#This life was a tragedy and the countdown to it all blowing up started a long time ago...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Maybe we never had a chance.

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[shapa-likes-art]

Chapter one: Now or never

Warnings: death of major characters, food/battery poisoning (it's unclear). Tell me to put more warnings if needed.

Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety and Intrulogical

Summary: upcoming band, sunset curve, are about to make their debut at the orpheum when a serious tragedy occurs on the night of their performance. (Set in 1995)

A/n: here is my crappy writing bringing to you my Julie and the Phantoms au- er, Roman and Phantoms in this case? Haha, sorry! Besides that, there is are going to be links right before a performance/singing scene and it's highly recommended that you give it a listen before continuing on!

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Taglist: @that-peach-anon @thunderholtz @anxious-chaos-art @arcticfrostdoesthings @cirishere

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It was a loud and busy night in sunset boulevard, there were crowds of people lined up right outside the orpheum, a line that was so long that it almost surpassed the width of the building. There was excited chatter amongst people- fans of the band that had yet to play in the building.

Up on the Marquee read: Sunset Curve - Sold out.

The sound of a distant guitar riff from inside the building seemed to rile up the excitement in the crowd.

(Listen to the song before proceeding)

There were three clacks of drumsticks hitting, "One! Two! Three!"

"Take off, Last stop! Countdown till' we blast open the top!"

A man in his late teens with purple-dyed tips and ripped jeans sung with a playful smirk. he seemed to be the lead singer of the band Sunset curve.

"Face first! full charge! Electric hammer to the heart-"

He looked in his element, effortlessly playing the guitar while singing. Three other voices joined the lead in harmony.

"Clocks move faster 'cause it's all we're after now, oh"

The lead looked over to a guy with a baby blue leather jacket a bass and he cocked his head to the side as if to say 'come over'. The bassist jumped over and sung in the same mic.

"Won't stop climbing, 'cause this is our time! yeah!"

The singer pushed him away playfully and the bassist went back to his own mic. They quickly moved to the prechorus

"When all the days felt black and white, Those were the best shades of my life!"

The singer belted with a grin, swiftly moving to the chorus, the other band members joining in every shout

"Don't look down!"

" 'Cause we're still rising-"

" Up right now!"

"And even if we-"

"Hit the ground!"

"We'll still fly- Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never!"

The singer turned away from the mic and to the drummer as if passing it off to him with a shine in his eyes and an almost never-gone grin.

"We ain't searching for tomorrow," The drummer sung, "Tomorrow" The bassist repeated

" 'Cause we got all we need today," "Today!"

The lead took over momentarily

"Living on a feeling that's been running through our veins,"

The bassist smirked as he took in a deep breath, running his and through his hair,

"We're the revolution that's been singing in the rain"

Each band members stopped playing their instruments, clapping and clacking their sticks together to a beat as they repeated the start of the chorus

"Don't look down! 'cause we're still rising up right- now!"

They picked their instruments back up, a fire and smoke effect errupted around them as they played their instruments once again and delved into the final chorus

"And even if we hit the ground we'll still fly- Keep dreaming like we'll live forever but live it like it's now or never!"

There were more effects blowing around and lights shining on them as they harmonized at final part of the song

"It's now or never!" "Now or never"

Both guitarists and the bassist turned to the drummer as they strummed their last chords. They panted, catching their breaths as sweat fell down their faces and yet they had wide grins. They soon turned around and did their bows.

There was applause and cheers from the orpheum employees as the band members stood straight, "Whoo! Excellent!" A Girl cheered from the table she was wiping down, clapping alongside the employees,

The bassist chuckled, it sounded bubbly and sweet, and grabbed the mic, "Thank you, we're sunset curve," he said with a small wave before turning to the other bands members, who were immediately going on about that performance as the put away their instruments.

The lead and the second guitarist bumped their fists together with a smile, "Too bad we wasted that om a sound check," the second guitarist said, "that was the tightest we've ever played!"

The lead singer just smiled as he turned to the empty spot where the crowd would have been, "Just wait until tonight, when this place is packed with record execs," he said, his eyes lighting up at the mere thought. It was almost hard to believe and yet there they stood on the stage.

"Logan, you were smoking!" The bassist said to the drummer- Logan- who just huffed, pulling out his glasses from his shirt and sliding them back onto his face

"I oppose that, Pat, I was just warming up... In fact, you guys were the ones on fire," he said with a small smile and a faint blush on his light brown skin.

The bassist- Pat- pouted, "Aw, c'mon, lo! Can you, just this once, own up to your awesomeness? Hm?" He huffed, grabbing a few of their t-shirts and CD cases. The lead, who had been listening in, looked at Logan with a knowing smirk and an eyebrow raised.

Logan relented, biting his lip as he looked to his band members, "Fine, I was... 'Killing' it," he said, offering a small smile.

The lead smiled and went to lightly tap Logan's Shoulder, "ok, well, I'm thinking that we fuel up before the show," he took in a deep breath, "I'm thinking street dogs?" He suggested

Logan and Pat made sounds of affirmation. It had been a pretty high-energy performance, so having some hotdogs wasn't such a bad idea. At the time.

A female employee watched with a fond smile as she wiped down a table, and it seemed that she had captured the second guitarist's attention and interest

He went to walk off the stage and approach her.

"Hey Toby-" the lead saw him jump off the ledge of the stage and followed after, "Where you going?" He asked, the other two members right behind.

Toby turned to them, "I'm good," he said waving his hand dismissively and turned to the girl, smiling as he leaned against the table she was wiping.

"Vegetarian. Could never hurt an animal," he said, as if explaining. The others stood next to him, the three of them holding unimpressed and fond looks, seeming that they knew it was a lie.

"You guys are really good," she said with an impressed look on her face, a small spanish accent to her as she spoke. She had tan skin, shoulder-length voluminous curly hair, and a sleeveless sequin shirt.

"Thank you," pat chirped, resting his arm on Logan's Shoulder, to which said man didn't mind.

"I see a lot of bands," she continued, "Been in a few, myself," she smiled, "I was really feeling it,"

The lead smiled, "Well, uh, that's what we do this for," he said with a small awkward laugh before realizing something: "I- uh, I'm Virgil, by the way," he introduced then gesturing to Pat.

"Hi, I'm Patton,"

"Logan,"

"Toby,"

"Nice meeting you guys," she said with a curt nod, "I'm Rose,"

Patton seemed to perk up, "Oh! Uh-" he held out a CD, "Here's our demo," he said, sliding it over to her, then grabbing a T-shirt, "and a T-shirt, size: beautiful," he said with a grin. Logan groaned at that. Patton had the tendency to flirt as a joke and not meaning any of it.

Rose just smiled, talking the T-shirt, unfolding it and holding it up to he body, looking down at the design, before looking to the band, "Thanks," she said with a smile. She went to fold it in half and put it on her shoulder, looking to the table, "I'll make sure not to wipe tables down with this one," she said a little awkwardly.

"Oh, good decision," Logan said with a nod, "whenever they get wet, they tend to- uh, fall apart in your hands," he provided with a small smile.

Toby huffed, "Don't you guys have to get hot dogs?" He asked.

Virgil just smirked, "Yeah," he said then leaning close to Rose, "He had a hamburger for lunch," he said, cocking his head to Toby's direction before going to push himself away from the table and walk towards the exit, leaving an exasperated and disappointed Toby alone with Rose.

Virgil, Logan, and Patton grabbed their jackets before they went, shrugging them on as they went out the backstage exit.

Virgil hummed looking around, rolling on the balls of his feet "That's what I'm talking about," He said with an almost giddy shine to his eyes

"The smell of sunset boulevard?" Logan asked with a raised eyebrow, readjusting his ripped denim jacket.

Virgil rolled his eyes and lightly punched Logan's arm, "No, smartass," he said with a small laugh, "It's what that girl said back there-" he said, walking in front of the others and kicking a puddle in his adrenaline-induced happiness.

"-about out music Alright?" He turned to look to the others, making a vague gesture with his hands, "It- It's like an energy," he said, slowing down a bit and walking beside them with a hum.

"It connects us with people- they can feel us when we play," Virgil hummed, walking behind them then hooking his arms around their shoulders, "I want that with everybody tonight,"

"Well then, we'll need a lot more shirts," Patton said, looking to the two ones in his hands. Virgil could help but let out a small laugh at that, "C'mon, let's go," he said.

They walked by a line of people- the people lined up for their show. Patton noticed two girls who were excitedly talking to each other and he went to diverge from the other two.

"Ladies," he smiled, giving them the last two shirts he had on hands before going back to the other two.

The two girls seemed confused, unfurling the shirt. Their eyes lit up as they realized who gave them the shirts

"Patton, wait!" One of them shouted, "oh my God, Patton!" The other one shouted. They both jumped in excitement, "oh my God, hi! It's me!"

As they walked away, they felt a little bit of pride bloom inside. They saw just how long the line was and it blew their minds. So many people lined up to see them and hear them play. This truly was a night none of them would ever forget.

They soon found a hotdog spot in an alleyway about a street down from the orpheum. They quickly got their hotdogs and went to putting on their toppings and condiments

Logan grimaced as he looked to where the condiments were stored- the trunk of a car along with a car battery.

"Virgil, there should be better places in Hollywood than this," he huffed, going to reach for the tongs to grab his topping of choice

Virgil didn't exactly look that crazed about it Either but he shrugged, "It's the closest spot to the orpheum and we cannot- for the life of us and our future- miss this gig,"

Logan just took on a deep breath, going to take a pickle to put on his hotdog, a slice slipped through the tongs and fell on the battery's cables. Great, just great, "I can't wait to eat someplace where the condiments aren't served in the back of an Oldsmobile," he grumbled.

Virgil just huffed and leaned against the trunk, waiting for Logan. This was going to be the one and only time they're eating at this spot. After tonight, they'll eat anywhere they want.

