#and other than thank you aimee

[platypusnoise]

i hate it here was DEFINITELY written during the travis kelce era

[midnightsslut]

religion is one of the most prominent recurring themes on the album, and it has been present in some capacity for quite a few records now. taylor previously compared love to religion: her saving grace, her belief system, and a fated divine intervention (false god, cornelia street, and cruel summer are the best examples of this). ‘sacred new beginnings that became my religion’ and ‘we’d still worship this love even if it’s a false god’ are two of the defining statements about her philosophy on the lover album.

taylor doesn’t want to leave all of that behind on ttpd, at least not at the beginning. the first supernatural force she mentions is the spaceship on down bad, which she compares to a skylight of freedom in the epilogue. *something* has finally come to save her from her life of suffering. she doesn’t care if it’s a force of good at first; if anything, she’s just fine being taken away by aliens. she views this man as her destiny. it isn’t until guilty as sin? that taylor starts to ponder the moral implications of what she’s doing. is she guilty as sin for wanting to leave her previous religion and relationship behind? she comes to the conclusion that, even if she rolls the stone away and gets resurrected/redeemed, she cannot avoid the fallout. she is okay with the thought of having to wait, as long as both lovers vow to be together forever, just as she once did with someone else in false god. ‘I choose you and me religiously’ finishes the bridge of the song in a direct callback to cornelia street.

the next mention of religion has murkier imagery. she claims that she does not need the Lord’s help to save this man. she sees the halo that he has, and she can fix him herself. now that she feels free of her prior cage, she isn’t looking for divine intervention anymore. she wants control. she is their route to salvation.

when the relationship falls apart, she retreats back into the position of a believer rather than a divine figure. she compares him to a Holy Ghost who promised to save her and take her to heaven. instead, she is in hell in every sense of the word: she’s down bad and feels guilty for digging up the grave. he was a jehovah’s witness who promised that she could break free of the cage imposed by love without changing her religion altogether; she would’ve just had to switch denominations. she could still have a marriage and kids! she could still have a blue tortured poet! the man was different, but not the dreams they had together. the story of the first part of the album ends here. her faith has been broken, and she has only found any semblance of sanity by refusing to mention these belief systems altogether.

side b/the anthology blends the christian imagery of side a with goddesses, sorcerers, and prophecies. she bargains with these powers to let her have the future she wants (the prophecy). she doesn’t sound like someone believing in salvation. if anything, she feels cursed. she decides that the concept of divinely ordained timing will never work in certain relationships (‘the goddess of timing once found us beguiling / she said she was trying / peter, was she lying?’). this disdain extends onto her perception of other people’s faith (‘bet they never spared a prayer for my soul’). she does position herself as a prophet in cassandra, but even then, she admits that the role has hurt her. perhaps the pain in thank you aimee was meant to be, or perhaps she was just strong enough to build a legacy in spite of it, boulder by boulder. is she a martyr? does she want to be? or did she save herself?

the only real love song on this half of the album makes no mention of fate or any divine forces. it wasn’t meant to be. it’s not a supernatural invisible string or lightning in a bottle. she is just in love.

the album ends with the manuscript, which revisits an old story of a defining, formative heartbreak. as she sings ‘at last, she knew what the agony had been for’ while describing the legacy of her writing, she seems to revert to thinking about the purpose of trauma. the only exception is that, in this case, she is the one who found meaning in her pain by turning it into a manuscript. writing is her belief system now, and she proselytizes by telling her stories and thus giving up the manuscript.

ultimately, her belief in destiny has chewed her up and spat her out. she so desperately clung to her existing belief systems that she was fooled by a conman, which left her feeling cursed. religion is supposed to be with someone even in their darkest moments, but the album explains that taylor often felt abandoned. the only constant in her life was, well, herself. she’ll be okay, but her pen will be her saving grace.

[xcherricutie]

🏵️ independent together 🏵️

[Lucifer Morningstar x Reader]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four]

[Word Count - 5.5k]

[Tags: Fluff, bit of angst sprinkled in, bit of Adam x Reader sprinkled in too, songfic, two songs this time!!]

[Notes: This is the last part, I don't wanna milk it lol. I put two songs in this part, mostly because I really wanted to give Adam a song. Also, yes, this part is, like, triple the size of the others, sorry to those who don't like long one shots. I got way more love for these than I thought I would, so thank you to everyone, it was so much fun. I literally was getting at least a hundred notifications a day lol, thanks again for all the love]

[Additional note: take a shot every time you read "independent together". I love the song, but HOLY SHIT are the lyrics repetitive, it was so hard to write in a way that flowed easily]

“Hey, bitch, you alright in there?” 

You ignored the voice on the other side of the door. You didn’t dare crawl out of the safe space that was your blankets. The thought that he might be standing on the other side made your gut twist in fear, even if you knew that wasn’t the case. You didn’t dare risk it, even if you knew there was no way Adam and Lucifer would be standing side by side outside your room. 

Adam grumbled in annoyance at the lack of a response. Charlie had begged him to come check on you after you disappeared into your room days ago. You refused to open the door for anyone, not even Charlie, and the only person she thought could convince you to open up was Adam. He didn’t see the point in bothering, saying that they should just leave you be to mope, but Charlie insisted. So, here he was, against his will, checking on you. 

As the silence drawled on, Adam rolled his eyes, grabbing your door handle and giving it a twist. It was locked, but locked doors meant little in Hell, applying just a tad bit more strength to twist it open. The door gave in, opening to reveal your bedroom. 

You heard the door creaking open, shooting up out of your blankets. Glaring at your intruder, you're curled into the blankets, completely wrapped up in the only thing keeping you safe from Adam. Even though you knew he was completely harmless, you still didn’t feel comfortable being in the presence of anybody at all, not right now. Not after what you’d witnessed in Lucifer’s room. 

“So, the fuck is up?” Adam asked as he threw himself down onto your bed, the bed creaking loudly from the sudden addition. He laid on his side, leaning his cheek on the palm of his hand, his masked eyes looking over at you curiously. He couldn’t deny that he too wondered what had suddenly got into you. You were fine the night they drank together. “You’ve been holed up in here for days, the bitch is starting to get worried.” 

By “bitch”, you knew he meant Charlie. You knew she was worried; she had been coming up to check on you the last four days you had been isolated in your room. You would give her a short reply, saying you just weren’t feeling well, but you’d never open the door for her. Well, she’d certainly be able to come in now that Adam had broken the lock on your door. You’d have to ask Alastor to fix it, which you were not excited about. 

“I’m fine,” You rolled your eyes in annoyance, turning to lay on your side and hide your face from Adam’s view. “I told Charlie I just wasn’t feeling well. Tell her not to worry, I’ll get over it soon.” 

“Tell her yourself, bitch, get out of bed,” Adam said, laying on his back as he casually examined his nails, which had now turned into claws since his second death. You growled in annoyance, kicking him in the side, earning a pained cry from him. “What the fuck is your problem!? Being a little fuckin’ rude, aren’t ya? Even after I came up here to check on your ungrateful ass!” 

“Maybe don’t break into people’s rooms, Adam!” You shouted, sitting up and glaring down at him. Adam huffed, crossing his arms as he sat up. He practically eclipsed you in size, especially as his wings ruffled in annoyance. 

“What’s your deal? You were fine the other night, are you just pissy with me? Did I do something to piss you off?” He asked. You looked at him in surprise, eyes wide. 

You didn’t think about it until now, but that’s probably how it appeared to Adam and the others. You had spent another long night of drinking with Adam, only to suddenly close off the entire world, including Adam, with no explanation. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shook your head. “No, it wasn’t you, you didn’t do anything. It was...” 

You paused, unsure if it was the right idea to tell Adam of all people what had happened. When Adam leaned in curiously, a brow raised, you decided it was too late to back out of telling him now. “It was Lucifer. He was... I found him singing, about me, about us...” 

Adam looked down at you, confusion written across his face. “Singing about you? That’s fucking weird. He sounds totally into you, fucking gross.” 

You winced at his harsh words, though you didn’t disagree. Lucifer was missing you; he had sung all about how much he missed you, how much it hurt him to see you again. You found it somewhat pathetic that he was hurting, when he was the one who abandoned you. It was his fault he was missing you. 

Your anger revitalized, you clenched your fists as you huffed. “I know. It’s honestly pathetic; he’s the one who cheated! He shouldn’t be surprised I’m not going back to him.” 

“Woah, wait, what?” Adam grabbed your shoulders, looking down at you in pure shock. It took you a minute to process why he was so surprised, when it occurred to you that Adam didn’t know. It had completely slipped your mind that you hadn’t told anyone the actual connection you had with Lucifer. As far as everyone else knew, you two just used to be close friends. Nobody knew you were actually married. 

Your throat dried at the realization, tripping over words as you tried to come up with an explanation. Adam immediately saw through your lies, gripping your shoulders tighter, demanding the truth. You chuckled nervously, leaning away from him, although unable to escape his grip. 

“We, ah... Lucifer and I were actually married before everything happened. He cheated on me and left me for Lilith...” You spoke, hoping and praying to anyone that would listen that this didn’t get back to Charlie. You should have known Adam better though. He was going to make this a huge deal. 

“No fucking way,” Adam released you, placing a hand on his head as he came to terms with the bombshell information. “No fucking way. This is perfect.” 

You raised a brow in confusion, wanting to question him, but you had no time to voice your thoughts as you were ripped out of your bed. You yelped in surprise as Adam squeezed your wrists, bending over to have his face directly in front of yours. 

“Let’s make him super fucking jealous,” Adam grinned from ear to ear, his mask visibly glitching with excitement. He could finally get back at Lucifer, take his revenge for stealing both of his wives. “Come on, it’s fucking genius. Little man stole both our lives from each other! He stole my wives, and cheated on you with them! So, wouldn’t it just be so perfect that we just happen to get a little too close, fuck around, and make him super jealous? It’d be the perfect revenge, and hey, you’ll get to dick around a little too with the Dickmaster.” 

You cringed at the title he chose for himself, pulling back from him, but not strong enough to escape his grip. “I don’t know, Adam. I’m not into you like that. And I don’t want to catch Lucifer’s attention any more than I already have.” 

“Come on, babe, everyone’s into me like that,” Adam scoffed, pulling you to him by the waist. “Let’s just give it a try! He likes to sing about you, huh? I wonder how much he’d like it if I sung about you.” 

“W-Wait, Adam—” 

Before you could resist any harder, Adam whisked you away, throwing you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes as he flew back to the main hall, where everyone sat about in the lobby. You went limp against him, knowing there was little use in fighting the stubborn demon, a small chuckle escaping your lips. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a little fun with the situation, as messed up as it was. 

“Oh! Adam!” 

You heard Charlie’s voice as Adam came to a stop in the center of the lobby. He set you down on your feet, turning to Charlie with a smirk. “Got the bitch out, no need to thank me, I know I’m the best.” 

“Right...” Charlie gave him a forced smile. She turned her eyes onto you, about to ask you a question, when Adam spoke back up, ripping Charlie’s attention away and back onto him. 

“So, listen, CharChar,” Adam smirked as his particular use of the nickname caught a certain Devil’s attention. “I just came up with a sick ass way to thank you for letting me freeload off you while I’m down here. Seeing as how you guys all love a sappy fucking song, I decided, why not have the First Man put on a little show? I’ve got the voice, I’m the best at what I do, it’d be the fucking best.” 

Charlie’s eyes visibly lit up with excitement, Adam’s words surprising the other residents as well. The entire time Adam had been staying at the hotel, he refused to do anything for anyone, and especially refused to thank Charlie for allowing him to stay. Charlie had assumed his sudden change had occurred because of you, giggling excitedly at the thought. Finally, she was seeing some progress. Or so she thought. 

“That’d be great! When would you like to do it?” Charlie asked, beaming up at him. 

“Right fuckin’ now,” Adam smirked, grabbing her wrist. Charlie yelped in surprise as Adam dragged her toward the lobby steps, leading her toward the roof of the hotel. 

With that, Adam had set up a very impromptu concert. You had tried to tell him that it was too much for a little bit of messing with Lucifer, but Adam was dead set on doing it. You didn’t even understand what a concert had to do with making Lucifer jealous because, as far as you knew, you weren’t even joining Adam in his little surprise concert. Adam didn’t tell you anything, just that he was going to have a little fun with the song. 

Charlie had materialized a small stage on the roof of the hotel, the hotel’s bright lights lighting up the stage brilliantly. She was nearly bursting at the seams with excitement, so much so that Vaggie was having to calm her down somewhat. You looked at Charlie with a brow slightly raised, almost concerned for the woman, before your gaze drifted onto a person standing in the back. Lucifer. 

You knew he was only up here because Adam had led Charlie up here. Lucifer didn’t trust Adam a single bit, barely letting the demon out of his sight sometimes. In fact, the only times where Lucifer wasn’t watching Adam like a hawk was when Adam was with you. The thought made you frown, huffing as you walked up to the stage where Adam stood, tuning his angelic guitar. 

