step. The setting sun catches half his face, and the light pools in his gold-brown right eye as he raises his eyebrows. “You’ve got nothing, sweetheart.”

You shove your face toward his. “Neither do you, buster.”

The two of you stare at each other, and the temperature between you shoots up. Will’s generous lips part and he starts to angle his head-

You recoil. “How many girls have you slept with since I left?”

His eyes go cold, his expression ugly. “I’ll tell you if you tell me how many guys have gotten into your pants.”

“Fuck you! Nobody’s gotten anything from me, you bastard!”

“Well the last chick I touched was you, you bitch!”

And then you’re just glaring at each other.

“Why did you lie to me about those missions?” you demand.

“I didn’t lie exact-”

“It’s called lying by omission, Will! Maybe if you’d-”

And then he’s in your face again, teeth bared. “I wanted to keep you safe,  dammit, but I’ve realized I can’t–fucking helli–I realized it, but you were too busy packing up and not listening!”

You blink at him. “Say that again?”

He closes his eyes and sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I get it, okay? I get it. And really, I don’t want to have a girl who’s just something I need to protect; I want one who kicks ass. Who I can still protect. A little.”

Unconvinced, you squint at him.

“Come back with me.” He blurts it quickly, only briefly meeting your eyes.

There are crickets singing in the long grass. The sun is halfway beneath the horizon. Most of you is screaming yes and snuggling into his strong chest. A fraction waits and doubts.

“I’m not asking again,” he says more softly, and he meets your gaze, straightening his shoulders. “I’m not gonna beg.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” The words exit your mouth, and with them goes the cold tightness that’s been clutching your chest for a month. Loose warmth fills you up instead. “You don’t have to.” You step into the tall sturdiness of him, tucking your head into his shoulder. His powerful arms encircle you tightly and he tucks his face into your neck, a tremor running through him.

You stand like that for a long time, breathing against each other, squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter. The sun slips behind the horizon, leaving a hollow sky dotted with orange clouds. You can hear traffic on bigger roads, but it’s all far, far, far away.

Soon, you can’t breathe, he’s squeezing so tightly. Your lips start to smile without your permission. “God, you’re such a-“

He pulls back. His mouth crashes into yours and it feels so soft-wet-familiar-hot-delicious, your knees give a little spasm before giving out. You quickly grab him around the neck and hang on, overwhelmed by how deeply you missed this. If his urgency is any indication, Will missed it just as much. He buries his fingers in your hair, pressing you closer as he slants his mouth over yours, first one way and then the other, filling you with his taste–taste that floods you with wet heat all the way to the core.

He breaks away, and you moan a protest, trying to recapture him, but his breath fans over your face. “Hey.” His voice is gruff. You can barely open your eyes, but when you do, you stiffen.

This is an expression you’ve never seen before. Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, nostrils flared … somehow he looks ravenous and vulnerable at the same time. And somehow, it makes you want to flee and pounce all at once. “W-Will-“

He takes your wrist and pulls you toward his car. You follow him through the deepening blue, the crunching of your boots almost too loud in the dusky hush. He pulls you around, and the backs of your legs hit his car. His big hands fall to your hips, massaging as he grinds into you, breathing faster. He’s hooked his thumbs into the side belt loops and he’s tugging down.

You gape up at him. “Will–wait, Will, you can’t –“

He presses his forehead to yours and you almost lose your balance; only his grip on your hips keeps you upright. His nose brushes yours, smooth and warm. “You tell me flat-out no and we’ll do this somewhere else,” he growls. “Otherwise, we are going to get something straight, right here, right now. Got it?”

“… Yeah? …Wait. Get what straight?”

“And there’s why I’m doing this.” He rises, and, staring you in the eyes, unbuckles your belt.

You have never, ever been naked outside a bathroom or bedroom. You grab his wrists, trying not to fall back onto the car’s hood. “Will–W-Will –“

“The deal is you tell me no, remember?” His hands keep moving despite your grip on his wrists. The rasp of your zipper coming down is loud in the wide silence, and you squeak when he twists free of your grip. He slides his hands in between your jeans and panties, his fingers digging into your ass as he pushes your pants down around your thighs.

“Oh, I missed this.” He pins you to his chest with one arm while his other snakes down over your ass and burrows between your legs from behind. You squirm as his fingers stroke up and down your pussy, your hands fisted in his red and black flannel. Making a rough sound deep in his throat, he presses one finger in deeper than the others and opens you through your panties. You bury your face in his shirt now, overcome by embarrassment and a roaring tsunami of please yes!

He withdraws, and you peek out as his chest expands. His eyes are closed and he’s pressing his fingers to his nose, breathing deeply. He opens his eyes, and your lips part when you see the quicksilver gleam of liquid over his lower lashes.

And then he’s moving fast. You shiver as he rips off his flannel and spreads it on the car’s hood behind you. Then, clad in a t-shirt, he pushes your jeans to your ankles and lifts you onto his flannel. He pulls off his t-shirt and now you’re almost crying; the familiar planes of his chest unravel all the barriers you’d built the last month to remain upright.

He grabs your shirt, and, frightened, you clamp your arms to your sides. Unstoppable, he slides his hands up your back and unhooks your bra instead.

His hands are splayed over your back…

… now forcing themselves under your arms…

… under your bra –

You keen and arch. He grins like he always does when your breasts are in his hands, and squeezes. You melt backward, knees falling open. The car creaks as he pulls you to the edge and settles into the cradle of your hips, wriggling to press flush against your core. You shudder when you feel how hard he is. “That’s better,” he murmurs. And then he makes rings with his thumbs and forefingers, tightly frames your nipples with them, and nuzzles into your breasts.

You toss your head back, nails digging into his shoulders. “Oh god–oh g-g-god Will!”

He bites and tongues your nipples slowly through your shirt and bra, so the damp heat of his mouth soaks through to your prickling skin. You squeeze your eyes shut, face burning. And then, with one deft movement, he’s got your shirt and bra over your head. You gasp as he yanks to loosen your hands - and then both your shirt and bra are flying off to join his shirt.

“Will! Will, no-Will!” You start to sit up, trying to track your clothing, but the cool air on your bare back frightens you into lying right back down. The feeling of the open on your skin is terrifying. It’s not just air; it’s distances; it’s the world. You cover your chest with a curse, glaring up at Will, who looms against the fiery clouds wearing a smirk.

“Was that an official no?” he asks, gyrating his hips the tiniest bit.

You groan at the sensation. “Nnn-no, no, but Will, what if someone comes?”

He hums deep in his chest. “Well I think two people might be–”

“No!” Irritated, you shove with your legs, pushing him back a step so you can bend your knees and press them together.  “You know what I mean.”

He stands where you shoved him and lifts his hands in surrender. “They’ll see us lying on a car. Y’know,” he adds, belt clinking as he undoes it, “they’d see less of you if I’m on top of you.”

You don’t open your legs and keep glaring. The sky is so big. What if some pervy farmer is watching from that copse over there? Teens out on a romp? Your teeth start to chatter.

Will drops his pants to reveal his straining boxers. He steps up to your fused knees and leans against your shins, hands flanking your hips. He takes in the sight of your naked body lying on the hood of his car and curses through clenched teeth before taking a deep, steadying breath. “You’d feel better if you’d let me in, sweetheart. Let me show you.”

He runs his hands –they are so, so warm- up your shins, over your knees, down the backs of your thighs. His fingers hook into the flesh on either side of your pussy and pull it wide open so your panties cling to the sensitive skin. You gasp, squeezing your legs tighter together.

It does nothing.

He grins wolfishly and his fingers slither into your pussy, skin to skin. You jump with a bleat, fingers digging into your upper arms. His fingers delve deep, all the way to your opening, where they swirl in the thick wetness. His breath hisses through his teeth. “So fucking wet.” Your toes curl as he gently swipes upward to your clit.

Abruptly, he whips his fingers hard over your entire pussy, forcing it open with every pass. Your entire body goes taut and you moan through clenched teeth as the sensuous heat in your belly skyrockets. He grinds his finger down on your clit a few times and you throw your head back with a strangled cry. “Will-Will-please!”

He doesn’t stop. You fight to keep your legs together as the fire between them tries to spasm them apart, but it gets harder and harder. And Will knows exactly what’s happening.

“When you come, your legs always open up,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll get you either way. Come on. You let me in now, and I’ll cover you when you lose it.”

With a desperate squeal, you open up, reach up, grab his shoulders, and pull him down. He lets you with a chuckle, planting his left hand by your head to support his weight. “There we go,” he gloats, pulling his hand free of your panties so his boxer-clad erection can nestle into the wet heat of your core. All he can do in the moment is moan as he settles against you

He is so warm. He leans down and kisses you deeply, slowly, while his hips languidly rock into yours. You whimper into his mouth; your clit is sparking and tingling under the sliding ridge of his cock, and you feel frantically hollow.

Will breaks away. His cheeks look darker. He lays his head on your chest and lifts his hips, using both hands to free himself from his boxers. As he pumps his cock a few times with his hand, his stubble bites into your sternum, and he knows it; he lifts his head by dragging his cheek over first one nipple, then the other. You choke, hands white-knuckled on his shoulders.

“So.” He stares you right in the eyes. “We gotta set something … straight … for the future.”

“Huh?”

He breathes through pursed lips for control and slides a hand between you. He fists the crotch of your panties for a second and you freeze, waiting. “From now on,” he says roughly, “whether I make a mistake or you make a mistake-“

He wrenches your panties to the side, and the head of his cock is immediately against your opening. You stiffen, the hollowness inside you yawning unbearably deep.

“Or you’re… pissed or… I’m pissed…” he struggles to continue. A drip of sweat lands on your neck. “No …matter what,” he gasps, “I’m … y-yours.” And he shoves deep into you–stretching and filling your hollowness at last. Both of you cry out at the same time, melting into muffled curses.

Then Will grasps your chin and looks you straight in the eye. “And you’re … mine…”

“Y-y-yours,” you breathe, throat closing up with tears.

His entire aspect loosens. He buries his face in your neck and starts rocking shallowly into you. Your entire body lights up all the way to your fingertips. Sweat blooms all over you, chilling the skin that isn’t sliding against Will’s. You wrap your arms around his neck, wishing you could wrap your legs around his hips, but your jeans keep your ankles trapped beneath him.

Then he slows almost to a stop, and you squirm. Slowly, he pulls almost all the way out. Then –

“Mine.” He slides in deep.

You gasp for breath, holding perfectly still, eyes huge as his breath fills your ear.

He pulls back again, leaving you hollow. He pauses, and you wait, not even breathing –

Any second now…

…How long is he going to-

“Mine.”

You cry out as he thrusts deep again.

… And then pulls back again. Your nails are starting to dig into the soft skin of his back. Then-

“Mine.”

“God, Will!” you wail, arching desperately. And then you wait…

“Mine.”

Your eyes are leaking and you don’t know if you’re sobbing-crying or just struggling for breath-

“Mine.”

You shriek, writhing-

“Mine.”

“Please, please, plea-“

“Mine.”

“WILL!”

And then he picks up the pace a little, his voice a low, low force in your ear.  “Mine … mine … mine … mine … mine … you’re mine …”

It’s if he’s pushing the word into you. You tremble around him, trying to open up further, to stretch absolutely wide.

His voice hardens and his thrusts sharpen. “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine-”

Every time he thrusts… every time he fills you… to the fullest

“Mine-”

When the tip of him penetrates the deepest, that one word floods your ear

“Mine-”

Pulses of electric heat ratchet you tighter each time, until you’re shaking, head thrown back, pinned open–

“Mine-”

With no choice but to accept the humming tide rising between your legs.

“Mine-”

All of this, after so long, feels so GOOD. o

“Mine-”

So GOOD. His voice is just a growl now. Getting faster and louder.

“Oh god!”

“Mine!”

“Please!”

“Mine-mine-”

“W-WILL PLEASE-”

“MINE-MINE-MINE-”

Then he swells and cracks the last barrier between you and the maelstrom –

-and you scream WIIIIILLLLLLLLLL—! clenching down on him and writhing, and it’s the best, oh it’s the BEST—

He grabs your hips, pulls back, and then thrusts so hard it almost knocks the air out of you, penetrating your spasming pussy deeper than he ever has before, which just shoves you further into orgasm.

As you try to scream, he rasps, “M-mine … oh-f-f-f-f-uck!” And then he bites into the thick muscle at the base of your neck and snarls, twitching against your fluttering walls and flooding you with burst after burst of wet heat. He grinds into you, pressing and rubbing all the rawness inside and making you clench as it comes in waves.

It stretches on-

And on-

And on.

You end up gasping the cool, fragrant air together, riding out the last of the storm. And then he rests for a minute, almost all his weight on you. You try to relax even though you can hardly breathe, stroking his hair.

When he lifts up and pulls out, you moan. It aches, but worse than that, you feel empty again. He replaces your panties over your pussy. Then he shakily wraps a tanned arm around your waist and levers the both of you upright with his free arm.

He cups the back of your head and pulls you into his still-heaving chest. You wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle his flushed, slick skin. You breathe together until your sweat chills, and then he helps you off his car, catching you when your legs almost give out.

You both dress again in peaceful silence, laughing as you try to retrieve his shirt from a bramble bush. By the time you’re dressed, it’s hard to make out his features in the darkness.

You almost ride back into town with him in his car. But he raises his eyebrows incredulously and leads you to your truck, where he opens the door for you and smacks your ass as you get in.

“Follow me back?” he asks.

The smiling warmth in his deep voice almost makes you tackle him. After dinner, you promise yourself.

“Right behind you,” you say.

You see his teeth gleam in the shadows, and then the two of you close the truck door so slowly, it doesn’t latch, and you have to snort and do it again.  

[dothwrites]

161 please??

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google doth always taking prompts

161--Where did that cat come from?

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The rainstorm starts when Dean pulls into the space outside the bunker’s door. It’ll be a pain in the ass to reverse and pull into the garage, plus he and Sam have a trunk full of groceries, so Dean just curses and puts the Impala into park before he gets out of the car. Water droplets start to pelt against the top of his head and the back of his neck as he loads as many bags on his wrists and arms as humanly possible. 

From there, it’s a quick trip down the bunker stairs. Sam follows behind, with a more modest amount of bags swinging from his hands. Dean walks quickly, cognizant of his struggling circulation, not to mention the unpleasant wind of a single bead of water down his spine. Their steps echo down the bunker stairs, which would alert Cas to their presence, even if the “Cas, we’re home!” didn’t. 

“Shut up,” Dean automatically says when he hears Sam’s poorly repressed snigger. 

“Needy much?” Sam does a faulty reproduction of Dean’s voice, making sure to give him a falsetto. “Cas, we’re home!” He continues to snicker as they make their way to the kitchen. “You’re about one step away from Lucy.” 

“Ok, first of all, it was Ricky Ricardo who said those lines and secondly--shut up.” Ok, so not the best comeback. Blame the rain and his screaming wrists and arms. Dean flushes and turns away from Sam as he lifts the groceries onto the counter with a quiet grunt. 

“Nice job, He-Man. Maybe next time you could try multiple trips?” 

“Go out? More than once? For groceries? Sam, it’s like you don’t even know me.” Dean starts unpacking the bags, pausing when he reaches a certain jar. “Cas! We’re in the kitchen!” 

On the opposite side of the kitchen, Sam starts to hum something that sounds like needy baby needy baby. Dean debates throwing a can of green beans at the back of his shaggy moose head. He settles for lobbing a poisonous glare at Sam’s head and not letting up until his brother turns around. 

“Hey, he dipped out on grocery shopping. The least he could do is come and help put the stuff away.” Plus Dean bought a jar of the good stuff for Cas, organic, comb in honey. It cost him an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth it once he sees the pleased, shy smile spread across Cas’ face, which he can’t see until his boyfriend makes his way to the kitchen. 

Sam must catch sight of the honey because he lets out a very unflattering snort. Dean defensively scoops the honey out of sight. “It’s good for the environment,” he defends, despite the fact that he’s never recycled a day in his life. 

“Sure.” Sam really shouldn’t sound so smug, Mr. I Drink Kale Smoothies and Poop Compost. “Look, all I’m saying is that if my boyfriend had me that whipped, then I would at least own it.” 

“Your boyfriend would run away from your ugly face,” Dean snidely digs. Far from dissolving into a snotty mess, Sam just makes a very rude gesture involving use of a singular finger, and turns around to continue stocking the freezer with pizza rolls. 

The first sign of trouble is a singular sneeze. Dean shakes it off--it was raining outside, pollen is in the air, and the bunker that they live in was made by a bunch of old, dead guys, so there’s bound to be some dust. 

The second, third, and fourth sneezes come as more of a puzzle. 

Sam, ever the solicitous brother, raises an eyebrow. “You dying or what?” he asks. 

“Or what,” Dean wheezes, though his eyes are watery and itchy. A rattle starts in his throat as another sneeze rocks through his body. This is not normal. In fact, he only gets like this when...

Cas walks into the kitchen, wearing jeans and one of Dean’s hoodies that’s just a bit too big for him in the arms (though it stretches delightfully across his chest and shoulders). As soon as he crosses the threshold of the kitchen, as if on command, Dean sneezes. 

Through watery eyes, Dean squints at the suspicious bulge in the front of the hoodie pocket. Castiel casually shifts to the side to hide it, but it’s too late. Dean just saw something move. Cas might be happy to see him, but he’s nowhere near that happy. 

“Whatcha got there Cas?” He tries to make it clear from his tone that his question is not a polite request. 

It’s not every day that Dean gets to see a former angel of the Lord acting shifty, but that’s exactly what he gets to see as Cas tries to sidle his way out of the kitchen. “Cas,” Dean barks. Cas shuffles his feet as he plasters a very unconvincing look of innocence on his face. “What’s in your pocket?”

His facade of hardass suffers from the sneeze that rockets through his body, but it’s enough. Cas walks into the kitchen. Sam, intrigued by the drama, draws closer, but Dean’s eyes are focused on Cas’ hand as it dips into the hoodie pocket. 

Castiel withdraws his hand, holding his burden out for inspection. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam’s mouth drop open in a paroxysm of delight (fucking softie). For his part, Dean greets the reveal with three consecutive sneezes, each one more violent than the last. 

“Cas,” Dean finally says, sniffling around his words, “where did that cat come from?” 

The cat in question can’t be much more than a kitten. It sits easily in Cas’ large hand. Luminous green eyes blink up slowly at him through a haze of black fur. As Dean watches, the kitten opens its mouth, revealing tiny sharp teeth and a pink tongue. A soft mew fills the space. 

Dean answers it with a sniffle. 

“I was out in the garden earlier today,” Cas begins. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look guilty as he pulls the kitten in close to his chest. Dean winces (that’s a hell of a lot of dander and fur that’s winding up on an article of clothing that still technically belongs to him) before he outright flinches as the kitten digs its claws into the fabric. Say goodbye to that particular hoodie. 

“It was just starting to rain and I found her.” Cas looks at him, all huge blue eyes and plaintive voice. “She was cold and shivering. I don’t think that she’d eaten for several days.” 

Great. Just great. Dean can already see where this is going and exactly what parts they’re all going to fall into. Cas, the crusader for justice and kindness, Sam, the well-intentioned supporter, and Dean, the cruel hand of logic. 

“Well, feed her, and then after the rain finishes we can take her to the shelter.” 

Next to him, Sam gasps. Cas’ mouth turns down in a stubborn frown. 

“Dean, the shelter is a kill shelter.” Sam’s voice sounds as scandalized as though Dean had suggested that they carpet bomb the whole town. 

“It’s a kitten. It’s cute. It’ll get adopted in like three seconds. I mean, it’s already got the two of you wrapped around its little dagger claws.” 

There’s something embarrassing about the soppy eyes that both Sam and Cas shoot towards the kitten. No angel should look that sickly sweet. 

“Dean, cats are fairly low maintenance,” Cas begins, which is exactly where Dean thought this talk was headed. 

“I have allergies!” Dean protests, to be met with unsympathetic looks from both his brother and his boyfriend. Traitors. “Plus, who’s going to take care of it when we go on hunts? We going to pay the neighbors to come over into our super secret bunker filled with satanic stuff?” 

Cas’ mouth flattens. “There are several establishments in town which cater to the boarding of pets.” Great. He’s already done research. “Also, many stores offer over the counter products designed to alleviate the symptoms of allergies.” 

Between Sam’s puppy eyes and Cas’ jutting lower lip, Dean feels his defenses wavering. “You’d better keep it away from my room. And if it starts pissing on the floors or tearing up the furniture, it’s out of here. And you’re,” he points to both Sam and Cas, “going to pay for my allergy meds. And you’re going to feed it and pay for all its stuff.” He’s never felt more like a dad than in that moment, lecturing his brother and boyfriend on the proper care of the cat. “This is your pet; I’m not going to take care of it!” 

Cas nods earnestly before he walks across the kitchen and kisses the bolt of his jaw, right in the sweet spot that always turns Dean weak in the knees. Bastard knows exactly how to play him. Dean turns his head to kiss Cas properly, ignoring Sam’s gagging noises in the background. Cas hums into the kiss, his teeth ghosting over Dean’s lower lip in a hint of a tease. 

Dean’s just ready to make it a proper kiss, Sam be damned, when he’s stabbed. Yelping in pain, he jumps backward, glaring at the tiny, cockblocking, ball of fluff still held in Cas’ hands. The kitten retracts the minuscule knives attached to its paws as it blinks innocently up at him.

“Oh, I think you must have squashed her,” Cas says, rubbing a finger underneath the kitten’s chin.

For its part, the kitten yawns at Dean before falling asleep. 

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, massaging at his wound (seriously, he’s bleeding and Sam is just laughing at him like an asshole). “Yeah, this is going to turn out swell.

(It comes to no one’s surprise, least of all Dean’s, when he goes to bed and finds not only Castiel, but the kitten curled up on his mattress. I said she’s not allowed on the bed, Dean tries, but the protest is weak at best, especially when Cas has decided to play dirty and is lying bare-chested with the sheet artfully draped over his waist. 

