#yeah i know i stumble over the lyrics at several points. I simply do not care

[sp1resong]

accidental charlie's inferno event [lyrics under the cut]

"Here lies Art Fisher, not gone soon enough! At 43, dead by… hah, who gives a fuck?"

He was an asshole for the ages, A dickhead devil-sent, Held a thousand petty grudges and his neighbors in contempt; You'd find him yelling at cashiers or in the lot smokin' cigarettes; And, like, that was him at his best!

Yeah, that Art Fisher, he was horrid through and through A nasty piece of work to all-- Well, except those two.

His beloved twin children, Lights of his shit-stained life, Only folks he cared about through all the world's strife… …they died in a car crash When he was 35

Total devastation! Rainin' on the streets, are you sure That they can't be saved? Of course, the answer was 'yes', And so old Arty professed A promise that'd he'd take to the grave:

"That bastard in the van, I'll show him what he's done to me, you see, you'd understand if ever you loved someone!

I'll hunt him down, And then, once he's found, I'll burn his family tree To the motherfucking ground!"

He tore through every ledger, that Art Fisher, Single-minded tunnel vision, Till he found that face he recognized, A name written off to the side, A man who Art knew would have to die!

But not quite yet, of course, The punishment must fit the crime, And the crime is the grief That the murder incites; So on that cold night Arty set his sights Not on the man, but his sister's life.

She worked at a gas station Manned the shop (which no one went in), When Art found her she was all alone From there it was simple, A shot in the head, It took until closing for her to be found dead.

Now Art'd had a taste, but he wasn't done yet, His pain could not be matched by a mere single death; So he broke into the guy's house while he was in his room mourning, Took a knife to his aging father's throat and was gone by morning!

But he found no satisfaction the act brought him matched his sorrow So, he decided, he'd come again tomorrow!

"That bastard in the van, he'll yet see what he's done to me, you see, he'll understand when he's left with no one!

I'll hunt them all down, And then, once they're found, I'll put every last one In the motherfucking ground!"

Brothers, wives, uncles, and mothers Pruning the family orchard Even the ones he wouldn't miss were easy prey for Arty Fisher!

But everything comes to an end, Art one day realized, When the only one left to face Was the man that he despised

He'd make this one count, he swore, And in glory, end his war He was almost done, just one more

So Arty went and built a bomb (well, several, but who's countin', eh?) To all the hells and absent gods, He promised this would be the one, to rid him of the burden that he'd carried for so long

Now, Arty, ever the dramatic, climbed into his living room Through the window, no surprise, oh, he just turned and said, "…oh, it's you."

So Art, he drew his gun, but still got no reaction, "Fight back!" he demanded, Damn it, needed some cathartic action But the man just said "Nah, I don't want to give you the satisfaction."

This was going nowhere, So Art finally took his shot Got the man dead in the heart, In moments he was on the floor

And looking down, he realized, He was finally done, The sinful struggle was over, The war he'd fought was won,

But now that he had Rid the world of everyone else, He was left with no one he could blame but himself

These were the thoughts that then ran through his mind But only for a moment, for you see, those bombs he planted, well… …they were still live.

Yeah, distracted as he was, Art wasn't watchin' his step, And well, this is his funeral, You can guess how that went.

That bastard in the van, he had long since been outdone But Arty, hateful in his grief for that which could not be undone;

Had hunted them all down, Had shot his every round, But in the end, no differently In the motherfucking ground!

[harryspet]

why won’t you love me | peter parker

[Warnings] peter parker x dark reader, yandere reader, sub!peter, dom!reader, crime boss au, stalker au, senior year au, kidnapping, violence, underage drinking, noncon sex, oral sex (male receiving), bondage, peter and reader are 18

A/N: This is inspired by two ideas I received as well as the lyrics  “I will have you, yes, I will have you. I will find a way and I will have you. Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly, I will collect you and capture you.” Obsession- Animotion for @mariessecretfantasies​ 500 Follower Writing Challenge! Please go follow her and read her dark fics :)

TRIGGERING ADULT CONTENT AHEAD

In which Peter won’t love you so you force him to. 

word count: 3.4k

main masterlist 

Mr. Shum was famous. You, his daughter, were not. This led you to hosting parties at your father’s mansion to up your cool points. It was senior year and, since everyone wanted to party, you were often the one people called. Your father didn’t mind, it only solidified his cover as a gracious and kind businessman. His kind eyes and humor was enough to make a lot of believe it but you knew that you were the only person he was kind to. 

You’d seen enough severed limbs to know that was true. 

Brad had set the entire thing up and all you had to do was order your servants to get things in order. Peter was coming tonight and you’d finally get the chance to properly thank him for saving your life a few months ago. Maybe you’d even confess your feelings and the life you always dreamed of would start tonight. 

Maybe you’d start with like instead of love. You loved him but maybe telling him that would scare him away. You didn’t want him to run from you. 

You had known Peter since fifth grade but he still felt out of touch with him. You were never more than friends. Not even close friends, practically acquaintances. That was going to change. 

The dress you were wearing was completely out of your comfort zone but you did your best to dress like the other girls did at your school. It was a silver body con dress that gripped your curves and highlighted features that you didn’t even know you had. When Brad saw you, his mouth was completely agape, “Woah, you look great!” Your mouth began to tug into a smile but, before you knew it, he was shoving a large paper bag into your hands, “Put this in the punch, will you?”

You looked down to see several bottles of vodka, “Is that safe?” You asked, your tone worried. 

“Yeah, of course,” Brad insisted, starting to walk away, “This is going to be amazing, Y/N!”

You sighed walking over to the refreshments table. People were already starting to show up and soon the entire senior class would be there. You twisted open the bottles and poured them to the glass bowl. It wasn’t long before kids were shoving their red cups into the mixture. 

After you were done, you simply dusted your hands together and went to look for your spider darling. Your giant living room flashed with multicolored lights as a song by a rapper you didn’t know played loudly over everyone’s shouting. Like instinct, you could sense where he was. You found him slouched against a white pillar, sipping at a red solo cup. 

He was wearing one of his nice button ups and a pair of jeans. Oh god, you loved the color blue on him. Any color looked good on him actually, “Hi, Peter,” You smiled, tapping his shoulder. He seemed to be distracted but you blamed it on the alcohol, “Enjoying the party?”

As his head turned and those brown eyes looked into yours, your heart melted, “Y-Yeah,” He stuttered awkwardly, leaning his hand against the pillar, “Your house i-is beautiful … nice decor.”

“You think so?” You tried not to seem eager as you imagined Peter coming over all of the time. After school to study … maybe the two of you taking a dip into the pool. You imagined that his body was heavenly. Sculpted by a God-

“Yeah, it’s great,” Peter grinned. He grinned at you, “Y-You look nice. I’ve never seen you dress like that.” Did he think you were cute or was he trying to spare your feelings? Did he prefer how you normally dressed? You were overthinking. 

“I’m trying something new. You look nice too,” Peter nodded his thanks, “You’re drinking?” You gestured to his cup. 

“Nope, sprite,” Peter said, “May would kill me and I have to make sure Ned gets home in one piece. I don’t know if alcohol is really my thing…”

Did he look down on you because you were throwing a party that was serving alcohol? Did he look down on you because you were drinking? You held your cup close to your side as you said, “Me too. I mean, I don’t really get the people who can only have fun when they’re drunk …” You were sure your conversation wasn’t going well but Peter still seemed to be receptive to you. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he did have feelings for you, “So, we’ve missed you at Academic Bowl.”

“I’ve missed you guys too,” Peter said, causing your cheeks to heat. You knew he was referring to everyone in Academic Bowl but you couldn’t help but take it personally, “I wish I had the time. This moment right here is the only freedom I’ve had in like six months.”

“And you’re spending it caring for a drunk Ned?” You raised an eyebrow. 

Peter shrugged, chuckling, “Well, when you say it like that it sounds crazy,” You loved his laugh. You loved how he nervously tucked his hand into his front pocket. 

“Peter, I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while,” He perked up and looked at you attentively like he actually cared. You played with the ends of your dress nervously, looking down a bit as you decided to finally let your feelings go, “That day on the bridge when our bus was about to go over the edge … I never knew real fear until then. I thought I’d experienced all the trauma in the world but nothing could compare to that a-and you save me. I’ve never really met someone who’s cared for other people so much … It made me start thinking,like  actually thinking about things and-”

As you looked up, you noticed he was looking past you. He had completely tuned out of your speech, and as you turned your head, you got a glimpse of what he was looking at. MJ was standing by the mantle of the fireplace, talking to some girl. 

You couldn’t breathe. Your heart was shattering. Peter reached out to grab your shoulder, “I’m so sorry. Keep going, please.”

You shook your head, a fake smile on your lips, “It’s fine. I have to do something. Thanks for coming!” You scurried off before he could utter another world. The moment you turned back, he was already gone and walking over to MJ. 

You crushed your cup, causing the liquid to spill out. 

You could kill MJ. She already broke Peter’s heart so why was he running back to her? Why couldn’t she let you have him? Why was everyone so hell-bent on destroying your happiness? Your thoughts were overwhelming and the only thing that seemed to keep them at bay was Brad’s special punch. 

+

You tossed your cup down, watching it fall three stories to the ground. Looking over, you wondered if you could survive the drop. As you lost your balance for a moment, you pressed your back against the roof, giggling. Your world was spinning so much. 

It was a wonder that you hadn’t fallen off from climbing up here in the first place. You took a deep breath and pulled out your phone. You scrolled through your contacts, your vision blurry, before recognizing the heart emojis attached to his name. 

You closed your eyes for a moment as you pressed the phone to your ear. You guessed he was in the middle of a conversation, the hint of laughter and joy in his voice, “Y/N? You’re calling me from your own party?”

His voice only reminded you of why you loved him in the first place. You hated the control he had over your every emotion. You hated how you craved him and he remained oblivious to it.

“I didn’t … I didn’t want to throw the party. I just wanted to see you. I wanted you to see me in this dress,” Your voice was solemn as you slurred into the phone. 

“I got that you had to tell me something but then you stormed off … You sound very drunk. Where are you exactly?”

You shook your head as if Peter could see you right now. You opened your eyes and the night sky was above you, “I try so hard … nothing ever works out the way I want.”

“You try so hard to do what? Where are you, Y/N?” You could hear him moving around, his feet shuffling, and the murmur of Pop music. 

You looked around, “On the roof … I needed fresh air.”

“On the roof? And you’re drunk?”

“I think …” Your voice trailed off, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m over everything. I was being crazy. I get so attached sometimes even though it hurts me-”

“Please don’t move, Y/N,  I’m going to help you down,” You sat up from your position which only made your head spin more. 

“Peter, just listen to me! You never listen to me,” You pouted, “You never see me. I have to accept that it’s never going to change. You’re gonna chase the girls who break your heart, not the ones willing to love you …. Peter? Peter?” You heard nothing from the other side. 

Before you even had time to be disappointed, Peter’s head peeked over the side of the roof, “How did you even get up here?” Peter groaned, lifting himself up. He was still a good twenty feet away from where you had wandered on the slanted roof. 

Peter actually came. He cared enough to talk to you in person. You’d been wrong about him. It caused you to grin but Peter’s face only held worry. Peter began to slide towards you, even taking a second to look over and see how far the drop was, “Give me your hand,” He ordered you as he moved closer. 

You proceeded to pull your feet from over the edge and try to stand up, “Just let me tell you how I feel-”

“Y/N,” He whisper shouted your name, attempting to not frazzle you, “Sit back down, please.”

“If I don’t tell you now then I’ll never get the chance!” You slurred, trying not to stumble.

“You’re going to kill yourself, please sit back down,” Peter said back, every step closer only caused you to step back. Peter stopped, subtly trying to equip his web-shooters.

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not mine-” A shriek left your lips as you finally stepped the wrong way and you fell over the edge. You waited for the impact but the jolt you felt was not from the pavement. You were spinning and, as you looked up, a web was connecting you to Peter. 

Peter let out a heavy sigh as he pulled you up. He carried you back to the balcony. The two of you didn’t stay upright for long because your knees gave out and Peter caught you with his arms. He softly brought you to the ground and you stared up into those brown eyes with admiration. 

He saved you. 

You reached up to touch his cheek, “Y-You love me?”

“Jesus,” Peter shook his head, “What?”

Suddenly, you were sober. 

You noticed a crowd had gathered around the two of you. You looked like a disaster, your dress riding high, and your mascara running down your face. Peter pulled your hand away, an exhausted look on his face. He stood up before saying, “Can someone get her some water? And find her somewhere to sleep?” That was all he said before he left the balcony. 

This was different than any other rejection you had ever felt. 

+

“Darling, it’s the ninth day you haven’t gone to school.”

You didn’t look up from your desk as your father entered your room. You were still typing at your computer, writing a scientific article for your organic chemistry class. You were still typing away as you felt a hand on your shoulder. It caused you to pause as your lips pressed into a thin line. 

“I’m getting my work done,” You said to him, still not willing to look at him. You weren’t going to school and you were using your work to distract you from the fact that you asked Peter Parker if he loved you in front of a bunch of people. Not to mention that you drunkenly fell off your own roof. 

Peter hadn’t attempted to contact you, and judging by the talk you heard online, you were officially psychotic in everyone’s minds. 

Your father set a white box on your desk and you immediately recognized the log. DONATELLI”S PASTRIES. You opened the box to find your favorite, a red velvet cupcake, “Thank you,” You said, your mood threatening to improve. 

Your father sure did know how to buy your affection. 

He sighed before saying, “I hate to see that boy breaking my little girl’s heart. First, he threatens my business, a goddamn child is getting my partners arrested, and now this. I preferred it when he was fighting aliens.”

Your fist clenched tightly as you listened, “Superheros think they can do whatever they want.”

Your father agreed, “I really came in here to propose an idea to you,” You perked up at that, “What if I told you I could take care of your spider-boy problem?”

“How?”

“It’s a matter of keeping him distracted long enough to strike. Putting civilian lives on the line seems to do it for him. Besides that, I’ve come into a very valuable resource that will keep him sedated long enough to toss him into the Hudson and makes sure he sinks to the bottom.”

You thought for a long moment, “I don’t want you to kill him, Dad.”

Your father cocked his head to the side, his eyebrow raised, “You know you collect things … Mr. Medina’s left pinky … that police officer’s badge,” Your father was well aware of what he did with his enemies but he had not expected his daughter to take after him, “I want to add him to my collection.”

“I see,” Your father nodded, “Then it’s done. Anything for my little girl.”

A spider for your collection. 

You smiled wickedly. 

+

It was a screaming bus of children. That’s what landed Spiderman in the clutches of Mr. Shum. Luckily, they had survived but Peter wasn’t sure if he would. His face was dripping with blood and the bullet wound to his abdomen didn’t look to be healing anytime soon. 

Peter hung from the ceiling by his wrist, the chains he suspected were made of vibranium or at least a knock off version of it. His spidey sense was completely off and his swollen eyes didn’t even allow him to see the punches as they came. 

Peter fought as hard as he could but the darkness eventually consumed him. 

He awoke to the feeling of warmth being pressed to his skin. As his eyes slowly opened, he found a smiling you hovering over you. Immediately Peter jolted up but was pulled back by chains attached to the bedpost. As he attempted to move his legs, he felt the same thing. 

You shushed him, “Hey, calm down, you’re going to tear your stitches,” You whispered, dabbing the wet cloth against his face. Peter flinched at your touch but you kept it up. You were straddling his waist and as Peter looked down he realized he was completely naked, “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon-”

“Y/N, what the hell is going on?” Peter’s voice was tired, desperate, his face starting to turn red, “Where are my clothes?”

“I had to give you a bath, it’s been days since you passed out,” You told him and it frightened Peter how calm you were, “I’m not like my father, I’m going to take care of you. He just had to show you what would happen if you tried to hurt me.”

Peter watched as you hinted at his bandaged abdomen, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you,” You grinned, running your hands over his muscular chest. You assumed right. His body was completely perfect and now it was all yours.

“Don’t say that,” Peter winced.

You leaned down closer to his face, “I’ve loved you for a long time, Peter.”

