noahfence but 2017 should be the year we start treating melanie martinez like the shit that she is
her music is all about rape, trauma, abuse and glorifying mental illness (especially psychosis) and that’s broadcasted to her audience which is literally just middle school girls
you wouldn’t believe how many girls my age say shit like “ugh im such a psycho!!” or “sorry, im totally insane” thinking its cool. and I know girls have always done this, but it’s so much worst now that a popular artist like melanie perpetuates these ideas in their brains
its so damn toxic. I remember when I had this mentality I literally denied help from ANYONE and its because of artists like melanie martinez
lyrics like “you think im gonna tell the psychiatrist something is wrong” and “all the best people are crazy” shouldn’t be listened to by little girls.
melanie martinez makes shit music and her career belongs in the garbage, bye
aaaa thank you so much that makes me so so happy!! :,) (I didn’t know if you wanted the prompts together or not, but that’s how I wrote them. Also, sorry the ending is shit I had nO IDEA how to close this out yyikes) ~~~ words: 588
warnings: swearing??? ~ “Happy Birthday!” You surprised Jerome at the door, a grin on your face. You adored birthdays, and had been anticipating his since he told you the date.
Jerome, however, was anything but happy. His normally cheery expression had fallen to a grimace, and he sulked past you, mumbling under his breath. Your smile faltered, and you watched him open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and drop onto the couch.
“Come on Jazz, cheer up.” You regained yourself quickly and ventured over to where he sat, that same bitter look on his face. “It’s your day.” You dropped next to him, turning your body to face him.
He caught you off guard by throwing a glare your way, before going back to his water. “Can we not do this whole ‘birthday’ thing, maybe?” He spoke lowly, setting his jaw in annoyance and huffing out a breath.
You felt yourself deflate. You hadn’t intended on upsetting him.
“Sorry, didn’t realize saying ’happy birthday’ was such a big deal.” You shoved off the couch and trudged into the kitchen, lifting the cover off the small cake you had made him. It seemed stupid and pointless now. You had put so much effort into making him happy, and all you did was anger him.
You picked up the plate holding the cake and carried it back into the living room. His hands tightened and un-tightened around the bottle in his lap, and he hardly payed you any mind when you reappeared in front of him. You slammed the plate down on the table, startling him slightly, and glared.
“Here’s your fucking cake.”
You stormed down the hall to your bedroom, and let yourself out onto the fire escape. You sat down on the small metal landing and dangled your legs over the edge. It wasn’t long before you could hear another body drop beside you, and a hand was present on your thigh.
“The cake tastes really good.” Jerome mumbled, and you glanced next to you, seeing him place the almost full plate beside him. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” You muttered back, crossing your arms over your chest and staring out at the city, the sun slowly going down. You still felt angry, but not angry enough to get up and leave. You just sat with him in silence, until he broke it.
“I guess I should’ve told you I hate my birthday, huh?”
You slowly uncrossed your arms, looking to him. Your face softened as you saw him, his eyes refusing to meet yours. You let your hand cover his on your thigh and sighed, a sign that you were no longer upset with him.
“They always sucked as a kid, y'know?” He shifted his gaze from his lap to the skyline. “My mom made them feel like hell, and it made me feel like shit. Like I just wasn’t worth anything y'know?”
You nodded to show your understanding, and squeezed his hand. “Jerome, believe me when I say this: you’re worth way more than you think…”
He finally looked to you, a grin forming on his lips. It made you smile too. If he was smiling, you knew he was alright.
“I’m sorry I tried to celebrate your birthday…” You giggled, making him laugh. “I promise I won’t do it again.”
He let his laugh fade to small chuckles, and looked down at the plate of cake still beside him, taking your other hand in his as well.
“I know we’re not celebrating or anything, but can I still have my cake? It’s really fucking good.”