Well, I could take her back to my room, Cas murmurs, scooping up the kitten, and Dean’s going hellishly soft in his old age because he just says Over my dead body, before crawling over the mattress to where Cas waits. The kitten finds her way to the floor. 

In the morning, Dean wakes up with his nose running and his eyes gummy, due to the fucking cat who has decided to sleep less than a foot away from his face. The heated kiss that Cas gives him when he wakes up only partially helps to stop his bitching.)

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Pain Is So Close To Pleasure (modern!Queen x platonic!reader) - Chapter 2

Summary: As a recently promoted Soloist for the Royal Ballet, you move closer to Covent Garden with your three-year-old daughter, Rose. But your new neighbour turns out to be the last person you'd expect to pop up on your doorstep.

A/N: This chapter, but really this whole fic, has such a specific vibe and I love it?? Like I can relate to a lot of the things I describe, and I don’t know if that’s a me thing, or a British thing, or just a thing. Anyways I’m here for it. And if you’re not British and don’t relate to this fic in the way I do, and you’ve wondered what it’s like to live in Britain, this might give you a rough idea.

The chapter count for this crept up again because I’ve had about two or three more ideas for this. I think now would be a good time to mention that I’m treating this as more of a load of one-shots set in the same verse, rather than a story with a plot. That’s why it will start to seem more like a series of vignettes, not as a storyline.

As always, I hope you’re all doing okay with everything that’s going on, and I hope to have another update for you all soon. I hope you enjoy!

Warning(s): swearing

Word Count: 3.3k+

Inspiration: Incandescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Outed by @platawnic on Tumblr, Rock Angel by @mirkwoodshewolf on Tumblr, Brian’s Instagram, Modern Times Rock ‘N’ Roll by @rhapso-kei on Tumblr and AO3, this silly lockdown business, the fact that I should have gone to see Queen over two weeks ago but it’s fine

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26

Series Taglist: @banana-tree-freddiemercury @lillycarlyn (darling you didn’t say which taglist so if you want me to put you on the perm one then let me know)

Ask to be on either! Make sure to specify!

You popped your head round the door to the studio and smiled to yourself when you found it void of people. You switched the lights on, the charcoal-grey clouds outside casting a darkness over the Opera House; uncharacteristic for midday, but then it was London, and it was February. You couldn’t expect too much from good old British weather.

It wasn’t often that you had the opportunity of having a studio all to yourself, so when you did, you simply had to make the most of it. The way your timetable for the day had worked out meant that you had a longer lunch break than everyone else, not by much, but fifteen minutes was more than enough time to go over a routine you’d crafted yourself. So, seeing as you could afford to eat later on, and everyone else was either in the canteen or some café in Covent Garden, you decided to book one of the studios for your own use.

You connected your phone to the mostly unused speaker in the corner of the room and quickly found the song. Time was of the essence here, and you were most conscious of that. You lightly ran to the centre of the room, making sure you weren’t facing the wall-length mirror for watching yourself dance made you rather self-conscious, replacing passion with technicality. This dance was your own, you had created it, cradled it, held it oh-so-close to your heart; unlike anything you’d ever done professionally, this dance was all about the enthusiasm and the love with which you danced.

Freddie’s voice rang out through the studio, clear as day and filling each and every particle with the richness of his voice. The singular note was soon accompanied by harmonies and then the familiar piano motif of Somebody To Love. You smiled despite yourself as you began the routine.

You promised yourself that one day you’d perform this to someone, even if it was just Rose. But that day was a long way off yet.

The way you danced was unlike how you had ever done so on stage. You performed with a vivacity that many dancers lost so early on in their careers when they valued the physical quality of their dancing over the raw emotion of it. You considered yourself quite lucky that you hadn’t yet surrendered to that particular temptation.

You considered this song to be a crescendo in and of itself, just building and building as its many layers unfolded. You’d made sure that this was reflected in the choreography. Each section was grander a more extravagant than the last. You quite liked the simultaneous challenge and familiarity of it; it made for a good dance to return to when you found your head overflowing with your thoughts and anxieties. You made more and more use of the space as the song progressed, like you were contained by an invisible circle that gradually grew.

When the third verse came around, and Freddie’s voice temporarily faded into silence, fooling the nonchalant listener into thinking it was the end, you had a second to pause. You used it to inhale deeply before starting the fouettés that accompanied the acapella. One, then another, then another, more, more, more until you genuinely thought you were going to fall over. You persevered, however, pushing through all forty of the turns, and even though by the end you wanted nothing more than to lay on the ground and watch the world spin, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming because holy shit you’d never done them all before. You shook off the feeling, allowing yourself to revel in it later; right now, you had the rest of the dance to get through.

You breezed through the rest of it, the highest jeté seeming insignificant compared to the dizzying hell you’d just put yourself through. When everything quietened down once again, and Freddie faded back into his falsetto, you came to a still in the centre of the ‘stage’, going up on pointe and gradually raising one leg into the air so that it was parallel to your upper body and then to your face. When the music kicked in again, you dropped it back down and returned to your original flow. With the last tiny piano chord of the song, you did a cheeky little jump with the biggest grin on your face, before curtseying to your non-existent audience.

Or so you thought.

A slow clap sounded from the doorway and you whirled round to look at the intruder, blushing furiously with the embarrassment of being seen without knowing. Your smile made a comeback, however, when you recognised the face.

“Wow, that really was something, (Y/N),” Brian whistled, “I’m impressed, truly.”

“Thank you,” you ducked your head, panting heavily. Your muscles screamed with exhaustion, and even though you wanted to just lay down and maybe have a nap, you stayed strong, refusing to appear rude to Brian.

Somehow, he seemed to read your mind, “You can sit down, you must be knackered. Don’t mind me.”

You smiled at him gratefully before sinking down in the corner of the studio next to your bag and grabbing your water bottle with desperation. You gestured to the spot next to you which he took gladly. “How much of that did you see?”

“Pretty much all of it,” he laughed, “I was about pop in for a chat but I saw you put the song on, and I thought I might as well watch.”

“Gosh,” you muttered, beginning to take off your pointe shoes to relieve your aching feet. You’d had back-to-back classes all morning and doing a routine such as that one after all of that just didn’t help.

“I didn’t know you guys danced to non-classical music,” he said.

You managed to get one shoe off, and you started on the other one, wrinkling your nose at the quite frankly disgusting smell that Brian was politely showing no reaction to, “We don’t. Well, I haven’t heard of it anyway. Even if people did somewhere, it would be an awfully long time before the Royal started doing it.”

He shot you a confused look, “Then how…”

“It’s my dance. I choreographed it a while back,” you shrugged, not really understanding what the big deal was, “That’s probably the best run I’ve done of it.”

“Wow, I,” he ran a hand through his hair, “That looked like something from an actual ballet.”

You ducked your head again with the kind of embarrassed pride that comes with compliments, “Thanks, Brian, that means a lot. I only made it a while ago. I,” you laughed self-deprecatingly before saying, “I’d just done quite possibly the worst audition of my life, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how shit it was. So, I just freestyled to some of my favourite songs and that happened.”

“You just made that up?” he asked incredulously.

“It wasn’t nearly as good as it was just then. I’ve been working on it for months until it became what you just watched. It’s been my little side project,” you mused, shoving your phone and both of your pointe shoes into your ballet bag. You poked your head up and peered through the huge window on the opposite wall, cringing at the heavy rain and how that wasn’t a good mix with the non-waterproof trainers you were now putting on, “Oh, shit, I thought it wasn’t going to rain until later. I don’t think I packed my umbrella,” you said, forgetting about your shoes for a second and rifling through your bag.

Brian placed a hand on your arm, “Relax, I have one, we’ll just have to share, if that’s alright with you?”

“Thanks,” you looked at him gratefully before returning to doing your laces.

“Where are you going anyway? You haven’t finished work already, have you?”

“Oh, I wish,” you laughed sadly. You did love your job, but today was just one of those days where you had no energy and just wanted to cuddle up on the sofa with a cup of tea and a box of Quality Street chocolates all to yourself and binge watch Miranda on Netflix. “No, I didn’t bring any lunch with me, so I thought I’d have a look and see which cafes have free tables. You’re more than welcome to join me if you want.”

About five minutes later, you found yourself running through Covent Garden Market while it was hammering it down with rain, sharing an umbrella with Brian that was way too small for the both of you. You were trying your hardest not to slip on the shining cobblestones beneath your feet, while also trying not to knock into any other pedestrians who, like you, were also running for cover. It wasn’t long until you reached your destination, a café that was a favourite haunt of yourself and Rose. It served at Rose’s Friday treat after she had finished preschool for the day, when the weather wasn’t too good and you couldn’t go to the playground in St James’s Park. You also frequented it on bank holiday weekends or half-terms where you’d been in the flat for three days straight and were in desperate need of some fresh air but had absolutely nothing to do.

You held the door open for Brian, hearing the little bell ring when it came into contact with the door, and you grabbed the umbrella from him as he entered. You shook it rather aggressively outside and popped it into the bucket next to you, filled to the brim with the umbrella of fellow patrons who unluckily got caught in the rain and had dived into the nearest establishment for sanctuary. You made your way to the only free table left while Brian queued up to order your food and drinks.

This wasn’t actually the first time you two had done this, though it was the third. The first time had been rather awkward, as from the second you put your shoes on to leave to the second you said goodbye, you were both repeatedly stopped by people wanting to talk to Brian. And even though neither of you ever complained, you had later admitted to each other that you had found it rather annoying. The second time wasn’t as bad, though at one point you had been stopped by a guy from some tabloid you’d never heard of asking for an interview. Much to your amusement, and Brian’s embarrassment, the guy had actually been looking to talk to you instead of him. You’d politely declined, offering to do it another time, but as soon as you’d sat down to eat, you teased Brian mercilessly about it, and still did every now and then. All it took was for you to say Brian look I’m more famous than you for him to blush furiously and ask you to please change the subject. Considering this was the third time now, the initial shock of oh my God I’m just casually having lunch with Brian May this is fine had passed. Now it was merely having lunch with a friend. Just that that friend just so happened to be an international icon. No big deal.

You looked up to see Brian making his way over to you, carrying a tray of food, and you smiled when you noticed that he’d remembered from last time when you’d told him what, in your opinion, was the best food this particular café had to offer. He sat down opposite you and plonked the tray down on the table, as you both started to work out who’s food and drink was who’s.

“How’s work been this week?” he opened up the conversation as he stirred his latte that had fake milk in it because I don’t know if their milk is locally sourced, (Y/N)!

“Not too bad, actually,” you said, taking a sip of your own drink and cringing when it scalded your tongue, “We’re just in our last week of rehearsals for The Winter’s Tale right now. Someone got injured on Tuesday, and our first performance is next Tuesday, so that’s not exactly ideal. But we’ll get through it, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” you shrugged. The show must go on, you supposed. Pun not intended.

“Listen, (Y/N),” he started, his more serious tone intriguing you already, “I need to talk to you about something.”

You nodded slowly, “Okay…” You weren’t all too sure where he was going with this, and it was impossible to tell if the news he was about to impart was good or bad.

“I know this is very sudden, and there’s no guarantee that this will even happen, but I thought I’d ask you first,” he rambled for a moment.

“What, what are you on about?” you laughed impatiently.

He took a deep breath and said, “I have a business proposition for you.”

**************

The after-school pick-me-up was carnage at the best of times, let alone on a Friday which also just so happened to be the last day of half-term. Parents crowding around the doorway, desperate to reunite with their child and careless of who they had to shove out of their way in order to reach them. Children spilled out of the school, arms full of lunch boxes and month-old paintings that were meant to be rainbows and dragons but resembled something similar to an oil spill. Teachers waved goodbye with the odd word to the overly concerned parent, not-so-secretly relieved that their week off was edging closer, and hurrying everyone off because the sooner they left, the sooner half-term started. Something which parents had very split feelings over.

Not for you, however. You were more than happy to get Rose to yourself for the week, finding the flat way too still and silent and void of a child’s laughter for you to find remotely comfortable. And even though half-term would always mean a busy show week for you due to the sheer amount of families desperately needing something to do, you were still grateful for the time you got together. That may or may not be because you had spent the far majority of your adult life being a parent, but you weren’t complaining.

As per usual, you heard Rose’s shout long before you saw her face, but you decided that you wouldn’t have it any other way when you saw her run straight towards, “Mummy!”

You crouched down and hugged her tightly when she collided into your arms, almost overbalancing from the sheer force of it, “Hello, darling, did you have a good day?”

She pulled away and grinned at you, “Yeah! We had a dance party and we played games and we played musical chairs and I won and I got some chocolate!”

“Oh, wow, that’s really good Rose, well done you,” you bopped her nose and turned to the things she was holding, “What’s all this?”

She thrust a piece of sugar paper under your nose, “I did a glitter painting yesterday and it’s dry now! It has every colour in the whole world!”

You took it from her and looked at it, pretending to inspect it like a pretentious artist and putting on the poshest voice possible, “Well, I do think it’s rather splendid, if I do say so myself. Absolutely spiffing.”

She dissolved into giggles, “Mummy, you’re silly.”

You gasped in mock offence as you took her hand and started to lead her out of the crowd, “Excuse me, I’m not silly! I’m a very serious grown-up, don’t you know?”

“I don’t want to be a grown-up! Grown-ups are boring. I want to be little forever and ever and ever.”

“I’m a grown-up, do you think I’m boring?” you asked.

“Only sometimes,” she said very seriously, “Only when you talk about boring grown-up stuff.”

You chuckled slightly, “What about Rog and Bri? Are they boring?”

She laughed again as if you’d just said the funniest thing she’d heard all day, “No! They’re fun because they give me ice cream and they think of really good games,” she paused for a second, “Mummy, are we going to the park today?”

“Well, it is Friday so if you want to go then we’ll go. It is a very sunny day today,” you said, frowning when you noticed Rose’s face, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

She pouted as if deep in thought, “I don’t think I want to go today.”

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t want to, darling. It’s half-term next week so we can always go another day,” you assured her, “Why don’t you want to go?”

“I feel a bit tired,” she said sheepishly, “I don’t want to fall asleep on the swings and fall off!”

“Oh, baby,” you said, heart swelling with the simultaneous silliness and adorableness of her logic, “I’d catch you before you fall, don’t worry. But we can go home if you want. We’ll find something else for your Friday treat.”

Her eyes lit up, “Can we have cookies? The nice ones with the big chocolate bits?”

“Good idea, darling, we can have cookies,” you did a quick mental run-through of what your biscuit tin was looking like at the moment and said, “I don’t think we have any of those ones at home so we’ll stop off at the bakery on the way home.”

“Yay!” she squealed before singing, “We’re having cookies! We’re having cookies!”

Rose spent the entire journey home singing that song, and even though you wanted nothing more than to never hear that tune again, you wouldn’t dare burst her bubble of joy. Besides, you didn’t think you could tell her to stop if you tried; she really was that cute. Or maybe you just told yourself that, so you didn’t feel like a terrible parent. You guessed you would never know. At least the lady who worked at the bakery found it endearing that a child could be that excited for something as relatively simple as cookies.

By the time you’d shoved the key in the door and the two of you had spilled into your flat, it was around half past four and Rose was positively exhausted, despite her best attempts to look and sound awake. You’d decided to have the cookies with some milk you’d warm up once you’d sorted out Rose’s stuff and gotten her changed from her long day at preschool. Then you just supposed you’d have some cuddles, and, with any luck, she’d fall asleep because the poor girl really needed it.

You put the radio on in the background before snuggling down on the sofa with her comfortably in your lap and your favourite honey-golden blanket draped over the both of you.

“I love you, Mummy,” she murmured against your chest before nibbling on the cookie that was bigger than her hand.

“I love you too, baby,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and feeling her snuggle in more, as if that was even possible. You suddenly remembered your lunch with Brian, and the news you needed to impart, “I had lunch with Bri today,” you started, feeling her nod and carrying on, “He had a very cool idea, darling.”

“What was it?” she whispered, large, curious eyes looking up at you.

“He asked me if I wanted to work on a film, and I said yes,” you smiled, watching her face light up with the muted excitement that was usually paired with some element of confusion.

“A film? Is it a big film? Like Tangled?” she asked, suddenly much livelier than before.

“Yes, sweetheart, a bit like Tangled, except there’s going to be real people in it instead of animated people,” you explained.

“What’s the film about?” she was getting more curious by the second and it just made your heart leap with pride.

“It’s about the band that Rog and Bri are in, darling. It’s the story of how they got famous,” you grinned.

“Who are you in it?”

“Ooooooh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that yet, I’ve got to keep it a secret,” you said judiciously, smiling when she pouted at you, “I’ll tell you another day, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”

“Promise?” she asked hopefully.

You brought her into a hug again and whispered, “Promise.”

[whitmanpumpkin]

heeeey maybe could you do bill x fem! reader based on carmen by lana del rey? i would love that

okay, so thank you for this. i haven’t actually listened to that song since i was like 15 and it just brought back a rush of memories from high school. so, i went with your prompt, but have also been listening to carmen suites from the opera and this is what we’re going with. the lyrics of the lana song i think i really focused in on were:

“that’s the little story of the girl you know, relying on the kindness of strangers… sing your song, song, now, the camera’s on and you’re alive again…”

and this is what came out of that:

look, he just needed some sort of relief. despite being the guy who had just won his second emmy and in one of the biggest block busters of the summer, bill sure didn’t feel like he was on top of the world. maybe it was because he knew he was running himself into the ground – trying to be the perfect father, the perfect writer and actor, and the guy who had over a hundred people’s lives all on his back. he couldn’t afford to mess anything up, because then he would mess up everyone else’s lives. 

he remembers telling the story of his pitiful night after his first emmy win, and the pitiful trip to in-n-out burger on his way home. (but, he would never tell people he much rather preferred spending that evening with his kids afterwords.) this year, he didn’t have that honor since they were going to be with their mom for the weekend. so, he really was alone.

maybe he should just go to one of the after parties. even though he despised the huge game of winners and losers, there had to be a few people he could mingle with until he didn’t feel so pitiful in himself and had enough courage to head home.

and so he texted a friend and they gave him an address to some big fancy house in calabasas. once he got there, he was sure he was going to regret his choice. the house (if you could call one as big as this one that) was teeming full of people, all busy enjoying their own evening to really notice his late arrival. 

he wove his way through the hoards of people, stopping finally when he saw a small pocket of empty space. well, almost empty. 

you stood there, red pantsuit and all, not really taking the time to notice your new company. you had better things to worry about, like how you were going to get a light for your cigarette. maybe your new company would be willing…

you glanced over once, and then twice. wait a second – why did he look so familiar? ah, didn’t matter. “you got a light?”

bill, who hadn’t smoked in years, fumbled around his pockets looking for a lighter he knew he didn’t have. after a few seconds, he showed his empty hands and turned his attention back to the party. “sorry,” he murmured. “i could go look for one in the kitchen if you need me to?”

“no,” you sighed as you tossed the unlit cigarette on to the ground. “i probably shouldn’t be having one anyways.”

now it was his turn to take a double take of you. wait a second, he thought. “you’re that singer aren’t you? you just won for–”

“i did,” you said. you didn’t need to hear him finish the sentence, because you knew exactly where he was going. yes, you just won best original song, but it was the emmy’s and your competition was mainly rachel bloom and the guys from documentary–

“you’re the guy from gentle and soft!” you realize a little too quickly for your mouth to catch up. the words have already spilled out, and you turn back to him with wide eyes and a slight gleam of panic. maybe you shouldn’t have had that fourth drink. 

huh. he didn’t think you would point him out for that. “i am.”

“amazing falsetto.” you joke before turning back to the party in front of you.

he chuckled. there was a moment of silence between the two of you, and bill figured he didn’t have anywhere better to be. you sure did. when he was in the winner’s room after his win and waiting for his name to be engrained on a small, gold plaque – he saw how people crowded around you for your win. 

you were a big deal. 

you kind of always had been, at least since you were a teenager. there had been a string of popular singles and albums that preceded you, and with your ‘momager’ having no concept of when to stop, she had kind of drilled you into becoming a household name. at least, that’s what all the tell-all stories said. you never really said what actually happened or why she disappeared from the scene, somewhere in your mid twenties. honestly, everyone was too scared to ask. 

it was a good thing you made a name for yourself, always a smiling and gracious person to the public. and to those inner circles, you seemed to be the life of the party. bill wondered why you were all alone here, and why the hell no one had found either of you yet. 

he had to ask. “what are you hiding from?”

“honestly?” you turned back towards him. “having to put an act on.”

your words kind of hit him square in the chest. and maybe it wasn’t the words themselves, but the way you spoke. ever so slightly pained and unwilling, he could see how little enjoyment you were actually getting out of the night. god. he didn’t know what to say, so he just hummed. “i get that,” he tried. 

“yeah,” you sighed back. after a beat, you added: “and you? same, i’m guessing?” 

“caught me there.”

there was suddenly an eruption of cheering from a crowd somewhere to your right, and both you and bill jumped slightly. and then, bill was pretty sure he heard the opening chords to one of your songs. he glanced over with a cocked eyebrow, wanting some form of an answer before he saw you. 

shit. 

you looked a little pained as you stared at the ground. the pair of you heard somebody beginning to chant your name, and you wondered why you had even come. 

“you don’t have to go out there.” it was like he was reading your mind. 

“i do.” you said with such disdain, still staring at the ground. but almost in an instant, he saw the pain flash away (or at least hide) behind a smile and bright eyes. you gave him a wink and headed out to find where they were calling your name, never so much as giving him a goodbye. 

he saw you again, during a party for the golden globes. 

this time he had a lighter on him, but you turned him down when he offered it because “they’re really not a good idea for my career.”

right. 

but that’s okay. because, “you drink, right?” he asked. and you blinked once, then twice. was this man really asking you if you wanted a drink? 

“god, yeah.”

“i know a little bar, a few blocks away.” he explained, loosening his tie and trying to breathe a little in the stuffy room. “if–if you’d want to get out of here?”

you didn’t know what to say, blinking at him and trying to gather your thoughts. but, there really only seemed to be one answer. “i’d love to. as long as you buy tonight.”

“is there a promise you’ll buy them another time?”