“Don’t say that!” Peter started pulling at the chain again which only led you to press your fingers, hard into the bandage on his abdomen. The boy cried out in pain and it broke your heart. 

“Why don’t you love me too?” You asked, starting to grow frustrated, “I love you so much but you don’t even care! Why can’t you just love me back?”

“Because that’s crazy!” He shouted back, “We’re only friends and kidnapping me is not going to change that!”

“Kidnap?” You questioned, shaking your hand, “You are my one and only love, Peter. How can it be kidnapping if I must be with you? If I must have you as my soulmate?”

“Y/N, please. My family and this city needs me-”

“And MJ needs you?” You pressed your hand against his chest, staring him down, “Huh? The girl who rejects you and yet you chase her while I’m here willing to love you. If only you loved me back-”

“Y/N,” Peter tried to calm himself and ration with you, “If you just let me go, we could make this work. You’re right, I’ve been blind. I’ve been chasing MJ when I should’ve been chasing you.”

Your shoulders slumped and your eyes seemed to lighten as you heard his words, “You mean it?” 

Peter nodded eagerly, “Y-Yes, and we could go on a date together. We could get to know each other more,” You were nodding now, the idea of it sounding completely magical. This was all you ever wanted, “If you undo the chains, we could do that.”

Your mouth quickly turned to a frown and you sighed. Peter watched as you went still, “I can’t risk it. You’ve shown me time and time again that you don’t know what’s good for you,” Peter shook his head, the fear starting to settle in as your hands rubbed up and down his chest. Peter continued to flinch as they moved lower, towards the area between his legs, “You’ll have to learn to love me, Peter.”

“S-Stop,” Peter begged as you finger traced along his length. Like the teenage boy you knew he was, he easily started to grow hard beneath your grasp. 

“I’m not one of those girls who thinks you should save your virginity for marriage. I think you should wait until you meet the right person,” You palmed his cock in your hand, feeling it getting harder. You watched as he pulled at his chains and his face contorted into different expressions of disgust and desperation, “And you’re my person, Peter.”

You licked your palm, lubricating it before placing it back on his cock. You pulled and tugged, pumping up and down. You smirked as moans threatened to escape those pink lips. You leaned down and, as Peter turned his head, you placed kisses along his jaw. 

“Y/N, please…” He begged. 

“Please keep going? Please show your love for me by milking me dry?” He shook his head and you grinned, “My hearts been a toy for you all these years, perhaps now you'll understand what it is to be someone’s toy.”

You moved down Peter’s body, planting kisses and hickies before your mouth reached the member between his legs. Peter lifted his head, watching, “Okay, okay, I understand! Don’t please!” You felt his legs thrash as your tongue licked his pink tip. 

You held onto his muscular legs as your tongue swirled around his tip. Peter’s head flew back in ecstasy as you took him further into your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue still swirling. 

His deep groans effectively soaked the area between your legs and you loved how they turned to whimpering and pleading. Peter lasted longer than you expected but it wasn't long before his body contorted and warm liquid sprayed down your throat and into your mouth. As you removed your mouth, you continued to pump his softening cock which caused him to thrash around even more from the over stimulation.

You swallowed what was left in his mouth and began to kiss up his body. His eyes gave a look of defeat, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell you how much you liked it,” You said as you kissed his neck, “Baby steps, right?”

You laid down beside him, basking in his warmth. Now you weren’t just the awkward daughter of the famous Mr. Shum. You loved somebody and that somebody was going to love you. 

You deserved that love.

+

hope you enjoyed this!

[kienava]

several folks requested beacon era bees for a fic giveaway and i miss them so enjoy <3 

_________

Dancing - Blake can’t remember the last time she enjoyed it.

She remembers going to functions with her parents when she was little and frolicking to her heart’s content before self-consciousness hardened into an opaque shell around her.

With the White Fang, there were plenty of other teenagers who were just as awkward and nervous as she was, but nights spent with them around bonfires always felt stolen and forbidden. Having fun meant wasting time that could be spent on the mission.

Seeing so many hunters-in-training taking the time to relax and forget their own insecurities reassures Blake now. She’s somewhere safe, relatively speaking, and she’s allowed to take a night off from trying to fix the world. She’s allowed to enjoy wearing a dress, and she’s allowed to enjoy yelling the wrong lyrics to songs along with her friends.

Yang was right to encourage this, she thinks. And the fog machine is actually pretty cool.

Considering how difficult it is to look anywhere else when Yang is in the room, Blake’s seen surprisingly little of her. Yang greeted her when she came in and then ran off, and Blake hasn’t spotted her since. It feels a little silly to want to thank someone for inviting her to a school-wide event, but she certainly isn’t going to thank Sun for stepping on her foot three separate times. Blake feels compelled to find her partner and say it anyway, and she’s confident the buzzing in her stomach won’t stop until she does.

Sun is trying to figure out how to re-knot his tie properly after tying it around his head and subsequently loosening it beyond salvation. Neptune is about as helpful as Blake would have guessed, and when Jaune gets involved, the whole thing is a lost cause.

Blake searches the room. It’s challenging enough to look anywhere else when Yang is in a room - but despite that, she’s surprisingly difficult to find.

It’s only when a giggling, stumbling couple clears out of the balcony that Blake sees her. She’s watching from one story up, her elbows propped on the railing and her chin resting on tight fists. There’s a wistful look on her face, and Blake might not have recognized it if she hadn’t seen it before.

She remembers watching Yang drag a piece of chalk across a blackboard, that same expression following as she looks at the floor. Sometimes Yang is loudest when she says nothing at all. When a teacher asks if her semblance causes her pain and she doesn’t say no. When someone mentions their mother at lunch and Yang doesn’t have a quip ready in reply. When someone asks if she’s interested in anyone and she says nothing at all.

Blake thinks she’s started to understand what those silences mean. Right now, Yang is unmistakably lonely.

It’s written in that cloudy, content smile. A quiet yearning with no particular velocity, like a single firefly hovering still over a field in the middle of the night. Look directly at it and it disappears.

Most people are born alone, but nobody is born lonely. That kind of thing has to be learned, practiced, perpetuated. Eventually, when solitude is a choice, it’s a comfort. Blake understands, though it’s not something she ever thought she’d have in common with the most extraverted girl in the whole school.

Maybe it’s foolish to hope that Yang will feel Blake’s eyes on her and turn her head, but Blake hopes anyway. She doesn’t remember when she started wishing so recklessly. The thrill it brings is something she’s only ever mined from the pages of her favorite novels, usually in the moments before an almost-kiss or a bracing confession. So she wishes, and she hopes, and she watches.

Yang keeps her eyes on the crowd, scanning with a soft focus that says she isn’t searching for anything. She glances toward the corner where the fog machine is. Weiss has made plenty of vague threats about the machine breaking under mysterious and unprovable circumstances, so it’s probably smart to keep an eye on it. But that can’t be the sole reason Yang has sequestered herself on the balcony.

Blake drifts off, leaving Sun, Neptune, and Jaune to their contained chaos. Pyrrha will probably intervene before anything gets broken.

At the bottom of the stairs, Blake bumps into the couple from the balcony, but they’re too wrapped up in each other to notice. As they whirl towards the dance floor, already laughing and twirling in each other’s arms, Blake looks over her shoulder, and she suspects her expression matches the one she just saw Yang wearing.

A few other people are up on the balcony, including Ruby, who’s so sick of her shoes that she’s put her bare feet up on a table. Blake passes by and raises an eyebrow at Weiss, who’s in the middle of an impermeable tirade about how revolting and utterly inappropriate it is to take off one’s shoes in public. Ruby simply leans back in a chair precariously, hands behind her head, eyes closed. Sooner or later she’ll lose her balance and fall over, but Weiss is right there to catch her, bare feet and all. That’s what good partners do, isn’t it? Catch each other, no matter what. 

Yang finally looks away from the dance floor when Blake is just passing Ruby’s table.

“Blake!” she calls. Her distant, foggy smile has brightened into a wide grin, and Blake feels like she’s just reached the bottom of a page.

“It's pretty exciting up here,” Blake replies. “I think I just heard Weiss mention foot sweat.”

“Gross,” Yang laughs.

Blake slides up next to her and grips the railing. “I think it hurt her to say it more than it hurt me to hear it.”

“Definitely.”

Yang looks back down at the party, and Blake hears the beat of silence that follows.

Blake pokes Yang’s shoulder. “So, are you having fun up here all by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself. Ruby and Weiss are--”

“Arguing about foot sweat.”

“And I’m having a great time watching.”

“Uh-huh.”

Yang turns to face her fully, and Blake is struck once again by how beautiful she is. The dress is cute, but it’s the attitude, the smirk, the pop of her hip.

“You got something to say, Miss Belladonna?” Yang teases.

“I came up here to say thank you, actually.” Blake rocks away from the railing, hiding her hands behind her back. “But I’m a little confused. You went on and on how much fun this dance was going to be, but you’ve barely done any dancing yourself.”

Yang mirrors her but leans one elbow on the railing. “Sounds like you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

It’s like their own little unconventional waltz. One leads, the other follows, alternate, repeat. Is it too soon for Blake to know that she would follow her partner anywhere? Is it wishful thinking for her to believe Yang would do the same?

Blake could say something, or she could let her sly silence do the talking.

Yang holds her gaze for a moment, then another, before looking over the railing.

When Yang looks back again, her lip curls shyly, and Blake’s pretty sure she’s not thinking about the fog machine anymore.

“I’m glad you came,” Yang says.

Blake wants to kiss her again, pick up where the left off in their dorm room. First kisses are supposed to be messy, and Blake wouldn’t trade it for anything, but she feels the need to thank Yang for this night in as many ways as possible, with and without words. After all, Yang hears her no matter what. 

But they’re in public, and Blake isn’t sure if Yang would be comfortable with that. For all the attention she commands, Yang doesn’t make a point of sharing personal details with... anyone, really, now that Blake thinks about it. Not on purpose.

Blake remembers when she accidentally saw Yang’s bullet-bruised skin after a heavy fight, and she knows that the rest of their team doesn’t know about it.

When one of their friends needs to talk, Yang is happy to listen. Yet she never brings up anything more serious than a bad homework grade herself. She overwrites her own silences with easy jokes and disguised deflections. If Weiss and Ruby are around, she’s wary. Maybe she doesn’t want her sister to worry.

Blake knows what it’s like to keep the truth from people and think that you’re protecting them.

“Yang?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“You are having fun, right?”

Yang shifts. “Of course. Aren’t you?”

“Mostly.”

That catches Yang’s attention, and suddenly this is a very serious matter to her. “What’s wrong? Did someone spike the punch?”

“You wish.”

“Did someone not spike the punch enough?”

“No...”

“Because I can fix that.”

“Nothing needs fixing,” Blake says. She reaches for Yang’s hand and squeezes, hoping it’s convincing. “Tonight is pretty much perfect.”

Yang frowns. “Pretty much?”

“Well, I’ve barely seen the person who asked me to come to this thing in the first place.” Blake steps closer, and she sees Yang’s breath catch in her chest.

Yang covers it with a light and fleeting laugh. “Yeah, I could have guessed Sun wouldn’t be the most attentive date on the planet.”

Blake almost rolls her eyes because that one is way too easy to see through, but she’d rather watch the blush flare under Yang’s freckles. “I wasn’t talking about Sun.”

“Oh.”

Yang doesn’t move, and she doesn’t say anything more, and Blake isn’t sure what to do. Whatever Yang’s silence is trying to say is drowned out by Blake’s deafening need to kiss her, and it certainly isn’t helping that Yang is still holding her hand.

“Blake...” Yang says the name like she’s starting something, and it’s infinitely more exciting than turning a page.

In invitation, Blake nods her head towards the stairs and tugs just slightly on Yang’s hand. “You promised me a dance.”

“I guess I did,” Yang laughs.

She looks down at their hands like she’s double-checking a lock, and Blake hopes she never gets better at hiding it when she’s nervous.

Maybe she’ll get to kiss Yang later, when they’re walking back to their dorm at midnight after staying late to help clean up. Blake’s legs will be pleasantly exhausted from jumping around all night, and Yang will pull her jacket out of nowhere and drape it around Blake’s shoulders. Blake will pause to shiver and pull the coat tighter, and momentum will carry Yang half a step in front. She’ll turn around to see why Blake stopped following, look up at the shattered moon, and then find Blake’s eyes watching her, waiting. It will take a moment, perhaps two, for Yang to gather her courage, and then Blake won’t feel the cold at all.

It’s a scene right out of one of Blake’s books - but it doesn’t even compare to the way Yang looks at her when they reach the bottom of the stairs, all light and admiration. Blake can’t help but think of the couple she ran into earlier, and she allows herself to make one wish.

She hopes they stay like this always, side by side, braced to spin and fall and catch each other.

Blake certainly isn’t going anywhere.

***

[cross-posted on AO3]

[paladin-lynx]

Go Godot, Yeah!

Author’s Notes: This was inspired by Certified Weirdo’s Ace Attorney mod for Friday Night Funkin’ and a comment about it from a friend of mine that was something akin to, “The thing about the mod is that I can totally imagine Godot going into back alleys and rap battling against other lawyers because he’s just Like That.” And I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here we are. Go show Friday Night Funkin’ and Certified Weirdo some love, too! I banged this out when I had some free time during work, lol. I can continue this or other FNF-inspired pieces if people show interest. But for now, enjoy!

Ships Involved: Phoenix Wright x Miles Edgeworth (WrightWorth/NaruMitsu) if you squint

Setting: Non-specific, but I had it in my head that it’s during Trials and Tribulations (AA3) with Miles coming back to America early.

Trigger/Content Warnings: None

CONTAINS VARIOUS SPOILERS FOR ORIGINAL ACE ATTORNEY TRILOGY!

“It’s good to have you back, Miles.”

Miles blinked before hurriedly averting his gaze, clearing his throat. “Yes, well...I suppose it is nice to be back, in some ways.”

Phoenix smiled, able to spot the tinge of pink in Miles’s cheeks. Miles could take praise about his prosecuting skills just fine – he’d even gloat when someone commented on how talented he was – but when it came to something softer and more sentimental like this, he without a doubt found himself lost for words. Phoenix couldn’t help finding it kind of adorable, which of course led to him taking any opportunity he could to get Miles to blush.

It had been a while since they’d gotten to simply spend time together, but they both felt too antsy to just sit around and talk. And so they’d agreed to take a walk together and catch up. It had been a while since Miles had mulled around the L.A. streets, but not much had changed. And while their city wasn’t the prettiest or the safest by any means, it was still home. Phoenix knew that Miles felt more at ease overseas with his new responsibilities and with not having to deal with the bullshittery that came with being a lawyer in America, but Phoenix also knew that this would always be home for them. Miles would always have a place – and people – to come back to.

They walked rather aimlessly, having no specific destination in mind, although they’d have to get back to their respective homes eventually. But they soon found themselves at the train station and Phoenix smiled a bit to himself. He had barely left L.A. before becoming a lawyer, but this station was awfully familiar to him now with how often he had to travel to Kurain Village. He remembered when Maya had first left and he’d raced here to catch her before she was gone, making her promise that they’d see each other again. Of course, their reunion after that wasn’t the most ideal with Maya once again ending up behind bars, but now years later Phoenix couldn’t bring himself to be too upset with how things had gone. It just seemed par for the course at this point, and he wasn’t sure which was more concerning: the fact that events like that were so commonplace or the fact that he’d become numb to such things.

“Feeling nostalgic, Wright?”

Phoenix was snapped out of his reverie by Miles’s voice and he blinked at the other man. Miles was giving him a knowing half-smile, quirking an eyebrow, and now it was Phoenix’s turn to blush and look away, out at the tracks. “Maybe a bit. I’ve been coming here a lot lately. If you told me a few years ago that I’d be making regular pilgrimages to a village of spirit mediums, I’d call you crazy.”

Miles huffed out a chuckle, pushing his hands into his pants pockets. “I think if anyone told us even the smallest detail of what we’ve been up to since first entering the courtroom, we’d call them crazy. You see why I felt such the urgent need to flee the country.”

Phoenix broke into a little grin, nudging Miles with his elbow. “Including having to fake your own death?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. I mourned you, Miles! You’ve gotta see it from my perspective. You didn’t even give an explanation. You didn’t even say goodbye!”

