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babymtal · 1 year

Text

gilded lily, continued.

genre: MAJOR ANGST, VERY GRAPHIC, 18+

warnings: gn!psychic!reader x xavier, (some) reader x wednesday, somewhat of a love triangle barely forms, reader is deep in grief, death of twin brother, death of mother, talk of mental health, overall possibly triggering content, descriptive scenes containing gore, guns, blood, self harm, death & suicide.

length: around 12.5k... don’t look at me like that!!!

you can find the first part of gilded lily: [here]!

notes: I want to thank everyone who enjoyed this story! I was very nervous to release this writing especially as my first work on this account but the feedback i've been given has been so amazing thank you all again <3

PLEASE be sure to read all warnings before continuing to read! I love you all so please be mindful of the content you consume and if you ever need someone to reach out to my inbox is always open <3

Xavier had returned to his dorm that night before his morning class. You sat in on your bed awake, basking in the sunrise as you read through the pages of the beaten up book. From the reading you had learned almost nothing new about this curse, very little information inked onto the worn pages. What you do know now, though, is that nobody who’s been cursed has survived longer than a week, most not even making it to five days. The information made your chest tighten, realization dawning on you that as the sun continued to take its place in the sky, setting ablaze hues of pinks and yellows in their wake, you were nearing the beginning of your fourth day.

You wanted to cry of grief, plead to whatever power above there could be for a second chance, to scream at the top of your lungs until they burned, and curse the universe that led you down this dreadful, dark path winding you to your life being ripped from you so suddenly- but your body pushed those emotions so deep, so far down in the tight, weaving vines of your heart. There, they stay simmering deep in your soul, forcefully lighting a fire to your insides. What had your family done to deserve such a cruel fate? With such little time did you have the energy to dive deep into your trauma and attempt to end this agony?

The thought of having to do something so vulnerable and scary without the security of your brother there to save you at any sign of danger brought a frown to your face. Spiraling down the small, deep pit of remorse, the reality of your brother’s death left you with a feeling in your chest you could describe as nothing but desolation. You hadn’t noticed before, too blinded by the need to get to the bottom of your brother’s gruesome death, but the whole world around seemed to just feel so bleak and unforgiving. An environment that was once so colorful it made you sick had slowly dulled, sombering to reflect the melancholic depths of your mind. Your muscles ached, straining with knots and pressure as the tension in your neck grew tighter. A slight buzzing in your ears accompanied the headache that constantly bloomed behind your eyes, digging its thorns around your brain; you were fucking miserable. The air around you even seemed to chill, leaving your skin with itchy, antagonizing goosebumps. Feeling a painful strain of a knot in your scalp had you realizing you haven't properly looked at yourself in a mirror since the incident, scared to confront the reflection that would stare back at you. You huffed as you shuffled from your position on the bed, trotting to your vanity, peering in the mirror to see your hollowed face in the reflective surface. Your eyes were sunken, deep bags pressed under your lash line to show your exhaustion. You looked like life was sucked out of you, and in a way it truly felt as if it was.

You sighed, closing your eyes and resting your forehead on your knees that were pressed to your chest in the small vanity chair. You couldn’t kill someone, there was no possibility of you even trying. Sure, you were no pure angel, nor a being of sunshine and rainbows, but murder? Fuck that. You sat for a long, quiet moment, mind racing in a frenzied panic as you came up short of options. After some time, you came to the conclusion that the only choice left was to confront your grief face on and put an end to all of this and you had to do it completely alone. Alone, you thought, scoffing to yourself. Your entire life was never spent alone, always being followed around by your brother’s trailing figure. Every memory of your childhood you held in the beats of your trembling heart, your brother was always somewhere nearby, experiencing things of his own at the same time. Everyone knows that twins have an unspoken bond but yours was incomprehensible, learning to communicate nonverbally with one another from a very young age, feeling each other’s boo boos and small, childish fits of rage unanimously. You were outcasts, after all.

Since you both were born you have been joined at the hip, parading through your childhood arm and arm, learning new things and developing your psychic abilities with the help of your doting mother. Where you were dark, full of shadows, timid, he stood not far from you, awakening your dried, wilting flowers and greenery with light, leaving a blazing path of optimism everywhere he touched, a soft smile ghosting his face. You both fit one another so well, as if you completed one big puzzle of the sun and moon. Your parents always boasted about their two little miracles, as they’d say. Truthfully, Y/B/N was the spine of who you were; your confidence, skill, and intelligence would be nowhere near the peak they were at now without him. He was always there to pick up the pieces and push you to try again, “This time, better”, he’d say, anytime you failed.

Suddenly, the mirror in front of you cracked, shattering into a circular pattern. You stood in shock, chair knocking the floor behind you, at the sudden loud bang. When silence fell once more in the room, you stepped closer to the mirror, a chill running over your spine as the air suddenly dropped in temperature. The air so cold your breath could be seen with each exhale you let out. Goosebumps invaded your skin, hairs standing to attention all over your body. Anxiety bubbled in your chest, fear that this might be it sending the alarms in your mind blaring, ears ringing. You turned, gaze scanning the room, looking for your brother’s mutilated figure. When you realized he wasn’t here with you, your eyebrows knitted together in question. Turning back to face the mirror, you hollered at the sight. Your face split into a million different small pictures on the shattered glass, only it was now mutated to show the infamous massive, haunting smile and void eyes. You wanted nothing more than the ground to just swallow you up, purging you from existence. Stomach churning painfully as your reflection moved closer, hands pressing against the glass as if it were alive beyond the surface. The reflection mockingly sobbed, jokingly letting out a teasing, “I’m sorry, daddy!” voice eerily replicated to yours. Suddenly, your doppelganger raised a large knife in their fist, handle decoratively carved with a shiny green jewel at the base.

You couldn’t look away or close your eyes to escape the horrific sight of you digging the large, shiny blade through your throat, nearly decapitating yourself in the process. You wailed in alarm, watching your now cleaved throat spew blood in all directions, splashing across your face and clothes. When the room fell to an uneasy quietness, you gasped, breaking from your reverie. The shock of what you had just witnessed froze you in place, unable to move even when a pounding erupted on your door. You hadn’t locked the hatch so when a few students burst through in a panicked frenzy at the sound of your screams you weren’t surprised. One of the faces you recognized was the one belonging to Wednesday Addams. She rushed towards you, face ghosting with a look of bewilderment at your blood covered, startled state. Your clothes were sticking to you, the smell of iron making your stomach lurch painfully, nauseous. The other students scattered, some to get help, others towards you, one to throw up at the sight of so much blood. Wednesday disregarded everyone around, shooing the stragglers off with a death glare before leading you carefully to sit on the edge of your bed, your eyes unblinking as they stared straight ahead, unfocused.

