#i guess what I’m getting at is Taylor’s always been such an integral part of my musical journey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream VII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 034

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave; They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Brave

Broken hearts are made for two

One for me and one for you

Tell me have you heard the news

We are now in love

Fall break from school is scheduled during the last three days of the last week of October. Before she can take some time off, Iris has midterm articles to write and grade. Barry is busy testing DNA samples or whatever it is CSIs do so they don’t see each other for several days after he leaves her house the morning after Wally’s party.

On the Wednesday of Fall Break, the first day off, Iris lets herself sleep in until almost 10, and then she packs up her bag, stuffing a notebook, a couple of pens, and her laptop in, before dressing comfortably in a pair of dark leggings, and a white oversized CCU hoodie she stole from her brother. Throwing on a pair of white low-top Chuck Taylors, Iris heads out to Jitters. It’s a rainy day, and other than workers who’ve no choice, not many people are out. A storm is brewing for later in the night, the sky dark and cloudy, but for the moment, it’s just a steady rain that has Iris walking carefully to her car and driving a lot slower, thanking her lucky stars that she finds a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Back in high school, especially once her dad had gotten her a used car during the beginning of senior year, Iris and Linda would come to Jitters to do homework or stare at the college boys who would come in. The coffee shop has expanded since then, buying the small antique store that had been next door and adding more seating and a bar that specializes in alcoholic coffee brews. It’s still one of Iris’s favorite places to work because now the manager is a young Black woman with wild curly hair always dyed in one bright color or another and a soft spot for mid to late 90s R & B female singers. The shop is comfortable, with couches and overstuffed chairs in mismatched browns and beiges and blues set up near the walls and windows and several tables, two- and four-tops, taking up the space in the middle. Two of the walls are exposed brick and the others are painted stark white and feature framed prints in wild colors. It’s changed since she was a child, but Iris likes to think that she’s changed with it, that as this integral part of Central City has grown and added light and color and comfort, so too has Iris.

Today, her plan is to outline at least two entire stories from interviews she’s completed over the last couple of weeks before she even thinks about leaving the coffee shop. She settles into one of her favorite spots, a soft navy armchair behind a small circular table. She sets up her laptop, her notebook with her notes, her pens, and once a waiter drops off her brown sugar latte and a chocolate muffin, she lets the sound of the rain, and the Erykah Badu playing on the speakers, get her into her work.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Iris looks up just as Barry stops beside her. She’s been at Jitters for just over three hours now, and her shoulders are cramped and she’s coffee high and hungry. The rain is still pounding down, so hard that it looks like it’s raining sideways, and Iris curses her inability to get any work done in her own home. Besides all that, she’s reeling. She’s just outlined a story of a man explaining the story of the woman he’d loved his entire life: from growing up together in a small city in North Carolina, to becoming best friends and de facto siblings when his parents died and her dad agreed to foster him; from not dating but seeming like it in high school, to falling for other people in college; from having other spouses and children to one night of passion before they found their way back to each other when she decided to leave her husband after his wife died. It was a ride from start to finish, such a roller coaster of feelings—of love and pain and joy and heartbreak—that make Iris feel a bit heavy with them, a little loopy with them.

Barry stands to the side of her, towering above her, in as simple an outfit as what she’s wearing, a pair of black joggers and a white sweatshirt. She’s startled that he's there because she figures that he should be at work, but her heart does tick up at the sight of him. That is, until she lets her eyes rake over his lean frame. He looks a little...down, like a physical manifestation of the story she’s just outlined. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes aren’t carrying their usual sparkle, in addition to the darkening bags that frame them. He’s also a little stubbly, his jaw covered in a fine layer of coarse hair, his pallor a bit ashen.

(Iris will also admit that she thinks he looks sort of, well, good, like this; but that’s neither here nor there and she feels terrible—and maybe a bit perverted—that she’s lusting after him when he’s obviously going through something.)

“Hey,” she responds softly, and she stands up to assess him further. He seems so much taller than her like this, when they’re both in sneakers. She hasn’t seen him since the morning after Wally’s party a week ago when he dropped her back off at her car after spending the night at her place. They’ve talked a bunch and FaceTimed once, but she’s missed him. She reaches up into his hair, rubbing at his scalp a little until his eyes close and he lets out a soft little moan. She keeps at it and then touches gingerly at his face, at some of the moles dotting his cheeks, at the stubble he’s grown. He reaches up to stop her, eyes still closed, and it startles her a little bit. She goes to pull her hand back, but then he holds on to her wrist to bring her hand down and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this. He’s always so open and, maybe not happy, but never so melancholy. There is always a pep to his step, as her grandma used to say, a smile on his face that always said that he feels some sort of contentment in his life. And obviously, people are allowed to have days like this. But it does something to Iris, to see him this way. She wants to lash out at whoever has made him look like this, like he’s drowning in emotions that he can’t easily pull himself out of.

“Bear, you okay?”

He nods, a little woefully, and he catches her eyes again. She bites at her lip as she stares back at him and, on impulse, she leans up to kiss him. It’s just a little more than a peck, something to tell him that she’s there with him; but he takes it a step further, kissing her harder, biting at her lip enough that there’s more pain than she’s expecting. She moans at him and he pulls back, breathing labored.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You didn’t hurt me. Well, a little, but I didn’t hate it.”

That gets a more real smile out of him, and he thumbs at her bottom lip. “Hmm, I guess my good girl is a little bad.”

Iris rolls her eyes and gives him a look, sobering for a minute. “Bear, what’s up? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he nods at her table and asks, “you get a lot of work done?”

She eyes him, wanting to ask again. But she knows how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something and so she lets it go. For the moment.

“Yeah. Or, at least, I’ve done most of what I set out to do.”

He nods, casts his eyes out of the glass, looking at the rain for a moment, watching it fall in heavy sheets. Normally, Iris likes the rain. It’s soothing and she enjoys how it makes the world take a moment to slow down. When she was a little girl, her grandma (her dad’s mother who grew up somewhere at the bottom of Georgia) used to say that when it was raining, and particularly when it was storming, that the Lord was doing His work and that it was the time to be still. They’d have to sit quietly, usually with the TV and the lights off, and just be. And while life doesn’t allow her to drop everything because it’s started raining, there is always a hushed feeling that comes over her when it rains, something tranquil, but also a little turbulent, a little uncontrollable, quite like the very rain she’s reveling in.

“Wanna come over?” he wonders, voice unsure.

She nods readily. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

He goes to return her mug and plate while she packs her bag back up. He meets her at the door, opening up a large umbrella and throwing an arm over her shoulder to lead her out into the rain. She walks with him past her own car as he takes her a short black away to where his Jeep is parked. He helps her into the Jeep first, watches as she tucks her bag under the seat, and then closes the door before walking around to the other side.

They ride to his house in silence. He lives far on the south side of town, a good twenty or so minutes from downtown if they hit the highway. Instead, he takes the streets, adding another ten minutes to their drive. Iris doesn’t mind; as she said, she likes the rain, and in this big Jeep, tires sluicing easily through the flooding roads in a way her car definitely can’t, she’s enjoying the ride. He had silently connected her phone to his car’s Bluetooth, so she took it to mean that the music choices were hers. She contemplates finding something that he might like, but she figures he likely wouldn’t even be paying much attention. So she decides on one of her slower playlists, ones with songs that dip and fade, that take listeners on a journey of highs and lows, and she lets it play. The lyrics tell too much, so i guess that i should mention; that i am in no condition; to put you in this position; i might fuck this up, although with the heavy weight on Barry’s shoulders right now, she can’t tell if she’s talking to him or vice versa.

He takes them past one of the major shopping districts in the city, past the Apple store and the Michael Kors shop and the one restaurant her dad took her to when she graduated college where pasta dishes run nearer to forty dollars. These shops, and the nicer mall and a couple business buildings that rise as tall as those downtown, lead into longer stretches of road where trees interspersed with beige or cream apartments begin to take up where businesses once stood. He turns into the familiar subdivision that she remembers; it’s a little older than some, which makes sense if his parents were able to buy and pay it off before they were gone. That also means that none of the houses are the same cookie-cutter versions that tend to make up most subdivisions these days, where houses are identical save for the color and the trim and what children’s toys litter the front yard.

He presses a button on his visor and the garage opens as he maneuvers the car so that he can back up into the driveway. He stays in the driveway, though, the music cutting out—but whatever the case, you're my favorite mistake; more than happy to make you—when he turns the ignition off. She waits for him to come around with his umbrella and he half picks her up to pull her out, holding on to her as he walks her through the garage.

She’s as quiet as he is, taking in her surroundings, trying to get a better sense of who he is by what he’s got going on in his house. There isn’t much in the garage; there are a bunch of boxes neatly stacked on one wall, a couple bicycles in another corner. There is a wall full of tools and a couple tables that have science looking tools on them, like a microscope and several bunsen burners and petri dishes, though nothing looks as if they’re currently being used.

He leads her through a door that opens up into the kitchen as he presses another button to close the garage. His house is as cute on the outside as it is on the inside, although she wonders how he might feel if she were to call it cute. The kitchen is large, done in white, gray, and green, with steel appliances, gray marble countertops, and the look of a place that doesn’t get a lot of use. They both stop to toe their shoes off right outside of the kitchen where a couple other pairs of Barry’s shoes lie. His living room is pretty big: a wide space that features a real stone fireplace as the focal point and a large screen television situated above it; a huge sectional in a slate gray with a few throw pillows; and a big square wooden coffee table. It’s masculine and clean without being gaudy or too bro and Iris wonders if he did this himself because even if she never knew her, she doubts a woman who loved flowers as much as his mother would decorate her living room this way.

The dark curtains on the windows are open wide and Iris can see the backyard but the rain coming down in sheets keep her from being able to make out much besides the patio with what looks like a grill and wicker furniture. Iris remembers being told that his dad had been a doctor and his mom some sort of university researcher and the house matches that.

Barry lets her hand go to tug his sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white t-shirt that rises up over his taut belly. She doesn’t avert her eyes, giving herself permission to track how the sweatpants hang off his slim hips and how he isn’t so much sculpted as he’s hard and tight, with just the beginnings of abs. He catches her staring and he smirks at her before dropping down in the corner of the couch, one leg spread out along the seats of the chair.

“Come here,” he tells her, and she moves toward him, sitting so that her back is pressed against that hard chest and his arms are wrapped around her. She grabs a hold of his forearm with both her hands and settles her head in the crook of his elbow. She’s surrounded by his scent, lemongrass and clean cotton, and for a while, the only sounds are his breathing and the pounding of the rain. He touches her, the hand she’s not holding on to stroking up and down her thigh. Her leggings are pretty thin and she feels his touch fully; if she concentrates enough, she can feel those beloved calluses on his hands. He rubs his hand towards the juncture of her thighs and then over her hip and then back again, and like always, his touch ignites something in her, even as she’s wondering how she might be able to help him out of whatever funk he’s found himself in.

“You ready to tell me what’s up?” she wonders a while later.

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet. Tell me about your day.”

She shifts so that she can look back at him, noting the way his eyes have darkened a touch, become grayer like the sky outside, and it’s different from the bright blue-green she remembers from the day of the festival or the wicked blue-gray they always are right before he pushes hard into her.

He blinks down at her and licks his lips slowly. It’s not an explicitly sexual act, even if her body thinks it looks that way, and Iris finds herself lost in it, in whatever he’s emanating. It’s erotic in that it’s intimate, a whirlwind of whatever hurt made him seek her out at Jitters, of whatever still lies unexplored between them, of the attraction that doesn’t ever seem to dissipate.

When she pulls herself out, she tells him, “I was working on a story today. One that made me feel a little bit like how you might be right now.”

“Yeah?”

Wanting to look at him more comfortably, she uses his pause so that she can turn around fully and seat herself on his lap, straddling him. His hands automatically go to her hips, one sliding inside the waist of her leggings so that he can touch her skin.

“Tell me about this story,” he requests. She knows that he’s asking so that he can think about something other than what’s on his mind, so she does, giving a little more than she would originally, working out how she might want to tell the story in her blog.

“It was a couple,” she starts, “that grew up together, in the country. They bonded by playing together in the lake, climbing trees, and playing pranks on each other. And then they start to grow up. Their swimming becomes fraught with tension, the bathing suits showing the same skin, but more, ya know, both of them recognizing the differences, cataloging them, thinking about them, remembering them. They don’t act on it, because they’re friends, and he doesn’t actually understand what it means, that he’s 13 and he keeps dreaming about her at night, waking up with a wet bed and a pounding heart. And then his parents die and her dad, who’s a do-gooder in the community and had been his parents’ best friend, takes him in. Now they’re siblings, but of course not. Regardless, it makes it all harder and odder because she sleeps right down the hall from him, their shared bathroom always smells like her, and he understands now, that he likes her smile and the way she speaks and the curves she seems to develop out of nowhere.”

Barry squeezes at her and she pauses as he asks, “And what about her? How does she feel about him?”