“Hey, Adam,” You called out, trying to get his attention without earning others’ unwanted attention. Adam looked down at you, before smirking and walking up to the edge of stage you leaned against. 

“Wassup, babe?” He asked, sitting down. You hummed, your finger pressing into the wood of the makeshift stage, pulling at one of the jagged chips. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea? It’s going a little far just to make Lucifer jealous...” You muttered. Adam scoffed, his eyes rolling heavily enough to be seen even through his digital mask. 

“Come on, this is our revenge! This is our way of getting back at that midget for fucking our relationships up. He’s a little cheater and a wife stealing asshole. Let’s just have fun with this!” Adam exclaimed, grinning widely, baring his fangs. 

Before you could reply, Adam stood up, pulling his guitar up to rest on his shoulder. His movements as he walked to the center of the stage caught the attention of the little audience, everyone’s eyes landing on him. You huffed, stepping back to stand next to Charlie as Adam spoke up. 

“You guys ready to have your fuckin’ panties blown off by my sick skills!?” Adam yelled, getting excited himself. Not only had it been a long time since he got to play any music, but it was all to fuck with Lucifer. This was the best kind of music. “Let’s do this shit!” 

Adam strummed the strings of his guitar, making an almost bursting sound, before easing into a slow tune. You looked up at him in surprise, not aware that he could make any music that wasn’t just loud noise and screaming. It sounded shockingly good, almost like he planned this, and you knew he hadn’t. 

“Nothing is holding you back now,” Adam began, his voice soft, and lacking any of the curses he usually threw around. He looked down at you, winking and blowing a kiss, causing your face to warm up as you chuckled nervously. “No one can push you around.” 

“What do you wanna do? You’re the master of you,” Adam stepped closer to the edge of the stage, his eyes trained completely on you. He reached his hand out to you, surprising you as you hesitantly took it. “And isn’t the thought enough to lift you off of the ground?” 

Adam yanked you up off the ground, pulling a squeal out of you as he threw you into the air. A pair of wings sprouted from your back, the lights of the hotel and the city shining all around as you floated high above everything. Looking down at Adam, he gave you a large grin and a thumbs up, making you giggle. 

“Nothing,” You sang along, a grin spreading across your face. “Is holding me back now. No one can push me around.” 

Landing next to Adam, you looked up to the taller demon with a beam, your lips tugged upward into a smile. “What do I wanna be? I’m the master of me, and isn’t the thought enough to lift me off of the ground?” 

Your wings flapped in sync with Adam’s as you both lifted off the stage, mimicking each other’s smiles. Adam took the lead, leaning into you as he sang. 

“We could be independent together, independent together, we can fly,” Adam leaned his back against yours, your wings pressed together, moving together as one. “Independent together, independent together,” 

You looked up to Adam with wide, awestruck eyes, your genuine smile a sight to see. Adam had been the only one to make you smile like that in a long, long time, and he knew it. It made something within him flutter to life, something he hadn’t felt in a just as long time. Genuine happiness. He truly enjoyed singing with you. 

“Independent together, you and I,” Adam shot you a smile, making you giggle as you pulled away from his back. 

Adam looked back to you in surprise, his eyes widening as two more pairs of wings sprouted from your back. A halo formed above your head, its form in the shape of a crown on your head. Its white coloration immediately drew attention as your hair fluffed out, much like that of a seraphim. Your bright blue eyes shone brightly, matching the new pairs of eyes that dotted your body and wings, your clawed hand reaching out to Adam. 

Adam looked up at you in shock, no doubt unaware of what status you had been as an angel. You giggled as he hesitantly took your hand, momentarily awestruck by your transformation. He quickly recovered though as he pulled you to him, holding your angelic form against his own demonic body. 

“High above an endless sea,” Adam’s face leaned in closer, his breath fanning your face. You smiled up at him, leaning into his hold, letting him guide you. “No one brought us here but me. Every step and every choice...” 

His body turned, squeezing your hand as he pulled you along. Backs pressed together; you fell downward back to the stage. “It’s my fault, it’s my thought, it’s my words, it’s my voice,” 

Landing on the stage with an explosion of light, you let out a giggle as you used your own angelic magic to summon a matching bass to play along with Adam. Adam’s face visibly lit up as you began singing and playing along, your voice taking on a more angelic sound. 

“Independent together, independent together, if we try,” 

You and Adam leaned in, your smiles lighting up the stage as you sang together, perfectly in sync. “Independent together, independent together, independent together, you and I,” 

You had completely forgotten the whole point of this impromptu concert at this point. You forgot that there was an audience, that the rest of the world surrounded you. In the bright lights of the city and hotel, you could only see Adam before you, his face progressively getting closer. 

“Independent together, independent together, we can fly,” Your six wings spread out, your eyes glowing with exhilaration. You didn’t notice just how few inches apart your face was from Adam’s, nor did you see just how that affected the Devil that caused this whole concert to begin with. 

“Independent together, independent together,” Your hand reached out to Adam, your palm pressing against his masked face as you looked into his eyes. He could have sworn you were looking straight through his mask and into his eyes with how you were holding eye contact, getting lost in each other’s eyes. “Independent together, you and I,” 

Your wings slowed to a stop as you and Adam landed. You leaned your forehead against his, surprised as he returned the gesture full heartedly, nearly leaning into you as the song slowed to a stop. 

“Independent together, you and I...” 

You looked up to Adam in both surprise and excitement. Adam held the same exact expression, as if surprised by how carried away they had gotten. Laughter bubbled from within you as the bass you held disappeared, jumping into Adam’s arms with a squeal. Adam chuckled as he held you up, spinning around, before setting you down. 

“That was fucking awesome, babe!” Adam exclaimed, throwing his arms up in exaggeration. You chuckled at his reaction, before remembering that you had an audience. You turned your attention to see their reactions, your eyes widening. 

Tears streamed down Lucifer’s face as he stood in the very front of the small crowd. He looked up to you with a desperate, almost pleading look. Charlie called out to him with a worried tone, snapping him out of his daze as he roughly rubbed his sleeve across his face, whipping around and storming off without a single word. 

“Dad, wait! What’s wrong!?” Charlie yelled, watching as he slammed the door behind him, disappearing into the hotel. A loud burst of laughter caught her attention as she turned around to see Adam completely doubled over, struggling to contain himself and breathe. 

“D-Did you see his fucking face? We broke him,” Adam stuttered through his laughter, wiping away a fake tear from his mask. He stood up straight, turning to see your reaction, his laughter coming to an abrupt halt as he saw the distraught look on your face. 

“Wait a minute,” Charlie held her hands up, shaking her head in disbelief as she approached the stage you and Adam stood atop. “You mean you did that on purpose? What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Come on,” Adam groaned in annoyance, jumping down onto the floor before Charlie. “We were just messing around. We wanted to get a little revenge for Luci ruining our relationships.” 

“What?” Charlie’s brows furrowed in confusion, turning her attention to you as you stepped down from the stage, your angelic form disappearing in a flash of gold. “What is he talking about? What relationship?” 

You stilled at Charlie’s words. It seemed your hesitation caught the others’ attention, Charlie leaning in closer as she glared down at you. You growled in annoyance, turning your irritation on Adam. “Come on! They weren’t supposed to know!” 

“Oh, shit, my bad,” Adam held up his hands defensively, stepping back from you. Your attention was shifted back to Charlie as she urged an explanation from you, making you sigh in frustration. 

“Ch-Charlie, there was a reason I never said anything. I didn’t want to get in between you and your family, even if Lucifer and Lilith are split up. I didn’t want you to be mad at Lucifer, I—” 

“What are you saying?” Charlie cut you off, confusion written across her face. She didn’t understand. She didn’t want to understand, but she was already beginning to get somewhat of an idea. She knew what Lucifer did to you, abandoning you in the garden and running away with Lilith. But she didn’t even imagine that there was a whole other layer to it. She didn’t want it to be. 

“Charlie... Your dad and I were married,” You spoke softly, as if scared your words might harm her, scar her. She loved her father deeply and held him up on a high pedestal. She would often talk about how her parents met, and how she loved their love story, even if they were split up. You couldn’t bear to ruin that image, even if you were mad at Lucifer. 

Charlie’s eyes widened as she froze up. It almost felt as though her heart came to a halt in her chest, stilling the blood in her body. “Wh-What?” 

“I kept it a secret because I didn’t want to ruin the image of Lucifer that you have. Please don’t be mad at him, I—” 

“How could I not be mad!?” Charlie exclaimed. You looked up at her in surprise, your eyes going wide. You didn’t think you’d ever heard Charlie yell in the time you had spent in Hell. You almost didn’t think she was capable of getting genuinely angry. 

“All my life, I thought mom and dad had a perfect relationship,” Charlie paced back and forth, pulling her hair by the roots, something that had become a habit in times of stress. “Even when mom left, dad still stayed loyal, he wore her ring, he didn’t try to move on. I-I can’t believe he would do that! He’s such a fucking asshole!” 

“Babe, calm down...” Vaggie tried to plant Charlie in place, placing her hands on Charlie’s chest to keep her from pacing. Charlie growled in annoyance, sidestepping Vaggie as she continued to walk her anger off. 

“And you! How could you stay quiet about this?” Charlie looked down at you with a pleading look. “I deserved to know what kind of a man my dad is. I should have known what he did to you, what he...” 

Charlie trailed off, hiding her face in her hands. Her body shook slightly, the telling sign of the turmoil that lay just beneath the surface. Your heart broke at the sight of Charlie struggling to keep herself together, stepping toward her as you gently grabbed her wrists. 

Pulling her hands away to reveal her sorrowful face that had been soaked in tears, you gave her a soft smile, your thumbs caressing the palms of her hands to try and calm her. Charlie had been the only person aside from Adam to be friendly to you, the only demon down here that truly cared for you. You couldn’t stand to see her breaking down, not over something that was between you and Lucifer. 

“Charlie, despite what Lucifer did to me, he’s still a good person. He’s spent the last ten thousand years trying to make up for what he’s done, to make up for his past mistakes. I don’t want you to be mad at him, not when he’s putting so much effort into making a change,” You dropped Charlie’s hands to move to her shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, isn’t the whole point of the hotel to atone and become a better person?” 

Charlie’s eyes seemed to widen at that, as if remembering her whole mission with the hotel. A soft chuckle bubbled within her, lifting her hand to wipe away the stray tears that remained. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Charlie pulled you into a hug, momentarily surprising you before you returned it in full, holding her tightly. You felt her sigh shakily against you, releasing the remainders of her stress, before pulling away with a renewed smile. 

“You know, if you keep making progress like this, you’ll be redeemed in no time,” She said, making you chuckle. But your laughter died down as you turned your attention back to the door that Lucifer had stormed through not too long ago. 

“Maybe you should go check on him,” You said, gesturing toward the door. Charlie’s eyes followed your own, a soft hum on her lips as she mulled over it. She couldn’t help but still be slightly upset over the reveal of her father’s infidelity, having to remind herself that the whole point of her mission was to forgive those who did wrong. 

She looked down at you with a smile, holding her hand out for you to take. “Could you come with me?” 

You looked up to her, bright blue eyes going wide. You weren’t entirely sure you were ready to talk yet, still afraid that you might give in to your emotions and give him another chance. You were still afraid that he would take advantage of your weak emotional state and hurt you again. 

But the look Charlie gave you promised that she wouldn’t allow her father to hurt you, never again. So, despite your better judgement, you trusted her, placing your hand, and your emotional security, in her own. 

Leading you back into the hotel, you and Charlie went out to search for Lucifer. Finding his bedroom to be empty, the two of you made your way down into the lobby, surprised to find him just about to leave. Charlie called out to him, surprising him as he whipped around, a forced smile on his face. 

“Ah, Charlie! I was just about to head out, I—” 

Lucifer cut himself off upon seeing you beside Charlie. The forced smile immediately dipped into a frown, but he stayed in place as you and Charlie approached. He wanted more than anything to disappear from the world and never been seen again, especially as he felt your cold blue eyes meet his own. 

“Dad, there’s something we should talk about,” Charlie began, before taking a deep breath and looking at you. “Something you should talk about.” 

You looked up to her nervously, your heart thundering in your chest, especially as Charlie released your hand and stepped back, leaving you to stand alone before Lucifer. Your gaze landed on his eyes, bright red irises that you had always found alluring. You opened your mouth to say something, Lucifer doing the same, but nothing came out, no words were spoken. You could only look away, casting your stare onto the floor. 

Charlie seemed to notice the thick, tense air between you two, sighing deeply. A small smile pulled at her lips as her soft voice filled the lobby, catching the attention of you both. “Why don’t you talk to each other?” 