“Did you do that?” She questioned, emotionless. Her eyes flickered to the shattered mirror as if to emphasize what she was referring to before bringing them back to you.

“I don’t know,” you replied, body trembling. For a reason you’re unsure of, you grabbed Wednesday’s hand in yours, hold so tight, her skin paled at the contact so she couldn’t pull away. Her brows were connected in a confused, violated scowl before she looked at your frightened face. Hers softened, lips pursing as she grabbed your hand back, understanding you just needed a person by your side at the moment.

Despite having no real reason to, Wednesday stayed by you, never straying far from your connected hands the entire time as the nurses ran into your room, leading you back to the infirmary. She even sat in the chair next to the familiar uncomfortable nursing bed, arm outstretched to not break her hold of your palm as you lay there, head pounding. She was in the middle of telling you another bone rattling fact she had learned about whatever absurd interest she had at the moment when Xavier entered the room, eyes immediately landing on you and as he shut the door behind him. His gaze landed on the familiar black braids, his face morphing into one of perplexity as his eyes traveled to your hands interlocked. “Wednesday?” he asked. She turned in the seat, eyes resting on him as her eyebrow quirked in question. “What are you doing here? Actually, nevermind, I… I can take them from here you can leave now, please.” he spouted in a rush, face flushed.

Wednesday nodded back to you, moving to stand, hands unraveling when she saw your deadpan face. You could tell she sensed the tension between you and Xavier as she sauntered out the door after giving you a quiet, stolid, “Be safe.”

“Why was she here?” He asked, now taking place in the seat Wednesday had occupied seconds ago. “She was the one who found me when I had another episode- which I’m okay thanks for wondering- and she stayed with me. I’m not sure why.” You pointedly uttered, annoyed at his lack of care for your wellbeing. What was it about Wednesday that completely stole his attention away from you no matter the situation?

He coughed in embarrassment, apologizing softly before resting his hands on his knees, eyes glued to your now vacant hand that lay on the white bed at your side.

﹋﹋

Back at your dorm, Xavier layed across your bed, back propped against your headboard as he intently listened to your chaotic rambling of what you saw in your episode. He had refused to leave you alone, following you back to your dorm like an abandoned child after your departure from the infirmary. “Why are you following me?” you had asked, turning around abruptly, almost causing him to run into you.

“Well I can’t just leave you alone!” He insisted, eyes wide with a showcase that he assumed the answer was obvious. Despite your firm disputing of his claims, he continued to trail behind you, feet never faltering from the rhythm with yours as he bickered back, defensive of his need to stay at your side.

You sat inches away, back to him as your legs were thrown over the side of the bed. Your voice was wavering, unsteady with anxiety and fear. After you finished your venting, you looked to him, seeing his face in an angry scowl as he stared at his hands in his lap. He was battling with himself, angry with the situation at hand. It was just so unfair. Why did this curse decide to take you, his person? He broke from his self pitying thoughts to reach for your arm, fingers making contact with your smooth skin before your head flew back, a gasp racking your body, straining as every muscle tensed.

Xavier’s feet stumbled as he distraughtly ran through the dark trees that towered above him, moonlight splitting through the cracks between the dry branches. Loud sobs and deep pants left his mouth in rushed waves, composure completely crumbling as he fell to his knees, hands meeting the stone path below him, weakly holding his body up as he let an all-consuming painful scream out. His eyes wide with fear, pure terror entangling with his tears. The wail echoed through the dead shrubbery around him, voice getting lost in the cold air that swept by, tears choking him as he heaved. His vision tunneled and spun as he bawled. His breath steadied enough for him to boost himself back to his feet, sobs still vibrating through his body. His legs burned from the force he ran at, desperate to get back to the school as fast as he could, hollering for help desperately, his throat burning from the cold wind as he neared the gate that adorned the entrance to Nevermore.

A loud inhale filled your lungs as you came back to your senses. You panic, turning to find Xavier thankfully in the same position he was in before, eyes now trained on you patiently. You scrambled to wrap your arms around his figure, smothering him in a tight hug, tears staining his shirt as you bawled into his chest. He quickly reciprocated the hug, a hand coming to cradle the back of your head as he hushed you softly, calming you from your frenzied state.

“What was this one?” he asked after your breathing had steadied, hold on you not budging. He hadn’t had this kind of moment with you in so long, unknowingly neglecting you for the deathtrap of a girl adorned in black attire. “I think you saw me kill myself.” You stated, sorrow laced in your tone. You continued, “You were crying and screaming, running to Nevermore, begging for help. You were so scared.” You cried into his chest, recalling the vision.

“Your face was so terrified. Exactly like mine when Y/B/N killed himself in front of me.” You concluded. He took a deep breath, heart beat faltering a bit at the revelation. “That won’t happen. I swear. We’ll figure this out.” He assured, voice stern to hide his faux confidence. Despite his determination, you could tell deep down he knew this was not going to end well and that his time with you was coming to an abrupt end as his hands pulled you impossibly closer to him. He wanted to tell you his feelings, how you came around and just made him fall in love with you so easily, as if it was as simple as breathing. About how he felt like his heart wasn’t truly beating until he felt the thumping in his ears when he was around you. He wanted to kiss you, to show you how much he truly did care for you, how could he not when it was as much of an instinct to do so as blinking.

He knows his obsession with Wednesday is incomprehensible. He’s spent hours in his own head trying to assess every detail of the pigtailed girl, clutching at straws for reasons he always seemed to follow her every move like a lost puppy just to come up short handed. Dr. Kinbott and him had discussed in one of his many sessions a week back about how he had truly felt about the two of you. Xavier was never good at expressing his emotions, always choosing to deflect and run away instead. This was no different. He was scared, not only had he never truly felt love in his life, but to feel it so intensely, and so soon in his life? He couldn’t understand what it was about him that made him run away from what he truly wanted, and towards someone so wrong for him and the frustration it caused him ached in his core. What he did understand, however, is that what he needed was someone who would care enough to listen and love him; things he had never experienced and even considered impossible whereas you would deem simple and instinctive. He needed someone so devoted to him that they’d be patient enough to hear him out, understand his outbursts, deconstruct his walls. He knew the entire time, so painfully obvious, that the kind of person he longed for, needed, even, would never be Wednesday. Simply put, she was a narcissist; only feeding into the people around her to pawn them into a game of her own.

“Can I just ramble for a second and you listen, please?” he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence, the vulnerability of asking for your undivided attention making him feel small. He never shared his real feelings, usually masking it with anger or ignorance. You were shocked at his sudden outburst but instantly nodded, sitting up to face him.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since you suggested Weems let us take that shed and I know I’ve been… distracted, I guess, with Wednesday and I don’t even know why-” he huffed, chest raising with the sharp inhale he took before continuing his rant, “Truth is, my feelings for you scare the hell out of me, and that is no excuse for how I’ve been acting towards you, especially with the remarks about your family, but I’ve never felt truly myself or been actually heard before I met you. I don’t know what it is about you but I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer with what is happening, and if you don’t feel that way I totally get it I’ve been so-” you cut him off, hands encasing his jaw, pulling his lips to yours to shut him up. You felt him kiss back after his shock wore off, large hands finding place on your hips. His fingers dug a little harder when you slightly broke away from one another to catch your breaths.

