#whatever happened to her dream journal?

[bmpmp3]

SOME DOODLES of a character from a dream i had like all the way back in highschool that was technically based off some OCs me and some middle school friends used to make together EXCEPT in the dream half the characters including this one were slightly off from their canon counterparts, like little design details and stuff, and also the whole dream was some kinda rpg maker ass psychological horror tragedy. i’ll call her perdita

[phaedraismyusername]

This year some of my favourite books I read were written by indigenous American authors and I just wanted to shout out a couple that I fell in love with

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones

Horror being my second most read genre, I did not think books could still get under my skin the way this one did lol. It follows four Blackfoot men who are seemingly being hunted by a vengeful... something... years after a fateful hunting trip that happened just before they went their separate ways. The horror, the dread, the something... pure nightmare fuel 10/10

Moon of the Crusted Snow by Waubgeshig Rice

An apocalyptic novel following an isolated Anishinaabe community in the far north who lose contact with the outside world. When two of their young men return from their college with dire news, they set about planning on how to survive the winter, but when outsiders follow, lines are drawn in the community that might doom them all. This book is all dread all the time, the use of dreams and the inevitability of conflict weighs heavy til the very end. An excellent apocalypse story if you're into that kind of thing.

My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

This book follows Jade, a deeply troubled mixed race teenager with a shitty homelife who's *obsessed* with slasher movies. When she finds evidence that there's a killer running about her soon-to-be gentrified small town, she weaponises that knowledge to predict what's going to happen next. I don't think this book will work for most people, it's a little stream of consciousness, Jade's head is frequently a very difficult place to be in, but by the last page I had so much love for her as a character and the emotional rollercoaster she's on that I had to mention it here.

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger

Taking a bit of a left turn but this charming YA murder mystery really stuck with me this year. Elatsoe is a teenage girl living in an America where myths, monsters, and magic are all real every day occurrences. When her cousin dies mysteriously with no witnesses, she decides to do whatever she can, including using her ability to raise the spirits of dead animals, to solve the case. The worldbuilding was just really fun in this one, but the Native American myths and influence were the shining star for me, and the asexual rep was refreshing to see in a YA book too tbh

Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq

The audiobook, the audiobook, the audiobook!!!! Also the physical book because formatting and illustrations, but the audiobook!!! Tanya Tagaq is an Inuit throat singer, and this novel is a genre blending of 20 years worth of the authors journal entries, poetry, and short stories, that culminates in a truly unique story about a young girl surviving her teenage years in a small tundra town in the 70s. It is sad and beautiful and hard but an experience like nothing else I read this year.

[fightmewiatch]

The emotion behind the way Edwin uses fuck is so heavy, because outside of the pilot episode and the scene on the stairs, he doesn't swear. He's a proper boy, repressed and focused and he bottles everything up.

In the Pilot, "The police don't know what to do with a fucking witch", he isn't swearing about the witch. He's angry, and he's upset, and he's frustrated. He's trying to focus on solving this case, saving the girl, doing the right thing, fixing things. Edwin spent seventy years in Hell, fighting for a way out (the detail in his journal, he didn't get out on the first try, he spent those 70s years trying over and over and over to find a way out - but that is a story for a whole other time), torture and pain and heartbreak, only to get out and fall into the school to find out no one cared that he died. "An act of God." The school wrote him off, everyone wrote it off and that was it, that was the end of it, no one cared that a 16 year old boy went to bed and was never seen or heard from again, poof, gone. He spent Charles' last moments with him to keep him company, and calm, and not scared, the two of them knowing what had happened only for the school to once again cover up the death of a 16 year old boy and pretend that whatever happened didn't. Edwin spent the next 30 years connecting with Charles, trying to help ghosts so they don't spend their entire afterlives in a state of absolute sorrow and heartbreak like has. We get such a bare taste of the ghosts they've saved and helped move on, who knows how much good they've truly done, how many they've saved from going to Hell on technicalities like Edwin had done. He's frustrated with Crystal, because he's spent 30 years working with Charles and only with Charles, he knows his friend, he knows how he behaves and how he works and how he acts, those two are connected on a level some people only dream about, and here she comes, she latches on, and she joins them to help but she's so hyper focused on herself and David (understandably so), that she isn't giving the same attention to the case that Edwin and Charles have always done, and he's angry, and he feels like it's going to happen to this girl, he is worried that her focus on David, is going to cause them to fail. Crystal has every right to be upset and scared and everything else that she is, but she doesn't consider, until that moment, that Edwin has a right to be upset about how it seems to be interfering with the case. The way that she reacts when he says "The police don't know what to do with a fucking witch," she realizes it then just how important this case is. Edwin was dragged to hell, the boys around him obliterated - leaving behind the idea that maybe he was, too - so to the school, maybe Edwin just disappeared, like Becky, like all the other little girls over the years in Port Townsend. Solving Becky's case is so damn important to Edwin that he is taking it personally. And while it's subtle, Charles reacts to him swearing, too, as though Edwin does not swear. And based on the rest of the season, it's clear he really doesn't. The way he swears in the pilot is from a place of complete and utter sorrow and anger.

In ep 7, it's different. He's spent the whole season struggling with who is he, trying to come to terms with a feeling he'd repressed for at least a century, and he's had to do it while dealing with the Cat King and Monty and watching Charles flirt with Crystal and struggle through his own rage, he's done it as quietly as he could, as if bringing it up out loud might ruin everything that he's worked so hard for. But now he's in Hell, again, now he's trying to get out, again. Edwin encountered the reason he was sent there in the first place, and found out what really happened. Edwin spent all those years thinking it was purely malice that got him sacrificed, only to find out it was just because Simon had a crush on him, and did an absurdly stupid thing thinking it was harmless. I think in that moment, Edwin realized how easy it is to misunderstand something - because clearly, Edwin had absolutely no idea that Simon liked him at all, until the moment he admitted it in Hell. And then Charles shows up. Charles came to save him, armed with a bomb, a Molotov cocktail, and Edwin's notebook with a map of hell on it. Charles came down, he listened to Edwin's directions, he ran behind him most of the time to make sure Edwin was going to get out. Charles was with him, saving him from one of the rooms, following him to the stairs and up. He stopped with him, even when they needed to keep going, Charles let him have a moment on the steps. Edwin is in shock, he cannot believe it. All these years, all these write offs, all these moments where Edwin genuinely didn't think he'd ever get out of Hell if he were to go back, believed that if they ever got caught by Death or anyone from the afterlife, he would be damned forever because who gives a shit about a technicality, who cares about the poor boy that was sacrificed and written off by the rest of the living. Edwin didn't know what else to do or say, the emotions he'd kept bottled up while he tried to figure them out were coming out one way or the other. "It's so fucking stupid, it's unbelievable." Edwin didn't think he deserved it, thought it was stupid to come down and save him, because who would do such a thing. Charles risked himself to come down to Hell to save Edwin. Edwin never thought he'd be worth it. And when Charles just shrugs it off a bit, reminds him that he was gonna do it, and he's so easy about it that Edwin just. Confesses. And corrects him, when Charles misunderstands for a second. Charles didn't think twice about "Great. Love you too. Can we go?" And he really didn't even hesitate to reassure Edwin when Edwin clarified what he meant, that they had forever to figure things out.

[shaunamilfman]

yellowjackets + affection headcanons

pairing: Shauna Shipman x r, Jackie Taylor x r, Lottie Matthews x r, Natalie Scatorccio x r note: seperatelyyyyy.

Shauna Shipman

very subtle demonstrations of affection. she’s definitely not a fan of over-the-top displays of PDA, preferring to express her feelings through her actions. show, don’t tell type.

does a lot of small things like making your favorite meal, leaving you little notes, and letting you pick what to watch even if it’s not your turn.

a lot of what she does isn’t especially romantic in nature, though it’s not to say that she doesn’t have her moment, but it’s always demonstrative that you’re special to her in some way or another.

very clingy, but not necessarily in public. she really likes to sit flush against you on the couch, the entirety of her side pressed against yours as she rests her head against yours. 

she’s a big fan of just laying together, even if you’re not necessarily intending on going to sleep. running her fingers across your skin absentmindedly as you lay together on the couch.

gives you compliments almost as if they’re an afterthought, but they’re always so sincere that you know she’s put actual thought into them even if she pretends otherwise.

drunk Shauna or jealous Shauna is all over you, though. she sees someone breathe in your direction and nearly jumps the couch to get over to you.

she’s so protective of you, even over the smallest things. imagined injustices are too much for her. tell her Nat was mean to you in a dream, and her ass is glaring at her the next time she sees her.

she’s always watching you in one way or another. sometimes it’s because she's being possessive, but she mostly just likes to know that you’re okay. any time you’re separated at the same event, you can relax knowing Shauna knows exactly where you are at any moment.

Shauna Shipman will not forget a date. she knows every milestone of your relationship and could list off the day they happened. she’s kind of cheating because her ass is going straight home and writing in her journal about it the day it happens, so she can always check back to the date.

Jackie Taylor

likes to make your life easier any way she can. unfortunately, Jackie’s ideas of what would make your life easier aren’t always exactly true. but she’s trying, and that’s the important part, right? sure, you spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how she reorganized your kitchen, but she did it with love.

queen of PDA. she’s all over you all the time. her ass will climb you like a tree in public. absolutely does not understand that there’s a time and a place for all that, but who would want her to?

always, always, always holding your hand. tries to pull your hand off the wheel at every single stoplight because it’s been sooooo long. kisses your cheek any time you’ve done anything that made her even the slightest bit happy, or also just because. she’s not picky.

no one on Earth will talk you up more than Jackie Taylor. she’s showering you with compliments, both to your face and to anyone who will listen to her talk about you. they’re all so genuine too.

plans the most complex dates you’ve ever seen. truthfully, they’re mostly for her own benefit, but you always have a good time anyway. she will expect to hear how impressed you were with whatever she planned out at length. she needs the reassurance.

so physically affectionate. hand-holding where she just plays with your fingers while watching TV. anytime you’re lying down, trust that Jackie will be climbing on top of you and staying there. falls asleep on top of you, and you’re stuck there till she wakes up.

listens very intently whenever you talk, but eventually her eyes always end up falling to your lips. she’s just a girl.

she’s so playfully mean to you. always gently poking fun at something you’re doing as she skips up next to you and presses the entirety of her body against your back.

so incredibly possessive. god forbid you even look in someone else's direction or it’s on. as much as she craves your attention on her all the time, it truly is just the way she cares for you.

quality time!!! your ass isn’t going anywhere.

Lottie Matthews

Lottie’s trying to get you lore dropping on the first date for sure. she’s very emotionally aware and enjoys the intimacy of sharing secrets and feelings between the two of you.

loves to take care of you. she hates when you’re sick but also loves to smother you in love and care whenever you are. definitely confesses it to you guiltily one day like it’s a grievous sin.

stocks her cabinets with things that you like. walking around the store with a little list of everything she’s ever seen you eat before you stay over for the first time.

forces the nastiest herbal teas on you for your "health.”.

gives you so many gifts. most of them are just small little trinkets that remind her of you, but they’re always so thoughtful in nature. remembers anything you’ve ever mentioned being interested in or looked at when out at shops.

the type to drop in while you’re studying all day with a snack because she knows you forgot to eat. pulling you out of your chair to get up and dance with her because you haven’t moved from your desk in four hours. pulling your headphones off your ears and dragging you to bed because you have to get up in six hours.

she’s so physical touch. Lottie’s always touching you in some way or another. just small touches mostly: brushes of her fingers across her arm as you walk past her, fingers intertwined as you walk around whatever market she’s dragged you to today, her thumb against your face as she rubs off the tiniest speck of dirt, brushing hair out of your face as you talk animatedly.

good luck getting Lottie’s head off of your shoulder. doesn’t matter if you’re standing or laying down. she’s zeroing in on it immediately.