Charlie stepped toward you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and back, pushing you toward Lucifer. Both yours and Lucifer’s eyes widened at the sudden close proximity as Charlie continued. “Why don’t you talk to each other? Just give it a try,” 

Charlie grabbed her father’s hand, Lucifer’s eyes stuck glued to yours, giving you an almost fearful look. He jumped in his skin as he felt Charlie place his hand in yours, the touch of your corrupted angelic skin the exact same as he always remembered. “Why don’t you talk about what happened? I know you’re trying to avoid it, but I don’t know why,” 

“You might not believe it,” Charlie gave you a reassuring smile as she stepped back, leaving you in the presence of Lucifer. You glanced at the hand where you were connected with him, unable to help the heat that rushed to your cheeks, or the tears that began to well in your eyes. “You might not believe it, but you got a lot in common, you really do,” 

“You both love me, and I love both of you...” 

Lucifer sighed, his hand squeezing yours gently, taking in the way your soft palm felt under his thumb. He looked away, taking in a shaky breath as he forced his voice to work for him. “Look, if I were you, I’d hate me too.” 

“I don’t hate you...” You muttered, keeping your gaze on the floor as you held back your tears. Your throat squeezed tightly, trying to keep everything tightly wound up inside you, trying to hold yourself together. 

“Why not?” Lucifer looked up to you with wide eyes, as if begging you to hate him. Because it’d be easier for him to come to terms with you hating him, than for him to accept that you’ve moved on and don’t care anymore. “Y-You should hate me, you should want me dead,” 

You looked up to him in surprise, a stray tear escaping your eyes as you chuckled, your cheeks crinkling slightly. “I guess this place is just rubbing off on me. I got so tired of being mad, I just couldn’t bring myself to fight you anymore. I would rather just forgive you and move on.” 

“B-But—” Lucifer cut himself off, tears brimming in his eyes. He deserved to be hated, he was the most hated being in existence. It simply wasn’t fair, he hated that you forgave him before he forgave himself. He couldn’t forgive himself. He would never be able to. 

His eyes widened as he felt your hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears that he hadn’t realized escaped. He looked up to you in shock, trying to understand what was going through your head, why you were doing the things you did, the things that made him miss you even more. 

“If you wanted to, we could move on together. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again, but I trust Charlie, and I know she won’t let me get hurt here,” You chuckled softly, looking over at Charlie with a smile, before turning your attention back to Lucifer as you stepped closer to him. “You’ve raised a wonderful person, Lucifer. She’s the entire reason why I can forgive you. She’s the reason why I want to move on with you.” 

Lucifer stared up into your angelic eyes, his body shaking as tears streamed down his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, crashing into your arms as he held you like his life depended on it. “More than anything,” 

He looked up to you, his eyes glimmering in the lights of the hotel, his lips pulling into a soft smile. “I’d love it more than anything.” 

You giggled, grabbing hold of his hands, pulling him to a slow dance. Lucifer was practically beaming at you now, his tears streaming freely down his face as he chuckled, following along. 

Charlie couldn’t help the smile that graced her face, watching the scene before her unfold as she continued to sing, wiping away the tears that had fallen from her eyes as well. “I know you both need it, I know you both need it,” 

“Someone who knows what you’re going through,” 

Your laughter filled the room as Lucifer spun you around, the sound making his heart flutter. A chuckle escaped his lips, before he too was laughing, getting lost in the sounds of your joy. A sound he’d missed for far longer than he realized. 

“You might not believe it, you might not believe it, but you got a lot in common, you really do,” 

Your feet slowed to a stop as you looked down into Lucifer’s eyes, your hands moving to cup his cheeks. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his own, strands of your hair tickling his face. You felt him wrap his arms around your neck, his breath fanning your face as he sighed. 

“You both love me, and I love both of you...” 

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” Lucifer said, looking into your bright blue eyes. You smiled, moving to pull him into a hug. 

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” You muttered against his shoulder, basking in his presence. Perhaps this was the happy ending you had waited so long to get. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing was. Not even angels were perfect, as you had found out. But now, you wouldn’t have things any other way. Because now, you were finally happy. You could start anew, with the new friends you’ve made, with Lucifer. You were finally ready to let him back in. 

“You both love me, and I love both of you...”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

@christineblood, @jellyedkazoo, @sirenetheblogger, @charliesicedcoffee

[spade-riddles]

The album and the Matty Healy of it all; the Allegory and a literary breakdown for you all :)

As an english girly, I am having the most fun dissecting this album. She wrote her entire story into the album. It’s an allegory, each song has two major interpretations, one is the obvious (matty/joe/travis/PATERNITY TEST) whereas the other is her truth. This is a literary device that has been used in writing throughout history since forever. Everything about this album is so intentional, especially the Matty Healy of it all. This album has been planned so meticulously, every move she’s made with the beards has been to directly tie into the songs and the references. She needed a heavily documented example, she wants people to believe it, so when she burns it all down she can say “look at how easy is was to construct a narrative, hide an allegory within it and watch no one get it, it’s happened my whole life”, this is why this album is so much louder to all of us than the rest of them, because we have always seen the second story but now she’s making it more obvious. But they will get it, the story in this album is so strong, she’s coming out and she’s made this so she can send people to look back at her music (lookin’ backwards/might be the only way to move forward- her entire catalogue is the manuscript) screaming “I told you, I laid it all out. You didn’t believe me!” This is the post mortem, every reason why she’s ‘dead’ (the inauthentic version) is laid out in the album.

For example, i’ll break down ‘Fortnight’ since we have the MV imagery too. On the surface is about her fling with MH. If you get down to the next layer it’s about the failed coming out & Karlie. About how she almost had it all “for a fortnight” (just a metaphor for a short time), how her plans got ruined and how she’s doing it over again. She was supposed to be sent away, she was meant to go stay in the asylum (the closet).

“Now you’re in my backyard, turned into good neighbours”.

She has Karlie so close to her, but hidden in her backyard, no one can see her in her backyard.

“Your wife waters flowers, I want to kill her.” There is something that is in the way of them being together, she wants it to end (her public narrative). Could also be a reference to JK, he gets to to be with Karlie, watering flowers in her garden (betty’s garden anyone) while Taylor watches, she wants to kill the perception of him as Karlie’s husband.

The rest of the song moves into Karlie & Taylor getting closer, they’re plotting a way out.

“Now you’re at the mailbox, turned into good neighbours, my husband is cheating, I want to kill him.” Again, Taylor’s husband is her public persona, she wants to kill it.

When you add in the music video, she’s breaking out of the asylum with her twin, then she was put right back in there and her twin is performing experiments on her. I think Post Malone represents both Taylor and Karlie at different points in the MV, because both of their own choices are also part of the reason they’re still closeted, she’s acknowledging this. But then something happens, one of them can’t do it anymore so they run away. This is the release of the album, specifically 2am 04/19 (fresh out the slammer), Taylor’s on top of the box, she’s out; this the endgame for her now, but Karlie is still stuck in the phone box (the closet). But not for long! 😘

Every single song is like this, there’s a very intricate but obvious second story. They’re not all about Karlie, there’s a lot about her childhood, other muses (thank you aimee is not about Kim, it’s about a hometown love), growing up, her fans, the industry, closeting, christianity, masters heist.

I’ll touch base quickly on ‘The Albatross’.

She’s coming to take down SB, i’m not sure 100% how but I think it has to do with the coming out and exposing everything he’s done to her to keep her in the closet for so long (it’s a lot darker than people think).

She is here to destroy him.

“Now you’re persona non grata” he’s not going to be able to work anymore, he’s going to be exiled from the music industry.

There’s always been the iffiness around the masters situation, people saying she was told prior, her insisting she wasn’t. The below is a confession (and a threat).

“Wise men once read fake news

And they believed it

Jackals raised their hackles

You couldn't conceive it

You were sleeping soundly

When they dragged you from your bed

And I tried to warn you about them”

She lied, she knew about the master situation but she said she didn’t. Her fans believed it though and they crucified him, she tried to warn him how powerful they were. She’s already embedded that image of him in their minds, so when the next thing comes out (lol), they’re going to raise absolute hell, his entire career is going to be over.

“thanK you aIMee”, the entire world right now thinks it’s about Kim Kardashian, because she capitalised ‘KIM’ in the title, there’s that line about her kid singing her song (which coincidentally did happen). It’s so obviously about her right! No, it’s another “blue dress on a boat”, something she has done throughout her whole career is splice monumental images of Taylor Swift ™ into her songs, so she can sing about her real life without being questioned. Except this time, she’s trying to make you question it, that’s why it’s so OBVIOUSLY 🙄 about Kim Kardashian. A red herring if you will 😉. It’s meant to point you towards one thing, when it’s really not about that thing at all.

tldr: everything about the album is intentional, she’s layered two narratives together on purpose. one at surface level, one a bit deeper.

Images are both Taylor’s & Aaron‘s words on the album, about hidden meanings and secrets.

And if you need any further proof, at exactly 4:19 of ‘The Tortured Poets Department’ title track, she says “who’s gonna troll you?”. The entire album is the troll, for the general public, it’s not about the men at all.

[nowhere-except-home-with-you]

Please reblog for a larger sample size if you can!

@userlaylivia @cuddlyreader

[francesderwent]

ask game

fortnight: what’s your new aesthetic?

tortured poets department: who do you declare should be a bigger artist?

my boy only breaks his favorite toys: if you were a toy what kind would you be?

down bad: public place you’ve cried at?

so long london: something you loved about a place you used to live?

but daddy I love him: how do you take unsolicited advice?

fresh out the slammer: once you leave a stressful situation, what is your go-to way to wind down?

florida!!!: if you had to go on the run and start your life over what would your name be? (bonus: what are you on the run for)

guilty as sin?: a recurring daydream?

who’s afraid of little old me?: be honest: are you scary?

I can fix him (no really i can): one fictional character you, personally, could fix and one you couldn’t?

loml: two unrelated things that are inextricably linked together in your brain?

I can do it with a broken heart: can you hide what you’re feeling or can people tell?

the smallest man who ever lived: what mystery (personal or otherwise) would you most like to receive a declassified file explaining?

the alchemy: something you love that you come back to over and over?

clara bow: do people say you look like anyone?

the black dog: a song intertwined in the fabric of your dreaming?

imgonnagetyouback: can you tell when somebody wants you/likes you/is flirting with you?

the albatross: a past experience you’re passionate about sharing with people going through it now, ie something you can say “I’ve been there too” about?

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: pick a current significant other/close friend and a former significant other/close friend. would the current one have bullied the former one in school?

how did it end?: you announce “come one, come all, it’s happening again”—what’s “it”?

so high school: complete this sentence: “you know how to ball, I know ____”

I hate it here: one thing about the contemporary era you hate?

thank you aimee: a bad experience that you’re grateful for?

I look in people’s windows: when you run into someone you used to know are you generally pleased or alarmed?

the prophecy: when you want something, do you: beg, lose hope, stay cool, howl at the moon, say please, or have faith?

cassandra: mythical figure you relate to?

peter: a way your grown-up years are different than how you thought they’d be?

the bolter: have you had any near death experiences?

robin: a happy secret you’ve kept?

the manuscript: would you ever publish a memoir, let someone read your diary, etc?

send me a song title (or two!)

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [2/?]

happy (late) new year :') after a month (and a lot of editing and dissatisfaction), i am back with part 2 of the 'yves has had too easy of a time' series (6.4k words). you can read [part 1] here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

When they get to the hotel Aimee’s booked for them, it’s already late enough to be dark out. Yves helps unload their suitcases from the back, while Leon loads them up onto a luggage cart. 

It’s an exceptionally nice hotel—picturesque brick walls, glossy windows all in a row, slanted red rooftops rising up into the sky. He’d looked at it briefly when Aimee consulted him about the bookings, but it looks even more like a castle in person, like something straight out of a storybook. Yves will have to remember to thank Aimee and Genevieve again for picking such a nice place for them to stay at.

They check in at the lobby. Yves makes sure the suitcases make their way up to Leon and Victoire’s room, which is on his and Vincent’s floor, but at the other end of the hallway. (“Don’t be late to breakfast tomorrow,” he tells them, sternly, and Leon—who has slept through his alarms for as long as Yves has lived with him—laughs. “I’m especially talking to you,” Yves adds, looking straight at him).

Then he wheels the luggage cart down the hallway. “I’m so ready to crash,” he says, to Vincent. “It’s been a long day. Are you tired?”

“I’ll be tired once I lay down,” Vincent says. He carefully extricates one of the key cards and holds it out to the door card reader.

The interior of the hotel room is a little colder than the hallway is. Vincent flicks on the light, slips the key card back into its designated slot, and leaves his shoes in a neat line at the door. Yves follows him in.

Their room is a standard suite—there’s a small sitting area just next to the entrance, a bathroom off to the side, and a door frame—though not a proper door—which leads to the bedroom. On the far end, translucent white curtains give way to a sliding door which opens up to the balcony. It’s a nice room, Yves thinks, with a nice view of the rest of the hotel, its pool and gardens, the circular sun umbrellas stretching out floors below them. It’s only when Vincent hesitates, standing in the bedroom, that Yves realizes what’s wrong.

