its wheels


Melanie Martinez + Songs titles.

Last night I dreamt that Lance was crying in front of Keith, as if it was happening in one of the next episodes of VLD. Hear me out.

The Red and Blue Paladin ran into each other during the night and started talking somewhere in the castle while everyone else was asleep, I can’t recall about what. 

At some point, Lance did his thing with the lips, bowed his head and started sobbing. Whatever the reason, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry, Keith. I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating.

It was so sudden and unexpected that Keith didn’t know what to do apart from instinctively murmuring his name out of concern, but felt the need to pull him closer to his chest. He wanted to protect him, to make him feel safe, and he knew that a hand on his shoulder wouldn’t be enough. That was not what Lance needed right then.

Keith just let him get it all out. He wasn’t even trying to shush him, just fiercely holding him in his arms; ‘cause they were rivals and they would spend most of the time pretending to hate each other, but the truth was oh so different.

The ending credits scrolled in complete silence except for Lance’s sobs in the background.


Its been one year since I made my first vine! S to celebrate I did a remake!

Janet MacIntyre was smoking in her car in the high school parking lot. It was, for a lot of reasons, infinitely preferable to eating in the cafeteria. She missed out on lunch, but the cigarettes kept her from getting hungry, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

Just one more year and she’d never have to see any of these people ever again.

She nearly screamed when the passenger side door opened, and someone sat down next to her. She didn’t recognize him. She had, unconsciously, started holding her cigarette like she was planning to stab him in the eyes with it. He looked at the cigarette. He looked at her.

He was clearly another student, but he was fucking huge. Maybe on the wrestling team. If it hadn’t been for the small amount of baby fat still softening all the edges of his face, she might have confused him for a teacher. He dressed like a teacher.

“Sorry,” he said. “In retrospect I can see how that might be unsettling for you.” Army brat, maybe. Something about the way he talked, or the way he carried himself, or the way his eyes bored holes into whatever he was looking at. Stiff as a board with a nail in it.

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