Natalie Scatorrcio

not traditionally affectionate in the slightest. she’s very awkward with it at the best of times. epitome of like, “I dunno, you’re cool, or whatever,” while kicking the toe of her shoe against the dirt and avoiding eye contact. does not have any experience with giving or receiving affection at all.

she blushes to her ears at even the slightest hint of love or care once you get closer. girl does not know what to do with herself; she's so stressed.

it takes forever for Nat to tell you anything personal about her life. so when she finally does start talking that vulnerability is a major sign of her affection for you.

quality time where you sit together and do separate things. sitting on opposite sides of the couch while Nat keeps sneaking looks at you whenever she thinks you’re not paying attention.

she’s not great at comforting you while you’re upset, but she’ll always listen for as long as you want to talk about it.

so incredibly loyal and protective. she’s not even letting rightful criticism of you go. at least when other people say it. argues with someone for twenty minutes about something you did, but the second you’re alone she’s like, “that was so lame.”

she’s really physically affectionate in public, but not in the traditional sense. bumps your shoulders together a lot while giving you that crooked grin of hers, taps her foot against yours under the table, that sort of thing. in private, I think she would like more full-body contact stuff like cuddling than handholding or stuff of that nature.

Nat’s the type to drop you off at the front of the store when it’s raining while she parks the car. always walks on the curbside of the sidewalk so that car “hits her instead." always tries to open the door for you even when it’s inconvenient (think rushing around the car).

definitely the type to present you with pretty rocks she found and grins stupidly whenever she sees it sitting on a shelf at your place.

likes to try to fix things around your house.

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you. 

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor. 

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent. 

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t. 

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t. 

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora. 

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips. 

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be. 

Especially now. 

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal. 

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?” 

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little. 

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.” 

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand. 

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height. 

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.” 

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene. 

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.” 

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight. 

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup. 

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom. 

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains? 

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds. 

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen. 

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school. 

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card. 

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?” 

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.” 

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.” 

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else. 

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror. 

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family. 

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets. 

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you. 

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends. 

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina. 

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not. 

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore. 

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause. 

Eddie had to take a beat. 

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on. 

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure. 

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head. 

Ink stains mixing with precum. 

Moaning into your mouth. 

Giving you something to write to dear diary about. 

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket. 

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria. 

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you. 

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you. 

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says. 

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally). 

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually. 

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t. 

Fuck. 

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you. 

—

“Anybody got bleach?” 

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag. 

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately. 

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track. 

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition. 

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.” 

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight. 

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?” 

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning. 

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen. 

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing. 

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing. 

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

[juletheghoul]

Let Me Follow (Part 7)

AN: Ooop. I haven't updated this in a year and I feel terrible, I am trying to go through all of the unfinished fics I have, and update one every week. (dream big Jules) Hopefully get through all of the things I have in my head. Hopefully it's been worth the wait! I've done my best to edit this myself, but it hasn't been beta'd. Enjoy! xo 🩷

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) ANGST, language, age-gap (about 10-11 years, legal, reader is of age), Yearning, post-apocalyptic world, Joels injury / ptsd / nightmare

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist Series Masterlist

He’s gone when you wake up. Both of them are, they’re gone most of the day but it makes sense. You chalk it up to Joel catching up with his brother and Ellie taking advantage of the safety of this place. You, in turn, find yourself almost haunting the house Maria and Tommy had put you up in. The time spent in the trailer, although quiet for the most part, was also wrapped up in the web of anxiety. Every second spent there was corrupted with fear of someone finding it, always the danger of infected wandering into the woods and surprising you when you’d go scavenging, and in comparison to that, this felt peaceful. 

This house gave you a chance to rest, to nap and enjoy the safety of the walls surrounding you, surrounding the town itself. Even when you got hungry, it was only a matter of making your way down the street to the cafeteria. People looked at you with curiosity, but didn’t pry, which only inspired intense gratitude. 

The whole day was a much needed respite from the worry and anxiety, until Ellie stormed into the house to find you reading an old novel on the sofa late in the evening. Anger burning on her face and it seemed strange to be so angry in a place like this. 

“What happened?” The adrenaline shoots up, the familiarity of it is so depressing, it seems your body is always ready to feel this way. 

“He’s leaving me.” She runs up the stairs and you find yourself running up after her, the door to the bedroom she’d claimed all but shut in your face before you could follow her inside. 

“Ellie? Can I come in?” You knock, hoping she’ll elaborate, “Ellie?”

“Whatever.” She calls out and you follow her inside, finding her sitting on a dusty bay window. 

“What happened?” Your heart races but you do your best to control your breathing. 

“He’s leaving me,” she sighs, picking up what looks to be someone's journal, “I heard him tell Tommy, that he has to leave me.” You frown at her. Joel hadn’t exactly been the cuddly type but he did care about Ellie, that had been obvious to you. “Maria told me something about him, something that makes sense-” 

“I wouldn’t listen to what Maria has to say about Joel, it seems to me she’s been listening to Tommy say some not-so-nice things about his brother.” Annoyance burns brightly in your gut that she’d dare poison Ellie against the man that had been keeping her safe. 

“No–I didn’t let her talk shit, I told her where to fucking go about that but–” A soft tap on the door pulls you out of the argument, Joel’s voice coming through before he opens the door. 

The familiar ‘Joel-frown’ is back in place as his gaze shifts from Ellie, to you, and back to her again.

“Listen-” He starts, but she doesn’t let him get very far.

“Why are you here?” The anger still burns on her face, but you know what’s really there. Sadness, fear, disappointment, you know because you’ve felt it all before.

“I came here to talk to you, both of you.”

“No, why are you still here? If you’re gonna ditch us then ditch us.” her eyes cast down as she speaks, looking without really seeing the journal in her hands. You see him let out a heavy sigh, resignation taking over. 

“What exactly did you hear?”

“‘I have to leave her, you have to take her’,” your eyebrows must have raised up into your hairline, Joel leaving Ellie had never crossed your mind, “You know I stuck up for you today because I thought-” She bit her lip, cutting off her own words.

“I made this decision for your own good. You’ll be way better off with Tommy, he knows the area better than I do-” He was floundering and it was as though you were listening to a stranger, his whole demeanour completely different from last night. 

“Do you give a shit about me or not?” Her voice rose, and your heart broke for her.

“Of course I do.” 

“Then what are you so afraid of? I’m not her, you know? Maria told me about Sarah-”

“Don’t.” The change in him was chilling, “Don’t say another word.” Seeing his eyes shift, the whole of him as cold as ice. 

“I’m sorry about your daughter, Joel, but I have lost people too.” And there it was. 

He’d had a daughter, and he’d lost her. This was it, the missing piece. It made so much sense, the cloud that followed him around, the loss that poisoned him to the world. It wasn’t just the terrible, awful, practically unbearable state of the world, it was his loss. 

“You have no idea what loss is.” His eyes hardened even more, and you understood why he would be upset. The loss of a child would definitely make anyone lose their minds, but Ellie wasn’t wrong. Everyone in this world knows what loss is.

“Everybody I have cared for has either died or left me. Everybody, fucking except for you!” She pushes him, her anger and hurt getting the best of her and you can’t help but move from your place on the couch to comfort her. “So don't tell me that I'd be safer with somebody else because the truth is I would just be more scared.” Your hand goes to her shoulder, letting her know you’re there for her. 

“You’re right. You aren’t my daughter, and I sure as hell ain’t your dad. Now come dawn, you and I go our separate ways-” Your hand flashes up without your permission, and cracks him clean across the face. It was too much for you to bear. 

“Enough! I am so sick and tired of this, and I am through with letting you act this way. You can’t keep living your life like this, Joel. Head down, barreling through like a juggernaut, cutting through everyone and everything, completely closed off to the world.” The hurt was sharp in your voice- “I can’t even begin to imagine how much losing your daughter must have hurt you, I wish it had never happened. I cannot take it away from you, neither of us can but we don’t deserve for you to treat us this way. Losing her doesn’t mean you can throw Ellie away.” His eyes flashed with something, a hurt so deep it was part of him, “Tomorrow, we’re going–whether it’s with you, or Tommy is up to you.” You turned from him then, gathering Ellie into your arms. You heard the door click, and then you and Ellie were alone. 

-

You spent the night with Ellie.

A soft knock sounded as you gathered the few things you had to take with you, both of you. Ellie opened the door to a very resigned Tommy standing at the door. 

“Y’all ready?” He spoke to both of you, the look on your face leaving no doubt as to whether Ellie would go alone or not.

“Yes, we’re good to go,” you reply and he nods once before leading the way out, “Come on Ellie.” You don’t look at the room across the hall, even as the outline of the door burns bright in your peripheral. That it was closed and he was probably asleep inside only filled your stomach with rocks, so you keep your eyes forward and ignore the feeling.

The morning is crisp enough to see your breath and it wreaths around your head like a halo as you all make your way towards the barn. Your anger with Joel is a simmering pot on the back burner, and that’s where it has to stay, there’s too much to focus on with Ellie to give it any attention. Tommy leads the way, bundled up with a rifle on his back and the anger you’re trying to tamp down finds its bullseye.

“How much shit did you talk about Joel, Tommy? Be honest.” He turns, his brow furrowed, “Must have been a lot, with the way Maria was eyeing him.”

“Yeah, not to mention giving me some bullshit warning about him not being who I thought he was.” Ellie chimes in, he lets out a deep sigh.

“You don’t understand, we did terrible things-“

“Yes, both of you, and you got to explain yourself. You’re letting your grievances with your brother colour the way people in this town view him. If he stays here, you’ve just made his life harder when you both did the same shit.” You round the corner, ducking into the barn to find the man you’re discussing, loading the horse's saddle with what looked to be supplies. You’re angry at him, at the cruel words he threw at Ellie, at the thought that after all of your confessions he might have let you go. It’s hard not to feel relief that he’s here though, ready to follow her, ready to follow you. 

“You came here to say goodbye or something?” Ellie’s voice is neutral, but the hurt simmers under the surface. 

“No, I came here to steal one of these horses.” He kicks at the ground, nervous.

“I woulda gave you one.” Tommy sighs, his frown still in place but now directed at Joel.

“I know. Anyway, that was thirty minutes ago, and I guess you deserve a choice. I still think you’d be better off with Tommy-“

“Let’s go.” She tosses her bag at him. Your lip curls without your permission, but you keep it to yourself.

“Okay.” He grunts out the word, but you can see he’s just as affected as you are. He turns, and speaks to Tommy while you and Ellie lead the horses out, letting them have a moment. 

“You okay?” Ellie’s eyes find yours at the sound of your words, and for a moment you see her age and it breaks your heart. Her eyes are wide, dark shadows underneath them, all of the stress and the weight of her lot in this life painted across her face, and still she smiles. 

“Fuck yeah, all good.” 

God, she’s just a kid. 

“Let’s get going.” Joel comes out, Tommy’s rifle on his back and his eyes are wild, darting between you and Ellie. His words still ring out in your ears, but so does the knowledge of his loss. It’s the Rosetta Stone, the why of all of his anger and hurt and reluctance to open up to anyone and anything coming into focus. 

There are two horses, and Ellie claims one right away, leaving you to share with Joel. He climbs up and swings his leg around, then holds out his hand to help you climb on, and wordlessly you take it. The horse is calm underneath you, for which you are grateful, even when you climb up, much less graceful than Joel and sit tucked into his back. 