The bedroom has a singular queen-sized bed, and nothing else.

Of course. It makes sense for this to be the living arrangement, if they’re really dating.

“I can take the couch,” Yves says, clearing his throat, which doesn’t feel any better than it did earlier. 

Vincent turns to look at him.

“I mean, this whole pretend-relationship thing doesn’t have to extend to us sharing a bed.”

Mentally, he kicks himself for not having the foresight to predict this. Just because Vincent is fine with putting on a show in front of his friends—and in this case, family—doesn’t mean that Vincent will be fine sharing a bed with him when they’re in private.

“You can have the bed,” Vincent says. “The bed will probably be warmer.”

Whether that’s a comment about how Yves has been too cold all day, or whether it’s just an offhanded appraisal which has nothing to do with him, Yves doesn’t know. 

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I don’t mind the sofa. Besides, hotels usually have extra blankets. I’m sure they’re just hidden in some drawer somewhere.”

He rummages through a few of the cabinets and looks through the closet until he finds what he’s looking for—a feather comforter, folded neatly on the top shelf. He takes it down, keeping it folded under his arm.

“See,” he says, flashing Vincent a smile. “I’ll be perfectly warm, like this.” Vincent still looks a little unconvinced. “You should wake me if you’re not,” he says. “I don’t mind switching.”

“Duly noted,” Yves says, even though he has no intention of waking Vincent for any reason. 

“The couch probably extends into a pull-out bed,” Vincent says, already heading back into the living room. “It should be more comfortable. I can help you set it up.”

“I can do it,” Yves says. All this talking is not helping with his throat. Worse, somewhere over the course of the past couple hours, there’s a faint tickle that’s managed to settle into his sinuses.

“It’s the least I can do, if I’m taking the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves is about to say more, but he finds that he really needs to sneeze. He lifts his arm to his face, his eyes watering, his breath hitching—

“Hh-! hHehh’IIZSCHh-IIEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent calls, from the next room over.

“Thanks,” Yves says, turning into his shoulder with a small cough. His breath hitches again, irritatingly. “hHeh-! HEHH’IiITSHHiEW! snf-!” 

When he heads into the living room, Vincent is already almost done setting up the pull-out bed. Yves helps him lock down the legs of the frame.

“Thanks,” Yves says, fluffing out the blanket he’s holding so that he can lay it out over the mattress. “All set up.”

He looks the bed over. It looks inviting enough—a little smaller than the bed in the bedroom, the mattress thinner, but fluffy and clean regardless. Vincent steps past him to duck into the bedroom and emerges a moment later, carrying two pillows.

“Are these your pillows?” Yves says.

“They’re yours now.”

“I can sleep without pillows.”

“They gave me two sets, anyways,” Vincent says. “I wouldn’t have made use of these ones.”

“Okay.” Tentatively, Yves takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. From the doorway, he gets a limited view of the bedroom—he can see the curtains at the far end, the desk pushed up against the wall, and the very foot of the bed. “Do you think this is what couples do when they’re traveling and they get in a fight?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Vincent asks.

“It might as well be,” Yves says.

“If your family walks in and sees that I’ve banished you to the sofa, I don’t think I’ll ever be forgiven,” Vincent says, so seriously that it almost doesn’t register as a joke. Yves laughs.

“You can just say I snore,” he says. “Or, worse. Maybe I kick you in my sleep.”

“Do you?”

Yves doesn’t—at least, he’s been told he doesn’t—but it’s of no consequence. They’re not going to be sharing a bed. “Luckily for you, you won’t have to find out.” 

He gets settled—sets his suitcase out on one of the side tables, sets out all his toiletries in the bathroom, puts the clothes he’s planning to wear for tomorrow in a neat stack, and hangs up the suit he’s going to wear for the wedding in the closet. He’d been careful folding it, but he’ll probably have to give it another good iron before the wedding date. By the time he has everything accounted for, the bathroom door is closed, and the shower’s running.

The hotel has left them a couple bottles of water on the nightstand but he heads downstairs to buy a couple more from the on-site convenience store on the first floor. Victoire had them exchange dollars for euros at the airport, which Yves thinks he might have forgotten to do in their haste. Even though she’s the youngest of the three of them, sometimes he thinks she is the one with the most common sense.

He strikes up a brief conversation with the cashier, in French that he thinks is fairly fluent but probably accented—it’s been awhile since he’s gotten any practice with it. His speaking is good, but there are some colloquialisms and some idioms that he’s not familiar with and ends up having to ask about.

By the time he gets back up to the bedroom, bottled waters in hand, Vincent is done showering, his hair still a little damp.

“I got us extra waters,” Yves says. “There’s a convenience store down on the first floor.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” He looks nice, even with his hair damp, even though he’s wearing just a t-shirt and shorts to sleep, Yves thinks, and then immediately tables that thought.

“It was nice to stretch my legs,” Yves says. “And nice to have a chance to practice my French. My relatives are going to be disappointed in me if I sound worse than I did last year.”

“Are you fluent?”

“Fluent enough to hold a proper conversation. Not fluent enough to not sound like a foreigner. I grew up speaking French and English, but obviously in the states, there aren’t as many opportunities to practice French.”

“I don’t think you would have lost much of it,” Vincent says, as if from experience. 

Yves laughs. “For my own sake, let’s hope not.”

When he steps into the bathroom, the mirror is still fogged up from the steam. He swipes a hand over the glass to clear enough of it so that he can see.

He looks fine, still, at least outwardly—a little tired, maybe, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. There’s a faint flush to his complexion, too, which is strange, because he doesn’t feel like he has a fever. He’s just a little colder than usual, is all.

All in all, he still looks passable. At first glance, it doesn’t seem very evident that anything is wrong at all.

He takes a shower, cranks the water up until it’s almost scalding, and stands under the hot water, shutting his eyes. The warmth is a welcome change. It’s the first time today that he’s been really, properly warm—if only because he’s turned the water up a couple degrees higher than he usually has it at.

The water splashes over his shoulders. He leans his head back, taking in a deep breath of the steam.

It’s fine. It will be fine. He’ll drink tons of water, take all the vitamin C he can find, and sleep this off tonight. He’ll be good as new tomorrow. 

—

When Yves blinks awake, it’s still dark out.

The first thing that registers to him is that he’s cold.

What started off as a slight headache has turned into something much worse—his head is throbbing, and even with the blanket, he’s freezing. The air conditioning in the room is on—he can hear the low hum of it through the vents—and everything feels unbearably frigid. Even the bedsheets, which are at the very least warm from his body heat, seem to always be losing heat, unpleasantly, when he shifts.

When he checks his phone, the time onscreen is 3:45 am. Too late to call the front desk and ask them to send up more blankets, probably—even if they are technically in operation, he doesn’t want to be that one asshole to ask for a favor at this time of day.

He’ll ask tomorrow, he thinks, at a more reasonable hour. It’s almost morning, anyways. Maybe if he manages to get back to sleep, he won’t feel the cold as much.

There’s a dull pressure to his sinuses, a slight tickle that seems only to sharpen as he rubs his nose. His breath catches, too quickly for him to do anything to attend to the subsequent—

“Hheh—! hHEHH’iISHHhi-iEw!”

Fuck. The sneeze is loud enough to echo a little within the confines of the living room. Vincent is in the next room over. Vincent is asleep, presumably, like Yves should be. 

And Yves’s nose is starting to tickle again.

He raises the blankets to his face, presses his nose to them to muffle the next—

“hhEH— hehh’IZschhH-IIEW! snf-!” 

The sound is marginally quieter this time, muffled into the cotton, but it’s far from silent. He hopes, desperately, that it’s quiet enough, or that Vincent is a heavy enough sleeper for it not to matter. There isn’t even a proper door between them. 

He reaches up to swipe a hand over his eyes. How did this get so bad so quickly? His head feels heavy, and every sneeze that tears through him is harsh enough to scrape at his already-raw throat—whatever hope he’d had for sleeping it off seems to be diminishing with every passing minute.

He listens, for a moment, for anything: any shifting from the room over, any motion, any footsteps. But to his relief, there’s nothing.

His head is swimming. Worse, he still has to sneeze. The tissue box is on the nightstand in the bedroom Vincent is in, but Yves thinks that it would be too unwise to make a trip right now and risk waking Vincent up a good three hours before sunrise.

“hHh-! hhH-!...”

Fuck. He stays frozen like that, for a moment, one hand hovering over his nose and mouth. His nose tickles, badly, kept just narrowly on edge. It feels like one wrong breath would be enough to set off a sneeze, but sometimes it seems to evade him at the last second—he can’t seem to get his body to settle on something decisive. “hhHEh-!”

The sneeze is unexpected, when it comes, at last—loud and forceful and vicious.

“hehH’NGKT’shhH’EEW!”

A short burst of pain shoots through his temples. Yves can’t claim he’s ever been good at stifling, and this attempt is no exception. It’s not much quieter than the others, even muffled into his pillow, and the attempt to stifle has only made the pressure in his head feel worse.

“Hheh… hh-!” He sniffles. His eyes are watering so much he thinks they might spill over. “hHeh… hh-hHih-HEHh’DJJSHh’iEEW!”

This one he muffles into his hands, ducking forward into his chest. The relief he feels from letting out the sneeze is unfortunately short-lived. He’s nowhere close to done. He can feel it, in the tickle in his nose which refuses to let up, in the pressure to his sinuses which only seems to worsen with each sneeze.

For a moment, Yves contemplates spending the rest of the night just outside their room, out in the hallway. It will almost certainly be colder, he would be quieter there, at the very least—there would be a proper door and a wall between him and Vincent, and that’s something, isn’t it?

Before he can seriously consider it, he’s snapping forward at the waist, muffling another loud sneeze into the covers.

“hhHeh-iIDDSHHhh’YyiiEW!”

He finds himself coughing, after, muffling the coughs tightly into the feather blanket in an attempt to cough more quietly. He shivers, huddling deeper into the covers. His head is pounding. Every time he swallows, sharp, hot pain lances his throat. 

He hears nothing from the room over, even when he listens carefully. This much is a relief—truthfully, he would feel awful if he were keeping Vincent up because of this. Yves has survived on less sleep—back in university, 6am crew practice meant waking up early even when he’d been up late to finish projects or coursework, or otherwise out late with friends—but the thought of keeping Vincent up makes something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. Vincent hadn’t slept at all during the flight. He must be tired, now. The last thing he needs—after the stress of being surrounded by strangers in a foreign country, after traveling for almost 10 hours straight, after being assigned to room with his coworker, of all people—is to be woken up at an ungodly hour just because Yves can’t keep this damn cold under wraps.

Yves thinks he should try to sleep too, if only because it means he won’t be awake to succumb to the next sneeze that threatens to tear through him.

But if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure if sleep is going to come to him anytime soon. 

—

Yves doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his 7:30am alarm so tired that he feels like he hasn’t slept at all

“Morning,” Vincent says, emerging in the doorway. He’s fully dressed already, his shirt crisply ironed, the collar upright, his hair neatly styled.  

“You’re fast,” Yves says. His voice sounds a little hoarse—all the sneezing last night probably hasn’t done it any favors. But if Vincent can tell that it sounds off, he doesn’t say. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not really,” Vincent says. “We have time.”

“Give me a few minutes to get ready,” Yves says, hauling himself out of bed. “I’ll be out in five.”

He changes in record speed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and stuffs everything he can see himself needing into a backpack to take down to breakfast.

When he emerges, Vincent is waiting for him in the hallway.

“How did you sleep?” Yves asks.

“Fine,” Vincent says. “You?”

“I slept well enough,” Yves says, before muffling a yawn into his hand. At Vincent’s pointed glance at him, he adds, “I’m just a little tired. It’s probably jetlag. It’s what, like, 2am over in New York?”

“1:42,” Vincent says, checking his watch. “Is your whole family going to be at breakfast?”

“I’m not sure if everyone’s up,” Yves says. “But Leon and Victoire will be. I told them to be downstairs by 8, so obviously they’ll kill me if I’m not there first.”

The breakfast lounge is on the first floor, a few hallways down from the reception desk. Yves saves a table for them. 

He isn’t very hungry, for some reason. Still, he fills his plate with breakfast pastries and scrambled eggs and grabs a cup of hot tea while he’s at it. He really doesn’t want to lose his voice entirely before the ceremony. Even with his jacket on—which is probably even excessive, considering the temperature of the lobby—he isn’t as warm as he’d like to be.

Victoire joins them next. She waves to Vincent as she passes. “Hope you guys got some sleep,” she says innocently.

Yves says, “We got perfectly good sleep, thank you.”

“Morning,” Leon says, appearing in the doorway at 7:59. 

“You’re really cutting it close,” Yves says, sniffling.

“It’s 7:59,” Leon says. “Whether I’m on time is a binary, not a sliding scale. I’m entirely on time.”