“Perhaps you should try seeing it from my perspective. I was going through quite a lot. I...wasn’t thinking clearly. I know now that the way I departed hurt people, but it wasn’t exactly on my mind then.”

“I know, I know,” Phoenix replied softly. Despite still being sore at Miles’s rather callous method of running away, Phoenix didn’t want to actually upset him or bring back bad memories. He knew that had been a rough time for Miles.

And so they stood there, on the platform, just watching the tracks in comfortable silence. Phoenix knew there’d be a train zooming by soon enough, but for now it was peacefully quiet.

“Trite!”

Phoenix barely even noticed how his shoulders seemed to instantly stiffen at that familiar voice and infuriating nickname. Furrowing his brow, he slowly turned and sure enough, by one of the shelters on the platform, was Godot with his usual grin, his visor glowing bright red in the low light of the station. Phoenix wouldn’t have questioned running into him in the city considering Godot most likely lived here, too, but he definitely had questions when he noticed the large speakers behind Godot and the microphone in the prosecutor’s hand. And of course, as always, his other hand was occupied by a cup of coffee. It was a miracle this man wasn’t dead yet with the obscene amount of caffeine he consumed.

“Who is that?” Miles asked, squinting slightly at Godot. “He seems familiar somehow...”

“Prosecutor Godot,” Phoenix greeted carefully, also to answer Miles’s question. “What, uh...What are you doing here?”

Godot just continued to grin at them. “I was waiting for you to show up, in fact. A little kitten told me you were heading out this way.”

“I don’t believe that’s how the phrase goes,” Miles commented whilst Phoenix just pulled a face at the choice of words.

“Don’t bother, Edgeworth. He’s just like this.” Phoenix took in a breath and looked to Godot again. Did that mean Godot had just been waiting here for him like some kind of creep? Who could have told Godot where he and Miles were going? Actually, there was one person. “...Maya?”

Godot chuckled, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “I see you’re just as slow on the uptake outside the courtroom as you are inside it, Trite. Like a toddler seeing a magic trick for the first time.”

“He’s not wrong,” Miles muttered, causing Phoenix to give him a rather harsh nudge with his elbow.

“Whose side are you on?!”

“Well, you did mention he’s a prosecutor, so technically—”

“Oh, can it, Miles,” Phoenix huffed, ignoring the little amused smirk on Miles’s face, even if it made his heart skip a beat or two. He looked back at Godot with a scowl. “Alright, so I’m here. What of it?”

“Think fast,” Godot snickered, tossing something to Phoenix. The defense attorney definitely wasn’t prepared and fumbled for a moment before managing to clamp his hands around the object, frowning down at it.

Miles peeked at it over his shoulder. “A...microphone?” He looked over at Godot – who was still holding his own microphone – seemingly trying to figure out what was happening. Meanwhile, Phoenix was also trying to figure out what the absolute fuck was going on.

“What’s this for?” he asked cautiously, narrowing his eyes over at Godot.

The other man’s grin never wavered and he brandished his microphone. “What do you say to a little competition? A genuine battle between men to see who’s best.”

“Don’t we do that enough during trials?”

“There are countless angles to every person, Trite. Just like how you can spend every day of your life experimenting with brews in your attempts to find perfection. You may be a half-decent lawman, but that’s just one side of you.” Godot tilted his head in amusement. “I’m curious if you can hold your own on a different kind of battlefield. One that requires a bit more coordination than how you have a lucky streak of stumbling into conclusions in the courtroom.”

Phoenix was still lost, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. He finally just turned to Miles helplessly. Miles thought for a long moment – Phoenix could practically see the gears turning in his head – before he looked to Phoenix. “I believe...he’s asking you to have a singing contest.”

“Oh no no no,” Godot cut in before Phoenix could even fathom what his companion had said. “Close but no cigar, kid. Not singing. Any poor excuse of a soul can cobble together a tune and kindergarten-level lyrics.” He pointed his microphone at Phoenix. “I want you to rap battle me.”

Phoenix just stared, blinking several times, before looking at Miles again. “Am I dreaming? Or high?”

“No, you’re very much awake and the amount of sane you usually are,” Miles replied, crossing his arms. Phoenix hated how intrigued his friend looked.

Muttering a few choice words under his breath, Phoenix turned back to Godot. “So you came here, set up a speaker and mics, and have just been waiting for me to randomly come here just so you can ask me to rap against you? What’ll that prove? And how the hell is rapping more complicated than singing? It’s just talking to a beat. Anyone can do that.”

“Ha!” Godot shook his head. “So simple-minded, Trite. It’s like you’re still a boy instead of a man, seeing the world through your little keyhole. Rapping requires you to think on your feet. The pace is more urgent. Singing is going through your evidence piece by piece and praying to whatever god you follow that something sticks out to you. Rapping is like having the ultimate penalty hanging over your head the entire time, the guillotine blade waiting to slam down on your sorry neck. So I’ve been curious, Trite...” Godot grinned again. “You think you can keep up with me?”

Something about the way Godot said it, how he still had his microphone pointed at Phoenix like a sword, and that goddamn smug expression on his face lit a fire in Phoenix that he’d never felt before. He had never been the most musically inclined, but someone had to put Godot in his place. And here they were.

So he gritted his teeth and stepped forward, tightening the grip on his microphone. “It’ll be you who’s struggling to keep up with me, stoplight.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit,” Godot cackled, slamming his hand onto a button on the speakers so that they crackled to life.

Miles hummed thoughtfully from where he stood watching. “Ridiculous...But I can’t say this won’t be interesting.”

[sunshinesukuna]

hogwarts school of sorcery and sweethearts

✨pairing : magic!kuroo x magic!reader

✨genre: fluff

✨tw: light swearing

✨ insp: adore you - harry styles, samaras - debbie morena, tt - twice

✨ do y’all just find an amv with a song that slAPS but the song lyrics are just so weird?? so you’re searching through google like ‘indicocoa huhaa’ or other shit like ‘bacardi blowjobs’ or smtn like that? haha lol. anyway, enjoy 3.5k of kuroo simpin’ over you. 

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢: 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢: 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 (𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Sorceress Saeko’s Guide to Helpful Herbs and Plants 

The Laughing Lily is a species of magical plant native to Eastern to Southeastern Asia, but was introduced to western shores circa 1500 AD by magical merchants. Characterized by brilliant flowers and stems and leaves that move quite like snakes, these plants have been known to be lethal if not handled properly. It is advised to strike up a mutual respect with them before handling. Their namesake “laughing” is not actually laughing, but more of the sound their flowers make to attract pollinators, both magical or not. Known pollinators include Blast Ended Skrewts, Flobberworms, and Nifflers.

Kuroo didn’t know where to look anymore. Out of all the books in the library, years of Professor Sprout’s teaching expertise, and everyone that he asked, no one could explain to him how the hell mandrake respiratory systems work. And there was going to be a test on Wednesday? Well now he was thoroughly fucked.

Kuroo put his head on the table. Every inch of the desk he was working on was covered in parchment and books. He cast a simple arranging spell, and the books flew into a neat stack on top of one another. If possible, he mussed up his already messy hair. It now looked like a swarm of Blubbering Humdingers had taken residence in his black locks.

"You've been moaning and groaning all week, Kuroo,” Kenma said. Kenma put his legs on the other side of the couch. He fiddled with his wand. 

"It's nothing. I just can't wrap my head around mandrake respiratory systems, you know?" Kenma sighed as he flipped through Kuroo’s books. 

"This is third-year material, Kuroo,” Kenma said, not looking up from one of Kuroo’s textbooks. “Is Quidditch the only thing that's inside your head?" Kuroo scoffed. 

“Hey! I’m good at Transfiguration, okay?”

“Well it looks like this was the trade off.”

“You think so?”

“Hm. Well maybe someone in your year could help you.” Kuroo’s ears instantly perked up at the suggestion, but he slouched back in his seat again once he realised what Kenma was implying

“And you think I haven’t asked everybody to help me?” Kuroo asked. He raised his hands in defeat. The volume of his hair seemed to deflate along with his ego.

“No.” Kenma gave him a blank stare. His pupils dilated before the candlelight, reflecting the flame in his dark eyes. He shrugged.

“So who should I—” 

The Fat Lady’s boisterous laughter waned from the inside as you closed the door behind you. Even though it was already dark in the middle of January, sweat dripped off of you like dew on morning grass. A large clay pot was balanced in between your arms, holding a plant with magnificent neon flowers that buzzed around in the air like angry bees. 

Kenma pointed his chin to your wobbling form that was stumbling up the stairs, obviously having a hard time with the heavy weight between your arms.

“(Y/N)?” Kuroo asked. Kenma nodded and went back to his book, not saying another word.

To say that you and Kuroo were friends was an exaggeration. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you, it was more like he couldn’t. Whenever he found the time or energy to strike up a conversation with you, one of his friends would always whisk him away to do something else. The most you had exchanged were simple nods and pursed-lip smiles.

Kuroo sucked on his teeth as he thought about how to approach you. He couldn’t just knock the girl’s dorm door and say, “Hey, (Y/N) I need your help and I’m doomed if I don’t get it.” Nor could he plop down right next to you and suddenly ask about your favourite Quidditch teams in the hope that you would reply. He didn’t want to startle you.

Kuroo clicked his tongue. “Do you perhaps have someone else in mind?” Kuroo asked Kenma. 

Kenma shrugged half-heartedly. Kuroo massaged the space between his eyebrows in frustration. 

This was a new problem altogether.  He could have just asked Professor Longbottom, but his constant paranoia that Kuroo wouldn’t understand the subject made Kuroo even more confused than he was before meeting him.

Opportunity struck the next morning at breakfast. Amidst the stacks of various breakfast foods, you were perched on a bench near your friends. A copy of the Daily Prophet in hand, you seemed to pay no mind to the magical flowers that— quite literally— slithered their way around your head. They didn’t even seem to bother you one bit. You must be invincible in tickle wars, Kuroo thought. 

He shook off any unnecessary thoughts in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he marched off to where you sat. Kuroo sat down next to you. 

“Good morning,” you said, looking up from the newspaper. “Oh, hi Kuroo!” Kuroo gave you the warmest smile he could muster. He hoped that he didn’t look like that Slytherin second year when he smiled. What was his name again? Kagetora? Koganegawa? Kageyama? 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a sudden lunge from one of your flower-snakes on your head. Startled, Kuroo raised his hands to defend himself. He did not account for the glass of pumpkin juice in his hand. It landed with a magnificent splash on both of your robes.

“Stop that!” you cried. The plants on your head stilled with a flick of your wand. You looked down at the wet puddle on your pants. Kuroo muttered a Hot-Air Charm to dispel it.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Kuroo apologized.

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” you interrupted. “Professor Sprout gave me these Leaping Lilies to take care of for the week, and,” you peeled a stray leaf off your hair, “I haven’t yet found out how to tame them exactly.”

“Ah.” What was he supposed to say now? Should he risk being seen as too straightforward and directly ask for your help? Or should he stretch it out a bit? No, breakfast time was almost over. 

“Um, (Y/N),” he said. His eyes were suddenly looking at the two of yours. There was an expectant look in your eyes that derailed Kuroo’s train of thought.

“Can you do me a favour?” You cocked an eyebrow.. The Leaping Lilies around your head seemed to glare at Kuroo. He shook off their stare and started to formulate his words.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“Do you know how Mandrakes work? Their organs, diet, habitats, all that?” You nodded. “Could you maybe… study with me sometime? I’m struggling a lot with them.”

You parted your lips a little. Did you think he was being a little overbearing? Did he say something wrong?

"If you explain it to me,” Kuroo sputtered, ”I'll save you premium seats on our match against Slytherin next week." You simply threw your head back and laughed. 

Suddenly, it seemed someone shocked his left shoulder with a bolt of electricity. Kuroo looked at his shoulder. You had put your hand on it, like Kuroo wasn’t just an acquaintance you had bumped into several times prior, or had spilled a cup of pumpkin juice on you earlier.

Had your positions been switched, Kuroo would have just given you a dirty stare and slipped a dose of diluted Shrinking Solution in your orange juice. Thank goodness you were nice. 

"It’s okay, Kuroo. Mandrake anatomy is much more complicated than that of other various magical herbs and fungi."

 Kuroo sighed. Ok. Mission completed. You removed your hand from his shoulder, brushing his collarbone in the process. Saliva pooled in his mouth, but not from the food in front of him. You surely hadn’t put much thought into the touch, but he was starting to get goosebumps from mere skin on skin contact. Aroused or afraid, he didn’t know.

“Although, those premium seats don’t sound too bad,” you said. “I’ll see you later tonight at the common room?” Kuroo nodded. Once you were gone, he pumped his fist in the air and hissed a quiet “Yeah!” under his breath. He had just scored himself a study date.

The roof of the Great Hall twinkled in reflection of the stars above. Classes had ended with few to none mishaps, save for Kuroo’s Hiccuping Solution blowing up in Bokuto’s face. No mind, nothing that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix. 

He spotted you sitting down the table eating with your friends. You had discarded your robes in favour of some more casual clothes, like Kuroo hadn’t caught you in sweatpants and an old T-shirt out of the corner in his eye in the common room before.

This was the first time he was actually paying attention though. Kuroo hesitated to call it ‘staring’,  but what else would it be? His eyes flitted between the friendly banter in front of him and the… rather attractive specimen that he was due to spend time with later. Kuroo focused his willpower on the mashed potatoes in front of him than the fork in your hands.

Supper went on without a hitch. Kuroo refused to touch pumpkin juice, the innocent beverage evoking memories from that morning that he would like to forget as soon as possible. 

Kuroo spotted you walking out the hall with your friends once supper was over. He caught your eyes and pointed his chin back to the dormitories. You muttered a quick excuse to your friends and joined him as you walked back to Gryffindor Tower together.

“So…” Kuroo said, “how’s it going with those Laughing Lilies?” You furrowed your eyebrows. Shit. What was the name of those plants again? Kuroo specifically remembered that they were lilies that tried to attack him, nothing else. 

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “You mean the Leaping Lilies.” Ah, shit. You were going to think that he was a rude fool that couldn't even remember the names of a simple plant. Not to mention that you were that passionate about them. But you shrugged instead. “They’re doing alright.”

You made small conversation with him on the journey back. Talks about Quidditch, annoying professors, and the newest wizarding discoveries in the field of Herbology. The little eye-twitch you did whenever you laughed made Kuroo giggle like a lovesick schoolboy. Hey, who was he to talk? Maybe he was one after all.

The common room was filled with the usual hustle bustle of the Gryffindors. Kenma sat in his usual armchair near the fireplace. Upon seeing you enter besides Kuroo, he raised an eyebrow. Kuroo gave him a wink. Kenma sighed and went back to his book wordlessly. 

Kuroo's books were already out on the table when you went upstairs to get yours. the result of half an hour of contemplation over which books to put on the top of his stack to make him seem knowledgeable enough. He allowed himself to slouch back and close his eyes. When he opened them, you were standing in front of him with a dark green book in your hand and your lips too close for comfort. Kuroo snapped to attention right then and there.

“If you’re tired, we can do this another time, you know?” you said. Kuroo waved his hand.

“No, I’m alright," he replied. You opened your book in front of him.

“Okay,” you replied, your voice tinted with uncertainty. You pulled a strand of your hair back as you took out your quill and parchment.

"So a Mandrake has six main organ systems..." you started. 

Was it wrong to say that Kuroo studied your mannerisms more than the mandrakes? Bumping into your hand when reaching for a new piece of parchment. His attention not on the diagram you were holding, but on your lips that were explaining. Kuroo could feel Kenma roll his eyes from behind him. Surely, your smile was the devil’s whisper leading him astray from the topic at hand. 

And it wasn’t just the way you looked either. Your words flowed with both a confidence and passion that sprouted from your love of the theme. Unlike the previous people he had come to for help, you spoke in your own words. Layers of textbook unclarity dissipated beneath your understanding, and for a second, Kuroo caught himself marvelling at how passionate you were at this. That and your constant checking on Kuroo; making sure that he had understood every section you went over, made him fall harder and harder.