Logan finished with assembling his hotdog and turned to the vendor who was grilling hotdogs and patties, "Excuse me, uh... I got some pickle juice on your battery cables. Sorry," he said.

"No problem, it'll help with the rust," the vendor responded, giving Logan a pat on the back and a laugh

Logan looked dumbfounded, "That can't-" the vendor only chuckled and turned back to grilling. Logan looked to Virgil, who cocked his head over to a couch.

"Ok.." Logan sighed as he shook his head, defeated.

Patton let out a small sigh and he plopped on to the couch, followed by Virgil then Logan, they all leaned against the ratty and patched-up couch that was in the "dining area" of this pop-up shop.

Virgil hummed as he looked up to the sky, a small smile appearing on his face. Tonight was the biggest night ever and he could barely believe it, "This is awesome, you guys," he said, looking to his friends. "We are playing the freaking orpheum- I can't even count how many bands have played here and then ended up being huge!" He exclaimed

Patton chuckled lightly and smiled wide while Logan tried to suppress one. Virgil let out a small laugh of disbelief, "We are going to be legends," he smiled. He looked to the hotdog in his hands and lifted it up.

"Eat up, Boys," he said, the other two lifting their dogs as well, " 'Cause after Tonight... Everything changes,"

They all brought their dogs together as if a toast and bit in. As soon as Logan bit down, he tasted something metallic and ashy, "That's an odd flavor," he mumbled. Something felt very wrong.

"I'm sure It'll be fine," Patton mumbled. There was sudden sense of dread, "street dogs haven't killed us yet," he tried to joke.

They looked to the sandwich in their hands and reluctantly took another bite.

Only a few moments later, the siren of an ambulance wailed, driving towards sunset boulevard.

[imagine-lcorp]

To Be a Hero (Part III)

A/N: Well, helloooooo you guys, here I come with the next part of this thrilling saga. Now i thought it would be just a three part fic but it turned out to be four instead, so next time I update this one, it will be the last. Hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think!!! Love y’all!!!

Lena Luthor & Metahuman Daugther R//Word Count: 1,739

- Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

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To be dead is a strange state of being. Especially if you are still sensing the world around you.

You couldn't find a way to accurately describe what it was, but you somehow felt all over the place. Like dust filling the air, being there but not really there as something tangible. There was light and darkness surrounding you, a constant mix of noise and calm, of warm and cold. It felt like living inside a little galaxy, a little world of your own.

Unfortunately, you weren't alive, not anymore, and if this was the afterlife it had a weird place to land after... what? You couldn't remember how you had ended up like this. Your cause of death was a mystery and you felt a bit foolish. It was like forgetting something from the shopping list and having to go back for it. Like that time you forgot to grab the cereal and you and your mom where already in the middle of the check out line.

(Y/N).

A familiar voice called.

"What exactly did you find?"

You were sure the answer to that question wasn't cereal but it sparked something inside.

You don't know how much it actually took you to locate the memory, from a shopping trip to a dark room, but once you cleared your thoughts the more you remembered little pieces and scratches of your former life. You felt less lost.

"I found the bomb."

You had responded to the question back then with your own voice and the right memory came rushing back to you.

"Where are you?" Lena, your mom, had asked again.

"Near the my aunt's monument." You almost didn't answer. In front of you was a giant bomb ready to blow out the city.

It was huge, and it looked strangely like an octopus, a ball made of metal placed in the middle of the room with thick cables connected to other machines around. You weren't sure they had prepared you for a something like this at the DEO.

"(Y/N), do you copy?" Alex voice came now.

"Yes! Sorry. I'm, uh, near the Supergirl Monument. Two blocks east, one floor underneath the building."You tried looking around instead of looking at the bomb."I don't think this was here before."

"Alright, we got your location. We're sending the team over there to-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" You heard behind you.

You moved without thinking, vanishing and appearing around the room as quickly as you could. Two Sons of Liberty were pointing all their guns at you, not knowing exactly where to shot and afraid one stray bullet would detonate the bomb before time.

One of them pulled out some kind of charger and pressed a button on it before throwing it on the room. You saw the thing bounce on the floor from different angles, still glitching from one place to another, until a beep and a blinding flash of light came out of it. The light hit your eyes making you stop right away with a scream.

"(Y/N)?" Your mom called. "What's happening? Are you alright?"

"I-I can't see!" You responded frantically, pulling your hands out and trying to hold onto something other than the floor.

That was the moment when your life should have ended for good had it not been for the quick response of Supergirl. You could only heard the gunshots and the screams that followed as Kara entered the room and disarmed those two.

"(Y/N)!" She came to your aid after a few seconds and you struggled at first with her, thinking she was one of the Sons of Liberty. "It's okay, it's okay. It's me, Supergirl."

"Oh, god." She held you as you tried to get up, blinking many times so your eyes could recover. "I think, I'm blind now."

"(Y/N)? Supergirl? Are you alright?"Alex's voice came over the comms.

"We are okay but (Y/N) is having some trouble. They hit her with a flash."

"If by some trouble you mean I'm blind now, yeah, I have some." You said irritated after the whole incident.

"Darling, you're gonna be okay, just keep calm." Your mom assured you. "It may take a couple of minutes."

"Uh, you better recover quickly (Y/N)." You held your aunt by the arm as she walked around the room and stopped a few steps ahead. "We may not have much time."

You rubbed your eyes and let them adjust once again to the light in the room. When finally opened them you were able to see a bit of a blurred image in front of you. It was a timer set down to twenty minutes.

"We gotta work fast, (Y/N), we don't have much time. Winn? Lena? We got-" Kara instructed and just before you could make a move you had to jump at the sound of metal gates closing around the room.

"What's happening?" You asked as the last gates went down.

"None of you will leave now." You both turned to see one of the Sons of Liberty on the other side of those doors, holding a control on his hand.

Kara rushed towards the gates trying to crash into them and break them but the metal didn't even bend an inch. Kara's super strength was doing nothing to it.

"I guess you aliens are good for something." They guy said. "This is Nth metal. Unbreakable."

"Your partner is still here with us." Kara tried to reason with him. "You wouldn't let him die."

"He would be honored to die for the cause. Anything to get rid of you alien scum. Now enjoy your last minutes on Earth." He said pressing another button on his control and left. A fast beeping followed his footsteps, and you turned at the sound horrified to see the timer go down faster.

"Holy sh-"

"(Y/N)? Sweetheart, are you alright?"Your mom called from your comms.

"We are trapped." You answered frantically.

"(Y/N), try to keep calm. We're gonna get out."Kara came to you and started to examine the room."Lena, they put us on a cage of Nth steel, we can't get out and the timer of the bomb is going down faster now. They are not wasting time anymore."

Kara explained what had just happened and tried to describe the bomb as accurately as it was possible, and everything after that seemed to pass even faster. Your mom had been left speechless for a moment as she processed the situation. You and Kara were trapped with a bomb you didn't even know how it worked and with less time than you had expected. But your mom, along with Winn, got down to business just as quickly.

They tried to evaluate the situation and the possible solutions to it. Unfortunately, it seemed the type of situation that was ruled by Murphy's Law. You couldn't call the rest of your friend for help as they were busy fighting a group of Sons of Liberty that had managed to get themselves powerful alien weapons and were using them to cause more chaos around the city. You couldn't escape the bomb room and when Kara used her powers to open the device, every single cable and component looked the same to you that you feared it would be impossible to stop the tragedy. You were running out of options and time.

"Maybe I could move the bomb?" You suggested.

"Not that I don't trust you, kiddo, but that's the least we want you to do." Winn explained. "We don't know the mechanism of that device. Those cables connected out of it could be anything and if you tried to disconnect them it could cause the final detonation."

"I guess there's only one option." Kara sighed.

"Yes, only one, so listen to me." Your mom called you once more. "You will have to dismantle the bomb yourselves. Winn and I will be guiding you but you have to tell us exactly what you see, understood?"

You could heard the beating of your heart and breath, and even your Kara's, as you tried to follow your mom's instructions to the letter. It was a complex mechanism it seemed. Every time your aunt moved a cable from inside the metal ball something from the machines connected to the ends of its thick cables was activated too. You had to teleport from machine to machine making sure to deactivate what was probably a backup fuse to make it explode no matter what and as you did you kept looking at the timer from time to time, making sure you were still alive.

Your aunt called over the comms for final instructions after Winn assured you taking one last cable would deactivate the bomb. Or at least, that's what they had thought. Kara pulled the cable and the timer stopped for a brief moment before it resumed the countdown once more and the other machines were activated simultaneously. You had what seemed like five minutes, which were in reality just three. Then your mom spoke again.

She was sure there was one last cable to pull off but it was not on the center piece of the bomb. You had to find it and pull it to finally stop it. Kara and you used your powers to try to find it but none of you were able to. After all, the bomb had been designed to not fail.

For a moment, you thought about your family, the heroes they were and their lives, and then you thought about your own. Your powers and what it meant to have them. Being a hero had never been more difficult. But still, you did the only thing you thought could save them all.

"I found it." You said this time as sure and confident as it was possible, muting your ear piece. You would have to make amends to you mom some other life.

"(Y/N)? Are you ready?" Your Aunt Kara called as the timer reached down to twenty seconds.

"Yeah..." You swallowed hard. "Just, uh, I need you to do one more thing."

"What is it?"

"Tell my mom I love her."

Everything after that was a series of flashing images. The bomb, the water, the salt of the ocean, the force of the explosion, the muted sound of it below the waves. The unbearable heat. The shock consuming your body.

It all started to take you back and you knew it was time to make amends.

[aemperatrix]

Keats Is Coughing

by Marianne Boruch

Everything is made of everything. — Leonardo da Vinci

I found Rome in the woods.