The anger in you still burns bright. Too bright to say anything to him just yet, so you let it wash over you. Ignore the happy chant to have him there, to have his familiar, safe shape solid in front of you, and focus on not spooking the animal beneath you. 

Hours pass with small talk between Ellie and Joel, and silence from you. He doesn’t press, but his voice sounds lighter than it ever has with her. You let them have this conversation and bonding and you keep your mouth shut. He tests the waters though, your arms wrap around his waist, and every so often you feel him squeeze your hand or your knee. A silent olive branch, a request for connection and as much as you try to hold out and ignore him, punish him for his cruelty, you cannot help but give in. You press your lips to the little bit of skin exposed at the back of his neck. You can feel the way he melts, and part of you feels guilty for denying him for so long, but then his words come back and so does the anger. 

Ellie has gone ahead, just a little bit, close enough that he can keep an eye on her, but far enough away that he tries his luck with words. 

“It was bad wasn’t it?” He speaks over his shoulder, his words heavy with resignation.

“Real bad.”

He sighs, but says nothing else. You don’t expect an apology, and you don’t get one. It’s there though, the remorse, in his voice, threaded through the soft words and explanations he gives Ellie as the day goes by. He speaks to her of his life before, and it’s a marvel to hear him speak so much, he used to be a contractor. The shape of the word in your mouth feels familiar, one of those words adults used to say but there’s no reference for it in your memory. She is happy, that is all that matters.

When you stop to camp, it’s in a densely populated forest, eerily quiet but good enough. The land is far enough away from any QZ to be free of infected, but they aren’t the biggest worry. He sets up camp, a couple of sleeping bags all piled together.

“Sleep, both of you, I’ll take first watch.” It doesn’t take much convincing on your part, and for once, Ellie doesn’t grumble, she yawns hard enough to tremble and gets into the sleeping bag without comment. You want to give him something, a promise that you’ll discuss what you both know you need to discuss but he shakes his head when your eyes meet. “Sleep, Sunny, you need your rest.”

You nod, and sleep claims you, quick as falling.

You wake with a gasp. 

“You’re okay.” He’s sitting on a fallen log, watching the surrounding darkness. Full consciousness creeps in, and awareness calms the anxiety of whatever nightmare that had spilled over. Even the horses are calm, no immediate danger threatening, but there’s no way you’re going back to sleep. 

“I’m up now. Here, give me the gun, you should get some shut-eye.” You stretch for a moment, before getting up. At this point, he knows you better than to argue, and so as much as he wants to keep watch, he gets up with a groan, and climbs into the sleeping bag still permeated with your body heat. The brief spark of warmth and comfort that was born of your new found intimacy with him, although still there, is obscured by the things you know you need to discuss, but it won’t be tonight. He knows it too, and so you keep watch, and when the morning comes, you all set out again. 

-

Days pass, and you travel in peace. The days are cold but clear, and he surprises you even more. He teaches Ellie to shoot, instructs her on how to load and reload the rifle, how to aim and even lets her keep a pistol and you can see the father so clearly in him. He notices your quiet withdrawal, and he lets you have your silence, but it doesn’t last.

Three nights into your trek, he finally breaks the silence. 

You feel him slip into the sleeping bag behind you, the night is colder than you expected and his warmth is welcome, even if your heart is still hurt. You’d found a small copse of trees, hidden enough that you could all sleep relatively calmly.

“Sunny.” It’s just above a whisper,  “How long you gonna punish me?” His breath tickles the little hairs at the back of your neck, raising goosebumps in its wake. You sigh.

“I’m not punishing you Joel.” His hand slips around your waist.

“You’re angry at me, I can feel it.” He presses his lips to the skin just below your ear, soft and sweet and your eyes close at the feel of it, you turn towards him. 

“I’m hurt,” he pulls you close enough to tangle his legs with yours, “Not just for what you said to Ellie, but for what happened to you.” You felt the clench in his jaw, felt how his body tensed. “I’m not trying to pry into your past Joel, I don’t want to open old wounds and make you relive anything, but I’ve been with the two of you long enough to see the bond. That girl-” you gestured to Ellie’s sleeping form near the horses, “-sees you as a father. You’re all she has, and you were ready to drop her.” 

“I know.” He pressed his forehead to yours, the tension going out of him like a balloon deflating. “It’s why I didn’t think I could do this, I am scared that I won’t be able to protect her, if she got hurt on my watch I couldn’t forgive myself.” All of a sudden you felt stupid, his anger and lashing out at her was a way to protect her, it didn’t excuse it, but it definitely explained it. “I don’t think she heard my whole conversation with Tommy, I was tellin’ him how scared I am.” 

“She needs you around, she needs to know you aren’t going to abandon her.” You can’t help but bring your hands to his face, comfort him. “We need you, I need you, I don’t want you to leave me behind either.” The little part of yourself that you’d been stomping down reared its head. “I’m sorry I slapped you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He shakes his head, dismissing your apology. 

“I won’t leave you behind. I meant it when I said I needed you to be patient with me.” He presses his lips to your hand, then to your lips, an apology and a promise and you clutch to it, despite the fear that permeates every aspect of the world. You don’t say anything more, trusting that when he's ready, he’ll tell you about his loss.

-

The university is a massive, rundown building, eerily quiet, without many signs of life. 

“No fireflies.” Ellie points out when you stop just in front of an overturned car.

“Probably in the middle, safer.” Joel leads the way, and the three of you continue throughout the grounds. He answers Ellie’s questions about University life, about anything and everything she can think of while you focus on your surroundings. The quiet irks you.

Monkeys roam the campus the closer you get to the building, and she’s excited to see them, you’re a little more wary but they scatter at the sound of you approaching.

“Lookit.” He points to a sign, a bright firefly symbol spray-painted onto it.

“Here we go.” She sounds a lot braver than she looks, her expression matches yours. This whole place was creepy, and your stomach roiled the closer you got to the entrance of the building. The sound of the horses' hooves clicking onto the pavement echo around you as you approach, guard houses sit unmanned just outside the door, and your stomach drops further. 

“Guard houses.” Joel voices your thoughts. 

“No guards.” You reply, and the mood sours further. “Let’s tie the horses, and continue on foot.” You gesture to a tree and they both nod in agreement. With them taken care of, you make your way inside. 

“Gun?” Ellie looks to Joel, and he nods, she takes out the pistol he’d trusted her with, his rifle at the ready and you follow close behind him, no weapon, but eyes sharp.

The inside is abandoned, but there is a mess of tables, discarded equipment and supplies left behind. 

“There were definitely doctors here.” She rifles through a stack of old gauze, gloves and other things littering the tables, pulling a list from under an empty box.

“This is a packing list,” Joel takes the list from her, “Something you make before moving.” There’s a distinct lack of dust and dirt blown in on the mess left behind you cannot help but focus on.

“Looks like they just left-” Something crashes above, movement in one of the higher floors interrupting your sentence, “maybe not all of them.” You move as one, slowly and quietly following the source of the noise, your heart races, scared of who or what you might find here. Joel leads the way, his rifle at the ready, Ellie brings up the rear, gun in her hands and pointed down like he’d taught her. The place looks more like an abandoned hospital than a school. There are carts knocked over, hospital beds and IV bags still hooked up to the poles littering the hallways. 

He counts down silently, hand just hovering over the door containing the source, and then opens it. A monkey shrieks, and seeing you jumps out the open window. You let out a heavy breath. 

“Well, at least it ain’t clickers.” Joel’s tone is as relieved as you feel. 

“Yeah, no fireflies either. Maybe in all that research they turned into fucking monkeys!” He frowns at her, there’s a disappointment heavy in the air. So much travelling, just to come up empty. There’s a giant map in the middle of the room though. You make your way over to it, there are different colour pins all leading up to one place, Salt Lake City, Utah.

“That’s where they went?” She’s staring at the map beside you. 

“All the pins lead there.” You press your finger to the spot on the map, Joel is beside you, all three of you studying it. 

“Maybe they were getting ahead of the weather? Better facilities? I don’t know.” He frowns, letting out a breath but you hear it, people talking outside the window. You shush them, gesturing to the window but they hear it now too. Your heart jackhammers in your chest, any and all peace you’d found from finding this place empty is gone. 

Quietly you all move closer and peek out the window, and see four men walking past, they hold crowbars, and baseball bats and it’s obvious they’re raiders. 

“Out the back.” Joel whispers, and then the three of you take off. Within a few tense minutes, you’re all back outside, ducking behind piled up sandbags to make sure you don’t encounter anyone. With the coast clear, you all run towards the horses. Ellie climbs up onto hers, and you climb onto the one you share with Joel while he unties them. 

“Joel!” Ellie screams, one man has followed, baseball bat high in the air but Joel turns in time and ducks out of the way, the bat swings hard, hitting the tree and shatters. Ellie holds up her arm, aiming the gun but they move too erratically. 

“Wait Ellie! You might shoot Joel–” She puts it down, he doesn’t need help, they grapple and slam against the tree but then Joel has wrapped his arm around the man's neck, and with a sickening crunch, he falls. When Joel turns, your stomach drops. 

He looks down, and the butt of the broken bat is sticking out of his lower abdomen. He takes a deep breath, and pulls it out and a wave of nausea hits you to see at least three inches of wood come out, his blood pulsing between his fingers. 

“Joel–get on the horse!” You scream out to him, seeing the others spotting you and running full speed. He struggles, but climbs up with a pained yell, swinging his leg over and managing to get in front of you. 

“Get back!” Ellie follows behind, shooting at them when they get too close, with the frosty wind whipping at your face you get away. The horses gallop across the grounds and away, your grip on Joel is iron.

You know that going so fast is only hurting him but you have to get far enough away that they won’t follow. 

“They don’t seem to be following us, I think we’re safe.” Ellie calls out behind you and you’re glad she’s keeping an eye on your back, because you cannot focus on anything other than Joel’s weakening grip on the reins. 

“Joely, baby you have to hold on, please–” He teeters, swaying like a boat in choppy waters and you feel the way he cannot hold himself up anymore. “Joel-Joel!” He topples off the horse and into a pile of snow despite your best efforts, he's so pale you can barely contain the tears that flow freely down your face. “Joel, please, please wake up, we need you to wake up.” You slap at his face, but he doesn’t stir. Ellie is off her horse and kneeling beside you, trying to aid in waking him but she’s as unsuccessful as you are. She presses his hands as well as hers to where the blood pulses out of him slowly. 

“Joel, open your eyes.” You stare at him while she speaks, pressing your hand to his face, “I can’t fucking do this without you, I don’t know where the fuck I’m going, or what the fuck I’m going to do, we need you Joel please, get up.” Tears stream down her face and it hits you then. You’ve cursed him, this is what comes from loving another person. 

There’s no time, you have to move him. 

“Let’s get him somewhere safe, Ellie, one of those houses.” You gesture to a residential area not far from where he fell. There’s no way you can carry him, instead you look for something to put him on that you can drag like a sled. You send Ellie to look, warning her to be careful and to keep her gun out and she comes back with a wide mat, almost like a big dog bed and it’s perfect. You shuffle him onto it, and tie the mat to the back of one of the horses, pulling him towards one of the houses. 

It takes so long to get him into the basement. By the time you’ve piled a stained mattress and musty blankets and laid him on it, your skin is slick with frozen sweat, your breath comes out in pants, exhausted with the effort. There had been an old towel in one of the bathrooms of the house, Ellie had grabbed it while you wrestled him to where he lay. Once settled, you ripped it up, and moved his shirt to press it to the wound, barely looking at it. You had to stop the bleeding, if he kept bleeding he’d die. 

