#this time there was no song with weird lyrics / noises??

[braceletofteeth]

I was tagged by @zeesqueere 🧡

Rules: Put your music library on shuffle, then list the first five songs that come up in a poll to let people vote for which one they like the most!

Then tag Tumblr friends to keep the game going!

Fireside

Bloom Later

Caving In

Strange Enough

Hey Ma

—

tagging: @srabaskerville @softneomiro @somebodycallixii @saturnskyline @scarefox why do I follow so many people whose urls' start with the letter S 🤔... 🙃 anyway, as usual, only if you'd like to <3

[bbydoll18xx]

Keep the Edits Cordial

A tik tok edit of two best friends coaxes out admissions of feelings (and orgasms)

Paige Bueckers x reader

word count: 3.2k

themes: mutual pining (LOML), friends to lovers, smut!!

warnings: i like using the word ‘fuck’, 18+

Thanks for the love on my first post! This is my first attempt at writing smut, so bear with me. I have a few more ideas if y'all are interested!

Despite not being on the uconn’s women's basketball team, or having any shred of athletic ability, you had befriended Paige Bueckers, and her teammates, as an extension, had adopted you with open arms. So you weren't out of place sitting in the apartment of Paige and several of her teammates while she was in class.

“Oh fuck, shit, shit, shit,” you hear KK Arnold swear over on the couch across from where you were sitting, attempting to get some homework done.

A sensual R&B song plays from her phone several times, as her eyes nearly pop out of her head while she watches.

You look up, mildly annoyed at the noise, but you were used to KK’s antics and her overdramatics. 

“What the hell is the issue?” you ask.

“Umm…nothing,” she drawls. “Be right back, girly pop. Don’t move.” She runs into Azzi’s room, where Azzi and Caroline were attempting to also be productive. 

That was damn near impossible when KK was around.

Your interest peaks as you hear the same music play from KK’s phone again several times over and the giggles and gasps of the three girls fill the bedroom. 

“Paige is gonna flip if she sees this,” Azzi says matter-of-factly, as you strain to hear the full conversation.

‘What would make Paige flip?’ you wonder. 

“I gotta show this to Ice!” You hear KK exclaim a little too loudly, causing the other two girls to shush her. 

KK runs back into the main living space of the apartment where you were sitting. She picks up her stuff with a shit-eating grin before waving to you and rushing out the door.

She was so fucking weird.

Giving up on the essay you were supposed to be finishing, you toss your laptop down and head into the bedroom where Caroline and Azzi are heatedly whispering. They stop as soon as your footsteps near the door. 

Why were they acting so suspicious?

“Ladies, would you mind telling me what the actual fuck just happened?” you ask sarcastically. Being out of the loop was not fun.

“Oh you know, just KK being KK,” Azzi said, brushing it off. “Nothing that concerns you really.”

“But it concerns Paige?” you prod, trying to get any information out of her. Being around Azzi for years at this point, you had grown to learn her weak spots. 

Your eyes narrow, and you stare her down in a way you could only hope was somewhat threatening. 

“If it concerns Paige I wanna know. We’re best friends, c’mon please,” you whine. “Is it another one of those thirsty edits?” 

Azzi shakes her head and makes a zip of the lip motion. 

You roll your eyes at her childish behavior and look over to Caroline expectantly. She just shrugs. They were no help at all.

“Fine!” You say with a tone of indignation. “I'll find that stupid tik tok myself and see what all the fuss is about.” You spin on your heels and walk out of the room with sheer determination. You miss the smirk Azzi and Caroline share once your back is turned. 

You were so fucked.

You type ‘Paige Bueckers’ into the tik tok search bar and begin to scroll with the volume up to identify the same sound blasting out of KK’s phone just a minute ago. 

Your head gets a little fuzzy as your vision is assaulted with video upon video of Paige. You were used to calming the jump of your heart when you were around her, but the hedonistic edits made you want to scream. Each edit you came to had clips of her flexing, grinning, and sticking her tongue out in a way that made you want to rub your thighs together. They were paired with lascivious lyrics that caused you to nearly let out a whine. 

You had been avoiding tik tok recently for this exact reason. Trying to act normal around Paige all the time was difficult enough. You did not need a ridiculous app to fuel the fantasies that threatened to creep into your mind at every waking moment.

At least your screen time was way down.

Your scrolling quickly stopped as you felt your heart quite literally stop. It was you. In all its glory, with a staggering amount of likes, comments, and views, was what looked to be an edit of you and Paige.

What the fuck?

Your hands shaking, you clicked onto it, hearing the same song as earlier. This was the one the girls were freaking out about. 

“Azzi, Caroline, get your asses out here,” you yell, trying to conceal your panic.

They slowly strolled out of the room looking worried. 

“I see you found it,” Azzi said with a laugh. “So what do you think now that you’ve seen it?” 

Both girls tried to gauge your reaction, but you were more concerned about the fact that Azzi had said earlier that Paige would be pissed about it.

You shrug. You had to choose your words carefully. “Well there are edits of you and Paige together,” you reason. “Lots of people think you two are in some secret relationship, and P has never minded. Why would this be any different?” 

“Everyone knows that you and Paige have a special friendship,” Caroline alludes. It goes right over your head.

“Well if she is bothered by this then we are not as close as I thought,” you say quietly, still watching the tik tok, as it plays again. You wanted this edit burned into your retinas. 

Occasionally you allowed yourself to feel a tiny sliver of hope that you and Paige could ever be anything more than friends. Everytime she gave you a late night cuddle or placed a hand around your waist, as if it naturally belonged there, made you long for more. You knew better than to feel hopeful though. This stupid edit did nothing to quell the burning need for the tall blonde.

Throwing your phone down, you look up at the two basketball players with a look of indifference you’ve learned to master. “It doesn’t even matter,” you whisper dejectedly.

“C’mon, we all know how you actually feel about Paige. She’s the only one dense enough not to see how crazy you are for her,” Azzi soothes. “Maybe it's time to be honest with her. You never know what she’s feeling until you talk to her.”

You laugh. Fuck that. Feelings are meant to be kept inside until you die or they go away. 

You’re hoping the latter will come sooner rather than later, but you doubt you'll get that lucky.

“I don't think so,” you scoff. “I need to go before Paige gets back.” 

You leave despite the protests of the two girls, and you make a plan to hide from Paige for the next few days. You knew it was only a matter of time before Ice and KK went running to Paige to show her the edit. 

45 fucking minutes. That was how long it took before your door was being bombarded by Paige and her delightfully rambunctious children, Ice and KK. You swore under your breath as you quickly weighed your options. Option 1 was simple: pretend you were gone, although the smell of your microwave popcorn could have easily given you away. Option 2 was the grown up thing to do: open the door and have a conversation like an adult. Option 3 was straight up crazy: jump out of the window and run for the damn hills. You glanced at the open window of your bedroom before shaking your head. You needed to stop watching too much television. 

Option 1 was it. Fuck being an adult.

You stood next to the door, waiting for the three girls to give up, but they refused to leave.

“I know you’re in there, c’mon let me just talk to you,” said Paige through the door. “KK and Ice can leave.”

You hesitate, but still reach for the knob of the door. 

“Please?” Paige asks again, causing you to let out a sigh of defeat and turn the lock so she can come in. 

“Are you pissed?” Paige questions, somewhat harshly, as she walks through your door.

You give her a look of confusion. 

“Of course not!” you exclaim. “I thought you might be, though. I heard Azzi tell KK and Caroline earlier that you would flip if you saw it. I was just worried it would make you feel uncomfortable, and then our friendship would feel awkward, and I-” you ramble, trying to make some sense of what you were feeling.

Paige cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “You could never make me feel uncomfortable. I was worried it made you uncomfortable. I wanted to come check on you as soon as KK showed it to me,” she replied gently. “Me and Azzi, we’re used to the rumors, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about people thinking we’re, ya know, in love.” She whispers the last two words as if it was some big secret.

You let out a shaky laugh. “It means nothing to me. That would be ridiculous anyway,” you lie smoothly. Burying your feelings for Paige was an artform for you now. 

A quick shadow of something that was hard to read flickered over Paige’s face. You chose to ignore it. ‘It’s easier that way, less messy and complicated,’ you thought sadly. Little did you know, things would get even messier and more complicated. 

Two days later you were sitting in class when you hear the same fucking R&B song playing from your classmates phone. You look over at her, meeting her eyes. She smirks and slides closer to you. 

“So you and Paige Bueckers, huh?” she says curiously, almost like a taunt. “I’d imagine she’s incredible in bed.”

Her hypothesis startles you.

Who the fuck says that to someone they barely know? You feel your pulse rise in anger, wanting to defend your friend. You feel hot with jealousy. Anyone thinking about your Paigey in a sexual manner made your blood boil. In your mind, she was only yours.

You decided it would be fun to play into it. You lean closer to the gossipy bitch, and with a whisper you say, “you have no idea the things she does to me. Fuckk, I mean, we’ve all seen the edits. Her tongue is always out.” The obnoxious brunette to your left looks shocked, and she rolls her chair further away from you. 

With a satisfied smirk, you try to calm the pounding of your heart. ‘What the fuck did I just do,’ you thought. Rule number 1 of being Paige’s friend and only her friend was to avoid thinking of her in the way you really want to. That means no fantasizing, no tik tok edits, and absolutely no talking about having sex with her.

You lay your head onto the desk. What an idiot you were.

As the class comes to a close, you escape quickly to avoid any awkward looks from other people on campus. The last few days have left you feeling unsettled as the edit of you and Paige reached ridiculous levels of popularity. Everyone was now thinking you were somehow involved. You hated how much you wished that to be true.

You had promised Paige that you would hang out once you were finished with your class, trying to keep a semblance of normalcy to your friendship. You rolled into her apartment anxiously, calling out for her. Paige pokes her head out of her bedroom, waving you in with an equally anxious smile.

This worries you. Paige was always the grounded one of the pair of you. Her nervous demeanor makes you think something is wrong. You take a deep breath before sitting opposite her on her bed. It smelled like the lotion she always wears, and you subconsciously inhale a bit longer than normal.

Fuck she smells so good.

Paige stares at you for a few seconds, making you feel hot under her gaze. Those eyes piercing into your soul made you want to scream her name until the neighbors could hear. She takes a breath. “So basically everyone thinks we’re in love,” she deadpans. Her nonchalance makes you squirm. How the hell does she feel about being uconn’s newest gossip train? It's hard to tell.

“Yeah, I kind of figured when I was just asked in class about how you are in bed,” you mutter, blushing at the confession.

Paige looks vaguely surprised at first, before replacing the look with a smirk. “What’d you tell ‘em?” she questions.

With a sudden surge of confidence that you typically only get from ample amounts of alcohol, you reply, “I told her that all those edits of you with your tongue sticking out could only mean one thing.”

Paige grins cheekily. “You’re not wrong. I am great with my tongue. Maybe one day I can show you.”

You think your heart had never beat this fast in your entire fucking life. You were still feeling particularly bold, so you murmur, “I’m free now?” There was no way Paige was going to agree to that, so you get up to leave, before you feel her hand grab yours, pulling you back into her.

“Don’t fucking play with me right now,” Paige demands. “Do you actually want this? Do you want me?” 

You nod your head embarrassingly fast. You felt like an overexcited puppy. “P, I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you.”

“Good,” the blonde replies. “Me too. Now let me show you all of my little tongue tricks.”

Paige grabs your jaw with one hand, placing the other around your throat to keep you right where she wanted you. Your lips meet finally, and everything around you fades into nothingness. 

Oh my God, she tastes so good. Paige presses hot, open-mouth kisses down your throat, sending shivers through your whole body and right down between your legs.

“Need you naked for me, babe,” hums Paige. ‘For her you would fight a war,’ you thought, as you stripped your sweatshirt off, revealing the pretty pink lace of your bralette.

You mentally high five yourself for your underwear choices this morning. Showing up in your granny panties would’ve been terrible.

Paige helps you out of your jeans and starts placing tantalizing kisses over your inner thighs and stomach. You can feel your arousal leaking out of you already, making you feel slick with the anticipation of what was to come.

Paige notices the wet spot on your panties, grinning as she lightly blows air over your clothed pussy. You arch your back wantonly, needing more-so much more. 

“Please, Paigey,” you whine in a way that gives Paige a big head. “Need you so bad.”

“Use your words, baby. What do you need?” she coaxes, still alternating between kissing your inner thighs and swirling her fingers against your clothed clit. 

“Please just touch me, I’ll do anything for you,” you moan brokenly. You could feel yourself start to slip into some sort of subspace. At this point, you’d do anything just to get some more stimulation.

“So polite, aren’t you, babe? I’m gonna take good care of you,” Paige promises before ripping your soaked panties off in one quick motion.

For the first time, you were splayed out naked in front of your best friend, with her having all the power in the world over you. Before you could begin to feel insecure under her piercing gaze, Paige swirled two long fingers into your sopping pussy, admiring how easily turned on you got for her. She brought them up to her mouth, sucking them in and moaning about how good you tasted. 

“You taste as sweet as I’ve been imagining for years,” she whispers. “Have a taste.” She brings the same two fingers up to your mouth and drags them across your swollen lips.

You lick your lips and groan at the taste of your own arousal, wiggling around on the bed and humping the air to get any sort of pleasure. Paige presses your hips flush against the mattress, keeping you from moving. She was yours to control as she wished. Finally, she brought her mouth down to your burning heat, starting with a long and slow lick up your pussy. It felt so good you could cry.

“More, P, need more,” you cry. She was being a fucking tease, and you could feel yourself go crazy as she ate you out slowly, as if she was eating her last meal on earth.

She granted you some reprieve as she entered a finger and then another into you, slowly stretching you out with scissoring motions. 

“So wet for me, aren’t you my pretty baby,” she gloats, and you try to avoid rolling your eyes back into your head in pleasure. Her fingers pick up a cruel and punishing pace, targeting your g-spot as if it had her name written on it.

She fucking owned you.

Paige, still finger fucking you, presses kisses up your belly, onto your tits, before meeting you in another searing kiss. You want to sob at the sheer pleasure. It was overwhelming; the heat of your best friend’s body pressed flush against you, the moans ricocheting off the walls, and the tightening in your lower belly that threatened to spill everywhere.

“Fuckkk, Paigey, I-i’m gonna cum,” you moan breathlessly. “Please, please let me cum, please I need you,” you whine in an incoherent babble of pleasure. 

“Cum for me, baby, I’ve got you,” Paige pants out, riding the highs of dominating you and ensuring the unceasing assault of your g-spot.

With a guttural moan and a string of words that would make a sailor blush, you ride out your high. Paige’s fingers slow as you pant, coming back to reality. She watches your chest rise and fall a few seconds before removing her fingers from your fucked out pussy and licking them clean.

“You did so good for me,” she praises, causing you to squirm, activating your praise kink once again.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “This isn’t going to make things weird now, is it?” you question anxiously. That was the last thing you wanted to happen.

“‘Course not,” promised Paige, linking her pinky finger with yours. “I’m plannin’ on wifing you up now.”

You giggle as the last bits of awkwardness fall away, feeling blissfully fucked out. “What about you, though?” you ask. You wanted to make Paige feel as good as she made you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, baby,” she replies. “You look like you’re about five seconds away from fallin’ asleep.”

You smile sleepily at her. She knew you a little too well.

 “I should send a thank you card to whoever made that edit of us,” you murmured against Paige’s chest, making her laugh.

“And I'm definitely getting rid of all three of my vibrators,” you announce, causing Paige to grin proudly.

Paige was unquestionably okay with that.

[colourstreakgryffin]

I saw you're taking Hazbin hotel requests so I thought I'd shoot my shot! So reader is a young boy who also died around Alastor's time(Early 1930s) . He's so confused and overwhelmed by how fast everything is progressing. So when he hears Alastor humming/singing a song from the 1930s he feels a sense of comfort and familiarity. Bonus if it also happens to be their favorite song! Take your time and you're amazing!

Oooh! Fourth Alastor request and I am having such a great time with this! This man is so fun to write for! After I finish here, I am gonna go cook some Jambalaya then pop it into my pentagram and summon Al so he can cook me!

Alastor- Night & Day

Like the beat, beat, beat of the tom tom…

when the jungle shadows fall

like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock

You don’t recognise anywhere you are… this place. It’s hot, dark, dangy and uncomfortable. There’s nothing here resembling Earth and it’s shaking you to your core. Not having the strength nor confidence to move anymore from the alleyway you were just dropped into upon arriving here from the pentagram in the dark sky. Everyone is too much for your young mind… well. Other than that best, those lyrics and that voice

As it stands against the wall

Like the drip drip drip of the raindrops

When the summer shower is through

So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you

That song is a symbol of comfort for you. Night & Day by Cole Porter. Something your mother use to sing to you every night before bed, the sound of pretty rain hitting your open window as that beautiful sweet woman would sing over and over again, all without it growing repetitive, until you fell asleep. Having wonderful dreams all the time

Even though you’re scared out of your mind, you begin to walk out to the streets. Packed to the brim with all kinds of weird-shaped adults but you avoid most of the them, weaving through this thick crowd to find the source of the soothing lullaby of your whole life and the voice singing it. It sounds dapper, transatlantic, if not an old radio. Is it coming from a radio?

Night and day, you are the one

Only you beneath the moon or under the sun

Whether near to me, or far

It's no matter, darling, where you are

I think of you

It felt like a game of cat and mouse. Running around to find where that wonderful singing is coming from and it feels like the person is constantly teleporting, no adult should be this frustrating to find. Or, you’re just too overwhelmed from being dropped into literal Hell to even realise your coordination skills are as dropping as you did. Your mind is racing to come to terms with what’s going on

This isn’t New Orleans at all… and not a single trace of your parents around. Are you alone? No. No. You don’t want to be alone, you’re too young to be alone. Is everybody here too evil to care about a literal child Sinner being stuck on his own and having to fend for himself in ways he doesn’t know how to…

By all the unholy gods. Somebody help

Day and night, night and day, why is it so

That this longing for you follows wherever I go

In the roaring traffic's boom

In the silence of my lonely room

I think of you

The loud noises of talking, of the wall of built-in weird flat devices screeching and echoing, the patter of footsteps. It makes you want to hide away and sleep to try shake off all the distress and overwhelming feelings you are being tormented with but that song is way too recognisable and comforting for you to ignore so you just keep pursuing it

Maybe, it’ll be pointless and the singing source will be from a Radio of your year but it almost feels like the song is organic and from a person. That means there is an adult of your time here. A man from the 1930s, Hell, he may be somebody of your family! That’d be wonderful and your hopes are high that when you do find the source, it’s somebody you’ll get to embrace and talk to

Day and night, night and day

Under the hide of me

There's an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me

And this torment won't be through

Until you let me spend my life spreading love

A flash of bright red crossed your eyes when you finally had managed to shakily but stubbornly and determined, pasted through the big careless and if not almost hypnotised by the running TVs crowd, and continued down the road in half sprints. Following a array of melodically humming, recreating the beat and rhythm of the song as it seems the source is quite invested in such a song

It felt like forever following a mere sound across the city’s streets but there he is. The source of the singing, he’s so close that you can finally reach a arm out and take his hand to catch his attention

Day and night, night and day—

The man instantly mutes his singing. He is tall, in a nice fancy coat with long hems at the bottoms, with a pair of what seemed to be tall deer ears on the top of his head and his pale face branded with a permanent toothy grin, he looked both menacing but yet friendly. Turning around to face the nine-year-old Sinner running around the Pride Ring’s own Pentagram City’s streets to chase the source of a song of familiarity and now has chased and caught his hand, Alastor reacted rather friendly and understanding to be presented with a child of his own era

Leaning down to be kneel before this young confused on-the-verge-of-crying boy, the Radio Demon says smooth and curious with that same radio effect almost overlapping his charming transatlantic accent, placing his free hand on your little shoulder

Something about Alastor reminded you of a popular figure from New Orleans you’ve met before

“Greetings there, young man… tell me, where are your parents?”

[silent-stories]

𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇

(noah sebastian x gn!reader) headcanons. fluff.

-Noah never wants to get out of bed in the morning and tries in every way to grab you and hold you tight to his body so you can't leave. (you both know that one arm around your waist is enough to pin you to the mattress)

-When you finally manage to get out of bed he huffs and sinks his head into the pillow like a child mad at you. After some moments, you usually leave a kiss on his bare tattooed shoulder as an apology and go to make breakfast for both of you.

-When he smells food, he decides to finally get out of bed.

-You realize he is not in bed anymore when you feel his arms around your waist, wrapping you in his arms from behind as he leaves a kiss in your hair.

-You and Noah often try to bake a cake or cook something and always end up turning the kitchen into a mess.

-You usually always insist on deciding what music to play in the background while you try not to burn down the house. Get usually lets you decide. He can never say no to you.

-He often tries to teach you how to play some video game he's into at the moment but you always end up getting killed in the first three minutes of the game. So you both agree that he'll be the one playing, but with his arms around you and your back pressed against his chest, holding you while he fights some monster on the screen.

-You always pretend to be annoyed when the whole band arrives unexpectedly but in reality you love feeling part of their weird family. Of course, you're less fond of having to clean up the mess that three other men can cause in your house, but hearing the laughs that echoes through the rooms is worth it.

-You always shower together to "save water" but you know Noah wants you to wash his hair. It always helps him relax. Sometimes you think he's about to fall asleep in the shower.

-Sometimes he teaches you to play the guitar, his hands on yours gently guiding you over the strings.

-You love seeing him write the lyrics to his next songs in his notebook and hearing him mumble his ideas under his breath. You never disturb him in those moments and you try not to make any noise but sometimes, when he has so many ideas, he spends too much time writing and forgets to eat or that taking a break is good for him.

-So you sit next to him (he barely notices you how focused he is) and place your hand on his back, gently sliding it up and down, telling him it's time for dinner. You never take "I'll eat later" for an answer.

-You usually fall asleep watching a movie, gently playing with noah's tattooed hand on your lap or tracing the drawings on his arms with your fingers, your head resting on his shoulder.

-When this happens, Noah picks you up and carries you to bed, being careful not to wake you.

-Other times he's the first to fall asleep, his head on your lap while you let your fingers run through his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

-Then you turn off the TV and the light, placing the blanket around him and curling up next to him. During the night, his arm will wrap around your waist to push you against him anyway.

[lovecomedy]

If you need any convincing that Noel and Liam Gallagher are incestuous freaks (affectionate), here's the basic information you need

First of all. The kisses

Loch Lomond kiss, where they just... made out on stage in front of cameras. Cool. There's a gif with every photo from every angle.

Another kiss, this time in Japan. Here's the actual video.