Fair to admit it’s mostly tundra to the west in the park, past Toklat the Denali I revised, low grasslands engineered to freeze deep by October — this being Alaska — the great

           Tabularium close to the Temple of            Castor and Pollux I rebuilt that same summer —             not superimposed, exact as any scheme

in secret — the Arch of Septimius Severus at the gravel bar        where fox drank from a river turned stream,           a Theater of Marcellus near               the ranger station where one raven,                                                                                    such a brat,   complained of                      my Circus Maximus, Trajan’s Column,                              my Baths of Diocletian, too many spots soaked in unpronounceable Latin.

                   I really did, I shouldered bits of it,      a ruin-hushed haunted business, my brain                                                         a truck bed, a lift, pulleys big as a whale’s heart, expletives of cheap wonder all over                                                                  my woodlot and expanse.                          One self-anoints to embellish day, years, life thus far, and think oneself so...    

                      Then busted — 

by a raven!

Well, that’s memory for you, that’s so-called        civilization for you, to layer up,                         to redo the already done.

I mean it’s a fact, the puny life span we’re allotted.              And proof — Denali in August, fireweed, spunky scrawny first Latinate — Erechtites hieracifolia — 

              giving off flowers to mark               what weeks left, little               time bomber, time traveler, ancient               slips red-flagging the countdown to winter               by climbing its own stalk.

Something perverse about that. Something perfectly fiendishly self-conscious about that.

•

From the start perverse, any premise.      Ask...We can’t know. To be compelled

           makes an occasion. Rome’s grand     past horrific, fire and ash, swamp into bog, lust              and bloodlust — 

The Alaska Range dreams lurid as Rome,                                        the worst way below being fire, summer snow at night      off the highest peaks by noon              as distant from our cabin as the size of a hand if I                         held up the one with                         an eye in the middle

to know how this works. Some have the power to raise from the dead a before, before scary and beautiful           back to mystery cults, in caves, rubble far under a Roman street, the altar to Mithras still slaying his bull, crumbling the stonework.

            All things being equal. But they’re not.                    Agony, it’s older.                      Ask the moose at Denali,                         the snowshoe hare, the lynx,

such a wily courtly lot.                                           Ask Ovid      banished to his hovel on the Black Sea, aching                for Rome’s exalted rude cacophony, each      exiled month a big thick X down

                                  Februarius,                                 Aprilis to home-shattered sick enough

for an undersong. Look it up! Undersong: a strain; a droning; the burden of a song —                                              Maybe that lowest common denominator is contagious. Rome or Denali, a mash-up of lunge and cry out, predator and prey throwing coins to a fountain, footholds made first by a hoof, pickpockets at buses and trains, nuns queuing up their no-nonsense, thorny brambles, raggedy spruce groves,                                           a look, a nod to sell loveless love on the street, a chain of mountains in choral repeat, saints stained to glass, how ice gouged rivers from rock-bound,                                 the one-lung rapturous common-sense Pope all outstretched arms, his little popemobile circling the thrilled at St. Peter’s up on our rickety chairs to see in six, seven languages how radiant —                             Cross my heart, he was. And Keats, Keats is coughing.

•

You find the fossil record everywhere. In woods, tundra, under streets, in cadaver labs.                                 Not those bright transparencies, wistful orderly page after page in biology, a lie, a kind of flip-book romance. It’s the one big mess of us in us, the generous extraordinary dead prove that, signing a paper, giving themselves away                                            to be cut, disembodied for the knowing it, sunk to their chemical depth in some afterlife, opened on a table by kids really,                                             belabored doctors-to-be, our shabby shared wilderness to untangle, bones   joints   arteries   valves,                                                         The Dissector in hand, weirdest how-to book on the planet. For Keats too, 1819, his scribbled roses and sunflowers in margins,                                                                  his training,                                                           his anatomy theatre, looking down and later: still London, then Rome (he who gets it,  body fails, second floor, beside the Spanish Steps).                                           Heart, not my heart anymore.                                     Forgive me. I’m worse than the hopelessly confused misnamed English sparrow, descendant of the great weaver birds of Africa, a finch that lost the gene

      for nest, how to beneath, to across so intricate, precise, bringing bringing sticks and hair and bits of shiny paper. Undersong: the burden of a song.                                                       Poor bird. Poor sweet muddled middle of it. I watched morning after morning, his offering...                                                   ��                       It’s Keats who made claims about beauty and time. His bed at the last                        too low for the window, his must-have                                 tell me, what’s out there — 

I admit: a ridiculous layering, Rome in Denali. Just because? Because I went to both in short order? Two continents, an ocean apart. My mother loved hand-me-down expressions — never the twain shall meet. They do meet.                           To repeat: that’s civilization for you. Happenstance and right now drag along future and past                             and why the hell not the Denali, the Rome in any of us, no two states of being more unalike, worn-out compulsion to collect and harbor, piece together,                                                                    stupid into some remember machine.

  Such fabulous unthinkable inventions we’ve made to merge or unmake: the trash compactor,   the poem, all tragedy and story, pencils sharpened to

a point that keeps breaking, wilderness gone inward as

                  an ocean-going ship’s container,                         a Gatling gun,                                 the AR-15 of the seething deranged,                                         the H-bomb,                                             Roman legions to Canterbury to blood-up fields into legend then dig the first plumbing but

                                            how can you                                             be in two places at once                                             when you’re not anywhere at all!

       (Thank you, Firesign Theatre, brilliant wackos,              old vinyl on a turntable still in the game... )

                     Fine. Fuck it. Start over.

•

See the sheep on high ledges, the arctic squirrels below.

See the way Dante saw, sweeping his arm across Vasari’s great painting as Boccaccio looks off, the plague sealing city after city. Dante

in hell, steady-luminous     those fact-finding trips to service           his worldly Inferno.

Winter sleeps through. August at Denali, bears shovel it down       a razor-edged maw —                                                 twigs! berries! more stems! —  Fate hoards to prepare, sub-zeros, fattens into...   

See the park’s camper bus, 92 miles how most of us jolt and slow, crossing hours more daylight than night all summer, rattling tin can with its exhaust and hissing gravel, the fear landslide                  an undersong just-possible, how we zigzag a mountain. Look!

                 Nearing a bear, the young caribou abruptly                             hesitant, shy as a leaf — 

No! Don’t! Do not! That grizzly huge, bent to his ploy just                                                 these berries around here, his ignore ignore, sure, quiet-tense as a trigger, and we of                      fogged scratched windows so hard to open — 

stop! The bus stopped. Jesus. The thing curious, closer...                          They’re not

that smart anyhow, a stage-whispering drunk from the back      of our imperial realm, mile 62, the Park Road.

What did Venus decree in her temple up whichever narrow street in Rome, the Ancients’                             stink of slops, standing water,           a bear chained to a slave (out of slav, by the way,                             backdrop is horde, human spoils)

both shackled to a grindstone for                                                             a later mob and roar.

Here’s what we saw: the little caribou  in reverse wanders sideways and safe.                                             Our bus one big sigh or like a wheezing asthmatic the brakes unbrake.

Bad dream, bad dream, the undersong start to all fable if                        for real we’d seen that kill back to lions off their continent cornered, bloodied in the great amphitheaters, rearing up, a nail to hammer’s                                   bite and blow. The wilderness in us

is endless. Near the cabin, near evening, a warbler                               in the fireweed                                                    hawk saw or heard,                          his switchblade clicked to —                                                                         I was and I was                      whirling feathers, either bird —    Every hunger                            is first century. Forever-thus   feral cats at the Forum about to leap too.                                                        The Forum, last homage   I shoveled holes and rocks to   remake, mile 82, while the haymouse riddled the meadow   down deep, her catacombs.

•

Time + beauty = ruins. Perfect shapes in the mind       meet my friends Pointless and Threat and Years of       Failure to Meld or Put to Rest. Ruthless                                                                                 is human.

I ask a composer: How to live with this undersong thing                             over and over, how to

                                                                   get rid of it,                                                                        the world of it — 

 He looks at me. What undersong thing? And shrugs       I’ll put it on the test! Let students define it.

     So I dreamt such a test: Go there. To Rome.                    Half-doze against a wall                      two thousand years of

    flesh    sweat    insect wing ago, stone laid by hand, by a boy when a whip, a whip, a welling up, his will not speak.

   Have at it. Please explain. Please fill in this blank.

Grief punctures like ice, moves like a glacier   to flat and slog and myth, low blue and white flowers       we hiked trail-less. The rangers insist. They insist — 

      never follow or lead, never lay down a path.

                                                                       From above the look of us spread out, our seven or eight a band, little stray exhausted figures                                           as over the land bridge from Asia,

circa: prehistory keeps coming, older than Rome, both   both underfoot, understory, underway

        miles below numb, it’s burning.

•

To see at all, you time                                         and this time and time again.

The spirit leans intrigued, the other part bored, then there’s want,                                                                    then there’s wait.

Once a city began with a wolf whose two human pups would      build, would watch it fall, nursing                                              at her milk for centuries               in marble               in bronze.

         She stands there and cries of                                                               that pleasure, by turns a blood-chill. The tundra. At night.

A snake eats its own tail, forever at it on a fresco. A real snake                       leaves his skin near the gravel bar. Some words sting, some are sung. Another life isn’t smaller.

[spaceybot]

Same Old Tragedies

A conservation mission goes wrong, but out of this failure comes a surprise and a promise. 

WARNING: there's a very brief paragraph where an animal dies, along with some mention of blood. I consider it pretty short and not overly gore-y but if you'd like to skip it just go to the end of the first chunk (marked by the lines)!

Also warning for whiny, "I'm not a kid" Operator who can't deal with too much frustration or else they'll explode internally. 

They’ve never seen anything quite so ugly, though the Grineer are a very, very close second.

The Operator pauses. Or maybe it's the Infested.

But still this thing was just...different. The Infested and the Grineer were the result of artificial mutations. Their bodies were forcefully manufactured, rearranged and then spit out, with the final product being nothing but obedient flesh with violence as its only instinct. Parasites, clones, it made no difference what they were. The two were both born to fester, kill, and increase their numbers, keeping up the same industrious pace until something came along to end the cycle.