[rogah-wrote-gaga]

the other one

chapter one: he’s not as he seems

pairing: roger taylor x reader, brian may x reader

wordcount: ~2.5k

summary: You'd only been following them because of Tim, you told yourself. It had nothing to do with a sexy blonde and a lovely astrophysicist, so why were you sticking with them, and not him? You knew full well that Tim had made his own decision when he left Smile, cutting off his relationship with you and the boys.

What you didn't know how far it would take you.

chapter summary: You didn’t want to head back to your dorm just yet, so you stayed at the bar, observing people quietly. It wasn’t until you were halfway through your second pint that you realised the drummer of Tim’s band had just sat down next to you. “Hey.” You turned to him in surprise; his voice was so unlike his singing in the band (to be fair, you had only ever heard him singing in falsetto). It was scratchy and gravelly, and you could see why girls were constantly falling at his feet. His eyes were the bluest you had ever seen, and his hair was a shining blonde. If he were a girl, he probably would’ve been exactly Tim’s type. “Hi.” He gulped down the rest of his drink and smiled; his teeth were even and white. “So, I saw you looking at me.” OR reader meets Roger and gets to know him.

warnings: none really, mentions of sex/ mild innuendo

a/n:  so this is chapter one of my new slow burn series, the other one!! it was great fun to write and i hope you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it :) tagging @asupersonicwoman bc i know how much she loves roger and @sunshine112​, @sunset-shimmer-may​, @tuiaway​, and @blamerogertaylor​ in the hopes that they might enjoy it(let me know if you want to carry on being tagged in any of my fics) ; any reblogs and comments are appreciated and let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

The pub was as busy as always. Sighing, you walked over to the bar, hopped up on a barstool, and ordered a pint of beer. Your first year of university had taken its toll on you: you came to this bar to relax. Up on the small deck that served as a stage was your best friend Tim, with two others who you didn’t know too well, performing as the band ‘Smile’.

You sipped your drink as Tim started to croon into the mic and focused your attention on the blond drummer. Tim had introduced you a few weeks back, and you couldn’t remember anything about him except that he always seemed to have a girl draped on his arm. The guitarist’s name was Brian, and he was in your Mathematics class. He was the smartest guy in the class when he bothered to turn up; you heard that Physics was his main passion, alongside making music. His hair was one giant ball of frizz as he bobbed about the stage, and you smiled to yourself, knowing that he had probably tried to brush out his curls.

The band finished playing “Earth” to a round of half-hearted applause, and Tim sauntered off the stage towards where you sat at the bar, ordering himself a pint in the process. “Hey, y/n, enjoy the show?” he grinned. “You only played one song. And it was boring.” You only said this because you knew it would annoy him; he was very proud of his work. “Well, you certainly looked like you enjoyed it.” Tim said this with a wink and a nod towards the drummer, who was making his way through the crowds that had suddenly appeared when he had left the stage. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to Tim, who was smiling obnoxiously at you. “Catch you later, y/n!”

You didn’t want to head back to your dorm just yet, so you stayed at the bar, observing people quietly. It wasn’t until you were halfway through your second pint that you realised the drummer of Tim’s band had just sat down next to you. “Hey.” You turned to him in surprise; his voice was so unlike his singing in the band (to be fair, you had only ever heard him singing in falsetto). It was scratchy and gravelly, and you could see why girls were constantly falling at his feet. His eyes were the bluest you had ever seen, and his hair was a shining blonde. If he were a girl, he probably would’ve been exactly Tim’s type. “Hi.” He gulped down the rest of his drink and smiled; his teeth were even and white. “So, I saw you looking at me.”

Great. He was one of those. You knew the type. Cocky, self-satisfied bastards who thought they could have their way with any girl they wanted. Hell, they probably did. “Who would want to look at you?” you muttered, staring at the dusty floorboards. The silence was what made you look up. The drummer was staring at you with an intensity you’d never experienced before. He seemed to notice you had looked up, and snapped out of it pretty quickly, shaking his head and stuttering, “Look, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. My name’s Roger. Roger Taylor.”

He offered out a hand as he said this, looking away with what you recognised as embarrassment and perhaps even shame. “I’m y/n,” you said as you gripped his hand and shook it firmly. Roger reached under his shirt with one hand, rubbing a shoulder, still not looking at you.

“Yeah, I know. You’re Tim’s mate? We, uh, were introduced. A couple weeks back. You study Maths and Psychology, right? At Brian’s college, I think you said.” He was talking really fast, his eyes darting around, avoiding your gaze. You were surprised that he remembered so much about you and a little ashamed that you couldn’t remember a single thing about him. He suddenly seemed kind of shy, maybe even scared. “Yeah, that’s right. And you’re a… medical student?” you guessed, grimacing to yourself when Roger shook his head. “Dentistry,” he muttered. “And I absolutely hate it. But hey, gotta do what you gotta do to keep your parents happy, I guess.” He didn’t seem to be on the verge of continuing, so you asked him what he did in his spare time.

He perked up a bit at that, and seemed to partially revert back into his original, confident manner, his voicing raising pitch until he almost sounded like a girl. “Yeah, well, obviously I’m drumming in this band, and I absolutely love music, y’know, I’d want to do it all my life if I could. I like fiddling around with cars, too, absolutely love cars. But music is my main goal, I guess, used to play the guitar and even a bit of ukulele!” You laughed at that, trying to picture him strumming what you visualised as a very tiny guitar. “But then I tried out the drums, and not to boast or anything, but I was, and am, bloody brilliant. I just have this kind of knack for it.” In your mind, you agreed; he added a flair to Tim’s music with interesting rhythms and constantly wasted time twirling his drumsticks, still finding time to hit every beat perfectly. “But enough about me. What do you like to do?”

This surprised you. Most of the guys that had tried to hit on you (and there weren’t many) talked about themselves for hours then asked at the very end if you were u for a quick shag. This had led to your poor opinion on most men, except your brother, who was your brother, and Tim, because he was your best friend.

“Well, I like reading. And writing.” This was the most you’d ever been able to get out before whatever man you were currently entertaining passed out with boredom. You hesitated, but Roger gestured for you to go on, with what seemed like genuine interest. “And, uh, I was gonna take English Lit at uni, but there was this thing with my application…” And so it went. He let you talk for as long as you pleased, interjecting only to ask questions and even laughing at your terrible anecdotes. Then you carried on talking, about everything from his favourite colour to your taste in music. He insisted on paying for the next three rounds, by the end of which you were both slightly tipsy. “So, why d’you c’mere then? If you don’t like Tim?” You gestured around wildly, trying to think. “No, no, no, I do like Tim. But not, y’know, like that. You know what I mean. He’s just not… sexy.” Roger laughed. “Sexy?” “Oh, you know what I mean.” Roger waggled his eyebrows at you before continuing, “Am I sexy?” “Very,” you assured him with a laugh. And he was. So, when you leant forwards and kissed him, it didn’t feel forced at all.

Groaning, you sat up from your bed with a headache. You couldn’t remember having that much to drink last night and was surprised when you sat up in unfamiliar surroundings. All you could vaguely remember was stumbling towards a black cab before someone had grabbed you and snatched you away from it. You were also aware that you were definitely not in your dorm. You sat up in a whiz, knowing that if you were not in your dorm and none of your friends had been with you, you were probably kidnapped. “Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered as you scrambled your way out of bed. You were on the verge of hoisting yourself out of the 2nd floor window amidst your mini panic attack when someone walked in.

“Uh, hey. Wh-Why are you trying to climb out my window?” “Roger!” You ran towards him and collapsed into his arms. “I thought- I thought that-” Laughing, Roger stepped away from you. “You thought what? That I had kidnapped you? y/n, you were this close to getting run over by this random car.” You pushed his fingers away from where they were dangling in front of your face. “I was trying to hail a cab!” “That wasn’t a cab, it was just some black jeep with a middle aged man in it.” You shook your head, adamant that you hadn’t been that drunk, but the grin didn’t leave Roger’s face and you couldn’t think of any other way you could’ve ended up in his flat. “So you brought me here. Thanks.”

He stepped away again, turning his back to you and rubbing the back of his neck, as walked into what looked like a kitchen, mumbling, “It was no problem. Uh, would you like something to drink?” You raised your eyebrows, surprised at the sudden change in character. “No, thanks. Where exactly are we?” you asked, following him to where he now stood, leaning against the counter. You couldn’t help but notice that he only had a tiny pair of shorts on which barely covered his boxers, and an unbuttoned shirt, exposing his chest and small tummy. “In my flat. I’m staying here while I’m at uni; the rent’s cheap and the neighbours aren’t too loud.”

“No, I got that we were in your flat, but where is your flat located? Sorry, I sound like a stalker.” Roger gave you a weird look. “But you’re in my flat anyway. That doesn’t exactly make you a stalker. And we’re still in London, don’t worry, I haven’t carted you off to Land’s End just yet. Anyway, why are we standing around in the kitchen? I’ve got a very comfortable sofa, trust me.” You blushed slightly at the innuendo, and followed him through a small door that led into a fairly cramped living area, with a drum kit squished into one corner and stacks of vinyls, cd’s and books in another. In the middle against a wall was a two seater couch. You watched as Roger plonked himself on the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down next to him.

You sat down, and mentally noted the contact your thighs and arms made; you weren’t sure if it was normal, but you loved being touched by people. It didn’t even have to be sexual; you were so deprived of physical contact (Tim wasn’t a big hugger) that even a simple hug made you feel warm and happy. Roger seemed to notice how comfortable you were, and slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him so that your head was resting on his chest. Your ear was pressed so close to his bare skin that you could hear his heart racing. Eyes closed, you sighed contentedly. “You comfortable there, y/n?” Roger’s breath was hot against your ear as you breathed in his scent. “Because we can always go and lie on the bed if you’d prefer.” That made you sit up pretty quick, blood thundering in your ears. “I’m not- I didn’t mean- I just thought, it might be more comfortable? I wasn’t trying to make you feel aw-” You held a finger to Roger’s lips so he would stop the unnecessary stuttering. “I’d like to.” “Y-You would?” Roger seemed genuinely amazed.

“Of course I would. Let’s go.” you said, jumping off the sofa and leading the way to the bedroom. You lay back down on the bed, snuggling into the cold sheets while Roger lay down next to you. It was hard to tell whether he wanted you or not; he lay there beside you, not moving an inch. “Rog? Are you alright?”

He closed his eyes and turned away from you. “I just- I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had sex, I’ve never had a blowie, I’d never even had a good snog before yesterday. And I know it sounds stupid, y/n, so goddamn stupid, but I-, I’m just… scared…” His voice trailed off as you sank into his back, grasping his middle and laying your head just below his neck. “Why are you scared, Rog?” you whispered, as gently as possible. He stiffened beside you, trying to escape from your grip. “Well...uh...I dunno, I guess, uh, maybe, it- it might hurt?” This was not what you expected; then again, everything that had happened with Roger so far had been unpredictable.

But your very first impression of him, before you’d even spoken to each other, was that he was probably a good lay, he oozed self-confidence, and that he could pull any girl he wanted. But it seems you’d only got two of those assumptions right; he certainly had girls swooning over him, but he hadn’t seem interested in any of them, and now he was lying here next you explaining why he was still a virgin. You’d guessed his age at being about 20 or so; he was still at uni, after all, just like you.

“Do you ever think about it?” He sighed, the frustration in his voice evident. “I think about it all the bloody time! An’ it’s not like I don’t want to, it's just, I don’t know how- an’ I don’t know when or where or just- I don’t know what to do! I know for a fact that you don’t lie around talking, but I just don’t have the experience, and that makes me think no-one wants to shag me. I don’t know if it’s because I’m bad at flirting or whatever, but-”

He trailed off again, and you pushed yourself up on one elbow to see that his eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, small drops of water forcing their way through.

“Oh, Roger, that doesn’t matter! You don’t need any experience. Surely you’ve seen the girls practically lining up for you. As long as you enjoy yourself when you do it, then that’s fine,” you said, squirming internally.

You weren’t good at comforting people; you had a tendency to miraculously disappear whenever someone needed your shoulder to cry on. But there was no way you could leave the beautiful sobbing mess by himself without mentally beating yourself up for at least a week. “I’m here for you, Rog; whether you want me as your first sexual encounter,” You tried to inject some provocativeness into your voice as you said this, trailing your hand up his thigh deliberately in an effort to make him laugh, “Or as your fellow struggling student who just wants to focus on the things they love.”

You could feel that Roger had calmed down by then; he was no longer shaking and the tears had stopped. You held him, gently, not wanting to pressure him. His breathing slowed in your arms, and you felt the slow tendrils of sleep pulling both of you under.

[waymorecake4me]

Won’t you take it back? (Roger Taylor x Reader

(a/n: So this is gonna be part one of, I think to a two part (MAYBE 3 if you guys like it) series. Please let me know how ya’ll feel about it, and I’m thinking about doing requests so if anyone would be interested in that, let me know about that as well. Love you guys <3 and shoutout to my homegirl @fluffyunicornofdanger for being an amazing friend and encouraging me to get out there.)

(also let me know if you wanna be on a tag list for the rest of this!)

Based off of “i love you” by Billie Eilish

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: you might cry? Fluff and angst.

The speakers were so loud and the crowd was swaying and dancing, they almost looked like fluid. Like water, maybe the ocean, considering the amount of people out there. Adrenaline could literally be felt throughout the air, something Y/n loved about watching her friend’s sets.

Their success seemed like it happened overnight but it had truly taken years to build up a fan base such as this. Album after album, recording sessions that she was always present for, and she traveled with them on tours as often as she could, if work permitted her to do so. People often mistook her for Queen’s personal assistant but she was nothing of that sort, just a friend who supported them more than anything or anyone.

Over the years, she became particularly close with the one, the only, Roger Taylor. Y/n was best friends with all the boys but when Roger was too drunk to drive home, she would pick him up and let him crash at her place for however long he needed. They shared stories about good lays, and of course the bad ones too. Drinking at either her place or his, it felt like home either way. Home was a concept to them that didn’t have anything to do with the place they were at, but that they were with each other.

Rumors would spread that they were together but it had only made them laugh, as they felt their best friendship was so much stronger than any relationship could ever come close to being.

Y/n’s hair was bouncing all around as she was watching the concert from backstage, her y/h/c’s locks blocking her face but it all seemed to find it’s way back to it’s original place. Probably from using a whole can of hairspray on it earlier that morning. She couldn’t help but dance like nobody was watching as they played ‘Tie Your Mother Down.’ The sheer rock ‘n roll vibe of the song had everybody losing control.

Every once in a while, Roger would glance over at her and make some stupid silly face that would send Y/n into a fit of laughter that could almost make her lose her footing. Why had she chosen heels? They’re really not that practical for watching a rock concert, especially when you stayed backstage the whole time with nobody to impress.

The whole set went on like this for over an hour, and seeing as it was the last concert of the ‘A Day at the Races tour’, in their hometown of London, the boys did an encore. The sweaty girl couldn’t feel her feet so she had since kicked those bloody heels off, feeling the cold stone under her feet was more than a relief. She sighed out, still trying to catch her breath from the dancing and prancing around backstage.

The thousands of people screamed and whistled when Freddie sat down at the piano and began to play the opening notes to ‘Somebody to Love.’ This song was one that had always been a bit embarrassing to Roger, only when Y/n was watching, because she would often joke with him about his background falsetto. But tonight, she spared him of the giggles from the sidelines, the poking her tongue out of her lips at him. No, tonight she simply closed her eyes and swayed slowly back and forth with a large grin on her face, enjoying the music.

Roger had sent countless glances her way, expecting fully to, at some point get ridiculed for his ‘balls in his chest’ voice, but he was only met with a beautiful girl, feeling the music in her body from her head to her toes. He couldn’t help but make a few extra looks over since he knew she wouldn’t see him, certain thoughts pushing their way into his brain.

Once the set had completely finished, the boys thanked the crowd and blew kisses to everyone, raising their instruments in the air, followed by the four running off stage, Freddie blowing a few extra kisses in the process.

“You guys did absolutely spectacular!” Y/n ran up to her friends, hugging all of them at once with her arms spread wide.

“You think so?” Brian smiled, retreating from the hug and placing old red back into her case for a well deserved good night’s slumber.

“Oh I know so, did you see them out there?” Freddie eyed Brian and pointed with his thumb, back towards the stage. He placed a quick peck on Y/n’s cheek, “Thank you, darling.”

“Thanks a lot, Y/n.” John uttered, a bit shy, or maybe just tired. They were all covered in sweat from the strenuous activity.

Normally Roger would have been the first to pounce on Y/n for a hug, and they would hang off of each other like Siamese twins, but he was being standoffish. And that was nothing like Roger, even his bandmates were looking at the blond, silently contemplating why the loud mouthed drummer hadn’t said a single word since their thanks to their fans.

Nobody was saying anything and the air around the five was starting to become way too awkward for comfort so Y/n spoke up as the others began packing their stuff up, “What? I don’t get a hug back?” She looked at the man, puzzled, “You alright, Rog? Need some water? You rocked it out there, y’know-”

“I’m fine.” Two words. Two words that Roger had never dared to say ever. He always had something on his mind and was always the first to speak up in ANY situation. But now he’s just… fine?

Roger placed his drum sticks in his back pocket and started the trek back to the band’s shared changing room, in which Y/n had never stepped foot in. She liked to give them at least a little privacy, not that they cared, but she did.

This left the woman standing alone, contemplating what the fuck she had just experienced. Had she said or done something? She knew her best friend and he never acted like that. There had to be something on his mind that he came up within the time span of him making silly faces at her, to the last song of the set.

Y/n sat down on what could hardly be called a bench that was sat right outside of their changing room, waiting, thinking, worrying. She was startled by the door swinging open, seeing the boys and hearing them talk about which bar or club they should celebrate at, but it was only the three. Freddie, Brian, and Deacy, “Are you coming with, Y/n?” Freddie called to her as they made their way down the hall, stopping at the exit.

She stayed seated on the bench and looked at them, then back at the changing room door, with the most confused expression on her face. Y/n didn’t need to say anything, her puzzled look that she gave the men was enough of an answer for them.

“If you change your mind, we’ll be just down the street. Probably the usual spot,” Brian chimed, “we won’t be far.” In which, she nodded in reply, and that sent the 3/4ths of the band out the door.

Roger had turned up an after party? The end of the tour celebration was basically what he looked forward to most when it came to touring. Something had to be wrong and if the boys didn’t even know after being in that room with him, then what the hell?

Y/n could easily give him his space to work out whatever it was in his pretty little head, but that’s not how they were with each other. That wasn’t the type of person she was with anyone, especially her best friend. She stood up, a bit shakily from the aching in her feet, and tapped a gentle pattern on the wooden door with her knuckles. Hearing a faint grunt in response, she opened the door to see Roger sitting on a couch, staring off into space.

“Rog… are you alright? No partying?” She giggled a little, “Are you sick?” She closed the door behind her.

Roger hummed lowly, “Not sick,” not even looking up at Y/n, “just not in the mood.”

Y/n skipped over to the couch and hopped on next to him, hoping that her playfulness would shake him out of whatever mental dilemma he was stuck in, “I think you are sick, have you got a fever?” She placed the back of her hand to his forehead but he was quick to swat it away, completely taking the girl by surprise, her playful concern now turning into real concern.

“I said I’m not sick, I just wanna be alone,” He gritted his teeth.

“Well that’s unfortunate because I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong,” She quipped back. Concern could be easily heard in Y/n’s voice, and yet, Roger still hadn’t even turned his head in her direction.

Roger had his hands tightly balled into fists on his knees. His eyes were stinging, as if the room had been filled with onions. Invisible onions had to be everywhere because Roger Meddows Taylor doesn’t cry, “You didn’t make fun of my voice,” he uttered smally, as if he were a child in trouble.

“I didn’t make fun of you? That’s why you’re in here?” She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her, “I can make fun of you all you want if you’d like-” But Y/n stopped when she noticed a tear rolling down his cheek. Was that sweat? It had to be sweat. “Rog…”

“The last song, Y/n. I was expecting you to mess with me,” The blond tried to avoid her eyes, “but instead all I saw was a gorgeous girl dancing.” A tear fell straight from his left eye so that ruled out the sweat theory in Y/n’s mind. “You looked beautiful. I mean- You look beautiful.”

This wasn’t something that came as a surprise to Y/n. They complimented each other all the time. What she couldn’t figure out was why he was crying about it, trying to keep himself prisoner in this god awful smelling back room while the others went partying.

“Well thanks, Roger, but I’m not sure I understand.”

Roger huffed out a breath and covered his face with his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He mumbled something quietly but his hands kept the sound waves from reaching Y/n’s ears.

“Huh? Roger, you’ve gotta talk to me if you want me to help-”

“I love you.” He uncovered his face and met his ocean blue eyes to her set of y/e/c orbs.

It fell silent. Deadly silent. Roger’s tears had stopped flowing and they were in a never ending eye lock.

But she couldn’t help it. Y/n let out a chuckle, a harsh one, a sound that made Roger’s heart drop. Once she settled down from laughing at his obvious joke, she looked at him once more, “I’m serious, Roger, I’m trying to help here.”

“I’m serious too, Y/n. I love you.”

It appeared as if a ten ton weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, but that weight had just moved and slammed down on Y/n’s shoulders instead.

“I get that you’re trying to make me laugh so I’ll leave you alone but-” The girl had been cut off by him, once again.

“This isn’t a joke. Is it THAT hard to believe that maybe I do love you?” His tone started to get higher with frustration, “And maybe you love me too?” He tried to read her face but he got nothing. “We’ve seen each other at our best and worst. We know everything about each other. I know you hate broccoli. I know you lost your virginity to a douchebag named Michael in Secondary School,” He stood from the couch, going into full rant mode, pacing back and forth in front of her, “Hell, I even know your mum’s favorite movie! I love you, dammit, Y/n.”

There was nothing that could’ve prepared Y/n for this. Her best friend confessing his love to her. Of course she loved him back but all of this would change everything forever. Things could never go back to normal after this. If they were to date, they could break up one day and then she could lose him forever. Their friendship was so strong. She couldn’t risk losing that.