“What are we going to do?” She watches, terrified. 

“I don’t know.” You want to comfort her, but you cannot stop swallowing the lump in your throat. You both stay quiet for a while after that, focused on his breathing. 

It’s because I love him

The thought squeezes your heart like a vice, the curse of you fills your head, overtaking every thought. This is what happens when you love another person, the black hole has taken him just like it took your parents, just like it took Johnny and there is nothing to be gained but misery and heartache. The black pit of your love is full of emptiness and all you’d done was sentence him to death. You should have just let them leave, given them your supplies and stayed in your trailer. 

Tears stream steadily down your face, hoping against hope that he’ll wake up, that the wound will close, that nothing inside had been too badly damaged. You hoped you’d wake up back in that bed in Jackson, that this was all just some horrible nightmare and that he’d be there, rubbing your back. You didn’t wake up though, and he lay there motionless while you cried, breathing shallow enough to fill your stomach with nothing but dread and nausea and regret and every other horrible thing you’ve felt since this world went to shit. 

You move the towel after a while, to see how bad the damage actually is and your body tenses, it’s angry and red and still blood pulses out, his skin shredded where the sharp wood had pierced him.

“We need to close it, we should see if we can find a needle and thread.” You speak to her, but she watches him, his eyes are open, and there is nothing but naked fear in them. He groans and grabs at your arm hard enough to bruise when you press the towel back to the wound. 

“Go.” He grits it out, at both of you. She puts her hands on yours, helping to staunch the blood. “Go, leave, take the gun.” He repeats it. 

“Shut up, shut the fuck up Joel!” She all but screams at him but he grabs her by the jacket, pulling her close. 

“You go.” He doesn’t relent, “You go. You go north, go to tommy.” He shivers, speaking the words clearly and when he pushes her back, she stumbles, staring at him in disbelief. His eyes find yours, and he repeats himself. “Leave.” He does not expect to survive, and all at once you are angry with him, angry with yourself for ever having opened your heart, angry at the world for your lot in life. His eyes find yours then, tears slowly streaming from them, the same anger burning in your chest shining out through his eyes. 

You wipe at your eyes, and rise. Leaving him there, as you make your way up the stairs, and out of the basement. 

She catches up to you in the kitchen. 

“Are we really leaving him?” 

“No. I’m looking for something to stitch him up, but if you want to go find Tommy I won’t stop you, you can shoot, and he’s taught you how to keep watch and find safe places to sleep. You can take all of the supplies–” You open cupboards, pulling them off the hinges in your haste and spilling drawers in the pursuit of something, anything to help him. 

“I’m not leaving either.” She moves, and helps you search. 

—

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue

[fangirlingpuggle]

I had an idea for an AU of your "the twins are bill and Fords kids AU"

So bill finds out about the kids before they hatch(?) a bit of time before it happens in your AU Bill basically kind of just remembers "oh shit I did that with Ford I should see if it actually worked"

and then he hatches(?) them and takes them and at first because it's a ✨manipulation opportunity✨ but then oh no at least some parental instinct has emerged as he takes care of them because they're his and they're wonderful

And as they grow they develop personalities and Mabel oh how she reminds Bill so much of himself the little creature of chaos she is

And Dipper reminds him of Ford (and himself too) with that insatiable hunger for knowledge to see the secrets the universe has to offer

(And when Mabel starts becoming a bit boy crazy Bill just tells her that when she's a bit older he'll let her start her own cult)

And instead of creating things with glitter Mable creates things with the stardust her dad stole from the sky when she wanted to bedazzle her scrapbook (and also glitter because it is an item that breeds chaos and that is something Bill approves of)

And Dipper has a journal that never runs out of pages where he writes down the secrets and stories of the universe (both freely given and stolen by Bill)

And they are Bills children because how could they not be they are so fundamentally weird these nigh impossible creations that were made in a drunken haze a combination of magic and science that somehow breaks the laws of both

And Bill dreams of how when the time finally comes he shall finally bring Weirdmageddon

and he'll give them like a 10th of the planet where they can do whatever they want (because he may be a parent but he still likes to party and also doesn't want his kids to accidentally eat some hard drugs so it's basically a dedicated area for the kids where he doesn't have to worry about them too much because sometimes you just need a little you time okay!!!)

And getting back on track with the original plan surely when Ford meets the kids surely he'll at least love them as much as Bill and they can finally play one big happy Family ruling the world together

[In the meantime Ford had no idea any of this was happening didn't even know he had kids so imagine his surprise on Weirdmageddon

(Should Ford even trust these children they are Bills kids not to mention the fact that he's the one who raised them

a part of Ford wants to protect these kids another part of him thinks that Bills spawn shouldn't be trusted shouldn't exist)]

Anyway do you like my idea do you have anything you'd like to add (please say you like it 🥺🥺🥺)

(I just thought this would be a fun AU for your AU I got a bit inspired do you like it? you better like it because you have infected my brain with your ideas it's time I returned a favor with mine)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!

Bill being so ready to use these kids as pawns and then he sees them and his heart instantly melts and 'I have only had these 2 for a moment and if anything happens to them I will burn the worlds down to the ground'

Him telling Mabel she can start her own cult is hilarious!

Dipper being like him fascinated by things out of his reach like the stars were for Bill and Bill encouraging him and making sure he can get all knowledge he wants.

Them breaking both magic and science is just perfection.

Bill giving hids a part of the world to have fun and sew their own chaos so he can have some me time, 'Ok kiddos go and do some destruction Dad is going to hang out with some friends and make a throne of human suffering ok'

OHH Ford's reaction to them is brilliant him being torn between wanting to protect his kids, but also these kids are Bill's and like him and raised by him. Probably twisted and manipulated by him and what if these kids are a trick a trap just a manipulation... he'd be in full paranoia mode.

This is so awesome!

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Lost in the moment (part 1)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: Throughout her career as a motorsport journalist, (Y/N) has established a special relationship with Nico. But what happens when unfortunate circumstances keep her from being there for him during the most important moment of his career? (part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Other than some angst there isn't any, female reader

Note: Noticing the lack of Nico fanfiction, I've decided to turn my dreams into an actual story. No worries, there will be a second part!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/734355288476565504/lost-in-the-moment-part2

Hope you enjoy it <3

Life as a journalist was not exactly a quiet life, especially for (Y/N), who worked as a reporter live on location for a motorsport journal called Countdown Magazine. Having been a dream job for the young woman since childhood, however, the stress that came with working in the motorsport industry seemed only half as bad to her.

But this year, the atmosphere had changed as the intense rivalry between Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton, known as the “Silver War”, had captivated the world of Formula 1. As a dedicated and well-reputed reporter, (Y/N) had secured herself, what you could call a front-row seat, which allowed her to immerse herself in the high-stakes drama that unfolded throughout the season and enabled her to follow every twist and turn with unwavering dedication.

However, even though the feud between the Mercedes drivers provided great headlines and stories, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel tense whenever Lewis and Nico had a go at each other.

Having been covering the sport for multiple years now had created a closer bond between her and several of the drivers and none more so than Nico Rosberg. The German Mercedes driver had always struck (Y/N) as a fascinating character. 

Over the years, their paths had crossed countless times during press conferences, pit-lane interviews and post-race debriefs. She had covered his journey from the earlier days of his Formula 1 career, watching him develop from a promising talent into a championship contender. His approachability and genuine interest in connecting with those around him were what had set Nico apart from the other drivers. Beyond the professional facade, the driver was a thoughtful guy, cracking jokes, sharing gossip, discussing the intricacies of the sport, the pressures of competition and even personal anecdotes from his life. 

Before she knew it, (Y/N) had found herself staying behind after work, searching out any chance to connect with the German. It didn’t take long before he invited her to join him at whatever he was planning on doing next, be it a walk around the track, getting something to eat or simply hanging around the paddock. Each time she accepted his offer the unique bond between them grew stronger, forging a friendship that transcended the typical reporter-athlete dynamic.

"Sometimes I really wonder why you spend so much time with me." the young reporter once mused, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned against the counter. Nico, who was standing next to her at the whirring coffee machine, shrugged his shoulders calmly, "I have to make sure I'm always presented in the best light. After all, we don't want any scandalous headlines or such, do we?." his cheeky laughter was quickly interrupted when (Y/N)'s foot found his shin. "Ouch." the blond man exclaimed overdramatically, pointing at her with his silver spoon in an accusing manner, but his narrowed eyes were sparkling playfully. "I swear one day I'm going to lose my ability to drive because of you. And then we'll both be out of a job." (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "There are plenty of other Formula 1 drivers I could report on." "Mhm." Nico was nodding while picking up his cup from the coffee machine. "But apparently these drivers must be boring as hell, otherwise you wouldn't be spending so much time with me." He winked at her whilst stirring his coffee, getting an eye-roll from (Y/N) in response. "Oh come on, I know you love me." Nico chuckled. "Oh shut up," the young woman laughed, waving her hand in a dismissive manner, purposefully ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat.

One of (Y/N)’s favourite memories, which she had made in her friendship with Nico, was when after a long, rainy qualifying day and countless press conferences, the driver had waited for her in the pitlane, an umbrella in his right hand as he wordlessly motioned for her to join him with his free one. “It’s raining.” she had expressed, pulling her jacket tighter around her body in hesitation, eyes darting to the dark clouds above. “And I have an umbrella.” Nico had simply countered matter-of-factly, shaking the umbrella for emphasis, scrunching his nose as his gesture led cold droplets to land on his face. (Y/N) suppressed a laugh, finding the sight utterly adorable. “I can’t just leave you standing there in the rain, can I?” her voice was filled with amusement, as she mustered the man, before quickly making her way over to Nico. “I mean,” he chuckled, as she ducked under his umbrella “You definitely could, but I’d find it incredibly rude.” (Y/N) huffed a laugh, linking her arm with his. “Well, how kind of me to join you then.” She hummed, eyes fixed onto the moon’s reflection in one of the puddles below. “ What are we doing anyways ?” she raised her brow, looking up at him with curiosity. Nico turned his head, a sparkle in his eyes. “We’ve never walked a track at night before, so I figured we’d make it a first. And now that I am thinking about it, I don’t think we’ve ever walked in the rain before either.” his gaze turned mischievous as he shook the umbrella once again, sprinkling water into both of their faces. A hearty chuckle left his lips as he watched (Y/N) scrunch her nose, just like he had done earlier.  “Why did you even bother getting an umbrella?” (Y/N) huffed lightheartedly, as she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Cause I know you wouldn’t have joined me without one.” he grinned down at her before pulling her along with him. That night, as Nico and her had spent several hours walking the moonlit track, sharing an umbrella and conversing about everything and nothing, is when (Y/N) had realized that her feelings for the Mercedes driver went far beyond friendship.

In the current tense situation, moments like these were not lost on the pair, but they were becoming increasingly infrequent. With the championship-deciding race approaching, (Y/N) could feel the pressure on Nico becoming stronger by the minute. Being on the brink of realizing his lifelong dream of becoming a Formula 1 World Champion and stepping into the footsteps of his father had led to several sleepless nights thinking about the sacrifices and the relentless pursuit of excellence that had brought him to this pivotal moment. And on top of that, Nico’s biggest rival was his own teammate and best friend, Lewis Hamilton. 

Especially now that the relationship with his childhood friend was slowly but surely coming to an end, Nico found himself drawn to (Y/N)’s presence, even more so than usual. Amongst this utter mess, which he found himself in, she was his lifeline and he clung to it like a desperate sailor lost at sea. 