Kuroo felt like skydiving; the gravity of your smiles pulling him farther and farther away from the clarity of his mind that was long forgotten in the skies above. Free falling through the clouds had never felt this good before. He would do it every waking second of his life if it meant he could experience the dopamine and adrenaline coursing through his brain like this. 

“Thank you so much, (Y/N),” he said, when you two were finally done. You had been kind enough to lend him your notes and observations to help him with Professor Sprout’s subject. 

“It’s no problem, Kuroo.” None of you dared talk, afraid to disrupt the quiet cooperation that you had slowly built up over the last four hours. Your books were in hand, ready to accompany back to your dorms. As were Kuroo’s.

“You could-" you adjusted a stray lock of hair, “you could come to me again for help if you need it, you know?” 

“Sure.” Kuroo bobbed his head, excitement coursing through him at the thought of another one of these meetings with you. “Think I will.”

The day of the match rolled around faster than Kuroo thought it would. It seemed just like an hour had passed between getting his test back from Professor Sprout (marked with a bright ‘Outstanding’, thank you very much) and gearing up for the fifth game of the season. 

Kuroo’s crimson robes fluttered in the wind as he waited for you to come. Thirty more minutes before the match was due to start, and you were nowhere in sight. A steady stream of students had began coming down by now, some asking why Kuroo was shooing them away from perfectly empty, usable seats. Sweat trickled down between his palms and the leather gloves he wore.

He let out a breath of relief, then sucked it back in in anticipation when he saw you arrive on the bleachers. You ran as quickly as you could to take the seats which had been so faithfully saved for you. 

"Thanks for the seats, Kuroo," you said. Kuroo pursed his lips and nodded.

"No problem." 

An awkward silence blanketed the two of you. You balanced between the balls and the heels of your feet, not knowing what to say next. One of your friends clapped you on the back and called you to come sit down. 

"I'll be with my friends, yeah? Good luck." And there it was again. That tantalizing touch of yours that made Kuroo want to ditch the game in favour of a boring class or a lazy night, given that it was with you. Your touch lingered on his arm as you retreated back to the safety of your close friends. 

"Y-yeah. See ya," Kuroo said, not realizing that you had left by now. As he went back to the dugout, he found himself stroking the spot on his arm where your hand had been just moments ago. January afternoons weren’t supposed to be this hot, were they? 

"Oya? Is that the girl that Kuroo's been seeing?" a voice asked behind him. Owl-Boy’s shock of black and white hair, frozen in its place by constant flying gave him a nice greeting.

"Wha— I'm not dating her, Bokuto!" Kuroo said. Bokuto’s other owl-eyed friend was hot on his heels with his own comeback. 

"You sure look like you are from the way you give each other googly eyes," Akaashi said. Bokuto laughed at the bright red slowly creeping up Kuroo’s face. 

“Shut it, Akaashi,” Kuroo rebuked. “Back me up here, Kenma.”

“You did look kinda lovestruck when she was in front of you, you know?” Kuroo whipped his head back, a hand over his heart over-exaggerating his betrayal.  

“I’m shocked! Oh, to be stabbed in the back by someone you called a dear friend!” Kuroo moaned. Kenma and Akaashi rolled their eyes. Bokuto, however was at his friends’s side immediately. 

“Who stabbed you in the back?” Bokuto asked. His eyes were filled with genuine panic. “Was it a Levitating Charm? Should we get Madam Pomfrey?” 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi’s calm voice called. Akaashi shook his head. Bokuto pouted,  standing back up. 

“Akaashi’s right though, you know?” Kenma muttered.  “Your eyes go kinda like—" Kenma stretched out his eye sockets with his fingers; he looked like a corpse that had been given a rude awakening. Kuroo scoffed. 

The joking was cut off by a loud bell outside, signalling that the players would need to get ready. The Gryffindor players circled around Kuroo. 

“Alright, let’s do this, Gryffindor!” Kuroo said. Friendly Schoolboy Kuroo had switched his place with Quidditch Captain Kuroo. “What’s our plan this time around, Kenma?”

Kenma looked up. “Um, if any of the Bludgers could land a hit on Kageyama and MIya Atsumu, that would be great. Other than that… playing normally shouldn’t be a problem.” Kuroo put his hands on his hips, in his best rallying stance. 

“Alright you all!” The Gryffindor Quidditch Team put their hands in the middle of the circle. “We are the blood that flows smoothly and circulates oxygen, so that the brain can work normally.” With a strong “Let’s go!” they marched onto the field.

With the screech of the whistle, they kicked up into the air. 

Kuroo flew like he had never flown before. He would like to say that adrenaline coursing through his veins was from the cheering of the crowd below; but he would be lying once he caught sight of you. A Gryffindor banner was in your hands, the enchanted red and gold glitter blinking from the glare of the sun. You joined the other Gryffindors in support of their house players. His heart swelled in pride when you shouted his name a little louder than the rest.

The game felt like a fanciful daydream his mind would cook up when he was bored during History of Magic. Kuroo’s feet semed to kick through soft clouds as he warded the Quaffles away from the hoops. Sure, some of them occasionally went in, but it was enough of a point gap to let them relax a little. Someone had definitely slipped in a little bit of Felix Felicis into his orange juice that morning. 

Even the Slytherin chasers—who had been hailed as the best chasers Slytherin House has ever seen in a decade— seemed to have a rough time getting through Kuroo. It went without saying; Kuroo felt invincible.

Bokuto caught the Snitch, accompanied with shrieks and wild applause from the crowd. He pumped it into the air, making sure that everyone in the audience would be witness to Gryffindor’s victory. Half-hearted handshakes and enthusiastic claps on the back were exchanged. Kuroo almost revelled in the defeat on the Slytherin’s faces.

Kuroo’s heart was almost close to bursting. His little victories over the past week were proving too much for his heart to take. Little did he know, he would bag another one soon.

“We should bag some cakes from the house elves later!” Bokuto suggested as he changed back into his robes. 

“Like the rest of them haven’t gone and done that already,” Kuroos said. It was a Gryffindor tradition to go and ask the house elves to cook up a feast every time they scored a Quidditch victory.

“Kuroo,” Kenma said from the outside of the locker room, “you’ve got a visitor.” Kuroo walked out into the frigid January air to see your shivering form waiting outside on the benches. 

“Aren’t you cold there?” he asked. You perked up at the sound of his voice. It was kind of cute how you waddled over to where he was standing. Kuroo cast a simple heating spell between the two of you. “What brings you over? Aren’t the others already on their second bottle of butterbeer by now?” 

You giggled. Kuroo felt his heart almost collapse with his second victory of the day; the first being quidditch, this being the second.

“I lost the game of rock paper scissors, so the others sent me down to give this to you all,” you said. From your pocket, you conjured an empty saucer. With a wave of your wand, a plate of crudely decorated pastries emerged. “Great game, by the way.” 

Kuroo’s stomach rolled a little at the sight of the pastries. You nudged the plate in his direction. “Go on, try one!” Tentatively, Kuroo reached for the least-threatening one. A small cupcake with red an yellow icing. 

His stomach did a backflip when he bit into it. But definitely not one of glee. The punch of cinnamon in his nose made him cough up a little bile. The icing stung his tongue with overpowering tones of sea salt and… pepper? 

Nevertheless, Kuroo scoffed the entire fist-sized cupcake down. “These are amazing, you know?” he asked. 

“Really? I made some of them myself, you know?” Ah. Well there had to be a trade off for having such an amazing green thumb, Kuroo thought.

“Well they’re really good,” Kuroo said. He pretended to still be chewing so you wouldn’t force another one upon him. 

“I’ll see you back in the Tower?” you asked. Kuroo pretended to swallow them, nodded his head. 

“Sure thing.” Once he was sure you were out of sight, Kuroo stuffed the pastries into his robe pockets. He even ate another one, a giddy smile on his face.

“Goes to show how much people are willing to do for love,” Akaashi muttered. He gestured to Kuroo who was happily skipping away back to the dorms, the taste of salt and pepper cupcakes still on his tongue.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢: 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

taglist: @yeet-these-hoez​ @differentballooncollection​ 

[staytheb]

My Last

Pairing: GOT7′s Mark x OC [Melanie] Genre:slice of life, slight fluff, slight angst Word Count: 3,945 Summary: Melanie’s beginning to think if the heartaches are worth it over the thought of being alone in the end as Mark isn’t as attentive or much a boyfriend lately.

Warning: not proofread. lol

hi again. this is another re-work, Endure, fitted for this kpop related blog. ofc it’s GOT7′s Mark, lol, but oh well it is what it is also i don’t know much about other people’s views on relationships or other females view about it either, but this is just based on my own along with the song and mv from PREEN called Don’t Like Being Alone. other than that i’m slowly getting back into writing, but it’s not where i would like it to be and so why a lot of re-writing is happening. although it’s not a bad thing or so i think. but yeah, happy reading and kthxbai, Admin Lia~

It was late and Melanie couldn't sleep. So she spent most of her time scrolling through her phone when she stumbled upon an old music video. She hadn't heard the song in a long while and casually clicked on it. Upon hearing the familiar beat and the singer's vocals, Melanie realized that the lyrics hit close to her current situation. She could've clicked out of it, but something within her allowed the song to continued on.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello?"

"Mark, hi!"

Melanie greeted her boyfriend over the phone before asking him where he was.

"You didn't respond back, but I'm outside your apartment complex. Where are you?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm not home. I'm out with the boys right now."

Mark answered before getting distracted on his end by one of his friends.

"I'll call you back, later, okay?"

Mark abruptly hung up on her as Melanie stared blankly at her mobile device with a sad sigh. She placed her phone onto the already occupied passenger seat of a gift bag and large Pikachu plush doll.

"I guess you did forget about it in the end, huh, Mark?"

Melanie muttered to herself while petting the yellow stuffed toy before starting the car.

"I guess playing with your friends is more important than celebrating our anniversary."

~~~~~~~~~~

Quietly listening to the song of the past that fitted with her present, Melanie realized that it was true. Girls didn't like being alone. They didn't like being neglected or being left alone to think of unhappy thoughts. Girls didn't like the thought of being forgotten or to suffer. They didn't like it when their partners didn't give them that sense of safety, security, and protection. That they don't like it when you don't give them a call or a message just to let them know that you're simply thinking about or missing them. Melanie's heart grew heavy with her last thought. The thought that she really didn't like it when her boyfriend didn't care or know a thing about her either

~~~~~~~~~~

"Guess who?"

Melanie playfully whispered into Mark's ear while covering his eyes with her hands upon coming up from behind him at the cafe where they were having a date today in a long while.

"Um, Fei?"

Mark guessed with a nervous laugh as Melanie chuckled quietly while brushing it off.

"Nope. Guess again."

"Oh, Min?"

"No."

"Jia?"

"Not even close. C'mon, it's easy. You should really know, Mark."

"Hmm?"

Mark pondered as Melanie rolled her eyes playfully before frowning when he couldn't guess that it was her a fourth time.

"Oh, I know. Suzy!"

There was a long pause. Melanie was really hoping that her boyfriend was just messing with her.

"We were just talking earlier before meeting up right now."

She tried giving him a hint, but wasn't sure if that was even gonna be enough with how he's been answering earlier.

"Oh, did we? Who could you be then?"

Mark hummed as he pondered on the answer. Melanie quietly sighed as she was about to end the game when she heard Mark speak.

"Oh! I know for sure. It's, Ayeon, right?"

Mark exclaimed happily as he grabbed onto Melanie's hands to remove them and looked over his shoulder at the person.

"Oh, Melanie. It's just you."

Melanie's frown deepened upon his reaction and the words that left his mouth. Mark didn't notice as he turned his attention away and motioned for his girlfriend to take a seat. Melanie reluctantly took a seat while giving Mark a look.

"We really spoke not that long ago, Mark. Also we've known one another for a long while before we even dated."

Mark casually shrugged with a lopsided grin.

"I guess I'm not good at recognizing voices then."

Before Melanie could counter the waiter appeared with their drinks as Mark had ordered ahead of time.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, Melanie, I already ordered you your favorite drink."

Mark placed Melanie's favorite drink in front of her while taking his own.

"Anyways, I've already paid so don't worry about it, but I gotta get going though." Mark suddenly announced while standing up.

"Brian and I have this project due soon and our boss just moved our deadline forward than it was before."

"But what about our date?" Melanie asked him a bit confused and a slightly annoyed.

"We'll, have another one later this week. I promise. Seeya."

Mark gave Melanie a quick kiss to the cheek before leaving the cafe as Melanie's eyebrows furrowed and her expression soured more.

"You were the one that planned this date and even have postponed it twice already within the past three weeks." Melanie muttered to herself annoyed. "So when are we going to have a proper date, Mark?"

She sighed as she glared at her so-called favorite drink that her boyfriend had ordered for her.

"It would be my favorite drink, Mark, if you had ordered the right one."

She sighed again as she reached out to twirl the straw.

"I like guava. Not honeydew."