Y/n could feel her heart beating out of her chest, her body getting hot, but still no expression on her face. Her mind was racing in a thousand different directions and the only thing she could manage to say, through all of her thoughts was, “No.”

“No? What is that supposed to mean?” Roger crouched down in front of her. She hadn’t moved from her seat on the couch. “If you don’t love me, look me in the eyes and say it.” No response again. “Say it!” His yelling could’ve made the walls shake, but it was Y/n who was shaking.

“You don’t mean it.”

Roger scoffed at that, “Oh yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean it. You’ve got to be joking right now, honestly.” He forced her to look at him, just as she had done to him just minutes before, “I’ll say it a million times if I have to, Y/n, I lov-”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” She extended her hand and placed it on Roger’s chest. She could feel his heart beating and it made her breath hitch a bit in the back of her throat, “Please. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to say it.”

Roger didn’t say another word, but he lifted his own hand and placed it over top of her own, squeezing it lightly. She didn’t resist the touch, but she had began crying. Roger hadn’t noticed until she was a shaking and sniffling mess.

“Hey, hey. No, no, Y/n. Why? Why are you…” Roger didn’t know how to complete his sentence. His eyes searched her face frantically, hands moving up to wipe away the steady stream of tears, although they kept getting replaced with new ones. “Don’t… please don’t cry.”

He couldn’t even take his own advice that he had left for her, as his eyes started to well up a bit. Neither knew why they were crying, but at the same time, they did.

“Take it back. Can’t you take it back?” Y/n asked him, through sobs. “Y-your words… Those three words.” She finally met his frantic blue eyes, “Can’t we pretend it didn’t happen?”

Love had been an unspoken joy for the two, since the very beginning. She loved him and he loved her, but once you put the words out there, it makes things harder. It makes it real. And those words? Coming from Roger? The man who never loved, couldn’t love, only made love, if you could even call it that. It meant more than just ‘I enjoy your company.’ In fact, he couldn’t recall a time where he ever felt the need to say those cursed words to anyone. Except for with Y/n.

“You’re telling me… that you want to make believe that everything in this room never happened?” Roger began to get defensive again, sparking a bit of panic in Y/n’s entire state of being.

“No- I mean, yes, just not in the way you think I mean.” Panic, panic, panic.

Roger couldn’t even begin to understand her thought process, “Why? Can you at least explain to me why?”

“I don’t want to lose you. You can’t love me and I can’t love you,” She had to look away from him. Looking at his soft features was far too painful.

“You’ll never lose me, Y/n. You have me. I’m right here. And you’re bloody well stuck with me.”

“Not like that, Roger,” She rolled her eyes and wiped away some of her tears, almost letting out a laugh. Just almost, at his ignorance to the situation, “I’ll lose my best friend.”

“But you’ll gain a boyfriend.”

“Rog, please,” She stood up and faced him, “It can’t be like this.” As quickly as those words left her mouth, her body left with them.

She was gone, and he was alone.

(Part two)

[jeidafei]

D.Gray-Man Vol.26: Komui’s Lounge (Extended) 1/5

Featuring: Marie, Bak, Lavi, Wisely, Allen, Link

(T/N: We got 31 questions this time. It really is extended! I’ve broken it up into five parts for convenience of translating and scrolling.

Let’s start with the onslaught of the usual Kanda questions...)

Lavi: G’afternoon y’all! As always, welcome to the Komui’s-Lounge-where-Komui-doesn’t-show-up-again-this-time! And first up is...ME~~! (Pull crackers)

Link: Keep it down, Bookman Jr.

Bak: And now, the time is ripe. At long last, my debut has come! And I made it on the page before Komui, too! MUHAHAHAHAHA!!

Marie: I’m not very good at this kind of thing...but I’ll do my best.

Wisely: And here comes the Noah of the Demon Eye, Wisely~~!! Back for his second session! (Holds up two victory signs).

Allen: Wait a moment. There seems to be two deceased among us?

Lavi: Hey, I’m not even confirmed deceased yet!!!

Allen: Nobody’s saying it’s you, Lavi. Well, it’s actually you, anyway.

Lavi: Allen, you were just calling for me back in Vol.24′s lounge, didn’t you? What’s with all this darkness right from the get-go, meanie!?

Allen: I haven’t been able to eat at all, and I’m irritated. 

Link: (lays a hand on Allen’s shoulder) Just forget about everything in the main narrative for now, Walker. The freshness of this discussion lounge is fading quick, and now the author’s already using trial and error.

Allen: Reckless move on the author’s part.

Wisely: Even so, it seems the author didn’t intend to bring out Bookman Jr. at first, though. Just that there was a truly unsolvable issue... 

Lavi: Damn you, Hoshino...But yes, that’s what happened! The thing is, this time the most questions are directed at me! The fans are calling out to me! I heard their voices! How can I not be here for them! (heart)

Allen: Even though I can answer questions about you just fine.

Lavi: With messed-up answers, more like.

Link: Walker, here are some doughnuts, so would you cheer up already? And you, Bookman Jr, don’t get too carried away. We went over the word-count limit last two times, and both the editor and designer sent an e-mail to warn us to stay within the limit this time. All pointless talk is prohibited from all of you!

Allen, Lavi, Wisely: Roger~~

Marie: Haha...(wry grin) Having the Inspector here really is a help.

Bak: Oi, haven’t you lot been forgetting about me from the start......!?

Question 1: Kanda had a little pouch hanging from his neck when he returned to Marie and Lenalee. What was in that pouch?

Allen: You can always count on a question for Kanda, huh.

Lavi: Yeah, ain’t Yu gettin’ a little too popular? By the way, ain’t this supposed to start off with a question for me?

Wisely: Well, it’s because there’s also a wagonload of questions for Yu Kanda as ever. What a sinful lad...

Link: You there! No pointless chatter!

Bak: Huh...? He had a pouch? We disposed of those clothes Kanda was wearing after he swapped it in for the Order uniform at the Asian Branch, but there wasn’t any pouch.

Marie: Ah, that’s because I’m keeping it for him. The little drawstring pouch, right? Seems to be silver coins in there.

Allen: Money?!!! (clatter)

Lavi: Calm down, Allen!

Marie: There was this old lady who took care of Kanda’s every need back then, and she gave it to him, said it’s for travel expenses....sorry, that’s all I know.

Lavi: ........That so?

Allen: Kanda will definitely turn out like Master someday. (hmph!)

Marie: Looks like he barely used any of it, though.

(T/N: aight guys, now we know the true reason Allen decided to tag along with Kanda, right? right?)

Question 2: Is Kanda right-handed or left-handed?

Lavi: Yu agaaain?

Link: He’s ambidextrous, isn’t he?

Allen: Eh? Is that so?

Link: It’s something you’d notice right away.

Lavi: After all the time you spent fighting with him and you still didn’t know, Allen? Yu’s punches hurt like freakin’ hell no matter which fist he used, right?

Allen: Makes me sick just thinking about it.

Marie: Exactly, Kanda’s ambidextrous.

Bak: By the way, Alma was also ambidextrous, you know.

(T/N: damn, that stab in the heart when I have to go back and correct is into was...)

Wisely: By the way, over to the Noahs, the Millennium Count is ambidextrous.

Question 3: After the Second Exorcist sigil’s power deteriorated, Kanda now has hangover. Will he also be more vulnerable to illnesses like the cold? 

Lavi: Yu again...? Now I’m starting to think Hoshino is trolling behind this!

Allen: He’s an idiot, and idiots don’t catch colds! NEXT!

Wisely: Well, if he does catch colds more easily then it’s good news for us Noahs. But if he’s such an idiot, guess it can’t be helped.

Marie: Hey, watch it. (sweat)

Link: Stop fooling about and answer properly!

Bak: Allow me, current patriarch of the Chang clan, to enlighten you. Just because the sigil’s power has weakened, doesn’t mean Kanda’s body will become very weak as a result. Though his extraordinary regenerative ability will be impaired, the bodies of Second Exorcists are also designed for battle, so he’d probably still be far more sturdy than normal people. Even so, unless he keeps a balanced diet from now on, there’s a possibility he might fall ill. He eats nothing but soba, doesn’t he? That won’t do!

Question 4:  Those...flying needles?...that Howard Link was throwing about? What are they for? The Crows have had them in the past too, and I’m curious.

Link: Those are called Shibari (嘴針 lit. Beak Needle. T/N: “shibari” also sounds the same as “Shibari-bane”, the Crow’s binding feathers, but uses a different Kanji). Even amongst Crows, it’s a weapon reserved for the elite members. A single needle can unleash power equal to a hundred feathers (those binding feathers, flame feathers, confining feathers, etc. that Crows frequently use). The Shibari I have are the ones Master Zu used back in the day, so they’re an old model, but even now they still work very well. Though they can be a little unwieldy to carry about, in times you run out of feathers you can still fight just using Shibari. And for me right now, in particular, it’s also a way to save up on feathers, so it’s a very handy weapon.

Allen: Huh? What do you mean by “for me right now”?

Link: I have chocolate doughnuts, too, Walker.

Allen: WEE-HEE! (chomp!)

Wisely: Careful, boy...he’s tricking you with those doughnuts...

Link: Would you like some, too?

Wisely: WEE-HEE! (chomp!)

Lavi: I heard from Gramps, though. Looks like the Crows’ abilities are developed by the Chang Clan, right?

Bak: Aha. The Crow Unit was established by Grandfather Zu in his younger days. Even now, the Chang Clan is still responsible for manufacturing all the feathers, needles and other weapons the Crows use. 

Marie: I see. So this is why the Asian Branch Supervisor position is passed down the Chang bloodline. The Chang Clan must have been indispensable for the Central, right?

Bak: Well, I guess.

Allen: I’ve been wondering for a long time. Why are the Changs able to use such awesome magic?

Wisely: It will be a long story, so we’d better drop it for the sake of the word count.

Link: If it’s going to eat up precious space, then let’s leave it for now.

Question 5: Do Lavi and Bookman still remember their original names?

Lavi: YAAAAAAAAAY~~  ! Finally~~! The answer’s Nooooooooooo-peeeeee! From the time I became Gramp’s heir, my name was erased!

Allen: Hey Lavi, why must Bookmen discard their real names? Isn’t it painful?

Marie: You’re one who cherishes his name, huh, Allen.

Bak: Do you really have to go that far in order to be a recorder of alternate history?

Link: Now that you mention it, we’ve received many questions on the Bookmen’s fake aliases.

Lavi: While we’re a Junior, we have to change our names every time we change the place of our log. Because those names will become the title of our logs. Thus, the log for this Holy War will be titled “Lavi”. Makes it easy to search for logs this way. As for whether it’s painful to lose my real name...hmmm, well...frankly, I don’t really know. Since me becoming a Bookman was something that can’t be helped, too. By the way, Gramps is the one who named all the logs.

Wisely: Uh-hmmm. Come to think of it, the name Lavi seems to be...

Lavi: What?

Wisely: Nah, nuffink. (munch munch). Blimey, these doughnuts sure are delicious.

Allen: Hey! You’re eating too many!

Question 6: How did Lavi and Bookman earn money for expenses during travels? The Allen way?

Allen: What do you mean by my way?

Lavi: Means gambling, of course. Ain’t it?

Wisely: Swindling Mafia bosses then fleeing with winnings and the like?

Bak: Mafia!? (falsetto)

Marie: So that’s what you’ve been up to, Allen!? That’s no good! You’re still a kid, aren’t you? Lenalee would wail if she ever hears you’ve been doing such dangerous things.

Allen: Please, please don’t tell Lenalee! I beg you, Marie! (googly eyes).

Link: No matter how adorable a face you manage to make, Noise Marie won’t be able to see it, Walker. We’ll have you tell us all about this later in detail, so for now let’s return to Bookman Jr. 

Allen: Eeehhh!?

Lavi: Where were we? Oh, travel expenses, right? Well, members of the Bookman clan are everywhere and they help us out, so both me and Gramps don’t have to work for money.

Marie: You mean you have relatives all over the world?

Lavi: Yup! The whole clan comes together to support the Bookman as the clan’s leader, so Bookman can focus on his logs. 

Bak: I never knew the Bookman Clan is such a large-scale thing.

Lavi: Well, since everyone conceals their Bookman lineage and outwardly leads normal lives, it’s no surprise nobody knows.

Allen: Why do they have to hide?

Lavi:  Hm? It’s a secret!

>> Part 2 <<

[taste-in-music]

My Top 10 Favorite Hit Songs of 2018

I’m going to say it. This year’s popular music SUCKED. As I attempted to keep in touch with the US Billboard charts, the music I saw getting big every week only assisted in my losing faith in humanity. Pop music just wasn’t popular this year. And that’s not to say that pop music is dead or that there isn’t any good pop music being made, (just look at my entire page,) but it certainly wasn’t getting as much success in the mainstream as usual. I get it. Music trends come and go, and what’s big in at one point in time might not be in another Just think about how much R&B there was in the 2000s, and how club/EDM anthems were giant in the early 2010s. This year was dominated by hip hop, which I have nothing against in theory, but at least have it be GOOD hip hop music. I know there’s amazing hip hop out there, but that’s not what I saw getting popular. The bad stuff this year was really bad, at best bland and forgettable and at worst unlistenable garbage music made by garbage people. But rather than focus on the bad, I think that it’ll be better for my sanity to focus on the good, just to assure myself that even when the charts are dominated by shit there might a diamond hidden somewhere. This is the chart I will be using. So, without further ado, here are my best hit songs of 2018.

10) One Kiss by Calvin Harris ft. Dua Lipa This isn’t my favorite Dua Lipa song by far, (or Calvin Harris song,) but this is still a ton of fun. The production is simple, but tropical and uptempo, with a glossy, shuffling background beat and synthy horn riffs, and Dua Lipa’s performance helps elevate it all. This song radiates summer, it’s like having a tall glass of orange juice on the beach. My only problem with the song is the drop, with the pitch-lowered vocals and continuation of the background track. It feels a bit lazy and is too short to really build up steam. Otherwise, this song is pretty good. It was certainly refreshing to hear on the radio every so often.

9) Eastside by Benny Blanco ft. Khalid & Halsey This song is so relaxing and smooth. The production is simple, with a mid-tempo beat and a couple fluttering notes her and there, but it suits the subject matter of the song, which is very nostalgic and bittersweet. As always, I love the sound of Khalid’s voice, (though his pronunciation on this song is kind of garbled, it’s hard to tell what he’s saying,) and Halsey’s performance is good too, never dipping into grating territory like it does sometimes.The two of them have great chemistry. Also, the music video for this song is both funny and heartbreaking. It low key made me cry? I never heard this on the radio where I live, and only listening to it recently when making this list, but it’s certainly one of the best hit songs of the year.

8) LOVE. by Kendrick Lamar ft. Zacari Kendrick Lamar made a… pop song? Kind of? Okay, I wouldn’t call it pop, it’s definitely still hip hop, but it’s got some R&B and pop elements to it. It’s his version of a pop song. While it may not Kendrick Lamar’s best song, it’s still Kendrick Lamar. Him not at his “not best” is a whole lot better than other artists at their peak. The production is bold but at the same time chill, with a smoky kind of atmosphere. I’ve never listened to Zaraci, but his voice is wonderful here, cutting through the background music and Kendrick Lamar’s rapping like a ray of sunlight. I’m going to be honest, I mostly love this song because the CHVRCHES version is so good (listen to that here.)

7) Love Lies by Khalid ft. Normani This is one of the only pop songs that got consistent radio play where I live, and while the overplay did wear this track out a bit, I still like it. I never changed the station when it came on. Khalid and Normani have great chemistry, (what is it about Khalid that makes him so good at duets? With Eastside, this, lovely with Billie Eilish…) I love their harmonies on the chorus. Normani is a very promising vocalist, I’m excited to see what she comes out with in the future. The production is solid, with that low (I think guitar? synths? IDK) riff, snap percussion, and vocal layering in the backgrounds.

6) IDGAF by Dua Lipa The. Tell. Off. Anthem. Of. The. Year. This is a guilty pleasure of mine, I can’t say that this song is particularly good, but I’m literally in love Dua Lipa, so I don’t care. She’s sassy as hell on this song. The production is so catchy, especially with that plucky guitar melody and those pianos that come in as the song progresses. I love the bridge, where it goes back to just her and guitar, and it slowly builds back up to the final chorus. My only problem with hearing this on the radio is that it always had to be the censored version! I mean, I get why, but listening to the censored version of this song is like eating an unsalted Saltine cracker. It’s completely against the point.

5) Delicate by Taylor Swift I haven’t heard the entirety of Reputation. I don’t think I’ll ever go out of my way to listen to it. Look What You Made Me Do and ...Ready For It? were pretty awful, but Delicate? Delicate I really love. I didn’t like LWYMMD or ...RFI? because they were grating, lacked subtlety in their lyrics, and the production was all over the place. But this song takes the lyrical themes in those songs and presents them in a more vulnerable light, which works a lot better. And the production is very nice too. Everything flows together so smoothly. I like how the chorus is just her voice with the snaps in the background, and then melodies rush back in for the “drop.” This song washes over you and it’s perfect for a late night drive.

4) Boo’d Up by Ella Mai Praise the heavens for this song’s success. I remember when I first head it, it was so pants-shittingly good that it blew my mind. Ella Mai’s vocals are gorgeous, going through the melodies with such ease and grace and using vibrato in just the right places. The production on this song is lush as hell. I love the blocky percussion, light cymbals, and twinkling pianos. My only problem with this song is the extended spoken word outro, which gets a bit tiring. Otherwise, this is an amazing song.

3) when the party’s over by Billie Eilish  I’m cheating here. This song didn’t make it onto the year end list, but I just had to include it. This song is heart-wrenching in all the right ways. Billie Eilish’s vocals are quiet and reserved, dipping into her higher register, they’re just so vulnerable and sad. She emits so much emotion on this song. The production on this song is simple, with just a piano, some distortion, background vocals, and not much else, but that’s what makes it work so perfectly. Anything else, and this song would become too cluttered. I’m so happy that this has hit the charts and is picking up steam, because god knows we need more promising, unique, and talented voices like Billie Eilish’s in the mainstream.

2) Finesse (Remix) by Bruno Mars ft. Cardi B Sometimes, you just need a song that’s downright fun. That’s how to describe this song. FUN! It’s so energetic and fucking catchy, everything about it clicks into just the right place. I don’t like Cardi B, but she’s pretty great here. Bruno Mars is great here. The production is slick as hell, with the bells and the drums and the sound effects. That little doh-pah sound in the chorus? Amazing, low key my favorite part of this song. You can’t not dance to this song. It’s perfect for a party playlist, or even when you just want to feel happy. This was such a relief to hear on the radio in between all the forgettable mush, like a rainbow pouring through the clouds.

Should Have Been Hits

Strangers by Sigrid This song had a ton of chart success in Europe, but didn’t cross over to the U.S. I guess we weren’t interested in listening to a bubbly, sunny BOP AND A HALF.

Paradise by George Ezra George Ezra, you know, the “Budapest” guy? That song was pretty good, wasn’t it? Another hit in the UK, this song features an electric, rushing beat, sick guitars, and George Ezra’s wonderful deep voice. I only have one issue with this song, and that’s that the line “running though your bloody veins” makes my skin crawl. Otherwise, this song is a total jam.

Answerphone by Banx & Ranx & Ella Eyre featuring Yxng Bane Slaps to the gods. Holy lord. This is the summer smash we deserved. Listen to it NOW.

Sun In Our Eyes by MØ ft. Diplo C’mon, we can give MØ another hit, can’t we? One where she isn’t sidelined into a feature slot? No? Our loss, then. This song isn’t my favorite off Forever Neverland, but had the most potential to become a hit, (I even heard it in a Starbucks one time,) and it deserved to.

Honorable Mentions/Guilty Pleasures

Wait by Maroon 5 I’m willing to admit that this song isn’t that good. Adam Levine’s falsetto is grating, the beat staggers all over the place like it’s drunk, and the production turns everything into soup. But something about this song keeps me from hating it like I know I should. Maybe it’s the fact that I find it kind of relaxing, maybe it’s because Alexandra Daddario is in the music video and she’s really pretty... I don’t know.

Friends by Marshmello ft. Anne-Marie Okay, this song straight up SUCKS and I kind of like it a lot? The production is a mish mash of random noises that sound like a robot having a seizure, Anne-Marie’s voice get annoying, and the lyrics are reprehensible. Still low key love it though. It’s like drinking Mountain Dew: you know it tastes cruddy and is bad for you, but there’s a spark to it that keeps you coming back.

Nice for What by Drake In a year where Drake absolutely DOMINATED the charts, this is the song by him that I liked the most. It’s got a groove to it with that Ms. Lauryn Hill sample and some decent lyrics.

Lucid Dreams by Juice WRLD It’s just fucking catchy, man I don’t know what else to say. (It’s not even his melody, really. It’s a Sting sample.) This song is the epitome of whiny sad boi emo rap, and the positively dreadful lyrics reflect that. I’m not going to say this song is even remotely good, (it’s probably one of the worst songs of the yeah, tbh,) and I’m not going to defend it. I’m ashamed enough as it is.

Youngblood by 5 Seconds Of Summer Who would’ve thought that the band that came up with “you look so perfect standing there in my American Apparel underwear,” one of the dumbest lyrics ever put to music, could come up with something good? This song has a propulsive feel, like you could go on a run to it. I like the “ooooh” that come in during the chorus too. Count this in as my number 11 pick.

All the shitty schlock music that got big this year was starting to weigh me down. I was in a state of mind, if you will. But then, something happened. I heard a song, a pop song, a good pop song. A great pop song. A song with an angelic opening, a surprising yet amazing switch-up, and uplifting lyrics. And then, in that moment, I knew that something wonderful had happened, that a god has returned from the heavens, and that I, now, had no tears left to cry. 

1) no tears left to cry by Ariana Grande  This song is awesome, okay? The production is catchy, the lyrics and fun, the chorus soars like a goddamn eagle, and the vocals? Do I even have to tell you? It’s Ariana Grande. This powerhouse performance puts all those mushy mouthed vocal deliveries that ruled the charts this year to shame. And in the midst of all the slower tempoed songs, I remember hearing this song and thinking: “by god, you can dance to this.” All of these elements come together and form something special, something damn near perfect. no tears left to cry by Ariana Grande. My favorite hit song of 2018. 