“Well he doesn’t know it, but she’s there too. At first she thinks that she’s just conflating it, confusing their friendship. Because she doesn’t laugh with anyone else like she does with him and she never has as much fun with anyone else as she does him and she never feels as comfortable with anyone else as she does him. He’s her best friend. But she sees him, one night, in his room where the door hasn’t fully closed and he’s, well, he’s masturbating, touching himself, eyes closed and moaning, and for the first time outside of the books she’s read, she feels something. And she knows it’s not just because she’s seen him naked because she’s kissed boys before, she’s felt them hard under her before, but something about this feels different for her.

“But she doesn’t act on it. And he doesn’t either, because remember, he only thinks this is one-sided. They graduate. They go to the same college. But their majors are different and their friends are different. She joins a sorority; he gets into a couple of clubs. Their paths separate, even if they still laugh and talk and be when they’re home for the holidays. Then she gets a boyfriend.”

“She never had a boyfriend before this?” Barry questions.

Iris shrugs. “Sure. But it was high school and the beginning of college. They were mostly hookups that didn’t last. This guy is serious. He’s a couple years older, got his own place, and eventually she moves in with him. Heartbroken, he gets a girlfriend too, one of her friends. That doesn’t last long because she figures out that he’s a little bit in love with the main girl, and then he moves on, to someone sweet, someone who’s been not so subtly hinting that she wants to go out with him.”

Barry seems to be engrossed now. She can’t say that the dark look he was sporting is completely gone, but she can see that he’s not as deep in it, interested in the story she’s weaving.

“They go on to marry these people, even if their hearts are not fully in it. His wife has a kid first, her baby comes next. And meanwhile, they’re still friends. Her dad is still his guardian, so to speak; they are together for whatever holidays they don’t spend with their spouses’ families. They still laugh and talk and be. They still look a little too long and want a little too much.

It comes to a head one Christmas. The gods or fate or just some movement on their parts mean that they both go home to her dad’s house with their spouses and children coming in the next day. But her dad is called in to work so they order take out and watch movies in front of a fire. And they laugh and they talk...and they hug and they kiss and they…

“Be?” Barry tries, a tiny little smile on his face.

She matches it. “Yeah. And it’s beautiful, transcendent. But they’re married. To other people. With kids. So they vow to forget it, to never bring it up again. A couple of years pass. They don’t laugh as much, don’t talk as much. She’s having troubles in her marriage. He is too. He actually consults a divorce attorney because he thinks that it’s unfair to both him and his wife, to live like this. And then the wife dies in a car accident.”

“Oh damn,” he mutters.

“Right,” she agrees. “He’s wracked with grief and more than a little guilt, because he loved her but was never in love with her and she had no idea he was going to leave her.”

“What about her? The one he loves?”

“She’s there for him. She consoles him, cares for him, takes his kid when it gets too hard. Her husband doesn’t like it though. Thinks she’s doing too much, thinks that there’s another reason she’s over at his so much. Later, he learns that this wasn’t a new accusation, that even before she and her husband got married, the husband would question their closeness, would wonder what, if anything, had ever happened between them.

“Eventually she gets tired of it. Her kid is older, in their teens now, and she leaves her husband, packing her things and her kid’s too and moving back in with her dad for a while.”

“And what happens between them?” Barry wants to know.

“He and his son come over more. They hang out more, the four of them, going to dinner and to the movies and to the arcade together. And when their kids are gone, at sleepovers or game nights with their friends, they laugh again, talk again. Fall in love again.”

The ending is implied. Iris closes her eyes when she’s done, letting Barry continue to rub at her back, his fingers so so warm on her skin.

“It's a happy ending,” he says, eventually. “But getting there was a little...depressing.”

Iris chuckles softly, lightheaded again at having gone through that again. It likely didn’t make Barry feel any better, but she’ll take the win that it took his mind away from his own problems, if only for a little while.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “But it reminds me that just because it’s not easy and just because it takes some time, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t worth it.”

He nods, slowly, thinking.

“What about things that are...easy? That come like breathing? That start as a simple dance and just, just keep going?”

She stares down at him and she knows that this is rhetorical. She can see the question in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his hands still kneading her flesh. It would be easy to retreat, to tell him that nothing is ever easy, even if the reality is that it is because they are, because they fall into each other so effortlessly, that she’s terrified. There are always hiccups, obstacles, and the fact that she can’t find any keeps her on edge, waiting, anticipating trouble she knows must be coming. She doesn’t want to believe it, wants to stand firm in them—stand firm in the lyrics she keeps hearing, if you decide to stay, know that there is no escape; there's no one here to save you—and she holds onto that as he asks,

“Don’t you think it’s worth it, Iris? Even if it’s this easy?”

She can’t speak, but his eyes are imploring her to answer. Pleading with her for a response. And however terrified Iris is, or however much Iris tells stories, she is not a liar. So she nods and whispers to him, “yes.”

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he kisses her. He squeezes at her waist and leans up to capture her mouth. She meets him with his same fervor and it’s different, this kiss. She knows the passion of his mouth when he’s high, the boldness when he’s teasing her. But this is new, this is fervor, warmth and agony and doubt and pleasure, all wrapped up together.

(Something also tells Iris that there is another word for this, that this is the part of the story where feelings would be laid on the table, where hearts would be splayed open and she’d say it, or he would, and the other would respond in kind, with declarations of adoration, of infatuation, yearning, of any other word that means what she can’t say yet.

But she feels it, what she’s wanting to say, what she thinks he is saying, in this kiss. It is slow and nasty, all tongue and mouth. Her eyes flutter closed at the feeling, at how he licks into her mouth and then sucks on her bottom lip, at how he licks against her tongue and then holds her face to bring her closer to him. She feels it, she feels it, she feels him…)

He stands, holding on to her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, tightening her arms around his neck as he carries her through the house. The kisses don’t stop, though they become shorter, more mouth now, and he takes her down a long hallway past several doors until he turns into one at the end of the hall. She makes a quick note of the light gray and burnt orange decor, the side tables holding books and knickknacks, the one window that spans nearly the entire wall, but she focuses most heavily on the king-sized bed on which he throws on her, the soft comforter half hanging off the bed.

Her clothes come off first, Barry pulling her sweatshirt over her head and yanking her pants over her hips. He comes out of his own clothes as she discards her underwear, and then he’s between her thighs again. But she wants something else first so she taps his shoulder to flip them and then she’s hovering above him.

She gives him a kiss, slow and sweet, and then she makes her way down his chest, kissing as she goes. She loves the feel of his skin against her lips, likes how his skin tastes as she presses tongue kisses on him. His belly clenches and unclenches under her ministrations, and by the time she’s looking back up at him from her position near his crotch, she can see the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing.

She reaches for him, wrapping her fingers around his dick. It’s long like the rest of him, and thicker than she would have expected just looking at him. It’s a pretty dick, the base the same color as him, the head slightly pinker. It’s a little veiny, but the skin is smooth, and already he’s starting to leak. She lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his own gaze hooded. In her peripheral, she sees his hands grip the bed sheets and she revels in how she hasn’t even done anything and his control is starting to slip.

“Tell me what you want, Bear.”

She says the words softly, but Barry doesn’t miss the cheek that lies under it, if the slight smirk he gives her is any indication.

“Your mouth,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

She shudders at the tone of his voice, at the vision of her on her knees for him. She likes it.

“I bet you have too,” he guesses.

Without a response, she licks him, holding him at the base and running her tongue up one side of him. She does it again, and then one more time, acquainting herself with the taste of him and the satiny feel of him on her tongue, and then she adjusts and covers the whole of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

She hums around him and she sucks him down, taking him until he hits her throat. Then she pulls back until just the tip remains. She licks around his head and sucks him there, letting the spit pool in her mouth, letting it mix with his own wet. She opens her mouth and lets it slide out, dripping down onto him, and her own body starts to drip at his wrecked whisper, “god, baby, look at you.”

She adds her hands, palming his testicles in one and rubbing her spit down the length of him with the other. She finds a rhythm, sucking him down, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, and then stroking his back up. Barry keeps his hand clenched in the sheets, but he cants himself into her mouth, rocking his hips lightly. She’s getting into it, loving the way he responds to her.

“Come here,” he says, suddenly, reaching for her, and she pulls back with a soft pop.

“Barry?” she furrows her eyebrows in question.

He gives her a gentle smile and grabs at her arm; Iris moves at his request, crawling up his body.

“But you didn’t finish,” she says, pouting a little.

“I know. I want to come when I’m inside you.”

She’s mollified by that, and he settles her on his lap.

“You were so good though, baby,” he says, kissing her. “My good, good girl.”

He reaches down to touch her, slipping his fingers easily into her sex. He groans into her mouth at the feel and he pulls back to ask,

“Is this all for me? Did you get wet sucking me off, good girl?”

She nods, rocking her hips against his hand, against his sex still hard beneath her. “Can, can you…?”

He tilts his head at her, fingers still caressing inside of her. “Can I?”

She huffs out a small laugh because he’s always fucking with her. “You said you wanted to come inside of me,” she reminds him.

“I did, didn’t?” He takes his time removing his fingers, eyes on her as he does. Even with the window curtains wide open, the dark sky has the room dark

(and she doesn’t dismiss the fact that the window faces the side of someone else’s house, where they could be seen if the neighbors were so inclined to watch)

and his eyes look a little like molten lead in the faint rainy light like this. He goes to reach over to his bedside table but Iris stops him.

“I want to feel you,” she says.

He licks his lips and she doesn’t mistake the twitch of his dick she feels under her. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”

He nods once and again, and then he takes her by her hips and slides her down his cock.

After, Iris decides that this time is the single most erotic experience of her life.

They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way.

She rides him, and he’s so full in her like this, so deep in her like this. His back is against his fabric headboard and she’s so close to him, her knees jutting into the headboard, her thighs holding around his hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest, nipples pebbling with each brush on those hard planes.

She holds on to him with her hands holding the back of his neck, softly scratching at the nape. But he’s touching her, always touching her, his hands caressing her spine, and then holding her waist, and then squeezing her hips. He guides her: keeps his favorite pace, smooth and languid; bring her up to the tip and fucks her back down; shows her how he wants her to roll her body when he’s full in her, so her clit is brushing the soft hairs on his pelvis, the sensation incredible.

He uses his mouth too: to kiss her throat, deep tongue kisses that’ll leave marks she knows she’ll have to cover up; to whisper against her mouth, “see how easy this is; see how good, baby; fuck, see how good this is; yes, yes, yes, my good girl.”

And Iris feels so caught up in it. She can’t stop looking at him, loving when the lightning slashes across the room and illuminates those eyes, the constellation of moles on his skin, his wet, pink mouth. Her body hums with pleasure, soaking her thighs and his, tightening around his dick as if it never, never wants to let him go. She voices her satisfaction, in soft sighs and heavy pleas, and his name on her tongue like a chant, or better, a song, “Bear, Bear, Barrryyy.” They’re so close, her skin sticking to his wherever they’re touching, chest to chest and ass to thigh. She feels full and whole and filled...with him and with desire and with, and with love, the thought of it making her shudder and close her eyes.

“No,” Barry whispers. “Don’t. Just let it, just let it...stay here with me. Can you do that for me? Be brave for me?”

She nods, head heavy as her body starts to reach its climax, as her body loosens at the same time that it tightens and she has to fight to hold on to him. “Yes,” she moans again, holding his gaze again.

He touches at her face, holding her cheek and staring back. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t know whose climax triggers the other. She just knows that at the same time that her body explodes, fluttering wildly around him, he comes too, so hard that she feels him throbbing against her walls, that she feels him filling her up with his cum.

He doesn’t let go of her right away. He just holds her, hands at her hip and her face, and then he kisses her, cementing what they’ve just done, cementing what Iris feels for him.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” he says, out of the blue. “And when I went to visit my dad earlier, I found out that he’s sick, something with his heart, and I’m-I’m reeling.”

It’s been a long while since they separated and Iris climbed off of him to pad into his bathroom and warm a hand towel under warm water to clean them both. They’ve been lying in his bed, only half under the covers as they let their bodies cool. It’s quiet now, so quiet that Iris has thought he’d fallen asleep; she’d almost fallen asleep. But when he speaks, she blinks wide and then turns her head to face him.

“14 years today,” he adds. He’s looking up at the ceiling as he talks, but Iris feels the hand that’s settled at her waist tighten, the move bringing her closer to him. She understands that he just needs the contact, so she turns so that she’s all the way curled on him, one of her legs thrown across him, her arm tossed over him too, hand settled on his heart. It’s beating slow, steady, and so she strokes his bare chest, right it.

“How’d you find out?”

“I was still at school,” he tells her. “It was a Friday and some of my friends had convinced me to go to a football game, so we were there pretty late. Games could run until 11. I was 17 so I had my own car. It was an old car; we’d bought it from a guy she worked with. By this time, my dad had been gone for a couple years, and my mom was always working late at the lab, so when I got home around 10:30 that night and the lights were out, I wasn’t surprised.”

He shifts a little and continues. “I took a shower, put some leftover pizza in the microwave, and just as I was sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. It was the police looking for her next of kin to tell them what had happened.” He sighs heavily. “I got lucky. The courts let one of my friend’s parents take me in until I graduated a few months later. I was able to get a work study job in college to pay my bills since the mortgage was already paid off.”