And here's the same video but together with nice quotes from their 2016 documentary:

Here's a 2005 award event where they kiss again and also look quite in love

And here's Liam straight up groping Noel during concerts:

General stage antics and more groping:

Just one more groping

Ok. Let's talk about the music, then

Oasis has a song that Noel wrote called "My Sister Lover". The title speaks for itself, really. It includes amazing lyrics such as "You're my lover, I'm your brother"

But there's more! Noel used the same chorus of this song (with different lyrics) for a song he released in his solo album, 20 years later. It's called "Lock All the Doors". The very first line says: "She wore a star-shaped tambourine, prettiest girl I’d ever seen". And guess... guess who famously played a star-shaped tambourine? Liam! And Noel was the one that gifted him the fucking tambourine!!

Liam wrote a song for Oasis called Guess God Thinks I'm Abel

I'll just link everything that's been said about this song, because it really is batshit insane that this song exists

(It's common in the north of England to refer to things and people as "our". When either Liam or Noel say "our kid", they're talking about each other)

Liam has the tendency of thinking every song Noel writes is about him, including the love songs

Here he says "I'm his muse", along with some other interesting quotes

Ok, now we're on to suspicious quotes!

They had sex last night, according to Liam

This one is my favorite:

Of course this one is just all the weird quotes jammed in one post, you can feel yourself going crazy as you read it

Noel assures us that Liam knows about his arse

Other people confirming that they act like a couple

This one has Noel saying Liam is deeply in love with him. At the bottom, Liam's tweet.

Actually Liam always tweets things that basically confirm they're relationship. Like when somebody asked him if he ever rimmed Noel. Yeah.

This radio interview is where the most lovely quotes come from. Only Noel was supposed to be interviewed but then they both showed up PISSED DRUNK. Transcription in the same post

Even More weird quotes

This one involves the word impregnate

Noel making a suspicious comment about his daughter and son, Anais and Donovan

I think to be convinced you really just need that, but I'd like to add some niceties.

Just genuinely enjoying each other’s company

This is from the Oasis; 10 Minutes Of Noise and Confusion documentary. As Noel is kissing Liam's cheek, Liam is saying "He’s a fucking cunt and I hate him and I love him and he twists my melon, man. He’s the best songwriter in the fucking world.”

Some sweet quotes, and some less sweet ones as well

From the Supersonic documentary

Hugging after playing football

Just being silly

To finish off, two wonderful video edits with endearing moments

[avenging-fandoms]

i know this will sound too weird, but can i request something for sin hours? where y/n is also a singer and she meets harry at the studio, they're both tired but end up having some... fun? LMAO i'm so weird (btw, i love your work and hope you're fine!)

*you know the faint moaning in 'cinema'? just.. you'll see*

**kinda long.. bear with me. i love this fic

*it's smut. if you don't like it, that's okay! i'm sure there's other great harry fics. if you aren't 18+ FUCK RIGHT OFF

-

You had just flown in from Japan that morning, but you couldn't turn down the opportunity to work with Harry Styles. Harry never did collaborations on albums but you two wanted to work together.

The building was nice, and outside stood Harry with a few other people. You hop out of the car with a smile, Harry's arms immediately opening and you couldn't help but squeeze him a bit. "I have loved you for so long, this is a dream."

Harry grabbed your shoulders and bent down a bit. "I have been obsessed with you for a long time, your lyrics are amazing." He compliments you and you can't help but blush. Harry flashes a smile before introducing you to the people outside. "Shall we begin?"

The session was supposed to start at 8, but you guys didn't officially start until 9:45. You all got caught up talking about deep things, adventures, advice. It was like you had known these people for years and you had just met them an hour ago.

When the session actually started, it was like magic as you two worked with one another. Correcting or changing something the other does politely, so many compliments and singing harmonies together.

"Yn, get in there with Harry and sing the harmony with him." You open your mouth to speak, but you just stutter. "You did it out here, go ahead."

You head into the room as you gulp and Harry holds out a pair of headphones. He counts you two down and the music starts, the both of you singing, enjoying how you sound together so much you can help but sing the whole song with him.

The audio ends and you let out the biggest yawn. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I just flew in from Japan this morning and did not get as much sleep as I needed when I got home." He holds the door open for you and you thank him quietly.

"I completely get it, I just came back from Greece." You sit on the couch and he sits next to you with a bit of space, listening to you both singing. "That sounds incredible," Harry looks at you and grabs your thigh. "You are incredible."

You inhale sharply, your lips becoming dry as you open your mouth. Your tongue pokes out slowly and he watches. "Thank you."

Harry winks and looks away from you, standing up. "Let me sing what we have for 'Cinema.' It's just the beginning?" He asks and you couldn't answer, you had no idea was 'Cinema' was.

The music started to go and he started to sing. You watched as he sang, closing his eyes softly, moving his mouth to the side sometimes. "If you're getting yourself wet for me, I guess you're all mine."

You move a leg over the other and lean forward, hand over your mouth. That was so fucking hot.

An hour later, a few people had to leave, then 20 minutes later everyone else left, you and Harry saying you're going to stay to record some more.

""Cinema' is quite the risqué song, Mr. Styles. I love it." You smile as you sit on the stool. Harry smirks as he closes the door, standing in front of your microphone.

"It's missing something though, don't you think? Especially in the beginning." He moves next to you, moving his stool behind you and you lick your lips quickly with an excited shiver.

"Yes.. but.. what were you thinking?" You ask quietly, looking up as he towered over you. His hand holds your cheek softly, inhaling slowly with a smile.

"I want something faint in the background. A noise. And with the lyrics in the song.." His lips kissing your neck softly, your hands immediately grabbing the back of his biceps and whimper.

"Harry.."

"Something like that, yeah." He chuckles and pulls away, laying you back against the stool. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Yes, oh god yes please." You beg and he moves his microphone next to him by your head. His fingers pull up your shirt a bit, pushing into your sweatpants and into your underwear. Your hips move in the air as you tried to get his hand closer, but he didn't move.

"So responsive. Do you like being touched?" He leans over you, hips in front of your face with his hard on pressing through his sweatpants. You drop your jaw and pull the waist band down and moan when his dick is exposed.

"Do you?" You ask, spitting in your hand and stroking him slowly, moaning as he slides two fingers into you. You moan and shake your hips, moving them against his hand. His palm rubs your clit as you do, your hand moving faster as your orgasm approached quickly. "Fuck me, Harry."

"Are you sure? I don't have.. I'm clean."

"Me too. And I'm on birth control. Just please fuck me." Harry picks you up over his shoulder, putting you on the couch and pulling off his hoodie, to which you took off your shirt. Harry kissed you and held your breasts in his hands, twisting and pulling and flicking your nipples as he pushes you back against the couch.

"I need a taste." Harry hums, disappearing between your legs and immediately moving his tongue all over your pussy. You gasp and grip his hair, rolling your hips and shaking. "So fucking delicious." You pulled him in for a kiss, Harry locking his arm under your knee and bend the other one. "Put it in."

You smile and grab his dick, sliding his tip up and down your pussy. "Fuck.." You throw your head back and Harry moves his dick against your clit, and you could cum just then. Harry got impatient and did it himself, the both of you moaning.

"How far is too far with you, Yn? Kink wise." He asked, moving in and out of you slowly. You bite your lip, holding his chin and pushing your thumb in his mouth, pulling him towards you.

"Show me what you got, Styles."

Harry picks your hips up off the couch and fucks you into him, your hands holding desperately onto his arms. He slowed down and flipped you over, pulling your hips up and holding your wrists behind your back as he fucks you roughly.

"Fuck.. fuck.. Harry.." Your fingers tried to grab anything, but he had a tight grip with just one hand. The other hand laid hard smacks on your ass, then gripping your hair tightly and forcing your head back.

Harry let go of your hands and held your hip, twisting your hair around his fist. You sit up and Harry pulls out of you, the both of you on your knees as you kiss him roughly. You sit him down on the couch and push his legs out, sitting on his lap and moaning as you slide onto him.

"Your moans are just as pretty as you sing." He whimpers, kissing your neck as you bounce on him. You lay back and hold his knees as you continue to bounce your hips. Harry's thumb rubs your clit and your moans harmonize together, your orgasm quickly approaching.

You sit up and grip the hair on the back of his head, biting his jaw and collarbone. "Can I leave marks?"

"I wish you could, but all my outfits expose my neck and chest." He throws his head back and closes his eyes. "Where can I cum, sweetheart?"

"In me." Your arms wrap around his neck and he laughs.

"Are you sure? That's very risqué." His nails scratch down your back and thrusts his hips up. Harry's mouth kisses down your chest, moaning against your tits as his nails dig in your skin.

"Come on, Harry. Come on.." You smile, brushing your hair out of your face. Your fingers trace his features and watching as he cums, smiling slowly as you hear him whimper your name.

"Did you..?" You shake your head and his eyes widen, now pushing you back against the couch and wrapping his left hand around your throat, ring and middle fingers on his right hand quickly fucking you.

You gasp and hold onto his arm for dear life, moving your whole body and screaming his name. "Good girl, good job." He breathes, pulling out of your slowly and kissed you gently. "Wait here."

You laid on the couch with a bright smile on your face, Harry coming back a few minutes later with towels. "Towels? At a studio?"

"Sometimes I get sweaty when recording, I just get really into it." He shrugs, spreading your legs open delicately as he cleaned you up while humming.

You sigh contently and close your eyes, Harry continuing to hum as he kissed your thigh, your hip, your stomach. You smile and move your head, licking your lips. He kissed your chest, your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your lips.

"I'm going to need more studio sessions with you."

[allamericansbitch]

since y'all seemed to want this.... here's the live notes i took while listening to each song for the first time (bold are thoughts i had during later listens)

fortnight: 

‘i was a functioning alcohol till nobody noticed my new aesthetic’ what the fuck does that even mean…

love the fact she gave post the female collab treatment. don’t wanna hear what he has to say. 

they’re voices sound actually good together? 

some pockets of the melody are catchy

okay i don’t hate this 

ttpd:

her red flags are on fire in this song lol

this seems very half-cooked

also jacks weird mixing continues to plague us all

CHARLIE PUTH???? WHAT THE FUCK WHY HE HERE

tattooed golden retriever??? ……no way

my boy breaks all his favorite toys:

i blinked and it’s half over

this also is like… half cooked and didn’t need to be released tbh

i love the way she sings the second verse tho

down and:

the production does not match the vibe

did tpain produce this

i’m… kinda bored lol

like i have nothing to say this also didn’t need to be released tbh 

this grew on me a lot actually

so long london 

the production is so futuristic? 

oh im obsessed with how she sounds on this one

her talk-singing in the verses is great

honest lyrics without any clunky unnecessary metaphors! a win!!

the fast-paced verses with th slow chorus is really really cool

a favorite so far

daddy i love him

i can barely hear her? the bad mixing continues 

‘growing up precociously sometimes means not growing up at all’ oh yeah WE KNOW

is this…… is this about her dating matty and loving how people hate him… no fucking way she’s this stupid

SHE IS BEING THIS STUPID

‘it’s white noise’ yeah yeah that’s exactly how id describe him  

.... anyway y'all remember when fans really believed the little mermaid theory and this song was supposed to be about how 'joe stole her voice' lmaooo

we will pretend this one doesn't exist!

fresh out the slammer

are we getting another ‘i didn’t cheat technically’ song lol

what is this weird tempo change….

okay kinda catchy

it’s sounds exactly like you are in love at the end….. jack is really out of tricks

florida

‘my friends all smell like weed or little babies’ what the fuck is she even talking about anymore 

i’m sorry but i’m laughing at the phrase ‘fuck me up florida’

again the production sounds so detached from the vocals 

i honestly still have no idea how i feel about this one

guilt as sin

an real instrument?? wow crazy 

okay she’s kinda cute? catchy and fun, love the melody

i love when she goes up at the end of the vocal 

okay…. i don’t mind this one she’s catchy, a little too long and drawn out but cute

who’s afraid of little old me?

what is this production? it’s way too soft to be as threatening as they’re trying for 

why did jack push her vocals back so far when she’s supposed to scream…. that’s ruins the whole thing…. she’s supposed to be screaming and threatening….. not quiet and far away…. hello

this song is trying very hard to be threatening but it’s not... vigilante shit 2.0

‘you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum they raised me’…………… upper middle-class pennsylvania? 

‘i’m drunk on my own tears isn’t that what they all say, that’ll  sue you if you step on my lawn’ okay bar?

the bridge was good but that’s about it.

i can fix him 

…………… not another matty song oh god

‘i can handle a dangerous man’…… im too stunned to speak this is so embarrassing 

wow taylor really is that girl who like ‘women supporting women’ and then dates/defends a racist bf…. a walking example of white feminism

intersectional feminism found dead.... twice....

loml

okay this is really nice? 

I WAS ACTUALLY ENJOYING THE SONG WHY DID SHE RUIN IT BY SAYING ‘MR STEAL YOUR GIRL’ 💀

if we ignore that one line we're good this is good. im refusing to let that line ruin such a good song

i can do it with a broken heart

‘bitch smile’ why are there so many cringey lyrics on this album lol

what is this song omg why do i kind of like it 

taylor please learn depressed isn’t a synonym for sad 

they recycled the mastermind production 

wait till taylor finds out most of the entire world is sad while they're doing their job and has to pretend they're not

smallest man who ever lived 

oh i think i like this?

‘you said normal girls were boring’ GIRL AND YOU DIDNT IMMEDIATELY GET UP AND LEAVE??? EWWWW??? she's not beating the pick-me allegations

'i just wanna know if rusting my sparking summer was the goal' okay love that line

i like this a lot

the alchemy

no….. no way this is real

i cannot

THE SPORTS METAPHORS WE JOKED SHED DO THAT AND SHE ACTUALLY DID IT OH NO 

touchdown ✅ teams ✅ benches ✅ winning streak ✅ the league ✅

she’s doing…… the worst thing ever this is so laughable 

the corny lyrics are on overload 

‘this time it’s heroine with an e’ didn’t she write folklore? i can’t remember 

that literally was an snl parody of a taylor song

clara bow

love how the guitar sounds… bet money this is an aaron track 

a stevie nicks reference!! a win!!!

i like this one a lot no cringey lyrics yet

nope never mind she name-dropped herself don’t like that

overall really liked it tho

the black dog

i think i like it?? this is kind of what i expected the album to be

okay for once the weird production choices kind of pay off

imgonnagetyouback

kinda catchy? 

she loves a fancy car getting wrecked line

the pre-choruses are the best part 

this would’ve been better without the jack of it all bc he loves a song that doesnt build to anything

this just comes down to personal preference: i don’t like her lighter vocals with jack’s heavy production (ie most of lover lol)

the albatross

a real instrument!!! production that matches taylor’s voice and is well mixed!!! aaron’s arrived!! 

i think it’s solid, has good writing and she sounds great. that's about it.

chloe or sam or…

took me a solid minute to have any semblance of a fuck to know what was going on but okay

okay i love this one

wayyyy more emotive than like… most of the original album

a lot of the 2nd version (or whatever this is lol) are way more emotive, maybe because her voice isnt drenched in reverb so we can actually hear her voice emote better

how did it end

this sounds like an old school adele song? 

i love this one too…. 

her being upset people wanna know what happened but then also feeding it while promoting the album oop 

i love the story of this one it's so refreshing

so high school

THE PRODUCTION is so good ugh aaron never fails 

the man here is a walking red flag girl and the lyrics are ~not it~ but the production is too pretty to hate it

fuck these lyrics are so bad lol

maybe if i disassociate hard enough i can ignore the lyrics and just listen to the production and vibe

give me a karaoke version of this song and we'd be so back

i hate it here

i mentioned disassociation and she made a whole song about it!!!! this one’s mine!!!! 

‘without all the racists’ GIRL HUH

WHAT WAS THE REASON

also... girl don’t act like we don’t know you’re fine with that lololololol

if i had a dime for every time i was liking a song to then have it slapped away because of a bad, out-of-pocket lyric…… 

thank you aimee

this isn’t grabbing my attention 

oh the bridge is interesting 

it’s meh 

i will never be thanking the people that bullied me thanks tho

i look in peoples windows 

what do you mean aaron didn’t produce this??? it’s well-made and has instruments? 

i love this one, again a really interesting and unique concept that's very refreshing to hear at this point when a lot of the songs feel repetitive

the prophecy

aaron guitar!!!! 

she’s nice i like her 

i've really grown to love how she sings this one, the melodies are cool.. however i feel like we've heard the same melody.. like on this exact album... where she upturns at the end of every line...

cassandra 

this seems very…. familiar… idk i feel like we’ve covered this (i mean there are 31 songs we’ve already covered everything lol)

this is such an aaron song, that's a classic 'the national' piano

i like her voice in this one tho, sounds good

peter

oh love i love this

now this? THIS feels the most like a taylor swift song

once again she’s at her best with a simple instrument and emotive simple lyrics

the piano reminds me of champagne problems

the bolter 

i like this! the chorus is so cute

oh i like that ending line a lot!

she’s cute, a little long and drawn out but cute

robin

i haven’t seen anyone talk about this one

welp…. i literally have no feelings toward this one but sounds pretty! 

the manuscript

oh this is soooooooo powerful 

i love this concept 

her ending the album on another introspective album that sums everything up a la dear reader yep yep!!

if you actually read of this ily 💗

[thecynthh]

STARSTURNS - M.S

summery - going out to a concert with one of y/n friends, a weird turn is taken when matt makes a move.

notes - SMUT, ROCKSTAR MATTY POOOOO, guys im a virgin idk how sex works MADE FOR MY GIRLY @ihrtchris love u girl hope the wait was worth it <3 NOT PROOFREAD

a/n - guys it looked longer than it is i promise

also the bolded parts during the concert means its the song lyrics, also i love this song

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

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

the bustling noises of a busy kitchen fill my ears as i hear people shout and flames crackle. “so i think i'll have a sweet tea and a number 6 please.” i ask the waiter as she takes my order. 

“of course ma’am and for you?” cadence’s eyes swept over the whole menu again before speaking. 

“lemonade and a number 2 please!” the waiter nodded towards us and walked off to the kitchen. 

“hey are you busy tonight? i’m free and have nowhere to go, was hoping you knew about a party or something later.” i knew cay would know about any parties happening tonight, she was an epic journalist and worked for the editorial company i was at. 

“hm, come to think of it, no, i don’t think so. didn’t get an invite, i guess all the famous people are taking a break from being bitchy and petty.” i laugh at her statement about the rich and famous, we’ve met countless celebrities and models and almost all of them were like cay said, bitchy and petty. 

“come onnnn the one night i'm free from work and there’s nothing happening.” i drop my head dramatically on the table, careful not to hit the ketchup and mustard. 

“well….” cadence trailed off.

“well what???” i almost break my neck looking up at her. 

“i mean i saw a poster for this band, and they are playing at pacific square if you wanna go watch it, im down if you are.” cadence offered. 

“a concert? im not sure, i mean if the guys are cute” i joked. 

“ouh girl, i sure can tell you they are so hot.” she pulls out her phone looking through her photos. she taps on it and shows it to me. oh shit. they were really hot. 

the one thing that cay forgot to mention was that the band that was playing in our home town was starsturns. “WAIT! you mean starsturns is playing here??”

“okay, im convinced, i think i just found my husband.” i practically threw cay’s phone back to her, feeling a small piece of drool develop on the corner of my mouth looking at the drummer. 

“show starts at 8 i’ll be at your house with the uber.” cay says slipping her phone back into her pocket 

“holy shit i can’t believe we are going to see starsturns!!!” 

the ding of a bell goes off and we see the waiter sway towards us with our plates of food. i guess i have plans tonight. 

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

getting to the venue was a little troubling due to the death inducing trafic we were stuck in but cay is very much a hardass so when we did get to the venue she shoved her way to the front. 

“move your asses, two super fans over here!!!” cay’s enthusiasm scares people which lets us pass through sort of easily. 

being right at the rails that has to be only a metre away from the stage gets me riled up, we hear the curtains draw and and the stage lights get low. 

the sun just started to set and the neon flashes of their large stage lights flicker at the audience. the leader singer and lead guitarist chris looks behind him peering over his shoulder to the audience. the girls yelled and shouted, he was definitely a lady killer. 

chris began strumming his guitar in a steady pace as his brother nick, on the bass, keeps a steady beat emerging from the shadows. 

a slow rhythm on the drums begin to build up, slowly getting faster and with each tap of the snare the lights get brighter, and brighter. 

matt is revealed to the fans in such an epic way as the fans, including me and cadence goes crazy. 

the crash of matt’s cymbals begins their set list as their first song begins. 

time seemed to have lasted forever as they now have moved to a couple of slower songs that are more lyric focused. i throw my head back as i belt the lyrics living in pure harmony. this was my favourite song and i wanted to soak up every moment. 

chris noticed and waved a hand towards cadence and i letting security know to let us onto the stage. i shake cadence to snap her out of her little trance and yank her to the small stairs that lead up the stairs, a smile graces chris’ face as we run up to him. 

cay takes his hand as he spins her around, i stand back trying not to get hit by her long hair. i try to cover my mouth as i giggle a little seeing her have her moment with her favourite group member. i start skipping around the stage still keeping up with the song soon coming up to nick as he keeps his eyes on me as his bass still continues strumming. 

i lock eyes with matt, coming over to the back of his drum kit and wrapping my arms around his neck, 

“i dont wanna lose you now, 

im looking right at the other half of me” 

i sang my heart out as i hug matt while he kept his hand and foot trained on the instrument. he detaches the mic that was for his vocals and passes it to me, im a little shocked by his action but understand what he wants from me. 

i take the mic and start to sing. 

“show me how to fight for now,

and i tell you baby it was easy”

i felt alive. my idols and i sing this song with our hearts. i belt and add accents to my voice and really feel myself in the song. i bring the mic down to matt as we both sing into the mic as chris and matt begin to chant “you are, you are the love of my life” underneath my vocals letting me take the lead on the song. 

“you are my reflection, and all i see is you”

the song ends and i’m panting from using an excessive amount of air for singing and from prancing around. matt and my eyes never leave each other caught up in the moment. 

“give it up to y/n and cadence for singing this song with us!” chris yells into the mic. he holds up his signature rock n’ roll sign showing it to the fans, “thank you guys for coming out here tonight! love you all, have a good night!” with the last echo of his message to the fans the curtains move down and everything but the crowd lights turn off, still providing light for those going home. 

i hop down from matt’s little stage leaving the microphone i’ve been using on a table that was next to matt and meet up with cay at the front of the stage. 

cay was engaged in a conversation with nick and chris, talking to them like they’ve been friends since forever. 

“oh my gosh, thank you for letting us up on stage like that chris!” i knew cay was fangirling underneath her cool calm and collected front. 

don’t get me wrong, chris is very attractive, but simply not my type. i didn’t feel as strongly about him as i did with matt. 

“oh come on you guys are great singers! especially you y/n.” chris says as i walk over, i feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me with that compliment. 