His hold on you desperately pulled you closer to him, guiding you to sit on his lap, legs on either side of his own. Your lips moved together harmoniously, warmth erupting all over your body when a muffled, pathetic moan erupted from his throat. You broke apart, staring into one another’s eyes, small smiles on your faces. The air around you cleared, bodies cooling down as the heated moment fell to one of peace, your grasps on each other encasing one another in desperate acts of love. There was no time left for the both of you, this moment was for all you wouldn’t have for later.

“I, uh, love you too by the way.” You whispered, a warm buzz veiling your heart, momentarily covering the ugly rotting organ beneath.

﹋﹋

When Xavier left once more at the sight of the rising sun, you bid him bye with a kiss that you tried to say I’m sorry and I love you with, hands around his neck to pull him close to you. As soon as he, begrudgingly so, left, you sauntered to your closet, dressing in a comfortable outfit, throwing your boots on. Trying to dull the painful ache in your heart was pointless, guilt tearing at your insides as you went over your plan in your mind once more. Dejected, you grabbed your phone from where it had been thrown between your pillows, turning it off as you made your way to your small desk. You threw the device in the drawer, shutting it close before turning the lights off and exiting your dorm, heading down the hall to the door at the very end corner. You knocked, waiting patiently as you heard the pattering of footsteps nearing. Wednesday was the one to pull the door open, deadpan stare not faltering as her gaze landed on your figure in her entrance. “I need your help,” you stated, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know on the way there but can you please not tell anyone about this?” you pleaded, watching her head tilt in curiosity. Her lips slightly curved into a smirk before she stepped forward, a small blush dusting her fair as she closed the dorm door behind her. She motioned for you to walk as you celebrated your successful mission of convincing Wednesday to join your plan in your head.

The walk to the art shed was spent explaining everything to Wednesday in shortened summaries. You started with the curse, everything you knew about it, how it had taken your mother years ago, moved onto your father, and somehow had circled its way back to your family, sweeping your brother along with it and now dancing circles around you. You explained your delusions, the smiles, the visions. She stayed relatively silent through the entire walk, nodding along and muttering a few Interesting's and Oh’s at the horrifying, unbelievable story you told. It was Wednesday Addams, though, of course she believed every word you were saying. She knew better than to turn a blind eye to something with such clear signs of underlying sinister happenings below the surface. She had dealt with all sorts of unexplainable, scary things others would cower at. In conclusion; Wednesday Addams was the exact person you needed for your plan.

As you entered the shed, you knew- or at least hoped- the coast would be clear for at least a few hours; Xavier had left your dorm exclaiming about how he would have the best day sleep of his life when he gets to his own bed. You knew better than to not second guess that statement, well aware of Xavier’s not so grand sleeping habits. You had explained to Wednesday your plan as you reached the end of the trail; If Xavier were to wake up or leave his dorm she would distract him, make sure he did not come to the shed under any circumstance, and when he went back to his dorm for the night she would come back to find your dead body, dispose of it, and never speak of you or the incident again. Somehow, she impassively listened to your plan, watching you pace around the shed, organizing your dozens of art covered canvases on one side and Xavier’s on his as you ranted off each detail, covering them all carefully with the sheets that were lazily thrown all over the ground.

She finally spoke after some time, dully stating, “I’m on board, but how are you so sure you’ll be killing yourself today? I thought you said you had up to a week.”

“I think I know how I can trigger it. I’m tired of hiding, and if it takes me, I don’t want it to pass onto another person.” You explained, watching her silently agree with you. “And how do you know the curse won’t pass onto me when I return?” She questioned, staring into your eyes, her gaze wandering a bit over your face. You were still attractive despite your tired and deteriorating state, she noted.

“It can only pass to someone else if they witness it. It can also only transfer if there’s trauma, and no offense, Wednesday, but you are clearly not a person of many emotions,” you ended with a slight chuckle. Her lip quirked into a small smirk, one that suited her quite well despite her somber appearance, you thought. Silence fell over the two of you as the air slightly thickened, tension rising slightly. You stared at one another, taking each other in. You took notice of her neatly braided pigtails, monotone attire that contrasted against her smooth, pale skin, and big, dark round eyes. You also took note of the faint flush that had never left her face since she had opened the door to find you. She was pretty, you could not deny that fact, as much as you dreaded to admit. Despite her spookish aura, her little button nose and full lips were pleasing to the eyes, freckles slightly sprinkling across her nose. She was ghoulishly breathtaking in her own way.

“You know, Xavier has some kind of obsession with you and… it made me feel some really not so good things about you, Wednesday, but I think you aren’t as bad as people make you out to be,” you whispered into the air between you. She took in every word you said, staring into your eyes, face still.

She nodded at your confession, lips slightly pursing before she spoke, “I have no interest in Xavier. In fact, I find his presence quite irksome, but you…” she trailed off, unsure how to finish. After swallowing the lump in her throat she finished, “your death will definitely be a tragic one. I’m sorry your family fell under such a horrible curse.” You were surprised she had opened up that much to you, a smile on your face before she turned to walk away at the sight of your dimpled grin, heading for the shed door in a sudden, embarrassed rush.

“Be safe, Wednesday!” You called out to her as she quickly departed.

You turned around grasping the sides of your easel with your unfinished artwork of your mother on it, moving it to the middle of the room. You grabbed the small lamp, moving it to accompany the easel along with the stool with your paint palette, brushes, and paint thinner placed at your convenience. You decided against wearing the apron, purposefully wanting to fully immerse yourself into the experience one last time, free of worry of making a mess. Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth, you took place at the easel, brush and palette in hand, mind focusing on the still air surrounding you, feeling it thicken as you stared at the morphed painting, the horrific smile on your mother’s face glaring back at you.

﹋﹋

As Wednesday marched down the stone path on her way to take watch of the boy’s dorm to make sure Xavier didn’t wake, she pondered about all you had said back at the shed. The tension between the both of you went ignored, rightfully so, but she couldn’t shake the slight tightening in her chest she felt as she left the old, rusty shed knowing the next time she saw your face you would be pathetically belittled to nothing but a corpse housing a horrific smile. She’s never felt any feeling for anyone at all, ever, maybe her younger brother but that didn’t count.