He says it all like he was lucky, but there is nothing lucky about losing both of your parents in that matter, even if one of them was still physically alive. Iris knows from experience that he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for his story. But she can’t help the way she wants to comfort him, and so she lets herself do that, tightening herself around him, snuggling even more into his chest.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” she asks, mumbling against his skin.

“Devastated. He looked like, like, I don’t know, like he’s giving up. I don’t get to go see him too often, every couple of months, really. And he looked so different from when I saw him last: smaller, frailer. I think there might be something he’s not telling me. Like he’s been sick longer than he says he has.”

“Is he supposed to get out soon?”

“Another couple years. But I don’t know if he wants to hold on that long.”

She feels them first, the tears. She tries to hold him even tighter, tries to crawl into his skin almost, trying to stem his pain. He doesn’t cry for long, just a few sobs, and then he’s inhaling deeply and wiping at his eyes. But it must be enough because he sounds a little hollow when he says,

“And truthfully, I’m not so much sad as I am mad, that he seems to be giving up. On getting out. On me.”

She hums, not dismissively, but because she understands. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, I hate my mom.”

He sort of jerks up at that. Not fully, he looks down at her, eyes widened in shock. However inappropriate it might be, she finds herself laughing a little at his expression. Then she explains.

“I know that addiction is not a moral failing. I know that she struggled right up til the end. I know both of those things as completely as I know anything else. But sometimes I wonder why my dad wasn’t enough, why me and Wally weren't enough. I wonder what she was trying to find in those pills that she couldn’t find in us, and I get so pissed that she let it take her away from us.”

She’s startled when he moves. He pulls himself from under her, letting her fall onto her back, and then he’s hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He falls into the spread of her thighs, his sex nuzzling comfortably against her still warm center.

“I’ve seen some of the worst effects of addiction,” he says, “when their bodies end up on a slab of metal and it’s my job to dissect the things around them, to even sometimes help detectives dissect their lives to figure out what happened. And something I’ve learned is that it’s always, always about them. Never about the people they love.”

He searches her face, brushing a piece of hair back from her forehead. “And whatever your mom was or wasn’t thinking, you are enough. You are more than enough, Iris.” He leans down and gives her a kiss, deep and dirty, and she moans in frustration as he pulls back from her. He gives her a grin, one more reminiscent of the Barry she’s used to.

“Repeat after me,” he commands. “I, Iris West…”

“Really, Barry?”

“Yes, come on. I, Iris West…

She sighs, but says it. “I, Iris West…”

“Am more than enough.”

She licks her lips then, blinks, works to not let the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corner of her eyes escape.

“Am more than enough,” she whispers, finally.

Barry’s smile turns fond. “Good girl.”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t know what else to do besides kiss him. Which she does, deeply, reaching down to grip him in her palm. She pauses, just for a moment, to tell him “you know that you are enough too, right?” and she kisses the look of awe off of his face. It’s a long while before she stops kissing him, and then it’s only to moan into his mouth, to let him whisper his dirty somethings into her ear.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

They’ve just shared a shower. Barry is throwing on another pair of sweats and a hoodie and Iris puts her own leggings back on, sans underwear, and thumbs through Barry’s closet for another sweatshirt to put on.

(There’s no reason that she can’t put hers back on, but she’s feeling particularly sentimental and she wants to take something of Barry’s with her, something that smells like him, that feels like him.)

“None, really.” She pulls out a red sweater that reads Central City University Track & Field and throws it on over her bra. “Why? You kicking me out.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Wanna get dinner? And then go with me to my tattoo appointment? It’s at 8 tonight.”

She smiles at that. “Sure.”

They take the highway back downtown. The rain is still beating steadily and there is still the occasional rumble of thunder, the sporadic flash of lightning. He parks a bit further in the arts district, in front of a restaurant specializing in wood-fire pizzas and craft beers. This time, she knows to wait for him to come around and open the door for her so that she can walk under his umbrella. Once he locks his jeep, he grabs her hand, and they walk the couple doors down and into the restaurant.

The place is brightly lit, in direct contrast to the dark sky and even the faint light that had been on at Barry’s place. The weather assures that it isn’t densely packed, just a couple booths of families and what looks like a couple, so they’re seated quickly and easily. They eat fast since they’ve only got an hour before his appointment. In the meantime, they both keep the conversation light. It’s been a day, for the both of them really, and Iris doesn’t think that she can cry twice in a day.

After he pays, she goes to the bathroom and he tells her he’ll wait at the door for her. She goes in and it’s as brightly lit as the rest of the place and she quickly does her business and washes her hands before heading back out to where he knows Barry is waiting in the little space between the outer door and the door to the restaurant.

She walks through the place and out of the restaurant door, likely too quickly and without really looking. She takes several steps, straightening out Barry’s sweatshirt again, and then she’s bumping into what feels like a solid wall, almost falling backward. A quick hand reaches out to catch her, the hand large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

“Shit,” she says, shaking her head to clear it as she looks up. “I’m sorr..Scott?”

He doesn’t move back right away and so she has to look up, up at the man holding on to her. Scott Evans is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d been her editor when she’d work at CCPN right out of college, and she’d had the biggest crush on him. Tall with dark caramel skin and a neatly trimmed beard, he’d been the one to help guide her in the ways of mass story-telling. They’d gone on one date and Iris is not actually sure why they’d never gone on another.

“Iris West.” He says her name slowly, his grin widening at the same pace. He gives her a once-over, slow and heated. “How’ve you been?”

“R-really good,” she says, stumbling a little at that grin. Even if she doesn’t actually regret never seeing him again, Iris can admit that a man this good looking makes her a little tongue-tied.

“Yeah? I’ve been catching your blog when I can. It’s some good shit, West. I can see why you left our little paper.”

“Please,” Iris rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “There’s nothing little about Picture News.”

He shrugs, humble all the way. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the truth.” He looks down at her, swiping at his lips with his tongue, and she suddenly realizes that they’re still too close. She steps back fully from him, glancing over Scott’s shoulders to see Barry watching them, his expression unreadable.

“Um,” she speaks, catching his attention. “I gotta go Scott.”

“Oh yeah; of course. We should get together soon. Maybe do dinner.” Scott looks back out of the window where rain steadily pours. “It’s still raining out. Can I walk you to your car?”

Her eyes don’t leave Barry’s and he tilts his head, waiting for her answer. “Scott, I’m not alone.”

He turns as if he’s just realizing that Barry is standing there. Barry is still quiet and only lifts his eyes to look at Scott when he mutters, “oh, hey man.”

Barry nods. “What’s up?” Then he looks at Iris. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and she throws one more glance at Scott. “It was good to see you.”

He graces her with that smile again. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Barry takes her hand and they walk back to the truck. They’re on the road again, driving to a neighborhood near her own. For a second, she thinks he’s going to take her home, but he passes the road to her apartment and goes on to a neighborhood featuring several bars and little shops that cater to the college crowd. He pulls into the parking lot of a place called Black Gold, the lights inside near as bright as those in the pizza place.

Again, she waits until he comes around and turns as if to get out. He stops her though, holding the umbrella high, standing in front of her open legs. He does his thing, his stare like he's trying, and succeeding, to get inside her mind.

“That your ex-boyfriend?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Ex-boss.”

His expression doesn’t change. “All your bosses look at you like that?”

She swallows at the sudden feel of his hand on her thigh. The rain is pounding and drops fall on them, but she’s not noticing it. Instead, she’s caught in the storm that’s returned to his eyes, in the feel of his hands inching steadily toward her center.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she says, instead of responding to him.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and the confident, bordering on cocky, Barry is looking at her now, even if that sparkle hasn’t returned quite yet.

“Nah,” he says. “Not jealous. You’re here right now. And you were with me earlier, moaning for me, coming for me.”

He slides his hand between her thighs and because she is, almost literally, always thirsty for him, wet for him, her legs spread easily. He fingers at the crotch of her leggings, and she knows that he can feel her warmth through the thin material. He thumbs at her until she gasps against him, finding her clit in a way that reminds him that he knows her body better than she knows it herself.

“He ever touch you like this?” Barry asks, voice a whisper above the rain. “Make you whimper even without getting your clothes off?”

She is whimpering, as he keeps his thumb on her clit, rubbing on her in slow circles. That’s all he’s doing: touching her with one hand, looking at her with those eyes that tell as much as they conceal, with his voice a deep rumble that rivals the thunder. He might be turned on, but he’s proving a point, naming himself as someone who, well, who owns her, even if she recognizes that no man should claim any power over her.

Heat spreads through her, a low, simmering sort of heat, but it’s enough that her folds grow slicker, start opening like the flowers of a petal waiting to be plucked. He keeps rubbing at her, staying on her clit, staring in her face, so much that she can’t hold his gaze. Because it feels better than it should, and her wet is soaking through these too thin leggings, and her breaths are coming in longer, coming in heavier.

“Tell me he hasn’t, Iris,” he says, commands, and Iris throws her head back, legs widening at their own volition, hips canting against his hand. “Tell me.”

“No,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed. “He never even touched me at all.”

“Tell me it’s just me,” he adds and she’s too far gone to note the pleading in his voice. “Tell me no one has ever touched you like this.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just you, Barry, shit, just you.”

“Good,” he groans. “Good, good girl.”

Even if touch is the word he’s using, Iris understands that it’s more. She understands that they’re both wrapped up in uncertainty, never too sure of where they lie in others’ affections, never too sure of where they lie in life at all. She understands that he’s asking her if she feels it too, if she’s there with him, if this too easy, this too natural, feeling is a first for her too.

He’s asking if she’s brave enough to tell him the truth, if she undertands is meaning-understands that I'm no walk in the park; all these scars on my heart; it’s so dark here-even as she’s wondering the same, as she’s feeling the same, wondering if the churning feelings of abandonment make her unworthy somehow. Wondering if he’ll come to see that unworthiness.

Barry leans forward, just a touch away from her mouth, eyes blazing.

“There’s only you too, Iris,” he says, unprompted. “I swear I’ve just been waiting for you.”

He closes the distance to kiss her and that’s enough to take her over. It’s not a powerful orgasm, not like usual, but it does make her shut her eyes tight, make her limbs seize up as she rocks her hips through it. She breathes out, and she can’t stop the little laugh that comes out.

“You really are a dick,” she muses, opening her eyes slowly.

“A polite one, though,” he says, as he stands straighter and holds his hand out to help her down from the car. He holds the umbrella high over her. “See how I’m making sure you don’t get wet.”

“You didn't think of that earlier.”

His grin is devastating but it doesn’t hide the plethora of emotions in his eyes: the simmering lust, the faint traces of insecurity, the grief that’s been hovering all day...the love she doesn’t think he wants to hide anymore.

She hikes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she walks beside him into the parlor, words flashing in her head like a sign, but if you’re a warrior, there’s nothing to fear; nothing to fear.

And later that night, as she cuddles up next to Barry is his large comfortable bed, she listens to his soft breathing, the sound a melody to the rain still pattering against his windows. She listens and she stares at him, taking in his features, softer than they were before, the stress of today easing away with every second he’s lost to sleep. A flash of lightning lights the room, and it catches her eyes again, the new tattoo, the purple ink bright on his skin, covering the space from a lily on his shoulder to just over his heart. It goes dark again, his room blanketed once more, but in her mind’s eyes, she can still see the vibrant ink on his skin, the pretty drooping petals of an iris.

Cause you're so brave

Stone cold crazy for loving me

Yeah, I'm amazed

I hope you make it out alive

#westallen fanfiction #westallen #barry x iris #iris west #strangers to lovers

20 notes · View notes

felicia-cat-hardy · 3 years

Text

My 'Pretty Little Liars' Obsession Led Me To My Best Friend

“Got a secret, can you keep it?” Well, I’ve got one: Though Pretty Little Liars ended in 2017, the seven-season mystery thriller schemed its way into being an integral part of my life for the long haul, so much so that the opening credits live in my head rent-free. To this day, each time I hear the sinister theme song — “Secret” by The Pierces — I’m brought right back to my childhood comfort show (ahem, obsession). The visuals begin with a swipe of mascara, the smear of red lipstick, and a clasp of a heel onto a porcelain doll, which makes me feel like I’m watching someone get pampered for prom. Until, of course, it cuts to four girls standing in front of a casket. It's a chilling moment, one that, until Season 6B, ended with Aria Montgomery (Lucy Hale) delivering her iconic “shh.” I got cast under the show’s spell the first time I saw it, and I wasn’t the only one: Pretty Little Liars led me to my best friend.

Ironically, plotlines about deceit and betrayal actually helped ignite a long-lasting friendship. In 2011, the only other person I knew to be watching PLL was my now-BFF, Taylor, who’s been by my side for over a decade. We were only about 11 and 12 when it premiered, so shout out to our parents for letting us watch a show that dealt with very adult themes like substance use disorder, assault, and grief. Unlike our classmates, who watched tween-appropriate hits like iCarly and Victorious, we became PLL stans.