This bolarola was just born looking like that.

“What a marvelous looking fellow. Quite unusual. I trust you’ll bring it in safely?”  Biz says, his voice barely audible from their comm. “We’ll take a better look at it up close.”

From their faraway perch they watch it anxiously pop its head out, scanning the horizons for something unknown. The Business doesn’t expect a response but still they make an affirmative noise in acknowledgment. The Operator readies the tranq.  

This bolarola was a lucky find. No need to pull out any equipment or call for it. Hell, they weren’t even following any footprints, nor were they looking to bring a critter in to Biz today. But as soon as they had spotted it and it’s “unusual” (as Biz had put it) visage, they let him know to ready the transportation.  

This is as close as they could get to it.  Any closer and the Operator is sure they’d have scared it away, what with its current state of distress and its hyper vigilance. They could barely get a clear shot without it slipping in and out of sight. Suddenly, its head stays up five seconds longer than before, fiercely pointed in a direction, straining to hear more. It bristles at something in the distance. All of the tension from before dissipates, giving way to...aggression?

The Operator is almost taken aback when they emerge from the ground fully, stalking an unseen threat. Not typical behavior for bolarolas, they note. Experience has taught them that much. Maybe it’s hunting for food. Why else would it act so predatory? It produces a furious screech that echoes throughout the Orb Vallis, one that suddenly brings the Operator to their feet.

They take a few cautious steps forward, straining to hear.

After half a second, its scream is met with the distant noise of Corpus chatter, rapidly growing closer and angrier in response to the creature’s own call to violence.

In their scope they spot a small party of Corpus soldiers on patrol, or at least they were on patrol, until they had stumbled onto the bolarola’s territory. The Operator curses under their breath, stowing away the tranq and leaping down from their perch.  

“Outworlder, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  They reply before cutting off the feed entirely.

The bolarola, now just a medium-sized speck without the scope, shrivels up briefly in preparation to tuck into defensive mode. They don’t know why it brings a relieved smile to their hidden face.

“That’s it. Roll away, little guy.” They say to themselves, sprinting towards the scene. It’s not even that little. In fact, it’s kind of large and puffy which isn't that uncommon for their species. Probably the distance distorting their perception of size.

They fire a couple rounds into the air in an attempt to frighten it away from the soldiers. Send it running somewhere else. After all, both Biz and the Operator would rather have an escaped creature than a dead one.

But it never flees. The stubborn thing doesn’t even hear them. Instead it charges full force at the Corpus on some sort of suicidal and instinctive whim. Their heart drops instantaneously. They’re sure their warframe can feel it too because their energy shifts in response to the Operator’s sudden and steep change in emotion, the two always remaining in sync with the other, balancing when one falters. The subtle change picks the Operator right up again and reminds them of the current situation.

They pick up their speed, practically flying towards the bolarola with all the precision and skill that their warframe lends them in maneuvering the snowy terrain. The creature begins readying for a fight in earnest and it is already closing the distance between itself and the soldiers.

“ No, no, no .”

The Operator opens fire from a hopeless distance with a weapon not suited to long range combat as they sprint. The sound of bullets aimlessly whizzing by catches some of the Corpus’ attention. The creature by now has launched its own full assault on the soldiers. It’s a mere nuisance, a distraction to them in comparison to the threat the Operator poses. This isn't right. The bolarola was never meant to attack, only to run away and defend itself. All it’s got are its size and digging claws working in its favor.

By the time the Operator has arrived the majority of the Corpus have locked their attention to them, shooting and shouting. Only one is incapacitated, the one the bolarola has chosen to direct its own attentions to. It uses its weight to leap up and knock the soldier flat on his back. He lets out a shout, struggling uselessly and pinned down by the large creature. His attempts to dislodge his arm throws snow everywhere.

The Operator is too occupied returning fire with the enemy but out of the corner of their vision they see it unfold.

The bolarola raises one great claw, swooping it up in preparation to slash its victim.

In the countdown before the creature lands the blow, the pinned Corpus manages to press his weapon to the creature’s belly.

He fires. And fires.

The vicious attack never comes down, instead all the Operator hears is a strangled cry, a sickeningly wet noise, and the muted thud of the bolarola’s body falling limply on top of the soldier’s. A red flower begins blooming from the corpse, the center crimson and the edges pink with flecks of color scattered haphazardly around. The fluids leak onto the soldier and finally onto the snow, staining it.

He pushes the thing off him with ill regard, turning to face the Operator who is burning with too much hate to care happens next. Not when they already know how this fight is going to end.

The Operator leaves no one standing after that.  

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

They’ve been in a lot of fights. This one was by no means large or significant or difficult but they feel as if they had just come home from a long-standing war, defeated. The residual frustration and anger is still boiling away inside them, scrambling their senses. Their very own void energy, dark and tumultuous, is intertwined with their warframe’s and they swear it’s almost too much buzzing inside them. A strained sigh escapes them like hot air hissing out a vent.

They screwed up.

The Operator spares a glance at the bolarola’s corpse. It’s just as odd looking in death as it was in life. They let out a breathless laugh at that, a laugh that contained no trace of humor.

“Sorry, little guy.” They say out loud to the fallen creature as if it would make it all better.

They screwed up, and it’s in their nature to linger on their various failures but they can’t afford to. Not right now. They just need to pick themselves up, get back to Fortuna, and use that leftover turmoil on something productive. A mission, perhaps. Save the brooding for when they’re alone.

The comm flashes and beeps wildly.

Biz.

The Operator briefly considers ignoring him until they’ve collected themselves. Another sigh slips out. No need to worry him like that.

They reconnect to the Solaris United’s private channel. It takes a brief moment for the connection to clear up but Biz doesn’t wait for it to clear to begin speaking. His voice is full of static.

“What--happened..are...alright--?” Are the bits the Operator is able to make out. They don’t say anything. The static settles down while Biz’s concern heightens in an inverse relationship.  

“No...not really. It’s dead, Biz. It’s...I--”

They take a deep breath to stop and plan their words, trying to figure out how to explain the situation. Okay. They’ve got it now:

What comes out next is an almost incoherent string of half-sentences, tainted by frustration and their own inability to fully clear their head. When their voice crescendos to a slightly louder volume than before, they hear Biz’s voice again, clear as day and always conveying some meaning when the Operator fails to do either.

“Slow down. Let’s start from the beginning.” He prompts. The Operator stifles an irritated noise.

They fall into a cycle. He listens, says a few words to defuse the Operator and make sense of what had unfolded, and then starts over.

“It just ran out and attacked them, unprovoked. A bolarola . It’s dead.” They’re finally able to say.

Biz is silent on the other end. The quiet practically invites their emotions to bubble over again. And so throwing their hands up, the Operator gestures to the area around them.  

“I should have scouted out the area first or at least tranqed it right away. This could have ended differently!” They grate out, eyeing the bloodied bolarola. Why are they so upset? Their volume raises again on the start of the sentence but there he is once more, hushing them.

“ Shh, shh . Easy, now.” Biz murmurs. “What’s done is done. No use in speculating about what could have been.”

The Operator almost grins at the gentle way he speaks, how he almost always speaks. They can imagine this being how he talks to the frightened and wounded creatures they bring in for him to treat. He doesn’t even sound angry. They’d have felt better if he had reprimanded them but the harsh words never come. Finally, he speaks up again in a tone that lets the Operator know that the conversation is coming to an end, or so they thought.

“I would ask you to turn in for the day, but there is something I’d like for you to do.”

“What is it?” They ask with rapt attention. A task for them to divert their energy to? They’re desperate for a change in subject.

“You said the bolarola was unusually aggressive. I have...a theory, if you will. Search the area.”

Their shoulders drop a little.

They prepare to ask for clarification, but no sooner had Biz finished speaking did the Operator spot two small creatures emerging slowly out of nowhere, approaching the fallen bolarola. They were near invisible as a result of their size, and an odd texture stretched over their not quite matured hide. Most telling however was their odd color: the beginning’s of their mother.

Where they are lime and lilac, the dead bolarola is a deeper green and purple.

There was no mistaking what they were and what had just happened to them.

The Operator would need Biz to send in that transportation after all.

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

“Ah. There you are.”

The Business hasn’t even turned around yet to confirm his suspicions. He just seems to sense that it is indeed them and somehow he’s always right. They can see that his hands are full, wrapped tight around a bundle: a rough towel, acting as a blanket. The Operator takes two steps forward. The working hours are over and nearly everyone has packed up for the day, all except Biz.

“I could use your help in one last task for today.” He says, idly and just barely rocking the contents of the blanket in a tiny swaying motion. Their arms are already open, awkwardly waiting to accept the two bundled baby bolarolas so that Biz could get other supplies out. When Biz transfers the blanket to them, they almost don’t notice the two little heads poking out of the blanket to stare at them with curious eyes. They smile, but all the bolarola’s see is an impassive, alien mask bearing down on them. They retreat back to the safety of the towel.

Their spines are not yet fully hardened but if the Operator had touched it in their true form it likely would have felt unpleasant and strange. It doesn’t stop them from a brushing their warframe’s hand in a crescent motion around the circumference of the animal’s small face.The gesture of affection seems to confuse it. It burrows even deeper to escape it.

“Surprisingly, they’ve calmed down quite a bit. If you hadn’t found them they’d have died out there. Motherless, and as nervous as they are.”

Biz eyes them with some measure of fondness, even if it is tinged with a little bit of sadness. They may not be able to return to the Vallis, being so young. No one has taught them anything of what it takes to survive out there. He has two syringes full of a white-colored nutrient in one fist and another blanket in the other. After a bit of shuffling, Biz has one wrapped up bolarola and the Operator has another along with a syringe. He goes about teaching them how to feed it  without spooking it, but there’s no need. The little thing is eager to eat and laps it all up.