Particularly in the days leading up to the race, Nico was confiding in the woman about his innermost fears and ambitions, trusting her as someone who genuinely understood the intricacies of the sport and its impact on his life. She, in turn, had found herself awaiting his late-night calls, admiring his determination as she listened to him rambling about whatever was occupying his mind, her heart filling with a sense of pride whenever she’d hear a faint chuckle from Nico as she managed to bring some lightheartedness and humour to their conversations.

"You'll be okay," she would say to him in a gentle voice, "you've always managed so far." On the other end of the line, the driver would sigh, "But it's never been like this before." His voice was weary and full of thoughtful despair. "And in the future, it will never be like this again." she would say with a shurg, her empathetic smile practically audible through the phone. "So try to enjoy as many of these moments as you can." There was a pause before Nico gave a breathless chuckle, "Oh man, what would I do without you?"

On the day of the race, as Nico prepared for taking on the track, he couldn't help but think of (Y/N) and how she had supported him over the last few weeks, reassuring him and quite literally keeping him sane as the situation within his team steadily deteriorated.

His blue eyes scanned the area outside of the Mercedes garage. Unable to spot his friend in any of the spots she’d usually be in, Nico approached one of the stewards. “Hey, sorry,” he tried to sound nonchalant  “Have you seen the Countdown crew?” his eyes nervously flitted around the paddock, before landing back on the steward. “Countdown Magazine? No, I don’t think I have seen them anywhere on the track today.” the older man answered, a rough hand scratching away at his beard. “Thank you.” Nico shortly nodded, before abruptly turning on his heels and making his way back into the garage with tense shoulders. (Y/N)’s absence from the paddock weighed heavily on his mind. She had promised him to be there today and she’d usually come in amongst the first wave of reporters. Why wasn’t she there yet? Nico combed his fingers through his hair , lost in thought. Shaking his head, he felt his team’s eyes on his form. She’d surely be at the paddock in no time, he thought,  deciding that for now, it would do him better to focus on the race and his strategies, in order to secure the championship.

What Nico didn't know, however, was that just mere moments before the gates to the paddock were opened, the boss of Countdown Magazine had abruptly fired  (Y/N) at short notice. 

With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the only thing the young journalist had been able to understand through the speaker of her cell phone was that the magazine needed a “breath of fresh air” and therefore had decided to get rid of their motorsport department in the composition in which it had existed until then…or something like that. (Y/N) wasn't entirely sure, as she was overcome with panic as her thoughts flew straight to Nico.

Just the night before, she had promised him on the phone that she would never miss the most important race of his career and now she was sitting in her hotel room, unemployed, with no access to the paddock and no way to get a ticket to the race because the tickets had already sold out weeks ago. 

Had a champion of misfortune been crowned that night, she was sure that no one would have been able to deprive her of that victory. Shaky fingers dialled Nico's number, which she by now knew better than she did her own, the cheap wood of the hotel bed creaking as (Y/N)'s leg bobbed up and down in unease. With each ring of the call, her breath caught in her throat. The ex-reporter knew the driver too well by now to have expected him to use his cell phone so close to the race, but what other option did she have? She pressed the phone to her ear for a few more moments, each second more painful than the last, wide eyes staring blankly at the F1 broadcast on her TV screen. It was only when the drivers left their garages to get into formation that she dropped the cell phone from her ear and threw it onto the mattress behind her with a loud "Fuck!", followed by a strangled sob whilst desperate fingers pulled at her hair. 

As the race unfolded, the tension in the air was palpable. Nico and Lewis were locked in a fierce battle for the championship and every corner, every lap, seemed to carry the weight of each driver’s dreams. When Nico finally crossed the finish line , securing his victory, he felt a mix of euphoria and disbelief. After this particularly demanding season, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief, having  fulfilled his life-long dream of winning a World Driver’s Championship title.

The moment Nico stepped onto the podium to accept the championship trophy, he couldn’t help himself but to scan the crowd of reporters, still hoping to catch a glimpse of (Y/N). She had to be there, after all that’s what she had promised him. Yet, his friend still remained conspicuously absent. 

Nico held the coveted trophy high, the cheers of the crowd a deafening roar, as he smiled down at the sea of people. But even with a championship in hand and hundreds of people celebrating his achievement, there was a strange feeling of emptiness within his heart. As the champagne sprayed and the crowd celebrated, Nico's emotions were a turbulent mix of exhilaration and confusion. He couldn't help but wonder why (Y/N) hadn't been there smiling up at him, especially when she had been a constant presence throughout not only the season, but the majority of his career. The absence of his friend was like a splinter in his heart, casting a faint shadow over what should have been the most triumphant moment of his career. 

Meanwhile, (Y/N) watched the race unfold from her hotel room, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. The news of her abrupt departure from her reporting career had come as a shock, and she had fought bitterly against it. Her job had been her passion, and Formula 1 was her life. To be denied the opportunity to report on the championship-deciding race, and more importantly to support Nico in his most crucial moment, was a heartbreak she struggled to bear.

As she witnessed Nico celebrating his victory, the realization of her absence was a painful weight on both her shoulders and her mind. She had been forced to watch her friend reach the pinnacle of his career from a distance, unable to share this moment of glory with the man who had unknowingly stolen her heart. The tears she shed were a mixture of pride for her friend and a deep sense of sorrow for her own situation. 

Back at the race track, Nico's initial reaction, unaware of the circumstances behind his friend’s absence, was one of betrayal. Finding himself being swarmed by countless reporters fighting for even the smallest of chances to get a word from the freshly crowned champion, he couldn’t help the bitterness he began to feel towards (Y/N). If all of these random journalist could have turned up, then why couldn’t his dearest friend do the same for him. The longer Nico thought about it, the more he questioned his relationship with (Y/N), something which he had valued so highly up until that very moment. 

She hadn’t just used him to boost her journalism career, had she? As much as he wanted to shake the thought, the champion couldn’t stop the idea of having been used solely for thrilling stories and eye-catching headlines to consume him, clouding his mind as the pain of having been abandoned by the woman, whom he had opened himself up to, right when he needed her most, sank in. 

His heart was clouded by hurt, and the insufferable ache of believing he had been manipulated by someone he had grown to trust and even developed some sort of feelings for was something he didn't know whether he could cope with.

How could a person whom he valued so highly and would give anything for, be so selfish and leave him standing there like that, clutching his fulfilled lifelong dream in his hand and yet still feeling a hole in his heart. Had his feelings really blinded him to such an extent that he hadn't realized (Y/N)'s true nature, or had his heart perhaps never wished to recognize it in the first place ?

“Mr.Rosberg!” the shout of his name pulled the driver out of his thoughts. Blinking, his eyes travelled up the arm currently shoving a microphone into his face, before settling on the face of the reporter, whose red lips were pulled into an impatient smile. “I am sorry, I didn’t quite catch your question.” he mindlessly gestured around with his hand, hoping to come across as if he really hadn't caught the question in the bustling scenery. 

He raised his brows, a half-heartedly apologetic smile on his lips as he kept his attentive eyes on the reporter while waiting for her to repeat what she had just asked. The reporter laughed in a put-on fashion and Nico had to wrestle with himself to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"So," the woman thrust the microphone even further into his face, "I'd be really interested to know whether there was anyone who helped you get through this difficult season, or whether it was all down to you?" Almost immediately the driver put on the mask of a cocky smile. "No, all of that was entirely down to me and I dare say I managed pretty darn well." Nico’s hair bobbed as he nodded towards his trophy. His smile grew painful as he was intent on ignoring the extent of the lie he had just told and the pang of pain, that the conscious erasure of his relationship with (Y/N) caused deep within his core.

[alteon77]

Because I could not stop for Death, she kindly stopped for me...

By “kindly”, of course, I mean to say that she has been rather rude concerning her own decision to seek me out. Upon locating me, she chastised my benevolence in feeding the local pigeons of this park before she accused me of brooding.

Brooding? Me? It was an outlandish assumption on her part that I took issue with, though my protests were inevitably for naught. She seemed to not care for whatever I might say in my defense.

Lastly- but perhaps most troubling of all- she has now pestered me into taking a walkabout with her. Family is always difficult, but I find her insistence particularly tedious this day. Apparently, for some reason I can scarcely understand, she believes me to be lonely.

-Dream's POV on having an older sibling that forces him to be sociable and get sunshine.

Nobody, and I mean nobody, can convince me his journal entries wouldn't all be like this. 😂 Also, this is what happens when I watch Bridgerton and Sandman back to back.

Made in Procreate. Loving that program. Seriously. No background here because I just didn't have the spoons for it. Title comes from the Emily Dickinson poem “Because I could not stop for Death”, but I changed the “he” in the next line to “she”.

[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.

[funnyjb]

Hope your Ok

I knew a boy, once when I was small. My best friend, Joe. We fell out of touch a couple months before he got drafted. Sometimes life and different dreams can split people up. That’s what happened with us.

Joe was headed to the NFL, I on the other hand was headed to Boston to pursue my dream in journalism. We kept texting each other when I left but I started to get busy with work and he started to build a brand new life in Cincinnati. We just stopped talking. Maybe a couple “Hey, how you doing?” Here and there.

He’s my best friend or was? I don’t even know anymore. I love him. So when I saw he hurt himself and tore his ACL his first year in the NFL it broke me. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

A couple weeks went by after that game and I heard he had surgery. I contemplated reaching out, but was too nervous. What if he forgot about me? But then I thought if I were to reach out it would have to be the right way. Writing a hand written letter. I know what you’re thinking. “Y/n, we have phones you can text or call him! Why write a letter?” Well, growing up I always knew I wanted to pursue journalism. Joe would always read my work and think it was like reading The New York Times. He would always say “when you go out and live your dream, you should write me handwritten notes and we can write back and forth from each other.” I always thought that was stupid. But now maybe would be the right time to do it. So, I did it.

Dear Joey,

You know how you always used to say “When you become a big time journalist, you should write me handwritten notes and we can write back and forth from each other.”? Well I’m doing that now. I know we haven’t talked in months. I’ve been swamped with work. I think about you every day. Which might sound creepy and weird, but I miss how we were. You’re also probably crazy busy with being in the NFL and all. By the way which is still so crazy to me that you’re In the NFL. Well I knew you always would be but it’s still insane!! I’m so beyond proud of you. I heard what happened. How do you feel? Probably in a lot of pain knowing the injury. I hope you’re ok. I believe in you, Joe. You can get through anything. It’s ok to not be ok. But know you have a huge support system including me. I just want to say I’m always going to be proud of you and hope you’re doing good! Tell the family I say hello! Sending you lots of hugs!

Xoxo,

Y/n

I folded it in half put it in an envelope and sent it.

————————————————————————

Joes POV

I was still in bed rest and couldn’t really get up or walk, so my family has been staying with me. I was on the couch watching some UFC when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll go get it!”- Robin

I watched her get up.

“Thanks, mom.”- joe

She walked to the door and came back with some mail soon after.

“Here ya go, sweets.”- Robin

She handed me some mail.

Some of it was fan letters, medical bills, and some random people trying to get me to buy stuff. As I was going through the mail a certain name stood out to me.

Y/n L/n

“Y/n?”- Joe

“You got a letter from y/n?”- Robin

“Yeah, yeah, I did.”- Joe

I couldn’t believe it.

“Awe Joey, your blushing.”- Robin

I looked at her

“Stop, mom.”- Joe

“Fine, whatever think what you want to think but I know you always loved her deep down. By the way, why did she write a letter to you. Does she know there are phones?”- Robin

I chuckled a bit.

“She does, but I think I know why she did.”- joe

I opened it up and started to read.