As fans know, the show is loosely based on the Sara Shepard YA series of the same name, and the first book was my entry point into the PLL universe. I loved reading about blackmailers and murderers navigating high school, but I thought I was the only one who was into it. (Was this my ~I’m different~ complex showing, or were my peers just naturally more inclined to recap Dance Moms? I’ll never know.) So, Taylor first struck up a conversation with me at school because she spotted the first PLL book on my desk — you know, the one painted with porcelain wax dolls warning to “never trust a pretty girl with an ugly secret” in a Gothic script. She asked if I’d watched the TV adaptation yet and we immediately exchanged phone numbers to text about upcoming episodes. We then fell into the fandom. Fast.

I’d never talked to Taylor before this interaction — we had only been in a few classes together — but I always saw her as approachable and friendly. Universally, the beginning of middle school is a big and terrifying year when kids from different elementary schools unite. Eager to meet new people, I reached for friendship at any chance I could get. Taylor made it easy. Aside from being a genuinely kind person (a rare trait for a middle schooler!), she was fangirling over the same thing as me.

Fast forward over a decade later, and the show still feels timeless, especially in its accurate depictions of how dramatic high school can get. It’s no surprise there’s a PLL HBO Max reboot on the way along with the remakes of other buzzy shows from that era (hello, 2010s nostalgia). Ah. It was a simpler time. Back then, Freeform was still ABC Family and for me, Tuesdays meant one thing: PLL is on. What first started as a solo viewing experience soon became a designated hangout time, a time slot reserved for me and Taylor to gush over how much we loved Ashley Benson. (We still do!)

The series had a vibe similar to Gossip Girl or Bridgerton in that a mysterious, unidentifiable pot-stirrer keeps fans guessing each episode, but it was arguably so much better since “A,” the anonymous villain, is out for, you know, murder. Ultimately, it was the type of whodunit that made me and Taylor (and millions of viewers) go down a couple of Reddit rabbit holes — remember the “Aria is A” suspicion? — and this is where my and Taylor’s experience with fan theories began.

Oh, and let’s not forget the location. PLL takes place in the fictional suburb of Rosewood, Pennsylvania, and for two girls from Bucks Country — aka the Philadelphia ‘burbs — we ate it up. The beloved “Welcome to the Dollhouse” episode was exceptionally creepy not only because the Liars get locked into a life-size replica of their bedrooms, but also because our real neighborhood looks extremely similar to their hometown. It operates like Rosewood, too, in that small-town gossip travels at lightning speed.

The Pennsylvania-based plotline also made it easier for us to identify with the characters, who felt like extensions of ourselves. In many ways, we got to know each other through their personalities. Taylor is studious and high-achieving, obviously a Spencer. And I owned feather earrings because I saw Lucy Hale sport them in Season 1, so obviously an Aria. Asking “Are you more of a Hanna or an Emily?” held as much weight in 2012 as asking someone their rising sign in 2021. While it might not say much, it also tells you everything you need to know about a person.

PLL got its start right before live-tweeting shows became popularized, so when we weren’t together, I used to text Taylor on my slide-out keyboard phone (only Zillennials will remember) to compare notes without stumbling upon many spoilers. They read something like this: “Caleb and Hanna are soul mates, TBH.” Like every other fan, we theorized about why A had to be Ian… and Melissa… and Jenna… and Mona… and, you get the point. When our elaborate speculations ran cold, we’d pause DVR’d episodes to gather more clues, like glimpses of Red Coat’s face in her second season introduction, or inspections of those eerie-gloved hands assembling dolls and sharpening knives at the end of each episode.

This game of Clue made room for conversations about all the things. We were in high school during the show’s peak, so it felt like the Liars had laid the groundwork for how to operate our school’s halls. Rosewood High was not traditional — uh, multiple students came back from the dead (*cough* Mona and Alison) — but it did prepare us for the stressors of college applications and first romantic relationships. In fact, Benson’s Hanna Marin would be proud of my matchmaking skills because back then, I introduced Taylor to the boyfriend she’s still with today.

As we both grew up with the show, our friendship got even deeper. The Liars weren’t the only ones to share secrets, and I found it incredibly easy to confide in Taylor. She’s trustworthy, level-headed, compassionate, and an excellent listener. She’s someone I know will always pick up on the second ring and is the type of friend to be there with advice, reassurance, and a quick-witted one-liner. She once joked about never needing a diary because we’ve transcribed the past 10 years of our lives via text.

Our bond has remained strong, especially because the most outrageous PLL-esque plotlines of our lives are ones we’ve experienced together. I love Taylor because I don’t have to provide background for my stories. I’m even so familiar with the cast of characters in her life that when someone re-enters after a long period, I like to say they Alison DiLaurentis’ed her.

And on the off-chance she’s not there to witness something meaningful happen to me IRL, she’s always ready to decipher what went down over texts or dinner and drinks — just like we did when we were teens trying to figure out who A was (minus the wine, of course).

The way she can reconstruct my way of thinking and offer up a perspective I hadn’t seen before is almost paranormal. Whether these are Taylor’s naturally given talents or traits learned from peeling back all the layers of the series, I’m not sure. But she’s always there to decode situations with me — whether they relate to a TV show or during moments when I feel lost.

I couldn’t be more thankful that Taylor entered my life and that PLL played a role in our friendship. I feel so incredibly lucky to know someone like her. Plus, now I have someone who is obligated to watch the reboot with me. Ali was right: Friends do share secrets. And she’s ~quite literally~ the reason Taylor’s got all of mine. Spencer and Aria, you’ve got some competition.

Get Relationship Advice Here

3 notes · View notes

ddearddigitalddiary · 4 years

Text

folklore: Stoned Favorites

It’s been just about 48 hours since Queen Taylor surprised us with TS8 entitled folklore. This album was born out of quarantine and is becoming her highest critically acclaimed album yet. She’s fucking amazing, magical, powerful, etc. I’ve had a few listen throughs to digest it, but I’m still processing all of its beauty. It has quickly become a favorite. Taylor somehow has this power where she drops an album that is lined up perfectly to the events I’m going through in my personal life. Maybe I’m just finding how it relates to me and seeing myself in the album, but that’s the beauty of it anyways. Going through a tough breakup, living through a global pandemic, society is literally never going back to something we knew... It’s all a bit much. And Ms. Swizzle has put words to my deepest feelings, and as always helped me feel and heal.

Here are my favorite parts of the beautiful, whimsical, mystical album that is folklore:

the 1: (this one hurts a little much for me right now...) we never painted by the numbers baby, but we were making it count, you know the greatest loves of all time are over now / in my defense i have none for never leaving well enough alone, but it would’ve been fun if you would’ve been the one

cardigan: (first of the love triangle, Taylor freaking Swift. this entire song is so beautiful. one of my faves and i cried the first time i heard it) i knew you stepping on the last train, marked me like a bloodstain I, I knew you tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy I, I knew you leaving like a father, running like water I, and when you are young they assume you know nothing, but I’d knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s, the smell of smoke would hang around this long, cause I knew everything when I was young

the last great american dynasty: (a sweet little bop. i love this one. Taylor’s voice is so pretty. this guitar is *chefs kiss*) she had a marvelous time ruining everything / [the entire bridge!!!!] there goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen, i had a marvelous time ruining everything

exile: (again, this one hurts right now. a bit relevant.) you’re not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending now? / (pretty much Taylor’s whole verse because freaking ouch - it’s describing my heart space right now) i think i’ve seen this film before, so I’m leaving out the side door / cause you never gave a warning sign - i gave sooo many signs

my tears ricochet: (hearing this song with the framing of it being about B*g M*****e is so sad, heartbreaking, powerful) cause i loved you, i swear i loved you, til my dying day, i didn’t have it in myself to go with grace (and then really the whole entire rest of the song.) / WHEN I’M SCREAMING AT THE SKYYY... YOU HEAR MY STOLEN LULLABIIIIES

mirrorball: (this one feels like 80′s prom or something, i’m in love) *hushh* when no one is around my dear, you’ll find me on my tallest tip toes, spinning in my highest heels love, shining just for youuu

seven: (this one makes me feel like i’m in a grassy meadow, while of course swinging on a tree, with a light summer breeze) sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart won’t tell no other / love you to the moon and to saturn / (STRINGS)

august: (another love triangle song, and it’s my favorite of the moment i think... i think. it also hurts a little bit because of my love life heart space ): ) i remember thinking i had you, but i can see us lost in the memory, august slipped away into a moment in time, cause he was never mine, and i can see us twisted in bed sheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine, cause you were never mine / (and the fact that there’s beautiful flutes noticeable to me and beautiful saxophone is just super convenient for my feelings as well. also, beautiful fade out, *chefs kiss*)

this is me trying: (this beat going into the song goes hard. guess what - song again hits me like a truck. it’s like what i would want him to say to me. i picture it’s fairly similar to what he’s going through. who knows.) so i got wasted like all my potential, and my words shoot to kill when i’m mad, i have a lot of regrets about that

illicit affairs: (these guitars are like hugging my ears) take the words for what they are, a dwindling mercurial high, a drug that only worked the first few hundred times (that line in particular hits) / don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this idiotic fool that you made me, you taught me a secret language i can’t speak with anyone else, and you know damn well for you i would ruin myself a million little times

invisible string: (again, guitars hugging the ears :). and of course, this song gives me hope for whatever, whoever could be out there for me. her runs are angelic) bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to la / time, mystical time, cutting me open then healing me fine~ / one single thread of gold tied me to you / hell was the journey but it brought me heaven / give me the blues and the purple pink skies, baby it’s cooool with meeeee! (so many Lover references in these lines! I’m in love!)

mad woman: (i’m in love with this song as well. like another version of the Man, aka don’t fuck with me. i’m in love with the entire chorus and her voice and the piano) what do you sing on your drive home, do you see my face in the neighbor’s lawn, does she smile or does she mouth fuck you forever / no one likes a mad woman, you made her like that... / women like hunting witches too, doing your dirtiest work for you

epiphany: (the production of this song is so angelic and peaceful yet the lyrics are haunting and i get sad every time i listen to it. the parallel between the war and the pandemic is rough and sad. this song is a different kind of hurt) hold your hand through plastic now, doc i think she’s crashing out, and some things you can’t speak about *and then the moment of silence with horns*...

betty: (the last of the triangle. this is the one that is so beautiful and heartbreaking and hopeful? maybe not hopeful it’s more the nostalgia factor of it all for me that just because of the breakup stage i’m in right now is what makes it heartbreaking... one day it will be more beautiful and i can smile to it with a longing and gratuitous embrace... also a bop, ALSO reminds me of country Taylor and it’s so *hugs my heart and teen me*) but if i just showed up at your party, would you have me would you want me? would you tell me to go fuck myself or lead me to the garden / i don’t know anything but i know i miss you / the only thing i wanna do is make it up to you / (KEY CHANGE !!!) / kissing in my car again, stopped at a streetlight you know i miss you

peace: (another favorite!!!! and apparently the first take she did of this song IS THE ONE THAT’S ON THE ALBUM. artist.) the devils in the details, but you got a friend in me, would it be enough if i could never give you peace, your integrity makes me seem small, you paint dreamscapes on the wall, i talk shit with my friends, it’s like i’m wasting your honor *piannooooo* / and you know that i’d swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches, give you my wild, give you a child...

hoax: (a hauntingly beautiful one, a favorite, love that it’s the closer. it HURTS me right now but i’ll take it. it’s a beautiful song and it’s helping the heal. can’t wait to hear the lakes on the deluxe! - also i just so happen to be re-reading the twilight series right now and it’s the exact vibes i get from this song - the level of love, the cliff sides, the sleepless nights, the piano, eclipsed sun) stood on the cliff side screaming give me a reason, your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in.... don’t want no other shade of blue but you, no other sadness in the world would do.

Taylor announced it and I woke up to the news. I spent the whole day obsessed with the thought of the album and the fact that she literally surprise dropped and shook the whole swiftie kingdom as well as it’s surrounding communities. I had no idea what to expect with it but I said it would be my new favorite Taylor album, i just had a feeling. And I think that this album proved that statement was true. This side of Taylor is the storytelling side I absolutely fell in love with. Her power and creativity and pen are just top tier and she’s the freaking artist of my lifetime. This album will be helping me heal, just as rep did, just as 1989 did, just as Speak Now, Fearless did. I love you Taylor. Thank you for the beauty that is folklore.

#Taylor Swift #folklore #the 1 #cardigan #the last great american dynasty #exile #Bon Iver #my tears ricochet #mirrorball #seven #august #this is me trying #illicit affairs #invisible string #mad woman #epiphany #betty #peace #hoax

7 notes · View notes

idairsauthor · 5 years

Text

This Fcking Impeachment: Episode 3, Ambassados and Ambassadon’ts

PLAIDDER: Good morning and welcome to the most imaginary of the Sunday morning talk shows, This Fcking Impeachment! With me in the studio is...uh...

CONN: I’m sorry, I meant to tidy up before you arrived, but I got sidetracked by the--

PLAIDDER: Conn...since our last episode...have you been...living here?

CONN: I cannot deny it.

PLAIDDER: Conn--

CONN: There’s been fnaa going down EVERY DAY! I just wanted to be READY!

PLAIDDER: Well, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to the studio, there’s a lot going on out there and I find all of this exhausting. But I did want to...

CONN: It’s all right to light candles in here, isn’t it? I mean, the whole place is imaginary...

PLAIDDER: Is that...have you built a shrine to former US ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch?