She took a sip of the milk tea drink. Even if she didn't like the whole flavor a lot, she disliked wasting things the most. The other thing she disliked a lot was people making promises that they couldn’t keep.

~~~~~~~~~~

So when the song came to an end, Melanie wasn't sure how or what to feel now. There was such a mixture of things to feel and it left her mind to do what it wanted to do on its own. Due to the lyrics of the songs it didn't stop the thoughts from floating about in her head. Girls really just didn't like being lonely, ever. If a girl really had to choose to be heartbroken or being alone, then in the end she would rather choose to be heartbroken. Because it's easier to deal with a broken heart than facing the loneliness of being alone. Eventually though over time it wears the person down. Melanie sighed as the realization of those thoughts hit her again and she wondered out loud with a far off gaze.

"So how much longer could I endure the heartaches before turning to loneliness in the end?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Melanie, hey! This is Sunmi. She's a colleague. Sunmi this is my..."

Mark introduced his co-worker to his girlfriend yet he seemed like he blanked out on when to introduce Sunmi to Melanie.

"Hi, Sunmi. I'm Mark's girlfriend, Melanie. It's nice to meet you."

Melanie introduced herself instead while shaking hands with Sunmi. Melanie had showed up to Mark's work to give him a surprise lunch since it's been a while since she's been there.

"Wow, you're so pretty. Mark didn't mention that he had a girlfriend though."

Sunmi complimented Melanie, but also didn't mean anything by her next set of words that stung Melanie a bit although she didn't show it.

"I see. Well, we've been dating for more than a year, but have known another one like five."

"Wow, that's pretty cool. I'm totally surprised I haven't met you since I've been working here longer than Mark."

"Well, the opportunity never showed up until now." Mark responded while rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Right, I see."

Melanie shot Mark a small smile while holding up a homemade lunch towards him.

"Well, I just came to give you lunch since I made a little too much earlier."

"Oh, I already ate."

Mark casually said as he didn't take the offer meal.

"I see. Sunmi?"

Melanie turned her attention to Sunmi with a small smile.

"She already ate, too." Mark answered for his colleague.

Melanie nodded in understanding and was about to take back the meal when Sunmi reached out and took it from her hands.

"But I don't mind. I had a light lunch and I haven't had a home-cooked meal in a long while. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I hope you enjoy it."

Melanie shot her a kind smile before casting her eyes onto her boyfriend.

"Anyways, I'll get going. See you later."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye, Melanie. It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah, me too."

Melanie shot them a smile before turning around to leave while mumbling for only herself to hear.

"How long can I keep this up until I can't anymore?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Several days later the couple attended their friend, Jackson's, birthday dinner at a restaurant that Melanie has been wanting to go to. There were some people that Melanie knew and others she didn't. Everyone was enjoying themselves with eating, laughing, and telling jokes and stories throughout the night. Some time later the conversation shifted and the atmosphere between them all suddenly grew awkward due to an innocent question by one of Mark and Jackson's friend.

"Hey, Mark. Where's your girlfriend?"

Melanie stared at the male, Chris, who had asked the question although she's been sitting beside Mark all night.

"Did Sunmi have something else to do tonight?"

Although she hadn't known Chris for that long, but she was sure that Mark had introduced the two of them before. Right? All of a sudden Melanie wasn't able to recall if Mark had introduced her as his girlfriend to his friends, but she herself did state that phrase all the time.

"Chris, Sunmi's not Mark's girlfriend. It's Melanie." Another friend, BamBam, corrected while pointing at Melanie.

Melanie actually knew BamBam longer than she did Mark. That was how she and Mark met in the first place through BamBam.

"You remember her, right? You met Melanie at my Christmas party a few months ago. Besides, Sunmi's only Mark's co-worker."

"Oh, wow. Now, that's embarrassing. I'm so sorry about the confusion." Chris apologized while looking between Melanie and the person, sitting next to her on the other side of her.

"I thought you were Jinyoung's girlfriend because the two of you have been talking a lot to one another throughout dinner."

Melanie cast Chris a polite smile while excusing herself as she grab her things stating that she just needed to use the restroom. Somehow that question had turned her off from enjoying the rest of Jackson's birthday dinner and didn't want to spoil  the rest of it with her sour mood because of Chris' question. Melanie instead took a breather once she exited the restaurant and tried to gather herself while debating if she wanted to go back inside. She didn't want the others to think it had affected her too much causing them all to become awkward in the end.

She inhale and exhale a few times while looking towards the night sky with a heavy heart. If she actually left now, then it would be awkward since she had come with Mark. Also she knew that Jackson would get upset and blow up her phone if she didn't properly bid him a good night. The last thought caused a slight chuckle to escape as she let out another calm breath already deciding to head on back inside. Just as she had turned around Melanie saw that Mark was making his way towards her.

"Hey, Melanie, are you okay?"

He held her shoulders while looking at his girlfriend with a worried look.

"Yeah, Mark, I'm fine."

She mustered up a small smile upon answering her boyfriend.

"I hope you're not that upset with Chris about what he had said earlier. It's not really that big of a deal to be worked up about."

Melanie's small smile instantly disappeared. She cast her boyfriend a tired and annoyed look.

"Not a big deal, Mark? Really? Are you being for real right now?"

Melanie meant it as a rhetorical question, but she saw that Mark was about to respond to her and didn't allow him to.

"Chris assumed that you and I aren't together. That you were dating your co-worker, Sunmi, and I was dating Jinyoung."

Her tone suddenly became firmer and she felt heated.

"Honestly, Mark, a majority of them seem to forget that you and I are actually a couple. Do we not interact like one or something for them to think otherwise?"

"Of course we do, Melanie." Mark answered immediately as if trying to reassure her of their relationship. "We go on plenty of dates. We hang out as much as we can. We hold hands, we kiss, we cuddle, and we do all that other lovey-doevy stuff that other couples do, too."

Still to Melanie it didn't sound all that convincing.

"Are you sure, Mark?"

Mark opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He looked like a fish with its mouth opening and closing while thinking of what kind of answer to give his girlfriend. Melanie sighed tiredly and decided whether she should or shouldn't continue her relationship with Mark.

"Do you even know what I like or dislike, Mark?"

Melanie asked him.

"Like my favorite flower? Favorite color? Favorite food? Or even what movies or dramas I like to watch? Or the hobbies I enjoy?"

Mark continued to look like a fish staring right back at his girlfriend.

"Do you even know the date of my birthday or of our anniversary?"

Still no response. Melanie sighed softly before asking two more questions in hopes that her boyfriend could maybe salvage what little they had to continue on with their relationship.

"Do you even know anything about me since we've known each other for five years or about us since we officially got together, Mark?"

Mark slowly removed his hands from her shoulders and let them fall by his sides. He also avoided all eye-contact with Melanie and chose to instead look at the ground that seemed to be way more interesting than his girlfriend. Because of his actions, to Melanie, this indicated that he didn't know or was unable to give her any sort of response she would be satisfied with.

"I can't do this anymore, Mark. I really can't." Melanie admitted with a sad tone.

"I love you and only you, but I just can't endure any more heartaches because of you, Mark. I can't endure an us when there's really just a you and just a me in this kind of relationship of ours."

She cast him a teary gaze.

"I really thought that I'll be your last without worrying about the loneliness."

Melanie took a few steps back from Mark which caught his attention more after hearing what she had just said. He looked up at her alarmed.

"What are you trying to say, Melanie?"

She cast him a sad smile.

"Let's break up."

There was a paused before Mark stared at her.

"Like taking a breather sort of break?"

Melanie shook her head.

"Or did you actually meant...?"

He trailed off with widened eyes although he knew exactly what Melanie meant, but couldn't let it sink in to process fully. The sad smile only grew on Melanie's face as she took a few more steps back from Mark.

"Goodbye, Mark, and take real care."

~~~~~~~~~~

It was four in the morning and Mark was outside of Melanie's apartment after their break-up from a few months ago. He knocked door every so often in hopes of Melanie answering so he could actually speak to her. They haven't contacted one another since the break-up and so Melanie wondered what her ex-boyfriend wanted as she peeked through the peephole. She was going to ignore him, but he was persistent. She sighed and opened the door with Mark in mid-knock so that her neighbors wouldn't become annoyed and check the situation.

The pair stared at one another as Melanie awaited what Mark wanted to explain himself. As for Mark he stood there as to collect his thoughts as his mind totally blanked once his ex-girlfriend opened the door. Still, even after like three minutes had passed, the silence continued without either of them speaking. Melanie sighed knowing that she shouldn't have expected Mark to change and was about to close the door when Mark held a hand against the door to prevent Melanie from closing it.

Just as Melanie glared at Mark and was about to say something, but she quickly noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. Melanie also noticed that his faced seemed haggard than before. She wondered how she could have missed that and only noticed them now. She assumed her mind was hoping for something else and missed them. Melanie face soften as she came to the thought that it might've been due to their break-up that caused Mark to look so pale and tired, too. Well, she hoped that was the case.

"Forget-Me-Nots."

Mark suddenly blurted out as Melanie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

"Your favorite flower, forget-me-not. Because of the color and how it got it's name."

"BamBam probably told you that, Mark."

Melanie tried to reason, but Mark shook his head with a small smile.

"There's a horror movie with the same name and the flower ended up becoming your favorite after you watched it."

"BamBam probably told you that, too, since my sister and him are the only one that knows that."

"Blue is your favorite color although you don't wear it often."

Melanie was going to counter, but Mark continued to talk.

"But you do wear your most disliked color which is red a lot though."

"Look, M-"

Mark interrupted her and pushed the door a little wider when he felt that Melanie was trying to close it on him again.

"You don't have a favorite food in particular as you like eating everything, but you do have a stash of snacks and candies that you even carry a few in your bag. It's the same with movies and shows as you don't have a favorite and you like watching them although you're not into animated films like your sister."

Melanie tried to wrap this whole thing around her head, but it just left her more confused on why he was answering the questions months later.

"Why?"

Melanie asked causing Mark to stop to stare at her.

"Why, what?"

"Why, now, Mark? What does it matter to you in finally being able to answer the questions months I asked after we broke up? So why? Why now? What does this benefit you in the end?"

"Because I can't continue to convince myself that I don't miss you, Melanie."

Mark confessed.

"I try so hard to not think of you, Melanie, I do. I always see your face every time I close my eyes. I just can't escape. I don't wanna fall asleep knowing that you'll end up appearing in my dreams all night long every time."

Melanie was left speechless by his confession. As for Mark he felt relieved admitting what's been burdening him these past few months.

"I never realized how much of a difference your presence impacted my life when I came to terms with the truth that you were no longer mine or a part of my life anymore."

Mark wanted to reach out and take Melanie into his arms, but he restrained himself knowing that he didn't have that privileged and right to do that anymore.

"I neglected your importance and your feelings, but most of all out of everything in the end I failed to see that I neglected you, Melanie, and the love you gave." Mark admitted.

"You're the one who was supposed to be my last that I would love and only love, but I treated you like you meant nothing to me."

Melanie regarded Mark throughout his confession and admittance while feeling his words and emotions tug at her heartstrings. Could she really forgive him so easily? Could she even think about being in a relationship with him again? Could she even see a future for them if she gave him another chance, but if he asks for another chance though? Melanie honestly didn't know for sure, but she did know for sure was that she wanted to do one thing right then and there.

"Can I hug you?"

Instead of receiving a response Melanie felt herself being pulled towards Mark's chest without any sort of hesitation. Mark enveloped Melanie into his arms having missed the way she felt within his embrace after realizing how much those intimate moments meant. Although initially shocked by the sudden skinship as she thought that Mark may not have wanted to hug, but she relaxed and hugged him back. Melanie relished in the familiar scent and feel of Mark that she got lost in the mood and missed what Mark had just said.

"Hmm?"

She hummed while pulling back far enough to look at him.

"What did you say?"

Mark smiled as he repeated what he had just said a moment ago.

"November sixteen. January sixteen."

Melanie gave him a funny look before realization hit her that Mark answered the last two questions before they broke up.

"The day of my birthday and our anniversary."

Mark nodded as his smiled widened before speaking.

"You had a major and long crush on me and liked me ever since moving here."

"I did not."

Mark ignored Melanie's comment.

"You think you suck at cooking which is partially true, but it's passable when you put in actual effort."

Melanie slightly smacked his forearm, but Mark continued with a lighter tone to his voice.

"And you've been wanting for us to officially move in together some time late next year and maybe once we're settled to adopt a pet dog since you're slightly allergic to cats."

"Wow, BamBam really has a big mouth and can't keep secrets."

Melanie pouted now knowing that Mark new that she wanted to live together with him.

"Big mouth or not, Melanie, but I'm so sorry for causing you so much heartache while we were together. I'm willing to spend the rest of my life to never make you feel alone or lonely ever again."

"That's a really big responsibility to take, Mark. How do you even know I wanna get back together with you?"

"Because you asked me for a hug."

Melanie was confused by his words at first, but then remember telling him back when they had first met that for her a hug always meant reconciliation. It was because she was never one for initiating skinship unless she felt like it or when the time called for it. Also if Melanie ever fought with her significant other and she wanted to be the one to make up first, then she would initiate the hug to settle the score.

"You remembered?" She asked in disbelief.

"Eventually I did after thinking and reminiscing over the past few months and the time we spent with one another over the years for it to register in my memory."

Mark admitted with a sheepish chuckle.

"It just took me a lot longer to realize a lot of things, Melanie, but I really hope you'll continued to lead me well and be patient because I don't wanna lose you ever again."

He gently cupped her face while rubbing circles over her cheekbones with his thumbs.

"I don't know what I'll do if I can't see your face ever again, Melanie."

"Then don't, Mark."

Mark was confused before Melanie hugged him again, but tighter as she spoke into his chest.

"Because I've loved and missed you too much to not have endured all of it for this long to not give another chance at us again."

Mark hugged Melanie just as tight while nuzzling his face against her head.

"This time and until the end of time, my love for you will make up for all the heartaches I caused. Because you are my last and I'm yours."

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

I wanted to take some time out of our irregularly scheduled content to talk about something near and dear to my heart: Komaeda’s voice. Specifically, two of his character songs which I have been more eager to dissect than you know. 

A couple of points before we begin:

These songs were not written by the same people who designed, scripted or even localised Komaeda, but rather his Japanese VA, Megumi Ogata. It has, however, been sanctioned as canon material, even released under the Danganronpa brand. Therefore, I will treat it with the same consideration that I do explicitly canon material.

The songs are, of course, in Japanese. I do not speak this language, so I’ll be going off the translations available on the DR wiki. If you do speak Japanese and you realise I’ve missed or misinterpreted something due to the language barrier, please let me know. Otherwise, as an English speaker, I’ll do my best with what I have. 

My goal here is to reconcile his musical characterisation with his canon characterisation, as well as extrapolate whatever new things we can learn from these songs about our beloved boy. And if you’re reading this crazy long post and thinking, “wow, she’s reading way too into this,” ... yeah. That’s sort of the fun of it. My goal isn’t to challenge anybody, or shame anyone’s headcanons. This is just a weird niche hobby of mine.

Apologies for the lack of a cut. This much text, I felt, might be a little hard on some peoples’ eyes on my theme. It is tagged though.

Okay, onto the good stuff.

 Zettai Kibou Birthday is, according to Megumi, a song about how Nagito feels on the “outside”. It contains a literal narrative and a metanarrative which is a word I like to use to sound smart, but in this case, just refers to an overarching interpretation that isn’t necessarily verbatim, but rather is represented, or is provided a structure, or is given meaning by the actual text. 

 In this case, the literal narrative is this: Nagito meets somebody on campus he was “born to meet”, and they have some sort of steamy rendezvous, and in amongst all the smooshing, there are several references to absolute hope. However, the song isn’t supposed to be a literal recount of events, but rather an expression of Nagito’s feelings; about hope, love, intimacy and connection. This is the metanarrative. The plot, if you will, is simply a presentation of that message. 

 While the song functions on a conceptual level and not a physical one, it interests me that sex is the medium through which he allegorises hope, intimacy and interpersonal connection. I think it’s also interesting that hope and intimacy are grouped together, as if to find one is to find the other. To quote Nagito himself, “Now that I’m on the verge of death, I’ve finally realised what I wanted all along: somebody’s love.”

 Again, the song isn’t literal. It captures a feeling, likening that exhilaration and comfort of making a deep and impossible connection to the feeling of finding Ultimate Hope. And for someone who has been so lonely for so long, it makes sense he would find that hope in another person. Someone who isn’t afraid to be close to him in every possible sense of the word. 

 Now let me get it out there - I don’t expect a song like this to have explicit depictions of sex or anything. There is a fine line to walk when using the topic in media lest you be branded with a hard “lewd” rating, but there’s still no shortage of ways to use it without being explicit. Take, for instance, Carla Gugino & Oscar Isaac’s cover of Love Is The Drug. (Why the cover and not the original? Because I actually liked Sucker Punch, fight me.)

Late that night I park my car / Stake my place in the singles' bar / Face to face, toe to toe / Heart to heart as we hit the floor Lumber up, limbo down / The locked embrace, the stumble round / I say go, (and I say yes) / Dim the lights, you can guess the rest

 The words describe literally what is going on, while still invoking the right mood and the emotions the characters in the song were feeling. It’s very well-balanced lyrically, especially with what Oscar and Carla’s performance brings to it. Contrast, if you will, with:

So lock up, mix up, cut up… key up, sex up, wrap up /  I'll let you mess me up and indulge  That's it, break up, use up, end up… hook up—because we're connected / The omen of hope after the worst disaster

 If you look close, you can definitely see what’s happening in the actual narrative of the song. However, the details are more or less obfuscated under this layer of words that don’t really mean anything on their own. It’s more like a flurry of different sensations rather than one, tangible experience. These feelings he’s having during these experience are, in the next breath, directly correlated with connection, and then hope. 

 Nagito is a guy who works on the conceptual and the philosophical more than the literal. Even in canon, he’s heavily into symbolism. He likes to carry around Go stones because of what the colours represent to him. So this use of intimacy and word play to describe a significant bond between two people is remarkably fitting. What’s literally happening isn’t half as important as what is going on beneath the surface, and the way it makes him feel. 

 Like I said, it’s interesting that, of all the ways he could express hope and connection, this is the one he went with. I do believe that this also expresses an underlying attitude towards intimacy; that it’s something he only wishes to share with someone truly special. In many fan circles he is portrayed as a highly sexualised character, even though in the canon media, he is quite chaste, never taking any sexual interest in a situation that isn’t sexual; for instance, any of the many times Mikan falls over herself and winds up in a suggestive pose. (And nor should he, let me stress.) 

 And I can already foresee the counterargument that Nagito is gay, so of course he won’t enjoy seeing a girl’s underwear; and to that, I have two points. One is that, personally, I disagree. This doesn’t have to matter, but I headcanon him as bi or pan, possibly even demi. Either way, I don’t believe gender plays a major role in who he is attracted to. There’s no canon evidence to say who is “right” here (as right as anyone can be regarding fiction), but I don’t judge. If that’s your interpretation, you do you. The second is that, even towards the characters he is shown to be attracted to (namely, Hajime) his expressions of interest tend to be pure, for lack of a better word. Yes, there’s the joke about stripping naked on the beach, but I’m pretty sure that’s just a joke. He does tend to play a lot, after all.