“I think about you every day”

“I believe in you, Joe”

“I just want to say I’m always going to be proud of you and hope you’re doing good!”

Those stuck out to me.

She thinks about me every day? Why hasn’t she texted then?

I decided to pull out my phone and pull up her contact.

Y/n🤍

You know there is a thing called texting, right?- me

I waited a few moments till I saw her type

I know, but if you really read the letter you know why I did it.

I did. Thank you, seriously. Means a lot.- me

Of course.

So, how are you?- me

Im good! Supposed to fly back to Ohio next week. I just got offered a new job in my department! A little nervous but excited. Hbu?

Wow! I’m so proud of you, y/n. I know you worked hard. I’ve been reading your work. It really is brilliant. - me

Thanks, Joey! Anyway I got to get going about to head into work. Talk later?

Yeah, talk later!- me

————————————————————————

(A week later)

Your POV

“MOM!”- you

The door was wide open and I had just ran into the house to greet my parents.

“Y/N!!”- your mom

I wrapped my arms around her and she swayed us back and forth.

“Let me get a good look at you.”- Your mom

She pulled away and looked at me. A smile plastered on her face and a glow in her eyes.

“My beautiful girl.”- Your mom

A second later my dad walked in.

“Jeez, how much did you pack. Feels like you packed an elephant in here.”- your dad

“Haha, so funny. I’m moving what do you expect?!”- you laugh

After a couple more minutes of talking with my parents they brought up dinner.

“So, I know you must be exhausted, but the Burrows are coming over tonight for our weekly dinner as always. You’re welcome to join us.”- your mom

“You still do dinners?!!!”- you

“Yeah! Every week!”- your mom

The Burrows have been having dinner with us at least once a week ever since I was a little girl.

“Wow! Yeah, I would love to join!”- you

“Ok! Go wash up and maybe put some new clothes on and we will see you down here in an hour for when they come.”- your mom

I nodded and headed up the stairs. Am I going to see Joe? Gosh this is crazy.

———————————————————————-

After an hour hit I heard the door open down stairs. Then I heard “you’re here!” And “you get taller every time I see you.”

I finished my final touches on some makeup and made sure my outfit was good.

I then headed downstairs.

As I walked down the stairs I could see everyone in the family room.

“There she is!”- your dad

“Y/n!”- Robin

She came up to me with a big smile on her face and open arms. I embraced her hug and was so happy to see her again.

“Oh my gosh!! You get even more beautiful every time I see you!”- Robin

“Thank you! Looks like you haven’t changed one bit!”- You

“Oh stop, your to kind.”- Robin

We both started laughing. I always looked up to Robin as a second mother. When both of my parents had to work late when I was younger I would go to the Burrows house. Robin would cook for us and ask me about my day. We would then later gossip and make fun of Joe as always, and if I slept over she would do my hair the next day for school and send a special treat in my lunch. As I got older she was still always there for me. Could always tell when something wasn’t right and would comfort me, and always checking in on me even when I moved to Boston.

“Hey, sweetie!”- Jimmy

“Hi, Jimmy!”- you

Jimmy pulled me in for a hug.

I also always felt like Jimmy was a second dad. Making sure my homework was turned in before Joe and I started playing in the backyard. Teaching me about football, and always being there for me.

As I pulled away I noticed someone else. It was Joe. He was in cast.

I gave him a smile.

“Come here.”- joe smiled

He pulled me in with one of his arms and my head rested on his chest. I wrapped both of my arms around his waist taking it in that he is here. We probably stayed hugging for about 5 minutes before we pulled away.

“Dinner time!”- your mom

All of us then found our way to the table. Joe sat across from me. My dad and Jimmy were at the ends and the mom’s next to their children.

Robin filled me in on the start of Joes foundation.

“Sounds awesome! I’m glad it finally came through.”- you

“Yes, we are very excited!”- Robin

“Y/n, what’s going on with you? How’s work?”- Jimmy

“Well, I’m moving back home! Going to live in Cincinnati and going to be working from my company’s offices over there.”- You smile

“Y/n, that’s great! It’s good to have you back! You can start coming to games once Joe gets back! I’ve always wanted to bring you to a game!”- Robin

“That will be great, thank you.”- you

“Yeah, I would love to have you come. The atmosphere over there is electric.”- Joe

“Well I’m in!”- You

Joe gave me a nod.

“So, when are you going to start up again?”- you asked Joe

“Well, probably in a couple months. Should be good by may. Still have to get through this year.”- joe

“That’s good.”- you smile

We probably held eye contact for way too long till my mom started to get the dishes.

“Let me help you, Mary.”- Joe

“Oh it’s ok, Joey. How about you go sit down and I will bring you pumpkin pie.”- your mom

“Okay, thank you.”- joe smiles

“Of course, sweetheart.”- your mom

He goes and sits down next to my dad and his dad on the couch. The tv was on and was playing some college basketball.

After washing the dishes for a bit and putting them in the dishwasher I decided to get some fresh air outside on the back porch.

I walked out towards the back. The sun was setting which sent an orange ray across the porch. Some pink clouds filled the sky and a light cold breeze.

I sat down on the outside couch where fairy lights hung above. Crossed my legs under me as I sipped my wine taking it all in. I couldn’t believe Joe is here right now.

A few seconds later I heard the glass door sliding. I looked to my right and there he was. Joey.

“Hey.”- joe flashed a smile

“Hi!”- you

He came around and sat down on the comfy chair next to me.

He let out a sigh.

“How are you?”- you

He looked at me

“You already asked that question, y/n.”- Joe chuckled

“I know, But really how are you? I know you have more going on in that great mind of yours. I know you Joe.”- you

“I’m…I’m doing better. My leg is healing and I’m doing physical therapy. Ja’Marr comes over a lot and so does Sam to check in. But I’ve honestly just been missing you…like a lot.”- joe

“Good to hear they still love you.”- you chuckle

Joe laughs

“But…I’ve been missing you too. I just never really knew when to reach out after that game. I was to scared that you would say you were paralyzed or something like that. I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. I knew you would also be busy getting better and healing. But it was shitty of me not to reach out. I’m sorry, Joe. I really am.”- you

“It’s ok, y/n. And it wasn’t shitty. I just didn’t understand but now I do. And you’re here now.”- Joe

“Yeah, good to be back.”- you

“So, when do you head back to cincy.”- Joe

“Umm, on Saturday. I have most of my stuff there already just need to unpack clothes.”- you

“Maybe, I can stop by. I would love to see the place. If it’s ok with you?”- joe

“Of course!! I would love it.”- you

“Great! Probably around Saturday evening if that works for you. I have some stuff in the morning at the facility but I would like to show you around Cincy more.”- joe

“Sounds awesome! I should be free.”- you

“Great, it’s a uhh..date.”- joe

“It’s..a date!”- you smile

We both smiled at each other.

The sliding door opened which stopped us staring.

“Hey, guys! Joe we are leaving. You can stay if you want for a bit and maybe y/n can walk you over.”- Robin

He looked at me. I knew he wanted to stay for a bit.

“I can walk him over in a few! Don’t want Mr quarterback to get hurt even more.” - you

“Thanks, y/n. Love you both.”- Robin

“Bye!”- joe and I said

After Robin left Joe and I talked for a bit

“It’s getting late I better go before my parents freak.”- joe

“Yeah..yeah, I’ll walk you.”- you smile

You two get up and walk around the back to the front yard.

Joe on his crutches were making noises on the path.

You started laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?”- Joe

“You.”- you

Joe scoffed.

“You cant insult a disabled person, y/n.”- joe

“Well I can insult you all I want. Been doing it since we were six.”- you smile

Joe laughed

we were walking down the sidewalk and to the Burrows.

“It was really great seeing you tonight. I’ve missed you.”- Joe

You looked at him.

“It was great seeing you too, I’ve missed you, burrow.”- you

As we reached his house we stopped at the front.

As I turned around to say goodbye Joe was already facing me and placing his lips on mine. His hand on my cheek pulling me in. I rested my hand on his arm. I couldn’t believe it, but it felt so right. This. Right now.

He Pulled away.

“Sorry…I couldn’t keep fighting the urge anymore. You have know idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”- Joe

“It’s..it’s ok, I’ve been wanting to kiss you all my life, Joey.”- you

Joe smirked.

“Oh, yeah?”- joe

You nodded

“It’s getting late I better go.”- you

“Yeah.”- joe

We stayed looking into each other eyes.

I Leaned in for one last kiss.

“Goodnight, burrow.”- you smile

“Goodnight, y/n.”- joe smiles back

He walked up to the door step and walked in.

You started walking back with a smile on your face.

You just kissed the love of your life.

Y/n Burrow.

You thought to yourself as you walked into your house.

The end!!

Pt2 coming soon!!

[abyssalzones]

hii! if we were to have gotten mabels scrapbook instead, what would be your like top 3 things to see in it? :D

EXTREMELY good question. I'm not sure how likely it would be for any of these to actually happen but this is like dream scenario stuff

just in general it would be really interesting to see more of mabel's POV on things, especially in more dipper-centric episodes where we aren't in her head as much. I want so badly to see whatever cute/funny antics she gets up to in her spare time. the formatting of a scrapbook is a little different from a diary/journal obviously but I think if you stretch the definition and add more writing then it'd be a great opportunity to showcase more emotional depth that they might not have had the time for... like what does mabel think about the situation with their parents? or being gone for the entire summer? ...does she even have any close friends back home? how would a 12 year old kid externalize all this stuff when she's typically the "ray of sunshine" character on a surface level? etc.

PACIFICA AND MABEL HANGING OUT PLEASEEEEE okay it's possible they just wouldn't be able to justify anything important between them happening off-screen alongside the show's timeline because that would throw a wrench in things retroactively but like. bear with me. we could have a developing background plot. Please. I'm desperate (Also in that regard any crumbs hinting at mabel's approach to other girls and Girlhood as a ""weird"" girl. transgender narrative? bi/potential baby lesbian narrative? both?)

aside from that it's really hard to pick because there's so many things you could do. wendy and mabel bonding? more "mabel's guide" stuff? mini art gallery? mabel-approved recipes guaranteed to pose a health hazard? stories about her and dipper from childhood? secret dream boy high fanfic? idk. the problem with this concept might be how difficult it would be to stop writing more pages.

give the people what they want alex. summer of mabel

[ellabsweet]

[*ੈ✩] 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘 • 𝐄.𝐖

synopsis: ellie writes in her journal religiously, a foolish attempt at reconciling with her feelings and understanding what it is that happens to her particularly when she is around you

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warning: written in ellie’s pov as the entire story is told through her journal entries, if this is well received it might be a multiple part series, loads of angst and borderline emotional cheating

I saw her again this week. Or better yet, she saw me, and I don’t think I have ever dropped someone’s hand so fast as when her eyes glanced down towards mine and Cat’s intertwined, in the end that only served a purpose to make them both upset. She pretended not to have noticed me after that and deep down I couldn’t blame her for it, though it’s been nearly a month since our last conversation a part of us both know that a friendship shouldn’t experience something that feels like a break up.

Guilt is the second worst feeling I’ve ever experienced and still it comes pretty damn close to grief. Sometimes kissing Cat I pretend that it’s her instead, eyes shut from all reality it’s almost like I can shift her taste into whatever I imagine hers to be instead and in the moment it feels too good for the guilt to settle in, it feels like home. Which is a shame, in the end, because this is about me not deserving that comfort. I remember Cat had to stop me, push me off her to catch her breath with a laugh and she looked me starry eyed to say she’s never felt me so into her before. The strawberry in my lips turned to poison so fast. She didn’t know. Didn’t even understand why my face fell at the comment, felt the need to tell me it was just a joke but we both knew it wasn’t.