So why did her heart feel slightly heavier with every step she took away from you? Why did your genuine, happy, heart-stopping, oh god she was going to throw up, smile make her slightly dizzy as she glared down at her boots? What was it about you that had her wanting to turn around and convince you to wait and find a different solution? Her steps fell in speed, hesitance now overcoming her as she slowly continued to Nevermore. Should she turn around? She shook the thought off, speeding up again. She shouldn’t get in the way of your plan, one you insisted was the safest and least brutal option; though she had took note of the small laugh you made as she remarked that you should instead go out as brutal as possible to make an impact- anyway, over some stupid sensation she thought she felt in your presence.

Though, admittedly, she could now somewhat understand Xavier’s admiration towards you, and from what she had heard Enid say about you prior to your brother’s death, you were a reliable, genuine, intelligent person. All qualities she, herself, looked for in people that she had, dismissively so, claimed in her tight knit friend group. Not only were you a very gifted artist, but a psychic as well, like herself. She rummaged her memories for any sight of you, coming up short as she realized she truly never took notice to you before. She rolled her eyes at her wandering mind before speeding up once more, calves straining as she briskly trekked to the courtyard of Nevermore.

﹋﹋

Xavier had been abruptly disturbed from his sleep, the need to pee waking him with a painful ache in his abdomen. He quickly shot up, mind still foggy as he waddled his way out of his dorm room. This had alarmed Wednesday, her attention perking up from her large book at his figure making way down the hall from his dorm. She watched silently, a plan forming in her mind as he entered the male dorm restroom through the pillars, falling back in her seat with a relieved breath. It was a few minutes later when she saw him emerge from the restroom, back to his dorm, closing the door shut behind him.

Upon his arrival back to his room, he felt the energy from his short lived slumber coursing through him, realizing now that he would not be able to go back to sleep for some time. He sighed in annoyance, dragging a hand lazily down his face before deciding he would instead strategically use this time to work on a new painting. He wanted to create a huge art piece of you, a vision of what he would try to execute imprinted in his mind. He’s painted and drawn you hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, never quite having enough of sketching away the flashes of you he has in his mind through his days. Slight guilt bubbled in his chest knowing the sketchbooks normally full of you had recently begun to include pages full of his new dreary, pigtailed interest. He viewed you differently than Wednesday, though; hues of pinks and reds, completely enamored and sick with obsession of you. His mind reels at just the thought you permanently pressed into a large, attention grabbing canvas. He knew he didn’t have much time with you, no longer tiring himself with the self pity, instead inspired by the grief and his pure need to have you fueling his desperation to gift you with something beautiful and binding of both your passions before your departure.

When he pulled his coat on and made his way to the door, he pulled it open in a rush to find the deadpanned girl on the other side, startling him slightly as jumped back with a rushed “What the-!”.

“Could I use your place to study? Enid is too… Enid and the courtyard is full of loud imbeciles.” She stated matter-of-factly, eyes glaring up at him through her dark eyelashes from below. Xavier peered past her, seeing the view of the students in the courtyard who were chattering amongst themselves quietly, some with their heads in books themselves. His eyebrows shot up at her bluff, brushing it off with an, “of course,” and moving to the side to allow her in, shutting the door softly behind her as she entered.

Pulling his coat off, tossing it somewhere on the floor and sighing to himself quietly. His mood dampened a bit at the disruption of his plans but he moved to his desk and took hold of his art supplies and sketchbook, offering his desk to Wednesday nonetheless. He took a seat in the chair off to the side as he began sketching, mind full of you and all the little details of your face. He tried to portray the way you looked last night; detailing the drawing down to the exact curve of your lips, mold of your nose, and beautiful eyes that were brushed with dark circles to the best of his abilities, bringing you to life on paper. His eyes not once wandered from the drawing, ears tuning out Wednesday’s scribbling in her book and page turning every minute or so.

An hour, maybe hour and a half had to have passed before he finally broke away from his sketchbook in his lap, straightening his posture, and cracking his neck. He peered down at the finished drawing in search of anything he needed to tweak. Satisfied, he brought the sketchbook up in his grasp, holding it up to meet his eyes, waving his opposite hand over the drawing before it finally blinked back at him, the same small smile and flush ghosting on your face that he had seen the night prior. Wednesday watched the scene through the corner of her eye, intrigued at what Xavier’s attention could be so devoted to.

“Can I see what you’ve drawn?” She asked, emotionless, but trying her best to show her intrigue.

“Uh… sure,” he replied, handing the sketchbook to her, eyes scanning her face for a reaction. Yeah, sure, he was giving a girl he had been following around the past couple weeks like a pathetic dog, begging at her feet for her attention a drawing of another person he had been desperately longing for so long that his love for them begun to run through his veins, and yeah it may be a little fucked up, but when has Xavier Thorpe ever been anything but shameless?

“Wow, Xavier, this is beautiful. It looks exactly like them,” she breathed, taken aback by the detail of the artwork.

“Oh, so you think Y/N’s beautiful?” He joked, not expecting a response from the lifeless girl.

“They are,” she quickly articulated, eyes boring into Xavier’s baffled ones. Her face heated up a bit at the sudden admission, demeanor not faltering as she glared at the lanky boy sitting beside her.

He held his hands up in mock defense, sputtering out, “Trust me,” a short pause ensued as he carefully took back his sketchbook from her hold, “I am not disagreeing with you, at all.” His emphasis on the last words left Wednesday with a sharp pain in her chest, rolling her eyes not only at the feeling, but the smug boy who gazed upon his own artwork some more as well.

“Trust me, Xavier, the entire planet might as well be informed of your infatuation with them. You make it so plainly obvious,” she muttered, turning back to her book to hide behind her bangs. Her eyebrows couldn’t unlatch from one another as she angrily shouted at herself in her head to, please, get a grip. Why was Xavier’s affection for you suddenly leaving a bad taste in her mouth? Her whole life, boy after boy lined up, trying to knock down the infamous stone cold barriers of the Wednesday Addams, only to be met with such brutal rejections they left, mostly, in tears. So why did her eyes slightly glaze over at the drawing of you, the person that she did not care for days prior, only seeing them as another head in an ocean of pathetic outcasts, who she now was feeling jealousy for?

She brushed the thoughts away, clearing her mind and focusing on her breathing. She was a vital part to your plan that you openly pleaded for her devotion to and she was not going to let you down, despite the slight hammering in her heart. She focused back on her task at hand, keeping Xavier busy as you did whatever the hell you were doing back at that shed. She whipped her head in the direction in which he sat, watching his eyebrows furrowing as he peered down at the drawing, hands working to fix miniscule details in his artwork.

“Do you want to work together for Ms. Thornhill’s project, Xavier? I think it would be best to get a head start since we’re both here now,” she spoke, voice monotone. His acceptance to her proposal had her giving herself a little thumbs up in her head, successful in controlling the situation accordingly.