CONN: I might have.

PLAIDDER: Conn...you’re taking this all very seriously. I think maybe you need a break. Look, Mrs. P is reading Redemption again, why don’t you just go back to your embassy and hang out in the earlier chapters for a while?

CONN: Oh, sure. I’ll just go back to my cozy little embassy and my ugly yellow sweaters and my tea and my friendly banter with Spindern, shall I?

PLAIDDER: I guess...I mean I guess this version of you can’t forget...

CONN: No, I cannot. And so...I mean it was bad enough for me dealing with a shadow foreign policy being promulgated in secret by my one subordinate. This poor Marie ni hOabhanobhaitch was being suborned from above and around as well as below. You can’t fire someone who doesn’t work for you.

PLAIDDER: Especially when you don’t actually know what they’re doing.

CONN: It makes my blood boil. Being an ambassador is thurking hard.

PLAIDDER: I know. I mean, I honestly think that for the duration of Redemption you were the hardest working man on the island.

CONN: Since nobody works harder than Aine.

PLAIDDER: Indeed not. I want you to know I’m even more proud of you now than I was before, now that I’m watching this mess unfold. You were a really good ambassador.

CONN: Since you say it.

PLAIDDER: You WERE. It’s true you did some things that weren’t, strictly speaking, entirely above board or explicitly authorized...

CONN: That’s part of the job. That’s why they have a human doing this job instead of just negotiating everything via email. You’re there, you’re on the ground, you know more than your superiors do. I knew what the Seat’s goals were when they sent me, and I worked to accomplish them. And I didn’t tell them 100% of how I was doing that, because it wouldn’t have helped anyone for them to know. There’s always stuff that happens in back rooms, off the record. That’s not what’s horrifying about all this.

PLAIDDER: So speaking as an ambassador who was not corrupt, could you explain for our non-ambassador readers some of these ambassa-dos and ambassa-don’ts?

CONN: All right: first of all, DO have a clear idea of what your diplomatic mission is and what your goals are. And then DON’T do things that will undermine those goals.

PLAIDDER: So, for instance, Marie Yovanovitch’s diplomatic mission...

CONN: Well, here’s what it says on the website of the US Embassy in Ukraine:

“The United States established diplomatic relations with Ukraine in 1991, following its independence from the Soviet Union. The United States attaches great importance to the success of Ukraine’s transition to a modern democratic state with a flourishing market economy. U.S. policy is centered on realizing and strengthening a democratic, prosperous, and secure Ukraine more closely integrated into Europe and Euro-Atlantic structures.”

Put in slightly less...

PLAIDDER: Diplomatic?

CONN:...obscure language, the goal of the official diplomatic mission to the Ukraine was to stop Russia from taking the place over and thus rebuilding the former Soviet empire under new management. To keep Ukraine an ally of the US instead of a Russian puppet. Basic geopolitics. I mean you could argue about the wisdom of all that but that’s Congress’s job. As the ambassador, it’s not your job to set the goals; it’s your job to pursue them.

PLAIDDER: Right.

CONN: But here’s the thing. Marie Yovanovitch was carrying out the official mission. Nobody told her that there was a completely different unofficial mission to Ukraine being led by your Mr. Giuliani. That information was shared, evidently, only with this Kurt Volker and this Bill Taylor and this Gordon Sundland. And if you look at this group of shadow diplomats you realize they all have one thing in common--

PLAIDDER: They’re all men.

CONN: All right, two things. One, they’re all men; two, none of them are ambassadors.

PLAIDDER: Well, I mean...they’re diplomats, aren’t they?

CONN: Yes. But any diplomatic mission to another nation is led by the ambassador. All these other people--the envoys, the charges d’affaires--the ambassador outranks them. They take their orders from the ambassador. At least they’re supposed to.

PLAIDDER: So who did they put in as ambassador to the Ukraine after they fired Yovanovitch?

CONN: Nobody.

PLAIDDER: What?

CONN: Nobody. There is no ambassador at that embassy now. It is being run by William Taylor, the charge d’affaires. Better known to you as the man who texted Gordon Sundland telling him he thought it was crazy to hold up security aid over help with a political campaign.

PLAIDDER: Isn’t Gordon Sondland an ambassador?

CONN: He’s your ambassador to the European Union. He was never the ambassador to the Ukraine. He shouldn’t have been doing ANY of this.

PLAIDDER: But I thought Kurt Volker--

CONN: Kurt Volker was an envoy. A part-time, UNPAID envoy.

PLAIDDER: That’s weird.

CONN: ALL OF THIS IS WEIRD! But that’s what happens when the REAL mission is something that can’t be acknowledged in public. The REAL mission, led by the REAL ambassador, your Mr. Giuliani, appears to have been to use the power and the purse of the United States to force the new president of Ukraine to fabricate evidence that would shore up a clutch of baseless conspiracy theories which would then allow your President to tilt the next election in his favor by smearing, not only his most likely political opponent, but all of the government agencies who provided the evidence of Russia’s interference in your last presidential election.

PLAIDDER: And you can’t put that on the website.

CONN: No you cannot. You cannot be seen to be pursuing those goals at all, because they are THOROUGHLY CORRUPT. They do not advance ANY foreign policy objective. They only benefit one man, viz., your president. That’s what corruption is. When you just say, thurk it, I don’t care about the thurking mission any more, I don’t care about my thurking country, from now on all I care about is me.

PLAIDDER: So they had their official ambassador pursuing the official mission, and then they had their corrupt mission...and I guess really this whole house of cards started falling when they decided that the official mission was getting in the way of the corrupt mission.

CONN: Exactly.

PLAIDDER: Thanks for explaining that.

CONN: You’re welcome. Now. Can you explain something to me?

PLAIDDER: I will attempt it.

CONN: Why, of all the people who could have been chosen to lead this important though entirely corrupt diplomatic mission, did your president choose Mr. Giuliani?

PLAIDDER: *sigh*

CONN: Oh dear. This is going to take a while, isn’t it.

PLAIDDER: So it’s like this. Rudy Giuliani was the mayor of New York City in September of 2001. When the Twin Towers were destroyed on September 11, Giuliani became an American hero. And to some extent, legitimately. You can’t imagine the kind of shock it was. We hadn’t had an attack on US soil since Pearl Harbor in 1941. Nobody had ever imagined this, nobody had ever planned for it. Our President at the time--who is now, regrettably, only the SECOND worst president of the past half-century--utterly failed this test. He froze like a deer in the headlights, then disappeared from public view. Rudy Giuliani was out there in the spotlight doing his job, leading his city through something no mayor of New York had ever had to deal with. Even some New Yorkers who hated him for other reasons at least felt reassured that he was on the case and would get them through this.

CONN: I’m very surprised to hear it.

PLAIDDER: Of course you are. Because I don’t know what happened, but at some point in the past eighteen years Rudy Giuliani became a decomposing husk within which the remnants of his former self have turned into a festering ball of insanity and corruption. He and Buttercup go back a ways because they were both big men in New York in the 1980s and they got to be friends. So Giuliani was one of the relatively few big-name Republicans willing to stump for him in 2016, before anyone believed he would be elected. And during that campaign, Giuliani just...abased himself. I mean Buttercup went low, he went lower. He just...I mean...he crawled, he toadied, he literally slavered. It was disgusting. But it earned him Buttercup’s favor. And I do not know why--I do not know why, Conn--these men who abase themselves before Buttercup seem to become consumed by some passion that I cannot call love but which seems to have some of its features, including infatuation and recklessness and a willingness to sacrifice one’s own good for the good of the beloved. I mean I’ve never seen anything like--

PLAIDDER:

CONN: Friend, are you all right?

PLAIDDER: Sorry, I’m just realizing that I have in fact seen this before.

CONN: Where?

PLAIDDER: This is how all of Lythril’s minions feel about her. They can’t really love her because she would never return it. And they know she will erase them if they ever displease her. And yet they fawn on her and obsess over her and try to outdo each other in their self-abasement and devotion to someone who definitely will never see them as equals, or even really as human. They do not protect themselves from her. They just render themselves up to her entirely, and she destroys them, and they just...love it.

CONN: It’s simple enough, friend.

PLAIDDER: Really?

CONN: They worship her power. They love power and they know that she wields a kind of pure, irresistible, unadulterated power that they can’t handle. They can never HAVE it; but they want to be as near to it as they can get.

PLAIDDER: Maybe that’s it. Buttercup is their dark user, and they’re the minions.

CONN: Well this is why I printed out this photo of Marie Yovanovitch. She’s not a minion. She knows what corruption is and she decided to fight it instead of serving it. We diplomats, you know, we can’t be shriias. But we have our own code. We have our own bright and dark. You know, with maybe more gray area in there than you would be happy about. But still. In all this, you find the light where you can. And why not set it up here where everyone can see it?

PLAIDDER: All right, Conn. But please. I beg of you. Help me clean up the remains of your last twelve Nauchtian breakfast stacks and then let’s go for a walk or something, all right?

CONN: All right.

PLAIDDER: The next episode is going to happen soon enough, I’m pretty sure.

#the current catastrophe #this fcking impeachment #conn mac emer

21 notes · View notes

ts1989fanatic · 5 years

Text

Taylor Swift’s ‘ME!’: What the Hell Is Going on Here?

Welcome to the era of pastels, butterflies and her new cat

By ROB SHEFFIELD

Last night at midnight, Taylor Swift officially closed out the Reputation era and rang in the new. She debuted “ME!,” her tantalizing first tease of the TS7 metamorphosis, a duet with Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco. So much going on. The pastels. The rainbows. The French dialogue. The lovingly framed portrait of the Dixie Chicks on the wall. Her yee-haw go-go boots. Her Pattie Boyd bouffant. The “Delicate”-style vocoder vocals. The Jacques Demy umbrellas. So much disco, so much panic. Her new third cat. Happy New Era’s Day.

At this point, she’s been teasing her new albums with lead singles long enough to show how she likes to do these things. The Taylor Lead Single is a genre unto itself, and “ME!” has all the signs: It’s campy, it’s bubbly, it’s got a spoken-word interlude (“hey kids, spelling is fun!”) and a video loaded with in-jokes. It’s a totally canonical Taylor Lead Single. But the question is: What does it really tell us about the album to come and the new music she’s got up her sleeve?

Keep in mind: The first song Swift debuts is always an outlier. She doesn’t like to give the album’s secrets away too fast. She prefers to throw people off the scent. Why does she like to mess with fans’ minds this way? She just does. “Innocent” from Speak Now (which she debuted at the 2010 VMAs), “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” from Red, “Shake It Off” from 1989, “Look What You Made Me Do” from Reputation—what these songs have in common is that they’re musically far afield from their albums. They’re big thematic statements addressing her public image; they talk about the celebrity Taylor, rather than the personal one. But they usually don’t end up sounding much like the other songs on the album.

“Look What You Made Me Do” was the most cleverly misleading head-fake of her career—everybody thought Reputation was going to be a whole album of celebrity shade, which turned out to be just 2 of the 15 songs. (Whew!) But arguably it did the job too well—it created a false narrative for Reputation that was hard for people to shake, even after they heard what was (pretty damn explicitly) an album of love songs. “ME!” is far more playful, but it still pokes fun at her image, with lines like, “I know that I went psycho on the phone.” You know she’s swerving hard back into Old Tay mode when she includes a line about a boy running after her in the rain calling her name. (But did he throw pebbles at her window?)

Her obvious role model for lead-single-izing: Thriller. Strange as it seems now, when Michael Jackson was preparing to drop Thriller on the world in 1982, the first song he released was…. “The Girl Is Mine.” So everybody thought Thriller was going to be a whole album of corny ballads using the word “doggone.” Even his duet partner Paul McCartney found it baffling — as he admitted, “You could say it’s shallow.” (And this from the ex-Beatle who released a 1972 solo single of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”) That’s part of why “Billie Jean” stunned the world — nobody was ready for it, because he’d fooled us all with “The Girl Is Mine.” That’s how MJ wanted it. And that’s how Taylor likes to do it, too.

Every Taylor Lead Single is required to have a spoken-word moment: “Spelling is fun” joins the tradition of “I mean, this is ex-HAUS-ting,” “the old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now” and “the fella over there with the hella cool hair.” That’s another way she follows the strategy of “The Girl Is Mine,” since the highlight of that song was the Michael/Macca dialogue, e.g. “Paul, I think I told you I’m a lover, not a fighter!” (The “ME!” video has a neon sign that reads “Lover.”)

Taylor’s spent this whole week teasing the still-unnamed TS7 project — she’s now heavily into butterflies and rainbows and moonbeams and roses, like a flower child in a Jimi Hendrix ballad. Her fab looks all week have evoked Prince in his psychedelic pastel phase circa “Raspberry Beret” and Around the World in A Day — which happened to be his seventh album. She posted a photo yesterday sporting a giant rose, under 22 stars. She’s been striking Speak Now-era fashion poses all week, like her dress at the Time 100 gala. And she brought her longtime bestie Abigail of “Fifteen” fame, a callback to Fearless. Is TS7 going to be All the Taylor Eras, All the Time?