Cat is easy. Easy in a way that borders boring which means it’s safe. Life is hard enough as it is for me to keep having these impulses towards devastating gut wrenching love, the kind of love inevitable with her. I told her once when we still liked to pretend we were friends that she was something of a tornado, like this force of nature so inevitable to everything else that sweeps up everything off the ground, and she was so offended. Like I’d said she was destructive. But she is. I haven’t given her the opportunity to abandon me and still it has broken my heart to glance at her across a room and not run straight to her arms, not be the one making her laugh. It’s been too long since I’ve heard the laugh I would bottle and save to get drunk on hard days and now can’t even treasure for good ones.

To be loved by her, though I guess it may be pretentious of me to assume she loved me, was finally coming up for air, was watching a meteor shower, is probably the closest I’ve ever gotten to the moon and understanding what it is to moon over someone, she personified my astronaut dreams and I am a stupid asshole who keeps dropping things on Earth because they’ve got new found gravity. I miss floating and I hate all the things I’ve crashed on the ground, sometimes I’m not sure who’s shattering the most without her. (I do. It’s me. I’m taking this metaphor too far.) But she would hate me if she knew. I thought I had lived long enough as myself so I could find her but not having died for the cure only means I never get to have her, not fully, not if she knew. And I wanted her to know me. More than I wanted her to just love me, which is terrifying. That’s why we can’t be.

[poemsfor-her]

GLOW UP QUIDE 𖹭⠀࣭⠀ֹ⠀͡꒱

I. THE INNER ME

— When you think of the word "glow up" , your mind automatically thinks of changing your appearence, right? For me the beauty is in our soul. If you think nasty and degrading thoughts of yourself that can be damaging in so many ways.

let's get some things clear here:

First of all, beauty standards always change, as trends come and go, and you will never be enough "pretty" for someone; because beauty is subjective and you might be the dream person for someone and for someone not. which is ok! there are so many beautiful flowers. i personally perfer tulips and peonies, but someone might prefer roses or sunflowers. that doesn't make a flower less beautiful because every flower is beautiful in it's own way.

— do you know yourself? we spend so much time trying to know others, but do we even know ourselves? go on pinterest and find some questions to ask yourself. here are some:

1. what qualities do i like about myself?

2. what qualities of others do i admire?

3. what am i scared of?

4. what would i like my mornings to look like?

5. who inspires me?

if someone asks me any of these questions i would answer them all in a second, because i know myself.

— SHADOW WORK. Grab a pen and a journal, go on pinterest and search "shadow work prompts". I Personally, don't know much about this subject, but i know it's talked about by many people i look up to. It helped them heal from trauma.

some videos i suggest you watch that helped me so much in changing my mindset:

why you'll never be pretty enough - zoe unlimited.

you don't need to glow up, our obssesion with glow up culture needs to STOP.

tiktok is DESTROYING YOUR IDENTITY.

what type of pretty you are.

— I suggest watching every commentary video of zoeunlimited. Her videos changed my views on various topics.

II. THERE IS NOTHING TO CHANGE

— you are perfect just the way you are. embrace yourself. there is only one you in this world. many women look the same to me these days and it's a tiring and sad thing. Everyone is following the standard that is going to probably change in a month. As Hwasa said "I am my own beauty standard" and thank you Hwasa for that!

Embrace your features, look for makeup that suits your face shape and eyes. I know that eyeliner doesn't work with my eyes so i don't apply it. I also know that a lot of bronzer doesn't suit me.

Wear whatever you like and don't be afraid to express yourself.

When it comes to exercising, ALWAYS DO IT FOR YOURSELF. Think of it as: "My body deserves to be healthy"

strech when you wake up, do yoga, workout or go for a walk/run. whatever you like!

eat healthy but don't pressure yourself too much. have it balanced. you can eat a healthy meal but that doesn't mean you can't eat a cake. BALANCE IS EVERYTHING.

my favorite fitness youtubers:

lily sabri

yoga with bird

mady morrison

emi wong

III. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER

— if you follow my posts you know how much i respect and talk about education and it's importance. As my favorite saying goes "BEAUTY IS DANGEROUS, BUT INTELLIGENCE IS LETHAL." I stand by this!!!! READ BOOKS, FOCUS ON YOUR STUDYING, WRITE, PAINT, LEARN A NEW LANGUAGE AND DRAW.

here are some book suggestions:

i who have never known men

the great gatsby

the prophet

my body

the art of war

search some famous musicians or artists and get to know their work. i seriously find this so attractive.

watch documentaries.

watch news, read articles and just generally know what is happening in the world.

get to know your country's history.

watch some iconic movies.

beauty fades, but knowledge always stays.

that's it! if you have some questions send me an ask ♡

with love, t

[chaosclimber]

driver

“I’m not doing it.”

Hob grinned a bit–there’d been some gentle ribbing between them on the subject already, and he was happy to slip into the well-worn argument. The kids in question were away, anyway, it couldn’t do any harm. “Dream…come on, you know you’re more qualified than me for this. Besides, do you really want an ADHD-er to try to teach another ADHD-er to drive?”

“I don’t want to be in any vehicle either of our sons are operating. I would prefer they not drive at all, but I know that’s a foolish wish.” Dream swept passed, not bothering to take the pile of clothes he'd been folding. Hob stood and watched for a moment, dumbfounded. The reaction was bigger than he'd expected–he honestly thought the argument was all in fun. It wouldn't be the first playful disagreement they'd had over the kids as teenager-dom posed new challenges for them. 

He started to follow behind, but stopped himself a few steps in. Dream was a very different person than Hob. For whatever reason, this had upset him, and Dream was the kind of person who preferred space when upset. Much as Hob wanted to just go and hug him, that simply wasn’t the best choice. So instead, he veered from the hallway and retreated to the kitchen, pulling out the leftover rice, a few eggs, pre-cooked chicken breast, and a few veggies from the fridge. Homemade fried rice was one of the first dishes Hob had cooked for Dream, and it was a favorite of theirs when a quick meal was needed. Tonight it wasn’t necessarily about the speed, though. He hoped it could be a comfort. 

Dream didn’t emerge from the bedroom until dinner was ready, and when he did, he seemed…withdrawn. Hob held himself back from pushing, from asking immediately what the matter was. He could damn well guess, now that he’d had some time to reflect. What he remained unsure of–more importantly, really–was whether Dream would actually want to talk about it. 

Dream held his silence. 

Well. Hob was never one to disappoint a captive audience. He chattered on–about his day, about his students and their determination to win the little contest he’d set up to let them earn extra credit (find the crudest joke they could in a period piece of literature and deliver it properly when he least expected it. Today’s attempt included the ‘your mother’ joke from Titus Andronicus at the end of class, right as he was taking a sip of coffee. The three who’d done it were the front-runners, so far.), about how his journaling attempt was going (abysmally–it was Friday, and he had managed to actually use the fancy set up he’d spent  over an hour setting up a grand total of once.), about anything that came to his mind. 

It wasn’t until Hob was clearing away the dishes that Dream finally spoke. “...They’re growing up.” The words were quiet, Dream’s already low voice gaining just a bit of gravel, as it did when he had been crying recently. He was still sat at the table, shoulders pulling in and up. In that moment, Dream seemed to transform from a person into the sad, wet cat one just happened to find in a dumpster. 

Hob just wanted to hug him, dammit. He took a breath and resisted, though–he knew Dream tended to actually dislike touch when he was upset, so he would wait until he asked for the contact. “Yeah. Not a fun realization, that one.”

“...I don’t want them to grow up.” He shook his head. “It was not too long ago Orpheus would sit in my lap and beg for story time. Now he’s going to drive. How far will he go from us once he is able?”

“Oh, dove…” Hob paused at the confession. God, he was familiar with that realization. Honestly, he’d been putting off looking at it head-on, himself. At least until he could schedule some time to watch brainless rom-coms with a pint of ice cream (yes, he had the coping methods of a teenage girl dealing with her first break-up, no, he would brook no judgment on that fact). “I get it. But we can’t stop them, you know that.” He sighed. “Look, I’ll teach them both how to drive–I was gonna, anyway, I know you don’t really like driving in the first place. We just…have to have a little faith that they’ll come back. They know they can come back, whenever they need to.” 

Dream sighed, and looked up at Hob. “I…could do with a hug, now. If you are willing.”

And that was all the invitation Hob needed to drag Dream to the livingroom and settle them both in for a cuddle. 

As it turned out, they needn’t have worried. Robyn was a natural at driving–he couldn’t engage in conversation while he was behind the wheel, but that was fine by Hob. And Orpheus was nervous enough about it that he didn’t end up getting his license right away–which was fine by Dream. 

@domaystic All my fills will be cross posted to AO3

[nattysstargirl]

The Beast of my Dreams

Chapter 1.