Do you agree with this list? What were your favorite hit songs of 2018? Leave a comment and let me know!

[lore-a-lie]

Chapter 3, Act 6: Our True Selves...

Daily Life  

When Kaede woke up the next morning she noticed a tablet on her table, much like the ones from the second motive. But the frame was different, and not like the standard Monokuma tablets either.

The new motive sitting before her parodied the black and white she was used to with tones of sepia, nearly wood-like shades of brown from a cream to a dark umber. Smooth as piano’s cover, with accents of a bright green wherever Monokuma’s would have a red of the same intensity.

She considered waiting until later to view it, but worries about how badly the motive videos turned out quickly drowned out the idea. So, like Angie had pointed out that dreadful night, Kaede chose to risk seeing it by herself first, to see what she’d be dealing with.

But as soon as she started it up the tablet fell from her hands as the world fell out from under her. She was looking at a face she knew all too well.

“Number 42. My name is %@^#^ @%@^@!$*, and if I’m selected I’ll definitely make for a memorable run no matter what role you put me in!”

Kaede could only stare dumbly at her smiling face giving this introduction, the tablet thankfully saved by landing on her bed rather than the floor. But as she continued to watch she couldn’t help but wish it had broken instead, regardless of any consequences she might have faced for it.

“I’m perfect for a Killing Game, I don’t have any faith in humanity,” the girl in an unfamiliar navy sailor suit went on. “That’s what you’re looking for, aren’t you? I can fake an innocent facade easily, and if you wanted me to play a part like Sayaka or Sonia I’d absolutely nail it.”

Huh? What is she talking about?! I’m not- I wouldn’t ever want to be a part of this! And no, that’s wrong! Right? I mean… Maybe not in humanity as a whole, but I like to think I believe in others well enough. I mean if I didn’t then… Then all of these murders and betrayals wouldn’t have hurt so much, right?

“You’ll make tons from merch of me, even if I’m not the one with the best rack. Which let’s be real, I probably am. You have nooo idea how pumped I was to learn I matched the Junko Enoshima in that department!- Ahem, sorry got a bit off topic I guess.” She continued with a bit of a blush at her overzealousness.

Junko Enoshima, first death of the first file found in Shuichi’s lab. So “Sayaka” should mean “Sayaka Maizono” from that file’s first case and Sonia should be “Sonia Nevermind” from the second file right? Nice girls on the surface, but only because those pretty facades were needed for their Ultimate talents.

“What I mean is, guys claim to “fall” for me all the time, as if any of them could ever really mean it. So I definitely know I have the looks to knock ‘em dead in more ways than one. It makes things waaay easier for me too, all it takes is a pout or smile and they practically start begging me to play them like a violin.”

Real or a lie, the things she was hearing was making Kaede’s blood freeze. She didn’t have any memories that lined up to what her living echo was referring to, but she couldn’t be sure that meant this was fake. Even if it was, seeing herself brag about being such a callous manipulator made her question herself more than she’d like to admit. (Is this part of why I could bond with Kokichi? Why everyone trusts me?)

“Speaking of, I’m pretty good at piano, so a musical talent would be a pretty good match for me. Not like Sayaka, Ibuki, Ami, or Yumi you know, just like a focus on a particular instrument. Could make for a good “conductor” pun too, depending on how I’m used~” She winked at the camera for emphasis.

Well, that doesn’t sound good. And more names from other files. But if this is true then what does this mean about my memories of my family? Is everything I remember a simulation to “get” this talent? … Is my Ultimate Talent even really mine? Where else did it come from? How could this me “choose” it? If you could be given talents why would they still matter so much?! What does any of this mean!?

“I’ll show you I have what it takes to win this. Just you wait.” Her living shadow finished with a grin.

And with that the other Kaede Akamatsu faded from the screen, leaving the real Kaede with only a black mirror and her own thoughts. Thoughts that couldn’t stop racing and refused to make any sense as they rushed after any and all possibilities, regardless of how contrary the theories that came up could be.

Kaede’s head ached in the aftermath, and she hoped she wasn’t the only one to have watched their tablet. She needed to have someone to share what she saw with, anyone who could help her make sense of it.

Even as a motive it didn’t make sense at a glance. If it was true, and it proved even her childhood memories could be flawed or compromised, what reason would she have to leave anymore?

So much of it was about pianos, and how it affected her relationship with her parents, her sister, her friends… If being a “piano freak” wasn’t true then what in her life was? What was there to go home to?

But Kaede couldn’t afford to think like that. She had more than herself to consider now. Her friends had lost too much for her to lose faith in escaping this hell. There were no better options.

So, regardless of if the words were fact or fiction, Kaede resolved to prove her other’s words true.

She’d show whoever the sick bastard yanking them around was that she and her friends would beat them.

They had to be getting close to the truth to get a message like this, so at odds with what they seemed to know. Which meant they’re almost there. So she couldn’t let anyone give up just yet.

Kaito nearly missed the screen sitting in his room as he got ready to head to breakfast. Considering the aftermath of the previous “video” motive, he almost ignored it and headed out anyway.

Alas, his curiosity got the best of him.

He took a seat on his little-used chair and turned on the odd brown framed device, bracing for an emotional impact. But the only feeling he got from the footage was confusion, so that hadn’t helped.

Seeing himself looking so confident and arrogant while standing in some sort of gym, wearing clothing he didn’t recognize from any previous memories, nearly made him lose focus and miss what was said. But only nearly.

“Number 343, #@!^* #*#*^@ here! So let me give you guys the low down, listen up and listen good! I’m not just gonna be IN Dangan Ronpa, I’m gonna kill EVERYBODY and win!”

Oh Jesus fucking Christ, talk about whiplash. I mean, what the fuck is he talking about? “Dangan Ronpa”? Is THAT what this fucking game thing is called?! Who the hell do you think you are?! Are you me???

“Yeah, yeah I can hear ya’ll bitchin’ already. “But #@!^*, what about the other contestants? You can’t just wreck their shit like that, you’ll take all the fun outta it if you don’t go a little easy on ‘em.” right?” The bastard mocked whoever he was expecting to complain with a terrible falsetto.

Oh my God since when was I such an asshole?! I mean if it looks like me, and sounds like me, it’s gotta be… wait. Holy shit do I have an evil twin? Or some sort of clone? I FUCKING KNEW IT WAS POSSIBLE! POP LIED TO ME!

“Already got it covered, don’t worry. Just leave everything to me! Make me the mastermind or not, doesn’t matter. I’ll be the badass Izuru DR0 offered us and DR3 screwed us outta seeing in action. Total party kill, no need for a fucking trial. ‘Cause there won’t be bodies to find when I’m through with ‘em.”

… Ya know what? New plan. After I get to space I’ll volunteer to be the first man to be sent back through time, with the sole purpose of punching this fucker’s lights out on the off chance it is a past me.

“Only exception I’m making is if some pretty lil’ thing gets my ignition going. Don’t matter how scared shitless they are, with the dough we’d be rolling in all thanks to me. And with that fame, it’d be easy enough to trade her out with some other sweet little honey if she gets too scream-y or squeamish when she finds out about the truth behind her “heroic knight”. After all, ironic talents are the fuckin’ best.”

So this is what it feels like to be angry enough to murder somebody. Fuck, I feel sick. God, I hope it’s not my symptoms acting up again, this room would already give anyone with some luminol the wrong idea.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the red shirts have their time to show off a little. And nobody, and I mean nobody, is gonna see me coming. Trust me, this is one star you’ll never regret investing in!”

Boy, there’s a lotta bullshit to unpack here. Assuming any of this is true at all, which it probably isn’t. What am I thinking “probably”, It can’t be! And not just because I don’t WANT to believe it either, no matter what Kokichi or the others would like to tease me about. It just genuinely can’t.

I could never be a rising star. I’m a dying one.

There’s no benefit to giving someone a fatal illness if they were willing to sign up for this. It’s not cost effective, simple as that. Even for the “drama” potential if this was a show it just doesn’t make sense.

Unless it was maybe to spite this guy for being such an asshole? Or someone close to him/me if it’s personal? But still, why sink resources into “natural” ways to kill people for a sick killing game show?

Maybe it could be left over from a previous “kill or be killed” motive. MAYBE. Or just to make the flashback videos feel more “real”? Assuming the audience already knows about my condition. I mean I'm not sure how you could hide it from them, since even our rooms gotta be bugged or somethin.

Kaito furiously scratched his head as he leaned forward in hopes of quelling what was hopefully bile rising in his throat. Even if it might not have done his lungs any favors either, much less his stomach. But goddamn if vomit doesn’t seem more “normal” and appealing than that recurring sick taste of iron.

If it’s to help the “setting’s” verisimilitude then why use this motive at all?! Could be a sign that this “audition” is the only thing here that’s been scripted? Except again, they’d know I’d never buy it!

It can’t give me any “false hope”, my body’s giving out too much. I know I don’t have time left. And if I was sick before auditioning, and that was real, then why wouldn’t “I” have pointed out why I needed the money? Did he worry it would be more a hindrance to getting picked? Is that why he wanted “fame”?

No. Even if that bastard was gunning for a quick game in order to get his blood money in time to save himself this isn’t me. They could have swapped him out, but I’m still here despite being on a time limit.

So let’s just focus on the bright side. People are watching this, hopefully some more normal than this implies. Can’t really hope for “most” folks watching a snuff series to be any better than that, can I?

This sick son of a bitch won’t be the “Kaito Momota” that people remember. I am. Hell, this freak might not even have that much in common with “me”, who knows what name was censored for this stunt. Still!

No matter what this place takes from me I’m always me. I’m the Luminary of the Stars that will live on even after this body of mine dies! Watchers know full well the kind of man I am! Hopefully I’m encouraging at least some of them to be the best they can be. Examples to look up to are important. Ideals are important.

I can die here knowing I did my best to live up to mine. Knowing I tried to help everyone else here live the best they could. It’s a man’s duty to help and encourage those around him. To go as far as he’s able to, and enable others to do the same.

Nothing’s changed for me because of this. Maybe I should count myself lucky for that. I don’t need it.

I can’t say the same for everyone else. I don’t know how much messages like this could help or hurt them. Could really help Ryoma, or destroy someone like Kiyo. Those rooted in their “pasts” are at the highest risk here.

I can still be a constant for anyone who needs one for as long as my health can hold out. And if it’s not as long as I’d like it to be, Kaede’ll be there too. She’s strong, there’s no way this motive could break her.

Not with a sidekick like Kokichi to help support her. Not with how much everyone cares about her.

Kaito smiled to himself as he nodded as a show of resolve to the viewers at home. Not that they’d know what he was thinking, but he’d figure it’d be obvious he made his own peace with his conclusions.

He almost considered taking a page out of Kokichi’s book, to look for a camera and even give a little speech to the empty room and hope to god he doesn’t just come across like an idiot. Again. (God, Maki will give me so much shit for that next time I see her. I can practically hear her sniping at me already.)

Instead, he just decided to head to the cafeteria and hope he wasn’t too much later than normal. It’d be pretty embarrassing to be the last one there over something like this. Shouldn’t make any of them worry, he thought.

Schedules help keep people from panicking, and any amount of normalcy helps endure insanity like this.

Besides, it’s not like there was any other way he’d like to spend the rest of his time than how he has been.

Despite his previous experience, the second Ryoma saw a new tablet before him he wasted no time to turn it on. Though as it played he reconsidered his decision, in case it was trying to trigger him again.

But at least this time the contents seemed promising from the get-go. He was wearing some sort of suit. Possibly a blazer style school uniform based on the crooked red tie and what was unmistakably a gym floor behind him.

And most importantly the version of him looking at the camera had nothing but determination in his eyes. A far cry from the ones he had now. And this Ryoma’s first words only sweetened the deal.

“Number 21. My name is &%*#@ #*$#! and I’m auditioning for this game because I know someone important to me is.”

There it was. “Important to him”. Whoever this was, even if it was only an actor, they suggested there might be something left for Ryoma outside the dome he was trapped in. Something beyond prison.

But still, I can’t let myself get my hopes up. This could just be baiting me so that pulling the rug out from under me again will hit as hard as Monokuma wants it to. The second things could start going downhill I’ll stop. Watching this whole thing could be a deadly mistake if videos can really “rewrite” who we are.

“I’m not expecting that to affect either of our chances of getting in too much, since it’s not like the audience would know about us unless you wanted them to, I just couldn’t stand by knowing she was going into this alone. I’m well aware of all the risks here. Just like I’m aware my odds of getting in, either with her or in her place, are probably a little higher because of my look. Gotta have a joke entry, yeah?”

“Joke entry” huh? So what, could my depression be something whoever’s behind this “game” forced on me in hopes I’d be an early death? All things considered, it nearly worked. If they can rewrite memories other forms of brain manipulation might not be so far fetched. Thank god for the idiots that saved me.

Or heck, I’ll even thank “Atua” if it’ll make Angie have a more natural smile for a change. I’m really lucky I got stuck with all of these clingy weirdos. Even the ones I could do without by this point.

“I know my folks’ll be horrified when they find out about this, but honestly? I don’t give a fuck. ‘Least they won’t need to find out I asked for it. Unless the stuff they say on the net about you “kidnapping” potential players for the sake of plausible deniability is a load of crap I guess. Either way, it’s better than the alternative, and if I die then it’ll be my own damn fault. ‘S not like I was able to talk her out of this.”

And that’s all Ryoma needed to hear to turn the video off. He was almost surprised it worked, since Monokuma seemed like the type who’d rig one of these so that if you tried to stop it it’d continue just to spite you. But he wasn’t going to complain or question it. He was more bothered by how numb he felt.

It didn’t matter if anything this motive said was true or not. It was enough. More than enough.

It was everything he had been hoping for the first time the motive videos were announced.

He did have people who cared about him outside of this hell after all. People he could come home to. Hell, the way this was claiming it was an “audition” and that his connection to… Whatever that girl was to him, could be missed by outside “viewers” like he hadn’t killed anybody before entering this game. Just like Angie said about Korekiyo. (But unlike that bastard if I haven’t before I still haven’t now. Maki’s still all his fault even without Kirumi's blood on his hands.)

Girlfriend, sister, crush, or whatever she was, she could even still be out there waiting for him. (Or she might be stuck in here with me. Could be dead already if she was. There’s no way to know for sure yet.)

He didn’t know if the burning ache in his chest was worry, anxiety, or a twisted sense of relief, he only recognized the hope this gave him. Regardless, it was probably a good sign that stopping where he did was a good call for now. No way to know if any of this was true in here, but false hope was better than none.

But if he really hadn’t killed all of those people, if he hadn’t spent so long rotting in jail, if his life wasn’t worth any less than the innocent victims trapped in this cage with him, he wasn’t sure what to feel now.

Should he be any more comfortable with the idea of someone else dying if he could give everything to save them? Would the people who destroyed his self-worth and years worth of his memories pay for this?

Would he ever be able to be normal or “happy”, or were even those memories of better times a lie?

Would whoever still loved him forgive him for everything he’d done? Was he still who they’d want to see?

Did that mean the years of suffering he remembers really meant nothing? That he can’t at least know that while he did the unforgivable over a hundred times over he didn’t even save future victims from the monsters he put in the ground? And where would that leave Maki and her “true enemy”? Or his own?

For now he tried to ignore these questions the best he could. Like how he’d clear his head before a match, if any of that were ever true. Maybe watching more of his video later would elaborate on that.

But Ryoma didn’t need to do that yet. He just had to bring this with him when he went to get breakfast, same as always. If everyone got messages like this then trading notes could be important, and if Kokichi was still paranoid about motives rewriting personalities then not seeing all of his own could be a benefit.

He doubted Kaede’d ever want to see them all together again, but having someone with him would be nice if he tried to continue this video later. Nice to know, or be able to think, he could be worthy of that. Of having friends without his demons whispering all the ways they were wrong to think he was decent.

He couldn’t afford to think like that too much though. He needed to stay focused on his goals. To get his friends out of this alive. To keep Korekiyo from hurting anyone else ever again. And now, to return to his family.

To his parents. People who wouldn’t be ashamed to share his name. Who wouldn’t be looked down on because they raised a murderer. Ryoma couldn’t even remember the last time he was able to see them.

Finding out about the girl that meant more to him than the world could come later. Would come later.

For now, he’d just need to take things as they came. And that meant being prepared to help his friends should any of their videos had worse implications for them than his did.

After all the support he’d gotten from them, it was the least he could do.

When Gonta saw the tablet when he woke up he hadn’t known what to do at first. Angie had told him the motive videos were bad, and the way they had corrupted Kirumi and Korekiyo before was proof of that.

But Kokichi told him it had been for the best that they watched it together, to make brainwashing them less likely than had they seen them alone. And Kokichi had been right more often than Atua had so far. Atua's rules did nothing to save people, but Kokichi's attempts failing at least had human error to defend it.

He could take this straight to Kokichi, to see if he thought watching it together would be a good idea, but he didn’t want to burden his friend any more than he had to. So much of the Killing Game Busters’ work was already resting on Kokichi’s small shoulders just because Gonta wasn’t smart enough to support him.

Kokichi’d never phrase it like that, Gonta was sure. He and Korekiyo liked to say it was a confidence thing instead, since that would be easier for Gonta to fix. But Gonta knew the truth. It was kind of them to lie.

Still, Gonta chose to try and take this burden for himself for now. If the video seemed dangerous he could always turn it off, and if it wasn’t then he could at least try to offer some ideas of his own when he took this to Kokichi to see what in the motive video could be useful.

“Number 156, @*^^@ @*%^#@$@. Let’s cut to the chase,” yet another Gonta said from the other side of the screen. Unlike Kibo’s Mini-Gonta this one looked a lot more like himself, but something felt far more wrong with this one. While it’s easy for intent to get lost when filmed this person’s angry aura was unmistakable. And as uncomfortable as the young man’s uniform looked on him, done up so tight it looked like it could rip and send buttons flying at any moment, Gonta suspected that wasn’t it.

But still why there so many Gontas now? Gonta should be the only Gonta! Unless new Gonta wants to be police Gonta, it be cool if Gonta had twin like that. Like Kaede has twin Kaede. But if new Gontas don’t stop coming, friends might get me-Gonta confused with a not-friend-Gonta! No one want that!

“This is Dangan Ronpa, you’re gonna need at least one guy built like me.” He flexed a bit for emphasis, tearing at some of the seams of his ill-fitting jacket. “I want in. And I’m no softy, got that?”

Hmm. That no sound right. This is very different Gonta, because Gonta definitely softy. Lots of friends tell him so, soft like the squishy fuzzy larva of the Pyrrharctia isabella!... That kinda got confused when making itself a chrysalis to go from woolybear to tiger moth, making it a bit too scary looking. But Kokichi say that still cool! Like a beary-bear mixed with a teddy-bear, perfect for protecting kids!

… Why did Kokichi keep laughing whenever Gonta call himself a bear anyway?

“Viewers always think the big guys are soft and sweet. This time they’ll be wrong.”

Viewers sound like smart people, that is exactly how real Gonta is! Sorry not-soft-Gonta is misjudged.

“I’ll crush them. Those expectations, those hopes, and these participants. I’ll squash them all like bugs.”

… huh?

Squashing… Bugs?

Hurting people?

HOW?! WHY?!

WHY MONSTER LOOK LIKE GONTA?!

“Speaking of bugs, that’s my talent. Don’t care how, but I want bugs. Spiders, centipedes, scorpions, killer bees, fire ants, dung beetles, cockroaches, every creepiest crawly you got.” Not-Gonta smiled, but the expression looked foreign on his face. Not at all like Gonta’s smiles, there was far too much malice to be seen there and there was little doubt that feeling was genuine. Like a predator toying with its prey. “Nature’s perfect little machines. Optimized for everything. Always knowing their place and keeping things going without any complaints.”

I don’t understand. I-I can’t understand! What’s “Dangan Ronpa”? Who is this person?! He’s a terse talker, but his grasp on this language is leagues better than mine. It can't be someone pretending to be me, can it? It'd have to be another Ultimate or something if he was, and not even Tsumugi could manage this I think.

But... It doesn't feel like someone else.  He sounds like how I feel when I get too riled up, but that... That can't be right. Emotions don't define how people are! How you handle them is, and I always try to keep control of mine. Even when it gets hard. Because that's what a gentleman should do, to BE a gentle man.

How can he claim that he has a bug talent and want bugs to care for when he doesn’t CARE about them?! Even Korekiyo genuinely loves his studies! This is more like… Like he just likes having power over them. That… That can’t be “love”, right?

What is any of this supposed to mean?

“Guess that’s all I gotta say. So see ya.”

Gonta didn’t know how long it was he sat there, trying to dry his eyes and rationalize what he saw.

All he knew was that he just couldn’t do it. Nothing about it made any sense to him, no matter how hard he tried to process it. He wasn’t smart enough to understand what sort of motive this was.

But Kokichi would be. He always is!

So that’s where he headed, as fast as his legs could carry him.

As the video came to life Kokichi wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was a video of him, obviously, but he was wearing some school uniform he’d never seen before in his life and he was talking up at a camera in a gym or something. The him on the screen felt different though. Nervous. Scared.

He had a bit of a false start at his introduction, but after yelling at some kids who started chanting “Do it, do it!” off-screen to shut up he seemed to get his bearings. Well, he got them better at least.

“N-Number 413. H-hello, my name is #*#!@#! *%^ and I’m only doing this because SOMEONE won’t stop bugging me about it! I-I’m not doing it because I love the show or anything, really.”

… Oh my god. LOOK AT THIS THING! WHAT EVEN IS THIS? IT’S LIKE A LIL’ BABBY BIZARRO ME! Is he even like honestly trying to lie right now? He’s soooo pathetic I can’t even.

“But… Um… Since I am auditioning I would still really want to get in ya’know? J-just for the screen time and the money and stuff! I mean just look at this cute face, audiences would love me!”

Okay, confirming what we already know, assuming this has any truth to it. Which it probably does, since those guys off screen were obviously my guys from D.I.C.E., I’d know those voices anywhere. Finding one sound-a-like might be possible, but nine? Not a chance.