 And let me be clear -- there is nothing wrong with being a sexual person, or expressing one’s desire’s healthily. And certainly, Nagito has that side to him. He absolutely has sexual interest, urges and whatnot. It’s just not a highly key component to his characterisation. The point I want to make is: this song was a really good method to explore his feelings towards intimacy in a natural way, as well as provide more depth and context to attitudes he expressed in canon but couldn’t be explored to their fullest because, you know, it’s a story about murder, not Nagito’s feelings. The way he groups hope, love and sex as this euphoric thing, a singular whirlwind of emotions rather than separate happenings, is telling toward this desire he has for these things, the way he sees them as interconnected, and, with the way the song is so upbeat and uplifting, his hope that he can achieve it. 

 Nagito is someone who strongly believes in the idea that people are born a certain way, either hopeful or hopeless, talented or untalented. In short, destiny. And in this song, he speaks directly to the person he believes he’s destined for.

In the school campus at midnight, my heart throbs as I continue waiting "I was born for the sake of meeting you" I’II think at the moment

 This song puts a tangible goal on this “Absolute Hope”, rather than the vague “overcoming Despair” thing he talks about all the time. Nagito really, truly wants to believe - and seems to believe - that his soulmate is out there, and it isn’t too late to make a deep and meaningful connection with somebody; someone who will be just as eager to reciprocate. Someone he can be unafraid with, captivated with, and with whom, he can experience that Ultimate Hope. It’s even in the title - the moment he meets such a person, is the moment true Hope itself is born. Something far stronger than what already exists in the world. 

 Zansakura, the companion piece to ZKB, is worlds apart in many ways. 

 It is, according to Megumi, how Nagito feels on the “inside”, the other side of the proverbial coin to ZKB being how he feels on the “outside”. Likely, this means that part deep within him he doesn’t let others see. This is present in the overall tone alone. While ZKB embodied in it that uplifting way which Nagito talks about Ultimate Hope, Zansakura is much more somber. ZKB echoes the Nagito we see through Hajime’s eyes; while Zansakura is more congruent with those fleeting moments we experience the game from his perspective, wherein he is even more down on himself. As we play through the Final Dead Room with him, we see that the excessive way which he berates himself out loud is nothing compared to the second-guessing and self-debasement that goes through his mind. It truly is a dark and melancholy place, which shows through in the slow, sad melody of Zansakura. 

 This one takes the imagery to a whole other level, relying primarily on the cultural and symbolic relevancy of cherry blossoms. I’ve written about all this before, so for the sake of those who have been around this blog a while, I’ll try to summarise as best as I can. 

 In Japan, Cherry Blossoms are symbolic of the ephemeral nature of life -- in other words, the fleetingness and impermanence of it all. In no small degree, the connection between the symbolism of Cherry Blossoms and life and death comes from the influence of Buddhist culture, and is embodied specifically in the concept of mono no aware. This can be translated a number of ways that all pretty much come back to the same idea of existing for only a short period of time. It’s used to describe the awareness of impermanence, the transience of things, and a sadness or wistfulness as their passing; and a deeper sadness about this being the reality of things. I know this seems boring and irrelevant, but please keep especially this last bit in mind, as it’s very important to the meaning behind this song. 

 The most popular variety of Cherry Blossom in Japan are the Somei Yoshino, which are almost pure white and tinged with pale pink near the stem. Although this song was written after the fact, I have to wonder if this was always intended to be part of the character’s aesthetic, because these colours are reflected in Nagito’s character design - specifically, his hair. Anyway, the Somei Yoshino typically bloom and fall within a week. Winter Sakura or Fuyuzakura begin blooming in autumn and continue sporadically throughout winter alone. 

 Though Cherry Blossoms are an important, and even iconic image for the country, most people are surprised to learn they don’t last for very long. For Nagito to compare himself to these flowers is to admit that he, too, is here to bloom for a short period of time. It’s also worth noting that Cherry Blossoms are considered their most beautiful, not as they bloom, but rather as they wither and fall. And all of a sudden, I’m reminded of all the times Nagito talks about attaining hope through despair, and how his life has only found meaning as he inches closer to death.

 Yeah, I don’t like remembering this detail because it’s profoundly sad, but our marshmallow boy doesn’t exactly have long to live. He was given a year, at most, before starting at Hope’s Peak - and, at the end of the series, is presumably in his early-to-mid 20s. He’s beaten his own life expectancy, but not his illnesses. 

 The song starts in the most typical Nagito way I can think of:

“We can see again tomorrow", I laughed, short-lived cherry blossoms within my heart

 As he always does, he laughs and is cheerful with others, even though deep down, he’s tremendously sad. 

 The song then takes us through this most beautiful and haunting imagery, of cherry blossoms in bloom after surviving a storm*, preparing to wither and fall; until at last they do, and as the flowers are carried away by the wind and water, a lonely, broken branch is left behind, wanting to bloom again.

 (*The actual word used is ‘struggle’, however further down, the survival of a storm is mentioned, along with the flowers (aka hope) which will bloom after. The whole thing is a metaphor for his hope/luck cycle, is what I’m saying.)

 He talks about this imagery as someone observing it (The storm of flowers, the sudden wind / I halt and open my eyes); again, with this idea of a metanarrative lurking beneath a literal one. He does, however, break the narrative to address (presumably) that same elusive “you” from Zettai Kibou Birthday:

To live an ordinary life, and die together with you / Oh, if that could come true

 This seems so disconnected from the Nagito we know, who seems to have no interest in ‘ordinary’ things, and chases only hope. But as we’ve established, the place he most desires to seek hope is in another person. As he spends more time with Hajime during Island Mode, we know already that he admits to seeing hope in himself, and that he doesn’t necessarily take it as good news. But this line, right here, I feel embodies what this song is about, and what Nagito is all about. 

 Nagito is a very lonely person, desperate by his own admission for love and understanding. He knows he has little time left, and his prospects are...dim. Everyone he’s ever loved has either died or suffered at the hands of his luck, a force far beyond his control. And those who remain - namely, his classmates - either don’t like or don’t understand him. In ZKB - again, how Nagito feels on the “outside” - he expresses a hopefulness that there’s still someone he can love, who can love him, who he can experience that Absolute Hope with. But Zansakura has far more pessimistic expectations. 

 By breaking the metaphor to be straightforward and honest for a line, we get Nagito’s most core desire: to live a life with somebody; to love and be loved. Which, yeah, he’s already admitted to. For someone who’s been through so much, that probably seems like the most unattainable thing. Every time he gets comfortable, something invariably rips all that out from under him. And of that, he is painfully aware. Oh, if only that could come true - in other words, he knows it won’t. 

 Once again, do recall the concept of mono no aware. It’s not just an awareness of transience and impermanence, but also an intense, wistful sadness in the face of it. He knows he’s dying, and he knows he’s dying alone. But he’s not frustrated or angry, or even defiant. He’s not trying to fight it. As much as Nagito wants to hope for the best, deep down, he just can’t. He knows this is the reality, and he doesn’t have it in him to fight back. He’s just completely, deeply, helplessly sad. 

 In this song, Nagito’s life is represented as the petals that bloom for a short time, then fall; while he is the broken branch left behind; forgotten, wounded and unappealing; yearning for more time. Deep down, this is how he feels about himself. He is boring and unextraordinary, and yet (perhaps selfishly) he wishes that brief taste he has of being alive would last if only a little longer. He’s not quite ready to die yet, not until “the day this ordinary life is devoted”.

[supposed2bfunny]

At Times it is Sweet

Birthday fic for Russel!!!

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of drug and alcohol use, depression, violence, character depth, the usual Russel stuff. Feel free to ask me to tag anything!

Brooklyn, 1980

The sound of ten feet slapping their way over the creaky floors of the Hobbs’s railroad apartment is nearly deafening. Typically he’d be in a lot of trouble for running in the house, but Russel is pleased to find that he and his four friends are off the hook since it’s his birthday.

“Red Power Ranger go!” he shouts, whipping around the corner, hurtling himself down the basement steps into the den, which is family reverently refers to as the ‘Music Room’ due to the keyboard, the several guitars hung up on the wall, and his father’s beloved collection of vinyl, complete with his 1967 Pioneer that still plays as smoothly as it did when his father was a boy.

“Green Power Ranger, go!”

“Blue Power Ranger, go!”

“Black Power Ranger, go!”

“Silver Power Ranger, go!”

His friends traipse down the stairs after him, and Russel sets his juice box down on the coffee table to assess the room for any bad guys, any imminent danger that they’ll have to fight using their powers, just like in the show.

“Russel,” his mother’s voice comes downstairs. “Daddy doesn’t want you down there with your friends. Come upstairs and we can do cake!”

His friends look at him, torn between the desire to stay in the cool basement, to admire the vintage band posters and shiny instruments, and the desire to go upstairs and imbibe more sugar.

Not one to disrespect his mother, Russel nods. “Okay, guys, we can go back upstairs. But later we have to check the backyard to make sure there aren’t any bad guys.”

Again the apartment is filled with the cacophony of tiny feet on wooden stairs, and as he makes his way up, Russel glances over his shoulder at the Hi-C juice box sitting on the table without a coaster.

His lone act of defiance, he thinks, filling a thrill. Five is going to be a good year.

Brooklyn, 1992

“Okay, big boy, I need you to keep those eyes shut tight and take a bite of this and tell me what you taste.” The excitement in Del’s smooth voice is palpable, and it brushes up against the underside of Russel’s nerves in the most delicious way.

He obeys his friend’s orders, keeping his eyes closed as he takes a forkful of whatever Del has placed in front of him. They’re in a diner, so, vast though the menu may be, he’s fairly certain that whatever he’s about to taste is in fact food, and not some sick trick that his prankster of a friend has concocted.

He always gives Del the benefit of the doubt.

Even though they’re currently all the way under the Brooklyn Queens Expressway, somewhere in south Williamsburg where there seem to be more bars than streetlamps and more drunken, stumbling college students than bars. Every few minutes the sound of a taxi can be heard blaring as someone stumbles out into the crosswalk without looking both ways.

It’s bustling and messy and not at all Russel’s scene. But hey, this diner is playing some Curtis Mayfield, so it’s not all bad. The fries were nothing great, sure, but he enjoyed his turkey club and Del shared his fried shrimp basket. And Del has laughed—not chuckled, but full-body, shoulders back, head heavenfacing, knees wobbling apart as he shakes with mirth laughed—three whole times in the course of the meal.

So he’ll do whatever Del wants to keep the night rolling.

He opens his mouth and it’s soft and sweet and creamy.

“Mm.”

“You taste that, Russ?”

“Yeah,” he says around a tongueful of icing.

“You know what that is?”

“Cake?”

“No shit, Sherlock, really taste it.”

“Mm. Oh! This is,” Russel opens his eyes, just a tad surprised to find Del’s eyes immediately locking on his own, intense and somehow feeling closer than a plastic table apart.

“Real buttercream icing!” he practically shouts. Del has a tendency to shout in diners. He has a tendency to shout most of the time. “It’s not that Crisco shit you get at most places, baby! My buddy works at a print shop in Williamsburg, and he comes around here sometimes after hitting up the bars on weekends. He told me the owner’s wife, she makes these cakes herself every day. That’s homemade, only diner left in Brooklyn that can still claim that!”

Russel is having a hard time swallowing while laughing, but he finally manages. “You’re unbelievable. I can’t believe you dragged me all the way out here for this.”

Del raises a brow. “You saying it’s not delicious?”

Something about the way he tilts his head to look at Russel through his eyelashes, at the way he brushes his dreads back off his broad shoulders as he speaks, something about the way Del’s personality radiates from their cramped booth into every crevice of the sleepy diner makes Russel’s chest constrict slightly in that moment.

“It’s the best cake I’ve ever had,” he says earnestly.

And Del is smiling again, drumming his fists on the table in glee. “Should I order some milk, birthday boy?”

Essex, 1997

When Murdoc passes him the blunt, he takes a hit without hesitation, only to find his eyes watering and his lungs burning as though he just inhaled a mouthful of acetone.

“The fuck is that?” he coughs and his head swims, oh, does his head swim.

Murdoc cackles. “Mate, I don’t ask questions, I just tell my guy to give me whatever the kids are smoking these days. Y’know, when I was a lad, weed was weed. They didn’t mix any synthetic shit in there, and it mellowed you out good.”

“When you were a lad?” Paula scoffs, plopping down into 2D’s lap, a beer in each hand, “when was that, the 1920s?”

“You should talk, Cracker,” he snaps, leering at her. “Your tits are sagging like you’ve already nursed a few tykes.”

“Hey, hey,” 2D wraps a protective arm around Paula’s waist, taking the beer she offers him and knocking back half the bottle in a gulp. “Eyes off my girlfriend, Murdoc. Paula, don’t pick on Muds, okay?”

She snorts and Murdoc grunts, putting his boots up on the coffee table, legs crossed daintily at the ankle.

“So you’re not going to get high with me, Russ. Well, what can we do then to make it a good day for you?”

Despite Murdoc’s less than enthusiastic tone, Russel is secretly touched that all three of his bandmates have made such a fuss about him today. He’s never been good at running the show though, and he doesn’t really have any wild expectations. England still doesn’t feel like home to him, and compared to the proximity of Brooklyn and Manhattan, getting to the bustle of London from Essex feels like a voyage that his friends’ attention spans simply couldn’t hold up to.

Clubbing! Del’s voice suggests somewhere in the back of his mind. See what kind of dance music these tea-drinking limeys like so we can toss it into the album!

“Honestly, just having drinks with you all is enough for me,” he answers demurely, and he can feel Del deflate in his brain. It’s fine; as soon as the conversation shifts, his ghostly friend’s voice will be there again. Del can never stay silent for long. “Okay, actually, here’s my birthday wish: I think we should play ‘It’s Coming On’” at the gig we have this Friday.”

“Absolutely not,” Murdoc snaps. “Can’t you just ask to go to a club or something instead?”

“Why not?” Paula challenges the bassist instantly, and 2D’s brows furrow together and he reaches over his girlfriend’s lap for the painkillers he always keeps nearby. “It’s a good song, it’s not too hard to play. We’ve got most of the lyrics ironed out.”

“Because a major component of the song is Russel’s haunted head! We don’t know how to control when he pops out: what if we go to play and he doesn’t show up? That’s two minutes faceache’ll have to improvise, and the kid can’t even tie his shoe laces.”

“Your fault,” the singer mumbles around a few pills, though he doesn’t look Murdoc in the eye when he says it.

“Del will come out,” Russel says firmly. He can feel rather than hear the excitement bubbling in the corners of his mind. Del is pleased. “He pops out at random sometimes, sure, but he’s never not come up during rehearsal when we need him. We go out on a stage, I guarantee he’ll be there to drop bars so hot your ears’ll burn.”

“Not sure that sounds the least bit pleasant,” Murdoc replies. “Gotta work on your pitch, big boy.”

“Here’s a thought though,” Paula cuts in, “what if Ghost Man pops out and we can’t get him to er, go back in? We’ll have no drummer for the rest of the show.”

“We could end with the song.”

“That’s still banking on him coming out when we need him to,” Murdoc insists. “If he doesn’t show, our grand finally looks rubbish. Russel, you’re great, and your spiritual possession makes you a bloody amazing musician, mate. Plus, I love the aesthetic of having a haunted bloke in my band, really. But it’s my band. I’m not jeopardizing our first gig that isn’t pure shit to satisfy your ego trip.”

“What if we can learn to control Del before the gig?” 2D asks.

“Who?”

“Del,” Russel repeats. “It’s his name. I’ve told you this, Murdoc. And 2D’s got a point. What if we can figure out to how control his comings and goings before the gig, would you give it a shot then? I really think ‘Coming On’ is one of the strongest songs we’ve got right now.”

Murdoc takes another hit, and, having tasted and felt what he’s smoking, it distresses Russel just slightly how his eyes don’t water the least bit, how completely unaffected he seems by the powerful stuff. “Might be worth a shot…”

“Then I can play the melodica!” 2D pipes up happily, jostling Paula slightly.

She slides off his lap to sit beside him. “One week for the four of us to tame a ghost. Brill.”