“ah- thank you but it’s getting late, cay call an uber i’ll meet you by the gates in a second, just gotta run to the bathroom. 

i pat my pockets checking for my phone that wasn’t there. i make a quick run to matt checking his whole set up for it. when i pick it up i immediately get caught in someone’s hand. 

matt’s muscular hand grips my bare arm causing all my attention to look up to the man above me. “hey,” his voice is lower so his brothers don’t hear. “we are staying at a hotel tonight then sightseeing tomorrow, we’ll be in town for a night or two. we thought we’d visit our parents and take in the home town scene again before we travel again. was wondering if you wanted to come with me to our hotel.” 

“you can come to my house-“ i blurt out. “m-more privacy and it’s not that far from here or whatever your hotel is. i can get you back there just in time for your brothers to wake up…”

“ah, sounds like a plan, we just gotta take our equipment to our bus then i’ll meet you there, how does twelve sound?” he nods understanding my intentions. 

“uh yeah! sounds good, wait lemme give you my numb-“ 

“oh doll, don’t worry about that, gotta be a little careful with who you leave your phone around,” he winks as his grip on me loosens and falls. 

i almost ran out of the venue, finding cadence and the uber waiting outside on the street. “girl come on!” she waves me in letting the uber driver know where we were going. 

i close the door behind me gripping my hands very hard on my phone. cay rests and hand atop mine and looks at me with concern. “hey, what’s up?” 

“matt just- matt- matt invited me to their hotel.. but now we are meeting at my house at twelve.” my eyes are trained on the headrest in front of me. 

“YOU WHAT, HE- HE WHAT????” cay starts freaking out as much as i would’ve if i hadn’t been in such a state of shock. 

“yuuuup,” the uber slows down getting stopped close to my house. “i have his number in my phone, he said he was going to come when i text him my address.” i open my car door seeing as we’ve stopped right in front of my house. 

“all the details tomorrow morning at work !!” she yells as i exit the car, waving thank you to the driver from outside the car i walk to my house to finally freak out. 

WHAT THE FLYING FUCK was i doing?? no way am i about to have a one night stand with the drummer of sturnstars, one of my favourite bands  

i pull my phone out of my pocket to see a new contact that was put in named “hot drummer” with a new number. 

y/n 

you shared your location with “hot drummer”

hot drummer (matt s)

otw!

not too long after i hear the doorbell ring throughout my house and i quickly rush to my front door. taking a deep breath in and out i push down on the large handle seeing matt on the other side of the door. 

matt leans on the side of my door frame looking as delicious as ever. “hey” a smirk grows on his face as he scans my body. the black cropped long sleeve i was wearing was getting clawed at by my long done up nails. my skirt was barely covering my ass and showed a lot of my legs. 

he looked at me like i was his last meal. he launches himself off the door frame as i take him by the hand, leading him to my bedroom. 

he looks around at the posters on the wall, one including their old tour one. his finger glides across the arctic monkeys and slipknot ones. 

“so you're a fan?” he asks coming to sit next to me. 

“yeah you could say that, i’m not crazy tho, some girls are worse. if i’m being honest i didn’t even know you guys were coming here.” i say truthfully 

“so if i do this,” he leans and kisses me, sparks fly in my stomach. “you’ll be okay with it.” 

“and if this happens,” his hand undoes the clasp and zipper on my mini skirt, “you’ll be okay with it?” 

his lips touch mine as i help him moves my skirt down to the floor as i hold the hem of his shirt pulling to take it off. my long sleeve and bra meet the floor not too far after matt’s shirt. 

he manoeuvres on top of me now pressing his raging hard on top of my heat. “please matt,” i say in a whiny voice, feeling more anxious and excited. 

“please what princess?” he teases. 

“please fuck me,” my hand snakes to the nape of his neck as i pull him in for a kiss. his fingers clad with rings, slip into my panties as he makes cold contact with his thumb onto my clit, my eyes roll back feeling him circle around my hole before plunging in. 

“oh- god matt please don’t stop,” i moan feeling him pump in and out of me. a familiar knot builds and snaps quickly due to the constant stimulation. 

“mhh, come on babe, give it to me” i squeeze around his fingers hard before i cum all over his fingers. “good job baby, you did so well, you ready for me?” i nod frantically as he sticks his fingers into my mouth for me to taste myself, letting me such on his two fingers while he tugs on my panties making the small fabric keeping the whole thing together come unloose. 

he's quick to undo his cargo pants letting the baggy material fall, and he tugs down his boxers letting his length spring out. i 

“what the fuck, that is not going to fit in me?!?” he laughs at my surprise, pumping up and down on his monster dick. 

“hey, i’ll take it slow, tonights ‘bout you.” he says hovering over me, “just tell me if it’s too much, alright?” he lines himself up and just puts the tip in, i arch my back in ecstasy feeling so full already. 

“fuck, matt keep going.” he takes this as an invitation to push all the way in. my moans only become more airy as he gets deeper and deeper. 

he gets more confident in his movement and keeps a steady pace, he lifts my leg, folding it by my knee, letting him hit a new spot. 

“mhhh, matt don’t stop.” his pace is steady with him constantly hitting my g-spot, “i-i-”

i couldn’t even get my sentence out before i completely collapsed underneath his arms, letting myself go. “you did such a good job pretty girl, can i cum in you?” 

“YES, yes matt please!” a slight feeling of overstimulation washes over me as matt grunts and shoots his load into me, falling onto my bed next to me. 

“ah, come on, let's get cleaned up. nick and chris are gonna be wondering where i am.” 

who knew, maybe dating a drummer isn’t that bad. 

taglist - @westwiing13 @comet235 @mayhem-72 @pepsiimaxx @strniolosworld

taglist is open !

[corspepointvision]

A New Pelle Interview from Death Power!!! From DeadFromMayhem.ru Dark Hel

Interview with Dead, done by Scottis Kriss-Toff.

LITTLE STORY ?

It’s always the same hard to give a brief history and to shrunk down about 6 years. So, I tell of the line-up of MAYHEM. After that MANIAC (ex-vocalist) and MANHEIM (ex-drums) left (straight after the recording of "DEATHCRUSH"), I joined MAYHEM in the early spring 1988 and HELLHAMMER joined about a month later. We’ve got terribly hassles with rehearsal places, somewhere to live, money, etc etc... But we don’t feel for give up only to continue when the band is the reason of our existence.(We would be dead without MAYHEM, eh ! ! !) We’re still trying to get enough of material together for the L.P. We do only songs that will last for years, not the shit songs that becomes a short-time trends,...I hate trends !

STYLE ?

We’re a Black Metal band!!

INSPIRATION ?

We're trying not to copy other styles, but every band has got inspirations even if they don’t think so by themselves. We’re still VENOM Heads (old VENOM of course) and VENOM created the music. I’ve got personal influences by different singers of course and to mention some: MANTAS/early DEATH, SARCOFAGO, POISON (german of course), PARABELLUM (the first demo) and early SEPULTURA.

PRODUCTION ?

By all these years, it has not been much of discocraphy.There have been "PURE FUCKING ARMAGEDDON" in 1986 limited to 100 copies, DEATHCRUSH in 1987, our second demo, our mini-L.P. DEATHCRUSH in 1987 limited to 1000 copies + some rehearsals tapes given out by MANIAC’s "MANIAC PROD".

ACTUAL LINE-UP ?

-DEAD (but still not buried) (vocals)

-EURONYMOUS (greek name for prince of death) (lead guitar)

-NECROBUTCHER (bass)

-HELLHAMMER (drums)

ACTIVITIES OUT OF THE BAND ?

-DEAD : immigrate to Transylvania, castle mania, cut deeply in myself and others, torture humans and animals.

-EURONYMOUS : dangerous expriments with chemicals, weird science.

-NECROBUTCHER : guru and pot-smooker.

-HELLHAMMER : hellish drunks always and then sings sailor songs.

REASONS OF THE NAME MAYHEM ?

It sound cruel enough we think. But as the most people who’re reading this now, there has been lots of other "MAYHEMS" all over the world, but we were the first ! The name is from 1982 when EURONYMOUS had a band then.

CAN YOU SPEAK ME ABOUT YOUR LYRICS ?

At "PURE FUCKING ARMAGEDDON" the lyrics were pretty VENOM clones. "DEATHCRUSH" had more slaughter, insanity, Eating corpses style over it. As for the new ones, I make them far and I’m possessed of transylvanian legends and its castles, satanic coven meetings, black art and nice animals as vultures, bats and goats. So that, I write of Evil ! I’m inspired by evil in everything I do. When I make a drawing, it’s to express evil, when I talk, when I dream, when I’m thinking... and when I create lyrics.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY IF I TELL YOU THE FOLLOWING WORDS ?

Alcohol : Nothing left. Drug : Against. Cigarette : No smoking. Sexe : Violence and death. Politic : Crap! Religion : Evil, ancient, Satanic! Money : Broke always... A.I.D.S. : Marcin Wawreynzak (of "ETERNAL TORMENT"). Torture : Nice to do. Noise : Children’s bands!!! Dream (hope) : Transylvania, Immortality. Death : Peace. Life : Stupid mortals! Rain : By the night. Wind : In the dark forest. Thunder : At the darkened sky. Evil : Evil weather, castle. NAPALM DEATH : Trend! Earth : No hope. Wizard : Black arts. The end : Crossover, straight edge and Grind. You : The superstitious mortals in Transylvania’s dreams came true...

YOUR TEN FAVORITS BANDS ?

(this is not in order) PARABELLUM (R.I.P.) from Colombia, SARCOFAGO from Brazil, MASACRE from Colombia, DEATHPEED (R.I.P.) from Japan, POISON (R.I.P.) from Germany, DAMNATION (R.I.P.) from Canada, TORMENTOR from Hungary, IMPERATOR from Poland, GROTESQUE from SWEDEN, REENCARNACTION from Colombia.

Do you know MAYHEM, the MAYHEM from U.S.A. ? What do you think about what they do.

I hate them !!! How can a records company releases such crap, even if they are a commercial label !?! We gave out our mini-L.P. "DEATHCRUSH" a half year before they released their excrement compilation ! I suppose you’ve heard the Brazilian MAYHEM (?). They’re now splitted up but that was at least a Death Metal band and I liked their music. There has been also other MAYHEM’s in the history but they don’t exist no longer. I know of two other still existing MAYHEM’s : from Hungary and from Uruguay.

HAVE YOU ALWAYS PLAYED IN DEATH/BLACK/EVIL/ FROM THE DOOM BANDS ?

The two bands I’ve singing in are MORBID and MAYHEM, the both of them are Black Metal.

WHY DID YOU LEAVE MORBID ?

‘Cause the original guitarist of the line-up left the band and the others didn’t know if they wanted to continue like before and to remain a dirty and a Black/Satanic band. There had been too many hassles of the gigs and between the members, so, after my opinion, that band didn’t exist after the first demo "DECEMBER MOON". Later, they recorded a second demo with another line-up, new logo and completly different style than before. Something I think I have to add here is that we’re thinking of having one, just one more MORBID gig of the old style as MORBID was (and also should be) and we also think of the finish song "DEATH EXECUTION" that the "DECEMBER MOON" ends with (on the demo it’s only the la-la version slowly of the refrain and the opening riff). It was a whole song but a not finished such coz we were changing it the time during MORBID’s existence and then, have one or two more songs and then, give it out as a demo… some dark day.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT WHITE METAL (METAL FOR THE BIBLE, METAL FOR JESUS) ?

First of all, I don’t think it’s Metal. Then, I think as long as it can be called Metal it comes originally from VENOM… Even if there is Grindcore, fun-noise, straight edge-anti-everything or yucky white metal. To me, only Black is true and only death is real !!!

THEY ALWAYS SAY THEY WANTS TO MAKE GIGS WITH BANDS LIKE VENOM OR SLAYER. WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE A GIG WITH STRYPER, VENGEANCE OR HOLY SOLDIERS ? WHY ?

It seems like the white « bands » believe Black Metal is only for fun… We’re a serious black band. We take this mortually serious! The « white » bands don’t deserve to exist.

HAVE YOU EVER HAD PROBLEMS WITH THE CHURCH OR ANYONE WHO FOLLOWS A RELIGION ?

Well, the chritians, new-boru christians, the mormons, hare-krishnas, Jehovas witnesses and more have tried lots of their methods of turn me into it, without success of course. The most of them, especially the christians and fanaticals but do not believe in it cos so many of them have been forced by their parents and their family to « believe » and, after that, they’re going out trying to make others join them… of the more limited believers who chose it by themselves and have got a belief in it, I use to scare them up (and to them it works almost every time) most of the cases. The all I have to do is to talk with them and they’re getting corpse pale in their faces and then realize I’m lost and impossible to turn over. One guy even tried an exorcism on me......

WHAT DO YOUR MOTHER THINK ABOUT MAYHEM ?

She (and also my dad) thinks it’s good for me that I’m in a band, so I don’t start with something stupid instead. It’s hell a work to play in a band, whatever someone might think. Only the letter writing is a full-day job. What she do not like is when I sometimes gets ideas of cutting myself up and when I lived at my parents home, none of them liked when I had parts of animals in my room (from some animals they used to start to rot already at the second day).

CAN YOU SAY A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE SONG « BURIED BY TIME AND DUST »

Not the best lyrics I’ve done.

YOU SEEM TO LIKE BLACK SIDES OF THINGS, WHY ?

It simply is my way of thinking. The only that feels as the possible right to me. I search for the Evil and Black in all matters and I don’t give a dawn of what others are saying of that !

WHAT IS OCCULTISM FOR YOU ?

It sounds too mystical only, to me... I’m into the pure Evil and right on Black ! But with that I don’t mean I’m a great sorcerer. I mean of a though and a style of living.

I just don’t really know why I’ve hated all the fucking christans the whole life of mine and I’d search for the Evil darkness. I totally ignore those who are telling me I sicking my head I better go to hospital. Occult can be just anything that people think sounds strange to them. There is no actual limits of what is the occult… Yes mystic, it can be anything from practice. After my opinion, that word occult doesn’t say anything !

IF i TELL YOU "SATAN",WOULD YOU LIKE 95% OF THE TRASHERS, RUNNING AWAY DO A STRANGE FACE, SHIT ON YOURSELF, SAY "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOT SATAN",AND GET ANGRY AFTER HAVING CALLED YOUR MOTHER ? WHY ?

Of course, I won’t run nor put shit on you. Mainstream people of clone bands used to fuck with the very few existing anti trend Black Metal bands when crossover-straight-edge-vegetarians ruled the trends… then grindcore was "in" and people used to refuse listen to anythong else than NAPALM DEATH, and so on... It’s not actually NAPALM DEATH who created this awful fashion actually, it was the children who then had to try playing fast. How I hated all the demos with hundred of second-sings and lyrics talking of how many animals that get killed coz of hamburgers and do not vegetables either coz they’re also living. AAAAARRGH !!! As what happens sooner or later with all trends they’re vanishing completly and everybody forget about it really fast. Even Death Metal became trend. At least, it’s on its way. So, what did happen to all the "important" lyrics bands that blamed all the others for not been "in". Did they went designing new fashions that everyone had to follow ? Hell no ! AAAAAAARRRHHHHGGHH-death, the mother fuckers jumped on Death Metal !!! How dared they make Death Metal to something normal that wimps are starting to play to await something new to appear… Next trend ! I will guess the most of the true BM heads (who’ve been into it since Venom) can understand what I mean here. It feels like something is really wrong when serious bands that wanna create something own musically are in ‘zines that also feature noise bands that have been existing for a week but already have released 3 demo’s or something like that and are playing in 25 differents "bands" only for fun. Bands that are sending picture of theselves who are supposed to be funny, strange glasses, toilet paper and a shirt on the head and so much other childish and above it all boring bullshit, I think those have misunderstood humour completely! I refuse to laugh of this! I cannot understand why everything has to be so fucking funny and how people can laugh at this, and if someone might laugh of this interview, I can tell him that he has misunderstood the whole point of this and the rest of this interview, read it again more carefully and he won’t find this funny at all! It’s not funny and I refuse to say something funny or laugh, everybody would misunderstand everything only. There’s so much that stupid people only seek for a good time, so they can laugh don’t understand by the music so I should even refuse listen to music... But that would be too hard to do and it needs more self control for that. The most of the new demo’s sound all the same, the originally is gone it seems. I can’t see why so many self-condemned bands have to exist. One weird thing is that when a band almost is formed they have to record a demo and straight after that, they "have to" give out something on vinyl... and then only after a few weeks they can’t understand how they could record this when they’re sounding much better now if they haven’t already forgot it.

DO YOU LIKE BLACK SABBATH (OLD ONES, WITH DIO AND OZZY) ?

Only with Ozzy! By dio I can listen to « Holy Driver » but nothing else.

DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE A HEAVY METAL KIDS ?

Hey, I’m lucky I’m not a NAPALM DEATH/CARCASS kid. Well, then the most Evil, "Occult", dirty and the worst are BLACK SABBATH, KISS,IRON MAIDEN, AC/DC and MOTORHEAD, they were my faves. When I heard VENOM and MERCYFUL FATE, it felt like I lost an important part of my brain and I worshipped them.

WHY ARE YOU ANTI-MOSH ?

Cos I hate that word !!! I wanna hear an explanation of what the moshers actually do when they’re moshing...

LAST WORD...

"Antiquus Malum Cruentus Scriptum De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas" : It’s a book I recommend.

CREDITS:

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[nina-renmen]

Sorry for spam liking your fics yesterday I'm new here and rlly love your fics 😭!!

Could you do a hc's on how pickle would react to the reader dancing to beautiful liars by Beyonce ft. Shakira?

Also hope you're taking care of yourself 🙏🏾💕

No worries Anon! And thank you, I have been taking care of myself 💕💕

Pickle X Reader Dancing to beautiful liars

Pickle was in his arena like always, he either sat, slept or killed something that was brought to him. But curiosity spiked within him, the sound of something unusual and the sound of footsteps. But no one was coming.

So with a small grunt, Pickle lazily stood up and walked over to the small noise. You were oblivious, your headphones leaked a lot of music but you never thought it would be enough to attract someone.

Y/n swayed their hips, softly singing the lyrics. Their voice was pretty, it was pretty like a hummingbird, and they seemed fragile. It was as if they would break with a touch. With a small twirl y/n was startled by the giant primitive man. They shreiked. Without thinking they reeled their/his/her fist back and punched his face. Pickles nose bled as he stepped back, putting his hand underneath his nose and touching the blood.

Y/n still hadn’t realized who he was. They/he/she only seen him on the news once and forgot his face right after that. So with quick motions y/n pulled out a handkerchief and put it under his nose wiping the blood.

“I-I’m sorry! My headphones were so loud I didn’t even hear you.” Y/n fretted as Pickle looked down at her. They/he/she was taking care of him. Pickles eyes sparkled as y/n continued wiping off the blood until he stopped bleeding. “I’m sorry.” They/he/she apologized once more, They/he/she took a step back to retrieve their phone but he picked up their headphones first.

Pickle gave a curious look at the headphones. It was some type of cord that plugged into a small box. Y/n gasped when he stood up straight making her stand up straight as well so it wouldn’t look like she were cowering in fear. But because of that the music ‘Beautiful Liars’ blasted through her phone. Echoing throughout the stone hallway they were in.

Pickle looked down at the phone at the same time y/n did. The two reached down quickly to grab it before the other but unfortunately Pickle had grabbed it.

“Give it back!” Y/n exclaimed reaching up for the phone that Pickle had took. It was weird to him, people were in this small box. But where were they? Pickle shook the phone making it accidentally slip out of his fingers. With quick reflexes y/n grabbed it and stepped back, turning off their phone. But a notification popped up.

‘Pickle, the primitive man has killed an endangered tiger.’ It read, showing a picture of Pickle.

Y/n’s eyes widened seeing the picture of pickle and looking back up at the primitive man. It was the same person. Pickle tilted his head to the side, picking up the headphones that lied on the floor. He opened his mouth to eat it.

“N-No! B-Bad boy! That’s a very bad boy!” Y/n exclaimed. Pickle stopped opening his mouth, a whine erupted from him giving Y/n enough time to pull their headphones out from his hands.

“This is not food!” Y/n continued to scold until they/he/she yelped. Pickle had picked them up, throwing them over his shoulder and began walking back to the arena. “L-let me down!” Y/n exclaimed. Sure, they were a fighter but there’s no way in hell they’d try and engage in a battle with pickle.

Pickle sat down, pulling her to his lap. Y/n Sat frozen, what were they to do? Should she/he/ they stay? Should they try and run? As y/n was analyzing the situation in their head, Pickle tapped their phone. His nail making a ‘tap, tap’ noise against their phone screen.

Y/n sat there confused but turned on the phone. Pickle only grumbled, tapping the phone again. ‘Does he want the music?’ Y/n thought as they punched in their passcode and began to play the song. Pickle brought his hand away from theirscreen. And only snaked his hands around Y/n’s waist, pulling them closer to him.

Y/n would never realize this but now, whenever Pickle hears the song Beautiful Liars’ He thinks of Y/n.

[crepesuzette2023]

Beatles Books as vaguely defined friends and relatives at a party you attend with a new crush, whose name you keep mispronouncing.

The longer you stay, the more trouble you have remembering what the occasion was.

The lights keep changing. Shortly after you arrived, your crush shrunk to the size of a mouse, and scurried away. You’re on your own.

The Beatles (Bob Spitz) greets you, an attractive silver fox who seems to be shunned by most of the others. You wonder why. It’s as easy to imagine him as a crying wreck as it is to imagine him on a golf course. Here, There, and Everywhere (Geoff Emerick) disrupts your musings by pulling tapes from his mouth. Seeing your discomfort, he stops and hands you a photograph of John Lennon and Paul McCartney singing into the same microphone. As he does, his pupils take on the shape of hearts. Someone called George announces his intent to poison him.

Anthology (The Beatles) saunters in, puts eight arms around you, and promises to tell you the whole story. They proceed to speak in tongues, and throw popcorn at you. Stu Sutcliffe jumps from a pendant around their neck, lands on the floor, and scurries after your crush.

“It’s always like this,” says Body Count (Francie Schwartz). “I assume you don’t want to listen to my story about a gifted woman who got locked up for depression? That’s fine, I can also talk about frottage, and a certain man’s curves.”

“Oh, stop it,” says John (Cynthia Lennon). She turns to you. “My advice is: Turn around and run as fast as you can.” She demonstrates what she means by disappearing, leaving behind a purse filled with cheerful letters and drawings of herself getting married and giving birth. Everything smells of olive oil. Francie spots Loving John (May Pang), and rushes to her, greedy for gossip. Loving John (May Pang) is everyone’s favorite, because she doesn’t really know anyone very well, but she knows how to make everyone feel comfortable by saying things that make sense in the moment.