“I can toootally play like the adorable funny best friend sidekick character, and if the theme of this season is going to be “truth vs. lies” I’d be great at that! I’ve always loooved the theatrical mysterious liars in previous seasons, like Nagito and Celeste. Though, I’d rather not be a murderer if I can help it.”

… Yeeeeah, hate to break it to you kiddo but I don’t really think that’s me. Except for the no killing, that’s still me so no worries there. Unless Kaede’s our actual protagonist instead of Discount Kamina or Captain Kibble, in which case maaaybe I could come across like that? Oh fuck wait, did I make myself the sassy gay best friend character type?! I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS! I TAKE IT ALL BACK, I DEMAND RESHOOTS!

“I-I mean… It’d be way too easy to win a killing game like that right? Where’s the fun in that?”

… Not sure I’m okay where this is heading, why’re we going to Joker town? There IS no “fun” in here!

“As far as talents go… Uh… I kinda sorta maybe have kleptomania so Ultimate Thief would be a good fit I think. But I’m practically king of our school’s chess club- God wait, fuck that sounds so fucking nerdy why’d I say that- W-well I mean it’s still true! So Ultimate Chessmaster could also work I guess? Since I’m pretty sure the Ultimate Lucky/Unlucky kids have been waaay overdone. Even if my name would work well for that pun.” He nervously shifted his weight from side to side as if trying to think about how to say what he was really after as a part of this “role”.

Nuh-uh, not being taken in by how adorably dorky you are, you can’t make me fall for my own act kid. You showed your hand, so what’s the fucking catch?

...Ayyy, wait a sec. Mister editor might've missed something here."Kokichi" can be a luck pun, and with my height being a "little lucky" would fit like a dream. So much for censoring "my" name, unless they only kept the reference here because the one I have now still worked for it.

Still, food for thought. They might have scrambled the audition names just to make us extra paranoid.

“Buuuut Ultimate Chessmaster might be a bit too on the nose though if I’m allowed to try for our season’s mastermind spot or anything though, you know? Er, only if that’s okay to ask for at all!”

what

“I-I mean wouldn’t that be a fun twist?! And being a victim would still be totes okay too, or I could fake my death like Junko did after really pulling at the audience's heartstrings by being so lovable all the time.”

This isn’t funny anymore fucko

“I mean I get it if that spot has certain limits applied to it, like duh they’re THE big bad, but I think I could pull it off! But I’d definitely wanna be a REAL mastermind, not some wannabe with amnesia like Hajime was. Well Izuru, same thing. The sort that’s hidden in plain sight that reeeeally makes you wanna rewatch it all again to see what sorta crafty bastard they’ve really been this whole time you know?!”

No. No no no no no. Non. Nein. Nada. Niet. Nope. This isn’t fucking funny you sick fucks!

But it’s also not a lie. He was completely and utterly honest about his intentions. Unless somehow that person could hide what a great liar he is as a fake out or he really isn’t me on some level.

That’s really unlikely though. It’s hard to fake tells without being too obvious, even I have trouble with it. And he definitely had my tremors whenever he starts getting nervous. This has to be real. It’s gotta be.

Kokichi clasped his hands in front of his face as he tried to control his breathing. He tried to process what this motive was trying to tell him as the “audition” ended. God he’s lucky they didn’t watch these things as a group like the first batch of motive videos, he’d be sooo dead. Unless he’s not the only one.

On the plus side this did give some clues about things, assuming any of it can be true. Which… It probably was. Or more of this setting was faker than he thought, since he knew those voices. But it COULDN’T be faker than he thought, Kiyo and his weird deal with his sister proved that already! Unless there’s some way to fake a guy magically growing and losing boobs on a dime that he doesn’t know about yet. (If it does exist I’m not sure if I want to slap the person responsible for being gross or shake their hand for it having both practical and hilarious potential. Maybe I’d just high five them while wearing a joy buzzer.)

This is some sort of show or game. People know about it and like it enough to willingly sign up for this shit. They might not know how real this is though, they might think it’s like reality TV or something. Hopefully that’s what they think it is, and they’re not talking like deep web red room shit or anything like that.

Masterminds change for each game, or this “season” with how he mentioned rewatching it like that, or at least this one needed to have someone new take the reigns. Some previous masterminds are people named “Junko” and “Izuru”, though the latter played in his or her game as “Hajime”. Deaths in this game can be faked, or they could in previous seasons. Memory alteration has also appeared in past games.

Wait. Hajime? As in Hajime Hinata? From the second of the 52 case files. Are these things acting as the motives now just because Shuichi’s lab already touched on some of this information? Interesting. There might have been a Junko in the first too, but if she was a mastermind that data was expunged. Izuru definitely didn’t come up in the second or sidenotes, so that could be standard procedure. Moving on.

“Talents” are a part of this game, so the Ultimate Hunt stuff was probably just this season’s “backstory”. This likely tied into how the flashback lights work. But flashback lights can’t completely change who you are, even if they can mess with most of you. This Kokichi talks like he does, but doesn’t think like him.

How much of these auditions reflect the actual people they used to be is unclear. This Kokichi’s a terrible liar to be certain, and not just in a Holden Caulfield slang sorta way, but these are still just auditions. Everyone has to be prepared to show off some sort of persona if they want to be picked for these things.

… But what can he do with any of this information? He can’t risk showing anyone this video, obviously. Not even Kaede or Gonta. He’s not that stupid. Not unless maybe he can watch theirs first. If everyone “wants” to be the mastermind in these it won’t be so bad. As unlikely as that case may be if they’re real.

If these were faked then of course they’d all claim they wanted to be the bad guy, the star of the show. But in reality, they’d only need so many people gunning to fill a particular niche in the game’s formula. Killers, victims, leads, rivals, survivors, and all the smaller audience grabbing archetypes in between.

At least Kokichi knew what his desired role was. And he knows that’s not who he is anymore. He doesn’t know who the person he was used to be, but they’re “dead” now. Kokichi Oma isn’t, and that person’s not coming back on his watch. He’s not planning on going out without putting on one hell of a show.

One bad enough that this whole goddamn genre would crash and burn.

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[rodger-that-studios]

The (Actual) Final Countdown Part 2

My Top 20 Albums - Part 2

The ten following albums are sheer musical perfection, and in no order, I’m going to recommend that you check them out.

Did I say recommend?

I meant damn near demand.

It’s live. Lets go.

10 – Reggatta De Blanc – The Police – 1979

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zPwMdZOlPo8

Take a bow, Stewart Copeland

The Police were, simply, a revolutionary band.

We’re not going to talk about Sting on his own, though.

Why were they revolutionary? That’s easy. They combined so many elements when making music it was as if Dr Frankenstein signed a record deal. Reggae? Check. Rock? Check. You want falsetto? Opera? yeah, it’s in there. RDB was definitely their magnum opus, the Michelangelo’s David of their remarkable discography.

There are so many remarkable tunes here. Let’s have a crash course, shall we?

Message in a Bottle is an incredible song. It’s almost transformative, as if it starts as one genre, a rock and roll record, and then becomes something else. Once Mr Copeland starts to flex his muscles on the kit it changes and becomes a Reggae-licious affair. It’s unlike anything else I’ve ever heard, and it floors me every single time. Also offered here is some truly genius lyricism. Sting remarks that it “Seems I’m not alone in being alone”. How melancholy and unique is that? It’ll make your head spin, but god is it worth it.

The other knockout tune here is Walking on The Moon. Safe to say the lyrics are simple. Giant steps are indeed what you must take when you walk on the moon. Not all the lyrics are as profound as Message in a Bottle, but for me, with this song, it’s all about the drums. I fell in love with all things Stewart Copeland when I first heard this. Stewart is in his own little bubble here, and he knocks me for six every single time, especially the fill he cheekily adds before the final chorus. That is nothing short of magical. It’s a stunning performance, much like this is a stunning album.

9 – Greatest Hits of The Cure – The Cure – 2001

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3nPiBai66M

warm fuzzy feeling

The Cure are one of those mythical groups that have very few bad songs. I know the musical puritans among you will slate me for including a compilation album rather than the original works (it’s not the SAME, WILL), but this is just a silly list, after all, it’s really not worth you getting so worked up over.

As far as the album is concerned it features most of the usual suspects, but a few songs stand out to me, even at 20 years old. My mother first showed me our first standout, Just Like Heaven when I was no older than ten. It was captivating to me that someone could pour so much happiness into three and a half minutes. Originally the song came during that transformative phase of the band’s career when they went from their gothic ‘I hate everybody’ origins to ‘Friday I’m In Love’.

Wow

Yeah

Quite a change.

But Just Like Heaven is an ode to falling in love for the first time. It’s quite a beautiful thing to behold really. Also, my mum and I still sing it together and I’m almost 21. That still makes me smile.

Boys Don’t Cry is one of those songs that you’ll find yourself singing even if you have no idea what Robert Smith is talking about.

Boys Do Cry.

Honestly it’s gorgeous. It’s honest and emotional, which is where the best songs come from. That about sums up this album actually. It has a profound sense of emotion and a lust for life. Not one to miss.

8 – The Colour And The Shape – Foo Fighters – 1997

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBG7P-K-r1Y

This one will blow your socks off

If you’ve had the pleasure of reading my piece about my recent, ahem, experiences at the 2019 Reading Festival, then you’ll know how I feel about the Foo Fighters. They are one of the greatest, if not the pinnacle rock band of the last 20 years, and if you’re hoping to get into them, this album is the perfect diving board.

Following the death of Kurt Cobain in ’94, Dave Grohl, the guy in the Foos who looks an awful lot like the drummer from Nirvana, channeling his inner mad scientist, started a new project. The result was The Foo Fighters.

So logically a mere 3 years later they dropped this seminal, uncomfortably incredible record.

Every song on the tracklist is a home run, but there is something truly transcendent about a little ditty called Everlong. It’s a four-minute voyage into unrequited love and not wanting things to ever change, wanting things to stay the same. That’s the perfect description for the track because once you’ve listened to it, you never want to un-hear it. It’s remarkably simple, just Dave Grohl, Taylor Hawkins and the rest of the band making love to your eardrums with hypersonic mastery.

Side note – maybe I’m babbling because of how much I freaking love this song, or maybe it’s just that good. I guess you’ll have to listen to find out.

I’m having to restrain myself from gushing about every single song on this thing. Its one of those records that will never leave your memory once you’ve listened to it a few times. The Foos are an amazing collective of awesome haircuts, amazing instrumental technicality, and genius lyrics.

If I had to choose one other song to personally recommend (and it can’t be all of them) then I’d have to go for Monkey Wrench. It’s one of the most energetic rock songs you’ll ever hear. It’s angry, but that anger is harnessed by Dave and the boys and transformed it into a ridiculously cool song and indeed album. Kick. Ass.

7 – Black Holes and Revelations – Muse – 2006

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZIk5wIq2Qw

It’s about the song people, not the film

Oh Hell Yes.

Muse, but more specifically their jack of all trades irritatingly talented frontman Matt Bellamy have always had fans. They’re a fabulous band after all, but when this album came out in the summer of 2006 Muse went from strength to strength, and it’s not hard to see why this album is held in such high esteem by die-hard Muse fans the world over.

This is Muse at their most theatrical and most powerful. The lyrics are profound, the guitars are loud and the vocals are up in the stratosphere. Its a rock opera, an odyssey of epic proportions. Also the first standout, Supermassive Black Hole gained new notoriety when it was used for that scene in Twilight where the vampires play baseball (you know the one. don’t lie).

But there are other songs here that will leave you stunned. Let’s take Map of the Problematique for example. Its a brilliant bloody song, with Dominic Howard beating the shit out of the drums to create an almost trance-like listening experience, complete with soaring harmonies from Bellamy to boot. Its so cool. Bottom line.

And before we move on there’s the tiny little tiny matter of Starlight, which is one of the best songs the band has ever written, and my personal favourite of the album. It’s soaring. A song for the ages about wanting to be with that one person that means more to you than you could ever put into words. You need to experience it, but we’ve all felt those feelings. That’s why it works.

6 – Sweet Baby James – James Taylor – 1970

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOIo4lEpsPY

‘Who’s cutting onions in here?

Way back at the start of our list I warned that Mr Taylor may be making a cheeky appearance, and look who’s rocked up. I’m a man of my word.

This album is a family favourite, and one of the first albums that Mum and I ever listened to together. She used to sing me, Sweet Baby James, before I went to sleep every night, and I still get that same warm fuzzy feeling every time I listen to it. I’d never heard such a beautiful song before but I knew what that meant after the first time I heard some of the songs on this album. Taylor was an incredible songwriter and truly one of the greatest talents of his generation.

That talent is reinforced with our next song, Fire and Rain (tears, already). The song is melancholy and painful to listen to. But its not pain in a bad way its as if its a necessary pain to go trough because you know things will get better soon. Thats what I think Taylor was going for. The song has a certain distance to it, almost. The lyrics are desperately sad, but the instrumentation and interpretation that Taylor places round them is sonorous and achingly beautiful to listen to. The song is like an old friend after you’ve listened to it a few times. It simply will never let you down. Thats the perfect description for Taylor’s 1970 magnum opus. It will always be with you.

And side note – who knows if the ever speculated relationship between James Taylor and Carole King was real, or if it ever materialised. Frankly that doesn’t matter. If it was true that they wrote this album together, then that will only make your love for the record increase. Two people came together and made a fabulous and timeless piece of artwork. Well done them I say.

5 – Escapology – Robbie Williams – 2002

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHdvQmA2Ws8

Damn this is some funky shit

This was another album I couldn’t get enough of growing up.

Take That split up back in 1996, and Robbie Had been going it alone (and doing rather well for himself) for a good few years when this gem came out in 2002. The main reason Escapology is so resonant with me and still so relatable even in my 20 year old head is because of two things;

The honesty and realism of Williams’ lyrics

The unstoppable partnership between Williams and the albums super producer, Guy Chambers.

Escapology was a new direction for Williams. It was completely different from Life Thru A Lens (1997) I’ve Been Expecting You (1998) and Swing When You’re Winning (2000). Now don’t get me wrong. All three of those albums were great too, but this one would go down as being historically different.

The cream of the crop here, in my ever-humble opinion, is a tie between Something Beautiful and Feel. The former is a cheerful, life-affirming ode to happiness and prosperity, while the latter is a brutally honest and beautifully written song about wanting to find happiness. Maybe there’s a theme that connects the two, but they’re different in almost every other way, and both iconic because of it.

But that’s not where the magic ends with this album. Later on, in the stellar tracklist you’ll find Hot Fudge. This is one of the funkiest songs Robbie and Chambers ever wrote, and one listen to the thing will prove to you why. Its three minutes of killer keyboards, awesome vibes and that trademark Robbie Williams tongue-in-cheek.

Basically, this album is awesome. Get the message? Check it out.

4 – American Idiot – Green Day – 2004I don’t even have to explain this one. I wrote a piece about why this album was ahead of its time.

You can find that here. This one is special, but unbelievably it’s only in fourth. So lets press on.

https://wordpress.com/view/thefriendlycritic.org

Oh my god

OH MY GODDDDD

We’ve reached PODIUM POSITIONS PEOPLE

Look alive sunshine

I’m EXCITED!

Okay okay home stretch lets do this.

3 – Hotel California – Eagles – 1976

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tcXblWojdM

AIR GUITAR

I’ve always been in complete awe of The Eagles. They’re a bunch of freaking rockstars. Living legends. And boy do they know it.

This is the album that gave them that status.

Its a masterpiece. An absolute fucking masterpiece. I’ll try and explain why without squealing with glee.

The title track is the musical equivalent of willingly losing your mind. It’s a drug trip made of sound waves. It’s remarkable and will change the way you think about music. Probably forever. It almost goes beyond how the song actually sounds with this one, although HC does also happen to feature the single greatest guitar solo I’ve ever heard. Glen Fry, take a bow up there you beautiful man. We all miss you.

The lyrics warn you that you ‘can check out any time you like, but you can never leave’.

But let me ask you

If being held hostage by narcotics in blissful ignorance of your situation (somewhere in the desert) sounds this good, why the hell would you ever want to leave?

This song is that good. And its only track ONE.

This album is one of those mythical records that will surprise you more and more every time you listen to it. We continue with New Kid in Town and later Life In The Fast Lane. These are two equally beautiful, but vastly different songs. New Kid is quite melancholy when you first listen to it, but it grows on you. It makes sense really considering the song is about wanting to be accepted. Fry, Henley and the rest of the band really flex their instrumental muscles here, and the result is glorious.

Fast Lane is a different beast, though.

It’s my personal favourite on the album, and it features Glenn Fry at his most untouchable. A guitar hero if ever there was one. This song rocks, this song rolls and this song does basically everything in between. Its a song you can listen to in any mood and you’ll instantly feel better because of it. The harmonies here are phenomenal too.

Just like the rest of the album. Incredible.

2 – Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band – The Beatles – 1967

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=naoknj1ebqI

Uh, no clues for what they wrote this one about.

The silver medal goes to the fab four.

Everything these four incredible people achieved together, every album they released, every record they broke (that’s destroyed) simply added to their mythos.

The Beatles aren’t a band anymore, people, they’re practically a religion.

If you had the unenviable task of choosing a magnum opus album-wise, then Sgt Pepper makes a fabulous case for itself. It’s my personal favourite, but of course my opinion should play no part in how you choose to discover this band. They were the greatest pop group and the greatest songwriters of the modern age. You all know the stories, believe them. They’re most certainly true.

Sgt Pepper is, to be frank, the Bayeux Tapestry of 20th-century songwriting.

It touches on some incredible subject matter. Some of it is heartbreaking, some of it is exhilarating, all of it is perfection. Where do we even start with this thing? The title track and With a Little Help From My Friends sets the tone and begins to tell a story that spans the entire length of the album. Its a story of overcoming adversity and finding solace in each other, in people you care about. For that to be put so effortlessly into an album is why this one will live forever. It had never been done before, and odds are it will never be done again.

My personal favourite song here though is surprisingly easy for an album that cannot be categorised. That honour goes to A Day in The Life. Up until I discovered the album you’ll see momentarily at number one, this was the greatest song I’d ever heard. Even at 20, the song cracks my top three tunes ever. This is why.

I almost don’t consider this a song. It’s a narrative. A script, if you will. Lennon, McCartney, Starr, and Harrison guide each listener through exceptionally ordinary activities, catching the bus, oversleeping and waking up late for work, watching television.

Therein lies the genius of the piece, because what’s the best way to make a song memorable.

Easy. Make it relevant to everyone all at once.

I feel like the song gives off a profound sense of loneliness as if while you’re listening you’re just drifting, blissfully unaware. But it makes it so strikingly relevant to everything we do collectively in society today. Everyone has these feelings. Everyone knows where The Beatles are coming from.

Truly outstanding songs talk to you. You don’t listen to them as such, they speak to you, and you listen. I think A Day in The Life is the epitome of that. The song will affect each listener differently. But eventually, you’ll realise why it’s so resonant, so incredible. You’ll understand what it means to you, and you alone.

That is what Sgt Pepper as an album facilitates. Each listener will judge it how they see fit, but to me, it is truly almost perfect.

But it isn’t my greatest album of All Time.

This is.

1 – Fleetwood Mac – Rumours – 1977

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RqjXn2NflqU

It’s a masterpiece, people.

What do you all know of heartbreak?

Simply, you don’t forget when your heartbreaks.

If you don’t immediately understand the significance of that then odds are you haven’t felt it yet.

Fleetwood Mac were the first band that truly changed my life. Once I understood Rumours it changed my outlook on where the future would take me.

Honestly the first time I listened to it I didn’t understand it. It took a few tries. But one fateful day I started it and everything clicked into place in my head. I was captivated, and sobbing uncontrollably by the end. I knew I wanted a career in music because of this thing.

The album was released in 1977, and it came at a turbulent time in the lives of the members of the band. The married Mick Fleetwood began a torrid and publicised affair with Stevie Nicks, who was married to Lindsey Buckingham. Meanwhile, the other members of the Band John and Christie McVeigh were also on the brink of divorce.

So basically everything was going wrong.

Rumours was the band’s response to the chaos, the eye of the hurricane and the light at the end of the tunnel.

Each song here is more like a thrilling story, and two of the most memorable are Dreams and Go Your Own Way. The incredible thing here is that these two songs are written from the perspectives of Stevie Nicks and Mick Fleetwood respectively.

ABOUT THE SAME ARGUMENT

Dreams is brutal. Nicks’ lyrics tear into an unknown (but known) person who doesn’t want the same things as she does. It’s angry, bitter and painful stuff.

But even with the darkest subject matter, there’s an undeniable beauty to it. The lyric ‘women they will come and they will go’ will undoubtedly tear you to pieces. Its as if Nicks knows she isn’t good enough, but sings through the pain and uncertainty anyway.

The song, and album, almost reminds me of the music played by those brave musicians on the Titanic. They knew the inevitability of the ship going down but played on with courage. This song makes you feel desperately sorry for the circumstances under which it was written, but it will captivate you from start to finish.

But all stories have two sides

Go Your Own Way is the equally spiteful response to the story of Dreams. Fleetwood lays into an unknown (yet known) woman about how he’s feeling. Again the pain telegraphed here will leave you breathless, just as before.

The lyrics here are what makes the song so remarkable. Fleetwood almost begs for forgiveness but doesn’t back down. He tells the recipient that ‘packing up, shacking up’s all you want to do’. That line destroys me because again its a story of how both parties must have known what was coming.

Yet they bravely knew that the show had to go on.

Every song here is much like these two highlights. Just as heartbreaking, just as melancholy and just as stunning. The adjectives I could use to describe this seminal album just go on and on, so I’ll be blunt.

After almost 21 years Rumours is (thus far) the greatest album I’ve ever heard. I hope you find something to love within it too.

So

Deep Breath

Rest those eyes

We made it

It’s been a pleasure, and it’s been a wild ride. I sincerely hope that each person reading this was happy to dive into my head and pick my brain for a few albums.

I may be a professional musician, which means I’m probably biased, but that’s the amazing thing about music. It means different things to different people.