Biz’s attentions shuffle from his own creature, to the Operator’s, and then to the Operator themselves, as if he were tending to all three at once and checking in from time to time.  The Operator breaks the silence with a barely muffled laugh. Biz shifts his gaze over, asking them a silent question with the simple act.

“They’re not even cute when they’re babies…” They explain. How is that possible? They set down the empty syringe and lightly drag a finger down the back of its spines. “Such an ugly thing.”  

Biz perks up at that, shooting them a scandalized look (albeit it with a robotic face in the way) before pulling his bolarola a little closer to his chest  (albeit with a rig in the way).

“Don’t listen to them, little one.” He tells the baby in a softened tone, lifting it to towards his face.

“It’s true, though.”

“Hush.”

No one talks after that until well after the babies are done eating and are on the verge of falling asleep. They speak in low voice, afraid to disturb the young ones from slumber. They’ve had a rough day, to say the least.

“Sorry about the mother, Biz. And...I didn’t mean to freak out on you either...so, uh, sorry about that too.”

For some reason, Biz chuckles at them, as if their sullenness amuses him. It silences them right away. But he isn’t mocking them, rather it serves as a comforting noise. They stop as if they have to listen to it, as if they need to hear that reassurance like their life depended on it.

“You forget I’ve trained Little Duck since she was a young girl. You’re very tame in comparison. But let’s keep that between us, hm?”

He re-adjusts his grip on the bolarola before speaking again.

“And though it is unfortunate to think about, if you had saved the mother we wouldn’t have known about her little ones until it was too late to return to them. In a way I suppose this is the better outcome. One life, for two others.” Biz sounds troubled, but the moment is brief. He frees up a hand and rests it on their elbow, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You did well, my friend. Don’t dwell on what went wrong.”

His voice is warm,  and it contains the patience of a man who has seen too much to lose it easily. “You’ve had enough for one day. So have these two.”

"Yeah." They mutter. "I guess."

The blanket softly vibrates and rustles as the bolarola chitters in its sleep. It draws a small laugh out of the duo. When the moving finally settles down he throws in his final piece:

“Take care of yourself, Outworlder.”

A hint of sternness laces his voice but that’s it. That was the reprimand the Operator had been hoping for. Yet there’s no harshness to it, instead it is overpowered by sincerity. They give him a tired smile in response.

“Trying to.”

The Business says nothing in response, gazing fondly, distantly, at the three beings placed in his charge. All three were victims of bad luck, grown up far too fast, and they’ll live out the rest of their lives suffering the consequences of that. It’s all the same old tragedies that Biz has had the misfortune of seeing a thousand times, all with different players. The Tenno in front of him is by no means unique, in this regard. But it matters little. Because as long as he’s around?

He’ll be looking out for them. Always. 

[carolinabronova]

Songs.

30 Seconds To Mars The Kill (Burry Me)

99 Souls The Girl Is Mine (ft. Destiny’s Child)

ABBA Lay All Your Love On Me

Adam Lambert Fever If I Had You

Adele Chasing Pavements Rolling In The Deep Send My Love Someone Like You When We Were Young

A-ha Take On Me

Akon Don’t Matter I Wanna Love You (ft. Snoop Dogg)

Alicia Keys If I Ain’t Got You No One

All Angels The Scientist

Ana Carolina É Isso Aí (ft. Seu Jorge)

Angus & Julia Stone A Heartbreak Big Jet Plane Big Jet Plane (Acoustic) Draw Your Swords Just A Boy Paper Aeroplane Yellow Brick Road

A Perfect Circle Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums

Arctic Monkeys 505 Brianstorm Do I Wanna Know? Fluorescent Adolescent I Wanna Be Yours One For The Road R U Mine? Stop The World Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?

Aretha Franklin Say A Little Prayer

Ariana & The Rose In Your Bed (Kevin Drew Remix)

Ariana Grande Almost Is Never Enough Bad Decisions Be Alright Be My Baby Best Mistake Dangerous Woman Everyday (ft. Future) Greedy Into You Jason’s Song (Gave It Away) One Last Time Right There (ft. Big Sean) Side To Side Sometimes

Athlete Rubik’s Cube

Austin Manuel I Just Want You To Love Me

Backstreet Boys If You Want It To Be Good Girl (Get Yourself A Bad Boy) I Want It That Way

Banks Drowning

Bee Gees How Deep Is Your Love More Than A Woman Too Much Heaven Tragedy

Ben E. King Stand By Me

Beyoncé 7/11 Baby Boy (ft. Sean Paul) Best Thing I Never Had Blow Countdown Drunk In Love Ego Formation Hold Up Love On Top Partition Sandcastles Sorry

Biel Demorô

Black Keys Howlin’ For You

Blue Öyster Cult Burnin’ For You (Don’t Fear) The Reaper

BoA Eat You Up

B.o.B So Good

Bon Iver Creature Fear Perth

Bonnie Raitt Can’t Make You Love Me

Bonnie Tyler Total Eclipse Of The Heart

Breaking Benjamin I Will Not Bow

Bright Eyes First Day Of My Life

Britney Spears 3

Bruce Springsteen Dancing In The Dark

Bruno Mars 24k Magic Calling All My Lovelies Chunky Gorilla (ft. Pharell Williams and R.Kelly) Locked Out Of Heaven Talking To The Moon That’s What I Like Treasure When I Was Your Man

Bryan Adams Heaven

Calvin Harris Feels (ft. Pharrell Williams, Katy Perry and Big Sean) This Is What You Came For (ft. Rihanna)

Camila Cabello Havana (ft. Young Thug)

Captain & Tennille Love Will Keep Us Together

Carly Rae Jepsen Run Away With Me Your Type

Cary Brothers Loneliest Girl In The World

Cash Cash Overtime

Charlie Brown Jr. Me Encontra

Charlie Puth Attention How Long Marvin Gaye (ft. Meghan Trainor)

Charli XCX Boys

Cheat Codes Let Me Hold You

Chet Baker My Funny Valentine

Chris Brown Liquor Show Me (ft. Kid Ink) Strip Take You Down

Christina Grimmie Must Be Love

Christina Perri distance

Chromeo Come Alive (ft. Toro Y Moi)

Ciara Body Party

City And Colour The Girl

Claudinho & Bochecha Fico Assim Sem Você Quero Te Encontrar

Clean Bandit Tears (ft. Louisa Johnson)

Coldplay Charlie Brown Hymn For The Weekend (ft. Beyoncé) Swallowed In The Sea Violet Hills Viva La Vida

Colbie Caillat Bubbly

Counting Crows Accidentally In Love

Cyndi Lauper Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Time After Time

Daft Punk Around The World Digital Love Harder Better Faster Stronger Lose Yourself To Dance One More Time Something About Us Technologic

Damien Rice 9 Crimes Delicate Rootless Tree The Blower’s Daughter

Danni Carlos Coisas Que Eu Sei

Daughter Landfill Medicine Run Touch

David Guetta Bad (ft. Vassy)

Dawin Dessert (ft. Silento)

Demi Lovato Sorry Not Sorry Stone Cold

Destiny’s Child Bills, Bills, Bills Bootylicious Independent Women Say My Name

Disclosure Latch (ft. Sam Smith)

DJ Snake Leon On (ft. MØ and Major Lazer) Middle

DNCE Cake By The Ocean

Drake Fake Love Hold On We’re Going Home How About Now Marvin’s Room One Dance Passionfruit Too Good (ft. Rihanna)

Dua Lipa New Rules

Duke Dumont Ocean Drive

Earth, Wind & Fire After The Love Has Gone Boogie Wonderland Fantasy Let’s Groove September

Eden Project drowning.

Ed Sheeran Cold Coffee Drunk Give Me Love Grade 8 I’m A Mess Kiss Me Little Bird One Night She Small Bump U.N.I The Man Wake Me Up

Ellie Goulding Love Me Like You Do On My Mind

Elvis Presley Can’t Help Falling In Love Suspicious Minds (You’re The) Devil In Disguise

Erasure A Little Respect

Escape The Fate Zombie Dance

Etha Franklin At Last

Evanescence My Immortal

Fetty Wap 679 (ft. Remy Boyz) Again My Way (ft. Monty) Trap Queen

Fifth Harmony All In My Head (Flex) (ft. Fetty Wap)

Flight Facilities Crave You Crave You (Adventure Club Remix)

Florence + The Machine Cosmic Love Caught Drumming Song Never Let Me Go Seven Devils

Flo Rida I Cry

Francoise Hardy Voila

Frank Sinatra Fly Me To The Moon If I Had You Moon River

Gabrielle Aplin Home Please Don’t Say You Love Me Start Of Time

G-Eazy F**k With U (ft. Pia Mia) Lady Killers (ft. Hoodie Allen)

George Martin Pepperland - Remastered

Gilberto Girl Vamos Fugir (Gimme Your Love)

Glen Hansard All The Way Down Falling Slowly Lies Say It To Me Now

Grayscale Palette

Gym Class Heroes Cupid’s Chokehold

Halsey Gasoline

Hozier Someone New Take Me To Church

Hudson Thames How I Want Ya

Hurts Illuminated Somebody To Die For Stay Unspoken

Ingrid Michaelson Can’t Help Falling In Love You And I

Iron & Wine Flightless Bird, American Mouth

Israel Novaes Vem Ni Mim Dodge Ram

Ivete Sangalo Quando A Chuva Passar Se Eu Não Te Amasse Tanto Assim

James Blunt You’re Beautiful

Jammil Praieiro

Jeff Buckley Hallelujah

Jeremih oui

João Bosco E Vinícius Chora Me Liga

Joe Walsh Turn To Stone

John Mayer Free Fallin’ Gravity Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

Johnny Cash Hurt

JoJo Beautiful Girls

Jon Secada If I Never Knew You (ft. Shanice)

Jordan Fisher All About Us

Jorge Vercilo Que Nem Maré

Jota Quest Blecaute (ft. Anitta and Nite Rodgers)