﹋﹋

A couple hours had passed, great improvements made as you tirelessly pressed your paintbrush to the canvas. Tears poured from your eyes in remorseful rivers, coating your cheeks and nose with splotches of deep amber, your chest heaving with messy sobs. You wiped your running nose with your sleeve as you stepped back, taking in the full painting, mind hazy with grief and memories. You had painted new details into your painting, your mother’s smooth, manicured hands now shown holding a gathering of black dahlias to her chest.

Your brother’s loud, exaggerated, youthful giggles rang in your ears as your mother’s slim fingers ghosted small patterns on your back. You sat in her lap, chin placed on her shoulder, small arms around her waist. She hummed a soothing melody as she picked at the thorns adorning the stems of the basket full of dahlias she had just picked. The air feels fresh in your lungs, mind quiet at ease, environment so serene you’re left teetering on the edge of slumber. Feeling you drop your weight in her lap, your mother let out a small, adoring laugh. “Yeah, mommy’s tired too,” you heard her say calmly, fingers never stopping in their path of drawing little doodles into your side. Your tiresome gaze trailed the tall, stalky vines climbing the outsides of the glass dome that your family was settled in, taking part in your daily “outside time'' in the garden. The windchimes left blossoming tunes in the wind, sunlight peeking through the small crevices in the vines. The sounds of your brother’s chuckles and father’s boots hitting the floor neared you and your mother. Her head rose gracefully, eyes gleefully peering at her husband’s. “Ready to go in, little storm cloud?” Your father sang to you, feeling his hand come up to pet the back of your head. Your mother cooed softly as you leaned back, nodding to her softly before sleepily resuming to your previous place in the crook of her neck.

You painted over the horrific smile that had appeared, replacing it with your mother’s comforting grin.

You sat in the attic with your mother and brother, attention directed to the easel in front of you as your mother and brother were off to the side at the large desk that sat perched in the middle of large bookcases. Your ears were ringing, mind racing as you painted every detail of the vision you had just seen. You had started experiencing visions at random, unwanted times recently and your mother was more than delighted when you told her the news. You were hesitant to do so until your brother had confronted you, admitting to being tired of having to catch you when you sporadically keel backwards. Upon the revelation of your blossoming powers she instantly took a hold of you and your brother’s hands and dragged you to her little attic space where she kept all her endeavors. Inside the space sat a large desk and grand, towering bookcases to the farthest wall. In the small space extension of the front wall where a small window sat, a short antique desk complimented the area with a crystal ball and a few mysterious bottles adorned atop. Dark curtains blocked the light from the window, showing the glowing crystal’s reflection scattered around the surface below. An easel, violin, and piano scattered around the rest of the area.You neared the ending of the painting, pictures of the vision blurring to nothing in your mind suddenly. You felt drained, not physically, but mentally. The overuse of your freshly developing powers has you needing a 24 month long rest. You sat back in the stool your mother had placed in front of the easel, gaze wandering to the figures of your mother and brother at the big, wooden desk as she read over a paragraph in the book they shared. He read along silently with her, attention devoted completely to what she was saying. You smiled, grateful that he was just as interested in this as you were. After some time resting, listening along to your mother’s lecture and reading, your mother broke away from the desk, leaving your brother to pick the book up in his hands and stand himself, trailing behind her. She sauntered over to you, excitement written on her features to see what results you had. An exaggerated gasp left her lips as she soaked in every detail of the drawing. “My little blue, you are so talented. Wow! Do you know what this creature is?” She asked, taking place next to you as she continued to stare at every brushstroke on the canvas, completely in awe. “No, it’s the one I saw in my vision.” She nodded in understanding, “That is called a Hyde. You know, a very good friend of mine, Morticia Addams, encountered one once.” She looked at you, your gaze still set on the painted big eyes and rotting teeth. When you met her gaze, your mind went blank. Her eyes were glazed over, squinted from how widely she smiled, only this time, it lit a comforting, warm fire in you. A wave of complete safety washed over you, wracking a sob through your teeth. You fell into her embrace, sobbing into her chest. She cooed softly, pulling you back to show you her smile once more and plant a kiss to the crown of your head. You soaked the comfort in, returning her soft gaze and smile as you embraced.

You camouflaged the empty eyes to now show your mother’s irises, dark makeup and mysterious squint.

Your mother’s shoulders bumped into yours slightly as you sat next to each other, perched on the black vanity bench like two birds on a wire. You lounged beside her with a sketchbook in hand, pausing your scribbling every so often to look back up at the mirror and analyze your mother’s reflection as she hums along to the record playing a low song and applies her makeup. You watch as she looks at herself in the reflection, memorizing the way her brows falter for just the slightest second as she gazes a bit harder at her appearance.“Stop that,” you blurt, putting your hand on hers that was placed on the surface in front of her. You continued, “I think you look beautiful, see!” you say. You raise the sketchbook in your arm to show your mother, her eyes falling from yours to the page. A smile paints onto her face as her eyes widen, moving unbelieving between yours and the artwork. “My sweet raven, look at your talent!” She boasted, eyes settling on yours as she teared up. When your mother had fallen pregnant she had hoped to birth her own best friend, someone similar to her in their own way but unique to themselves as well. When she heard she was carrying twins, her heart felt as if it was going to erupt from her chest and break into a song and dance. And when she finally got to hold you and your brother in her arms, she knew instantly that you were the best friend she had been pleading the universe to give her. Not a day since then have you and your mother not been completely intertwined with one another. Your brother was often in your shadow, but was mostly found not too far parading behind his father. Everywhere your mother went, her little best friend sauntered along, always finding a cosy spot next to her somehow, her doting husband and adorably needy son never not within ear-shot. She thanked the world everyday for your presence in her life, there to remind her of her reality when she was low. Her large, tearful eyes, adorned with a dark purple eyeshadow, were ingrained in your soul, a look you’ll never forget as she embraced you on the bench, muttering a grateful, “thank you, my love.”

As you leaned back, memories ghosting on your mind, you decided the painting was complete. It was unfinished just enough for your liking, knowing you could never truly bring your mother’s every detail to life with such little time. You signed the painting with a white fingerprint of your own in the very bottom right corner. With that, you carefully moved the piece to the side to rest on an unoccupied easel, replacing yours with a fresh white canvas. You quickly got to work preparing your canvas, washing over it with watered down brown acrylic, setting the primer over to smooth the ridges of the surface. You paced around after setting the large, round fan in front of the canvas to dry it. Your mind wandered to what you could paint, so many ideas flowing through your mind.