“ME!” is a song full of her favorite tropes — Joel Little, who co-wrote Lorde’s “Green Light” and “Supercut,” sounds right in her zone. The video opens with the Reputation snakes turning into butterflies. (Just like the jet fighters in Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock”?) Also note how the butterflies rise up to her open window, a callback to the video for “We Are Never Getting Back Together,” which is still the best Taylor Lead Single in history. (It would also be her best video ever, if not for the brilliance that is “Blank Space.”) “ME!” debuts the new cat who has secretly joined Meredith and Olivia. Also, this video has a unicorn—if I’m not mistaken, that’s a Taylor first, which is weird if you think about it.

Nobody enjoys a strategically elaborate album reveal like our girl — no pop star in history has ever made it such an integral part of her artistic evolution. Every album is a huge musical departure, and trying to guess her next move is a sucker’s game. She is never going to make the same album she made last time, and the lead single is never going to spill the tea on where she’s speeding now. A hint, yes; some clues, bien sur; the full story, never.

As they say in France, “Je suis calme,” which translates roughly as “I might be OK but I’m not fine at all,” and the morning after a new Swift song drops is always a mess. Like any Taylor Lead Single, “ME!” is a lot. But there are still a million things we don’t know about this album. And make no mistake, that’s how Taylor wants it.

91 notes · View notes

someforeigntragedy · 5 years

Text

No Longer Yours part 2

Prompt: Break up with your girlfriend, I’m bored.

70's Roger! Taylor x Reader

Warning: Maybe some platonic fluff and maybe a bit of angst.

Some days were better for Y/N then others. Doctor visits, picking out names, and doing it all with one of her best friends Freddie was the cherry on top. Other times, it was all Y/N could do to get up and eat - sometimes she wondered that if it wasn’t for the little baby blossoming inside of her, if she would give that much effort at all.

Normally, Y/N would be laying her head on her husband’s- no - ex-husband’s lap as they daydreamed of what little Taylor.

Would they have the thick long hair of their father or the y/h/c of their mother? Would their laughs resemble Roger’s? Could they ramble on the minutes at a time - hardly taking a breath like their mother?

No, Y/N had to deal with those thoughts when they were a reality. Who am I kidding? This is my reality now.

Brian broke Y/N out of the trance she was working herself into. There was definitely a reason why Brian insisted on having a key to her new flat. “Darling, you need to talk to Roger. It’s been six months and -”

“No. If I wanted to talk to him then I would have.”

“Y/N, he’s worrying himself sick during recordings and practices. Hangs onto every word if you come up, hoping that we’ll say that you want to see him,” Brain leaned against the doorway of her room, hunched a bit from his height.

Freddie poked his head through the gap between Brian’s body and the frame, “Darling, you know she deserves better,” he chided Brian and poked his fingers into his sides. “If you have faith in yourself that this show can go on without Roger, then you hold that pretty little head of yours high.”

Okay, so maybe every member of Queen but Roger had a key to her flat, but she was worried about going to visit the boys and seeing him, so they came to see her - which none of the boys really minded.

Y/N sat on her bed, absentmindedly rubbing her swollen belly. “I just think it’s best that they talk it out like adults and find a way to make things work.”

“Brian May! You cannot believe that Roger actually deserves to be in this child’s life! He has betrayed Y/N’s trust and the integrity of their marriage. I think he’s meeting Karma and she’s not very friendly,” Freddie quipped flouncing himself beside Y/N and rubbing her back softly.

Y/N laughed and softly kissed Freddie’s cheek, “Darling you are too good for this world.”

Brian’s eyes shifted between the two. There seemed to be an unspoken connection between the lead singer and Y/N, but he didn’t want to assume too much. “I hope you both know that this facade cannot last forever. Eventually the child will get older and want to kno-”

“Know their father? Why would they want to do and thing like that when little he or she will be pampered by us? We’ll be the best uncles there ever was and no one can tell us otherwise.” Freddie leaped up on the bed and shot his hand in the air triumphantly. “Ay-Oh!”

Brian laughed and shook his head, tension leaving his body. “Ay-Oh!” “Ay-Oh” Brian and Y/N chorused.

“I love you guys.” “We love you both as well darling.”

Three months later and Y/N was ready to pop. John had become more reclusive from the band and dedicated to helping Y/N, unbeknownst to Roger. John had become a complete mother hen to the poor woman - his functions were coddle, scold when he caught her doing ANYTHING, and be the sweet Disco Deaky she’d come to enjoy.

Freddie had always teased the two about getting together, but there was nothing but agape between the two sinners. Sure there was one night, a drunken kiss long before she had met Roger. They were in college at a party and it just kinda happened.

It was hardly a surprise to Y/N when she heard a familiar knock on the door. She grunted softly and she pushed herself off the couch, setting A Tale of Two Cities that she was reading aloud - this baby would be so smart and cultured or so help Y/N - before walking to answer the door. “John, thank god. I was wond-”

It was not the usual lanky smile machine she had grown to love; it was Roger. The blonde, blue-eyed man that she had once called her husband was standing there, dripping wet from the pouring rain outside with wilted flowers. “I’m sorry that I’m not John.” He said before taking her in, his eyes dropping to her swollen abdomen.

“Is that?” He choked out, dropping to his knees, the wilted peonies falling to the floor with a soft crunch. His soft but calloused hands softly ran over her stomach before he pressed his forehead to her bellybutton. “A-are they mine?” His raspy voice seemed to finally croak out, barely above a whisper.

“Not anymore. They stopped being yours the moment that you slept with the other women, Roger.” Y/N stated, softly taking his hands away from her stomach. “He or she is mine. Mine, Freddie’s, Brian’s and John’s. They’ve put countless hours into this child while you twiddle your thumb around and screwed groupies.”

“That’s hardly fair!” Roger started before she cut him off. “What’s hardly fair is that the night that I was going to surprise you - I got one myself! I answered the phone after I found a thong and the little feminine voice on the other end confirmed my suspicions.”

She backed away and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I can’t make excuses for you anymore. You lost the best thing that will ever happen to you. I hope you can live with yourself.”

Roger’s eyes flitted towards her own before he slowly rose off the floor and stepped towards her before rushing, hugging her tightly and letting tears freely fall.

Y/N tensed as her hands flew to her stomach. “Oh Roger. You can’t really expect me to believe that you have changed. It’s been nine months. You were cheating for months more. I-I can’t put the baby in that kind of environment. I’m sorry.” Her hands gently tangled themselves in his long, thick hair that she had once loved.

“You deserve better than settling down with a child. You are so young and a rockstar.” She chided him, putting her two forefingers under his chin and tilted his head. “I-“ Y/N managed to get out before her water broke.

“Oh shit.” She groaned, walking her way over to the telephone and calling Freddie first, knowing that he would rally the troops and meet her there. “Looks like you’re taking me to the hospital, love. My water broke.”

Roger began to panic. “Oh bloody hell. I only came to apologize and I ended up making you go into labor.” He began to wail.

Y/N grabbed his cheeks and pressed her forehead to his. “Relax Taylor. It’s going to be okay. Just get us to the hospital safely and the nurses will take it from there.”

He nodded, grabbing the car keys and the designated baby bags before helping her to the car. Maybe thirty minutes later, Y/N Taylor was checked in and awaiting her little one. And the boys to show.

“You never changed your last name.”

Y/N looked up from her ice chips and laughed. ”I’m about to give birth to your child and the only thing that you can think about is my name?”

Roger flushed and dipped his head back, trying not to look embarrassed. “I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I ever will. Even when it was her, I always wanted you.”

“Then why go to her at all? Why not talk to me about us? I was never unfaithful t-“ She groaned loudly and took a few deep breaths before closing her eyes. “God damn I’m never doing this again.”

“I loved you Rog. I made excuses for everyone. I get that I was a nag, but come on.”

“You left! You left me to find a note and piece together what I had done! No one would tell me where you were until I finally got it out of Deaky.”

“The traitor,” was her only reply.

“The next thing I know, I’m racing towards you only to find out that you were expecting John!” He said, before Y/N winced from contractions.

A woman in blue scrubs knocked on the door before walking in. “Mr. Taylor, as much as I - and the entire hospital - would love to hear about your marital problems, this is not the time to be discussing who was right or wrong.” She said snippily before turning to Y/N with a gentle smile. “I’m going to check your dilation and see if it’s time, alright love?”

Y/N nodded as her contraction subsided. “Okay. If you want to, I guess.”

The nurse laughed before checking her. “It’s almost time. I’m going to go prepare the doctor and bring it a bunch of things that might seem scary. I’ll be a moment.”

Y/N looked up from the bed sheets towards the door that the nurse had left from. “But Freddie isn’t here with the band! How am I supposed to do this without them!”

Roger Taylor swallowed his pride before walking over and taking both of her hands and squeezing them. “We’re going to do this. Whether they come in before or after the baby is born will not matter. There is no way in hell Freddie is going to miss this moment - rest assured he will be here with the others in tow. So just hold on, Y/N, we’re going to do this and welcome the most beautiful baby the world has ever seen - together, as a family.”

#freddie mercury #john deacon #roger taylor #70s roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #Brian May #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #Queen

57 notes · View notes

blapisblogs · 5 years

Photo

After that song ends and Corey Taylor gets a glimpse of something we’ll come back to later, we then cut to “young Corey Taylor” getting smacked and sassed by... Rob Scallon as the teacher? Yeah, Doug not only got Corey Taylor and his son Griff for this, he also brought in another musician. At least he got to contribute more to the music in this “review” than Corey Taylor did. Apparently he’s dating Tamara Chambers and that’s how he got involved with this (which makes the fact that Tamara’s here as one of his “students”... awkward at best), but judging by how desperately he’s tried to erase any mention of his involvement with this after the severe backlash it got, I’m guessing that he now regrets this. Anyway, hello, other Doug Walker regular Malcolm Ray. I have no clue who the other two “students” are, but I can only guess that they’re other regulars for Doug’s stuff. (Edit from the future: I think the other guy’s name is Walter? I know nothing about him except he works for Doug and I guess he likes Power Rangers.) All of them have high-pitched dubbed-in voices (I guess to make them sound younger in a “funny” way), and it’s really grating. Like... If you’ve read through my liveblogs about Sonic X, then you remember how I hated it whenever Bokkun said literally anything, right? Well it’s not quite as bad as him as far as the pitch goes, but it is just as annoying, if not even more so because there’s multiple people with high-pitched voices and the lyrics they get to sing in this part aren’t just annoying, they’re insulting.

Oh yeah, did I mention they sing for this next parody song?

If you know the album or the movie, you're probably already dreading this, and it's just as bad as you fear, maybe even worse. Yes, we’re at what’s probably the most popular song from The Wall: the BAFTA award-winning “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)”. If you don’t know, that song is preceded by “The Happiest Days of Our Lives”, which is so connected with it that most of the time it’s considered part of “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)” itself, as I’ve always heard it credited as part of that song on the radio. Doug does seem to know the difference though, as he notably does not parody the lyrics from “The Happiest Days of Our Lives”, which to me is a problem: that part is integral to knowing the story behind the song that follows it because it’s the part that talks about how the children in the school were abused by their teachers. Again, since Roger Waters based a lot of this off his own life and he grew up in a time where the teachers were legally allowed to physically and emotionally abuse their students, it’s pretty obvious that’s what the song’s about. Even without including “The Happiest Days of Our Lives”, Doug still parodied the scene where the teacher was humiliating young Pink in front of the entire class, reading his poems aloud and calling them “absolute rubbish” (though for this “review” it’s the teacher insulting Taylor’s musical taste in Pink Floyd, which is still shitty and psychologically damaging, and really upsets me as an autistic person who’s had their interests mocked multiple times). Despite all this, Doug claims Waters is just being a crybaby and exaggerating how bad his school life was when the abuse he suffered and the damage it caused him was real and very serious. You can say what you want about Waters’s ego, Doug, but making fun of someone for being abused, especially as a child, is a line that you should never cross.

It seems like Doug’s not satisfied enough with mocking what Roger Waters was talking about regarding his school life, though, because he goes as far as to mock all people who complain about school, dismissing detailed dissections of what’s wrong with today’s education system as “long-winded rants”. I’m convinced he didn’t actually read these “rants” he’s mocking, because there are serious problems with our education system. I could go into all the shitty things that I personally had to go through as an autistic kid, but you can find plenty of better, more detailed posts and articles talking about how fucked up America’s education system is today, to say nothing of what England’s school system was like in the 50′s (you know, the time period and experience Waters was clearly talking about with this), and this post is already long enough before I can even properly rip into this dreadful parody.

As the turd on top of this shit sundae, Doug Walker does a Dracula impression for part of the song because he’s saying that Roger Waters is calling all teachers “monsters” (yes, that’s literally the only reason). More specifically, it’s the Dracula played by Adam Sandler in the Hotel Transylvania franchise, where Sandler was already doing a weak impression of Bela Lugosi. Basically Doug’s doing an annoying, shitty impression of an already annoying, shitty impression.

Kill me.

[Lyrics (and snark) below the cut]

NC: We need more victimization (There are no good teachers! Not one! Not even by accident!) We need more stuff to rebel

[I know some people will complain about literally anything, but did you actually pay attention to what the album and film were saying? That teachers who abuse their students and try to quash their creativity and individuality is bad, something that Waters himself has clarified in interviews regarding the very song you’re parodying here? Do you not agree with that?]