Justin Timberlake My Love (ft. T.I) Summer Love

Kanye West Bound 2 Power

Kate Nash Nicest Thing

Katy Perry Birthday

Kendrick Lamar DNA King Kunta Loyalty (ft. Rihanna) Poetic Justice (ft. Drake)

Kid Abelha Como Eu Quero

Kina Grannis Valentine

Kings Of Leon Pyro Sex On Fire

Kodaline All I Want

Kyle Edwards Starboy (Harder Better Faster Stronger Jersey Club)

Labrinth Jealous

Lady Gaga Bad Romance Do What U Want (ft. R.Kelly) Edge Of Glory G.U.Y Just Dance Marry The Night Million Reasons Monster Perfect Illusion Speechless The Cure You & I

Lana Del Rey Born To Die Dark Paradise Freak High By The Beach Love Religion Ridin’ (ft. A$AP Rocky) Sad Girl Serial Killer Video Games West Coast Young And Beautiful

Lauren Aquilina Wonder

Leonard Cohen Hallelujah

Leona Lewis Bleeding Love

Lil Dicky Lemme Freak

Lil Wayne 6 Foot 7 Foot

Linda Ronstadt I Will Always Love You

Lionel Richie Just Go (ft. Akon)

Lissie Everywhere I Go

Little Big Town Girl Crush

Los Hermanos Anna Julia

LS Jack Ô Carla

Lulu Santos Como Uma Onda Sereia

Lykke Li I Follow Rivers Until We Bleed

M83 My Tears Are Becoming A Sea

Madonna Material Girl

Maiara & Maraisa Medo Bobo

Mariah Carey #Beautiful (ft. Miguel) Emotions Obsessed Touch My Body We Belong Together

Marianas Trench Haven’t Had Enough

Marina & The Diamonds How To Be A Heartbreaker Oh No! Primadonna Teen Idle

Marisa Monte Depois

Maroon 5 Feelings Makes Me Wonder Stutter What Lovers Do

Marvin Gaye Sexual Healing

Maskavo Um Anjo Do Céu

Matthew Perryman Jones Only You

MC G15 Deu Onda

MC Leozinho Se Ela Dança, Eu Danço

MC Marcinho Glamurosa

Michael Sembello Maniac

Miguel Adorn coffee Simple Things Sure Thing

Mike Posner Cooler Than Me I Took A Pill In Ibiza Looks Like Sex

Miley Cyrus 23 (ft. Mike Will Made It, Wiz Khalifa and Juicy J) Wrecking Ball

MKTO Classic

MØ Fire Rides - Night Version

Mumford And Sons Little Lion Man Sigh No More White Blank Page

Muse Neutron Star Collision Plug In Baby Resistance Starlight Supermassive Black Hole Undisclosed Desires

My Chemical Romance Helena (So Long & Goodnight) I Don’t Love You The Light Behind Your Eyes

Natalie La Rose Somebody (ft. Jeremih)

Natiruts Me Namora

Nelly Dilemma (ft. Kelly Rowland)

Neon Trees Animal Everybody Talks Mad Love

Ne-yo Closer

NF Got You On My Mind

Niall Horan Slow Hands

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds O Children

Nick Jonas Jealous Teacher Wilderness

Nigahiga Bromance (ft. Chester See) Nice Guys (ft. Chester See and KevJumba)

Ninja Sex Party FYI I Wanna F Your A Peppermint Creams Sex Training The Decision

Oasis Wonderwall

Olivver The Kid Attica ‘71

Olly Murs Dance With Me Tonight Kiss Me

Omarion Post To Be (ft. Chris Brown and Jhené Aiko)

One Direction Fireproof Happily Night Changes No Control Perfect Stockholm Sydrome Strong You & I

Outkast Hey Ya!

Panic! At The Disco Death Of A Bachelor Nine In The Afternoon

Papas Da Língua Eu Sei

Paramore Ain’t It Fun Misery Business Still Into You

Passanger Let Her Go

Paula Fernandes Não Precisa (ft. Victor e Leo)

P.Diddy Last Night (ft. Keyshia Cole)

Pentatonix Can’t Sleep Love Fantasy I Need Your Love La La Latch Love Again Natural Disaster

Pink F*cking Perfect Please Don’t Leave Me Sober So What Who Knew

Player Baby Come Back

Post Malone Rockstar

Psirico Lepo Lepo

R5 Dark Side

Rae Sremmurd Black Beatles

Raleigh Ritchie Bloodsport

Redfoo New Thang

Rich Homie Quan Flex (Ooh, ooh, ooh)

Richie Campbell Do You No Wrong

Rihanna Can’t Remember To Forget You (ft. Shakira) Don’t Stop The Music FourFiveSeconds (ft. Kanye West and Paul McCartney) Love On The Brain Needed Me Russian Roulette Te Amo Unfaithful Where Have You Been Wild Thoughts (ft. DJ Khaled and Bryson Tiller)

Rise Against Savior

Roberta Campos Minha Felicidade

Robin Thicke Get Her Back

Robot Koch Nitesky (ft. John Lamonica)

Ryan Adams Wonderwall

Sam Smith Nirvana Palace

Sarah Jaffe Clementine

Scorpions Rock You Like A Hurricane

Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox Stacy’s Mom

Scouting For Girls Heartbeat

Seal Kiss From A Rose

Selena Gomez Bad Liar Fetish (ft. Gucci Mane) Good For You Hands To Myself Perfect Wolves (ft. Marshmellow)

Seu Jorge Carolina Mina Do Condomínio

Shania Twain From This Moment On Man! I Feel Like A Woman You’re Still The One

Shawn Mendes There’s Nothing Holding Me Back

Shura Touch (Canvas Remix)

Sia Cheap Thrills Elastic Heart

Simon & Garfunkel Bridge Over Troubled Water

Skank Ainda Gosto Dela Tão Seu Vamos Fugir Vou Deixar

Sleeping At Last As Long As You Love Me Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic Venus

Snoop Dogg Sensual Seduction

Stevie Nicks Edge Of Seventeen

Stevie Wonder Isn’t She Lovely

Story Of The Year Until The Day I Die

Talking Heads Psycho Killers

Taylor Swift Blank Space Love Story Safe And Sound (ft. The Civil Wars) Style Wildest Dreams

Tears For Fears Everybody Wants To Rule The World

The 1975 Chocolate FallingForYou Somebody Else UGH! The Sound

The Archies Sugar, Sugar

The Barr Brothers May 4th

The Bird And The Bee How Deep Is Your Love

The Black Eyed Peas Meet Me Halfway

The Black Keys Howlin’ For You

The Beach Boys Good Vibrations Wouldn’t It Be Nice

The Beatles Hey Jude Yesterday

The Black Eyed Peas Meet Me Halfway

The Cataracs Ready 4 The Weekend (ft. Icona Pop)

The Civil Wars Poison And Wine

The Cure Boys Don’t Cry

The Glitch Mob Between Two Points (ft. Swan)

The Irrepressibles In This Shirt

The Jackson 5 I Want You Back

The Killers Human Somebody Told Me When You Were Young

The Last Shadow Puppets Miracle Aligner

The Lonely Island 3-Way (The Golden Rule) I’m So Humble (ft. Adam Levine) Jizz In My Pants Spring Break Anthem

The Maine I Must Be Dreaming Into Your Arms

The Middle East Blood

The Neighbourhood Daddy Issues #icanteven (ft. French Montana)

The Platters Only You (And You Alone)

The Police Every Breath You Take Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic Roxanne

The Pretty Reckless You Zombie

The Script Breakeven

The Turtles Happy Together

The Weeknd Acquainted A Lonely Night Earned It I Feel It Coming Often Or Nah (Stwo Remix) Starboy The Hills Wicked Games

The White Strips Seven Nation Army

The Zombies Time Of The Season

T.I Whatever You Like

Tim Maia Descobridor Dos Sete Mares Gostava Tanto De Você Não Quero Dinheiro (Só Quero Amar)

Tinashe Superlove Quit You (ft. Lost Kings)

Tom Odell Can’t Pretend

Toni Braxton Un-Break My Heart

Toto Africa

Tove Lo Cool Girl

Tribalistas Aliança Já Sei Namorar Velha Infância

Troye Sivan Fools for him. Wild (ft. Alessia Cara)

U2 One (ft. Mary J Blidge)

Usher DJ Got Us Fallin In Love Hey Daddy (Daddy’s Home) U Remind Me

Van Halen Why Can’t This Be Love

Vinicius Cantuária Só Você

Wesley Safadão Aquele 1% (ft. Marcos & Belutti) Camarote

What So Not Jaguar

Whitney Houston I Have Nothing I Wanna Dance With Somebody I Will Always Love You

xxyyxx About You

War Why Can’t We Be Friends

Yvonne Elliman If I Can’t Have You

Zara Larsson Ain’t My Fault I Would Like So Good

Zella Day Hypnotic (Vanic Remix)

[romanceinthevice]

Early Refills for the Lonely Girl’s Soul

Chapter One: “Life Skills to Kill”

“The tide is high but I’m holding on.”

And the tide is made up of 75 (edit: 80mg actually, they allowed me an increase today) milligrams of thick Methadone that runs a marathon through my bloodstream. It always wins the race for nothing. It’s all for big nothing.

Welcome to the static years. I’ll be your unreliable narrator with a heart of a darkness. Did anyone else read that in University English-lit? I couldn’t get through that book. Then again, I could barely get through campus mid semester.

Die with the lie? (Insert French for yes)

I’m questionable at best. And a terrible fake crier at worst. I need my Methadone every morning or I think about stabbing the walls of my apartment. I need my coffee for the ride to the clinic or I think about crying in the middle of the parking lot. Middle-class tragedy. Spoiled since day one. I NEED. I NEED. I NEED. I need you to read this.