The table Yves picked can fit more than four, so they spread themselves out through the seats. “Mom and dad said they’re having breakfast at one of the cafes nearby,” Victoire says, shrugging her sweater off and leaving it perched on the back of her seat. “They said they’d report back if it’s anything life changing.”

“There’s a welcome party tonight,” Yves says to Vincent, “For everyone who’s flown in. You’ll get to meet them then.”

“Is there anything your parents hate in a partner?” Vincent asks.

“Don’t worry too much. I don’t think— hEHh…” Yves scoots back from the table turning away as he reaches blindly for one of the cocktail napkins he’d taken. “HEHh’DDJJSHh-iiEW! Ugh, sorry.” His nose has been running all morning—he’d made sure to take a generous stack, and stuff some of them into his pockets for later, but it’s been all of fifteen minutes and he’s already nervous that he might run out. “I don’t you could get them to hate you even if you tried.” 

“Mom and dad met in college, at a bar,” Leon says. Yves, who has heard this story many times before, busies himself with eating, and tries hard not to visibly shiver. In a way, he’s grateful to the two of them for filling in the space for him—the less he strains his voice today, the better. “Mom was super drunk, and for some reason when she started talking to dad the conversation topic turned to, like, something super specific and not at all romantic.”

“It was whether or not it’s ethical to clone extinct species,” Victoire says, idly folding her napkin into a pinwheel. “Though this was before it had ever been done.”

“Apparently she was drunk enough to ask his hand in marriage mid argument, and he was drunk enough to say yes, because he thought it was a joke,” Leon says. “And it was a joke. But he proposed to her seriously a year later, and all she said was ‘at least you kept your promise.’”

“But now they’re happily married,” Vincent says.

Leon nods. “They’ve been happily married for almost thirty years now. Anyways, my point is that whatever relationship you have with Yves, you don’t have to try and impress them. There’s no need to overthink it.”

“I understand,” Vincent says. “My parents got married because my dad did well in a business competition at the time, and my mom thought he was going to make a lot of money.”

“And how did that turn out?” Victoire says, interested, propping her head up on one hand.

Yves watches Vincent cut a pastry into four even pieces. “Better than you might expect,” Vincent says.

—-

The welcome dinner is held at a local restaurant—Aimee and Genevieve have rented out the outdoor space for seating. The table—a long table that seats thirty, or so—is set with tall, elegant white candles, all in a row; wine glasses with delicate stems; vases spilling over with flowers—lilacs, pink and white roses, orchids. 

Above them, string lights are strung up in neat lines. When Yves sees Aimee, he doesn’t drop all of his things to run over and hug her, but it’s a close thing.

“Yves! You made it,” she says.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he tells her, in French. “God. Did you plan out all of this? It looks gorgeous.” “Genevieve did a lot of it,” she says. “She has a good eye for decorations.”

Genevieve is off to the side, talking to someone who Yves recognizes as her sister—Yves follows Aimee’s gaze over to where she’s standing. When he looks back, Aimee is smiling in a way Yves has never seen her smile before—the sort of fond, private smile that he feels like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to be seeing. 

Yves is stricken, for a moment. It’s so clear that she’s in love. It shows all over her face, plainly, the kind of love that’s uncontestable; the kind of love that makes love, of all things, look simple. Has he ever looked like that, to someone else?

“How have you been?” he asks. “I imagine preparations have been hectic.”

“Never better,” she says, turning back to face him at last. “You’re right—it’s been exhausting. But I feel like the adrenaline is carrying me through, you know? Like I’m so happy this is happening.”

“You two deserve a perfect wedding,” Yves says, and means it. He clears his throat, sniffling. It’s a little cold out, even though the sun hasn’t gone down yet; he really hopes his nose doesn’t start to run visibly. “If you ever need any help—with last minute preparations, or if anything comes up, or if you need someone on transportation or moving things—let me know. Even if it’s like, 3am or something. My hands are completely free.”

She laughs. “Thank you, that’s so kind of you to offer! It has been hectic, but I haven’t been up at 3am this week, thank God.”

“I hope to keep it that way.” Yves turns away from her, raising an arm to muffle a fit of coughs into his sleeve.

Aimee takes a step forward, her eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You sound a little off. And you’re coughing.”

And Yves thinks: she can’t know. He has his toasts to give at her wedding. He has the wedding rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding ceremony on Saturday to attend. If Aimee finds out he’s coming down with something, she’ll probably tell him to sit things out—to get some proper rest, to disregard virtually everything she has planned, and to not leave the hotel room until he’s feeling a hundred percent better—even if it’s at her own expense.

Worse, she’ll be worried for the entirety of his illness, he’s sure. As if she doesn’t have enough on her plate already, between the setup and all the accommodations and the last minute changes.

Aimee deserves a perfect wedding. 

That’s the bottom line in all of this. This is a once in a lifetime thing for someone he cares and cares deeply about. Yves is not going to ruin it. He’ll get through the next few days, even if it means pushing himself a little past his limits. He can crash afterwards, on the plane ride home, after all the festivities are over and everyone bids farewell.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “I’m—” This is really the worst possible timing. He takes a few steps back, craning his neck over his shoulder. “hH-! hHhh’kKTSSH-IEEW! snf-! Ugh. I’mb just getting over a slight cold.” Getting over might be a bit of a stretch, and a slight cold might be even more of one, but other than that, it’s not entirely dishonest.

Aimee frowns at him. “Bless you. Does your throat hurt? There are cocktails on the side table, if you want anything to drink. Wine, too. I can get something for you if you’d like.”

“Nice try, but there’s no way I’m letting the bride go and get things for me,” Yves says, grinning. “Do you want any cocktails?”

“I need to be sober until I’ve officially said hi to everyone,” she says. “Can’t make a fool of myself just yet. Speaking of which, where’s your boyfriend?”

Yves waves Vincent over. “Come say hi!” he says, in English. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Vincent says, in slightly accented French, which is a surprise. He seems to hesitate, thinking hard. “Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Oh my gosh!” Aimee says in English, pulling him close for a hug. Vincent hugs her back. “It’s good to meet you too, Vincent. Thanks for always looking after Yves. I’m glad to have someone keeping him out of trouble overseas.”

“Thank you for having me here,” Vincent says, hugging her back. “I know it was really last minute with the flight and everything. I hope it wasn’t too stressful for you.”

“It was no trouble at all!” Aimee says. “Yves is like a younger brother to me. Last summer was pretty rough for him, I think.” she doesn’t mention Erika, but Yves is sure Vincent knows what she’s referring to, regardless. Aimee smiles, a little wistfully. “I’m just so grateful that he met you. I’m glad to see him happy again.”

“I don’t think I can take credit for that,” Vincent says, blinking.

Aimee smiles warmly at him. “He’s the happiest he’s been in months,” she says. “I think you are selling yourself short.”

After Aimee asks Vincent how his stay has been (good, Vincent says, it’s actually my first time in France, to which Aimee excitedly lists off places he absolutely has to see while he’s here) and Vincent asks Aimee how the wedding preparations are going (nothing’s gone terribly wrong yet, Aimee laughs, which I suppose is all I can ask for), they find their way to their seats at the table. Someone has set out little name cards with all of their names written in calligraphy. Yves realizes, faintly, that the handwriting isn’t Aimee’s. Maybe it’s Genevieve’s, then. 

“I didn’t know you knew any French,” Yves tells Vincent, in English.

Vincent looks away, a little sheepish. “I took a crash course into it when you mentioned the wedding would be in France,” he says, which Yves finds somehow disproportionately endearing. “I know maybe five sentences total, plus a few common terms.”

“Five sentences is impressive given that you had, what, just a few weeks to learn them?”

“I’m not sure if they are very coherent,” Vincent says. “The vowels are different from English. I’m still trying to get the hang of saying them.” 

Yves is about to respond, but he’s cut off with a sharp, unexpected gasp. He pitches forward, raising his elbow up to his face just in time to muffle a—

“Hh… HhEHH-!’IihH’DZSCHh-IIEW!”

He’s glad, for once, that he’s not wearing the suit he’s planning on wearing for the wedding. His nose is running again, which is embarrassing, especially because he can still feel Vincent’s eyes on him.

“À tes souhaits,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs, rummaging through his jacket pockets for one of the napkins he’d taken at breakfast to blow his nose into. “Merci. Is that one of the common terms you learned?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I looked it up last night.”

“Last night?” Yves asks.

For a moment, he’s afraid that Vincent might reveal to him that Yves had kept him up last night, after all, despite all of his efforts to keep quiet. 

“On the car,” Vincent clarifies. “During the trip to the hotel. I was just curious.”

“Oh,” Yves says, relieved. He blows his nose into the napkin he’s holding, which he’s sure he has reused at least a couple times already—but with his nose running so much, he doesn’t exactly have the luxury to be picky. “Well, you’ll be an expert at saying that phrase by the end of this trip, at the very least.”

It’s easy to lose himself in the throes of conversation, after that. Aimee and Genevieve have arranged it so that he and Vincent are sitting directly across from his parents. Leon is right—his parents have never really been the type to subject the partners he’s brought home, over the years, to any sort of interrogation. It’s a fun night, especially after everyone’s a couple drinks in.

“I think it’s a good thing that you guys are in the same line of work,” Yves’s dad says, conversationally. “Yves won’t have to explain why he’s always working overtime.”

Yves’s mom says, “Isn’t that a bad thing? We shouldn’t be encouraging their workaholic tendencies.”

Yves neglects to mention that he’s pretty sure Vincent (who worked the entire flight here)’s workaholic tendencies will persist, even without any encouragement.

Vincent tells them how they’d met—it’s the same story as he’d told the first time they’d done this, during Margot’s new year party a few months back, but Yves’s parents seem to find it extremely entertaining.

Yves’s mom says, “I told you Yves was the one who asked him out.”

Yves’s dad says, “I didn’t know if he had it in him.”

Yves’s mom says, “I remember hearing him say something about having an attractive coworker. It wasn’t that much of a logical stretch to assume he’d make a move at some point.”

(Yves thinks he sees them exchange a twenty dollar bill under the table, but he can’t be sure.)

Vincent practices his French with Yves’s parents—Yves fills in for him when he stumbles on a word, or when he hesitates, wracking his memory for a term he can’t quite translate. 

“A fantastic attempt,” his dad says, when Vincent is done talking. “I can’t believe you learned so much in just a few weeks. I can only hope you’ll keep learning..” 

“I will,” Vincent says. “Maybe next time we can have this conversation entirely in French.” There’s no uncertainty to the way he says it. Yves doesn’t mention that there’s a real chance Vincent won’t see them again, after this. It’s not a thought he particularly wants to confront.

At some point, Leon rises to his feet and shouts, in French, “Let’s toast to Aimee and Genevieve, everyone’s favorite couple!”

They all stand and raise their glasses. Yves finds he feels a little unsteady on his feet—maybe he’s had too much to drink. He feels warm, through the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, despite the evening chill. 

He’s marginally worse at covering when he’s tipsy—and worse, too, at anticipating that he’s going to sneeze in the first place. At some point during the night, someone—maybe Vincent, or maybe one of Aimee’s friends from work that are seated nearby—sets down a stack of cocktail napkins in front of him.

Yves just hopes whoever’s put it there knows how grateful he is. The night is getting colder, even though he can’t quite feel it, and his nose is running so much that he finds himself grabbing a new napkin every couple minutes to blow his nose. It’s strange, he thinks, how such a small thing can be so comforting.

At some point, too, Vincent takes the glass of wine out of his hands and switches it out with a different glass. Yves thinks it might be a cocktail, at first, but when he takes a sip, he finds it’s just orange juice.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Vincent says.

“I haved’t had that much,” Yves says. But come to think of it, his head feels hazy in a way that suggests he’s just a little drunk. “Just a couple— glasses— hh-! hHhEH’IIZSCHh’iIEw! snf-!” He barely manages to cover that sneeze in time.

“Bless you,” Vincent says.

“Ugh.” Yves reaches for another napkin from the stack. He feels a little dizzy, now that he’s paying attention. “I swear, my toleradce - snf-! - used to be a lot better before I graduated.”

Vincent hides a laugh behind one hand. Yves is too tipsy to pretend he doesn’t find that a little endearing.

“What?” he asks, faux-affronted. 

“Nothing,” Vincent says. “I should’ve known that you went to parties and drank irresponsibly.”

Yves laughs. “Along with every other college student in the world.” He turns aside to muffle a cough into his sleeve. Perhaps he hasn’t been especially conscientious about saving his voice this evening—with all the talking he’s been doing, it will probably sound even worse tomorrow. “What, don’t tell me you’ve ndever gotten irresponsibly drunk!”

“Once or twice,” Vincent says, which is a bit of a surprise—he can’t imagine Vincent being drunk enough to lose the air of… well, composure isn’t the right word, perhaps. Professionalism? Self-assuredness? But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if he’ll ever have the chance to find out. 