That means each person can react to this list however they want to.

Get listening. It’s been fun

[scribblindown]

I hope you don't mind, but as a lesbian, I'd like to imagine how it wpuld fit in the ffxv universe. How would each of chocobros react to their crush rejecting their offer on a date bc they're actually a lesbian? Bonus points if Aranea is on the party and they notice she has a crush for the dragoon lady :)))

I’m a bit excited and nervous to tackle this! This would be pretty redundant because all of the Chocobros are smart boys who understand that love is love, but enjoy! 

Noctis:

He was really awkward when he found out that there was going to be a girl traveling with them, but he eventually grew closer to you, and started to have feelings for you. 

But even though he pins after you, he would be too shy to do anything about this crush, and just spends the road trip in awkward silence. You don’t know his puppy love, but just about everyone else and their mom knows about it. 

The boys would tease him relentlessly, and would continue to tell him to ask you out, but he would be stubborn and remain silent. 

During camp one day, Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis would act really strange and say things like, “That one stall worker thought that you and Noct would make a cute couple,” or, “What’s your type of guy?“ 

Eventually you would just deadpan and say, “Guys, I’m gay." 

Everyone would have the initial shock at first, but would accept it right away. 

Noctis would feel very upset at first, not because he doesn’t accept you for who you are, but because his feelings wouldn’t go anywhere now. It would take longer for him to basically understand that you were lesbian, but only because he liked you romantically at one point. He’d probably avoid you for a couple of days, making you wonder what you did wrong. 

He wouldn’t hold anything against you, and the more time he spends with you, his emotions towards you become more of a sibling love. 

He accepts you for who you are, but he doesn’t have the strongest grip on the LGBTQ+ community, so he’s a bit clueless about it. You’d probably have to school him about your sexuality every now and then. 

He would definitely be the friend that is like, "I met another lesbian today.”“…”“So I told her about you." 

Prompto: 

Okay, first of all, look at this boy and tell me that he’s not the slightest bit homosexual. 

Don’t you see the way he smacks Noct’s royal booty? 

Prompto’s crush on you definitely stems from admiration.

When he finally tells you that he likes you and he’d like to take you on a date, you’d feel so bad because the thought of hurting Prompto makes my heart ache. 

"Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I really like you too, and I’d love to go on that photography drive with you, but only as a friend." 

He’d immediately turn red to his ears and start apologizing to you for beng so direct. 

"No! No! It’s not you! I’m just attracted to women!" 

Oh.

…OH.

Prompto would feel a bit sad about you rejecting him, but that’s only because rejection hurts no matter what, but rest assured, he loves you all the same, but this time it’s just platonically. A bit of surprise would show on his face, but other than that it’s not an extravagant reaction. 

It would be as if nothing has ever changed, Prompto is very open-minded, cool, and supportive with people’s sexuality. 

"I understand!” he says with a smile. “I just wish you told me sooner!" 

He has a good understanding of the LGBTQ+ community, both by definition and emotionally, so you are completely casual and comfortable around him. He’ll understand when you rant to him. 

Prompto rarely gets angry, but he’ll get very visibly upset when homophobic people give you shit for who you are. He’ll be there to defend you right away. 

If anything, coming out to Prompto only makes you two closer! 

Gladio: 

"It’s a beautiful day in Galdin Quay, isn’t it?" "It sure is,” you say.“Then how about we get a couple of drinks together? Just you and me—It will be a date." 

It takes you a while to understand what he’s trying to say. 

"Oh…Oh! Gladio, I’d still get drinks with you, but you should know that I’m a lesbian." 

He’d just stare at you for a while, and it makes you a bit nervous, since he has such an intense gaze. You would worry about him accepting you in those few seconds. 

Then he bursts out laughing and you get confused. 

"That makes so much sense!” He would give you a slap on the back strong enough to send you bowing over. 

Don’t get insulted though, he’s mostly laughing at himself for not catching on earlier.

Other than that, nothing would really change between the two of you, other than being more casual about sexual jokes around each other. 

He wouldn’t feel bad about your rejection and takes it in stride, it’s not like he, and anyone else for that matter, can do much about who you like anyway. 

He’s very nonchalant about it, but if someone insults you he’d get angry. Start-a-fight-right-now angry. You’d probably have to hold him back. 

It would be great if you two were into the same type of girl. 

“She’s pretty hot,” he’d comment about a girl walking by in the streets of Insomnia. You lean over. “She is." 

The two of you compete to see who can get her phone number first. 

Ignis:

"If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take you out on a date tomorrow." 

You’d pause for a while, because this is the Ignis asking you out on a date. You didn’t even know that he liked you like that. 

"Oh, uh, I’m sorry, Ignis, but I can’t go on that date with you—I like girls." 

He wouldn’t react much at all. He’d go silent for a couple of seconds, then fix his hair or push up his glasses. 

"I…I see…I just don’t understand why you never brought this up before." "Well, it’s not like who I choose to sleep with really has anything to do with protecting the prince." 

He’d be very stiff around you for a while, but eventually realizes that his actions might make you sad, but he tells you that he’s still just processing this. It isn’t everyday that Ignis asks a girl out on a date. 

He takes note of your sexuality and researches more on it. 

When time passes, and the occasion comes by, he’ll ask you questions about it. Like when did you realize that you were lesbian, or what are the reactions of certain people. 

He’s just a very supportive mom. 

But guy or girl, he’ll lecture you about safe sex and fuss over you whenever you leave for a date and come home from one . 

"Sexually transmitted diseases can kill, kids." 

Aranea: 

This was embarrassing, degrading, and terrifying, and your knees were quaking just thinking about it. Arenea stood several meters in front of you, her back turned as she threatened talked to one of the workers posted at the edge of the now empty Nif base. “Hidden” several meters behind you were your friends, and in response to your helpless look, they sent an encouraging one back. 

Gladio gave you a thumbs up while Prompto held up his camera to capture the moment you would finally confess. After you had come out to them, they noticed that you had a not-so-secret on Aranea this entire time, something that they passed off as sheer nerves from her assertive personality. They teased you relentlessly about your crush on her, but eventually told you that either you told her, or they would. Aranea wasn’t going to hang around your party for much longer anyway. 

So here you were, heart beating so quickly that you were positive that you were going to die of a heart attack. You wondered if you should just bolt now, run away and change your name before you could embarrass yourself. You could face monsters without a blink of an eye, but you were having trouble breathing just looking at the dragoon lady herself. You almost wanted to cry. Sure, you knew that you liked girls, and there were girls now and then that piqued your interest, but never before had you liked someone as much as you liked Aranea. 

Finally, she turned around, and raised a dainty eyebrow at your strange arrangement. With you terrified as hell and with the boys “hiding” behind a bush several meters behind you, she knew something was up. 

“Uh, kid, are you alright? Maybe you should go see a doctor or something, your face is kinda red,” Aranea said as she walked closer. To your demise, she leaned in closer to your face. 

“I..! Uh…I mean…” you choked. You turned back to the boys and gave them a helpless look that just screamed, “Help me!” 

“Oh Aranea, my forever girl! Will you go on a date with me?!” Prompto yelled across the field in a high falsetto.

You gave him a betrayed look and mouthed, “What?!” across the field. He gave you a helpless shrug back. 

“So that’s what this is about,” Aranea said, her voice smooth as silk. You were afraid to turn around. Once you did, you saw her with a hand on her hip and a smug smirk towards you. “Blondie over there is quite a wingman. Sure, you’re kinda cute. I’ll go on a date with you.” 

“What?” you weren’t even sure if you were hearing her correctly. 

“I’m free tomorrow night if you’re up for it.”. You weren’t even sure what was happening. You let out a small squeak as you nodded.. “Great. I’ll see you around, kid.”

Just as she left you with a smirk, she gave your bottom a light smack that made you stiffen up like a board. A loud scream escaped your lips. Over the pulsing in your ears, all of the boys yelled out in victory. 

Side Quest: 

Get [Name] a date with the Dragoon is now completed. 

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 07/02/2020

I’ll be transparent: my left ear’s blocked and I’ve been struggling to hear really, I feel I can’t properly critique music with that issue for many reasons, so I’m just going to BS my way through that one. I think that’s fair. Let’s “review” those charts.

Top 10

At the top spot, finally, it’s the amazing “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd, up one space to #1 after 10 weeks on the chart! I’m glad it’s here, and I think it can last though it does face some competition.

At number-two is the runner-up, “The Box” by Roddy Ricch, up a single space from last week.

Last week’s #1 “Before You Go” by Lewis Capaldi is down two spaces to number-three this week.

“Don’t Start Now” is also down two spots to number-four this week.

Unfortunately still holding onto number-five after a one-spot drop is “Godzilla” by Eminem featuring the late Juice WRLD.

“Someone You Loved” has dragged itself up three spots from the depths of hell, rebounding to number-six. I have no idea how this is happening and I want to put a halt to it as soon as possible.

At number-seven, “everything i wanted” by Billie Eilish gets a slight one-spot boost possibly due to the Grammy’s performance.

“Life is Good” by Drake, then Future is down a position to number-eight.

“ROXANNE” by Arizona Zervas is still hanging on up a spot to number-nine.

Finally, to round off the top 10, we have “Adore You” by Harry Styles back at #10 after raving up four positions this week for whatever reason. I’m not exactly complaining; it’s a pretty decent song, but I have no idea why it’s back.

Climbers

We have only two climbers that are notable enough to earn a spot here, but they are very interesting and seem to be surprising hits. “You should be sad”, a country rock-infused hot mess (Or song, depending on how polite you want to be) by Halsey, is up seven spaces to #17 this week, with some true organic momentum, and “Roses” by Saint Jhn, a trap song that was made into an unauthorised house remix by Kazakh producer Imanbek, zoomed up 19 spaces to #21. These two songs seem like they could make the top 10 pretty soon, so I’d keep watch.

Fallers

There are a few more fallers, however, as there always naturally tends to be. First of all, J Hus had all three of his songs that debuted last week from the album bomb (for Big Conspiracy) fall dramatically in pretty expected fashion, but I’m surprised they’re all on the chart still, considering most of the time at least one of the songs tends to drop out. Leading the pack is “Play Play” featuring Burna Boy down eight to #19, swiftly followed by “Repeat” featuring Koffee down 12 spots to #33 and finally, “Big Conspiracy” featuring iceé tgm barely scraping the Top 40 at #40, down a whopping 21 positions from last week, which is a drop intensity I don’t think we’ve seen in a long while. There are also a few hits falling off due to the arbitrary streaming cuts rule, like “Pump it Up” by Endor down five to #23, right next to the absolute collapse of “Own It” by Stormzy featuring Ed Sheeran and Burna Boy, a former #1, down 19 spaces to #24. As I’ve always said, this rule mostly and usually solely affects hip-hop artists. It does have a notable effect on some pop and EDM though; “Lose Control” by MEDUZA, Goodboys and Becky Hill is down five to #25, and not all hip-hop has the streaming cut to blame. The mediocre “Ei8ht Mile” by Digdat featuring Aitch has only been in the chart for three weeks and is already at #28 after its 11-space decrease this week. Regardless, those are our only fallers this week... well, except “Those Kinda Nights” by Eminem featuring Ed Sheeran down 11 spots to #38 but do we really want to acknowledge that song exists? I’m not sure if we do.

Dropouts & Returning Entries

Novelty songs don’t last long, and neither do protest songs, so the anthem of the European Union, “Ode to Joy”, as performed by Andre Rieu and the Johann Strauss Orchestra is out off of the debut at #30, as should be expected. The other dropouts are just songs that have been slogging in the lower reach of the top 40 for at least three weeks, like “Circles” by Post Malone out from #31, “Darkness” by Eminem out from #37 and “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles out from #39, but there is also the dropout for “Pee Pee” by M Huncho. The song’s growing on me too. Don’t think about that too much. There aren’t any returning entries as usual, so let’s run through some possible future hits in the top 75. Not all of them are good, not all of them are bad. We have “What if I Told You that I Loved You” by Ali Gatie at #71, “Charades” by Headie One and Fred Again at #67, “July” by Noah Cyrus at #66, “Momentary Bliss” by Gorillaz featuring slowthai and Slaves at #58, which is a fantastic comeback for Damon and gang, “Only the Young” by Taylor Swift from her documentary at #57, “High Fashion” by Roddy Ricch and Mustard at #56, as well as “Ballin’” by the same duo at #46, the returning entry of “when the party’s over” by Billie Eilish after the Grammy’s at #45, “Power Over Me” by Dermot Kennedy at #42 and finally, “Suicidal” by YNW Melly at #41. Let’s get to the new arrivals.

NEW ARRIVALS

Like I said, I’m going to BS my way through most of these; I can listen to these songs in their entirety completely fine but I won’t be able to have that pleasant of an experience through headphones so I’ll just be blasting it out loud from the crap speakers of my laptop, meaning I could be losing some notable production elements that I would usually further analyse. I’m sorry about that, guys, but I’m still reviewing the charts even with a hearing impairment.

#36 – “Better Off Without You” – Becky Hill and Shift K3y

Produced by Shift K3y, Jarly and Svidden

Is impairment a word? I am so tired right now, I apologise if I start droning on or meandering about garbage, but here we are. I actually got three predictions right last week, with our first three new arrivals all being songs I predicted would end up here this week! So that’s pretty cool. Uh, this is Becky Hill’s new single with Shift K3y? Who’s Shift K3y? I don’t know. Looking him up, he’s another one of those future garage and house DJs from London, and he had a pretty massive hit with “Touch” in 2014. This is his third UK Top 40 single and first in five years since “I Know” peaked at #26 in 2014. It’s Becky Hill’s ninth (eighth excluding the uncredited feature on Wilkinson’s “Afterglow”) and I think I know exactly what to expect. It’s going to be “Wish You Well” with Sigala again. I wasn’t exactly incorrect; there is the same fake handclap, the same breathy and dull vocal from the admittedly talented vocalist Becky Hill, who does have a certain sound to her voice that is recognisable albeit not particularly impressive. The chorus is especially awkward and leads to a lot of empty space vocally within the duration of the drop, it sounds really odd. Otherwise, this is barely anything more than just pop-house fluff and a bit of a waste of time. Oh, and Shift K3y actually provides backing vocals here, or at least that’s who I’m assuming they are. They might just be a heavily edited Becky Hill. Regardless, this is a slightly cuter rendition of what we get every other week on this show.

#35 – “Say So” – Doja Cat

Produced by Tyson Trax

Yay! So, okay, I’ve been a fan of Doja Cat for a while even though her discography is wildly inconsistent in quality, back when “MOOO!” happened, and I’m pretty excited to finally see her here and be able to talk about her first UK Top 40 hit, which I’ve actually already listened to so I can confidently say it is a pretty decent, fun song. It is actually the biggest hit from her album Hot Pink, which saw more success than her debut and contained her second break-out single, the “Juicy” remix with Tyga, which of course had the viral video, but this one doesn’t have a video and instead got big on both TikTok and its pure groove and musical merit. Surely, this is Doja Cat’s best possible “first” impression, yet it’s kind of generic and definitely lacks some of her usual charm. On another note, I don’t care at all; this is a bop. The groove is immediately recognisable as it’s a direct sample from “Good Times” by Chic, or at least damn well sounds like it, and it provides a pretty good foundation for the synth-heavy funk-pop production that, while it does feel flavourless, especially by the end of the song, is a perfect beat for Doja Cat’s light falsetto, especially in the infectious chorus and gorgeous first verse, with some very interesting melodies and harmonies, although her voice does falter at times and it does sound somewhat awkward and abrupt, especially when a shift in her cadence does not reflect a shift in the music at all right at the end. Her second verse is a more typical Doja Cat rap verse, and it has as much charisma and energy as she usually does, with some really sweet, fast and surprisingly aggressive flows. By this time, however, that chorus does really start to drone on, doesn’t it? There are barely any developments in the instrumental to keep it interesting. Like, maybe try a key change? Just don’t loop the same vocal line for the chorus six times, especially since the chorus’ melody is incredibly simple. The meandering outro doesn’t really do much for me either, it just feels like they couldn’t figure out an end to the song. Speaking of not figuring out stuff, the second verse is borderline nonsensical but, hey, despite all those flaws, the song works well as a little dance-pop venture for Doja, and I’d like to hear it more... or perhaps in this case LESS, refined in the future.

#30 – “Lonely” – Joel Corry

Produced by Joel Corry, Lewis Thompson and Neave Applebaum

You remember “Sorry”. Now he’s back with another house-pop song with a one-word, two-syllable title that nearly rhymes with his name and features an uncredited female singer. I have no idea how this one’s going to sound!!! Maybe I shouldn’t be too cynical, I mean “Sorry” was okay. This one seems to have Harlee Jayne Sudworth on it as the vocalist in place of Hayley May, but it could be a sample as I’m just going by the writing credits. It’s Corry’s second UK Top 40 hit, by the way, after “Sorry” was his breakout hit. Yeah, I’m sorry, I find it hard to care. The vocalist sounds exactly like Hayley May, the instrumental is just vaguely deep house-influenced preset loops, and the drop is one I’ve heard at least seven times this past month. The stuttering in the post-chorus and bridge is possibly the most obnoxious shit I’ve heard in EDM since “Like a G6”. AIt’s also way too long for how uninteresting it is. Pass.

#12 – “Physical” – Dua Lipa

Produced by Jason Evigan and Koz

Ah, there are two new songs just outside of the top 10, the first by Dua Lipa, serving as her second single from Future Nostalgia, which is shaping up to be a pretty interesting dance-pop/90s house and nu-disco throwback record seemingly from these singles and the vibrant, colourful aesthetic. This is “Physical”, and despite a pretty cool music video, this seems to have debuted pretty low, which is disappointing but she could easily gain more traction as “Don’t Start Now” starts to falter. I’m excited to listen to this with both ears, but regardless this is Dua Lipa’s 14th UK Top 40 hit, and let’s listen, I guess. First off, this sounds a lot less 90s than it does 80s, in fact I’d probably call this instrumental typical of let’s say, early Madonna, but with an extra injection of steroids inserted right into the tempo, with that first beeping synth melody sounding a lot more menacing and intense than intimate as I expected, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. In fact, Dua Lipa herself is probably the worst part of this song, as her presence is questionably mundane here, sometimes having her Auto-Tune trail off awkward, in the verses especially. Otherwise, the additional bombast of the synths in that chorus are a pretty nice addition but without Dua Lipa putting that much effort this does feel a tad empty until of course that bridge which is the final release and climax, and that sounds beautiful, especially with the strings and all, but is it really worth it at that point? Not only that, but the chorus that follows feels neutered in comparison. The song feels like it’s a high-speed car chase that happens to constantly be in traffic. It’s not bad, but it’s hard not to feel at least a little disappointed.

#11 – “Wake Up Call” – KSI featuring Trippie Redd

Produced by S-X and Mally Mall

Well, this’ll be an ant-climactic one I think. This is KSI, British vlogger, rapper and semi-professional boxer, with her new song “Wake Up Call” featuring Trippie Redd’s first ever appearance in the UK Top 40, which is unexpected. He’s only ever been in the #80s before, but KSI is a different story, as it’s his third appearance in the UK Top 40 and his umpteenth in the singles chart overall. I’m not exactly excited to hear this since even though I am a fan of Trippie, he really would phone it in on a KSI feature, within reason, but we’ll see how it is. Just as I expected, it is kind of garbage, even though I actually love that quirky synth loop that acts as the main melody. Sadly, it gets pretty old two minutes in, and Trippie’s hook, drowned in reverb, is just unpleasant, as is the pathetic trap beat and KSI’s surprisingly anti-charismatic delivery. Like, I thought he was a YouTuber people liked for being happy and upbeat, right? Why is he just murmuring to kill time here? Yeah, this isn’t worth anyone’s time. KYLE and Lil Yachty could probably do this beat the little amount of justice it deserves, though.

Conclusion

Well, there’s nothing particularly amazing here but it’s clear that Doja Cat’s “Say So” is what is most worth listening to here, so it’ll get Best of the Week, I suppose. I guess I’ll give the Honourable Mention to “Physical” by Dua Lipa, and the Dishonourable Mention to... “Lonely” by Joel Corry, actually, as while it’s less interesting and probably has a larger absence of good than our Worst of the Week, “Wake Up Call” by KSI featuring Trippie Redd, at least there wasn’t any potential being wasted. Follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for more pop music rambles and I’ll see you next week – or sooner!

REVIEWING THE CHARTS 2020

[theotherballingirl]

Here is my stab at a Falsettos fic. It’s Whizzer-in-hospital, so not exactly happy, but it’s not too terrible either (I think). I hope you enjoy. 

Éclair

 During the third-to-last day of his life, Whizzer starts speaking solely in French. Well more mumbling than speaking, really, but clear enough and consistently enough that Marvin knows he’s trying to tell him something. But what?  Marvin, of course, does not speak any French. Whizzer tried to teach him once, but that had gone bust. He had stopped the lessons pretty quickly, citing “the gratuitous use of silent letters.”

 Whizzer’s eyes are shut, his voice raspy. “Étienne, apporte-moi quelque chose de sucré de cette boulangerie de la rue Cuvier.”

 Marvin bites down on his lip so hard he thinks he tastes blood. “In English, babe. Please. I don’t understand.”

 “Quelque chose de sucré de la boulangerie--Maintenant, Étienne!”

 Marvin starts to cry, which isn’t as shocking a thing as it used to be, except now it’s tears of frustration mixed in with the usual sadness and rage. What is he supposed to do in a situation like this? Call a nurse? Consult a dictionary? He doesn’t exactly have one handy, and it’s not like he can swing out to the library and get one. And he had promised him. I’m not leaving this room, not for one moment, not even to take a leak or get Nureyev’s autograph. And it could be any minute now.

 Then, he remembers: the pager in his pocket, a recent gift, of sorts, from Charlotte. “Page me when it’s time.” It wasn’t time. Not yet. But in the shadow of Whizzer’s tower of babble, Marvin feels that such measures were warranted. He presses the button.

 Seven minutes later, a panting Dr. Charlotte slams into the doorway at full speed. “Is it-Is he-“

 Marvin silences her with a wave. “No, no, no. I paged you because I wanted… to ask if you know French.”