Beaming, Russel reaches for another beer. Trying to hack his own mysterious possession can wait until he’s a little more tipsy.

“Oi, a toast to the birthday boy!” 2D says, leaning forward and holding up his bottle.

“To Russel!” Paula agrees cheerfully.

“To the bloody best drummer in all of Essex!” Murdoc croaks, holding up his half-drunk bottle of whiskey.

“And hey, to the band,” Russel says, clinking his bottle against three more. “The future is coming on!”

“Ha! Good one Russ,” 2D beams.

Murdoc finds the joke so hilarious that he collapses back into his chair in a fit of giggles. Maybe he’s feeling the effects of all that weed after all.

Pacific Ocean, 2010

He doesn’t think much anymore. It’s not a sharp pain like when his hand split open on glass after Del was shot to death in his car. It’s more of a prickly presence, like sunburn.

Burning. His skin is probably burning in the sun. He could go underwater to hide from the sun; the water is cool and inviting as he floats along on his back. Then he won’t burn.

But it’s so dark below the surface, and if he can’t see, and if sound is muffled by water in his ears, and if every inch of his skin is covered in the same film of saltwater carrying him somewhere south of Argentina, somewhere light pollution ceases to be a concern, somewhere land ceases to be, then what will he feel?

And if he can’t feel, he might have to think.

No, today he will not die. Because a seagull found him where he was hiding in the United States, rotting himself from the inside out on sleepers, and the bird told him that Noodle was alive, that he just had to jump into the ocean, and he could save her.

No sign of Noodle, but that doesn’t mean he won’t run into her. Perhaps she’ll be floating along, sunburned and sleepy too.

He doesn’t think much, so he tries to focus on feeling. In the past day or so, he has begun to go numb save for the sensation of heat on his skin and water on his back. Instead of swallowing saltwater until he sinks to the bottom, he decides to focus on how he feels inside rather than outside, and comes up blank.

He is not sad. Noodle is alive, the seagull told him so, so the grief he’d felt in his body for months and months is pointless. He is not happy. That’s nothing new. He can’t remember what that feels like and it is far too much effort to search for that memory. He is not angry.

Well.

Anger could be a word to describe what he feels about Murdoc disappearing, only to pop up on Twitter talking about making a new album without him. That’s a sting, sure, something blackish red behind his eyes when he closes them, but since anger, and none of these feelings, have any outlets, so he tries to let them go. So much for passing the time.

Something rumbles, and his white eyes scan the sky for clouds, finding none.

Ah. He is hungry. That’s his stomach.

It’s been a lot of days since he’s eaten. It was just before Memorial Day when he jumped into the water, and back in the good old US of A, millions of families have no doubt already had their barbeques. He tries to remember the smell of charcoal, of boiled corn and hamburgers.

It makes his stomach hurt.

His birthday has probably passed, he realizes. Not that it matters. It just would have been nice to have had some company to acknowledge it to. He used to enjoy this time of year, the beginning of summer, the greenification of the earth as bushes and trees and flowers all turned verdant. It had once made him feel hopeful, alive.

But that’s right: he’s already estimated that he’s way down the southern hemisphere. It’s winter here, not summer. He smiles bitterly, and something akin to a laugh shoots out of this throat. It’s an ugly, horrible sound, and with only the slosh of the waves, it reverberates in his head for hours.

Detroit, 2019

“Sit down here, Russel,” Noodle instructs, pointing to the plush recliner in the Spirit House. She’s practically skipping with excitement, one of those ridiculous pointed birthday hats on her head. “We’re going to do presents soon!”

Cigar in mouth, Russel obeys, chuckling as she almost slams into Ace as he makes his way out of the kitchen, sporting a matching hat and a pair of pink oven mitts. “What happened to the candles I bought?” he asks, looking panicked. “We gotta do cake before we do presents, and I can’t find the candles anywhere! I left them right on the counter in the kitchen next to Dee’s Buddha statue and now they’re gone—”

“Don’t get you knickers in a twist,” Murdoc cuts him off, striding into the room in his hole-filled striped sweater and grey skinny jeans. He places a small packet in one of Ace’s mitted hands. “Here you go. Found them by the stovetop; someone must’ve moved them.”

“Thanks boss,” the taller man responds, sounding relieved.

Russel puts his feet up on the ottoman, catches Noodle giving Murdoc a suspicious look before snatching the packet from Ace. “These are prank candles, Murdoc. The kind that won’t go out.”

“Actually they’re essentially sparklers,” the bassist replies with a guilty shrug. “Thought it’d be funny.”

Noodle smacks Murdoc’s arm and storms off with her confiscated candles, muttering to herself in Japanese. Russel puffs at his cigar and tries to hide his smile: with the addition of Ace, their home has become even more chaotic, but it’s highly entertaining. Before he can catch whether or not Murdoc is going to reveal what he did with the candles Ace bought, 2D enters the living room with a large purple bag and plops down on the couch nearest to the recliner.

“Proper Cuban, that?” he asks, pointing to the smoke.

“You know it, Dee. Nothing but the finest. Want a puff?”

“No thanks. Trying to stick to the vape as often as possible. It’s easier on the lungs than cigarettes and such.”

“Well technically you’re not supposed to hold the cigar smoke in your lungs, Dee.”

“I understand that,” he replies, fiddling with the ribbons on the gift bag, “but I don’t trust myself not to do that. So Russ, really, is there anything else that we can do to make this birthday perfect for you? I feel like this is so…simple.”

The drummer smiles, crosses his legs at the ankles. “I’ve seen the way rockstars party. It isn’t for me. I’m being completely sincere when I tell you that all I want, truly, all I want, is to spend time with my family. Some drinks, some good food, that’s it.”

He doesn’t bother telling 2D that this is the first birthday in years that he didn’t wake up in bed feeling paralyzed with anxiety. Or that he has dreamt of windmills falling out of skies and green ocean waves and tasted saltwater so many times that the sound of Murdoc and Ace arguing is welcome relief. It seems pointless to tell 2D that he’s had a Bob Marley song stuck in his head all morning. Or that he plugged in his old iPod today, the one he hasn’t touched since 2005, to remember some of the jams he used to work out to in the mornings when Kong was still his home.

“Russ, as long as that’s what you want, we’re all happy to celebrate like this with you,” the singer promises with a smile, placing a hand on Russel’s shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Thanks. Forty-four, man, big year. I got big plans ahead.”

“Oh really? You thinking music-wise, or something else?”

Russel’s smile widens and he leans in a little closer. 2D will be the first person to hear him confide his newest and most ambitious goal yet. “I’m thinking a foundation,” he admits. “Starting one myself. A non-profit to bring music to disadvantaged youth. I’ve got some friends who’ve worked for non-profits before who said they can help me get if off the ground.”

“Russ that’s huge!” 2D gasps, slapping the arm of the couch in excitement. “We’ll help too! With funding, with travel, Muds can probably help connect us to some producers who might know others who can help out!”

“I was planning on asking you all for help today. That’s my big birthday request, my next goal in life.”

The singer smiled and pointed to the bag on his lap. “You’ll still want the dress I got you too though, right? Very pretty, my mum helped me pick it out.”

He eyes the bag eagerly, suddenly wanting very much to start presents soon even though he had told himself earlier that day that he didn’t need anything more material in this world. “I’ll…I’ll still take the dress, yeah. Thanks buddy.”

“Cake time!” Ace crows, making his way out, carrying a very large, impressive cake on a try, candles alight on top. True to Ace’s perfectionist nature, the cake is one of the most beautiful things Russel has ever seen that wasn’t commissioned by a professional baker. Blue and purple icing create cloudlike flowers, and the top of the cake looks like a bass drum with Russel’s name etched across it in script. “Hey boss, get your ass inside, you can smoke later! Time for happy birthday!”

“Wait till you try this,” Noodle says, leaning in to hug Russel tight as Ace sets the cake down on the coffee table and Murdoc rushes in from his smoke break in the backyard. “Ace is a great baker. Real buttercream icing. Like nothing you’ve ever tasted!”

She goes to pull back, but he pulls her into one last hug, hearing 2D “awww” beside him.

“Thanks for gathering the troops,” he tells her.

“Russel, we’re family,” she replies. “It’s our pleasure to be here with you today. To celebrate.”

“Well then,” the drummer sets his cigar down in an ashtray and leans in to blow out the candles. “Let’s celebrate.”

[changingchances]

Crossing Senses- Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor  Part 1

A/N: 1767 words. I plan to do this in several parts. It’s a bit slow, but I’m really enjoying finally getting to write some stuff. This was inspired by @bensroger ‘s And They Were Soulmates. This is the first time I’ve ever posted any of my writing, so I welcome constructive criticism and feedback! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Some swearing.

******

It’s typical for one to see lyrics scrawl themselves across their skin in this world. Such a phenomenon is indicative of a soulmate. Music is a universal expression of the soul, and thus is a medium in which soulmates are linked to one another. When one’s soulmate would have a song running through their head, or should they be singing, the lyrics would appear in a variety of scrawling fonts on their soulmate’s body. An individual’s taste in music is often telling in terms of their personality, and a font resembling one’s handwriting is an excellent clue. So, when Roger felt his hand grow warm and tingly with clues about his soulmate for the first time, years ago, he was naturally overcome with excited curiosity, hoping this first song would give him some idea of what she was like. However, when he looked to his knuckles, there were no lyrics, no words scribbled into his skin. Rather, it was as if watercolors bloomed down his fingers and inside his wrist. And he had no fucking idea what that meant.

Everybody got their first song at different times. Some people received their first clue before they were in high school. Others waited longer. Roger’s first indication was when he was seventeen. He was worried when the colors appeared instead of the letters. He asked his family, and no one seemed to have any idea what it could mean, minus his half-crazy grandma, who kept insisting that some people see, feel, taste the music rather than hear it. Of course, Roger entertained her tales for her sake, but he knew she wasn’t one to make a great deal of sense in the first place.

Years passed by. Roger went to college, joined a band, and now has toured America as a Rockstar. Not long after the band began toying with international fame, Roger started scribbling down the colors into a notepad, taking photos when he could, even roughly painting them out to commit the oddities to memory and attempt to decipher them. Still, the colors run down his back, across his cheeks, all around his limbs and in between his fingers and toes, and still, he has no fucking idea what they mean.

 Roe is a college student and amateur dancer, studying Cognitive Psychology and stumbling gracelessly through life. She was always surrounded by music, and with her current research and her dance hobby, it seems that she’s always got some bopping background noise going on around her. She sang everything, all the time. Roe almost felt bad for her soulmate- he probably never caught a break from the ticklish feeling of songs across his skin.

Roe would watch with her mouth twisted into a little smirk as lyrics to songs, ones she’d heard on the radio and others she’d never come across before, tingled across her skin in colorful letters. She knew no one else saw the words in color- just her. She would sometimes look up the music to see if the song actually matched the colors she saw on her body. Often times, they did not. Her soulmate listened to rust red, dusky orange, and brassy gold music a lot of the time. But he sang everything, from bold reds to pastel yellows, bright greens to murky purples and blues. The words always appeared more opaque, bolder in their hues, when he sang. He sang a lot of this one band, Queen. A LOT of Queen. Sometimes, he’d sing the same few songs over and over again, the same verses appearing down Roe’s spine, along her ribs, up her neck. Sometimes when he did this, she would sing them back to him, her way of poking fun at him for his repetition.

But other times, Roe sang bits of her music, amateur pieces she’d had help composing with various friends. Or she’d catch herself humming bits and pieces of songs she was choreographing to, trying to work out little movements to match the musicality. As of recently, she’d been working on a dance to, ironically, a Queen song- Lily of the Valley. Roe likes Queen well enough, but she never found many of their songs running through her head on repeat. Lily of the Valley, however, is just perfect to dance to. This means she’s been listening to the song over, and over, and over again. It’s constantly in her head, she’s constantly humming or singing it, constantly in the studio with the track on loop. Her poor soulmate is destined to hate the tune, she thinks, for it must be practically tattooed on his body now.

However, in the recording studio with the band, Roger can’t for the life of him decipher the yellows, blues, whites, and purples, blossoming down his forearm. At this point, he isn’t even sure if they have anything to do with his soulmate’s taste in music.

“Maybe she’s simply on drugs.” Freddie offers during rehearsal, slouched on the sofa with Mary. A burning cigarette hangs loosely between his fingers. Roger sees Mary roll her eyes at the comment and nudge Freddie.

“Great,” Roger’s voice is thick with annoyance, masking the anxiety bubbling in his stomach at the thought. “So, she might be drug addict is what you’re saying. Thanks, Fred, that’s fantastic.” He’s not even attempting to hide the sarcasm, letting it saturate every word.

Freddie rolls his eyes. “I never said anything about addiction, darling.” He smiles and takes a lazy drag of smoke. “I’m sure she’ll grow out of it in time to meet your drunken ass.”

“Piss off, Fred.” Roger snaps. He’s pacing now, restless and frustrated. It’s been years. He’s never seen any of his friends with the same “condition”, as Brian puts it. It had to be him, yeah? He had to be the one person, possibly on the entire planet, who’s soulmate must be some kind of fucked up to have presented colors instead of lyrics like every other normal individual. Roger, still pacing aggressively, lets his thoughts go wild. God, what if she is a druggie? What if we meet and she’s more of a mess than I am? What if that means that my soulmate will never actually offer me a stable relationship like everyone else on the fucking planet? What if-

“Roger.” Brian’s voice cuts through the swirl of what ifs. He doesn’t look at any of his mates, just brings his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. His cheekbone warms suddenly, only on the left side, and he lets his hand wander to the colors he knows are dancing on his face. She’s been thinking of this song for hours.

“Roger, I don’t think you have much to worry about,” John says in that calm, reasonable voice of his. “We’ve seen some pretty messed up people with normal indicators. That means she’s probably not a drug addict. Maybe she’s just… creative?” Good effort, Deaky, but it doesn’t calm the drummer’s racing mind.

Roger sighs. “That makes no bloody sense, Deaky.” He turns to look at the band, eyes frustrated, skeptical, and tired. They all knew that sense of hope when an indication from their soulmate appears. Most of the band had gotten their first lyrics in their twenties. Roger, though, had been waiting a long time, it felt, and he was growing more and more frustrated that he and his soulmate hadn’t crossed paths yet. He imagined it would click instantly, that he would know her the moment he saw her. It was his reason for picking up as many girls at shows, bars, parties as he could. She had to be out there, among them somewhere.

Freddie stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table and stands, approaching Roger. “It’s going to work out darling. Someone like you is not going to die alone.” The lead vocalist smirks mischievously. “And I’m sure she isn’t a drug addict either. If she’s on acid, the addiction rate is low. No one likes a trip like that for that long.” Freddie pats his friend on the shoulder affectionately before letting his own hand touch the drummer’s cheekbone, still lit up with pastels and watercolor. Roger huffs and pulls away, but with a small smile.

“How would you know that, Fred? About the drugs?” Deaky inquires, if not a little skeptically.

“Roe told us,” Mary chimes in, standing from the sofa herself and approaching Freddie to hug him from behind. Freddie’s face lights up at the mention Roe.

“Yes! She’s been doing some research this year on hallucinogenic drugs! It’s rather fascinating!”

Brian, at the academic chatter, pipes up, the topic piquing his interest. “Roe? Isn’t she that neighbor girl of yours?” John appears curious as well, having set aside his bass and now leaning forward to listen.

Freddie beams. “Yes! She and I are thick as thieves. She lived right next door to me and we would sneak out together to listen to bands at the pubs!”

Brian chuckles. “If you two are so close, why have we only seen her once or twice? I don’t think any of us have actually properly met her!” John makes a noise of agreement. Roger hums absentmindedly, noticing the same colors begin to run from his thumb down his arm. How long has she been on this one song?

“We should change that, Freddie!” Mary exclaims, looking as though a lightbulb just went off above her head. “If you could get her to one of the shows, it may be helpful for her research!” Freddie, at this comment, gives a dramatic gasp and kisses Mary on the mouth.

“You’re a genius, my love!” He shouts. At this, Roger looks up from his arm.

“How would a rock concert help with research?” He asks, sounding both confused and mildly exasperated at the noise Freddie is making. Freddie doesn’t calm down though, instead taking Roger by the shoulders and jostling the drummer a little in his excitement.