Living the Beatles Legend: The Mal Evans Story (Ken Womack) ends up taking her home; they both live at The Fringes. Her home is a little further than his, which is just this side of Weird whereas she’s all the way in Montauk, but he’ll make sure she gets there safely.

To make up for the disappearance of your crush, Remember (Mike McCartney) cuts your hair. Each snip of the scissors slots a black-and-white picture into your field of vision. Windows in time blow noise and heat in your face, and visions of a screaming band that looks a bit like the young Beatles. Then there’s the quiet heat of summer, towels rippling on the line, and a drain pipe screwed to the wall of a house. He talks about childhood, and you’re almost there, but you never will be, because he won’t let you in. His more verbose twin, The Macs (Mike McCartney), recites letters his brother and John wrote from Hamburg, but you can barely understand what he says, because he stuffed a tissue into his mouth.

“It’s only a story,” says The Lyrics (Paul McCartney). “Pleased to meet you. I’m a storyteller myself.” He sings a love song. “I must have thought about these things when I wrote it,” he muses. “Interesting. What a mind, as Linda used to say.”

He tears a few pages from a diary he kept in Paris in 1961 and hands them to you without comment.

At this point, the party is dissolving. Crocheted furniture floats away and stretches.

“Am I too late?” Skywriting by Word of Mouth (John Lennon) squeezes himself out of the lowest drawer of an antique desk, where, judging from by his crinkly pajamas, he slept. “I’m in pieces. Mend me with glue.”

“I will, I will!” Tune In—All These Years, Vol I (Mark Lewisohn) yells ecstatically. “I’m so glad you could make it Sit down with me and celebrate the heritage of Liverpool.”

Skywriting drapes himself around Tune In, who starts purring and rutting against him.

“Excuse me?” It’s The Fifth Beatle: The Brian Epstein Story (Vivek Tiwary), torero boots clicking on the invisible floor as he strides towards the couch. A spotlight follows him. “I’m managing this show, and I insist on expanding the scene.” Around them, a hotel room forms.

Skywriting lights a cigarette. “Join us in bed, Bri.”

“Yes,” moans Tune In. “I’m so lonely. I’m the oldest of a triplet, or so they say, but the other two haven’t been born yet.”

The Fifth Beatle sits down and observes the unhinged biography losing himself in the friction of rubbing against the shapeshifting Skywriting. Finally, things reach a conclusion.

“And so,” says The Fifth Beatle, “what partially was, finished.”

“Stop repeating lines from a bad movie, Brian," says Skywriting, "you’re better than that.”

As you try to plot ways to escape through the skylight, The McCartney Legacy, Vol 1 (Sinclair & Kozinn) slides out from under the bed, a broad-shouldered lady in a bright red dress. A half-hatched alien with long legs and sunglasses squirms between her breasts, and makes mouth percussion sounds.

“Gentlemen.” The McCartney Legacy retrieves a very, very long rosary from her pocket. “Is anyone interested in an exquisitely crafted, finely wrought chronology?”

At the sound of the word “chronology,” The Beatles (Hunter Davies) crashes through the ceiling.

“Don’t fall for it!” The Beatles snatches the vocalizing baby alien from The McCartney Legacy’s chest, and kills it by wringing its neck. “Time stopped in 1968. The only valid extension are my own salacious additions. Strictly off the record.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” says The Fifth Beatle.

You exchange a glance with Skywriting, who is plucking pieces of Tune In from his body like children snatch pieces of dough, and sticking them in his mouth.

A camera clicks.

“Excellent.”

The Eyes of the Storm (Paul McCartney) lowers the camera, and changes into a suntanned, gleaming likeness of George Harrison. Then he changes into a fish.

“Everyone looking at the pictures will think they know,” the fish says. “They’ll have no idea!”

The floor dissolves under you. You fall into a pool, just in time to save your crush from being sucked into the drain, and after a barely audible edit you find yourself back home, with no memories at all, the taste of chewing gum in your mouth, and wearing matching tops saying, I visited Fellini’s Satyricon, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. (ETA: I can't believe I forgot about Dreaming the Beatles (Rob Sheffield). I guess I'll have to include him in the inevitable sequel to this...thing, as the +1 of John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs (Ian Leslie).)

[bluefairyhere]

Afterwards || MGK scenario

¬Colson meets a fan backstage. Pairing->f!reader x colson baker Word count-> 2.0k cw. fluff, some deep convo, fan service, mentions of suicide, swearing.

The noise was unreal. You still couldn't belive you finally made it to kells' concert. It had been an odissey to get enough money to afford the plane and concert tickets, at some points you even wondered if it was worth it. However being here made you have no doubt--It was absolutely worth it.

"Thank you beautiful people for coming today," he practically yelled into the mic, his bright pink hair dripping drops of sweat."I'm afraid this will be the last song of the night."

The crowd sobbed loudly, but the sad atmosphere was quickly replaced with the festival of cords that was the beginning of WWIII. To you it felt like Colson was flying around, his instense energy being contagious to every single fan that was singing along the extravagant lyrics. Everyone was jumping and laughing like one big, jolly being.

Eventually the song was over, and everyone was ready to go back home, but Kells was thinking otherwise.

"Before y'all go back home, the crew and I have one more thing." you looked around just to see excited faces."We've decided to gift a V.I.P meet n' greet behind the scenes to three random people;"

He stepped aside and signaled to the big screens around him, which started showing pink explosions and sparkling silver and black dashes. Then, a series of numbers started to appear—it was ticket numbers.

Your heart was pounding fast, and you could feel the adrenaline pouring through your entire self. You knew it was beyond highly unlikely your number would appear on that screen, yet you couldn’t help but hope…

The first couple of numbers had already been announced, meaning there was only one left. One opportunity to meet Colson left. You knew it wasn’t gonna be you, but even being aware of it didn’t prepare you for the disappointment of realizing the third and final ticket number belonged to the person right next to you. The screen showed the number 118, while your number was 117.

You scowled silently. What a drag. At least i got to enjoy myself for a few hours was all you could say to yourself to make you feel better. You looked to your right, expecting to see the lady excited out of her mind, but she looked quite neutral. Thinking it was odd, you continued gathering your stuff to go back home.

“Excuse me.” You felt a slight pat on your shoulder along with the sound of a voice getting lost in the background noise. You turned around. “I can’t really attend the backstage thingie, I promised the sitter I’d be back home early. Would you like to go instead?”

To say you couldn’t believe your ears would be an understatement. “Sorry?” You said in shock. The lady looking back at you seemed to be in her late 30s, short brown hair and kind eyes. She giggled.

“I realize it’s weird, but I really can’t stay any longer. If you can’t accept it there’s no problem, I’ll just ask someone else.”

But before she finished the sentence you interrupted with frantic nodding. “I’ll take it! It was just so unexpected! Are you really sure?”

“I’m really sure I can’t afford a different sitter right now,” she smiled honestly. “So yea.”

She offered you her ticket and you took it, hesitant. And there it was, the winning ticket—or one of them anyway—in your hands. You felt on top of the world.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, thank you so much.” You said while smiling as well, and she just brushed it off.

“Never meet your idols is something I’ve always firmly believed anyways. Have a good time!” After saying that she quickly left.

It took you a while to get it together. The whole situation felt crazy to say the least. You just knew your friends were gonna be so jealous (in a nice way) and eager to hear the whole thing. They simply were not gonna believe this!

You made your way to the backstage entrance, where a bodyguard and some other staff members were to make sure everything went smoothly. The other two people in front of you, who you assumed were the other winners, seemed to be really excited as well.

One of the staff members explained that each of us would have approximately ten minutes with Colson, in the order the winners were announced. They also gave you some merch, which you naturally loved. You immediately put on a little rubber band around your wrist that came in the carefully organized package.

After some time, it was finally your turn. You were so excited the waiting felt like a blink. The bodyguard walked you through a hallway with a bunch of doors on either side, until finally you reached one that had a piece of paper sticked to it. “MACHINE GUN KELLY”

Your heart immediately skipped a bit, you couldn’t believe you were actually going to meet MGK. Machine Gun Kelly. Colson Freaking Baker. You inhaled some air hoping it would calm you down—of course it didn’t—and the bodyguard opened the door.

There he was. A smoky blunt on one hand and his phone on the other. He wasn’t really sweaty anymore, and his hair was a mess yet his face looked so calm. His see-through shirt revealed his contoured torso full of tattoos. You knew he was tall but seeing him in person for the very first time... he seemed taller than anyone could ever be. Just the arch of his nose and piercing eyes made you feel like oxygen wasn’t so necessary anymore-

“You don’t have to stand all the way there,” his raspy voice took you out of the trance in a heartbeat, which made you a little shy due to your awkward demeanor. “C’mere”

Once again hesitantly you walked a little closer to him, who was no longer leaning against the wall nor unaware of your presence. Colson was standing up—god he got even taller-- and looking at you in a curious manner. “What’s your name?”

You whispered the answer, unable to look into his eyes for longer periods of time than twenty seconds each. He giggled, amused.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” Now it was your turn to giggle. For some reason his unpreoccupied remark eased you into the moment. “Sorry,” you sighed “college didn’t teach me anything on how to talk to someone like you.”

He walked closer to you and sat in a nearby chair. “Woah, someone like me? And here I thought we're getting along.”

You laughed out loud again and he smiled in return and inhaled the blunt resting between his fingers. Now you were starting to feel actually comfortable.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” You hugged yourself while walking a little closer as well. “I meant someone so famous and admirable. We’re just very different.”

He appeared to think about it for a second and then signaled to a chair close to his with his almost fully smoked blunt, indicating you should sit down.

“I don’t think we’re that different, you and I.” He stated firmly, looking right into your eyes. You could feel your ears burning a bit, but naturally decided to just ignore it.

“We are very, very different…” you began right after you sat on the chair but stopped mid-sentence because you weren’t sure about how to adress him, which he somehow seemed to notice.

“Call me whatever, I literally don’t care.” Usually that sentence would’ve sounded harsh due to its very nature, but coming out of his mouth it didn’t make you feel any of those things. He meant it, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Is Colson alright?” He nodded while inhaling the last puff out of his blunt. "ye's fine."

You could feel once again the air filling up with awkwardness, but you weren't gonna let it. It's not every day you get to have a one-on-one conversation with THE Machine Gun Kelly.

"Tell me something about you."You spat before you could think twice about it. He frowned, unsure of what you meant."Tell me something you'd like me to know about you. Something I shouldn't know, or something you've never said to anyone. Tell me something about you." You stared right into his cerulean gaze."Anything."

He laughed outloud, strong peals of laughter filling the room. You wondered how come this was better than all the songs he performed at the concert--the sound of his laugh."What's so funny?"

"You were so shy like a second ago and now you're asking shit like that." He pointed, still slightly smiling. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I do." You quickly replied, simply. "It's not every day a girl gets to be face to face with the one and only MGK."

Colson's smile became a mere smirk. You could tell he was thinking what could he possibly tell you.

"I make music for myself" he spat suddenly ", not for the fans. For me. The fact that they---you like it is just a plus. It's what helps me sleep at nights."

When you asked him to give you something you certainly weren’t expecting something half as deep as that.

"I guess we never really think you celebrities have demons as bad as that... not for real, anyway. Thanks for sharing that with me, you obviously didn't have to."

"Well, there's not much of a point. Not like we'll be meeting again." As he said this, the realization came down to you. You were not meeting again. You felt your heart irrationally sink.

"Still I appreciate i-" his raspy voice interrupted you before she could finish the sentence.

"Your turn."

"Sorry?"

"Your turn. Tell me some spicy shit about you, something not many people know."

Your mind went blank. Something about you no one knows? You were a rather private person so there were a bunch of things people didn't know, but which to pick? He shared a deep one so it was only fair and right for you to do the same.

"I love when it rains at night." His square-ish smile welcomed the statement.

"Dude, how is that deep?" You breathed in as you took long blinking.

"I was going to kill myself. It was like midnight or something, I had the pills ready and I was lying on my bedroom floor. There's a big skylight on the ceiling, you know? I was about to take them when suddenly it started raining." He wasn't really smiling anymore."And that made me smile. I like night time, and I like it when it rains, so together it's like... I don't know. I love it. And I realized if i did it, i was not going to be able to see the nightsky while it's raining, hear the drops of rain against the buildings and the ground. Nor would I smile again.”

"Now that is deep." He walked towards a metalic table and poured two glasses of what seemed to be gin. He then walked toward you and offered you one."I guess we’re not so different after all… Cheers to that."

You took it while smiling, mumbling "cheers to that, indeed" as your glasses clinked.

"Why did you tell me that?" He asked after taking a few sips. You shrugged and took another sip, looking up into his blue irises and feeling yourself getting lost in them.

"You said so yourself, it's not like we'll ever meet again. Might as well do some trauma dumping." You both laughed at the joke---self-deprecating humor is something you could instantly say you had in common.

"I like you, y/n. We might actually have to meet again." Your heart skipped a bit as he said that. Had you heard right? You somehow managed to keep your cool.

"Why? You just said we were never meeting again." You sighed. "I hope it's not pitty because of what I just told you."

"It ain't. You just peaked my interest. No one'd managed to do that for a while." He stared right into your eyes as he said that. Made you shiver.

"So we meet and what?" You asked, your heart running inside your chest.

"And we have a drink, what the fuck else?"

"Isn't there some rule that forbids you from doing shit like that, anyway?"You asked, genuinely curious.

"Ain't rules meant to be broken?" He answered and smirked before walking to the table once again and refilling his glass. He looked at you and softly swung the bottle in your direction, silently offering, but you shook your nead no since you hadn't finished the previous serving. "So what do you say? Tomorrow midnight at your favorite club?"

[misstycloud]

Not-so-serious ask but more offff how would stalker! Yan react to seeing reader singing very vulgar/sexual songs? They do the dance moves and say every.single.word. Absolutely no shame in them.

(Songs like: “slut me out”- NLE choppa) thank you for your time!💖

Oh, god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god!

The stalker covered their mouth with their hand to stop them from gasping out loud. They couldn’t have you hear them.

If you did, you’d notice them sitting in that tree you never liked right outside your window. It destroyed the view, you thought. Not that there was much to see anyway.

They had planned out their evening perfectly, go to your house, climb the tree as they’ve done so many times and snap a couple photos. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just a normal night for them, really. What they hadn’t expected was to see you through your living room window, singing a not-so censored song.

Inside your home, you repeated the lyrics of the song perfectly. You knew it like the back of your hand. “Ayy, rip off my shirt if you love me.” while singing, your body seems to have a mind of its own, throwing your arms out and stepping to the beat.

With shaky hands, your stalker lifted the camera up and pressed the button, a click emenating from it. The way you swayed your hips, and the way you told them to rip your shirt off. Oh, they could just die at the spot!

“(Y/n)~” they groaned your name and placed their palm over their heart; feeling how it vigoursly slammed against his ribs.

“Spit in my face when you fuck me.”

“I could never do that to you, my dear!” the stalker cried, “you’re too good for me, but if you want you can spit on me.” they said even though you had no way of hearing them.

“Play with my gooch, while you suck me~”

“Yes, I’d love to!”

“Eat the dick like you was ugly”

“Ah, I’m so terribly ugly compared to you!” a shamefully red blush dusted they’d cheeks because of your vulgar words, though there were not directed at them.

“Why you being so weird to me?”

The watcher froze up in the tree, together with all the green leaves as company. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just that…I like you so, so much…!”

You continued the song, unknowing of the dark shadow looming right outside your window, who had perfect sight of you and every single thing you did. You kept going, but they themselves appeared to be stuck on that line.

“I can’t help it! I like-no- love you! I love you. So, so, so, so much, you have no idea!”

It was the truth, they really couldn’t love anything or anyone as much as you. You were their entire world. Nothing mattered compared to you. You were their sun, the thing that brought colour and light to their otherwise bleak world.

That’s why they acted in a way most would consider…odd.

The things they acted upon wasn’t exactly what the majority of couples did. Normal couples don’t jot down their partner’s whole schedule. Normal couples don’t follow each other around constantly, without any concern for the hour. Normal couples don’t collect every single piece that had touched their partner’s body in any sort of way.

And normal couples definitely don’t print out photos of the other to cover their entire wall.

But it was all in the sake of love! Nothing harmful about that, surely it is all alright. Who could deny a young citizen with their entire life ahead of them a chance of loving something else other than their phone.

The stalker’s heart continued to thump loudly in their chest, making their ears drum at the feeling. They had taken all the pictures they needed for tonight and settled to listen. You had now gotten to the end of the song.

“Slut me out!”

Thump

“Slut me out!”

Thump

“Slut!-“

They leaned forward to get a better view of you since you’d began moving back in your home, making it somewhat harder to see you clearly.

“Slut!-“

They didn’t hear the crack sounding under them.

“Slut!-“

It was too late, disaster was inevitable.

“Me!-“

After another cracking noise, they glanced down to discover the branch breaking under their weight.

“-out!”

‘Crack!’

You jumped at the sound and quickly ran to turn off the music. You approached the windows and looked outside, but there was not a single would out there.

Only a tree with a broken branch.

[eddiesghxst]

ALL I WANTED

part one | part two | part three

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader

summary: your band, Daughters of Vampira, and Corroded Coffin hate each other and are struggling to keep a clean image in the media; so, in an attempt to solve the issue, your managers try to come up with a solution.

contains: enemies to lovers trope, alcohol consumption, smoking, cheating (reader is cheated on by her fiancé), themes of misogyny/sexism, and eddie being a dick <3

word count: 12.9k

| Daughters of Vampira setlist | Corroded Coffin setlist |

-story masterlist- | -main masterlist-

You were a musician. A rockstar. On your way to being one of the greats. Your band, Daughters of Vampira, was a small, feminist rock band out of Hawkins, Indiana. You created this band with your friends, Robin, Nancy, and Max, an outlet the four of you used to sing and write your little hearts out. You hit it big when you all moved to Los Angeles, playing at some lame bar when a producer walked up to you after the show, saying she wanted to see more, handing you a business card. 

Then boom. 

Everything was up from there. You got signed onto a record deal– played shows, signed autographs, walked carpets, and did interviews. Your wallet was a bottomless pit. En route to being wed, you got engaged to your production assistant turned bassist, and all was well— until about five minutes ago.

You came home from a day at the studio with your band, crafting a new song, playing with guitar riffs, and imagining lyrics. This track was going to be big; a song about your love for your fiance, a tale of how magnetic and beautiful every second was and will be.

You unlocked the door to your shared apartment, kicking off your sneakers, when you noticed a pair of red heels, which is weird because you hate heels. Maybe they were your friend Angie’s shoes; she knows where you hide your spare key and sometimes sneaks in when you’re not home. Furrowing a brow, you cautiously set your bag and keys down, looking around you for any more clues— her bag or her keys, anything. Your socked feet softly pad across your cold, wooden floors as you walk into the apartment's threshold, glancing into the kitchen. Nothing. You turned to the living room, unknowingly holding your breath—still nothing. Suspicion itches in your mind as you take in the space around you. You turn the corner to your bedroom and see the door left ajar. 

You almost think nothing of it; you wouldn’t be mad at Angie taking a nap in your room; she’s your childhood best friend, but then you hear it— the two voices. The first voice is your fiance, Scott, and the second is an unknown woman.

They’re laughing. They’re whispering about something you can’t hear either because they’re either speaking too quietly or your sudden rage is filling out the space in your ears; you’re not sure which it is. You quickly glance back towards the door, eyeing the heels for the second time— your heart drops.

It was Angie. Those were her heels; you helped her pick them out, for fucks sake. You storm up to the door and swing it open without a second thought, and your eyes widen at the sight before you. You had so badly wished your mind was playing some sick trick on you, and you were just hearing things. You were wrong.

Your fiance and childhood best friend, Angie, are sprawled out in your white-sheeted bed, heads laid on your pillows tousled, under your roof— and both incredibly naked. 

Despite the anger, your eyes quickly fill with tears, salty pools of resentment and betrayal threatening to spill over. Scott sees you in the doorway and scrambles out of bed, hastily grabbing a pair of boxers to pull over his bare hips. You can hear him sputtering out excuses, apologies, and reasons through the fog— so many words that sound like nothing but white noise to you. 

He stumbles his way over to you, hands reaching out to grasp you and raising in surrender when you yank away from him. You can hardly think; a cloudy moment where you feel as if the floor has been wiped from below you and you’re free-falling in some shitty excuse of a dream. 

“Sweetheart, please just listen–” He didn’t get to finish his sentence; the palm of your hand cracked down against his cheek to stop whatever bullshit excuse was coming. Angie shrieked, jumping out of bed, still with no clothes on, as she hurried to his side, an obvious two-against-one— that’s clarified when she shoots you a pointed look, fire building up in her eyes— and you can’t believe the audacity. 

Scott looks back at you, cheek red with the sting of your rage as he points a finger at you, “Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” he scolds as if you were a child, warning you to leave the cookie jar alone. You scoff, your mouth falling agape as you laugh humorlessly. “Me? Touch her?” You point to the naked girl. Your neck heats in fury as you shake your head, “That is rich, Scott.” 

You step back, eyeing both of them and ignoring the lump in your throat as you speak, “So, how long has this been going on?” They stare at you like they’re fucking clueless, and it ticks you off to no end, “In my own fucking bed? With my best friend?” Your tears are hot as they begin streaming down your cheeks, and the harsh swipe of your wrist to wipe them away stings, but you refuse to let them see you cry. Your mind is cluttered with questions, but they come out like bullets, firing round after round. 

Angie takes to answering you, saying your name to halt your questions, “We– we’re in love, and… and he doesn’t..” She looks to Scott for guidance, her eyes pleading for him to help her. Your fingers shake in anger.

“I want to call the wedding off,” Scott says, looking you in the eyes while he and your best friend link fingers. They look fucking stupid, standing there naked and feigning unity– you almost want to laugh. You scoff again, folding your arms over your chest like that would hide your pain from them, despite the evident ghost of tears still clinging to your skin. 

You glance around the room, around at the life you had planned for yourself, for him. Pictures of your engagement day, the closet you two shared, the fucking bed you shared, the life the two of you shared. More tears fall, and you don’t bother brushing them away this time. You nod, defeated.  “Yeah, that’s– yeah, we can… we can do that.” You wipe at your tears, fingers shaking with agony as you swallow the words. 

Your ex-fiance reaches out for your arm, and you back away, like he’s contagious– like his touch carries the heat of the sun. “Don’t touch me,” you snarled, watery gaze boring into his brown eyes. 

“The wedding’s off, so… Take your shit and,” you look at your childhood best friend— your ex-childhood best friend, and your heart aches. This fucking hurts. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you dismissively wave your hand towards the clothes strewn across the floor, “And take her shit and get the fuck out.” You turn to leave but stop when Scott speaks, “I can’t just do that; I–” He stutters at the stab of your glare, “I need to call a truck so I can carry everything.” 