 “Excuse me?” Charlotte asks. She wonders if Marvin’s has, at long last, lost his fdamn mind.

 “Yes, I know it sounds bizarre, but this is the first fucking thing he’s said in over 48 hours and I need to know what it means. Just tell me.”

 Whizzer rouses, pushes his cheek into the pillow. “Allez, avant de fermer. Aller!”

 Charlotte’s face falls. “Marvin, I, I don’t speak French.”

 This throws Marvin for a loop. “I…thought you knew everything,” he says, with barely a hint of sarcasm.

 Charlotte gives a small, terse laugh. “We both know that’s not quite true. Look, we have a few translators on staff, but I’m pretty sure they mostly do Spanish and Chinese and maybe, maybe Italian. Just, Wait one second.” She runs out of the room.

 An hour seems to pass before she finally returns. “Sorry. It turns out one of the them, Candace, knows French.”

 Marvin smiles in spite of himself, a weird sort of grimace. Finally, he thinks, some good news.

 “…but she’s on vacation now.”

 Oh. Stupid Marvin. He grasps the handles on the bed so hard he feels it cracking under the pressure of his palms. “Are you telling me no one in this goddamn hospital speaks any French? NO ONE!?”

 Charlotte stands there very still. At first Marvin thinks she’s upset, but then he remembers who he’s dealing with. Charlotte. The girl who liked to study standing up when they were in college: rod-straight, still as an old photograph, her pose one of total concentration.

 “I might know someone who can help. I’ll be right back, I swear.”

 She returns, quicker this time, with a slim black man in a lab coat. The man looks tired, somewhat perplexed, but not annoyed. He has droopy shoulders and big eyes like Marvin’s old Kewpie dolls.

 “Marvin,” Charlotte says, “This is Dr. Pierre, a clinical pathologist. He works downstairs. Dr. Pierre, this is my friend Marvin and his-this is my other friend, Whizzer.”

  Unlike most of the other doctors who give their surgically-masked spiels from the safety of the doorway, Dr. Pierre walks straight to the side of the bed before reaching over to shake Marvin’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet,” he says. Then he puts his hand on Whizzer’s shoulder. “And you, also.” Marvin likes him immediately.

 “You should know I speak Haitian Creole, not so much French-”

 “That’s fine.” Marvin cuts in. “Just try your best.”

 Dr. Pierre clears his throat, “So what is the problem?” he asks.

  “Buddy. Buddy. Tell the doctor what you want,” Marvin says, rubbing Whizzer’s face.

 Whizzer inhales, then exhales. “Étienne. Apporte-moi. Quelque chose de sucré. De la  boulangerie.”

 Pierre pauses before speaking. “He says, Étienne, bring me something sweet from the bakery.”

 “Etienne, What is that?” Marvin asks.

 “It’s a name,” Dr. Pierre replies. “A man’s name.”

 A man?

 “Whizzer, Whizzer, who is Etienne? Who is—shit.” A wave of recognition, then embarrassment, then anger, and then shame at said anger overwhelms Marvin. He looks up at Charlotte. “He’s asking for the guy he had when he lived in Paris. That magazine editor with the strong jaw and the fancy apartment” Then he turns to Dr. Pierre. ‘Tell him this is Marvin with him, NOT ”yeti-anne” or whatever.”

 “Whizzer,” Dr. Pierre says, “C'est Marvin. Pas Etienne.”

 For the first time in nearly 24 hours, Whizzer opens his eyes. Marvin forgets to breathe. Scanning the room, Whizzer’s eyes fall on his hoody-clad lover.

 “Je le sais, connard,” he whispers.

 “What did…” Marvin sputters.

 Dr. Pierre has a pained look on his face. “I cannot-“

  “Just say it!”

 Dr. Pierre looks down at the linoleum. “He said ‘I know that, shithead.’”

 Marvin freezes, hunched over on the mattress, mouth agape. Then he starts laughing—a deep, throaty lap from deep in his bowels, or maybe directly from the underworld, he doesn’t know. Charlotte covers her mouth, trying in vain to stay professional, while Dr. Pierre stares shyly out the window, trying his very best not to crack. Finally, Marvin speaks up.

 “So which sweet thing do you want, sweetie?”

 Whizzer blinks. “Um.”

 “Um what?”

 Charlotte pats Marvin on the back. “Give him some time.”

 “Éclair!” Whizzer bursts out. “Chocolat, s'il vous plait.”

 Marvin collapses into his chair. “Now that I understood.” He picks up the phone and dials Cordelia.  “It’s Marvin. No no, he’s uh—hey, I need you to pick up some éclairs—chocolate éclairs—and bring them to the hospital, stat. Got it? Thanks.”

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

 One hour later, Cordelia storms in in her windbreaker clutching a large shopping bag. “I ran as soon as you called, they get so busy on the weekends. But they just happened to--“she pulls out the pastry box— “have made this batch fresh. Just our luck!”

 “Yeah,” Marvin says quietly. “just our luck.” He starts pulling the pastry apart, cutting it into smaller and smaller pieces.

 Awkwardly, Cordelia stares into the hall at a passing nurse. “Uh, Marv, are we allowed to feed him this?”

 Marvin cocks his head like he’s about to lecture a child, or an insolent child. “Why wouldn’t we be?” he barks, before stopping himself His eyes start to brim over. “Do you really think anything could possibly make any difference now? Do you?”

 Cordelia nods quickly, trying not to cry. Being the go-to beacon of sunshine is not all its cracked up to be.

 “No. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

 She turns to Whizzer, who has now trained his empty gaze on the inert TV. “Bon Appetite, monsieur!” He doesn’t respond, or look at anyone., but after it’s over Marvin will tell her he swears he saw him smile.

 Marvin goes to work feeding him, poking bits of pastry into Whizzer’s mouth. Soon Marvin’s hands are covered in cream and chocolate frosting. He doesn’t even try to wipe it off. “I must say, you are a much more efficient eater than Jason was!” Cordelia laughs, a real laugh, a laugh Marvin knows he can rely on.

 Charlotte comes to check in, and Cordelia makes her take an éclair over protestations of blood sugar and saturated fats. She leans against the wall, goes to touch Whizzer’s neck, goes back to the wall. Marvin asks about Dr. Pierre. “He immigrated from Haiti,” she says. “His family has ties to some of the most decorated leaders of the Haitian Revolution. They used to be well off, but the Duvaliers took almost everything from them. He’s worked like hell just to get the right to work here, and now he’s trying to bring his sister over too.”

 “Good guy,” Marvin says.

 “Yes,” Charlotte says. “It’s nice to know those people still exist, isn’t it?”

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

 Two weeks later, Dr. Jules Pierre is sitting at his desk, a microscope by one hand and a notebook in the other, when a deliveryman enters his space.

“Excuse me, but who let you come in here?”

 “Dr. Miller did.”

 “Oh.” Jules’s face softens. “Charlotte. Bring it over.”

 It’s a small box, light and delicate, whiter than his coat and wrapped up in a pink and gold ribbon. Attached is a note. He reads:

 Thank you for helping us in a time of great need. Or, as Whizzer would say: Merci beaucoup. Charlotte tells me you have been having some issues with immigration and raising money to bring over your family. While I’m no lawyer, I have recently come in to a bit of money and I would like to see it spent wisely. I know that’s what he would want. Please let Charlotte know if you’re interested.

-Marvin F.

 Jules opens the box to find six immaculate chocolate éclairs. He takes a bite, the éclair crumbling in his shaking hands. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.

     THE END 

[thesinglesjukebox]

THE KILLERS - THE MAN [6.08] Officially better than "Somebody Told Me"...

Alex Clifton: I've loved seeing the Killers' evolution with every album; I appreciate their constant musical expansion, rather than cloning Hot Fuss four times (which, admittedly, I would've bought). "The Man" feels like a natural fit for the band: it's '80s Bowie and a funky bassline and Las Vegas glitz and thrillingly un-self-conscious. (I wouldn't buy "USDA certified lean" from any other band, but Brandon Flowers delivers that line with believable swagger.) Moreover, it's just plain fun and goofy. Yes, the chorus is a pile of cliches -- "I've got gas in the tank/I've got money in the bank" -- but the whole thing is so damn sweeping that I don't even care. After Battle Born, which was too serious for my liking, it's nice to hear the Killers take joy in their music. [9]

Alfred Soto: Still rueing the fact that God didn't make him gay, Flowers remembers Neil Tennant's career advice: "you got looks and some brains and you've made lots of money, plus you're a songwriter of modest talent and a singer with a mediocre parched voice fronting dudes with a cloppety idea of disco." I'm assuming Flowers has listened to Queen's "Body Language" a couple times, furiously licking himself as he sings this track's ridiculous hook over what he thinks is a sexy dance beat. It's about time a handsome male example of polyurethane design said fuck it and blew a kiss at his legion of gay fans. I mean, this is an actual couplet, folks: "You see what I mean?/USDA certified lean." That "The Man" isn't better is tied to Flowers' sense of shame. [5]

Austin Brown: What made the Killers so distinctive on Hot Fuss and Sam's Town was their distinctly chintzy, near-slacker take on glam: on "Mr. Brightside" and "When You Were Young," to name the obvious best of each, Brandon Flowers exploited his vocal limitations and took Strokes-style cosmopolitan cool supernova. By now, though, his ambitions (in vocal range and not much else) have gotten the best of him, manifesting on his solo albums in lovable Bowie pastiche, but here making him the histrionic weak link in an otherwise well-oiled synth-funk machine. [5]

Ryo Miyauchi: It's a wonder how it took so long for The Killers to merge with Arcade Fire. That chorus, though, sets them apart by a vast gap. Win Butler would never pull off such a thing with success. And really, who knew I wanted Brandon Flowers to sing, shamelessly, "I got news for you, baby: you're looking at the man"? [5]

Maxwell Cavaseno: You know, it feels absurd that someone as flamboyant as Brandon Flowers wouldn't do something along the lines of "campy disco-style track with The Darkness-type falsetto bits and meat jokes about himself and his body," so any initial shock and confusion goes away as soon as you register the first pun. However, this sounds something closer to Maroon 5 than I bet your average Killers fan would like to admit. There's a lot of clever ideas, but it ultimately falls as flat as the purposefully upchucked 'mahn' on the end of the chorus. [5]

Katie Gill: I like this because it sounds like Hot Fuss as interpreted by the Scissor Sisters but run through a layer of Duran Duran. And that sentence right there is why I've got a feeling a lot of more diehard Killers fans are going to HATE this song. [7]

Thomas Inskeep: They wanna be Duran Duran so bad, but unfortunately they're nailing being Duran Duran circa the late '90s, and that's not a good look. That wasn't even a good look for Duran Duran. [3]

Nortey Dowuona: This has great synthesizers and nothing else. [5]

Scott Mildenhall: When has Brandon Flowers ever been so invulnerably swaggering? There's a sense of power in something like "Andy, You're A Star", for instance, but it's bound in all kinds of tension. This time there's no doubt, anxiety, melancholy, regret or resignation, and it's so unusual that it seems entirely unserious. That conflict of being exceedingly lithe yet emotionally jagged holds such an appeal that losing the latter part feels very much like a loss. On the other hand, the music is lither than ever, and beyond the emotion the jaggedness is still up front. It is, too, a lot of fun; a lot of potentially participatory, performative fun. It just doesn't completely feel like these are the people to be performing it. [7]

Will Adams: I can't think of a worse fit for Brandon Flowers' limited voice than this piece of dick-swinging machismo, and yet there he goes, claiming to be the man with a plan while showing he's instead the man with the voice crack. [5]

Stephen Eisermann: The Killers come back swinging with disco-rock, oozing with proclamations of their success. Brandon Flowers sounds especially confident in his delivery. It's raunchy, muddy, and dirty, all while being extremely polished in the chorus. It's, frankly, a fucking blast. I just... yeah, I can't take it seriously. Flowers is one of the best male vocalists of our generation, by my ear, so it's hard to hear him singing songs this pedestrian, regardless of how fun. I'm praying this is some big joke about how those with the most white privilege often celebrate it as if it's some sort of huge accomplishment that they've succeeded, but I'm positive that's my mind spinning it so I can enjoy it without guilt. If I'm proven wrong, oh well. I'll just dance with my fellow oppressed to the music of our oppressors. [7]

Claire Biddles: Your flight touched down last Monday, but you still haven't gotten used to this heat. You can see it rise from the concrete like it does in films. You've finally managed to sneak out from the early morning shift Natalie hooked you up with at the motel and take a smoke, your first glimpse of the day's white-hot sun framed by high-rise blocks. You're about to crush the end of your spent cigarette to the ground when you see a car pull up. Everything's oversized in Vegas -- buildings and billboards standing on their tip toes to outsize each other -- but there's something about this mid-century car, and its Stetson-wearing driver, that feels even more towering than its surroundings. The driver gets out, takes off his hat and -- wait. You recognise that face. Something peripheral from ten, fifteen years ago? You were a teenager then, still living back East. What are the chances of someone from that shithole winding up here too? He walks towards you -- actually, who are you kidding; he walks towards the casino entrance that you're standing beside, you must seem invisible to someone as handsome as him, older than you and a little weathered around the temple, sure, but with a face like a kick to the gut. A face you've seen before. Then it hits you, and your body feels like it's shooting upwards and falling through the ground at the same time. It must have been 2004, your last year in high school. It was all over the local papers and some of the national ones too: 'Jealous Lover Kills Football Star's Sweetheart', 'Local Girl Slain In Gay Affair Scandal'. The girl -- Jenny something, you can't remember -- was in your English Literature class for two years, but you didn't speak. Blonde, beautiful, dated a guy on the football team. Andy something. There'd always been rumours about Andy and this other guy, but nothing concrete until he was taken in for questioning when Jenny's body was found washed up on the beach the next town over. He was never charged, but everyone thought he did it -- 'he's sure pretty but there's something about his smile that I don't trust' your mom once said over dinner, thumbing the 12 page report in the paper with the innocent accused splashed across the front page. And now he's in Vegas, with the same sly smile on his face but the rest all changed: his tan deep and his teeth done and his boots and hat just the right side of costume shop. He counts through a wad of hundreds flashily as he disappears inside. Nobody knows him here. Probably think he's some big shot. You wonder what will happen when they find out. [10]

Katherine St Asaph: First thought: "blowhard syndrome" in song form. But really, what the hell in the canon isn't? [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[mean-yoongii-blog]

give vjinseok more love

((((me talking about how underappreciated these three are at 4am, where grammar doesnt exist and spelling is dumb. this is entirely my opinion but im pretty sure almost everyone can agree)))) being an army is hard. like, it's really fucking hard. you get to wake up in the morning and cry over seven men who still get hyped over receiving pokemon stuffies as prizes. that life is hard and it's probably where the rock bottom is, but whatever. being an army is harder when there's inequality going on around the group, screentime wise, line distribution wise, etc. this issue existed since 21 b.c.e and im here to finally speak my fucking mind for it. so bts has seven members, right? jungkook, jimin, jhope, suga, jin, tae, and namjoon. anyway, we all know that jikook are the main and lead vocalists of the group so it's very predictable that they get a lot of attention considering it's unavoidable to give them screentime since, you know, they're technically 50% of whatever the hell we're on about, whether it's about a song's line distribution or an mv's screentime. now, obviously there are the three rappers who dominate everything, be it an mv or whatnot. i mean, jesus, joonie walks in with this hard presence and he's literally gonna start owning the video. thats it. so we get that jikook is well known and very appreciated, right? suga and joon are also automatically given attention becsuse these two are powerful when it comes to rap. now, let's just focus on hoseok, tae and jin. let's start with our angel hobi. now, hope is definitely not underrated. we all know that his stage presence is very powerful. he's never not involved. however, the reason why i didn't group him with his fellow rappers is because, let's be real, jhope is not a rapper. he is not a rapper. he is a person who raps. according to jackson wang—tnx jackson tnx got7 woohoo—there's a complete difference between these two and i think u got it already. jhope is not underappreciated, his skills are. first of all, he came into the idol world with dancing the only skill in hand. we all know that he's never an amateur. he's always been a pro at dancing however when you're in a group u cant just fucking dance. you need to use your lips too and hope here has no experience on that. if bighit made him debut as a part of the vocal line, it could've been better as we all know that hobi has always dreamt of becoming a singer even as a child and his high note on the thot ver of n.o is enough to say that he may not be as good as jungkook but he's gr8 at it too. howeverrrrrrr he's not put as a vocalist. he's placed in the fucking rap line. no, im not saying he's bad as a rapper because he's not (ehem outro wings ehem). but if u place yourself in his shoes back when he became a trainee for most likely dancing and rapping, thats hard shit. hobi has no experience in rapping. but guess what? he fucking killed it. he slays every rap he gets. he spits fire in every cypher there is and yall telling me that he's not good? hell no go home in conclusion, for the fuckers who keep disregarding jung hoseok's abilities, back up because golden hyung can sing, dance and rap and i s2g if you still sleep on him ill choke u next is v. kim taehyung kim **that introduction still kills me every time** now before anything else, tae is not underrated. he's very popular actually. he's popular to armys and to his fellow idols as well. i assume this is because he has gr8 looks and he's very friendly and what a precious child amirite so why did i group him here? becAUSE BIGHIT THATS WHY. now, bighit is not a bad company. in fact it's a great company, really considerate to their boys all. i mean the most we can say is that at least it's not sm bc you feel me? ye anyway, the funny thing is everyone thinks that v is in an ok position because he's pretty and everyone loves him. YES tae is beautiful and YES hes lovable but we need to realize that to be recognized for your looks is ridiculous when they do it while ignoring your talent. taehyung is well known already but people also need to know his skill too. this is almost the same as hobi's story. let's get back to the trainee days in which taehyung literally came from a middle class fam and signed up for bighit without having a clue on what he could do. remember that he was inexperienced when it came to dancing, singing, and obviously rapping (but let's let him live for a little). his pretty face has always been pretty, but u cant debut without offering anything else can you? however, as inexperienced as he was, taehyung has talent. he had potential that is now proven talent. so what i dont really understand is why they didnt give this child the position to be a lead vocalist or even a main vocalist, much more fair distributed lines. the old eras—the hardcore gang bad boy wannabes concept—actually stars v a lot—ehem war of hormone, spine breaker, boy in luv, danger ehem—because they used his hard and deep ass voice. but ever since run era came, bc i believe thats where bts dropped the hard look, he barely got lines. i understand that his voice is different compared to others as the other four vocalists—including jh now bc he finally debuted as a vocal—are tenor whereas v has baritone however they can actually use his deep ass voice in great use. like in let me know—tnx min yoongi for this amazing song—, hold me tight, spring day, house of cards, love is not over and more of their ballads, it's shown how talented kim taehyung is because of his capability. not to mention, stigma proved that his voice can reach great ranges too and that goddamn falsetto stjll gets me everytime i havent even started on how sharp his moves are but i think everyone has gotten over that little issue that he should be a part of the dance line so in conclusion, taehyung is a precious beagle who's very talented and amazing that needs to be more appreciated for what he can do rather than just for his face bc nO lastly, sockjin hahahaha now when i became an army he caught my eye a lot bc of fire and he has an astonishing face. jin is a very beautiful person and just like tae, he's almost friends with everyone however, if someone is underrated, jin is your guy. now lets give this guy some slacks because he came into this world without knowing what he can do, just like v. he came without having no experience in dancing nor singing. he has passion for acting apparently but we'll get to that l8r. anyway what he could only offer is how beautiful he looks. now, first of all. let's all be honest that jin is not the best singer in the group. however he's not bad either. in fact, when i watched their mr removed, he's more stable than jimin and v and to sing with that much stability is impressive enough. i assume that jin doesnt hold on to talent but his potential is so great it's so large and it can actually drive him further. jin is always appreciated for how strong he is as a visual but never for how stable and smooth his voice is and that is absolutely rubbish. remember that he's a person who entered this world without any experience and yet here he is, breaking records on billboards and shit, and you're still sleeping on him? the thing is, bts is popular enough but jin isnt, bts is known but jin isnt and as someone who stans every member, this hurts. bts isnt just rm or jungkook. i have nothing against those two, but i present u kim seokjin here. he's full of potential. he can shine so bright if only there's an actual opportunity waiting for him. the reason why he isnt appreciated is because the company doesnt really give him much chance to show what he can do. yes admittedly he's not the best singer there is but how can someone improve when they dont give him the opportunity to improve? i dont need to give an example on w/c song has barely jin because lbr almost every song has barely jin. in addition, jin is a visual and yet his screentime is so little. i know that i shouldnt give a shit on the visual thing but if this guy isnt recognized for his position in singing, why wont u recognize him as a visual either? i understand that there are a lot of mvs that actually show him a lot—bst, boy in luv, spring day—but do u think this is enough? do u think that this is fair to him? jin is a 25 year old man. he's not naive. although he laughs it off whenever he's being ridiculed, I'm sure that he somewhat feels sad sometimes because of this. understand that this man is not just here for entertainment. understand that we cant only appreciate him for his jokes and awkwardness, that he's not just here to make us happy through the stunts they pull to give comedy. understand that he's not just the mom of this group. understand that he's probably gone through so much training to improve himself and yet get so little in return. understand that there's more to kim seokjin than what meets the eye. jin is not bias nor my bias wrecker but i have this special affection for him that makes me want to protect him at all cost. for the last part, the acting thing. now, im very happy for v for debuting as an actor because he slayed being hansung in hwarang. i will never say that he doesnt deserve that because he does. hes amazing at acting and i hope he get more solo projects since the drama. meanwhile, i look forward to jin having his own drama. i dont think it's necessary for him to have one now but hopefully it happens soon. jin has great potential in acting and considering this is his former dream, im sure that theres still passion for it somehow. in conclusion there is more to jin that we haven't seen because of the lack of opportunity given to him and he deserves so much more recognition to whar he gets now. this doesnt mean that im bias to anyone, okay? i adore each seven members equally. i dont want to raise v and bring down jungkook or raise jin and bring down jimin. no. whatever jikook gets at this moment, they deserve every bit of it. all i want is for them to get equal love. ////end