My death wishes used to be bad-girl-charming at 22. Cute in that worried type of way. “She’s such a mess, isn’t it fabulous? I just love how complicated Cat makes everything.” Fast forward three psychiatrists, two evictions, one overdose and a series of voided lovers. Currently they’re just a broken record of empty. No! Really! I look in the mirror and regret it instantly. These days I see right through my own smoke and static; the attempts to distract my social circle from the rattling pharmacy bottles. There’s not enough black lipstick to mute a friend who cares. But there should be. (MAC, take note.)

Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the shameful of them all.

You are. You really are.

End of Chapter One

But maybe it’s mandatory for an author to have a loud reputation. You know what?A writers persona should be shrouded in rumors anyway. Fuck it. The checkered past. An affair with their professor. Or maybe their student. A secret arrest during the holidays years back. Maybe a forgotten relative with unfinished business. A hit and run inspired by Johnny Walker Red. A blood soaked sweater in the back of their closet to remember.

I have convinced myself that every writer deserves a notoriety to keep the masses at arms length. My, my, my, the mystery!

But the troubled-addict-writer is a cliche. And writers hate cliches. But writers also hate themselves.

Well, the good ones do anyway. What? Too far? And where was I before I launched a tangent of misplaced-poor me-bullshit?

Mmmmm. Methadone. My clinic has the pink kind.

I’m not the only one hurting myself, I tell myself over and over.

I think about how dramatic I’m trying to be, wanting to sound right and profoundly right at that. I feel like a bad actress in a dying career resurrecting a classic play. No need for an encore. Just cut. Besides there’s an after-party that I need to disappear into for eight hours.

I hate introducing myself in the first blog. Anything I write feels like the wrong thing. It’s so forced, I’m convinced no one knows themselves that well. Especially not I. Isn’t it better to keep a distance? Perhaps we can be strangers who make prolonged eye contact across the room.

Hi, I’m Cat. I feel like I just moved here. (Wherever here is.) I don’t know how to describe myself without comparing myself to the status quo. So, shallow generalizations about women, here I come!

Most girls find peace in an afternoon of shopping. Or make-up at Ulta. They get lost in the aisles and yell funny remarks to their friends about fashion sensitive culture. Maybe I’m jealous. And by maybe, I mean, absolutely.

Or perhaps They stalk their ex’s social media for clues about them, as if they were solving a murder. A new Facebook friend? An instagram story that makes no sense? It’s not adding up now, but it will. Oh, it will. By the way, who the fuck is Alicia and why are you tagging her?

I’ve always been sicker than the others.i win! Damnit. As the in crowd of seventh grade used to call it, I am “fuckin’ weird, no offense.”

“None taken” I nodded back taking a knee during gym class.

I do like to shop, although always by myself in the lonelier corners of shopping centers. And duh! I stalk many lucky persons on a semi-regular basis. It’s the American way at this point, I do it for my country. But on top of these typical hobbies of the expected feminine divine, I’m orbiting a different side of town. The side that no one thinks to go to for good reason; it smells weird and has no relevance to most standards of living.

Bare with me.

I’m a curious party. I’m also a drug addict in the harshest way. The combination of these two factors equal my favorite hobby; reading pharmacology research papers. Yes, sir. complete with abstracts and hypothesis that outlines the right balance of factual accuracy. Gets me giddy just thinking about it!

I like knowing what the new, FDA approved antidepressants are categorized as. And why they aren’t as good as Prozac. But better than Paxil. And less harmful to the female orgasm. Ladies, you know what I mean. It’s a cruel game when you finally stop thinking suicidal thoughts but suddenly can’t orgasm. God is really a piece of work. A sexist piece of work, come to think of it.

These new prescriptions hold possibilities, a potential change for an addict in the screaming cycle of addiction. It’s hope, baby. I’ve got that shit, I can’t play the bad ass who doesn’t care about anything anymore. I’ve been there and got the t-shirt. I had to rip it off.

Goodbye apathy. I’m blowing you a kiss. Of death.

I’ve been a pharmacy baby since day one. Hell, I was a pharmacy baby hopeful-groupie-wannabe-poser before ever cashing my first Celexa prescription. Or maybe it was Lexapro. Oh well. Same thing. I was so excited to be an official member of all the statistics I read about.

The few. The proud. The prescribed.

It began with therapy in ninth grade for a knot of emotional problems that caused me to isolate and skip class 80% of the school day. My counselor found this worrying. I thought nothing of it. Who gives a fuck about geometry? I wanted to listen to Celebrity Skin on my disc man and walk around the outdoors. If life was a one off, I was going to sit in this meadow with Malibu blaring my ears into deafening bliss.

Girl power. I understood my selfishness on a promising level, one that spoke volumes about who I was going to be, a stunningly poised sociopath with nothing to offer most of society. Adults felt the aura on me most of the time and soon their would be meetings about my “goals” and “friends.”

No wonder people were worried. I was a walking red-flag of rage and I hadn’t even gotten my first period. I didn’t have many good reasons to be pissed off and I was usually morbid about something if I wasn’t in my bed. This wasn’t looking ideal for a freshman with zero college ambition and no interest in recreational activities that would accompany academia and no doubt introduce me to new social groups. I wasn’t athletic enough to play school sports, and I was too wrapped up in my depression (which had no real cause, according to my family).

And they were rightful in their judgment. I was better off than most of my school friends, sporting the latest lava lamp that glowed my room a deep purple or concert tickets that we would countdown the days too. I got to see Ja Rule and Ashanti up close and personal much to the dismay of my classmates deep in the bleachers bitching constant complaints.

I didn’t have it bad. And I knew it, which made me feel worse. I hadn’t the faintest idea what my problem was. I couldn’t smile anything or even pretend to for the sake of my parents, who just wanted me to have a normal teenage existence that didn’t kill every mood with some invisible, existential threat. I must have been the most annoying fourteen year old with a lava lamp.

This stubborn depression led me to weekly ninety-dollar checks that were flawlessly made out to one Dr. Pat. Pharmacy Baby’s first shrink. Awww!

We all have to start somewhere. My start was Thursday’s at 4pm. This appointment made me vacate the bu on an earlier stop than the routine one. Kids soon began to take notice. And they couldn’t comprehend why I had to see a doctor four times a month. I must have leukemia or some other young person disease they saw on Dawson’s Creek. I must have been really sick, dying really! Afterall, my sole school-bus pal Kendra saw her hair stylist more than her primary care physician and the dentist combined. Highlights are a serious thing, she would state this as seriously as a heart attack. It made me chuckle and she never understood.

Unfortunately, the punchline was that I was dying. At fourteen years old I knew this was the start of a love-hate relationship with “irony.”

At my worst I was existing and not knowing why. I was wanting to sleep life away. Sleep was the answer.

At my best I was killing my old-self, the girl who reeked of unexplained trauma and bad moods and now this annoying trademark “irony.” The metamorphosis came around the third month of counseling. An anniversary with Dr. Pat meant we drank hot cocoa and did worksheets revolving around behavior and choices. Fuck prom, I had Dr. Pat! I was blossoming.

And i was learning about the power that was “change” and how it could empower you like a butterfly. Or whatever insect fit the worksheets. I sometimes felt like a spider, but I never told Dr. Pat this.

It’s never easy to kill the old you. Even more demanding to bury the old body, and just praying it won’t come back from the dead and replace you. Hoping wasn’t enough. I had to ask with my eyes closed.

I wanted to be a butterfly. I needed my wings. (Commence the beginning of secret plans that were thoughtlessly detailed in my diary, ready to be exposed any minute to a league of jealous girls re-enacting Mean Girls). The writer inside me cringed. Privacy truly died before Twitter. No girls thoughts were safe. They would never be safe. I would need to find new ways for my secrets and dreams. Then, I would fly away into the night, into a new city of strangers, outside of a small minded town of familiars. I wouldn’t need numbers in my yearbook. I was going to find what I was looking for.

But what the fuck was I looking for. Sweet sixteen started to taste sour.

I remembered Dr. Pat told me, “Happiness is a butterfly.”

I wrote it down in my diary, much to my own dismay, hoping that it would be both safe and true.

By: Caitlin Alysabeth Thomas, March 10, 2020, “pharmacy baby blogs,” “Romance in the Vice.”

[daresplaining]

Defenders Countdown: 8 Days

Shadowland, or “Friends Don’t Let Friends Get Possessed By Demons”

    Shadowland is (so far) Marvel’s only Daredevil-centric cross-series event, which ties together most of the street-level heroes in a frenzy of angst and ninja fighting. While The Defenders will be telling a new story, we could imagine it drawing inspiration from Shadowland, so here, for your convenience, is a brief overview.   

    Our story starts in Ed Brubaker’s run, toward the end of Daredevil volume 2. As usual, Matt is going through a difficult time-- but he’s not the only one. The Hand, having just discovered that their previous leader, Elektra, was actually a Skrull in disguise (and more to the point-- is now dead), are in search of new management. For reasons that will become clear later, they set their sights on Matt and go about recruiting him in the usual way-- by attacking his loved ones and destroying his life.          

Matt: “What the hell are you saying?!”

Lady Bullseye: “We have not been attacking you and yours... we have been preparing you to accept this gift. Clearing away your problems... not targeting them. Your friends will be your lieutenants... and you will know a power you can only dream of. Free of the tragedies of this life you’ve led, Matt Murdock...”

Daredevil vol. 2 #115 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, and Matt Hollingsworth

    To the surprise of absolutely no one, Matt says no. (Honestly, what were the Hand expecting?). However, Wilson Fisk soon gets wind of the vacancy and decides that what he really needs in his life is his own personal ninja army. When Matt hears about this, he starts to rethink his decision. He has no interest in leading the Hand, but he’d much rather have them under his control than Fisk’s. He and his new ally Izo (Stick’s mentor and Matt’s... grand-mentor?) make a last-minute plan, and Matt contacts the Hand about his change of heart.     

Matt: “Do you still want me to join you? To lead the Hand?”

Fisk: “No!! What is he doing?!”