You wanted to paint Xavier, brush your admiration and love for him into the canvas so hard the future perceivers won’t have any choice but to also feel your emotions for the boy. You wanted to paint your brother, engrave his mark in this world into the surface, leaving a portrait showcasing the adoration so many felt towards him in the paint. You wanted to paint your mind, all that wanders through it, showcase the dark, gated forest within where every branch you feel and stone you walk on shows you something deeper to yourself. You had painted your brother and Xavier tons of times, mind gathering over every portrait and candid you’ve painted into a canvas or sketched across a page that adorned either of the two as the subject. You had never painted a self portrait before, knowing the struggles most artists have to express themselves in such a vulnerable way. You stuck on the thought a bit longer, pondering over it. How horrifically tacky it would be to paint your own portrait before you kill yourself, right? Right?

﹋﹋

Hours later, Xavier fell dramatically back onto his bed, moaning about being bored and not wanting to work on the project any longer. He grasped at his stomach, theatrically announcing his hunger to Wednesday. She rolled her eyes from her position in front of the large, halfway finished poster board. Xavier popped up from his spot to snag his phone from his sweatpants pocket, before dialing a number and bringing the phone to his ear, a few seconds passing before his voice falters into a lower octave, speaking into the phone to whoever picked up, “Hey, dude, what’s up?”

Wednesday tuned the rest of the annoying conversation out, occupying herself with cleaning up all the scattered materials that fell to the desk, floor, and chairs. She let her thoughts wander back to you, wondering if you were dead already or not. Usually, the thought of someone dying left no wear or tear on Wednesday’s parade, no, none at all, but as she remembered it was you she was wondering about she suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Swallowing the upcoming bile in her throat, she placed the scissors and glue stick in her hand down on Xavier’s desk, turning to him upon picking up on his telling the other line a quick, “see you soon”.

“I told Ajax I’d pay him 20 extra to pick us up some food.” He stated, rising from his position on the bed to turn on his small pill shaped speaker that sat on his dresser. Quiet melodies sound from the device shortly after, filling the silence between the pair. Wednesday sat at the small desk, returning to her reading of her large, dusty book as Xavier pranced around his room, doing who knows what, waiting for Ajax to arrive. Suddenly, a knock erupted on the door breaking both parties away from their tasks. Xavier rushed to the door, pulling it open with a celebratory, “Yes!” at the sight of the pizza box in the beanie-wearing teen’s hand.

Ajax scratched the back of his head, gazing at his shoes guiltily as he stuttered out a quick, “Enid asked to hang out so you don’t gotta pay me back, I’m sorry. Hope the pizza makes up for it?” Xavier deadpanned at the boy, huffing an annoyed, “That’s the fourth time this week!”

“I know, dude, but, y’know,” the boy said, pleading for the taller one to just let it slide.

Xavier sighed, setting the pizza down on his bed and gesturing his other hand for the boy to go with a holler, “Be safe! We don’t need any snake-headed kiddies running around with their claws out!” His face held an amused grin, softly smirking to himself at his playful jab.

Ajax rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, muttering a “Shut up,” before shutting the door as he left.

“So you gonna come get some or just stare at me creepily from the corner?” He called to the girl, watching her rise from the chair and make her way to the pizza box, face never showing any sign of amusement. The pair sat on the bed, pizza box between them as they chattered away awkwardly. They talked about classes, art, and the occasional gossip Enid shared with both parties. The conversation felt as if it was dying eventually, silence falling over them as the slices in the box depleted.

“What are your feelings for Y/N Y/LN?” She abruptly asked, making the tall boy choke a bit on a piece of pepperoni.

“Wh- Why are you asking me that?” His face scowled a bit, defenses raising at the sudden intrusion that the pigtailed girl had never been intrigued about prior.

“You drew her. That’s all,” she deadpanned, waiting impatiently for an answer.

“I’ve loved them since we basically met. I didn’t really realize it until recently, but, yeah,” he stated matter-of-factly, nodding his head to prove his confidence in the statement.

“What does loving them feel like?” She pondered, curiosity ghosting in her voice. Xavier was admittedly very taken back at the question, not once ever really vocalizing the deep, obsessive thoughts he held for Y/N.

“It feels like breathing, blinking, moving. Except when I do those things now I do them with a purpose. I can feel my heart beat a bit more when they’re around, can see a bit clearer. It’s like they fit perfectly right into everything I need,” his eyes fell to the floor beside the bed he sat on, mind searching for the right words to describe it all. He had never shared these thoughts with another person before, heart thumping against his ribcage as he gulped. His throat began to burn from the emotions being scratched open, scabs raw and bleeding in their wakening. He continued, voice falling somber, “but it also hurts like fucking hell. It’s a straining in your chest so tight you feel like you might die if you don’t run back to their side for immediate attention. It’s a feeling of thorns wrapping around your insides and squeezing so, so tight at the thought of losing them. It’s-” his voice fell short on his lips, feelings he just described blossoming at their mention, tears threatening his lash line.

“It’s a constant heartache of knowing no amount of time with them will ever satisfy you,” he sounded, serious gaze resting on Wednesday’s. Her eyes were wide with his descriptive, gut wrenching revelation. Xavier was deep in grief as he thought about his fellow tortured artist and the quickly depleting time he had left with them. His mind once again trickled off to the painting he wished to create, shooting off his bed as he quickly grabbed his coat from the floor.

“Not to kick you out or anything, but I have something I gotta do. It was nice seeing you, we can work on the project again tomorrow? You should get back to your dorm anyway, the sun is setting,” He rambled as he staggered around his room, finding his belongings.

“Actually, I had hoped we could spend time together for a bit longer?” Wednesday said, big eyes making contact with him.

“I’d love to, but I really have to go do this one thing. Tomorrow? Please?” He pleaded, hands clasping together. He rushed out the door as she opened her mouth to fight back. Quickly, Wednesday darted out the door, shutting it close behind her as she beelined behind the boy, pleading for him to stop walking.

In a hurried desperation to stop his trailing back to the art shed, she grabbed a hold on his elbow, pulling forcefully to spin him in her direction. She didn’t wait for the boy to gather his footing before sternly grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss her. Her throat bubbled up with bile, fighting to swallow it down as she pulled away, gauging his reaction. Or… more like lack thereof.

He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as he pulled back sharply, creating distance between him and the emotionless girl. “Are you fucking joking, Wednesday?” He began, sputtering, arms raising and flailing around, “You kiss me when I just tell you that I’m head over heels, disastrously in love with the person that everyone knows is going fucking crazy about to kill themself!” He didn’t mean to yell so loud, but the yet again tragic revelation that Y/N’s time was dwindling lit a fire in him, fury and sorrow blurring his line of judgements.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly spat, covering her mouth, gagging behind her cold fingers a bit at the gut retching kiss she just had.

“Xavier, I’ll be honest with you, okay, you deserve to know,” she began, thunder erupting loudly above them, her skin turned icy. “I have no feelings for you, Xavier, at all, and… and I don’t even think I like boys, or anyone, really, but I think I might have started to feel something towards Y/N as well.” her voice began to rise to adjust to the sudden, loud, spitting rain that poured over them. Xavier’s face dropped at Wednesday’s confession, grabbing her wrist and guiding them from the painful downpour to the pillared, circular halls of the court yard. His chest heaved slightly at the painful burn he housed in his lungs, turning to the girl with the now soaked pigtail braids. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. It’s the tortured artist effect thing, you know?” he joked, desperately trying to lighten the tension. When her glare failed to move, he coughed, looking down at his shoes.