—

Dinner winds down slowly. Yves helps Genevieve collect all the name cards, gathers everyone’s plates to set them in a couple neat stacks at the end of the table, says hello to the relatives he’s closer to, and strikes up a conversation with some of Genevieve’s friends, who look to be just a few years older than he is. They talk first about the planning she’d kept them in the loop about, and then about the planning that she’d pulled off behind the scenes. Yves tells them about the many aesthetic and managerial decisions Aimee had consulted him for early on over text. The common consensus seems to be that Aimee and Genevieve are vastly overqualified when it comes to making sure that everything is logistically sound.

“Do you want to head out soon?” Vincent says, after some time, when Yves returns to his seat and some of the other guests have begun to filter out. 

“That might be a good idea,” Yves says.

He says his goodbyes—to his parents, to Leon and Victoire, to Aimee and Genevieve, whom he’ll see tomorrow. Then he follows Vincent out. The hotel is a fifteen minute walk from where they are—some of their relatives have cars, but they’d walked here, and Yves thinks it’d be more work to try to coordinate a ride with someone.

Everything feels bright, Yves thinks, blinking. 

“You’re cold,” Vincent says. It isn’t a question.

Yves realizes, faintly, that he’s shivering. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel it that much.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“I’m ndot drunk.”

“Tipsy, then.”

Yves can’t argue with that. “Just a bit. I’ll probably— hhEh-!” He turns aside to direct the sneeze over his shoulder, away from Vincent. HH-! hHEHh’iIITSHh-IIEw! Snf-! —sober up soon.” The end of the sentence catches wrong on his throat and suddenly he’s coughing, a little harshly, into his wrist. The coughing fit is harsh enough to leave him faintly lightheaded, which is a surprise to him.

He thinks it shouldn’t be visible, but Vincent reaches out and grabs his shoulder to steady him. For a moment, Yves contemplates how nice it would be to lean into his touch.

Then he catches himself. He’s tired, but not so tired that he can’t sustain a short walk from the dinner venue to the hotel. It’s dark, but they don’t have any early obligations tomorrow, and it’s not late enough that he won’t have time to shower, get changed, and get a good night’s sleep, with time to spare.

Yves shifts out of Vincent’s touch. “Sorry about that,” he says, with the most convincing smile he can muster. He’s sure Vincent would be understanding if he brought it up, but truthfully, it feels like a waste of time to say anything at all.

Vincent doesn’t reach for him again, but his eyebrows furrow. “Are you okay?” 

“What?”

“You almost fell,” Vincent says.

“I just tripped. The roads aren’t very even, and it’s dark.” They’re standing in the middle of a small, winding cobblestone street. None of the roads around here are very flat for very long.

“Are you saying that because you believe it?” Vincent says. “Or are you saying that so that I stop worrying about this?”

Yves stares at him for a moment too long. He’s sobering up a little.

For a moment, he contemplates telling Vincent everything—about how tired he’s been, all day. About how much it’s taken out of him to keep up this front, the whole day; about how he feels worse than he did waking up this morning—tired and cold and congested, a little unsteady on his feet. If he’s not mistaken, he thinks he might be running a slight fever; it’s hard to tell through the jacket, through the brisk evening air.

Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fine—that this wedding that Yves’s been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesn’t want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isn’t feeling his best.

But this is not Vincent’s problem to solve. Yves’s bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincent’s responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves can’t start to expect things out of him—to take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give.

He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie he’s ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though he’s not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, can’t tell if it’s more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

[ Part 3 ]

[shedidntevenswear]

For Eras Tour reference, here are the (officially recorded/released) songs in Taylor’s discography that she has never performed live for an audience: 

Debut (including Beautiful Eyes EP)

Fearless

Come In With The Rain

Superstar

The Other Side of the Door

You All Over Me

Mr. Perfectly Fine

We Were Happy

That’s When

Don’t You

Bye Bye Baby

Crazier

Speak Now

If This Was A Movie

Electric Touch

When Emma Falls In Love

I Can See You

Castles Crumbling

Foolish One

Timeless

Red

The Moment I Knew

Girl At Home

Nothing New

Message In A Bottle

I Bet You Think About Me

Forever Winter

Run 

The Very First Night

Sweeter Than Fiction

1989

Slut!

Say Don’t Go

Now That We Don’t Talk

Suburban Legends

Is It Over Now?

reputation

Lover

I Forgot That You Existed

Cruel Summer

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince

It’s Nice To Have A Friend

Soon You’ll Get Better (we have a live performance but it was in quarantine)

Paper Rings

I Think He Knows

Afterglow

Only The Young

Beautiful Ghosts

All Of The Girls You Loved Before

Folklore

the 1

the last great american dynasty

my tears ricochet

mirrorball

seven

this is me trying

illicit affairs

invisible string

mad woman

epiphany

peace

hoax

the lakes

Evermore

champagne problems

gold rush

tis the damn season

tolerate it

no body, no crime

happiness

dorothea

coney island

ivy

cowboy like me

long story short

marjorie

closure

evermore

right where you left me

it’s time to go

Carolina

The Joker & The Queen

Birch

Renegade

Midnights

Lavender Haze

Maroon

Anti-Hero

Snow On The Beach

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Midnight Rain

Question...?

Vigilante Shit

Bejeweled

Labyrinth

Karma

Sweet Nothing

Mastermind

The Great War

Bigger Than The Whole Sky

Paris

High Infidelity

Glitch

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

Dear Reader

Hits Different

You’re Losing Me

Taylor Swift Holiday Collection (only counting her original songs)

Christmases When You Were Mine

Christmas Must Be Something More

The Tortured Poets Department

The Tortured Poets Department

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

So Long, London

Fresh Out the Slammer

Florida!!!

Guilty as Sin?

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

loml

The Alchemy

Clara Bow

The Black Dog

imgonnagetyouback

The Albatross

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

How Did It End?

I Hate It Here

thanK you AIMee

I Look In People's Windows

The Prophecy

Cassandra

Peter

The Bolter

Robin

The Manuscript

[atlasofearth]

ttpd anthology opinions except i have no thoughts that aren’t the marauders

the black dog: i expected it to give sirius vibes but this is way too much??? this is the most sirius song ive ever heard???

imgonnagetyouback: DORLENE’S SONG OH MY GOD. ITS THEIR SONG?????

the albatross: marlene’s anthem…. this is her song…. what the eff word….. i’m obsessed this might be my third fav song on the album

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: regulus … this song is so him oh my god i can’t do this

how did it end? : “you were blind to unforeseen circumstances” this song is soo canon compliant jegulus… i was writing a loml inspired one short but now i need to write one inspired by this 😶😶

so high school: the guitar 😻 this song is sooo sirius feeling like he could put his walls down around his friends (especially remus!!!!!!) im going insane!!! sirius feels so high school around remus guys

i hate it here : this song is so me… this song is mine guys what the fuck (also very regulus but.. it’s more me idc) i, too, hate it here and escape to secret gardens that i read about in books as a child in my mind and everyone wants the key but there’s only mine…

thank you aimee: IS THIS NOT LILY AND PETUNIAS RELATIONSHIP???? OH MY GOD????

i look in peoples windows: i love the instrumental omfg. i’m getting MAJOR death by a thousand cuts vibes?? she’s a genius?? this song is SO marylily. lily hoping she could find mary even after she left because she didn’t wanna fight “is it right to not know me” oh my god.

the prophecy: this is my number one song. i have many things to say. 1- so harry??? obviously. it’s literally his song. 2- remus WISHING he wasn’t a werewolf, this is his song. 3- lily yearning for peace for her son, wishing he wasn’t destined to live a terrible life. i feel so much guys. 4- also this song is so me. i relate so much, like so so much….

cassandra: oh this is sirius’ song.. he thought he was free after finally escaping grimmauld place, and thensuddenly james died and he’s in azkaban. omg wait but also regulus discovering the horcrux and dying before he had the chance to even find out there were others. “i was onto something, they all said nothing”

peter: IS THIS SONG NOT MARLENE/JAMES BEGGING FOR THEIR LIVES AFTER FINDING OUT PETER WAS THE TRAITOR RIGHT BEFORE THEY DIED???? she’s never beating the mskingbean allegations oh my god

the bolter: i don’t know why this song gives me INTENSE narcissa vibes. this is her song imo idk

robin: this is the black family anthem. this is their song, collectively

FINAL SONG, the manuscript: no marauders thoughts bc i related to this song too much and started crying! 😂

overall; i love these songs so much. i like this collection of songs more than the original ttpd (which says something bc that was AMAZING) top song is a definitely the prophecy

[look-at-the-soul]

Hey not sure if your requests are open as I’ve had an idea based on this picture. The reader could be having an extremely stressful day and tommy comes home to find her looking out their bedroom window and he gives her a cuddle knowing it always calms her down. Or you can do whatever

Hello Chloe! Thank you so so much for sending in this beautiful photo! I hope you enjoy this (is longer than a drabble but shorter than a one shot) ☺️

🎉 I wrote this little piece to celebrate my dear Aimee @dandelionprints 100 followers congratulations darling!! You probably have more now, I’m just so glad that I found your blog here, thank you for the beautiful stories you share!

Close your eyes, make a wish

Modern Tommy Shelby x reader

This is pure fluff 🥰

Taking off the jacket of his suit, Tommy discarded it over the bed, his eyes roaming across the bedroom finding you looking outside, leaning on the window frame. His eyes stopped for a moment in the dandelion he bought for one of your anniversaries.

It was beautifully captured in a resin crystal ball, the smile you gave him when you opened his present was priceless.

In silence, he wrapped his arms around your midsection, earning a little jump of surprise to feel him suddenly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. His breath fanning over the skin of your neck.

“Yes… it’s just a bit overwhelming with the wedding, the guest list and I don’t have a dress yet.”

His lips stopped kissing your neck, a smile replacing.

“But why are you so worried, darling?” You found his eyes looking at you in the window reflection. “I’d still marry you if you show up wearing a potato sack.”

That made you chuckle before turning around in his arms. “I know you would.”

“Then it’s all set.” Tommy winked squeezing his hands on your hips slightly while you shook your head. “No? Fair enough… as I can’t and won’t be doing the wedding planner’s job, my only suggestion is forget about the wedding for one day, Charlie’s coming tomorrow to spend the weekend with us, so why don’t we have some fun?”

“Oh! You know how to?” You joked earning an eye roll from your fiancé.

“What kind of fun?”

“Family fun, I don’t know you’re the creative one from us.” He added playfully bumping his nose with yours before pulling you to the en-suite bathroom.

****

“Hi Y/N!” Charlie shouted you from the door, a big smile decorating his face as he saw you waiting in the queue.

You waved at him and immediately felt his positive energy bring you back to life, all other worries melted away.

But his teacher made you go through a hard time when she mentioned they didn’t get a call to notify that Tommy wouldn’t pick up Charlie from school. As if they were friends.

“Is alright, Y/N and my Dad had a sleepover and-” But you covered his mouth before Charlie could continue with his explanation, while a soft blush covered your cheeks.

“I understand, let me call my fiancé.” You stated taking out your phone, flashing your engagement ring at the teacher. Your Tommy asked last minute if you could pick up his son from school.

A few minutes later, you were giving Charlie a little speech of how important safety was, and how only Grace, Tommy and sometimes you were the only ones allowed to pick him up. Kids could get tricked so easily, get taken away in a blink, besides taking care of Tommy’s son was a huge responsibility.

But Charlie, being a kid, he quickly changed the topic.

“Y/N...”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“Can we make a water balloons war for my birthday?”

“But it will be in winter, it’s going to be cold...”

“Oh.” Charlie looked down, his happy bubble was deflated.

“Unless...”

Anthony, Tommy’s new driver looked at you through the review mirror, he suddenly felt concerned. “Mr. Shelby instructed to drive you straight home.”

“We’ll be quick, I promise.”

“If I get in trouble...”

“Don’t worry Anthony, I will tell Dad it was Y/N’s idea.”

“Hey!” You protested, but then went on to tell Anthony to stop at the shopping mall. You only needed a few things.

After all Tommy asked you to think of something fun, didn’t he?

***

“Mr. Shelby, you got back earlier.” Frances frowned, but took his suit jacket from his hands.

Frowning back, Tommy stopped to look at her. “Y/N texted me, said something important came up.”

“Oh...”

Squinting his eyes at her, Tommy tilted his head confused. Why was Frances acting like that?

In a reflection, he moved his hand to the holster, to take his gun.

“You might want me to keep that one away and use this instead.” Frances explained, offering him a piece of paper and a plastic gun.

But before he could react, Tommy got a shot of water straight in the back of his head.

Time seemed to stop right there. Frances was holding her breath.

Slowly, Tommy turned around to find you pointing your water gun at him.

Even Charlie stopped laughing.

His eyes were covered by his Raybans, but you had an idea of the dead look he was giving you.

“Pum pum!” You imitated the sound of a gun. But as a mischievous smile appeared on his face, you added: “Shit... run Charlie!”