You laugh, tilting your head, “Nah, don’t worry, I can help you with that.”

You pace to your apartment window, swinging it open and ignoring the confused voices behind you when you start picking up various items. Scott’s eyes widen as he watches you storm over to the window, a heap of his things in your arms. He scrambles to you, yelling as you toss his stuff out the window. He’s looking out the window, watching them fall, “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” You shriek after every item you throw: his computer, acoustic guitar, books on Logistics, and How To Save Money Like A Businessman. 

You flutter about the room, shaking Angie off when she tries to grab you, ignoring her when she falls to the floor in a heap of naked limbs. You pick up a pricey statue that was Scott’s, ignoring his protests, courteously tossing it out the window to join his items. 

You storm out of the room, glancing around for any of Scott’s stuff. Yes, this was your apartment, but you were working on sharing it— sharing it with him. Your fiance. Ex-fiance. You skirt out to the living room, the two lovebirds hot on your tail and begging you to stop. You walk over to the balcony doors, pushing them open and ignoring the sound of the doors cracking against the wall, some picture frames falling to the floor. 

Pictures of you and him. 

You pick them up and toss them over the balcony, looking around for any other fallen pieces. You thoroughly sweep your apartment— as thoroughly as you can through your tears of rage, gathering jackets, shirts, and shoes and carelessly tossing them over the balcony. You ignore them as they hastily put on their clothes, brushing past them to pace to the door.

Your gaze is hot and heavy on Angie’s heels. Those shiny, blood-red, smooth pumps. They oozed sex appeal and smirked at you, asking, daring, challenging you. Angie scrambles to you, yelling for you to put them down, yelling that they were Jimmy Choos, that they were expensive— like you would care. 

You shrug her off as you walk back to the balcony, hanging them over the ledge and turning to gaze at her as she watches with tears brimming. Pathetic. You look into her eyes and drop them— one by one, “Fetch,” you whisper hoarsely.

Angie begins to cry, turning and running to Scott, who points an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a fucking crazy bitch. You couldn’t just end things like a civilized human fucking being?” He exclaims, “You are fucking insane!” He grits out, holding Angie by the waist. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and you better have my shit,” he says scathingly.

When they both have an appropriate amount of clothes on— Angie settling for one of his oversized shirts and panties, him with sweats— Scott hastily searches for his keys. You watch them both, numb and unmoving, and it feels like your body is vibrating in a storm of emotions. Scott finds his keys and wallet, yanking Angie by the hand and hauling her out the door, but not before he shoots you a glare— a look that tells you it’s over. Completely done with no room for redemption— you don’t care either way.

The door slams shut, and silence fills the space. You stand there for what seems like eons, basking in the fizzling heat of your emotions before shuffling towards your bag near the door and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. You search for your lighter, growing irritated when it seems to be missing. You toss your bag to the floor with a curse and walk to the gas stove, turning the knob until a rim of flames arises. You slip the cigarette between your snot-slick lips, ducking your head towards the stove top and watching the cancerous stick catch fire. 

You stand upright, inhaling and puffing out the smoke. You grab your flip phone, shuffling towards the balcony for fresh air while you make a call, but to your dismay, a crowd is gathered below your building, watching and taking pictures. At closer glance, you realize these people are none other than paparazzi— the very bane of your existence. They’re already recording; you can hear them chattering about what they suspect is happening, making up stories for the cameras and soon-to-come tabloids. 

Then, to make matters worse, Scott and Angie skirt out from the building entrance and start picking some items up, the paparazzi asking various intruding questions. Scott has enough grace and respect for you to deny a comment, opting for catching a taxi with Angie instead. With a roll of your eyes, you walk back into your apartment and busy yourself doing a shitty job clearing the mess you’d made. However, like clockwork, your phone rings.

You know it’s Miss Sinclair; well, Erica, as she always corrects you. Your music manager, a firecracker, that one, but overall a good friend on your side. 

You answer, taking a drag from the cigarette as you step onto your terrace again, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “What?” You ask snappily into the phone, glancing down at the crowd of people taking pictures of you. Assholes.

”What? What do you mean, what?” Erica hisses through the speaker. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tiger?” A nickname she has for you that originated from God knows where. “Yeah, like… what’s up?” You play dumb, smiling sarcastically and waving innocently to the cameras below you.

“Why the hell do I have people blowing my line asking me why you’re tossing shit onto the streets of Los Angeles like it’s a goddamn Goodwill?” She impatiently asks.

You shrug, even though she can’t see you, “Dunno. See you tomorrow at the studio.” You pull the phone away from your ear, hearing her shriek and yell at you, commanding you not to hang up. You slap the flip phone closed, ending the call; her words cut off. You take another drag of the cigarette before flicking the bud off the balcony at the intruders, watching them back away to glare at you, yelling a few curses. You flip them two middle fingers in response before turning to walk back into your apartment, closing the doors behind you. 

You’re going to write a song. A kickass song.

“And then I threw all his shit out the fucking window,” you chuckle, retelling the story to your drinking companion, Robin Buckley, the drummer of your band. She smirks and downs another shot of vodka, “Yeah.. you uh,” she grimaces and smacks her lips at the bitter drink, “you created quite the stir earlier today,” She points at you and winks, picking up her forgotten glass of whiskey beside her and holding it out to you, in cheers. 

You sigh and smile, and inevitably you clink your whiskey-filled glass against hers as she says, “To shitty men and new beginnings— preferably with women,” she winks again, laughing along with you as you lighten up from her joke. You down the rest of your drink and put your glass down, sucking your teeth before rolling your lips inward as you stare thoughtlessly, the whiskey leaving burning kisses in your throat. 

The loud, underground celebrity-only bar drowns out behind you. What were you going to do? You had so much planned with Scott, an entire fucking wedding, a home, maybe even kids. And as if that’s not enough, you wrote an entire song about him. You were almost finished with it, so close to recording it and putting it out, maybe with tour dates to match. 

Now it's gone. Dead and buried. 

A whole song, written in 4 weeks, about your love, the love of your life, your supposed forever person, and he threw it all away. You knew love wasn’t easy. It never was, especially not after your rise to fame. It was hard to find time for date nights, for sex, for just seeing each other and talking. But you would’ve never imagined this to be how it ended.

You can’t help but feel as though this might have been your fault. Some small, pessimistic, mean part of you nagging that you could’ve prevented this if you had just changed. You tried to make time for Scott, you really did, but you got caught up in the music— the music for him. You worked tirelessly at it. For Scott to hear this song and immediately know it’s about him. You wanted it to be a wedding gift, maybe, to play it at your wedding for everyone to hear your love. You had never been so soft in a song, so open and disgustingly lovesick, and you wasted it all on him. Maybe it was your fault; perhaps it was for the better—

“Hey, you okay?” Robin cuts through your thoughts, “You went a little quiet there,” she smiles softly, playfully nudging her shoulder against yours. “Yeah,” you nod, “I-I’m good. Great.” You nod along with your words, trying fiercely to believe them.

You were not good, nor were you great. You were, to put it nicely, fucking wrecked. You were humiliated. How could anyone be okay after something like this? It was bad enough he cheated in the first place but with your best friend? You lost two of your closest people within the blink of an eye. It hurts more that they got each other while you got nothing but ghosts and memories. Scott was there for everything, your first real concert, the after-parties, the carpets. He was there for all of it. And he won’t be there anymore, and that hurts.

You shrug, laughing nervously and rubbing the bridge of your nose in distress, “I just can’t help but think that— that maybe this–” You motion your hands uselessly. Robin quickly interrupts you before you can finish your thought, “No. Do not go there. Are you insane? This,” she motions lazily over your figure, copying you, “was not your fault.” She shakes her head, sincerity laced within her voice and gaze. “Believe me when I say that— I would tell you if you were a crazy bitch, trust.” She smiles and nudges you again with her shoulder, pulling a laugh from you. 

You sigh, rotating your neck to stretch it out, rolling your shoulders, “So, like, what’s up with you?” You ask to lighten the mood, leaning on the bar counter with your elbows. It works because she laughs and nods, looking down at the glasses of whiskey as the bartender wordlessly fills them back up. She traces her finger around the rim of it, still nodding, “I-I’ve been good, you know,” she glances at you and shyly looks away when you begin to smirk, “Just sorta.. Hangin’ out, I guess. Shootin’ the shit,” she shrugs, and you laugh. “Yeah, so when did you guys hook up?” You say over your glass rim innocently, laughing even harder when the girl turns red in the face and sputters over her drink. 

“We did not hook up!” She exclaims, wiping the drink from her lips. “Me and Nance,” she shakes her head, “we just… We, like, hung out, you know?” She shrugged. You mockingly raise an eyebrow as she keeps talking, “And like smoked a bit and maybe drank and then like, there was a movie involved, and then she kissed me and—” You interrupt her rambling with a wave of your hand, “Alright, no more details. You totally hooked up,” you laugh, and she blushes harder, laughing and shaking her head, “Definitely did not.” she scoffs.

“You definitely did.” You challenge.

“Did not.” She shoots back.

“Did.”

She groans and shakes you, “If I pay for your tab, will you shut up?” she offers. You pretend to think dramatically for a moment before giving in and nodding, laughing when she slams a one hundred dollar bill on the counter and gets up, picking her leather jacket from behind her chair. “God, you are so annoying,” she complains, shucking her coat over her Daughters of Vampira band t-shirt. 

You get up, shrugging your leather jacket on and snickering, “Nah, you love me,” you teasingly say, shoving at her shoulder. She smirks and shakes her head, heading for the exit, “Yeah, you wish,” She pushes the door open and steps outside into the chilly Los Angeles night, immediately shoving her hands into her pockets. 

You opt for taking the damaged, smashed pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and pulling a matching lighter out. The lighter has a siren with long, blonde locks and a green, shimmery mermaid tail. You pull out a cigarette and stick it between your lips, igniting the flame and holding it up to the end of the cigarette. You bask in the warmth emanating from the flame, a soft heat kissing your nose. You pull the lighter away and puff, blowing the tobacco back out.

“Man, all I wanted was a peaceful drink, and I got verbally berated instead,” Robin jokes.  You laugh, blowing smoke in her face before stopping, looking ahead. You freeze, and not because of the air; the cogs in your brain start moving, fired up with the fuel of alcohol and the lightheaded buzz of nicotine. You still your movements, looking at your friend, “What did you say?” you ask slowly, pulling your gaze from the busy car-filled street. 

Her face heats up, eyes widening and hands flying from her pockets to raise in defense, “No, I mean, like— I was kidding. I wasn’t being serious—” you interrupt her by waving your hand hastily that was holding a cigarette, before looking at it and tossing it carelessly to the side. You aimlessly shake your hands at her, “No, what did you just say?” You stare into her eyes, watching as she tries to connect the dots. 

She raises her eyebrows in confusion, shrugging before saying slowly, “All I wanted—” You stop her, snapping and pointing, walking away and walking back, obviously pacing. “Yes! Yes— that. It’s perfect.” You stop pacing for a second, standing with your hands on your hips. Robin laughs nervously, fiddling with her zipper jacket, “Uh, what is happening right now? Am I in trouble?” she jokes anxiously, but you ignore her. 

You were thinking. Thinking hard. 

All I wanted. All you wanted? All I wanted. 

You repeat it to her, mumbling the words, gaze still focused on the ground, “All I wanted.” You say, pulling your eyes back up to hers. “Uh.. yeah– All I wanted…was a drink,” she parrots back, nodding dumbly, placating you like a small child doing a math equation. 

You smile mischievously, “Robin, you’re a fucking genius!” You all but shriek, earning some glances from the sidewalk. You pay no attention to them, but Robin does, grabbing your shoulder and pushing you into a walk, looking around her to not draw attention to the both of you, but it’s difficult when you’re wildly smiling and humming out a guitar tempo. 

“Dude, what are you talking about?” She stresses, “Please tell me what’s happening; I have no idea what is socially acceptable to say right now,” she explains nervously, hand moving to grasp at your elbow, keeping you in motion. “Robin, we have to go to the studio right now,” you beg, looking her in her eyes, your gaze shining in inspiration. “What? No, what? Why?” She steps in front of you and halts your walking, “What is happening?” she pleads, leaning forward and pressing her palms together in a praying motion— silently asking you to please elaborate. You move past her, still walking, still thinking. 

Robin jogs to catch up to you, “Tell me what you’re thinking, please,” she begs. You look at her and smirk, “I have an idea for a song,” you conclude. Upon hearing this, Robin smiles like the fucking Cheshire cat.

“Hit me, Tiger.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh when his friend tells him what happened. He pauses for a moment, staring at Scott and waiting for him to say it was just a joke, but he never does, and Eddie nearly dies of laughter, the rest of the band along with him.

“Holy shit,” Eddie gasps between laughter. Gareth snorts, raising his eyebrow in shock as he speaks, “She threw your shit out the window?” 

Scott rolls his eyes, flipping the brown-haired boy off, sipping his beer, and leaning back into the red leather couch. Eddie shakes his head as he swivels around in his chair to mess with the studio soundboard, “That’s what you get when you fuck crazy bitches, man,” Eddie laughs, glancing up to watch Jeff mess around with chords in the sound booth. He listens as he speaks, “I mean, sure, she was hot,” He shrugs, reaching over for his box of cigarettes, “Insane tits or whatever, but at what cost?” He snorts. 

Scott shrugs, downing the rest of his beer and tossing the bottle into the small trash bin near the soundboard. 

“I mean, the sex was definitely good, but she just— I dunno, man,” he shakes his head and dismissively waves his hand, “She’s too much of a firecracker. Angie is way more docile,” he concludes. He snickers as he thinks it over, “Easier to deal with,” he smirks, reaching down to the floor to pick up another beer. Gareth snickers and Eddie grimaces with a shake of his head; he then smirks as he slides a cigarette between his lips, “Nah, the firecrackers are the fun ones, man.” he speaks around the paper as he lights the cancerous stick, sucking and blowing out the smoke. “So, what now?” Gareth asks, taking a swig of his drink as he looks at Scott. 

Scott shrugs, opening the glass bottle of beer and sipping it, “Yeah, y’know… no wedding, I’m with Angie, whatever,” he says, and Eddie chuckles, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, “Yeah, I get it,” he nods, taking another drag off his cigarette, lost in his thoughts. You’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good… A lightbulb goes off in his head. 

“Wait, guys,” he swivels around in his chair to face Gareth and Scott. The two boys look up at him as Eddie speaks, “We’ve all had crazy girlfriends, right?” His gaze bounces between the boys as he puffs on the cigarette before standing up and pushing the bud of it into Gareth’s bottle, much to his dismay. He ignores Gareth’s complaints, ignoring the boys laughing at him, pacing the room, mind swirling to the sound of Jeff’s guitar. 

Through the fog of chords and lyrics, Eddie continues speaking, “All of our ex-girlfriends— and ex-fiances,” he blindly points to Scott as he paces, ignoring when Scott scoffs, “are crazy bitches,” he points out, looking back at the group. “I mean, I can’t remember the last time I had a normal fucking girlfriend,” he snickers. The boys look at Eddie as if they’re concerned, confusion written across their faces that Eddie could care less to ease, “This is fucking inspiration, boys! Let’s write this shit down,” He leans on the soundboard, “Let’s expose this chick,” He snickers.

He walks into the sound booth and grabs his guitar from the stand, pulling the strap over his neck as he nods toward Jeff, “Keep playing that,” he orders. Despite his masked confusion, Jeff continues to play the riff he’d been tweaking. Eddie steps up to the mic in the middle of the sound booth, reaching for the headphones to slip them over his head, leaving one ear uncovered. He gestures to Gareth through the glass, motioning for him to tag along.

Gareth puts his beer down and walks in, glancing at Eddie in confusion, “You gonna tell us what we’re playing or?” He sits behind his drums as Eddie tweaks the strings on his guitar. “Just follow along, man.” Eddie distractedly mumbles. Gareth and Jeff glance at one another— Eddie often has moments like this, and they have yet to get used to it. Gareth shrugs, picking up his deeply mangled drumsticks and tapping a beat to Jeff’s strings.

Eddie mumbles to himself, fingers ghosting chords over the frets as he nods his head to the beat. He picks up with Gareth and Jeff’s sound, shredding along to create a fuller sound, the images of the music he’d composed in his mind coming to life just below his fingertips. Scott watches from outside the sound booth, standing up to lean over the soundboard. He watches, intrigued, as they play together, wordlessly tweaking until they all compliment each other. Scott reaches over with a smirk and hits the record button just in time for Eddie to chime in on the mic, finally spitting out the lyrics they’d all be waiting to hear.

And it’s fucking good. 

“Alllriiight!”

It’s raunchy, unhinged, and all things dirty. On top of that, it’s a massive fuck you to Scott’s ex, and Scott can’t keep the grin off his face as he adds the bass to the track, snickering at the words Eddie sings. They work on the song all day, throwing in new verses and tweaks until they feel satisfied for the time being. They sit outside the sound booth and nurse a round of beers as they play the song, listening to what they have so far, grinning and nodding along to the beat, laughing at the absurdity of the lyrics.

“Hey, you’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good, I’m on top of it.”

“It’s good… as much as I hate to say it, it’s good.” Scott laughs, rolling his eyes when the boys cheer. Sitting on the swivel chair in front of the soundboard, Eddie reaches out and nudges Scott's foot with his own, “You might get a few slashed tires when she hears this, you know.” He snickers over the rim of his beer bottle.

Scott laughs and shrugs, “Can’t be any worse than what she’s already done.” He jokes. The boys all laugh, watching Jeff as he raises his beer in the gesture of a toast, “To crazy bitches.” The boys all raise their beers in unity, parroting back, “To crazy bitches!” They clink their drinks and laugh, taking sips.

“You’re crazy, but I like the way you fuck me.”

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream,”

Your voice filters through the speakers, thick studio headphones skewed on your head as you fiddle with the soundboard knobs and buttons. You sigh and push the headphones to rest around your neck, rubbing your hands tiredly over your face. You take a glance at the clock— 4:34 AM. Goddamn. You had truly been here all night. After your night out with Robin, drinking your feelings away, and your quick epiphany moment, you guys caught a taxi straight here and got to business. That was at 10:46 PM. 

Poor Robin, you put the girl through the wringer. Making her drum out new beats, forcing her to pluck out a bass riff to the best of her abilities. The rest of your band was, without a doubt, asleep, and you didn’t want to bother them with your antics. And, of course, you all were close, but it was just different with you and Robin. You guys could be together for hours and never tire of one another. You just clicked. 

Maybe it was also the fact that you didn’t want to face whatever awkward encounter was bound to happen between Robin and Nancy, opting to wait until the morning to see them face one another. Robin was fully asleep underneath the sound booth, using both of your jackets as a pillow. Her fingers are wrapped around the beer she’d been drinking; hand cuddled up to her face. You pull out your cigarettes from your pocket, pulling one stick out and sliding it between your lips. You light it up and puff on the cigarette, glancing at Robin beneath the table before reaching down and carefully snagging her beer. You take a quick swig, quietly listening to the song. 

“All I wanted was you,

All I wanted was you.”

The guitar that comes in right after is powerful. It’s beautiful; it showcases your anger, your betrayal, your heart that still aches. This was supposed to be a love song for Scott, but after tweaking a few lyrics, it quickly became a song laced with hatred and resentment— a piece of heartbreak and anguish you’re still clearly sorting through. But that’s all that love is, right? Just two people fighting and slashing at each other until one inevitably gives in and waves a white flag? 

You down the rest of your stolen beer, still taking drags of the cigarette and blowing it back out. It wasn’t unusual for you to be the only one here at ungodly hours of the night, but it was one of the first times you were here with your friend and bandmate. Knowing she was here for you after such a chaotic, hectic day, supporting you even at unreasonable hours, was nice.

You replay the lyrics repeatedly, playing with the weak bass Robin was barely able to play. You should go home; you know you should, given how late it is and the dryness that begins to seep through your eyes, but you hate the feeling that runs through your bones when you think about what used to be your and Scott’s home. You don’t want to go home. Home is where everything ended. Home is no longer home— not after what happened. Home is where you’ll go to relieve the day over and over again until you get tired enough to pass out. 

And then it hits you; lyrics, more heartache hits you. The song was initially titled The Only Exception, but the words changed after playing around for several hours. You stuff the cigarette bud in the beer bottle, letting it fizzle out as you get up from your swivel chair to try and find a notebook— a notepad, napkins, or something, but you only find a pen. Frustrated with your lack of writing materials, you look at your surroundings hungrily before your eyes land on Robin’s bare arm. 

You pace back to the soundboard and reach underneath to yank on Robin’s arm, waking her up for a split second. You ignore Robin’s grumbly and slurred “What the fuck?” and proceed with your task as she inevitably falls back asleep. You yank the pen cap off with your teeth and begin jotting down lyrics on Robin’s pale, freckled, tattooed arm. 

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott and your favorite thing to do was watch old 1950s classic films. You guys watched them so much, watched so many of them, over and over again, that you could quote them to one another. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you write these lyrics down, some falling on Robin’s arm and smudging the ink. You curse and press your palm to the running ink to dry whatever can be salvaged from your sloppy work. You drop her arm to the ground and hear her briefly groan as you pace back into the sound booth, picking up your black guitar from the stand and pulling the strap over your upper body. 

You move your headphones around your neck to sit over your ears, waiting for your next move. You start strumming out a guitar riff, basking in the glory of the echoing sounds and its full, tough ring. You push your lips to the microphone and begin mumbling, playing with more lyrics in your head before you sing.

“I could follow you to the beginning,

Just to relive the start.

And maybe then, we’d remember to slow down.

At all of our favorite parts.”

The tears are freefalling now; the dark eyeliner you’d spent the past hours smudging leaves roads of sorrow against your skin. You and Scott were together for seven magical months. Yeah, it was quick— pathetic in a different light, but you’d been mindlessly in love. And fuck, would it have been a mistake if you did end up marrying him. He was a production assistant and a bassist with no new lines of work coming, opting to freeload off his friend’s band, Corroded Coffin, playing with them at shows whenever they needed him. 

And it’s working for him so far— until it doesn’t. As much as you hate to admit, Scott is talented. He’s good with his instrument and has a good ear for sound, but despite his talent, he has no real drive— no actual want to succeed and be at the top of the music pyramid with you. As you continue to play with the guitar, you stop for a second to wipe your eyes, thoroughly smudging your makeup now and probably making you look insane. 

Scott had good moments, though. When it was good, it was good— spontaneous nights out, making out in alleyways like lovesick teenagers, and every second feeling like a movie until the credits rolled— but when it was bad, it was really fucking bad. Fights, stupid arguments, bickering, breaking expensive items, and threatening to leave each other until he makes it up to you with mediocre sex and breakfast in bed the next day. You loved him, you did, and you believe he loved you too, but you just can’t pinpoint where it all went wrong. 