“They’re also killing themselves right now as we speak.” She numbly voiced, fists balling at her side at the nasty, aching squeeze in her chest.

﹋﹋

You were so lost in thought, eyes glossy and mouth agape, your hand moving on its own accord, brushing instinctively against the surface with auto-piloted precision.

“My mother used to call me her little raven when I was young,” you said, falling into the taller boy’s side, an arm stretched out from the embrace to hold the detailed painting of your mother holding a raven in her hands. Xavier’s unoccupied palm ghosted above the canvas, pausing before his fingers twitched slightly, the bird’s wings now fluttering and your mother’s solemn face morphing into her famous, beautiful grin she often adorned. You never painted her smile, wanting to savor it selfishly, keep it for your eyes only, the vision never failing to simmer the ache in your heart. Sharing it with Xavier felt special, the vulnerability making you feel alarmed, but safe. His eyes were already on yours when you peered up at him. The tension rose a bit, faces only a couple inches apart. You felt his breath fan over your lips, your gazes not breaking from another’s. The realization of the intimate tension between you and your best friend struck you suddenly, quickly looking away from him and parting from the hug you were sharing.

Your painting came to still life slowly, void of details yet. Your unfinished portrait was dusted with somber hues, skin painted a much cooler tone. You had roughly blocked the colors out for your arms to cross over your chest, hands placed on your shoulders. You inhaled a bit, digging deeper into your heart as you let yourself zone out once more in deep thought.

You sat on your bed, brother sound asleep above you in his bunk, hidden under the dark emerald green covers as the moonlight crept through the black curtains, painting your room with a soft, light glow. Your hands grasped desperately onto the pillow pulled tightly over your face, smothering your ugly sobs. Moments prior you had been sound asleep, snoring softly, drool soaking the silk pillowcase below you until a sudden vision pulled you from your sleep, knocking the wind out of you, forcing your upper body upright, head tilted back painfully. The sight of your dead family members in front of you, blood mixing together in one big pool that swarmed around your knees as you sat knelt on the hard, rocky ground. Three guns lay sprawled near each of their figures, matching bullet holes buried beneath their chins. Your wails and desperate sobs fell on dead ears as you crawled, hands splashing in the ocean of crimson. You sobbed as you fell into your mother’s stomach face first, a horrified scream leaving your lips when you turned and saw her wide, eerie smile and emotionless eyes staring back at you.

You sobbed as you continued to paint, pushing through the tunneled vision and pulsing temples when your lungs got tired from the heavy gasps and bawling.

Birds chirping, your brother rings the bell on his bike, smiling as the wind brushes his hair back. You trailed not far behind on your own bike, pedaling casually. Your brother turned to check you were still behind him every now and then, each time making a different silly face that would leave a giggle leaving your mouth. To mess with him, you quickly moved to the other side behind him, out of sight from how he would turn to the left to check for you. Upon not seeing you, he slightly panicked, breaking suddenly, and toppling over his bike, back hitting the ground. You swerved a bit, laughter erupting in you, cheeks straining from your mouth opening agape. You quickly made a U-turn on your bike, pedaling back to your brother’s disheveled state, seeing his look of defeat. You laughed harder, stomach beginning to painfully twist from straining muscles, chest heaving.

The sound of the teapot whistling fell on familiar ears as you sat at the middle of the long table, piles of thousands of puzzle pieces messily thrown on the surface to your left. Your brother, sat across from you, worked on one end, you the other, having silently agreed to racing, small hands quickly working the puzzle, progression inching closer to the middle. You were at an even tie, father sat at the end seat of the dining table, book in hand, head slightly bopping to the music playing from the record player a few feet away. Your mother delicately placed a cup of tea to your right, kissing your head. Your throat ached, head pounding from overexerting your powers the night before in training. Your brother was in similar condition, both of you being uncharacteristically, unnervingly silent. She returned, giving your brother the same treatment as you before fetching your father and her a glass of wine and taking her place in the seat between you and your father’s end seat at the table. She watched silently, carefully watching as you and your brother were focused on your individual sections of the large puzzle, unknowingly charging each other's metaphorical batteries. She smiled, the thought of you both having one another to depend on making her heart swell. You ended up winning that race, by the way.

Your mother and father swayed along to the piano that sounded from the jukebox that was cozy, snuggled up next to the fireplace on the wall. Hand in hand, they moved together, flowing against one another like one, big, gothic hippie lake. Or whatever the hell you called all this. The dark green antique electric train let out a powerful choo-choo, a fluff of faux smoke puffing from its little funnel as it trotted along the tracks that sat upon the shelves circling your living room walls. Your dad chuckled softly at something your mother had whispered to him, kissing her hand and her temple before pulling her closer, resting his head on hers. Their love made you sick in such a self-deprecating, aching way. Your mind slightly wanders from the sketch you’re working on in your lap, body sinking into the couch as you submerge yourself in your daydreams of a love and tenderness as pure and genuine as your parents’.

The Rave’N had come way too soon for liking, sun setting as Enid and you rush, hurriedly trying on outfits and swapping out the bad ones for newer options. Enid had settled on a sequin white dress with fluffy, feathered detailing on the ends. You had struggled to pick an outfit, finally deciding on a piece that was silky, flattering, and long. You weren’t one to wear white, usually settling for darker tones but to stick with the theme you opened yourself up to branch out a bit. Any doubt held in your mind about your appearance vanished the moment you finished getting ready for the dance in Enid’s room. She had begged you to come get ready with her since her roommate had just vanished, leaving her to have her dorm for herself for almost a month, she reminded you, and she was not about to prepare for this treacherous battle alone. You complied, even convincing her to let you do some parts of her makeup for her as you giggled on the bench of her vanity. Throughout the couple hours of preparation she opened up to you about how Ajax hadn’t asked her to go to the dance, trailing off to how she even caved and agreed to bring some stupid pilgrim normie kid. By the time you had gotten to the dance your thoughts were no longer on Enid, you swear you tried to focus on her and not leave her behind alone with that normie kid, but Xavier’s pleading eyes for you come dance was too hard not to cave into. He took your drink from your hand delicately, placing it on the table before grabbing hold of your hand tenderly, pulling you with him. His hands landed at your side when you reached the outskirts of the crowd. The song was melancholic, yet upbeat, swaying your hips to the tempo with Xavier following your lead, watching your every move. Admittedly, the way Xavier’s hair was pulled up and how his white suit fit snug against his tall figure had you swooning, hands on his chest, and bicep, body inches from his as you were moving along with him. Someone definitely spiked the punch, you thought, pushing the thought back to return to later as he shimmied closer to you, taking your hands in his. Bringing them adoringly up to his chest and sighing, a lovesick smile on his face and his wide, sparkling eyes soaking up every detail of your appearance. From the way your hair was done to the dopey smile you unknowingly also had etched onto your face. The way he looked right through you then knocked the air from your lungs, forcing you to pull your hands from his grasp, anxiety bubbling painfully hot in your gut at the blossoming in your heart. You pulled him into an embrace instead, the song moving to a slower one as if on cue. His arms wrapped around you, keeping you snug against him.

