annoying-song

anonymous asked:

God, I love music so much but it seems that almost every song involves romance... Really? Alloromantics have nothing else to sing about?

right??? i personally do not find romantic songs as annoying as other romance stuff because i like to think of them as describing alterous attraction instead, but knowing that in reality, everything is just about romance and it’s :(((((

i would really love it if people could start singing more about things like your love for your pets.

anonymous asked:

INFINITY AND HISTORY OMFG DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED OKAY THOSE SONGS REALLY ANNOY ME IDK

WHAT DID HISTORY EVER DO TO YOU

youtube

Noel Fielding moves like Jagger - I guess this had to happen at some point 

thebaconsandwichofregret asked:

Now see you could write absolutely beautiful heart wrenching angst filled force bond fic or you could write a crack fic about Rey realising she can use her Force Bond to sing really annoying songs in her head all day and irritate the life out of Kylo Ren so he can't get any work done on a super important evil project of his.

The word rehabilitation is beginning to get on Kylo Ren’s nerves.

It turns out that not even bacta can fix the massive internal damage caused by a bowcaster (and then by hitting said bowcaster wound repeatedly). Theoretically, he’s aware that the Force is capable of such healing, but it’s never been a part of his particular skillset. The Supreme Leader might know, but the Supreme Leader has never been in the habit of protecting his student from his own folly.

Rightly, Kylo thinks. He will never attain true power if he is coddled and protected.

That doesn’t make rehabilitation any more palatable. He tears his wound open again - twice - trying to leave the infirmary before he should really even be sitting up. Somewhere on the ship is a steadily growing pile of spare parts from the med droids he’s torn apart. He hasn’t killed any people yet, but chances are that’s because there haven’t been any people near him since Hux had his Stormtroopers load him onto a shuttle.

He can’t stand the quiet.

It reminds him of things best left forgotten. Breathing techniques and meditation. Of the girl’s face cast under purple light, breathing in the Force. It gives him room to hear other things. The roar of a Wookiee. A woman’s whisper, a name and a person long since lost. The face of my son. One of the med-droids loses its head simply for the sound it makes, the clatter and tear of metal.

At first, he’s not sure that the humming is real. Visions, hallucinations, they’re not exactly unheard of when it comes to Force users. Particularly not ones that are haunted the way Kylo Ren is. But the sound is simple, sweet. It immediately rules out the only woman he knows would hum for him.

Leia Organa had never carried a tune in her life. As for sweet…

Alone in his hospital bed, he snorts. It’s agony. He tells himself it’s because of the pressure the sound puts on his wrecked abdomen.

It’s not a constant sound. It comes in fits and spurts, usually when he’s sleeping. He sleeps a great deal, these days. If you can call it sleep, when your mind tortures itself with the brush of fingers on cheek, the burn of a lightsaber carving a path over the memory.

And swirling through all of it, the humming. It makes him think of…work. Of fiddling with things until they aren’t broken anymore. It’s not the only thing that creeps in. Soft things brush up against his edges, weak things. Worry, fear, affection. There is a laughter in his mind that has never been there before - quiet, but not mocking.

Gentle.

“Stop it,” he mutters. The humming doesn’t rise or drop in response. It continues on as though he isn’t even there. Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it!

The med-droid crashes into the reinforced durasteel door, crashes into pieces. And for a moment, there is silence.

Another moment.

Another moment.

And Kylo Ren begins to remember how much he hates the quiet.

You can…hear me?

He’s only ever heard a handful of words from the girl in his life, but he recognises her instantaneously. Embarrassingly fast, if it weren’t embarrassingly slow, how long it’s taken him to put two and two together. Rehabilitation, he decides, is stagnating his brain as well as his body.

He twists through the Force, reaching for her. You have no right.

A snort. That’s rich, coming from you.

Kylo Ren finds he has no response to that.

You are weak, he thinks back instead. Untrained. How are you here?

He expects to hear her brag. About her own power, about the superiority of Luke Skywalker’s tutelage, of everything that was his in another life.

Instead, she pauses. He can feel her thinking, even if he doesn’t know exactly what conclusions are running through her mind. The ruined metal of the med-droid curls in on itself a little more.

I don’t think I ever left, she says finally, and if she doesn’t sound pleased about it, she doesn’t sound distressed, either. The thought is slow. Measured. Thoughtful.

Even the way she thinks is obnoxious.

The least you can do is be silent, he thinks savagely, because she has torn his face in two and rejected him besides, and he has really had it up to here with scavenger girls who by rights should be beneath his notice.

Another pause. For a brief, victorious moment, he thinks he has silenced her.

And then the humming creeps back in, simple and sweet, and he gets nothing further out of her for the next week.