You stop strumming the guitar and huff waterily, setting the guitar back on the stand and ripping your headphones off your head before tossing them to the ground. You sit on a metal, foldable chair beside you and lean forward to push your head into your hands. 

You really blew the fuck up on him. Did you overreact? Did you honestly act like a crazy bitch? Fuck, maybe you should apologize. 

You can hear Robin in the back of your head, nagging and begging you to stop thinking self-destructive thoughts like this, telling you you’re insane for even thinking of apologizing, but you just can’t help it. You venture down the deep, dark, but welcoming rabbit hole of psycho-analyzing every romantic relationship you’ve ever had. None of your relationships have lasted— the ones in high school, obviously, but you’ve been out of that shit hole for years now, yet you’re still playing the never-ending game of kiss and tell.

Life in Hawkins was a weird, dull one. All the boys you brought home never shared the same interests as you and certainly did not like that you had a mind of your own. They didn’t like the clothes you wore, or the makeup you did, or the music you listened to. They thought you and the rest of the band were stupid and wasting your lives trying to be something big with the weird sound you carried. Nothing about you or the people you hung out with fit the cookie-cutter shape of Hawkins, and you learned that the hard way. 

You were more of a dirty secret for boys in your school. Nobody wanted to express their love or attraction to you openly, but they sure as hell did so behind closed doors. Your first boyfriend, Brady, was a star on the wrestling team; he didn’t mind showing you off much because nobody had the guts to talk shit about him— too scared to get sucker punched. Brady lasted a few months before you eventually cut ties with each other. 

There were a few others after Brady, all meeting the same dead end you’re so familiar with. Although there was one guy— Eddie Munson— people believed you would be perfect for each other. You liked the same music, dressed relatively the same, and had shitty high school bands nobody wanted to listen to. Logistically, it was a perfect match; the only problem was Eddie Munson is an asshole. 

Scum of the earth, piece of shit, grade-A asshole.

Scott was friends with him, and on occasion, you would sometimes cross paths at parties or hangouts with mutual friends; and every single run-in you’ve had with the man left you with a splitting migraine and an itching impulse to smash his head through a window. He’s awful; he doesn’t respect you or any woman for that matter, he acts like he’s a living god, and he and his shitty band won (stole) that fucking music contest in Hawkins back in ‘87, and you’ll never forget it. That’s how you met him, and your guys’ race to the top hasn’t let up since.

And now that you think of it, it’s not surprising that Eddie and Scott get along so well— they’re both sexist assholes. 

You’re milling in your thoughts for what seems like hours, tears dried and itching against your skin. You’re not sure how long you sit in the sound booth, but before you know it, Robin’s hoarse voice is cracking through the speakers of the sound booth, “As much as I think you’re a musical genius and love the way you work in mysterious ways, it’s extremely late, and we both need to catch some sleep before tomorrow.”

Your face twists in confusion, “Tomorrow? What’s special about tomorrow?” You ask, your voice cracking. Robin shifts on her feet, brows furrowing at your confusion, “We’re meeting with the record label. Remember we’re playing them our new album?”

Fuck. You completely forgot about that, and all of those songs, except for maybe three, are based around your stupid ex-fiance that just dumped you for your best friend. You sigh, dropping your head in your hands and running your palms over your face. You let out a long groan into your hands, not even hearing Robin opening the door to the sound booth and walking up to you. Her chilled fingers wrap around your wrists to pull your hands away from your face. Her blue eyes are tired and full of love and warmth as she squats before you to gaze at you, “Talk to me.”

Tears brim your eyes at her soft voice, and you wince— you really wish you could stop fucking crying. You rub at your teary eyes and shake your head, “It’s just—” you sigh and blearily blink down at Robin, “they’re all about him, Rob.” You frown.

Robin patiently waits for you to find the words, comfortingly squeezing your tear-dampened fingers. “Every song on the album is about him and I… I really don’t wanna spend an entire tour singing about him.” You softly speak, avoiding her gaze.

The brown-haired girl shuffles closer to you, ducking into your gaze and shrugging, “That’s okay,” she shakes her head, “We can scrap it. I mean, the label might be a little pissed, but just… play them what we did tonight, and I guarantee you they’ll extend our time.”

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “What? No. Robin, the song’s not finished—” “We don’t get another chance with this, Tiger. We either play them what we did tonight or give them the album.”

And you know Robin is right; she does not want to give you an ultimatum, but it’s the inevitable truth. You can either play the song and hope it’s the best thing the label has ever heard, or you suck it up and play them the album full of bittersweet words that leave a sticky residue clogging your throat.

You look at Robin, her patient and tired gaze locked on your face. You chew on the inside of your cheek, thinking it over for a moment— and it could work. The new song you’d just recorded is insane— nothing you’ve ever done before and, without a doubt, has a groundbreaking sound. It could work.

Max and Nancy are going to kill you tomorrow.

You nod your head, “Okay,” you breathe. Robin’s lips slowly stretch into a smile, “I’m gonna play it for them.” You nod. Robin shoots up to her feet with a cheer.

“Perfect! Now wipe those tears, and let's get the fuck out of here.”

You and Robin look like hell. You’re sporting heavy undereye bags with dark circles, while Robin opted to cover her evident lack of sleep with a pair of dark shades. Nancy and Max look concerned when they see you both sitting in the lobby of your label’s building. Nancy, of course, chastised you for your lateness while Max just snickered in the corner. Max suddenly makes a face as she speaks, “Why do you guys look like you’ve been hit by a bus?”

Robin tiredly groans, shifting in her seat with a yawn, “Stayed at the studio late.” She mumbles. Nancy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Why? I thought we had everything ready for today.” She points out, obviously concerned. Nothing would ever get done if you didn’t have Nancy in the band. Now that you look at her, she has a manila folder in her hands, most likely stuffed with questions, comments, concerns, budgets, and more. She was more like Erica’s assistant than your bass player. But fuck, could her skilled fingers pluck out a riff.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, glancing over at Robin, who seems to be now passed out behind her glasses, offering you no help. You scoff. Of course. You mentally punch Robin in the face. You fidget with the rings on your fingers as you begin to explain. “So, basically,” you start, “I came home yesterday and found Scott and Angie fucking in my bed, so I threw their shit out the window and then called Robin,” you barely pay attention to Nancy and Max’s widening eyes as you spew out the events of yesterday. You knew they already knew, probably from Erica or the fucking tabloids. Hell, the whole fucking world knew, but they acted like this was their first time hearing about it. 

You ramble on about the events, telling them about you finding inspiration and dragging Robin to the studio, drunk, only to decide to scrap the album you’d all been working on for the past few months. 

That last bit of information didn’t go so well, however. 

“You what?”

You wince at Max’s sneering tone, glancing at Nancy to try and get a read on her expressionless face. “Please tell me you’re joking,” Max says, voice teetering on the precipice of panic. You wish Robin would wake the fuck up. “I… I know I’m really taking a leap of faith here, but I need you guys to trust me on this,” you plead, gaze hopefully bouncing between the two women, “Please.”

Max folds her arms across her chest, tongue rolling against the inside of her cheek before she shakes her head, “I swear if this fucks us over, you’ll never hear the end of it from me.” She breaks, and you’re just thankful she agrees to follow your and Robin’s plan. She turns around and walks over to plop into the seat on the other side of the lobby, glancing at you before speaking, “Sorry about Scott, by the way…” she mumbles. “Maybe it’s a good thing; I never liked all those love songs anyways…” She smiles apologetically, and you huff out a chuckle.

Nancy nudges her foot against your leather boot, “You were out of his league anyway. He was dumber than a rock.” She adds to Max’s apology. You snicker and thank them for their condolences. Nancy sits on the chair next to Max and sighs heavily, “Did you tell Erica about the change?” she asks, already flipping through her folder. You pretended you didn’t hear the question, which was not a good idea. 

The two girls begin to panic at your eerie silence. Nancy’s face falls, and Robin fucking snores, “You did tell Erica, right?” She presses. Your silence says enough.

Max groans, leaning forward to sink her head into the palm of her hands, “We’re so fucked.”

And when the time comes, you’re not exactly sure what the label is thinking. All the board members wear the same unwavering expression as they listen to All I Wanted. You glance at Nancy and Max, who are both visibly shaken with nerves; Max’s leg bouncing at an ungodly rate beneath the table, and Nancy’s poor fingers picked to shreds. Robin, who’s now awake, is busying herself with doodling random sketches on the napkin in front of her, and you’re— well, you’re hardly breathing. 

Erica looks thoroughly pissed; you don’t doubt she’d thought about strangling you the second you announced you were scraping the album. You could tell she was itching to make some phone calls as her stone-hard gaze stayed on you throughout the whole listening session. You pretended you didn’t notice her.

When the demo ends, a thick silence settles over the room, and you lean forward, pressing pause on the track to prevent the CD from repeating. You awkwardly scratch the side of your neck, “I-It’s not done; I’m still working on it, but um—” You glance at the table of faces and gulp. You haven’t been this nervous in longer than you can remember. “I know it can be something. Something big.”

James, the CEO of the record label, clears his throat and leans forward, pressing his elbows onto the thick wooden table. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he points to the middle of the table where the CD player sits, “This is about Scott, yes?”

All eyes are on you, and you have no choice but to nod yes. James takes a drag of his cigarette, eyebrows furrowing as he silently thinks. You glance at your friends, a wave of nerves washing through your body at the anticipation. “What happened yesterday can never happen again. You almost ruined your image. Almost.” He finally speaks, his stern gaze locked in on you. You almost want to shrink in your seat, feeling like a child being scolded in the principal's office as he continues to speak. “You're a good talent, but if you don't know how to act like a grown woman, you won’t have a place here.” 

You scoff and open your mouth, a smart response on the tip of your tongue, until Robin harshly kicks the heel of her leather boot into your ankle. You hiss in pain, sucking on your teeth to poorly conceal it. You relent and nod your head, “I understand.”

James nods and flicks the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray beside him, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh, “Now,” his lips split into a smug grin, a grin that tells you that you won, “Get this track finished by the end of the week. I want it on air by Monday morning.”

Monday morning, Eddie is hauling ass down I-405, without a doubt breaking many traffic laws he could care less about, given he’s late to his studio session with the band. When is he not late? He’s got a cigarette hanging from his lips and the smell of last night's alcohol on his clothes. As he meticulously swerves and weaves in and out of LA traffic, he jams his finger to turn his radio on, flipping through static, noise, ads, shitty pop music, and landing on a seemingly decent Rock station. 

He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and puffs the rest before tossing it out of the open window. His hair tousles from the wind, and he bats the curly strands away whenever they fly into his view. His ringed fingers grip the steering wheel, swerving out of the way of a truck before honking and throwing up a middle finger. What he misses during that exchange is the introduction of the song.

“Next up is a new hit single named All I Wanted by Daughters of Vampira! Daughters of Vampira will be going on tour soon; stay tuned for details!”

Then, the music starts when he finally starts to slow down after narrowly missing the truck.

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream.”

Your voice filters through his car stereo, unbeknownst to Eddie, and he glances down at his music console. He slowly turns the volume dial up, intrigued by the sound and wanting to know where it’s leading. When the ferocious guitar shred comes in, his face twists in approval, turning the volume even louder as he bobs his head to the tune. Whoever’s band this was, is fucking good. It’s not every day you hear a good Rock song sung by a woman, he thinks.

“All I wanted was you, oh,

All I wanted was you, oh!”

Eddie’s not sure why it takes him so long to realize the voice playing through his speakers is none other than the lead singer of that stupid fucking feminazi band Daughters of Vampira. He nearly chokes when he realizes it’s your voice, turning the volume up to max and listening to the words.

It’s… sad. The lyrics are like the gut-wrenching heartbreak you see in movies, aching and drenched with the grief of a love that was supposed to be great. And your voice is so fucking raw, so angry, and filled with pain that it brings Eddie to a stand-still, the skin on his arms raising in tiny bumps at the sheer emotion. Eddie almost forgets he’s in his car until he hears the car behind him honking, the man behind the wheel yelling at him to go now that the traffic light has turned green. He doesn’t move an inch, afraid he’ll miss a beat of this slice of heartache.

The song ends, and Eddie turns off his radio, choosing to spend the rest of his ride in silence as the gnawing feeling of guilt settles in his gut. By the sound of it, Scott really did a fucking number on you— tore your heart out, chewed it up, spit it out, and stepped on it like a spider on a sidewalk— and Eddie knows what that feels like; he’s had his heart broken before so he knows what it feels like to be so angry at the love you had for a person. It’s a shitty feeling.

So, Eddie’s not sure why he decides to be an asshole and tell the boys about your new song, but he does. The second he enters the studio, he tells Gareth to turn on the radio.

“...Why?” Gareth questions with a tone of suspicion. Eddie brushes his question off and walks to lean over the desk, turning the radio on and beginning to switch through the stations. “Uh, Eddie… we’ve got some work to do, man, we don’t have time for—” “Shh, just give me a second,” Eddie snaps. 

“It’s gotta be playing somewhere.” Eddie mumbles, eyebrows furrowed, ringed finger going overtime on the dial, abruptly stopping when he finally hears it. “This is it! This is it; just listen.” Eddie turns the volume up and stands up to his full height, hands on his hips, and chews on his lip as they silently listen to the song.

Jeff is the first to speak through the sound of drums and intense chords, “Why are we listening to this?” Eddie waves him off, telling him just to wait— just wait until the verse.

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott’s eyes widen, striding over to Eddie’s side and gazing at the boombox in shock, “No fuckin’ way.” He breathes. Eddie looks at Scott as he reaches over to increase the volume. Gareth twirls his drumstick between his knuckles and deeply sighs as he leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up onto the soundboard, “Dude, no offense, but why are we listening to this shit?” He asks. Scott turns to the boys and points back to the radio, “That’s my fucking bitch ex singing about me.”

Jeff and Gareth’s eyes widen, both boys leaning forward in their seats to listen to the lyrics. Scott curses and reaches over to shut the radio off, letting a thick silence fall over the room. Jeff is the first to break and nervously laugh, and Eddie grins, Gareth falling into a fit of laughter behind Jeff’s. “Why the fuck are you guys laughing?” Scott sneers.

Eddie chuckles, reaching out to rest his hands on Scott’s shoulders and turn him to face each other, “You don’t get it, man,” Eddie begins. Scott’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and Eddie smiles mischievously, “This is the perfect time to drop Crazy Bitch.”

You nearly blow a gasket when you first hear Corroded Coffin’s new song. Nancy did quite a good job of bringing you down to somewhat of a levelheaded state and getting you to understand that killing Scott or slashing his tires wouldn’t be the wisest of decisions to make. You still aren’t convinced.

You try your best to ignore the song, switching the radio to a different station whenever it plays, but it seems like that fucking track follows you wherever you go. A week after the song's release, you’re walking down the street with Robin, browsing the stores that catch your eye and chatting about whatever comes to mind.

You hardly notice the crowd gathered outside the store you are in until Robin points it out, nudging your side and nodding towards the window, “Looks like we’ve got company today.” she mumbles. You curse, shelving the shirt you’d been looking at as you grumble to Robin, “Seriously, how the fuck did they find us?”

You suppose the rest of your day out won’t last much longer, so you and Robin decide to make your way home, stepping out into the crowd and shoving through a sea of flashing bulbs. 

Over time, you’ve mustered up the strength to ignore the questions paparazzi throw at you; questions about who you’re dating, your sexuality, your political beliefs— questions of generally no substance or anything to do with your music. You’ve become numb to the reality of your life being plastered on tabloids and riddled with lies; it doesn’t really hurt you anymore. 

However, you’re still a human being, and you have moments where you crack, and today seems to be one of those moments when a man yells out, “You were seen dumping your ex-fiance Scott's items into the street! So is the song true? Did you and Eddie Munson have an affair? Is that why you and Scott broke up?” 

Robin tenses, glancing at you and silently pleading for you to just keep walking. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

You glare but smile at the man, flashing your white, shark-like teeth, “If you wanna know so bad, why don’t you ask Scott and Angie yourself?” You sneer. 

A few of the men snicker, one whistling and commenting about you being feisty, but you ignore it and continue as you and Robin finally reach your car, “And for the record, I wouldn’t touch that asshole with a ten-inch pole. His dick is small.” You grin sarcastically, opening your car door and getting in without another word. You hear the crowd erupt in more questions outside your car, some scribbling stuff down on their notepads and some laughing.

You groan in annoyance, buckling yourself in and starting the car as Robin settles in the passenger seat. You don’t miss the chance to flip the mob of men off when you drive off, leaving them behind with screeching tires. It’s silent until Robin chuckles, and you glance at her, “What’s so funny?”

Robin shrugs and shakes her head, “Nothing,” she says, “Just that Erica’s gonna murder you.” You roll your eyes and slide a pair of shades on. “When is she not wanting to murder me?” 

The media erupted after your comment about womanizer and rockstar Eddie Munson. Many fans came to your aid, voicing the truth of the breakup and defending you and your band. In contrast, many other fans— Corroded Coffin’s cult of assholes— came to Eddie’s defense, stating that he was only doing charity work to get your name in the papers. That you were fucking your way to the top of the music industry and much, much more deeply misogynistic statements. 

You didn’t care for any of it. You, your friends, your family, and your band knew what actually happened. The best part is that Scott knew the truth, and he was a shit fucking liar. He couldn’t cover up what happened if his life depended on it. It made you think of how he could lie about the affair for as long as he did. You don’t dwell on that thought for too long, growing tired of digging deeper into the pit of despair Scott had so happily tossed you into.

At the end of the day, your image is in shambles, and if your image is fucked, then so is the bands. Daughters of Vampira wasn’t booking anything; shows, meet-and-greets, autograph signings— nothing. Even though All I Wanted was an enormous hit and ended up in the charts, people couldn’t get over the fact that you, the lead singer, tend to be explosive. You would’ve felt bad about this if Eddie’s image hadn’t suffered the same fate. 

Eddie and his band immediately stopped booking shows after their song Crazy Bitch. Of course, it was a big success, but only because the drama fueled it. Young women stopped throwing themselves at the band and instead opted for screaming, “Woman haters!” and “Sexist pigs!” at them whenever they were out. It had been fucking rough, and it only got worse after Eddie commented to the paparazzi while he was out on a coffee run in the streets of Los Angeles.

“How the fuck do they always find me?” Eddie grumbles to himself, putting on a fake smile for the group.

Eddie was rocking a pair of shades, thinking of ways to quickly escape the mob, when a young boy approached him from the crowd. He had a Corroded Coffin shirt on with a photograph of Eddie clenched to his chest as he kindly asked for an autograph. 

“Sure, kid,” Eddie crouches down to the boy’s height and gently takes the photograph and Sharpie, "who am I signing it for?” He smiles softly at the boy, “For Thomas, sir!” The boy politely says, his eyes shining in excitement. “Thomas, sick name, man.” Eddie compliments, yanking the cap off with his teeth. He signs his name with a Let’s fuckin’ ROCK! in the corner, putting the lid back and handing the photo back to the boy. 

He smiles when the boy squeals in excitement and offers him a fist bump before standing up to his full height. “Thank you, Mr. Munson!” Eddie snickers and nods, “‘Course, but hey, don’t call me Munson; call me Ed,” He smirks, and the kid laughs. “Mr. Muns– Ed, I have a question for you,” the kid shyly asks. 

Eddie’s heart implodes at the cuteness of this little shithead and chuckles as he responds, “Shoot, kid, I’m all ears,” Eddie ignores the flashes from the cameras, taking photos of this pure and innocent moment. He ignores the coos from the women, from the kid’s parents, all of it, just zoned in on this small child meeting his hero. Him.

“Ed, is it true that you hate girls?”

And just like that, the moment is over.

Eddie turns red in the face and forces a harsh but nervous laugh. The crowd closes in upon hearing the exchange and begins asking a multitude of questions. The parents snag their son away and start expressing profuse apologies that Eddie waves off. “Nah, nah, the kid’s fine. But uh, to answer your question, no, that isn’t true, Tommy boy,” he says, looking at the child standing beside his mother’s legs. He takes out a pack of smokes and opens it, sliding a cigarette between his lips as he adds, “I am a really big fan of girls,” he flashes a dazzling smile around the stick and does finger guns at the small kid before he turns and begins to walk away. 

He’s forgotten all about his coffee, and now all he wants is to get the fuck outta there. 

He lights the cigarette up and ignores the crowd of paparazzi following him, cameras still in motion. He rolls his eyes, body buzzing in annoyance from the kid's question and the crowd. He continues walking the street as more questions and fans approach him. As Eddie signs a woman’s photograph, a cigarette hanging from his lips, an interviewer comments with a camera already zoned in and recording Eddie’s face. No doubt this will be on MTV tonight. No doubt he won’t hear the end of it from Dustin and Steve.

“Eddie, did you hear what the frontwoman of Daughters of Vampira has said about you? Can we get a response?” He shoves the mic into Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s lips break into a grin, but he doesn’t look up from the autograph he’s signing. “Yeah… yeah, I heard, and y’know what? She can come find out herself if it’s small or not,” He looks up and smirks right at the camera, “Have a nice day.” He smiles tightly at the interviewer and hastily flags down a taxi, hopping in and yelling at the driver to step on it. He watches as the crowd grows smaller and smaller with distance, his heart thundering in his chest. He takes deep breaths to slow his pulse down, to stop thinking of you. 

It never seems to slow as his mind can’t move on from you or that damn song.

Both the managers of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira are pushed to the limit with you and Eddie. Dustin Henderson and Steve Harrington are co-managers of Corroded Coffin, mainly because Steve has the money and Dustin has the brains to man the operation. All Steve really does is cut the checks and warn the team when to cut back on the extracurriculars. 

Erica, Steve, and Dustin are all from Hawkins and are quite familiar with each other due to living in a small town where everyone knows everybody. They, along with all members of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira, all sort of grew up with one another in the 80s and have always been on this whimsical journey together. As the years went by, you all drifted, more so because of the competition, but aside from the band, the managers stayed relatively civil with one another. Erica, Steve, and Dustin stayed in touch because sometimes they couldn’t handle the two bands, which is why Erica summoned the two boys to a bar in downtown LA.

Erica Sinclair is seemingly always tested by you and has no idea where to go or what her next move should be. She has times when she feels like a single mother dealing with an angsty teen, and when those moments teeter on disastrous, she makes calls— the call.

“I mean, I have just had it up to here,” Erica moves her hand up in the air to emphasize her annoyance, “with these girls, I mean, my god!” She shakes her head as she sips her red wine, the two boys nodding from across from her. “Trust me,” Steve scoffs, “we get it.” 

Dustin nods, taking a sip of his Shirley Temple and smacking his lips before adding, “We’re in the same boat too— with Eddie,” Dustin starts, drinking his Shirley Temple out of a bendy straw. 