(We don’t want to help you! We just want to eat your blood and suck your brains!) Though our education system’s broke (Wait, maybe it’s the other way around. I don’t know, I got a high school education! Muahahahaha!) This is pandering like hell

[You reviewed Norm of the North, Boss Baby, and the Emoji Movie despite none of those having ties to anything nostalgic (you even admitted as much in your review of the former), which was the entire point of the Nostalgia Critic. If that's not you pandering to your fanbase who just likes hearing you yell about bad movies, then I don’t know what is.]

(Remember that one teacher who seemed cool? He wasn’t! He was all part of the plan!) Hey! Who cares? All this bitching sells!

[Clearly it does considering your whole internet career is founded on that.]

(Remember that one teacher who seemed really kind and gave you candy?) Well oh well, we’ve got another hit in The Wall (That candy was really sugar-coated children's’ souls!) L-O-L, so school sucks. Grow a damn pair of balls.

[Okay, Boomer. You first. (Before anyone goes “well actually he’s not a Boomer”: I don’t care. This is such a Boomer message that a Boomer may as well be saying it.)]

(Children’s souls! We’re so evil! Muahahahaha!)

[I’m sorry for including all the evil laughing in this transcription, but it’s just as annoying to hear it, trust me.]

Bokkun “Child” chorus: Real cool visualizations (It’s all part of the plan so that you’re more likely to get a job when you’re older!) Milking your gloom and pity (Muahahahahaha! How terrible is that? Muahahahahaha! Muahahahaha!)

[Considering how schools in the way they operate now make students lose sleep, stresses them out over numbers that are assigned to tasks that have been forced upon them, and has been outdated for years since that’s not how most jobs work anymore... Yeah, it actually is terrible. You even said earlier that there are problems with our current education system, yet now you’re making fun of people who criticize it? Make up your mind.]

You hated school, who the hell didn’t? (It’s like those ‘90s commercials where the adults look like bad guys!) What’s next, hating DMVs? (Except they weren’t 90s commercials, they were really mini-documentaries! It’s all true! Muahahahaha!) Hey! Waters! Leave it on F-B!

[We get it already, Doug, you really hate Waters’s ego and the things he talks about in these songs. You’ve already talked about that in your previous parody, can you move onto something else about the movie that isn’t that? So far you’re making it sound like that’s the only thing worth talking about regarding this film.]

(We really don’t see what makes Cinnamon Toast Crunch so great!) All and all, complaining doesn’t mean much at all

[Well, at least you’re able to admit that your career means nothing.]

(Because we’re old! Muahahahaha!) But who cares, it’s still a damn cool song in The Wall (Bleh bleh bleh bleh, I’m a teacher, bleh bleh bleh bleh!)

[In case anyone was wondering why I said it was Adam Sandler’s shitty Bela Lugosi impression he was doing and not just a shitty Bela Lugosi impression, there you go. (For those who don’t get it: the “bleh bleh bleh” thing is a recurring “joke” in at least the first Hotel Transylvania. Yes, it’s as lame as it sounds.)]

We still need more persecutions (Muahahahahahaha! Ahehahahahahehe suck your blood, bleh!) (??) need to hear you (???) (Stabula!)

[I’m giving this my best shot, I really am, but... all I hear for that last set of question marks there is a really inappropriate c-word.]

What are you big boys to say school’s lame? Based on a long-winded rant?

[Hmm, posts and articles made by people who know what they’re talking about explaining how the American school system (since that’s what you’re basing this on rather than the one Waters wrote about) needs some serious retooling in order to cause less burnout, stress and trauma with literal children that can and will affect them in the short and long term when they grow up, or some internet jackass who gets paid for yelling at things and hasn’t been to a high school since at least the 90′s. Gee, I wonder whose opinion on that subject matters more in this situation. (That was sarcasm, by the way, for those who couldn’t tell.)]

Hey! Twitter! (???) bloody (???)!

[I’ve tried my best to figure out what they’re saying here, but this is one of the few times that I cannot actually tell no matter how hard I try, I’m sorry.

So anyway, the TL;DR version of what I think of what this parody song has to say about the original can be summed up in one Kermit gif:

...Why aren’t I watching The Great Muppet Caper instead?]

#Blapis tears down NC's The Wall #abuse mention //#child abuse mention //#long post #bold text warning #very long post #gif warning

2 notes · View notes

goodgirlwhoshopeful · 5 years

Text

LINK

#p: taylor swift #I like this #Taylor swift #ME!#me out now

29 notes · View notes

caticornsrreal · 6 years

Text

Fighting Dragons with You

After twelve years, I'm finally telling the internet why I love Taylor Swift🖤

Hello, internet using world. I’d like to introduce myself to the few people who followed me. Hi! My name is Christa and I am a Taylor Swift fan with every fiber of my being. Full disclosure, this is a short novel so now is your chance to make an exit, but I hope you stay.

Taylor and my ridiculously furry cat, Lyle

(affectionately nicknamed “rent-free”), are the only two beings made of flesh and bone who have been consistent in my life for the last 12 years. With a close second being my son, Gauge, who just turned 10. I won’t get into the details (in this post) as to why that is, but let’s just say there were a lot of ups and downs growing up.

The last 12 years have been an evolution for Taylor,

and subsequently, for me. At (dare I say it)

38 years old, I’ve found that a lot of things happen in a decade. Like, A LOT. Now, I don’t feel 38. I guess I owe that to humor, singing, dancing, sarcasm, and launching a successful career that didn’t exist 15 years ago —something that has made me always push harder to set new goals and stay humble. But one thing I didn’t do over these last 12 years that I deeply regret was starting a fan page for Taylor. I mean, ESPECIALLY since I’m a professional travel blogger who makes her full time living from digital content!

There’s been a lot of momentum over the last 12 years

—demands which left me with little to no free time. But I can’t blame my absence from the Swiftie family entirely on that. In fact, I’d have to say, I blame much of it on fear.

Fear,

of being misunderstood, fear of judgment or writing something lame. I’ve had over 2,000 articles published online and in print as well as countless social posts, but the thought of Taylor seeing something I wrote and thinking it’s totally weird (or cough, too long for the internet), well let’s just say I’d be less afraid of walking into a burning building.

Fear,

of being called a fake because the financial demands as a single mom left me little money to spend on myself or Taylor merchandise, much less tickets to a show. I’ve always placed my son’s needs before mine.

Fear,

that I was too old to be a Taylor Swift fan. I mean, I was 26 when she hit the music scene and she was what, 16? I’ve been afraid. Afraid I would be rejected by other Swifties who really are the only people who understand this love we have for her —which is basically like being rejected by your own people. Also, it’s super weird to be following teens/young adults on social, much less engaging with them.

Fear.

Along with my fear, a perfect storm of entrepreneurial demands, single motherhood, failed relationships (one of which was a marriage), and family matters have served as a constant reminder that my dream of ever meeting Taylor takes residence on another planet. An actual trip to Mars seemed more attainable.

I feel like there is a whole demographic of women, “Swiftie Moms” who echo my story,

having watched Taylor grow into the strong beautiful woman she's become. Women my age who love her from behind the wheel of their SUV, on the way to drop their kids off to school, on the way back from a milk run, in the dark hours of the mornings when they’re dancing in the kitchen with a full on hair bun singing into a coffee spoon. Unnoticed fans who haven’t had the time to dive head first into the Swiftie Universe. But here I am. After all the fear and all the years...

So, why?

This is a hard one to answer. I guess you can say that after many years of challenges, judgment from others, and doing the complete opposite of what logic and reason said I should —divorce, single motherhood, a second degree in my late twenties... risking it all to start a blog (which by the way in 2013 wasn’t even considered a side job much less a career), I kind of got to a point where I became

fearless.

I had to be. I had this tiny living, breathing human being who was counting on me at the very least, to give him a life a notch above the shit show I had growing up. Not to mention parenting —which is basically wandless wizardry pulled directly from the asses of parents. It demands that your mini human grows up to be a better human than you.

Yeah, unpack that.

Take all your collective shit, figure it out, and then teach your mini to do it better —to BE better than you at love, kindness, respect for others (especially boys respecting girls), integrity, money, and to be fearless. All while giving them the comfort of knowing that you, mom, have it all figured out... even when that couldn't be farther from the truth.

Top that with the pressures of working in the public eye

—which, while on a microscopic level compared to a full-on celebrity such as Taylor, is still very much a juggling act with none of the entourage to lighten the workload. Add to it the demands of working with national brands, and the unwavering ability for other bloggers to tear you down at any opportunity, or even worse, try to get close to you so they can raid your success like a Black Friday sale.

I found myself at the peak of my blogging career

but I was consumed by fear, AGAIN! Fear of shady AF bloggers and publicists, and so much to lose. And fear that now, thousands of people would have an opinion of me formed by jealous bloggers, and they didn’t even know who I really was.

That’s when letting go of toxic people in my life became essential

—when, no matter who they were, or how I was tied to them, I had to realize that surrounding myself with the ones who lifted me took precedence over the ones who dragged me down.

After all that..... I learned to give zero f***s about what people thought, or what they said behind my back.

And I had to start caring about what made my heart happy, what made my family and friends smile, and what inspired me to do better. BE BETTER. Be the example of fearless, with the hope that I was lucky enough to stay that way. But I'm a vulnerable human made of heart and soul and sometimes people can still take the best from me.

I had to be fearless.

In August of 2017 when "Look What You Made Me Do” blessed my ears for the first time, I felt it pierce my skin and course through my veins. And to the very bones of this young 38-year-old Swiftie mom, I was shook AF! I sang, I danced and I drowned out the haters in the blogging world. She had a very clear message,

She had zero f***s to give, Taylor broke the internet.

After watching the seemingly endless myriad of shade thrown at Taylor over the years, my heart erupted with happiness as her flawless first single from Reputation revealed one BADASS BITCH. And with every music video release of her new era, she became a mythical Goddess with bullshit evaporating superpowers. Like, I legit think she’s an actual unicorn. After all, she does ride a caticorn named Olivia.

She got harder, she got smarter in the nick of time

One single post on my Facebook page praising her new era and new single she brought with it attracted a slew of hate speech, white people bashing, claims of Taylor ripping off Beyonce... I couldn’t believe the things I was reading from fellow bloggers. I even had a GLOBAL BRAND threaten my business relationship in their ambassador program because I stood up for Taylor and spoke out about the hate speech which was placed on my own personal Facebook page. But I stood by my words.

Fearless.

Over the following months into early 2018, and to the tune of, “This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things”, I, along with a slew of about 20 other bloggers, ended up taking down said global brand’s publicist who was using his budget and power to demean and sexually harass female bloggers (which would later reveal that blacklisting me was more about not buying into that bullshit rather than my voice on hate speech).

Zero f***s given to those haters.

Mythical Goddess with bullshit evaporating superpowers level officially achieved for Taylor, and even for me. Although I wouldn’t call myself a Goddess. That's all Tay. 🖤

She found love through the noise

And so did I. In November of 2017, I had approached the year anniversary of the greatest love I'd ever known. My last stop. And as the tracks played on, my heart was full. We both found happiness through a seemingly endless sea of anguish.

Taylor is truly doing better than she ever was, and so am I.

Her resilience up against the media and the demands of the industry are perfectly fearless. And her decision to keep her beautifully growing relationship with Joe private is wise. I’ve spent the last year at home, which has been incredible. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what’s most important to me, what has shaped me into the mom, partner and entrepreneur that I am, and it all comes back to Taylor. That’s why it’s time for me to be fearless again and officially join the Swiftie universe.

I’ve spent 12 years fighting dragons with Taylor

and growing a canyon of respect and adoration for her charm, wit, business savvy, musical talent, feminism, compassion, tenacity, love for animals, and of course her lovely, lovely, words. I’ve raised my son from birth with her. There isn't a single day that is spent where Taylor doesn't exist in our lives. For 12 years straight.

That’s a long time to love someone who has no idea you exist.

I play her music videos and YouTube uploads just so I can feel like she’s with us. And so my son knows that she’s one of the finest examples of a human being in his lifetime. I use Taylor’s kindness to teach my son how to be considerate and give back to others while sharing her fearless story with him so she can be a positive role model in his life. Taylor has essentially been part of our family all along.

My son Gauge has a running joke that Taylor is the only person that can make me cry

(which happens more than I'm willing to admit). And it’s not because I’m weak, or on the verge of a mental breakdown (although I challenge you to try parenting, you might argue that), it’s because I truly love her like a best friend. When I see her happy it makes me happy, when I feel her sadness, it makes me sad. It’s visceral.

I don't believe the human connection is meant to be one-sided.

I feel in my heart, as weird as this may sound, that we will meet Taylor one day, even against all odds. Existing in the same lifetime as Taylor without at least trying to meet her doesn't feel right. I won't look at my son and teach him to let fear and doubt win, or that defying the odds is an impossible task.

Over the years I’ve been a spectator to her outreach to fans. She’s invited them to sessions in her homes, sent them gifts, invited them backstage, surprised them in their homes, made hospital visits, and Lord knows what else she has up her sleeve. And it’s all been done with pure excitement and love for her Swifties. With each outreach she extends, tears of joy are shed for fellow Swifties, and a ray of hope inspires me.