Were!Hyena Natasha Romanoff X Fem Reader

Word count: 3079

TW18+: Masturbation, dirty talk, dirty dreams, cursing

A/N: first story ever written, enjoy

~~~

Y/N is in the forest again.

Her eyes fly open as she gasps to a seat, panting with a hand pressed flat against her chest. Dark trees loom and reach down for her. Her feet are bare and dirty. Her pale blue nightgown doesn't cover her knees.

A shiver runs up her spine as she searches the woods. The oak in front of her is the same as it always is, trunk wider than her arms can reach to either side, thick bark running with lines so deep she probably couldn't reach the back with her finger.

Long branches reach high and low, some brushing the ground, all dripping with thick clumps of gray moss. And at the bottom of the trunk, dug into the dirt beneath it, is a hole.

Two feet tall and two feet wide, the hole is so dark Y/N worries it might suck her in if she gets too close. She stays seated on the cold ground, waiting for what she knows will happen next. She tries to swallow quietly, but her throat is dry, and an audible gulp echoes in the still forest.

A low rattling grows in an enormous creature's throat, four high-pitched yips. Then, the dark hole is watching her with glowing yellow eyes. Y/N gasps softly, the skin on her limbs pricking with goosebumps as her stomach flutters.

She reaches a slow hand toward the tree. The creature's growl gets lower and softer, and its eyes move toward her, nearly touching moonlight before Y/N jolts awake. She's sitting in her dorm bed, and she apparently kicked her blankets off in her sleep because the shivering is real. She pulls her nightgown over her knees, then reaches for the duvet and yanks it up to her shoulders.

"Is that going to keep happening?" Peggy's annoyed voice comes from the kitchen-side of the dorm. If you can call it a kitchen. They have two twin beds nestled against their own walls with four feet of precious floor space between them, a small bathroom tucked behind the entry door, and a "kitchen" comprised of a sink (that also functions as the bathroom sink) and a microwave perched on top of the mini-fridge.

Y/N could make ramen noodles while sitting on the foot of her bed, which is often what she ends up doing for breakfast. She rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"Sorry," she mutters.

"It's just that I have morning classes?" Peggy says.

She's tugging an instant coffee pod from the machine and tossing it into the trashcan while she clips the mug lid on with the other hand.

"I'd appreciate a full night's rest without...whatever those sounds are you make."

"I'm sorry," Y/N says again.

"I'll pick you up some earplugs today."

"Don't bother." Peggy pats her straight brunette ponytail in the mirror on the wall, as if a hair would have dared fall out of place, then pulls her backpack onto both shoulders.

"I have inner-ear problems. Can't even wear earbuds. Why don't you try meditating? I can send you a referral link for my app. Might help you sleep better." Peggy leaves without saying goodbye, and Y/N's phone pings as soon as the door closes behind her.

It's a link from Peggy to a trial account of her meditation app. She rolls her eyes and tosses the phone onto their shared nightstand. Peggy ran a neat line of decorative crafting tape down the middle of it when they moved in, and the only items on her half are a boring, brushed nickel reading lamp and a self-help girl boss paperback.

Y/Ns side has candles, journals, scraps of paper with notes she probably doesn't need anymore, and a box of tissues to hide-she digs her hand inside and pulls out a slim purple dildo. It's not even 8:00 yet, and her first class isn't until eleven. She tugs the blinds closed (Peggy loves opening them first thing in the morning) and retreats under her blankets in the dark.

She pulls her nightgown to her waist and tugs off her underwear. The satin sheets cool her bare ass. She flicks on the dildo and pushes it in, cooing quietly as she clenches around it. It went in easy. As she learned after her third or fourth time having the forest dream, she wakes up ready.

Y/N is naturally flexible, so folding one leg under herself to hold the dildo inside with the heel of her foot is easy. Then her hands are free. She runs her left hand over her clavicle, tickling out a sharp inhale, before roughly grabbing her right tit. Her right hand rubs slow circles on her clit. She tries to think about the hot TA in her stats class, with his thick curls and wide shoulders, but her mind keeps bouncing back to the creature in the woods.

It's not weird-she's sure it's not an animal. It might be...animalistic, but like in a werewolf way. No one thinks it's weird to be attracted to Jacob Black, right? It's normal. She bites her lip hard. Every time she has that dream, she tries to stay in it until whatever is in the tree comes out.

Maybe it would speak to her. Maybe it would do...other things. Either way, Y/N wants to see it. "I want...you," she gasps at no one, shoving her heel harder against herself and bucking her hips.

"Oh, yeah... Fill me up," she mutters. Her nipple is sore from clawing at it, so she switches to the other and rubs her clit faster. "Yes...yes," she hisses. Then she moans and bucks as her orgasm builds. "Mmm." She gasps hard and opens her eyes. Then pretends she didn't just get off to the thought of a pair of yellow eyes in a tree.

-

"Again?" Peters's light eyebrows near his hairline raise. "And nothing else happened?"

"Yeah," Y/N whispers, as if the students seated around them would even care about her dream. "And it feels so real, Pete. Like, I forget I'm dreaming every time. I feel cold, I feel the wind blowing. The trees rustle at the right timing for me watching them rustle. It's fucking bizarre."

"And you've never seen what's hiding in the tree?" he asks. He's swaying the chair back and forth with one foot on the desk leg. This lecture hall has those long desks with chairs attached by pistons, and Peter never sits still.

His gray eyebrows match his hair, both dyed. He's a natural brunette, but Y/N will never expose him. People call him Jack Frost, and it's a whole thing.

"It's not hiding from me," Y/N says quickly. "It's just...watching me. It's not scared."

"Okay," Peters eyes wander the room. He smiles and waves at someone who just entered the lecture hall. Y/N knows he's trying his best to care, but other people's dreams aren't remotely interesting.

Especially around the twentieth time they've had the same dream. She drops her chin in her hand and stares through the empty podium. The hot TA arrives before the professor does, quickly passing out a quiz and taking his seat at the front of the lecture hall to pretend he's watching for cheaters.

Y/N does her best, but her mind frankly hasn't been on homework these last few weeks. She's got to get it together. After they pass the quizzes back, Professor Potts finally enters. She wears black slacks and a white silk button-up with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and the top three buttons undone.

Y/N always thinks she looks like a model. "Good morning, class," she says without looking up from her notes. "I trust we're all preparing for next week's midterm." The overachieving dick suckers in the front row nod their heads enthusiastically.

Y/N and Peter exchange eye rolls. "Right," Professor Potts says. She shakes tight blonde ringlets from her face. "Just to get housekeeping out of the way: I'm sure you're all aware of the wild animal problem on campus. Some geniuses generations ago thought it would be super cool and smart to build a university slab up against the biggest forest reserve in the state. Cute, right?"

There are a few giggles around the hall. Everyone has a crush on Professor Potts. "So," she continues. "I'm meant to read this announcement on the subject: 'Students of Avenger University-please use caution when moving between buildings on campus, especially at night. There have been an increased number of sightings and incidents of an unknown animal of significant size, strength, and presumably aggression. Travel in pairs when possible.' Yeah, whatever." Professor Potts drops the paper she was reading from.

"Y'all stay inside at night, use the buddy system, don't leave food scraps hanging around, got it?"

"Yes, Professor," a quarter of the class choruses. Peter leans toward her to whisper: "Ohh, a mysterious creature." Y/N swats him away, but she was thinking the same thing. She feels eyes on the back of her head and peeks over her shoulder.

A pair of students are glowering at her from the second-to-last row. They look like siblings. Pale skin, shaggy blonde hair. One is definitely a girl, but the other looks androgynous with a strong jaw and a small, upturned nose.

Y/N decides they're sisters, but she doesn't know why they're glaring at her. The blonde averts her gaze when Y/N meets it, but the girl stares her down with unblinking green eyes. Her hair is flopped over her forehead, and a buzzed undercut barely shows behind each of her ears. A row of silver rings runs the edge of her left ear, but the right only has a single blue stone piercing the lobe. She watches Y/N like she expects something from her. Y/N turns back in her seat and tries to focus on the statistics lecture, since apparently there's a midterm coming up that completely slipped her mind. 

Get it together, Y/N. 

After five solid minutes of attending lecture with her full mental capacity and taking copious notes, her mind wanders again, and she comes up with a plan to get this dream issue taken care of. Stand up, she chants to herself silently. Stand up. Stand up. Stand up. Y/N is on autopilot for the rest of the day, repeating that mantra to herself through lunch and two more lectures. Stand up. Stand up. She hurries back to her dorm building after her last class and repeats it the whole walk. Then in the elevator, then all the way down the hall. Stand up. Peggy isn't home. Good. 

Y/N locks the door behind her, kicks off her shoes, and climbs into bed in her underwear. She's sleepy enough that she dozes off quickly. Stand up. - The forest canopy waves at Y/N. It's dark, and the ground is cold on her back. She sits up. The enormous tree seems to grow larger, or closer, as her eyes focus on it. She knows she's dreaming. There's a hazy, mystical quality over all of it, but it's so, so real. Stand up. The yellow eyes appear. Y/N's chest heaves up and down with deep, slow breaths. They watch each other. Stand up. With every ounce of awareness and mental energy she has, Y/N rises to her feet. 

It surprises her so much that she can't take a step forward for what could easily be hours. But when she looks up, the eyes still watch her. They're just yellow globes, but...they feel expressive and curious. Like they're just as surprised that she stood up, and they're waiting to see what she does next. Y/N takes a shaky step forward, and she swears the eyes look startled. At a glacial speed, she moves toward the tree until she's got one hand resting against the thick bark. God, what now? She didn't consider that the creature could jump out and attack her. But it's a dream, right? If she dies, she'll wake up. There are no consequences here. She slowly lowers to her knees next to the hole, but she can't bring herself to peer inside. Y/N swallows hard. Then, cautiously, she reaches her hand toward the trunk's hollow. 

The constant, low growl from the creature that's been a staple in every dream has quieted. The forest breathes around her. She holds her hand still at the entrance, and nothing happens. Further, then. She steels herself and pushes her hand a few inches into the darkness. Fuck, what am I doing? Before she can yank her hand out, a gentle, warm exhale curls around her fingers. Her eyes fly wide. It's right there, not an inch from her hand. She doesn't move while it sniffs each finger carefully. When it seems the creature has finished inspecting each digit, Y/N turns her hand like she would to pet a dog that had accepted her, but she doesn't reach further. 

A solid, warm thing pushes against her palm. She thinks it must be a head, maybe a dog's? She strokes it gently, and she's treated to a pleased rumble from the creature's throat. She smiles and pets it again. When she moves further forward on one stroke, her stomach falls as she realizes the sizable furry thing she was petting isn't a head. It's a snout. She feels along the ridge of what she'd been petting, confirming that it ends with a cold, wet nose. She lets her fingers slowly explore upward, feeling the full head of a gigantic creature that's not quite a dog...but she doesn't have any other guesses. It doesn't feel like a wolf either, and she still can't dare to peek at it. 

Two ears positioned more on the side of its head than on top of it are rounded and furry, like a koala bear. The head withdraws, and she gasps quietly in disappointment, her palm immediately cold from its absence. But she isn't alone for long, as something wide, wet, and warm wraps around her thumb. She gasps again. Is it licking her? And she lets it. It moves meticulously, licking every part of every finger, then her palm. That's when she realizes how huge the tongue is. When it licks her palm again, she pays attention to what it touches. The edges of the tongue wrap around to the back of her hand. It must be four inches wide! A light disgust rolls over her stomach as she chides herself for the first idea that popped into her mind. 

But then she thinks, this is my dream. No one knows what I think or do in here. As if in response to this decision, the creature sucks three of her fingers into its mouth. Yes, sucks. Like a person. And inside, sharp teeth graze her fingertips, but they don't hurt her. This thing could rip her apart if it wanted, but it laps its tongue gently between the spaces of her fingers, building a growing need in the pit of her stomach. Y/N looks over her shoulder at the darkness of the forest. The moonlight barely peeks between thick branches above, and she can't see anything past the small clearing. It's like the only beings in this entire universe are Y/N and this creature. 

Without further consideration, she uses her free hand to hoist her nightgown to her waist. Then she sits on her ass and scoots her legs into the opening unabashedly. The creature slowly releases her hand from its mouth. She lets it fall to the ground, inching into the tree opening until it's to her ribs. She breathes slowly through her nose and keeps her eyes on the tree canopy. This is her dream, and she has some control, and that tongue has got to have some other uses. Or it'll drag her inside and eat her for a midnight brunch, then she'll just wake up in her dorm, no harm done. 

The cold wetness of the creature's nose pokes at her knee. She hisses, all shame gone and replaced with heart-thrumming lust. The nose runs down the inside of her thigh, as if it knows what it's doing and has done it many times before. Y/N should have taken off her panties, but now she's too nervous to reach her hands down. It replaces its nose with the wide, warm tongue, swiping slowly against her inner thigh, right at the edge of her panty line. It takes all of her effort not to moan. She definitely doesn't want to scare it away now. Hot breath billows around her hips and she tilts her pelvis upward. 

"Go on then," she whispers encouragingly. She is throbbing from her hips to her knees. Then the sun rises, all at once and everywhere. Y/N flings upright. 

"What the fuck?" Peggy is by the door, her arms crossed. 

Y/N squints in the light before realizing her sheet have drifted to the foot of her bed, and she's lying with her legs spread wide in just her underwear and a Calvin Klein sports bra. "You know what time I come home," Peggy says with the tone of a scolding kindergarten teacher. "I wish you could have a little respect for our communal living space." 

"All of it's communal," Y/N mutters, yanking her sheet up. "When can I nap in my underwear in peace?" 

"Between the hours of seven-thirty and six-fifteen," Peggy says, hanging her jacket and backpack neatly on her row of hooks. Y/N squints at the clock on her bedside table. Shit, she napped for hours. "And it's not the underwear that is the issue," Peggy continues. "It's the moaning and writhing." 

Y/N feels her face flush. "Sorry," she says quickly. "Must have been dreaming." 

"Oh, I know all about your dreams," Peggy assures her. Y/N's eyes widen. "The TA, right?" Peggy says. "You haven't mentioned him in a while, but it sure sounds like you're being ravaged. Just...do it quieter, please?" Peggy grabs a towel and her shower caddy and leaves. She won't be back for at least forty-five minutes. Y/N rolls over and reaches into her tissue box.