“Yeah, he’s always been a pain in the ass, ever since high school,” Steve continues, sharing a look with Dustin, who tiredly nods, “But it has never been this bad. Normally we can get a hold on him running his mouth, but it’s just been…” Steve falters and trails off, struggling to grasp the words to explain Eddie’s childlike behavior. Erica nods, “I know what you mean,” She makes a face and holds her wine glass out to cheer with them. Dustin clinks his Shirley Temple, and Steve clinks his beer, them all taking a sip.

“Both band’s images are terrible. It won’t be long till we’re losing more money,” Steve grumbles, taking another swig of his beer. “I think we should just lock them all in a room together till they get along,” Erica jokes, earning a chortle from Steve and a cackle from Dustin. They all sigh in unison, a comfortable silence falling over them. 

Suddenly, Dustin sits up straight, aggressively snapping his fingers before pointing to Erica.

Steve jumps and makes a face at Dustin, grumbling about how annoying Dustin’s theatrics are. Erica rolls her eyes, already used to the boy’s antics. “Well? Are you gonna tell us about your nerdy little lightbulb moment or keep making a scene?” She sneers over her wine glass rim, taking a sip. Dustin looks back from Steve’s annoyed face to Erica’s tired one, basking in the dramatics.

“Why don’t we do just that?” He finally says.

Steve and Erica share a look. Typically, Dustin has these moments, and Steve and Erica have to entertain them, but Erica thinks Henderson might be onto something. Steve scoffs and leans back in his chair, “I doubt they’d last a week locked in a house before one kills the other.” Steve mumbles, clearly missing Dustin’s case in point.

Erica, however, knows just where Dustin’s mind has gone— to the motherland of brilliant-fucking-idea. Erica puts her glass down and leans her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the backs of her folded hands. “When you say just that, you mean…?” She looks at the boy quizzically, praying he means what she thinks he means. Steve puts his hand on the back of Dustin’s chair and leans forward, “I’m not really picking up on this guys,” He uses his other hand to lazily gesture. Dustin ignores Steve and nods slowly, “Oh hell yeah, I mean that.” He says, smirking mischievously. Erica and Dustin share a grin, a playful gleam in their eyes. Steve groans on the side in annoyance.

“Let’s book a fuckin’ tour bus, boys,” Erica concludes, and Dustin erupts in cheers, the two of them clinking their drinks. Steve finally understands, and his eyes widen, “Oh! Holy shit, that’s fucking genius.”

Erica laughs and finishes off the last of her wine. “Tiger is gonna kill me.” She smirks and shakes her head, sighing. Dustin and Steve share a look and chuckle a little bit, “Her reaction won’t be as bad as Munson’s. He’s gonna fuckin’ lose it.” Dustin says, slurping on his straw.

A few weeks pass before Erica, Steve, and Dustin manage to rally both bands in a conference room. The tension in the room is almost unbearable. For the most part, the band members seem more interested in knowing why they’ve been summoned together— the real tension is at the end of the table, where you and Eddie sit across from each other. Eddie wears a snickering grin to go along with his darkened shades, and you— well, if looks could kill, everybody in this room would be six feet under and crossing into the afterlife. 

You’re pissed. Annoyed that you’re being forced to breathe the same air as that fuckface Eddie Munson, and Eddie could not be more pleased with himself. Eddie gazes at each of the girls across from him; Max, who’s glaring at your managers and bouncing her knee in evident impatience, Nancy, who couldn’t look more uninterested if she tried; and Robin, who seems more intrigued with the wood paneling of the wall to look at anything else. He makes the mistake of looking at you, earning him a nicely silver-wrapped middle finger which he winks at.

“If you two are done acting like children down there, we’d like to get this meeting started,” Erica announces from her seat at the head of the table. All eyes turn to her, and she sarcastically smiles, opening her mouth to begin speaking until you cut her off, “Whatever fucking bullshit you three have planned, I won’t be a part of it. Not with this asshole.” You gesture to the curly-haired boy across from you.

Gareth and Jeff snicker, and you glare at them, ignoring Robin’s elbow jabbing into your side. “It’s funny that you think you have a choice, Tiger,” Erica says, tilting her head with a grin. You begin to bounce your leg impatiently, jaw clenching as the ticking time bomb in your mind begins to speed up. 

Dustin clears his throat and stands up, gathering everyone's attention as he clasps his hands. “Let’s cut straight to the chase,” he begins, “Your music careers are fucked.”

Jeff breathily laughs to the side, and Erica glares at him, quickly diminishing his obvious amusement. “Somehow, the seven of you have managed to obliterate your band's image in less than a month,” Dustin points out, picking up a stack of magazines before him and walking calmly about the room. He tosses a magazine out into the middle of the table, “Misogynists,” another magazine, “Anti-feminist,” another magazine, “Chauvinists,” another magazine— the final one, “Woman-haters.”

You all look at the magazines silently until you mumble, “Sounds about right,” causing Eddie to scoff and roll his eyes beneath his shades. “What? You’re mad the media is finally realizing how full of shit you all are?” You prod with a tilt of your head. “At least nobody’s saying I should be sent to a fucking ward.”

Your eyes narrow, and you begin to form a response, but Erica rises from her seat loudly, startling the room as her loud voice booms through the space, “The media is tearing both of you to shreds,” she leans forward to press her palms against the cool wooden table, heated gaze darting between you and Eddie.

“Both of your bands aren’t booking gigs, and you're losing money faster than you earn it,” she points out, watching as you all cower from the truth. She waves a manicured finger between both sides of the table, “This stupid little fucking back and forth you’ve created either ends here or on the road.”

Robin’s face twists in confusion, a raspy voice speaking up for the first time, “On the road?”

Steve turns to her and grins, “Yes. On the road. Together.”

Gareth leans forward in his chair, confused as he speaks, “What, like a retreat type deal?” He questions. Dustin slaps a paper down in front of him, “No. Tour. Nine months, ninety-two shows.”

Gareth doesn’t get much time to take in the information on the paper before Eddie snatches it out of his hands, shades pushed up into his hair as he leans in to gape at it. A list of tour dates, an ongoing and never-ending fucking list.

“You’re not serious.” He says. Steve chuckles at the end of the table, nodding his head, “As serious as a heart attack.”

You’re next to snatch the paper away for a gander, ignoring the rest of the room as everyone erupts in a fit of protest. You stand with your back to the table as you gaze through each date, your neck heating up with anger as your fingers crease the paper. You turn around, face twisted in rage, wrinkling the paper in your shaking fist as you storm up to where Erica stands, waiting for you to say your piece with an unwavering impression.

You hold the crinkled paper up as you stand before her, “You’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m doing shows with these pieces of shits.” You sneer, tossing the paper onto the table. Erica raises an eyebrow, looking at you as if you’ve gone off the deep end. The room enters a thick silence at your outburst, all eyes on the standoff between you and Erica. “Call the tour off, or I’m out.”

“What?” Robin leans forward to gaze at you, eyes widened in shock at your words, “You’re not leaving the band, Y/N, you— you can’t.”

You ignore Robin and step closer to Erica, eyes burning into her gaze as you speak, and Erica has never seen you this angry in all her years of knowing you. “Call it off.”

Erica will let you believe you have the upper hand for your peace of mind, but when it comes down to reality, you both know you don’t stand a chance against her force of nature. Erica is calm and uncannily patient as she speaks to you, “You’re at a dead-end street, Tiger,” she starts, “You either make a way, or you go back to Hawkins with your tail between your legs like everyone expected.” 

Erica sits back in her chair, not even bothering to look at you as she busies herself with the paperwork before her when she adds, “You make the call.”

You glare down at her, throat closing in anger and betrayal. You don’t say another word as you storm out, leaving the room with a booming echo of the heavy glass door slamming shut. Erica sighs, settling back in her chair and gazing at the rest of the band members, who are all silently fuming in anger. “Now, does anyone else have something to say or something of substance to add, or are we done here?” Eddie rises from his seat with clear annoyance, “This is bullshit,” the force of his movement sends his chair back to the wall as he walks out of the room, just as angrily as you had previously done.

The remaining band members sit in silence, avoiding each other's gaze, and Steve breathily laughs, “Well, Dustin, you were wrong,” he teases, smirking when Dustin and Erica turn to him. “Eddie took that pretty well.”

The band members glance at the managers, and Dustin sighs as he leans back in his chair, twisting his mouth in thought and tapping his pen against the table.

“This is gonna be more work than I thought.”

————

a/n: AHHH, YOU'VE MADE IT TO THE END!!! WE HOPE YOU LIKED THIS AND LOVE THEM SO FAR; more to come sooonnnn <3

————

teeny taglist: @tommyvelvet @oeuryale

[taylor-on-your-dash]

Writing of 1989 Timeline

1989 changed Taylor's career forever. If Red had just sprinkles of pop sounds, 1989 was marketed as a pure pop album from the get-go.

While many fans and critics kind of expected that, it seems like:

Taylor didn't have a clear direction from the start (except for the cohesiveness): “I wanted it to be a sonically cohesive album, and it ended up really being the first I’ve done since Fearless. I also wanted the songs to sound exactly how the emotions felt. I know that’s pretty vague, so I really didn’t know where it was going to go, but I knew that I wanted to work with the collaborators I had such crazy electricity with on Red, like Max Martin. I wanted to do some things that sounded nothing like what we had done before.”

She knew that she didn't want another Red: “When people say that they like one of my albums, like when people told me that Red was their favorite album I'd done, I didn't take that as, 'So, I should make that again'. I took that as, 'Great, awsome, now I wanna make them like this new album just as much if not more than the last album.' But I want them to like it for different reasons.”

She was worried about the change of direction of her music: “I worry about everything. Some days I wake up in a mind-set of, like, ‘Okay, it’s been a good run.’ By afternoon, I could have a change of mood and feel like anything is possible and I can’t wait to make this kind of music I’ve never made before. And then by evening, I could be terrified of the whole thing again. And then at night, I’ll write a song before bed.”

October 17, 2012: [From a Lover Journal] Taylor writes This Love in LA. This will be the last song produced by Nathan Chapman and the only one recorded in Nashville.

“The last time I wrote a poem that ended up being a song, I was writing in my journal and I was writing about something that had happened in my life – it was about a year ago – and I just wrote this really really short poem. It said, 'This love is good /this love is bad / this love is alive back from the dead / these hands had to let it go free / and this love came back to me.' And I just wrote it down, closed the book and put it back on my night stand […] All of a sudden in my head I just started hearing this melody happen, and then I realized that it was going to be a song.”

Handwritten lyrics:

November 18, 2012: Taylor meets Jack Antonoff and his band, fun., for the first time in Frankfurt, Germany, while at the MTV Europe Music Awards. They bond over 80s music.

January 4, 2013: Taylor is seen in a boat without Harry Styles, ready to return to LA from the Virgin Islands.

She will wear the same dress in the Out Of The Woods music video (and also in Look What You Made Me Do)

January 10, 2013: Taylor tweets "Back in the studio. Uh oh...". She will confirm that the song was All You Had To Do Was Stay on October 27, 2014 on Tumblr.

Candids here;

“There’s a song on my album called 'All You Had To Do Was Stay.' I was having this dream, that was actually one of those embarrassing dreams, where you’re mortified in the dream, you’re like humiliated. In the dream, my ex had come to the door to beg for me to talk to him or whatever, and I opened up the door and I went to go say, 'Hi,' or 'What are you doing here?' or something — something normal — but all that came out was this high-pitched singing that said, 'Stay!' It was almost operatic. So I wrote this song, and I used that sound in the song. Weird, right? I woke up from the dream, saying the weird part into my phone, figuring I had to include it in something because it was just too strange not to. In pop, it’s fun to play around with little weird noises like that.”

January 11, 2013: Taylor is seen again at Conway Studios, likely to continue working on All You Had To Do Was Stay.

January 15, 2013: Taylor posts a picture of herself in the studio, with the caption "Somewhere in LA". She'll later reveal that she was writing How You Get The Girl.

“The song ‘How You Get The Girl’ is a song that I wrote about how you get the girl back if you ruined the relationship somehow and she won’t talk to you anymore. Like, if you broke up with her and left her on her own for six months and then you realize you miss her. All the steps you have to do to edge your way back into her life, because she’s probably pretty mad at you. So it’s kind of a tutorial. If you follow the directions in the song, chances are things will work out. Or you may get a restraining order.”

March 6, 2013: Taylor is seen going to a studio in LA.

March 23, 2013: Taylor posts a picture of herself playing guitar, which might mean that she was working on a new song: "Pre show. Columbia, South Carolina". This could be either Wonderland, New Romantics or a vault song.

May 27, 2013: While in Rhode Island for the Memorial Day weekend, Jack plays Taylor an instrumental track that will later become I Wish You Would.

“'I Wish You Would’ is a song that I wrote with Jack Antonoff and it was the first song we ever worked on together. I think, for this song, we wanted to create a sort of John Hughes movie visual with pining and, you know, one person’s over here and misses the other person but is too prideful and won’t say it. Meanwhile this other person is here and missing the same person; they’re missing each other but not saying it. And I had this happen in my life and so I wanted to kind of narrate it in a very cinematic way where it’s like you’re seeing two scenes play out and then in the bridge you’re seeing the final scene, where it resolves itself. So it says, 'It’s a crooked love in a straight line down, makes you wanna run and hide but it makes you turn right back around.’ It kind of is like that dramatic love that’s never really quite where it needs to be and that tension it creates.”

[Voice Memo Intro Transcript] “This is another way I’ve written songs recently. This is a song I did with Jack Antonoff, and Jack is one of my friends and so were hanging out and he pulled out his phone and goes ‘I made this amazing track the other day. It’s so cool, I love these guitar sounds.’ And he played it for me and immediately I could hear this finished song in my head, and I just said ‘Please, please let me have that. Let me play with it, send it to me.’ And so he sent it to me and I was on tour and this was me playing the track on my laptop recording me singing the vocal into my phone and it ended up being a song called 'I Wish You Would', because Jack wrote back and said ‘I love that’. So this is another way of writing, it’s writing to track.”

[Secret Sessions] “Taylor said that she wrote ‘I Wish You Would’ a couple of months after her and Harry Styles broke up, and they decided to become friends again and she said this was the first time she had become friends with an ex, to the point where they were comfortable enough to talk about why the relationship didn’t work out. She said he told her about how, after they broke up, he bought a house literally one road adjacent to hers. Every day he would drive home, and accidentally turn into her street, and he told her how he just wanted to stop at her house and see her, but he never did. She said this song is about while he was in the car making the decision to get out the car and see her, she was sitting in her bedroom, wishing he would make the move and go back to her and just pitch up at her house. She compared it to a classic John Hughes movie where both parties want the same thing but neither has the guts to say anything. Honestly, she spoke so fondly of that relationship.” [this is from a secret sessioner and therefore it should be taken with a grain of salt]

Between May 28 and June 2, 2013: Taylor writes I Wish You Would. She settled in Rhode Island basically all summer, so it's possible that she went to Jack's studio in New York by car without being seen and especially photographed, cause I couldn't find any pictures with the same outfit. Conway Studios are also credited but it's possible that she recorded background vocals there. Taylor was in LA in late August.

June 7, 2013: During an interview at the CMA Music Festival, Taylor confirms that she has started writing her next album.

[Transcript by me] “[The new album] is starting, all the anxiety is starting and when the anxiety starts, then the writing happens right afterward usually. I like to write for about two years before I'm finished with an album because at this point I kind of know that whenever I read in the first year is going to get away, because I'm going to like it but it's going to sound a little bit like the last project I had, and the second year usually ends up sounding like the next project. So I think at this point I feel like staying the same is the easy way to go but it's not the way that I want to go creatively. I think you need to challenge yourself, I think you need to change up your influences, I think you need to be inspired by different things that you've been inspired by before. It's harder to call people you don't know, it's harder to think of topics you haven't covered and think of new ways to say old emotions that everyone feels. I think one of the things that I'm happiest with in the last year is the acceptance level in country music for me experimenting and for me trying to evolve and challenge myself musically because I think it's never felt better to be on that stadium stage performing knowing that and so welcoming of change.”

July 13, 2013: After a show in New Jersey, Taylor has an interview with Rolling Stone, where she says that she has been writing a lot.

“The floodgates just opened the last couple weeks,” she says of the songwriting process. “I’m getting to that point where I’m irritating to be around because I’ll be with you for half the conversation and then the second half of the conversation I’m clearly editing the second verse of whatever I’m writing in my head. I really loved collaborating: you work with a lot of different people and you find the people you have this dream connection with in the studio. I know those people and I know the ones I want to go back to. But I also have a really long list of the people I admire and I would really love to go and contact. So that’s kind of where that is. I think that the idea of having a different approach to every single one of my albums is so exciting to me. I never want to make the same record twice. Why do it? What’s the point? It’s so overwhelming that when you’re starting a project there are such endless possibilities if you’re willing to evolve and experiment. If you’re willing to become a different version of yourself, you can really go anywhere with it. And that’s kind of where I am. The kind of the laboratory experimental stage of really catching onto a new thing that I’m liking.”

Somewhere around June and early September 2013: Taylor and Jack write Sweeter Than Fiction. No credits are available but we know that it's the second song on which Taylor and Jack worked, so that places it before I Wish You Would and Out Of The Woods.

In 2014, Lena Dunham (Jack's girlfriend at the time) posted this photo of Jack and Taylor working on the song at Jack's house.

September 15, 2013: Jack completes the instrumental track that will later become Out Of The Woods, after his show was cancelled.

[Jack Antonoff] “When I did the track for Out of the Woods, which is a Taylor song that I'm really proud of, there was some issue at a venue and our show was canceled that night and I didn't have my stuff, I had left it on the bus, so I only had these old samples on what was on my laptop, and caught up that 'oh oh'' thing, and I only had one drum kit on there, and these dumb little things sometimes turn into a great song.”

Somewhere around September and October 2013: Taylor writes Out Of The Woods.

Voice memo here;

[Jack Antonoff] Although Antonoff and Swift shared studio time for some of their other 1989 songs while working throughout 2014, “Out of the Woods” was completed as a long-distance collaboration. “She’s very natural -— when she gets an idea, it just happens very quickly. I would send her these tracks, and when an idea would happen, we’d be 5,000 miles apart or whatever, but she would start emailing me these voice notes like crazy and it would just be happening so quickly that there’d be this excitement. There’s a frantic feeling in the song,” he says. “What’s interesting about ‘Out of the Woods’ is that it doesn’t really let up. It starts with a pretty big anthemic vocal sample that’s me, and then there’s a drum sample that kicks in that’s kind of huge, and then you don’t really know how you’re going to get any bigger, but then the chorus hits and it just explodes even larger. And then the bridge hits, and it gets even more huge.“When I was working on the track, I was thinking a lot about My Morning Jacket,” Antonoff continues, “and how everything they do, every sound is louder than the last, and somehow it feels like everything is just f—ing massive. And that’s the feeling that I went for. It started out big, and then I think the obvious move would have been to do a down chorus, but the idea was to keep pushing.” Antonoff is excited to share the rest of his work with Swift on 1989, but he views “Out of the Woods” as a highlight on the project. “This song means a great deal to me. On a production level, on a writing level, Taylor’s lyrics and her melodies — there’s something very important about this song.”

[Jack Antonoff] “After 'I Wish You Would' and 'Sweeter Than Fiction', we did 'Out Of The Woods'. So it was the third thing we worked on together, and probably the easiest. I sent her the track for it, and she sent back a voice note with the verse and chorus in what felt like five seconds. And it was just perfect. It's eerie how similar it is to what the final product is.”

“It kind of conjured up all these feelings of anxiety I had in a relationship where everybody was watching, everybody was commenting on it. You’re constantly just feeling like, ‘Are we out of the woods yet? What’s the next thing gonna be? What’s the next hurdle we’re gonna have to jump over?’ It was interesting to write about a relationship where you’re just honestly like, ‘This is probably not gonna last, but how long is it gonna last?’ Those fragile relationships... It doesn’t mean they’re not supposed to happen. The whole time we were having happy memories, or crazy memories, or ridiculously anxious times, in my head it was just like, ‘Are we okay yet? Are we there yet? Are we out of this yet?’”

“That line is in there because it's not only the actual, literal narration of what happened in a particular relationship I was in, it's also a metaphor. 'Hit the brakes too soon' could mean the literal sense of, we got in an accident and we had to deal with the aftermath. But also, the relationship ended sooner than it should've because there was a lot of fear involved. And that song touches on a huge sense of anxiety that was, kind of, coursing through that particular relationship, because we really felt the heat of every single person in the media thinking they could draw up the narrative of what we were going through and debate and speculate. I don't think it's ever going to be easy for me to find love and block out all those screaming voices.”

October 21, 2013: Sweeter Than Fiction is released. Big Machine was originally not on board with the release since they wanted a dormant period between album releases.

Late 2013: Taylor writes Bad Blood, after Katy Perry announces her Prismatic World Tour.

“For years, I was never sure if we were friends or not. She would come up to me at awards shows and say something and walk away, and I would think, ‘Are we friends,or did she just give me the harshest insult of my life?’ Then last year, the other star crossed a line. She did something so horrible. I was like, ‘Oh, we’re just straight-up enemies.’ And it wasn’t even about a guy! It had to do with business. She basically tried to sabotage an entire arena tour. She tried to hire a bunch of people out from under me. And I’m surprisingly non-confrontational – you would not believe how much I hate conflict. So now I have to avoid her. It’s awkward, and I don’t like it.”

“That was about losing a friend... But then people cryptically tweet about what you meant. I never said anything that would point a finger in the specific direction of one specific person, and I can sleep at night knowing that. I knew the song would be assigned to a person, and the easiest mark was someone who I didn’t want to be labeled with this song. It was not a song about heartbreak. It was about the loss of friendship.”

October 20 to 22, 2013: Taylor is in Cape Town (South Africa) shooting The Giver. One of the members of the cast is Alexsander Skarsgård. He is said to have inspired Wildest Dreams (or at least he's the most popular theory, as far as I know), because the music video is set in Africa and it features Clint Eastwood's son Scott as love interest, just like Alexsander is actor Stellan Skarsgård's son, but we don't actually know more about the song.

“I think the way I used to approach relationships was very idealistic. I used to go into them thinking, ‘Maybe this is the one – we’ll get married and have a family, this could be forever’. Whereas now I go in thinking, ‘How long do we have on the clock – before something comes along and puts a wrench in it, or your publicist calls and says this isn’t a good idea?’”

Note: Selena Gomez was present when Taylor wrote this song.

Handwritten lyrics:

November 19, 2013: Taylor records Blank Space. This is based on the wall behind her on an Instagram post from this day, the credits, and the behind the scenes clip.