Frances was worried about the decorations, terrified of a flower vase falling to the floor, but felt more relieved when you and Charlie took the water war outside.

Tommy was used to guns, all kinds. Apart from horses, he had a massive collection of weapons, yet he had never used a water gun.

“Charlie get down!” You advised, shooting Tommy again, failing this time.

Tommy laughed, a deep and contagious sound that took him by surprise.

Charlie rolled over the grass in a very dramatic motion, as if with that Tommy wouldn’t point his weapon and shoot Charlie straight in the forehead.

“Hey that's not fair, he’s only a child!” You scolded him coming from behind a tree.

But it was a mistake, because Tommy took the chance to shoot you straight at breasts-level. Now you had two wet circles that made your bra visible.

Making a face and giving him a dead stare, you asked him; “Are you kidding me?”

“You are the one who came up with the idea, love.” Tommy winked at you and for the first time in a very long time, you noticed he was having fun.

“Yes you need to relax.” Splash. “Urgently.” Splash.

In response you shot him straight in the face.

Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, Tommy stared into your eyes intensely.

“You know you’re going to pay for this later right?”

Biting your lower lip, you nodded. Excitement running to the spot between your legs.

Heart beating fast, happiness pouring, deep laughs was all could be seen right there in that moment. Even Cyril joined the outside fun at some point, but soon he preferred a quiet time and went to rest under a tree.

“All against Charlie!” You shouted directing the water gun to Charlie’s back.

The kid squealed in delight and ran off to hide behind his father’s car.

Tommy stared at the scene before him, how did he become so damn lucky?

Charlie would spend the entire weekend with the two of you, so you would be able to enjoy some time together, and with you hanging around, Charlie surely would be having a good time granted.

After calling for a truce because he was really tired, so the three of you went to sit on the picnic blanket Frances set up thinking Mr. Shelby would want some rest, she really thought of everything; setting a jar of cold lemonade, sandwiches and some cookies. She knew listening to Mr. Shelby laugh was one of those very rare moments that doesn’t happen everyday, so she thought of prolonging it as much as possible.

As spring started to blossom, the flowers around Arrow House got impossibly gorgeous, the clean fresh air from the country house combined to the incredible weather relaxed her.

You needed this, after so many days planning, worrying, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I don’t know how you will be able to make me move from here.” Tommy joked too content resting his head on your lap.

“We can camp out!” Charlie proposed.

“I can get a snake bite here.” You made a terrified face to Charlie.

The kid chuckled, dimples showing just like his father’s. “There are no snakes around Y/N and if they are, Dad can defend you.”

You chuckled. Starting to run your fingers through Tommy’s hair, the longer parts at the top anyways.

Opening one of his eyes, Tommy found a dandelion right next to his body. Taking it into his hand carefully he placed it in front of your face.

“Make a wish.” Tommy requested.

“Do you remember?” Your face was full of surprise.

“Of course I do, that’s how I got you to accept be my woman. I wished for it.”

Closing your eyes momentarily, you remembered the afternoon when Tommy asked you to be his girlfriend, he showed a dandelion and said he made a wish, he wanted to get to spend the rest of his days with you.

“Should we make a wish?” Tommy proposed.

Wrapping a hand around the one in which he was holding the dandelion, you and Tommy blew watching the small piece flying away.

“Charlie I want to ask you something really important.”

That caught the Shelby’s attention. Both father and son looked at you intensely.

“You know how I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle… would you like to give me away to your father?” You tried to fight the lump that had created in your throat.

Tommy held his breath, he didn’t expect it, but deep down he knew how much it would mean to you.

As seconds passed by, Charlie’s smile grew bigger until he threw himself into your arms squealing a loud yes!

“This is the bestest day ever!” Charlie beamed, wrapping his arms around each other, bringing their heads together. “Do I get to wear a tux just like Dad?”

But he couldn’t wait for a answer and immediately took off running telling Cyril what you just asked him.

You looked at Tommy touched by his son’s words.

Knowing that Charlie was a happy kid was all your fiancé wanted.

“Can I ask what your wish was?” You asked resting your head on his shoulder.

“This.”

***

A/N ☺️ thank you for reading! I hope you liked it 💕

Master list

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @gypsy-girl-08 @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @ange-thoughts @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @thenattitude @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette @forbidden-forest-witch @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @zablife @peakyscillian @moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @rangerelik @sydneyyyya @adaydreamaway08 @dandelionprints @thomashelbyswhore

[agendabymooner]

AGENDABYMOONER'S DIRECTORY: CHARACTERS

NOTE: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE 400 FOLLOWERS! Oh my god. As I said, this was just some sort of self-indulgent blog but I am so glad to share my work with you. Thank you all so much for being there and to everyone who likes them so much they were more than willing to engage in my fangirl phase/behaviour/whatever. I am so glad I've entered the F1 realm all those months ago lol!

To remove all of the confusion to my work, here's a character directory 😭 I'm really sorry for that.

Letting you guys know that some of them may be in the same universe but they are not as heavily connected to each other (the only ones who are connected to each other more are The Alessandros and The Hearth Sisters - Trish is only connected in one thing and that's the Rush Wedding Special)

CHARACTER DIRECTORY

THE ALESSANDROS (rushverse)

LORELEI HESTER ALESSANDRO-RICCIARDO: Måneskin bassist. Also known as Lester Allie. Has her own set of fans in F1 as she’s an ambassador for Scuderia Ferrari. Is the middle child of the five kids. Daniel Ricciardo’s other half.

MC from Rush Series and its other extras (9 To 5, Wedding Special, Mrs. Ricciardo Special)

KARA ELEANORA ALESSANDRO: Second oldest sister of Lester. Also known as Nora. A businesswoman. She has a fashion brand. Has two children: Gabriele, 4 and Maris, 2 as of 2024. Divorced before Maris is born. Has been dating George Russell since February.

MC from His Family and Her Lover

JACQUELINA ALESSANDRO: Also divorced and has two sons: Franco, 8 and Andreas, 6. Also known as Lina. Is a model in Italy. She’s quite content being a mother.

NICOLA GRAZIA ALESSANDRO: born in 2000. Known as Cola or Grazie Nichols. An author who works for Tilly’s publishing company as an editor. Recently moved to London and is currently dating Lando Norris.

MC from London Boy and its other parts. 

MATEO ALESSANDRO: The only boy and second to the youngest before Cola. He lives and breathes with his equally unhinged in-law, Daniel Ricciardo.

THE HEARTHS (rushverse)

TILLY MARIE FORD WOLFF: 39 Y/O as of 2024. The eldest Hearth sister. CEO of the Hearth Automotive Groups and the founder of The Wolff Publishing. She was previously a journalist and communications liaison but had abruptly made a change in her career path after purchasing half of the Red Bull Racing. She owns 20% of both Scuderia Ferrari and McLaren Racing, as well. She’s married to the owner and general manager of Mercedes team, Toto Wolff, and has three kids with him: Soren (age 8 as of 2024), Tia (age 5), and Adelmo (age 2). Her company does not fully associate with the FiA as to avoid rumours of bias and corruption within the Formula Racing community. Her net worth increased to 5.5 billion after her company sales skyrocketed. 

Main character from Colour Me Your Colour series and its extra features.

STEVIE MARLENE FORD HAMILTON: 31 Y/O as of 2024. The second to the oldest Hearth sister. Head of Communications in Scuderia Ferrari and a supermodel with little to no time. Owns 10% of the said team with shares purchased under her investment company, The SMF Association. Married to Mercedes Driver Lewis Hamilton and has a daughter named Lottie. Has a net worth of $164.1 million as of 2024.

MC from Thick and Thin fic

SYLVIE EDSON FORD-VERSTAPPEN/HEARTH: 27 as of 2024. Executive Director of Red Bull Racing’s non-profitable kids/charity programs. Also known as the Wild Mustang or simply Blue for doing a donut in her mother's 1985 blue mustang convertible at the age of 10. Could have been F1’s first female driver since Maria Teresa de Filippis had it been for her expulsion in the academy. Known for her slight dislike for Christian Horner. Max Verstappen’s demise. Net worth is currently at $196.1 million.

MC from To Loathe and to Love series and its extra features.

AIMEE YAEL EDMUNSON: 25 as of 2024. Media Communications Officer of McLaren Racing. The half-sister of Tilly, Stevie and Sylvie. The only Hearth sister who doesn’t enjoy being in front of a camera. Works hard alongside Charlotte to keep Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris in line instead of wandering off. Had to leave from the 2024 season early due to her pregnancy. She’s currently dating Charles Leclerc and has two kids with him: a set of twins named Hervé and Jules Leclerc. Net worth is currently sitting at $91.2 million.

MC from Of Long Lines and Names

AMARA LOUISE EDMUNSON: Aimee’s mother. Businesswoman and owner of several businesses all across the globe - including luxury stores such as Harrods and Selfridges. She raised Aimee alongside Blanche and Aimee’s half-sisters. Much like a family, Amara would take the four as a whole when it comes to trips and thinks that Julius Hearth is a sad excuse of a father. Amara is Tilly, Stevie and Sylvie’s second mother.

BLANCHE CHRISTIE FORD (formerly Hearth): the youngest daughter of William Clay Ford Sr. and the mother of the first three sisters. Owns 30% of Ford Motor Company but doesn’t act as an executive chairman. She, much like Amara, is a grandmother to Soren, Tia, Adelmo, Lottie and the Leclerc twins and would rather be a stay at home Nan to them. Amara and Blanche co-parented for the four and spent nights drinking wine whenever the girls were out. Some had assumed that the two were “very good friends” but who were they to judge or assume? 

TRISH ALONSO: Is a professional wrestler who was caught up in the F1 and WWE drama back in 2000s because of a certain Fernando Alonso. Now has kids with the said man. 

MC from Heaven and its other parts.

NOTE that she is not as heavily connected to the Hearths and the Alessandros !!!

THE SAN PEDROS (rushverse) !

MAGDALENA SAINZ: Married to Carlos Sainz. A bit unhinged. 

MC from Ride Home and its other parts.

PALOMA SAN PEDRO: Magda’s cousin who happens to be crushing on a certain Oscar Piastri (or the other way around?)

MC from Jollibee, Madrid and all the Romance Fiasco

NOTE: These lots are in the same universe as The Hearths and The Alessandros but they are NOT heavily connected to them.

VERA COPPOLA RAIKKONEN: Is married to the Iceman, Kimi Raikkonen, all while she had given birth to the loudest versions of him (and not drunk loud)

MC from Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You

NOT heavily connected to the Hearths and Alessandros despite being in the same universe. 

THE VETTEL SPECIAL

BELINDA HELENA ONG-VETTEL: 34 as of 2024. Also known as Bel Vettel. A billionaire who happened to be a celebrity, artist and a wife to a retired Formula One driver. She is considered a “Crazy Rich Asian” for growing up with money and her endless collection of Hermes bags that she seemed to treat as a fragile canvas. After years of trying and failing, she and Sebastian adopted a son named Kimuel, who was immediately addressed in the grid as Kimi Vettel. Some say that Kimi is a quieter version of Sebastian for his meekness and the sudden switch to cheekiness. 

MC from Crazy Rich Wife and its other parts.

BARBARA ELISANDRA BLANCO: 25 as of 2024. Also known as Barbie. She happened to be 15 when Bel and Seb took her in as their foster child and continued to raise her as their own even after she turned 18. She moved to Switzerland with the Vettels after she was guaranteed a better life and opportunity to become a chef. She’s currently enrolled to study in Cesar Ritz College in Le Bouveret - which is a short drive every day so that she’ll have more chances to babysit Kimi, her two year old toddler adoptive sibling. Everyone thinks that she is dating Mick Schumacher, who would often make a visit to the Vettels home whenever he gets the chance. Mick obviously likes her, but does she?

MC from She’s Everything… And He’s Just Mick and its other parts.

ADA ABBOTT-BUTTON: Jenson Button’s wife who definitely made him work for two years straight for her attention. Is the founder of the organizations Arts for Youth and Arts for Kids 

MC from the Mr. Darcy Type.

CARMELLA AYALA PEREZ: Miss Universe 2018 winner who happens to be married to a certain Sergio Perez and has two kids with him. Ambassador of Arts for Youth and Arts for Kids Mexico and Philippines. 

MC from She’s Beauty, She’s Grace.

THE OTHERS (doesn't have any direct connection)

ALBERTINE PHILIPPA FRANCES SPENCER: Royally rebellious. She was born in 1996, months before her parents got divorced. She’s also married to a certain Mr. Esteban Ocon. 

MC from the Royal Wildcard and its other parts

ENSLEY ZARA SOLEIL: Equally in love with Pierre Gasly despite having to make him work real hard for things.

MC from Newsflash and its other parts.

BORA McKINNON: Lance Stroll’s ex who happens to be a Kpop idol. Would probably get back together with Lance.