Izo: “I think it’s called stealing your thunder...”

Daredevil vol. 2 #500 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Thus, Matt becomes the Hand’s new head honcho, with all of the power and responsibilities that come with the position. He acts as Hand-y as possible, goes about trying to make peace between the various Hand factions, builds himself a giant fortress in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, and starts wearing a black costume. But he also sticks to the plan that he and Izo made, through which he is able to justify involving himself with such a nasty organization: He attempts to use the Hand as a force for good, turning them from a group of assassins into something more like... a ninja police force.

Matt: “Hell’s Kitchen is now under the protection of the Hand!”

Daredevil vol. 2 #504 by Andy Diggle, Roberto de la Torre, and Matt Hollingsworth

    It’s worth noting that Elektra, back when she was young and naive, tried a similar sneaky tactic with the Hand, and it turned out terribly. Matt’s luck is not much better, and what neither he nor Izo realize is that he was chosen not for his leadership skills or badassery, but because he’s a sucker. Snakeroot, the secret group that pulls the Hand’s strings from behind the scenes, have been searching for a host for their patron demon, the Beast-- and Matt is the perfect candidate. The citizens of Manhattan and other street-level heroes are already nervous about all the ninjas suddenly running around, but it becomes clear that something is horribly wrong with Matt when Bullseye gets involved. In an attempt to kill Matt, he blows up an apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt responds by gutting Bullseye.          

Bullseye: “W-wait... th-this ain’t... ain’t like you... Y-you wouldn’t...”

Luke: “We gotta shut this down, like now--”

Danny: “Oh, my god, he’s gonna-- No no no no--”

Shadowland #1 by Andy Diggle, Billy Tan, Christina Strain, et al. 

    It’s all downhill from here. This moral lapse is enough for the Beast to start to gain some serious control. Chaos erupts in the streets as the demonic influence infects the area, and Matt gets himself an actual throne to sit on, sets up a dungeon in the basement of his creepy fortress for the criminals his ninjas bring in, and just generally goes full-on bad guy.  

Matt: “At this very moment, the so-called heroes of New York are plotting to destroy me, along with everything I’ve built here in Shadowland. I will do whatever it takes to ensure they do not succeed.”

Carlos: “Matt, the people you’re supposed to be protecting are tearing up the streets! Fighting-- looting-- killing each other for pennies! Everyone out there is terrified!”

Matt: “They should be.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #510 by Andy Diggle, Antony Johnston, Marco Checchetto, et al.

    Matt’s friends in the superhero community are... concerned to say the least, and so Matt/Beast attempts to get them on his side. Carlos La Muerto, AKA Black Tarantula, was part of the plan from the beginning, and is forced to hang out in the fortress and watch firsthand as his friend goes nuts. Elektra offers herself up as an ally so that she can keep an eye on the situation. Matt tries to recruit Colleen Wing via her mother’s history with the Hand. He offers all of his superhero friends an opportunity to join his army, but when they approach him en masse and (gasp) refuse, he doesn’t take it well. 

Matt: “Consider my ban on killing hereby lifted! Slay them all!”

Shadowland #3 by Andy Diggle, Billy Tan, Christina Strain, et al.

    By this point, it’s abundantly clear to everyone that something is very wrong with Matt. Izo and Elektra, having snuck into the Hand’s headquarters and seen what Snakeroot is up to, provide the demonic possession explanation, and the street heroes start pondering some serious solutions. 

    Meanwhile, Foggy decides to take action. All on his own, he breaks into the Shadowland fortress to confront his best friend.  

Foggy: “No. I’m not going to walk away. I’m not. You may have turned your back on me, Matt... but I haven’t turned my back on you. Hell, you’ve saved me more times than I can remember... it’s about time I returned the favor!”

Daredevil vol. 2 #511 by Andy Diggle, Roberto de la Torre, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Foggy’s sudden appearance does the impossible-- it momentarily weakens the Beast’s control over Matt. That’s just how powerful their friendship is.  

Foggy: “P-please, M-Matt-- i-it’s me-- F-Foggy--! I know this-- this isn’t you-- You’re b-better than this! You’re my friend!”

Matt: “F-Foggy...?”

Shadowland #5 by Andy Diggle, Billy Tan, and Victor Olazaba 

    This gives the street heroes the opportunity they need to pull out their secret weapon-- exorcism via chi punch. 

Matt/Beast: “Is that all you have left, Iron Fist? Did you really think the last of your pathetic chi energy would be enough to defeat me?”

Danny: “Honestly? Nope. But y’see, that’s the thing about chi-- it’s a life force. That which destroys can also create. The blow wasn’t meant to harm you... it was meant to heal. Wakey wakey, Matt.”

Shadowland #5 by Andy Diggle, Billy Tan, and Victor Olazaba

    With the Beast’s hold broken, Elektra psychically enters Matt’s mind and gives him the moral support he needs to kick the Beast out for good-- by committing the mental equivalent of seppuku (don’t worry, he’s fine). 

Matt: “H-help me! I can’t-- can’t hold it back-- for long-- Elektra! Please-- p-please kill me--!”

Elektra: “Shhh, my love... I am here to end your suffering.”

Matt: “[...] Please, tell them, I... I’m sorry.” 

Shadowland #5 by Andy Diggle, Billy Tan, and Victor Olazaba

    Thus ends the demon’s grip on Manhattan. The city calms down to its normal level of barely controlled chaos. Black Panther takes over hero duties in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt goes out west for some alone time. Fisk gets control of the Hand. But all of those are stories for another post. 

[thingsbeforeimthirty]

Top ten emotional sitcom moments!

Marshals Dad dies - How I Met Your Mother. Marshal is so excited about his news from the fertility clinic and the first person he wants to tell is his best friend, his dad! It punches you right in the gut that first time and doesn’t get any easier upon repeat viewings. Also knowing that Jason Segal wasn’t aware that it was going to happen and that his reaction is one of genuine shock and raw emotion makes it all the more heart-breaking. Don’t get me started on the countdown.

 Doctor Cox is actually attending Ben’s funeral - Scrubs. This is scrubs at its finest, taking you in one direction, big laughs full on humour and then pull the rug from under you! They set you up with this loveable, goofy character, the complete opposite of Dr Cox (very similar to JD), despite this they’re best friends. Only to realise that at the end of the episode, Ben’s cancer treatment didn’t work, he actually died and they are attending his funeral, not his sons birthday party.  The sad musical accompaniment of Joshua Radin’s, Winter is enough to make the coldest hearts break.

 Will’s dad leaving again – Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Throughout the series, Will’s parents are both fairly absent, (the premise of the show is him moving to live with his Aunt and Uncle). However, his dad abandoning him as a child, then popping back up when he realises that Will is living in Bel-Air and that he might get some money from him, then bailing again is generally awful. However, it is the reaction of Will, “Why don’t he want me man?” and the embrace with his father figure Uncle Phil, gives the final blow!

 Chandler at the adoption agency -FRIENDS. When Erica mistakes Monica and Chandler for a reverend and a Doctor and they pretend that’s true, subsequently Erica decides she won’t let them adopt her baby. A sweet moment ensues in which Chandler explains to Erica just how ready and committed they are to having a baby. “My wife, she’s already there… she’s  a mother, without a baby” It’s the contrast of such a tender moment being delivered by the sarcastic, joking Chandler.

 The family reacting to Paul’s death – 8 Simple Rules. The circumstances surrounding this episode are really what make it so devastating, John Ritter, the actor who played Paul, died in real life of a heart attack. The reactions to his death on screen are real, genuine emotions from his TV family. Also the death being something so normal and relatable, makes it more distressing, the family churning over their last words spoken to their father, tears every time.

 Kitty’s grief over Red’s mother – That 70’s Show Another relatable death, sometimes people die who we don’t have the best relationship with, it’s hard to process those emotions, the what if’s, the wasted time. In this episode, Red’s mother dies after being her usual spiteful self at a family dinner, all of the families reactions are upsetting, but it is Kitty, the maternal, nurturer of the show that hits hardest. Kitty goes into over drive, baking and taking care of things, until she runs out of ingredients and has no form of escapism left, ultimately breaking down in the arms of her husband and son. TEARS!!!

 Howards mother’s death – The Big Bang Theory. Another scene brought about by genuine tragedy, the death of the voice actress who played Mrs Wolowitz, meant that the character also died. It opened up some heartfelt discussions from the characters about times spent with Howards mother, a strange one for the audience as we never actually see her on screen, but feel their loss and pain all the same.

 Terry gets racially profiled – Brooklyn 99. Brooklyn 99 is big comedy, huge laughs and general silliness, however a show about cops in America would be foolish not to take the opportunity to reflect what is happening on the streets in their country. Terry the most loveable, honourable guy in the precinct is stopped, whilst looking for his daughters blanket, simply because he is black. Later, Jake and Amy try and gently discuss the incident with Terry’s kids. It is awful to watch and even more awful when you realise this actually happens to innocent people everyday. I’m not crying…well I am, and so are you!

 “Do it for Her” – The Simpsons. I could write a whole list based on The Simpsons episodes that make me cry but this one is a real hard hitter. In a flashback episode, brought about by looking at photo albums, Bart and Lisa wondering why there are no photos of Maggie. We learn that Homer had just left the Nuclear Plant, and was working a job that he loved and was fulfilled, however after they discover Marge is pregnant, Homer is forced to grovel to Mr Burns for his job back to support his growing family. The closing scenes we see Mr Burns installing a sign “Don’t forget you’re here forever”, we see that Homer has a whole collection of Maggie photos, strategically placed to make the sign read “Do it for her”! maaaaaan, I’m tearing up!

 Dwight & Jim’s Heart to Heart in the stairwell – The Office. Another show hitting you in the feels on several occasions, but this one is a more subtle episode, Jim and Dwight connecting over their shared heartbreaks. It’s a genuinely sweet moment, and proves that their friendship is more than just Bears, Beets and Battlestar Galactica.