Voice memo here;

Behind the Scenes here;

“Every few years, the media finds something they unanimously agree is annoying about me. 2012-2013 they thought I was dating too much, because I dated two people in a year and a half. ‘Oh, a serial dater. She only writes songs to get emotional revenge on guys. She’s a man-hater, don’t let her near your boyfriend.’ It was kind of excessive and at first it was hurtful, but then I found a little bit of comedy in it. This character is so interesting, though. If you read these gossip sites, they describe how I am so opposite to my actual life: I’m clingy, and I’m awful, and I throw fits, and there’s drama. An emotionally fragile, unpredictable mess. I painted a whole picture of this character. She lives in a mansion with marble floors, she wears Dolce & Gabbana around the house, and she wears animal print unironically. So I created this whole character and I had fun doing it.”

November 21, 2013: While at the American Music Awards, Taylor tells Billboard that she has around seven or eight songs ready.

[Transcript] “We got a lot already,” says Swift. “There are probably seven or eight songs that I know I want on the record. It’s really ahead of schedule for me. I’m just stoked because it’s already evolved into a new sound, and that’s all I wanted. And I would have taken two years to make that happen, but it just kind of happened naturally, so that’s all I could really ask for.”

December 2013: Taylor meets Diane Warren and they write Say, Don't Go.

[Diane Warren to Rolling Stone] Warren, who typically writes on her own, says the two of them “sat down and wrote the song,” which was released Friday as one of 1989 (Taylor’s Version)‘s vault tracks, “from scratch” during the last few days of 2013. She remembers being impressed with how specific Swift was with her lyricism and how considerate she was about how her fans might receive it. “She was very particular about how she said certain things. It was a really interesting experience. She gets her audience,” Warren says. “She’s deeply aware of how her fans want to hear something. I can’t explain it, but that’s probably why she’s the biggest fucking star in the world.”

2013: Taylor writes New Romantics and Wonderland. Not much is known about these songs, except that they were both written in 2013.

[About New Romantics] “People will say, 'Let me set you up with someone', and I’m just sitting there saying, ‘That’s not what I’m doing. I’m not lonely. I’m not looking.’ They just don’t get it. I’ve learned that just because someone is cute and wants to date you, that’s not a reason to sacrifice your independence and allow everyone to say whatever they want about you. I’m not doing that anymore. It’d take someone really special for me to undergo the circumstances I have to go through to experience a date. I don’t know how I would ever have another person in my world trying to have a relationship with me, or a family.”

New Romantics handwritten lyrics:

Wonderland Handwritten lyrics:

January 1, 2014: Taylor records Say, Don't Go.

[Diane Warren to Rolling Stone] Several days after writing the song together, they got into Warren’s office to record a demo, where Swift played it on her acoustic guitar. “We demoed it on New Year’s Day. And I’m a workaholic, and that’s fine for me,” she says. “But I remember being impressed that she did, too. Everybody’s on vacation, but she showed up.”

January 6, 2014: Taylor decides to look for a house in New York.

[Lover Journal] LA. So I've decided I want to look at places in New York. I know I went through this phase months ago, but it has to mean something that i've circled back to it, right? You know what they say, if you love something let it go and if it comes back... blah blah blah. so I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. Dating is awful. Love is fiction/ a myth. I'm over it all.

January 21, 2014: Taylor sends Ryan Tedder the I Know Places Voice Memo.

January 22, 2014: [From the 1989 Booklet] Taylor and Ryan finish and record I Know Places.

“I had this idea of like, when you’re in love, along the lines of 'Out of the Woods’, it’s very precious, it’s fragile. As soon as the world gets ahold of it, whether it’s your friends or people around town hear about it... it’s kind of like the first thing people want to do when they hear that people are in love is just kind of try to ruin it. I kind of was in a place where I was like, ‘No one is gonna sign up for this. There are just too many cameras pointed at me. There are too many ridiculous elaborations on my life. It’s just not ever gonna work.‘ But I decided to write a love song, just kind of like, ‘What would I say if I met someone really awesome and they were like, hey, I’m worried about all this attention you get?’ So I wrote this song called ‘I Know Places’ about, ‘Hey, I know places we can hide. We could outrun them.’ I’m so happy that it sounds like the urgency that it sings.”

January 23, 2014: Taylor and Ryan Tedder write Welcome To New York. Ryan produces a demo in three hours. This demo is the one included in the album.

“I wanted to start 1989 with this song because New York has been an important landscape and location for the story of my life in the last couple of years. I dreamt and obsessed over moving to New York, and then I did it. The inspiration that I found in that city is hard to describe and to compare to any other force of inspiration I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’s an electric city.”

[Ryan Tedder] “I thought we were going to walk in and start something from scratch because that's what I was used to. Then she calls me and says, 'Is it cool if I already have an idea?' I said, 'Sure.' She said, 'I have this song, I'm obsessed with New York and I just moved there, I want to write an ode to New York because no one's done it in a long time.' And then she sent me a voice memo. She's like, 'I want it to sound like the 1980s.' So the next day I brought in a Juno-106, which is a very 1980s keyboard, and I literally programmed that entire song right in front of her. It was very much on the fly, and that song was done in about three hours. And I did the rest of the production I think later that week.”

Handwritten lyrics:

January 26, 2014: Night of the 56th Grammy Awards. Taylor delivers a legendary performance of All Too Well, but loses the Album Of The Year Award to Random Access Memory by Daft Punk. This will prompt Taylor to make a "sonically cohesive" pop album.

[Lover Journal] January 25th. LA. It's the middle of the night and I was at the Clive Davis Party tonight which means... the Grammys are tomorrow. Never have I felt so good about our chances. Never have I wanted something as badly as I want to hear them say 'Red' is the Album of the Year.

“It was the night of the Grammys this year. I remember going home and playing a lot of the new music I had recorded for some of my backup singers and one of my best friends. We were all sitting in the kitchen and I was playing them all this music, and they were just saying, ‘You know, this is very eighties. It’s very clear to us that this is so eighties.’ We were just talking and talking about how it’s kind of a rebirth in a new genre, how that’s a big, bold step. Kind of starting a part of your career over. When they left that night, I just had this very clear moment of, ‘It’s gotta be called 1989.’”

“I woke up one morning at 4 a.m. and I decided the album is called 1989. I’ve been making ‘80s synth pop, I’m just gonna do that. I’m calling it a pop record. I’m not listening to anyone at my label. I’m starting tomorrow. I liked the idea of collaborating. But with 1989 I decided to narrow down the list. It wasn’t going to be 10 producers, it was going to be a very small team of four or five people I always wanted to work with, or loved working with. And Max Martin and I were going to oversee it, and we were going to make a sonically cohesive record again.”

January 2014: Taylor writes You Are In Love. This is actually speculation but it's based on (1) Taylor going to NY in early January and (2) Jack Antonoff confirming that it was the fourth song they did and (3) it's the only Antonoff-produced song that is copyrighted in 2014. Based on the credits, I'm pretty sure that Taylor and Jack worked on the song separately, with Jack recording the instrumental at the Jungle City Studios in NY (which is a studio that Jack used in 2014 to record Bleachers' first album Strange Desire) and Taylor recording the vocals at Conway Studio in LA.

“I wrote it with my friend Jack Antonoff who’s dating my friend Lena. Jack sent me this song, it was just an instrumental track he was working on and immediately I knew the song it needed to be. And I wrote it as a kind of commentary on what their relationship has been like. So it’s actually me looking and going, ‘This happened and that happened, then that happened and that’s how you knew you are in love.’”

“I’ve never had that, so I wrote that song about things that Lena Dunham has told me about her and Jack Antonoff. That’s just basically stuff she’s told me. And I think that that kind of relationship — God, it sounds like it would just be so beautiful — would also be hard. It would also be mundane at times.”

“We first worked on that song together and realized we kind of have a good thing, and the next thing we did was ‘Sweeter Than Fiction,’ which was on the [One Chance] soundtrack, and after that we did ‘Out of the Woods’ and another song called ‘You Are in Love.’

January 26, 2014: At the Grammy's, Diane Warren reveals that she and Taylor wrote a song together (aka Say, Don't Go).

[Transcript] “I worked with Taylor Swift on a great song. I don't even know what she's done [for her next album], I'm excited about the one that we did, it's pretty cool.”

[Billboard 2016 Interview] “I know [Swift] likes it, so hopefully it will see the light of day. I know she really likes the song. She didn’t want me to give it away, so hopefully that means she wants it.”

February 9, 2014: [From the 1989 Booklet] While in London, during the European leg of the Red Tour, Taylor and Imogen Heap write Clean in just 9 hours at Imogen's home studio. Taylor will sing the song just two times.

Voice memo here;

“'Clean' I wrote as I was walking out of Liberty in London. Someone I used to date – it hit me that I’d been in the same city as him for two weeks and I hadn’t thought about it. When it did hit me, it was like, ‘Oh, I hope he’s doing well’. And nothing else. And you know how it is when you’re going through heartbreak. A heartbroken person is unlike any other person. Their time moves at a completely different pace than ours. It’s this mental, physical, emotional ache and feeling so conflicted. Nothing distracts you from it. Then time passes, and the more you live your life and create new habits, you get used to not having a text message every morning saying, ‘Hello, beautiful. Good morning.’ You get used to not calling someone at night to tell them how your day was. You replace these old habits with new habits, like texting your friends in a group chat all day, and planning fun dinner parties, and going out on adventures with your girlfriends, and then all of a sudden one day you’re in London and you realize you’ve been in the same place as your ex for two weeks and you’re fine. And you hope he’s fine. The first thought that came to my mind was – I’m finally clean.”

“'Clean' is the last song on the album for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it felt like the complication of this emotional process I’ve been going through for the last couple of years. You know, I feel like my personal life was really, really discussed, and criticized, and debated, and talked about to a point where it made me feel almost kind of tarnished, in a way. And the discussion wasn’t about music. It broke my heart that I had made an album that I was proud of, and I was touring the world, and playing sold-out stadiums, and still they managed to only want to talk about my personal life. At a certain point I felt a switch and it was at the end of recording this album that I began to feel like my life was mine again and my music was at the forefront again. I was living my life on my own terms and I really no longer cared what people were saying about me. That was when I started so see people talk less about the things that didn’t matter.”

“I had this metaphor in my head about being in this house, there’s been a drought but you feel like there’s a storm coming. Instead of trying to block out the storm you punch a hole in the roof and just let all the rain come in, and when you wake up in the morning, it’s washed away.”

[Imogen Heap] “We met at my studio in London. She had the bare bones of “Clean.” She had the lyric, the chorus and the chords. I thought it was brilliant.I was really writing the tiniest amount just to help her do what she does. I put some noises, played various instruments on it, including drums, and anytime she expressed she liked something I was doing, I did it more. It was a really fun day. She recorded all her vocals during that one session. She did two takes, and the second take was it. We always thought she would probably re-record it, because we thought it can’t possibly be that easy. But after we lived with it for a few months, we felt it was great. I knew she loved it. She said she loved it and her mum loved it. But I wasn’t sure it would be included on the album. But everyone felt it had something special. It came together really magically.”

Imogen's detailed blog entry about this songwriting session.

[Taylor about Imogen Heap] “The coolest thing about Imogen for me was that there was no one else in the studio. There was no assistant; there was no engineer. It was her doing everything.”

February 11, 2014: Taylor gets a haircut. (I'm including this for funsies)

February 15, 2014: Taylor, Max Martin and Shellback write Shake It Off.

Voice memo here;

[Lover Journal] LA. This week I've been in the studio with Max and Johan every day and it has been the most creatively successful and fulfilling time. The first day, Johan just made a really up tempo drum beat because we decided we needed something up and light. We worked at it for a few hours before i just started singing "shake it off, shake it off, shake it off" And then the best way i know how to describe it is that the chorus just fell out of the sky. It ended up being this song about doing your own thing even though haters are gonna hate, and you just have to dance to your own beat. We all went home and I wrote the first and second verses and brought them in the next day. We wrote this chanty cheer leader bridge that I absolutely LOVE. We spent all day doing vocals and the next day recording the background vocals. I think it'll end up being the first single and Max said it's his favorite song he's ever been a part of.

[Max Martin during the lawsuit] “Shellback started out with a drumbeat. Shellback, Taylor, and I then collaboratively developed the melody and other lines of ‘Shake It Off’ to Shellback’s drumbeat. I did not write or provide any input into any lyrics in ‘Shake It Off,’ which were written entirely by Taylor.”

“I've had every part of my life dissected – my choices, my actions, my words, my body, my style, my music. When you live your life under that kind of scrutiny, you can either let it break you, or you can get really good at dodging punches. And when one lands, you know how to deal with it. And I guess the way that I deal with it is to shake it off.”

“The message in the song is a problem I think we all deal with and an issue we deal with on a daily basis. We don’t live just in a celebrity takedown culture, we live in a takedown culture. People will find anything about you and twist it to where it’s weird or wrong or annoying or strange or bad. You have to not only live your life in spite of people who don’t understand you, you have to have more fun than they do.”

February 19, 2014: Taylor, Max Martin, Shellback and Ali Payami write Style. This is the last song made for the album.

“I loved comparing these timeless visuals with a feeling that never goes out of style. It's basically one of those relationships that's always a bit off. The two people are trying to forget each other. So, it's like, 'All right, I heard you went off with her, and well, I've done that, too.' My previous albums have also been sort of like, 'I was right, you were wrong, you did this, it made me feel like this' – a righteous sense of right and wrong in a relationship. What happens when you grow up is you realize the rules in a relationship are very blurred and that it gets very complicated very quickly, and there's not a case of who was right or who was wrong.”

“This song is about those relationships that are never really done. You always kind of have that person, that one person who you feel might interrupt your wedding and be like, ‘Don’t do it cause we’re not over yet.'”

[Guitarist Niklas Ljungfelt] “I played on “Style,” a song I started with Ali Payami for ourselves. He was playing it for Max Martin at his studio; Taylor overheard it and loved it. She and Max wrote new lyrics. But I recorded the guitar on it before it was a Taylor song. It was an instrumental. I didn’t have a clue that Taylor would sing on it. The inspiration came from Daft Punk and funky electronic music.”

1989 is officially done!

[Taylor On Ryan Seacrest] “I'm pretty sure after we finished this one I knew the record was done. Shake It Off and Style were the last two songs to be written for 1989.”

February 19, 2014: While on tour, Ryan Tedder produces another three versions of Welcome To New York.

[Ryan Tedder interview] “I was in Switzerland on a tour bus, and I did four versions of 'Welcome to New York,' one of which I liked personally more, but the thing about artists is they become very obsessed with the demo. She was in love with the demo so no matter how hard I fought, she brought it back to the demo, so really what you hear is what I did on the first day.”

March 22, 2014: Billboard reports that Taylor and Ryan Tedder have worked together in LA in January

March 24, 2014: [From a Lover Journal] Taylor moves to New York.

[Lover Journal] So in the last few weeks, I've completely moved into my apartment in Tribeca. That's right, I'm writing this from my new bed in my new place, watching Law and Order with Meredith. Strangely, I've never felt more busy.

May 1, 2014: 1989 Photoshoot (I got this date from an insider)

May 29, 2014: [From a Lover Journal] Taylor chooses another photo for the cover, after having a nightmare of the previous one being not enough.

May 30, 2014: Taylor chooses the album cover.

[Lover Journal] Shanghai. So we got to China at around 2pm and I knew it would completely ruin me if I slept when i got to the hotel, so I decided to work out. WHY IS THIS PEN RUNNING OUT?! Just went to my purse and got my pen. So a crazy story unfolded in the last 24 hours. Last night, I had this vivid dream where the photo I'd chosen for the album cover wasn't good enough, intriguing enough, artful enough. it woke me up. I couldn't shake it and it stayed with me all day. Because that nagging feeling I'd been pushing back for weeks was now confirmed in my gut... it wasn't good enough. I went to the venue, mind racing, wandering if I'd have to do an entirely new photo shoot... I got to my dressing room with newer versions of the "cover" I looked at it and felt nothing. The team pulled up this new scanned file of the polaroids we had taken during the shoot. I saw it within 10 seconds. The shot. The cover. It's a polaroid of me sitting against a beige wall with a blue seagull sweatshirt on. You can see my red lips but the photo cuts off my eyes. For some reason unknown to me it's the most intriguing photo i've seen. I think it's the mystery of not seeing my eyes. Maybe it just looks effortlessly cool. The craziest moment came when something caught my eye. The cover photo is photo 13. I kid you not. I played a sold out show in Shanghai tonight and the crowd was amazing. Tomorrow we go to Tokyo, where they'll have the whole ticker tape parade at the airport. Smile and wave...

Mid To Late 2014: Taylor and Jack write Now That We Don't Talk.

[Tumblr Music] "Now That We Don't Talk is one of my favorite songs that was left behind. It was so hard to leave it behind, but I think we wrote it a little bit towards the end of the process, and we couldn't get the production right at the time. But we had tons of time to perfect the production this time, and figure out what we wanted the song to sound like, and I just think it's, I think it's the shortest song I've ever had. I think it packs a punch. I think it really goes in for the short amount of time we have, I think it makes its point."

Conclusive notes

What 1989 represented for Taylor:

“The 1980s was a very experimental time in pop music. People realized songs didn't have to be this standard drums-guitar-bass-whatever. We can make a song with synths and a drum pad. We can do group vocals for the entire song. We can do so many different things. And I think what you saw happening with music was also happening in our culture, where people were just wearing whatever crazy colors they wanted to, because why not? There just seemed to be this energy about endless opportunities, endless possibilities, endless ways you could live your life. And so with this record, I thought, 'There are no rules to this. I don't need to use the same musicians I've used, or the same band, or the same producers, or the same formula. I can make whatever record I want.'”

“In the past, I've written mostly about heartbreak or pain that was caused by someone else and felt by me. On this album, I'm writing about more complex relationships, where the blame is kind of split 50–50 ... even if you find the right situation relationship-wise, it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work.”

Bonus: Secret Messages

Author's note: I wrote this timeline around 2 years ago. While I found some dates later on, this is 100% my research. If you use this timeline for your posts, research or whatever, PLEASE, credit me! I'd be very thankful. This is 2 years of work.

Links to my other Timelines:

Writing of Fearless Timeline

Writing of Speak Now Timeline

Writing of Red Timeline

My Spreadsheet with a timeline overview

Credits:

Most of the quotes have been copy-pasted from Taylor Swift Switzerland.

Taylor Swift Pictures for the candids.

Heather from Nerdy by Nature for the WTNY handwritten lyrics picture.

[kkami-writes]

Black Blood — chapter four. wc. 1k + 6 SS

As the boys climb the stairs back to their dorms the first thing they notice is the obvious music that’s blaring past the walls of their apartment. It’s not terribly loud, but the closer they come to the door they can clearly hear God's menu practically vibrating against the walls. They open the door to see you, just lounging on the couch with your phone in your hand, head bobbing to the addicting beat. You don’t even notice their arrival until the door closes, turning to see the eight boys piling back into their dorm. 

You reach for the remote, lowering the music down until it’s basically background noise. They also notice that you’re no longer clad in the lingerie you had been summoned in, trading it for a cozy oversized hoodie and some shorts. 

“Hey!! Welcome home. You guys are pretty good honestly, I’m very impressed,” This brings smiles to their faces, somewhat pleased that you had liked their music. They say some quick greetings before dispersing to do their night routines. 

Jisung on the other hand, comes over and plops himself down next to you on the couch. You’re a little surprised as you turn to face him, a cute heart shaped smile on his face as he nudges you playfully. 

“What’s your favorite song?” He asks simply, looking at you expectantly. It has you thinking for a second as you go through the songs you listened to through your head.

“I’ve only just started going through your discography but, I think I’m drawn to Levanter. The lyrics are really powerful and I found the MV really interesting too,” 

“Nice, nice. By the way, what’s this plan of yours?” He tilts his head to the side cutely and it almost makes you wanna actually tell him but you wave him off instead. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough,” Jisung gives you a look. “It’s nothing bad. I promise,” It looks like he wants to continue to question you but a loud yawn interrupts him. You laugh softly as you go to pet his head but stopping, not sure if the male wanted to be touched. He seems to see your struggle so he simply moves his head to meet your hand, nuzzling into your palm and the sight nearly melts your heart. If you had a heart.

“Go to bed, it’s late. I’m sure you guys will be up early again,” He nods before slipping off the couch, leaving you to be alone in your thoughts again. You move to turn the music off completely now, sitting there as a silence overtakes the whole dorm, the boys settling down to sleep. Normally, it wasn’t hard to keep your mind empty, not much to really think about in hell anyway. So it feels weird to have your thoughts suddenly racing. You can’t help but think about how long you might end up with these boys.

You only have heard of contracts being signed with demons but beyond that you basically knew nothing, much less how to break said contract. It hurts your head to think about it, so instead you move towards the room the boys had provided for you, hoping that you could just sleep these thoughts off. 

The next morning is similar to the previous one, with you making seven cups of coffee and the boys running around to prepare for the day. Bangchan is once again the last one out the door and you wave goodbye to him, a slightly mischievous grin spread across your lips. 

“Bye! See you soon!” He’s all too distracted to really think about your word choice, quickly making his way down the stairs and into the awaiting vans to take him to schedules. 

It’s not until later that afternoon does he understand your words. 

They’re in the dance studio, going over some steps when a knock at the door interrupts them. Chan greets the older male who walks in. 

“Joon hyung, hello. What’s up?” Joon gestures for the kids to take a seat on the leather couch in the corner of the studio, all of them eagerly obliging in taking a much needed break. Joon was head of the production team for the kids, setting up filming times and future content for their youtube account. 

“So, let me start by letting you know that your manager Chun-Soo has quit,” At this, the boys are silent, confusion evident on their faces. They had just talked to their manager a few days ago, why had the man suddenly quit? “Something about winning the lottery? I’m not entirely sure. Of course, don’t worry. We had originally planned for your smaller managers to take turns to be in charge but pd-nim has already found you a replacement! On top of being your new head manager, they’ll be a live-in manager at your dorms. They’re in charge of making sure dorm life is comfortable, keeping an eye on your well being and health,” 

At this, panic fills them. Their eyes go wide as they exchange worried glances. A live-in manager? This was bad. Really bad. How were they going to explain the demon that was already taking residence in their dorm? 

“Miss Yn? You can come in,” Their heads snap up to stare at their producer, still in a state of shock. It’s you who walks in, dressed in a nice pants suit. The clack of your heels against the hard floor of the dance studio rings in their ears as they stare. They’re pretty sure it’s you, it looks just like you minus the pair of red horns and tail they had started to associate you with. Instead of the bright red eyes, they’re now a muted caramel brown, a clear glint of mischief in them. 

When you stop in front of the leather couch, you have to bite back the laugh you want to let out at their shell shocked faces. They’re openly gaping at you and you wished you could take a picture. 

“Hello. I’m YN, I'll be your new head manager starting today. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m looking forward to working with you boys,” You bow politely, sending them a cheeky grin and they can clearly see your sharp canines.

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