MC from Gotta Be You

[awaywithepixies]

Been anxiously debating whether or not to comment on this, but given how much worse things have gotten, I can’t ignore it anymore. As a Palestinian Critter who’s already been disappointed by Ashley, Mica (who posted support for Israel in her stories), Aimee (shared stories on neutrality but focused mainly on the Jewish side only), and Sam’s wife (shared neutrality for peace in her stories) I can’t help but wonder if showing the Empire State Building lit up in my people’s oppressors’ colors on the last slide is deliberate. I hope not.

I know they don’t wanna hurt their brand, which is why they haven’t directly said anything about any of this, but if I’ve learned anything since the 7th, it’s that you don’t really know the people you looked up to.

These guys play characters who stand up against oppression, for crying out loud. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t wanna say goodbye to these nerdy-ass voice actors, but I will if I have to.

Please prove to me that I don’t have to. 🇵🇸💔

EDIT (DISCLAIMER): I am NOT in any way trying to make anyone not watch/support CR! I’ve personally decided to take a break from stop watching it, but that doesn’t mean you have to! I was simply trying to find some comfort from the community during this stressful time. Much love!

EDIT 2: I’ve gotten what I needed from this post. I hope y’all read my responses in case of any misunderstandings. ALSO. DO NOT USE THIS POST TO ATTACK ANYONE—not other Critters, and ESPECIALLY not anyone affiliated with CR!! We’re better than that! Thank you to those who reached out and for your support! Bidet!! ❤️❤️❤️

[petruchio]

31 songs is just flat out too many. and I know it made ttpd (caroline's version) but we do not need a song like thanK you aIMee in this day and age! it can stay in the vault (which I think that's partly to blame? she doesn't want to keep songs in the vault anymore?) there is a better, tighter ttpd album in half as many songs, taking from both halves of the anthology

exactly YES!! thank you aimee mostly made the cut for me on the grounds of it being like… actually catchy? and also for being about a different subject matter than the main album thread which i always appreciate — like don’t get me wrong i LOVE songs about relationships but it’s always nice to have some other stuff thrown in there too (see again my reputation critique) (though i guess that goes against my point since the rep songs that aren’t about love are about … kim kardashian. BUT I DIGRESS)

AND YEAH I BLAME THE VAULT TOO. like yes i wake up every day and smile because we have bye bye baby (official recording of the one thing demo) on streaming and someday i hold out hope that we might get an official release of dark blue tennessee. but y’all hyped her up when she released crap like suburban legends and now she thinks songs like that are worthy of an album. like be so fr right now! the original albums hold up BECAUSE the vault tracks didn’t make the cut. let’s not lie to each other please

[runnning-outof-time]

A Call For Help… | Tommy Shelby (written through letters)

Request: no - part of @raincoffeeandfandoms ‘s Peaky letter writing event

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC (written in form of letters)

Summary: Tommy tries to find a way to better an old flame’s current situation while also hoping to make her aware of the fact that things have changed since they last saw each other.

Warnings: mentions of abuse, starvation and isolation, mentions of an arranged marriage

Word Count: 1413

A/N: this is unlike anything I’ve ever written before…thank you Flor for creating this super unique event, and Aimee ( @dandelionprints ) for writing the first letter - it was so fun to respond to…I hope it’s ok that I took a bit of an angsty route, and I hope that it makes sense. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: the woman mentioned at the end of the second letter is not Grace (or at least I did not imagine it to be as I was writing). She doesn’t have a name though, so it could be her if you want.

— letter writtten by @dandelionprints —

Dear Tommy,

I'm sorry if it comes as a surprise that I'm writing you this letter, I'll completely understand if you decide to read no further than this part, throw it into a fire and scatter the ashes as if ridding yourself of me for good.

I fear you were not told the truth about why I went away. I'm sure my father told you that I'd had a change of heart, that I could never truly love someone who called themselves a 'Peaky Blinder'. Oh how wrong that could be.

The truth is that it was not my choice to be parted from you, in fact I kicked and screamed with all my might to stay but it did no good. I was still manhandled into a car and driven off to Scotland to wed a man that I cannot stand, a man who knows nothing of loyalty or love. A man who is nothing like you.

My father told me that it had been agreed between himself and my now husband's father that I were to be married into their family, all to settle a debt that my father created by drinking and gambling his way through his wages. If I married this man then his father would rid mine of his debts and make sure that my parents would live a comfortable life.

Why they wanted me of all people, I don't know. I have no money to give them, only services that I'm forced to do against my will, otherwise a beating is in order. Sometimes I take the beating, I'd rather that than to do the things they want me to. All I do know is that I wish it could be different, wish that I could have stayed back in Birmingham with you...

Anyway, I'm sorry. You probably don't need to know about that and also probably don't care. It's been two years since you last heard from me so I completely understand if you want nothing to do with me. You might even have a new love now, I wouldn't blame you if you do.

They stopped me from sending letters to anyone but my parents, I have to be chaperoned everywhere I go.

I've lied and said I don't feel well today and the man whose job it is to make sure I don't do anything I shouldn't has left me in my room to sleep though I fear he will be back soon. I knew I had to use the time wisely and write to the person I've wanted to speak to since the moment I was dragged from my house by the arms all that time ago. You.

I'm planning an escape soon, I can't take much more of this life. The beatings, the withholding of food to the point that my clothes hang off my frame, the feeling that there is not a soul around that I can turn to for comfort.

I don't know where I will go but I won't be able to leave this God forsaken place for at least another month. If you write a letter in response to this then please find a way to get it here without having to go past other people in this house first, I'll never get the chance to read it if it does.

As I said before, I'll understand if you have a new love or if you just want nothing to do with me, time has passed now and feelings change. I'll leave it up to you to decide what to do.

Yours, always,

Aimee

— letter written by myself —

Aimee,

I'm sorry.

I haven't a clue of how long your letter has sat on my desk. A lengthy trip to America took me away from Birmingham for some time and I've just finally gotten back to my office now.

It's been too long, Aimee. Since I've seen you; since I've heard from you. And the reason behind it makes sense now, but it was a struggle to figure it out in the interim.

I hate to know what has happened to you; what the reason behind the silence was. I would have fought against it had I known what type of situation you'd be taken into. I wish this letter would have found me sooner. Maybe if it had, things could have been resolved before they got to their current point.

I looked for you around Small Heath, and when it turned up empty; I widened the search to the whole of Birmingham. The decision to write this letter came when those efforts returned unsuccessful. I write it with the hope that you have not since left this address, and that you will receive it when I send it out.

Help will come, Aimee. I cannot give all of the details here for fear of interception, but know that I will do all that I can in order to improve your situation.

The man that your father struck a deal with is easily influenced, as I am sure you might have already figured out. I have spoken to him and have managed to get him to switch some of his operations around. He has hired some of my men onto his payroll, and they will allow us to trade correspondence in the future; if you feel inclined to, that is. When the time comes, you will be able to leave, and if things go according to how I have planned them, that time will arrive sooner than later.

As for the man you were made to marry...the things he does are worse than anything I have ever carried out. How your parents cannot see that perplexes me and makes me wonder if there was more than the debt that needed to be paid back. I could have helped, Aimee. I could have made your father's situation disappear; I could have changed your entire family's life for the better. How can he be wary of me but yet sell his daughter to a man who so clearly resembles the devil in all of his doings? I never understood how he conducted things; how he could be so scornful at times, but I withstood that to continue to be with you.

I was told that you moved away. That you had dreams bigger than Small Heath and you were finally going to work towards achieving them. I should have recognized the dullness in your mother's eyes when she told me these things, but I was not one to over-analyze what was put forth as the truth then. I understood what it was, and is, like to hold dreams that others think are too big to become reality. I've worked hard to make the Shelby Company Limited into what it is today, and I guess a part of myself was content with thinking that you were off wherever it was that you went, also working hard to make your dreams a reality. Had I known what your actual reality was…

So much has changed over the years we’ve been apart from each other, but I cannot deny the fact that reading your words allowed me to escape back to a time when things were easier. When there wasn’t much else other than you and I. I often think of those times; of you in the summer, sitting under a blue sky with not a care in the world. You always felt much better outside, and thinking of those times makes me feel better…like the weight of the world is lifted off of my shoulders, even if only for a moment.

But like I said, things have changed since then. I’ve found someone whom I love. She has become my wife and has given me a son. They ground me in a way that you used to.

I couldn’t wait for you, Aimee. I had to allow myself to continue on with my life while thinking that you were bettering yours. I thought I’d never hear from you again. I needed to move on.

I want to help you though, and things will get better. They just may not get better in the way that you’d hoped upon writing your letter.

I hope to hear from you again,

Tommy

Tagged: @zablife @call-sign-shark @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @cljordan-imperium @there-goes-thefighter

MASTERLIST

[bethaven]

I finally scratched up enough energy and courage to watch the last two episodes of Sex Education. I cuddled my childhood teddybear and cried all through the last one. I always have a hard time dealing with final episodes, but this was particulary hard.

After having a massive breakdown after Erins funeral episode, which kept me up all night and ruined my entire day after, it took me several weeks to regain enough moxie to deal with the last two. Erin dying wasn't really a surprise, but what overflowed me in that moment was my reaction to her funeral. Both my grandfathers died this spring, so I recently been to two funerals for close relatives in a short time. Seeing the funeral-scene and seeing Maeve dealing with her mother's death turned out to be the tipping point for my brain and soul to finaly realize that my grandfathers really are gone and not coming back. I'll never call them again, I'll never hear their voices again and we'll never meet again. I think a big part of me really denied that up to that point.

With this in my luggage, I REALLY wanted things to end well in the last episode. Going in to the last season my only wish was for Maeve and Otis to end up together. That in mind you'd think I'm heartbrooken about the ending. Actually, I'm not. They could have made it easy and have Maeve stay or come back and she and Otis would live happily ever after. This was bigger than my sappy romantic brain ever could come up with, and still it was the most romantic ending to their story that they could've told. Maeve and Otis will always be together in heart and my sappy brain says that they'll find each other somehow, somewhere in life when they're supposed to. Faith, you know.

But lets also talk about Aimee a bit. Dear, sweet Aimee, my absolute favourite character in this series. And what a journey she does in this season! It makes me quite proud, to be honest. She's honest to herself, dares to speak up truly and lets herself be loved. She'll definitely go on to do big things!

Lastly I wanna talk about the journey that Otis's and Eric's friendship does in this season. Even though you've been friends forever it doesn't mean you can stop fighting for each other. It was natural for them to have a break, but I'm so glad they found their way back to each other because the truly complement one another.

That's it, now it's over. Thanks for everything!

[queendomkey]

screamed "FUCK YOU AIMEE" TO THE NIGHT SKY, as the blood was gushin'

Welcome to another edition of: Cass really likes a song despite it apparently not being a fandom favorite. thanK you aIMee is such a cathartic song for me. Though Swift claims to have "changed your name and any real defining clues," about the subject of her ire, it's titualarly evident. However, I don't actually think that matters too much.

Sure, the song was definitely written as processing betrayals that happened in 2016 (unlike a lot of people, I don't actually think it's So Bad that Swift is still working through those emotions. Progress - especially with something like a betrayal and literal revenge porn - will never be linear.) But as an audience, we're not required to be thinking about that likely source of inspiration.... Because it doesn't matter. What does matter (to listeners) is the way we interface with the song, what we feel when we listen to the song.

Swift also paints the narrator of thanK you aIMee as the better person, for the aforementioned changing names and clues, which is just funny as hell. Like, in my mind, I love to think that song actually is about a high school bully (or some other situation in her life, perhaps the rerecording saga) and she just decided to throw some heat "aIMee's" way.

thanK you aIMee, to me, is going in the halls of "songs to scream when no one else will listen." I've certainly been stomped on (literally and figuratively) by people who were either threatened by me, or were racist. I have, in fact, screamed "fuck you" to the sky while sobbing — a girl once cut a chunk out of my hair because I had made the Color Guard team and she hadn't. My mother is also a saintly woman who has wished some girls dead.

Sometimes, a song just cuts to the core, and having been constantly belittled, I get this song. I'll die on the hill that thanK you aIMee is a good song.

A lot like Mean, from Speak Now, Swift uses the framework of a high school bully to process the subterfuge and underhandedness that she faces in the industry. And, a lot like Mean, thanK you aIMee paints Swift's narrator as already victorious. She's survived Aimee "throwing punches" and realizes that her skin has become thicker for it.

It's so cleansing in a way. Swift paints her narrator as having "built a legacy that" Aimee "can't undo." even though all she finds all the narrator's songs "uncool," (maybe she listens to indie records much cooler than the narrator's.) The narrator looks down at her hometown, and says that she couldn't have achieved it, if not for the pain and pushing through it.

A personal favorite, for me, is the final verse: Maybe you've reframed it, and in your mind you never beat my spirit black blue. The people who hurt us always think of themselves as good people, and thus "never change much." - but the narrator knows better.

Cause all that time you were throwing punches, it was all for nothing.