So, I’m starting a personal blog

which tells a very personal story of all the dragons I’ve fought with Taylor over the years. From living in a car at 15 years old to getting invited to LA premieres for Walt Disney and Marvel films. And I'll have no apologies for the truths that will be told (but will change names for privacy). It will be very personal and some of it won’t be pretty. Because life isn’t always pretty.

Taylor is releasing another album this year... we hope,

and she’ll be on yet another tour in 2020. After 12 years I’m finally ready for it. I’ve given my son everything he could possibly want or need. I’ve bought him a beautiful home in Northern Georgia. He’s been able to travel the world and do things most adults haven’t even done. And I owe much of that to Taylor for giving me the strength to take major risks, the courage to face my demons, the balls to cut people out of my life who were toxic and the self-confidence to defy the odds and do things my way.

2019 is our year to show @taylorswift how much we love her.

I’ll let the universe do the rest. Till then, I’ll be fighting dragons with her as I always have and writing my journal for her and anyone else who wants to read the memoirs of an OG Swiftie mom who keeps it real AF, full-on hair bun and all.

#taylor #taylorswift #taylurking #taylornation #taylor swift #taylor13 #taylorswift13 #taylornation13 #fightingdragons #swifties #swiftie #tswift13 #deartaylor #dear taylor

95 notes · View notes

thisselflovecamebacktome · 5 years

Text

Lover 1 month later thoughts

So for those who have missed my other posts, going back and listening to an album from start to finish at the 1, 2, 3 and 6 month points to see how my opinions on songs + the album itself change is a thing I do with Taylor albums now. If you’re that interested, here is my Lover release date thoughts along with my Reputation release date thoughts, my Reputation one month later thoughts, my Reputation two month later thoughts, my Reputation three month later thoughts and my Reputation seven months later thoughts.

All up: I tend to agree with people that it’s wild that this album has only been in our lives for a month. While it’s definitely still got that new shine to it that makes me listen to it more than most my other music at the moment, it feels as if it has integrated itself into my other music very well and feels like it’s been there forever. The general feel of the structure this album is reminiscent to Speak Now for me which probably sounds weird to say, but I feel while Taylor’s other albums felt like reading a chapter of a book into her life or watching a movie, these two albums feel like looking through a photo album. They are moments with great depth but are more loosely connected all together in a linear sense. I will also say that certain songs on this album were definitely growers for me to the point I probably could have made a Lover 1 week later post that was different from my first listen thoughts. It also means that while I have a clear top 3 and bottom 1 song, my ranking for the rest of the album moves around dramatically dependent on my mood. I’d also probably say that due to the growth of certain songs plus the different sounds throughout and quality of Lover, it has probably moved comfortably and purely into being my third favourite Taylor album behind RED and Reputation instead of sharing third place with Fearless. Finally, the more I listen to this album, the more I pick up little things that remind me of Australian artists I listened to in my childhood which is a nice throwback and makes me cherish those moments more.

I Forgot That You Existed: Hot take? The laughs in this song are the happiest parts of this album. Like that moment she realises she’s free from their grasp? Amazing and I can say from experience, is the most freeing feeling in the world. I definitely think it still gives off major Kate Miller-Heidke vibes, especially with the inflictions and voice/music changes on the indifference and blur lines. I also think it’s still Bad Blood’s older, wiser and just generally better sibling. In saying all of this, I can also understand why this would be a mood based song for some people because there are definitely days where I could listen to it on repeat while others it just plays in the background while I do my uni work or cleaning or whatever.

Cruel Summer: This song has definitely grown on me. I’ve also realised that a large part of the reason I wasn’t feeling it at first may or may not have been because it reminded me of a time and person I didn’t really want to think about so I legitimately think my brain subconsciously blocked out this song to the point it took weeks to learn the words when I had the rest of the songs down in days. I don’t know, that probably sounds stupid and weird but yeah, it was a thing. I also have to say that I couldn’t help myself laughing at people who thought she was calling his body blue because like all I could think of was Avatar to be completely honest. But then again, who am I to talk because I still have issues not hearing “he looks so pretty like a devil”? I also find it interesting that Taylor wants to make this a single given the perfect time for that would have been before the album came out given her focus on American charts. On that note though, I will say that a November/December release could be amazing for her if she is trying to broaden her horizons for tour because that’s Summer for the Southern Hemisphere and given how well Getaway Car did in Australia without being an official single and how related the two songs sound, I could see Cruel Summer smashing the charts here.

Lover: My thoughts on this song have basically stayed the same. The whole song has grown on me so I like it all now, but there’s just something so special about the bridge that it’ll probably always be my favourite part. It also still makes me want to ballroom dance/waltz and have a romantic partner, but alas, I do not have the time nor resources for either of those. I also can’t wait until Summer because I’m still feeling those Summer night time vibes and it’d be great to experience that. Either way, like I said the first time, it comes off Cruel Summer very well and feels more and more right being placed where it was in the album.

The Man: I think that this song is one of the most relatable songs Taylor will ever write to be honest. Like it is still a mood and one of the songs I listen to most from this album. There have also been two things that have made me appreciate the song even more. Firstly, my ex told me that despite being a man, The Man is in his top three songs for this album because he relates it to how people perceive his bisexuality and the racism he has faced. Secondly, I ran into my other ex (yes I’m that girl who stays friends with most her exes, mind your own business), and he told me that he was shocked that it wasn’t in my top three songs for the album because it’s ‘so [me]’, and I mean he’s not wrong. I guess that just speaks volumes of how strong my top three for this album are though because like if they can beat out a song I listen to constantly that people see as my song and thought was in that top three, then the others must be amazing haha. The only thing less than positive I will say about this song is I still think it feels a little weird coming off Lover.

The Archer: This song has been hitting more than usual lately (especially the bridge), but I still maintain that this song hits the hardest when you are in a specific mood. I also still maintain that The Man leading into The Archer is the best contrast transition on this album and I’m shocked more people have not spoken about it.

I Think He Knows: Talk about a grower. This somehow went from “yeah that’s cute” to one of my most played songs for this album. I still hear a mix of “That’s my toe” and “That’s my soul” instead of “Bless my soul” though if I’m honest. Also, I am very shocked at people being like “No Taylor, he doesn’t know holding a glass is attractive because there’s literally nothing sexual about that” because my god is that line relatable. Like there were so many times with my ex that I’d look at him doing something mundane and just go “Shit, I fucking love/want you right now”. I mean it wasn’t always sexual, like sometimes the way he held a kid would make me feel the romantic love I had for him more, but there were definitely sexual moments where he was doing mundane shit too. So yeah, I like get what Taylor meant a lot. As a final note, I made a post that I wanted booty shorts that said “Boy I Understand” across the ass and Imma be real, if Taylor doesn’t release them, a sequined version of that may or may not be my current tour outfit plan.

Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince: Imma be real, I completely missed the political undertones to this song on my first listen. And it makes me feel stupid not only for missing it but for then in the same breath saying I wanted a whole song on “If boys will be boys then where are the wise men?” because this song is literally that. Having the political view of this song definitely made it a lot better for me, especially seeing as even though it is a very American song, it heavily relates to how I feel about Australian politics at the moment. I also read a reading of it surrounding sexual assault, and as a victim, it both broke my heart and made me love the song even more. I still think it has very movie like and Lana Del Rey like vibes to it. This is the other of the songs my ex wrongfully guessed was in my top 3 because he got the political message straight off and as such also thought it was ‘so [me]’. All up, I think this is one of the most important songs Taylor has written and I can definitely see myself listening to it for years to come.

Paper Rings: This is still a feel good bop that I can mostly put on at any point and enjoy, but to be honest, it’s still not one I’ve gravitated towards. Like it’s got some killer lyrics in “Without all the exes, fights and flaws we wouldn’t be standing here so tall” and the bridge in general. But yeah, something about it just hasn’t stuck with me past “it’s a cute song” which is interesting given how many people I’ve spoken to that say this is a favourite of theirs.

Cornelia Street: I saw a post a few days ago about how someone can’t listen to Lover because they keep stopping at Death By A Thousand Cuts and repeating it because they love it that much and to be honest, that’s how I feel about Cornelia Street. Like even now, I’m fighting the urge not to just listen to this for the next few hours on repeat. I’m not exactly what it is about this song but something just grabs my soul every time I listen to it in a way that most songs don’t. Upon my first listen, I felt that this and Soon You’ll Get Better shared the spot for my favourite song on this album, but now I have to say that Cornelia Street has surpassed it and is a clear favourite. That’s really all I’ve got to say about this song; like it’s just that good.

Death By A Thousand Cuts: Lyrically this song has grown on me a lot in the last month, especially the line “I ask the traffic lights if it will be alright; they say I don’t know” and I think had this come out on Reputation or a year before, it would have been a favourite lyrically because it would have been relatable as fuck; but I’m not in that headspace anymore. The production also still isn’t my favourite so I’m glad she’s done that acoustic version at the France show, but I still also really want a piano version at some point.

London Boy: I’m gonna be real, I can probably count the amount of times I’ve listened to this on my hands. Like it’s cute and I’d have no issue with it playing, but it’s just not at relatable to me and there’s just songs on the album and otherwise I’d rather listen to.

Soon You’ll Get Better: As I alluded to in my first post, the most heartbreaking thing about this song for me is knowing the person I relate it to most isn’t going to get better because she doesn’t want to. Much like Death By A Thousand Cuts, had this come out at a time where I still had that hope, it probably would have rivaled Ronan as my favourite Taylor song ever. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a top two track on this album for me, but I know when I eventually get around to reranking all of Taylor’s songs, it’s going to be a lot lower than it otherwise may have been. It also somewhat concerns me hearing “Who am I supposed to talk to, what am I supposed to do if there’s no you” after hearing Taylor saying that she’s not getting professional psychological help and Andrea is the main source of venting. Like I know she’s got other support, but losing someone that vital (as much as we don’t want to talk about it, Andrea is probably going to die before Taylor, cancer or not) is rough when you do have professional help, let alone when you don’t. I mean I know it’s not my place to push anything, but it definitely does make my “protective mum friend” mode come to life and want to protect Taylor and I just hope that should the worst happen, she’s got everything she needs to move past it.

False God: Again, another song that has grown a lot on me. I think the production and New York City line being part of this song just felt so leftfield for me upon the first listen that I somewhat threw it away, but like after getting used to it, I adored it.

You Need To Calm Down: I don’t really have much to say about this song itself. It’s still an absolute bop that I listen to at least daily. I do find it interesting that most people said that this would be the song they would take off the album because it doesn’t ‘fit’ because in some ways I see that. But by the same note, I feel like it connects really well with The Man and I Forgot That You Existed that it does fit. Personally I feel like if it was in the first half of the album, less people would have said it should have been the one to chuck, but I guess we’ll never know.

Afterglow: I honestly haven’t listened to this song as much as I thought I would. Like this would have been a 2018 me anthem, but 2019 me has not burnt any bridges or caused bad fights so there’s just not the need to listen to it. I did listen to it enough to realise that the Weeknd vibes I heard production wise was a similar beat to Wicked Games. Also, the way Taylor says “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this to you” gives off major The Veronicas vibes which I have to wonder if that was intentional given Taylor’s friendship with Ruby Rose during the time Ruby and one of the girls dated. All up, it’s a good song that I’m sure I’ll cry to and heal with one day, but today is not that day.

ME!: This is still by far my least favourite song on the album, but I’ve gotten to the point where it can play in the background and given I’m in the right mood, I won’t actively skip it. Really its only saving grace in my opinion is how well it comes off Afterglow. I do also wish she would have put something else in the “spelling is fun” part because as much as that part was not my favourite, it sounds empty as fuck now to the point it’s kinda awkward.

It’s Nice To Have A Friend: Okay look, I get that this is potentially the most different sounding song Taylor will ever write and a bit to get used to, but it grows so much on you if you let it. Like the Sunday after release date, me and the ex that relates to The Man were just laying on my bed, drinking Camomile tea and listening to Lover (for the first time for him and first time in company for me) in silence and in the moment this song was playing, it clicked for me. Like it truly is nice to have a friend. And in that moment, it was just so relaxing and I was so at peace with myself. So I’m not going to stand here and say that this song is the one I’ve listened to most, but given the right mood, this song really hits and I hope that you all get to experience that one day because it truly was incredible.

Daylight: My new ‘song written for a romantic relationship that I relate to on a self love basis’ song. I’m not quite sure if it meets This Love’s standard on that front purely because again, timing is a funny thing and This Love came out right when I needed it whereas I don’t “need” Daylight as much. But I still love it to the point that it rounds off my top 3 for this album and is the one song my ex correctly guessed was in that top 3. I will say that I find it interesting that most the interpretations of the line “Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke” where positive, because to be honest, I did and still take it as “being too nice gets you in trouble” teas. Like I assumed that she meant that she was so desperate to make things good with certain people that she injured herself in the process. Either way, as I said, I love this song and as I said the first time, it’s definitely a good closer to the album

#taylor swift #lover album

1 note · View note