“I’m honestly not sure, but she’s been talking about music and drugs for months now and I want all of you to meet her, so it’s the perfect excuse. A rock concert for science!” Freddie claps his hands together, all smiles, and everyone laughs. Roger even lets out a small chuckle, unable to be entirely annoyed at the man’s apparent fondness over this girl. The drummer feels his neck and shoulder tingle a little and looks down to see the same colors splashed down his skin.

“Would someone hand me my notebook?” Roger mutters, deep in thought again. “I need to write something down.”

[echelonlab-blog]

Reigning Madness – Chapter 47

Masterlist

Disclaimer: Fiction.

Warnings: None

Tagging: @hazeleyedleto @msroxyblog @letojokerownsme @miss-shannanigans @snewsome756   @maliciousalishious   @nikkitasevoli @meghan12151977 @mindlessselfindulgence88 @sanellv@ambolton@jayded-reality @bradlea23  @spillinginkwithlove@alexis7215 @dezmarz @pezziecoyote @whoistheprettiest @avaj99@iridescxntsolitude @pheenixpeterson  @guccilowell

Jared's POV

   I watched Caroline with her date as he wrapped her in a big hug. I wanted to storm over there and tear them apart but I was aware that my rash behavior was what had gotten us to this point. She probably wouldn't have given this guy the time of day, let alone a chance to apologize to her and take her to dinner if I hadn't been acting the way I did. So I sat there quietly while they said their goodbyes, my mind racing when she thanked him for the evening. Once Caroline had gone back to her room without even acknowledging me I gave her a few minutes and then went to knock gently on her door. I thought I could try again to apologize but she left my knocks unanswered.

   It took a long time to get to sleep that night, so many things racing through my head. How could I have been so blind to the toxic nightmare that was Cynnamon? It wasn't like absolutely everyone else in my life hadn't tried to warn me. She seemed to have found every weakness in me from the beginning, everything she could exploit and use to her advantage. She was a master manipulator that Caroline had been dealing with since they were seventeen. I wondered what hell Cynnamon had put her through back then. I vowed to get the whole story out of her soon.

   By the time morning rolled around I felt like I hadn't slept much but I had at least, finally, gotten a few things straight in my head. If I was going to get through to Caroline it wasn't going to be with words. I was going to have to show her. I had a few ideas on how to make that happen. I grabbed my phone and quickly calculated the corresponding time in California. It was a little too early for the call I wanted to make so I stumbled into the bathroom and started the shower. While I waited for the water to heat up I looked at myself in the mirror. I was pale and my eyes were bloodshot with dark bags underneath. My lack of sleep was definitely showing. As my gaze turned to the mohawk that now lay sleepily across my head I thought that maybe another change would be good for me as well. I made a quick phone call to ask for provisions and then climbed into the shower.

   Caroline was a little less icy to me at breakfast. After Emma had gone over the daily itinerary I tried to make small talk with her and ask her about her date with Jason the previous evening but I think she took it as more jealousy from me and immediately clammed up. By the time the intern showed up with the bag of supplies I had requested my frustration was at dangerous levels so I excused myself and went back to the room.

   I realized it was late enough for my phone call now, so before getting started on my little self-improvement project I rang up my old friend Jinx back in L.A. who was a tour promoter. He mostly handled smaller stuff, EDM festivals and the like, but that was perfect for Jason and his group. I passed along all the info I had and Jinx promised me he would check them out and be in touch. It felt good to get at least something accomplished.

   I poured the contents of the bag out on the bed. As I was sorting out boxes of bleach powder and applicators I heard something fall over in Caroline's room. She must have come back while I was on the phone with Jinx. Cautiously I knocked on her door.

   “Hey, are you okay in there?” I asked as gently as possible. To my surprise, she opened the adjoining door.

   “Yeah, I'm fine. I was just trying to get organized so I could pack more quickly when it was time to check out and I dropped my makeup case.” She looked down at the bottle of developer I was still holding. “Going to play home beauty parlor?” she asked with a little smirk.

   “Yeah,” I confirmed. “I figured it was a good time for a change.”

   “Would you like some help?”

   I was stunned by her offer, especially considering how cool she had been to me at breakfast but I wasn't about to pass the offer up. I showed her the rest of the supplies and explained what I had planned. She instructed me to go wet my hair and by the time I came back she had everything set up.

   'Go on, sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair she had covered in a towel. I took my spot while she slid on some plastic gloves.

   “Thanks for doing this,” I told her. “You don't have to help me out you know.”

   “I know,” she confirmed. “And I'm still mad at you so don't get any ideas.”

   She barely said another word to me as she covered my head in the bleach solution, and then once she was done she simply gave me instructions on checking the color and then ducked back off to her room. Still, it was a start, it was more than we had interacted since that stupid kiss I had roped her into and it didn't feel like she was silently plotting my death the entire time so I guess it was progress.

   Caroline skipped the sound check but she did come for the M&G, sitting quietly in the background like she had at the beginning of the tour. Once all the fuss over my new blonde look had settled down and the questions started I found myself constantly looking over at her, wondering what on earth I could do to reach her, to somehow make up for the horrible way I had treated her. I know my glances didn't go unnoticed, I caught a couple of the fans elbowing each other and giggling as they stole glimpses in her direction, no doubt imagining a very different reason for my frequent gaze. I knew I was running out of time. Her label wanted to keep up this scenario and had made arrangements for her to meet with bands in different cities while we were on the road but there was no way that could go on indefinitely. Any day now they could demand her back in Los Angeles and then any chance I had of fixing things would evaporate. I needed a big gesture and I needed it now.

   Caroline was carefully neutral through dinner but she took her spot waiting backstage with Emma at the show. When my acoustic set came around I strummed my guitar, waiting patiently as the fans called out requests. I found my fingers returning to the same chords they had been strumming for several days now, a new piece that was barely more than a few verses stuck in my head, but it was clear who they were about. Without thinking I asked Caroline to come out on stage. I could see the trepidation in her eyes as Emma ushered her along but I hoped once she heard the piece she would warm up. I poured everything I had into those eight lines, lyrics about longing and regret, and I wove the chords in and looped them around again, trying to wring as much meaning from them as I could. When I finished I gave Caroline a tender kiss on the cheek and I could hear the fans cooing as if it were the most adorable thing they had ever seen. I searched Caroline's face for some glimmer of forgiveness, of affection, and though she smiled sweetly for the crowd her eyes were dark pools of fury. I had miscalculated. Severely. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I watched her wave to the audience and excuse herself, passing Emma as she stormed away from the stage completely.

   I had done it again. I had trapped her and forced her hand for the sake of keeping up appearances. Why the hell was I only figuring out how terrible my ideas were after I had already done them? I finished the show with a sense of dread, and as I exited the stage I braced myself for the enraged chewing out I knew I had earned.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Roll Out the Red Carpet: It’s Time for the Annual Secret-Diary Awards

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS FINISHES ON A REALLY BLEAK NOTE

So, with Xmas gone and just a few days until New Year, 2019 is staggering to a richly-deserved close.. which means it’s time to look back and hand out some entirely hypotherical awards to people and cultural products that don’t know I exist and wouldn’t care if they did. It’s fair to say this year has been a mixed bag of the transcendent and the appalling. Kind of like a sandwich bag full of ferrero roche and cat sick. Without further ado, it’s time to rummage through that bag and pull out the most succulent chocolates and the most nauseating lumps of vomit to give them their fifteen minutes of ill-founded notoriety.

The Jason Voorhees Award for Best New Horror Villain... ... Goes to the kid from Brightburn (who eventually becomes known as Brightburn himself, incidentally). In the 70s and 80s it was easy to grab attention as a horror movie antagonist, because there wasn’t a huge amount of competetion. Jason himself bludgeoned his way into the public’s heart and the collective cultural unconscious just by being unkillable and refreshingly workmanlike in his approach to homicide. Freddie grabbed attention with a nothing more than some surreal nightmare sequences and a glove with knives on it. Nowadays, the standard’s much higher. Luckily, Brightburn brought something fresh to the table: all the powers of Superman combined with the moral compass of a drugged-up rock musician. I, for one, look forward to his next murder project and/or concept album.

The ‘Dog With its Head Trapped in a KFC Bucket’ Award for Most Self-Defeating Move of the Year... ... Goes to the British public, who had an election this year in which they were invited to choose between a kindly older gent who wanted to renationalise the railways and ensure the survival of the NHS and a drivel-spouting upper-class buffoon who wants to destroy the NHS, destroy traveller communities, antagonise the E.U. and repeal the laws that protect against animal cruelty. The British people chose the upper-class buffoon, because (and I have to admit that I’m guessing here, but it’s an educated guess) THEY’RE GIBBERING FUCKWITS DEVOID OF BOTH COMMON SENSE AND EMPATHY.

The ‘I Told You So Award’ for Most Comprehensively Murdered Franchise... ... Goes to Terminator: Dark Fate. The Terminator films have always made intelligent use of both male and female leads, balancing the need for a feminine narrative voice against the fact that their audience are mainly there to see big manly, macho robots beat nine shades of crap out of eachother. In an effort to appear ‘woke’ (to use the parlance of today’s hot young bell-ends), Terminator: Dark Fate elected to sideline the big, manly macho robots in favour of three female leads, only one of whom was Jamie Lee Curtis. This failure to accept that the audience for the Terminator films is mainly men who want to imagine themselves as unstoppable robot killing machines pretty much lead to the film bombing at the box office. The lesson to be learned here is that NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO VIRTUE SIGNAL HOW GENDER-PROGRESSIVE IT IS EVERY FIVE MINUTES. Of course, media comentator types have been groping for literally any other reason the film might have failed miserably, but it’s a losing battle: I’m pretty sure even that one with Christian Bale made money, and that was bloody terrible. No disrespect to Dark Fate director Tim Miller, though: he needs to do something with his time in between Deadpool films and it might as well be going from ailing franchise to ailing franchise, putting them out of their misery like an endless succession of Old Yellers.

The Andrea Dworkins Dancing Naked On a Plinth Award for Best Actually Good Woke Movie... ... Goes to The Perfection (spoilers ahead), a film about two classical musician ladies taking a brutal and harrowing revenge on the misogynistic, overprivileged man who destroyed their lives. Easily one of the best films to emerge in 2019, it’s one of only two films I’ve ever described as ‘transcendent’ (unironically). The Perfection is shocking, brutal and feminist in a way that suggests that the writer might actually know what feminism is and what movie writing is- which makes it pretty much unique in the current era of self-consciously progressive films.

The Most Needlessly Elongated Process Award... ... Goes to the impeachment of Obvious Criminal Donald Trump, which is still going on at the time of writing. He worked with hostile foreign powers in order to cheat in his election, he’s boasted about sexually abusing women and he’s the most singularly incompentent, dangerous imbecile in the history of American politics. Just fucking arrest the guy already. How long does it take to get one flatulent old crook into a prison cell? Has he fucking superglued his feet to the floor of the white house or something? HURRY THE FUCK UP!

The Most Painfully Ironic Celebrity Death Award... ... Goes to Carroll Spinney, who gave movement and life the Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch puppets on Sesame Street then died of a degenerative, neurological movement disorder that slowly robbed him of the ability to move his own body. There’s not a lot I can do to make that funny, other than point out the bizarre irony of that coincidence. As far as I’m aware, he was a lovely man who brought joy to thousands of children and dim adults. Definitely worth raising a glass to this New Year’s Eve. It’s just sad for him that he died in a bleakly funny way and therefore ended up in my end-of-year roundup. What a way to finish a rich and fulfilling career. Poor bloke.

The Special ‘Band of the Year’ Award... Goes to The Orion Experience, who actually disbanded quite some time before 2019. However, I only discovered them this year, so I’m giving them the shoutout they so richly deserved, several years ago... when it might have helped. They’re great: a camp, New Romantic sound combined with clever lyrics and deliciously inventive song concepts make them one of the best modern bands I’ve ever had the good fortune to stumble across.

The ‘Chrissy Metz Goes on a Diet’ Award For Worst Thing to Have Happened to an Unsuspecting Planet... ... Goes to Hellboy (2019), which came out at the start of the year and set a high-sewage mark for general awfullness. It was a bafflingly, determinedly bad film in which characters simply stated their feelings rather than emoting, musical cues were misdeployed and wasted and the plot meandered from one bloated set-piece to another without ever feeling big or meaningful. To describe it as a shit-burg floating in a sea of lukewarm cum would be to insult shit and cum. I’ve had eight months and I still can’t get over how bad it is.

The Hellboy 2019 Award for Second Worst Thing to Have Happened to Unsuspecting Planet... ... Goes to Chrissy Metz’ diet. Yeah. She went on a diet. She’s shrunk. Don’t google it: it looks exactly as pathetic, miserable and depresing as you’d expect- another plus-size celebrity knuckling under to the pressure to lose weight and not even being good at it. If I’m ever famous, remind to use my position to elevate some actual motherfucking feedees to the status of cultural icons, just so we get some fat celebrities who actually stay fat.

The Arnold Rimmer Award for most Gratuitous Act of Cowardice... ... Goes to Prime Minister Boris “My Second Name Means Penis” Johnson, who, in the run-up to the election chose to hide in a fridge rather than be interviewed by Piers Morgan. This is particularly funny because Piers Morgan is a toothless, name-dropping suck-up who doubtless would have given the Prime Minister an easy ride while making big, goopy heart-eyes at him and fantasising about how he’ll be able to boast to his friends that he’s met BoJo, the Amazing Guffing Head of State. Maybe Johnson just correctly surmised that if he was in the same room as Morgan, the Craven Bullshit Density (or CBD) would be so high that the universe would implode.

The Dianne Abbot Award For Sexiest Older Black Lady in a Serious Cultural Product... ... Goes to Octavia Spencer, who played Psycho-Cougar Sue Ann in the psychological horror film Ma and who did a great turn as a emotionally manipulative, possesive, terrifying and yet strangely sympathetic borderline sociopath... whom I would definitely have had sex with, given half a chance.

The UK Postal Service Award for Most Delayed Cultural Event.. ... Goes to the arrival of Rick and Morty Series 4, which finally arrived on screens after years trapped in a nightmarish labarynth of production issues, rights negotiations and (admittedly justified) showrunner perfectionism. I haven’t seen it yet, since there’s a very good chance that 2020 will be a barren wasteland in terms of televsion and I want to make sure I have at least one good thing to binge-watch during the early months of the year. However, I’ll give you my hot-take when I do get round to viewing it.

The Brian Cox’ Strip Tease Award for Loveliest Thing to Happen in 2019... ... Goes to TV magician Justin Willman, who, towards the end of this year, gifted the world with a second series of Magic For Humans, probably one of the funniest and most inherently well-meaning street magic telly series ever invented. Speaking as a magician, I have to say it’s nice to represented in the world of televsion by a warm-yet-snarky gad-about rather than pretentious mumbling toss-mage David Blaine.

The Special Award for Most Confusing and Alarming Year of the Decade... ... Goes to 2019 itself, which offered political hope only to snatch it away; produced some amazing films while continuing to shit out virtue-signalling dreck at the same time; and generally massaged us with one hand while slapping us with the other. In many ways, it was a year that refelected human nature itself. Earlier this year, angry arsehole commuters beat the crap out of Extinction Rebellion protestors who were trying to raise awareness of our planent’s ongoing ecological crisis from the roof of a London Underground train. And that about sums up the dichotomy of the human race for me: enlightenment and knowledge climbing high in the hope of broadcasting its message, only to be dragged down by an endless ocean or irredemable thick cunts who’d rather be complicit in the slow death of civilisation than be five minutes late for a job they don’t fucking like. And that’s why 2019 gets a booby prize: it was a year that embodied the brief rise of brilliance from a sea of grime while reminding us of how little that actually helps. Cheers!

So that’s it for 2019. The death of culture, political acumin and possibly the human race continues, though with the occasional high-point thrown in just to keep things interesting. I’ll see you bastards when it’s when it’s time for my New Year’s Resolutions Blog. Sorry that turned a bit bleak at the end, but in fairness, that only happened because I live in a terrible country during a terrible time in history.