You neared the end of your painting, woeful and reminiscent tears swarming your eyes. They dropped in fat bubbles, sliding down the slope of your cheeks, over the creases of the side of your mouth, cascading over your chin, and disappearing down your neck into the cloth of your shirt. Your lips were dry, splitting from the loud, painful meltdowns as you concluded your self portrait.

You took one last step back, taking in every tiny detail on the canvas. Behind your head lay a bed of black dahlias, your arms reaching over one another, crossed. Your hands lay delicately over your shoulders, dark attire adorning your resting body. Your head tilted down a bit, wide eyes peering up at the viewer. Irises displayed sunken, as they do in their state now. You included the tears, red nose, dry lips. The flush of red in your eyes and cheeks at the grief. The slight upward furrow of your eyebrows, creasing slightly. The painting was beautiful, eerie, and reminiscent. Everything you’d hoped it would be. As you stepped forward, you placed the palette down with the paintbrush to accompany it on the stool to the side. You had an idea, shuffling to Xavier’s side of the shed, pulling drawers open in a rushed search of something sharp. You had found a small, sharp metal palette knife in one of his drawers next to an open sketchbook, the previous pages bent back mysteriously.

You took both items out, placing them on the desk above. “Fuck it,” you thought, mind contemplating invading Xavier’s privacy, “Gonna die here before he found out anyway.”

You flipped through the sketchbook for a bit, realizing nearly every single piece of artwork in the small book was of you. Some were just simple portraits of you, recognizing some of your favorite earrings he included or how he drew the different ways you style your hair. Others were still shots like you painting at your infamous easel, you reading at lunch, you talking to Enid with your arm linked with hers, smiles on your faces.

Despair was not a deep enough word for the absolute darkness that consumed you after seeing the drawings. The dread of knowing you were leaving behind people who loved you no longer felt like you were set ablaze, it felt cold. Like everything is stinging, I’m gonna die, hypothermia, kinda cold. The icy chills devoured you, painfully needing the release of slumber in the icy hold of death. You sighed, looking down, taking the palette knife to your thumb in a quick, pressed swipe.

You wish you could say you hesitated, or winced, but you didn’t. Not even when it stung pushing your fresh, bloody cut onto the drying oil painting below, marking it. The connection of your wounded thumb to the canvas flipped a switch in the environment around you. The air seemed to drop 10 degrees, chilling around you as your breaths became visible in small, frozen puffs. The wind began to sing a deep, thundering, mournful tune that struck you deep in your core, numbing you as you took the palette knife to every inch of exposed skin repeatedly, unable to stop despite the voice in your mind wailing, begging you to break out of your trance.

You sobbed, lights in the shed flickering to darkness. You ran to the easel, dropping the palette knife to the ground in a rush of adrenaline breaking you from your delusion for a second. A dark, loud, brooding boom sounded at your feet, your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach. A large, centipede resembling mush of human skin and flesh appeared from the shadows to the side of you, sound of wet flesh dragging along the concrete floor echoing in the small space. Pure dread in the form of an anchor weighs on your shoulders, your knees buckling at the sight before you as your throat is rubbed raw by the shrill force and volume of your blood-curdling scream. Your eyes nearly popped from their sockets at the sight of the creature’s height and size, towering over you as it released an ominous, bone chilling purr-like squeal. You cower away, falling onto your ass and scrambling as far back as you can, back thumping against Xavier’s art station. Your whimpers and whines sound from deep in you, fear evident in every inch of your being. You trembled, the creature slowly crawling towards you with its mutilated and boneless assortment of detached human arms and legs. Your face shriveled at the sight, a gasp leaving your agape mouth.

Your scream echoed through the forest around you, crows and owls in the trees around being terrorized out of their perches by the piercing sound, some swooping down low, past Xavier and Wednesday as they fight to run faster along the path. The sound of your howl, laced with fear, sent a shiver down the pair’s spines, tears erupting from their eyes as they pushed even harder, lungs burning in response to the decrease in temperature.

“What the fuck are you?!” You shriek, eyes impossibly wide in shock at the creature’s own; dozens of human eyes facing all directions simultaneously zero in on you, uneasy squeals erupting from the monster. “No! Please! Stop staring at me!” You plead, voice cracking, spit flying everywhere in the process of your cry. Your lips painfully stretched over your teeth, breaking the skin and springing blood as you pathetically wept.

Outside the shed, Wednesday stood with her foot on Xavier’s throat, the sound of your horrific pleas and sobs heard through the thin metal walls. A gun in her hand, loaded, pointed at the space between Xavier’s eyebrows. He lay crying on the wet, hard ground underneath her foot, hands wrapped around her ankle as her booted heel dug deeper in his throat at the struggle. He managed a small, “Why?” from his throat in between gasps for air as she subtly loosened her weight off his windpipe.

“This is how they want to leave. They’ve asked me to help them bring their dying wish to life and I will,” She stated, tone never faltering from her infamously monotonous, somber tune. Their eyes were glued to one another’s, tears streaming down their faces as they heard the bone chilling wails you let out inside. Wednesday’s composure faltered slightly, lips pressing one another and gaze lingering slightly to the door of the beaten up shed. The creature had cornered you against the wooden workstation, your shoulder digging deep in the handles of the drawers as it pressed against you, sticky to the touch and leaving a wetness behind on your skin as it made contact. You whimpered as one of its dismembered armed reached down, caressing your face.

“What the fuck are you!? Tell me! What are you? Why are you doing this to me?! Fuck!” You pleaded, screaming and hollering at the ungodly monstrosity before you. Its high pitched, groggy voice sounded to you and you only, “I want to be inside you,” hissing sounds erupting from its every orifice before pressing against your face so hard you fought to breathe, screaming muffled by the spongy flesh. You felt your jaw ripping from its place, joints snapping as the mutant pried your mouth impossibly wider, until the skin that expanded across your cheeks ripped, stretching thin until the tension shredded the flesh, blood trickling from the rupture. Your vision went black, mind fell to silence when the pressure of the deformed creature’s entry to your body pulled your body so, so, so tight that you deflated, corpse turning to mush and liquidizing to form into a puddle. Your fleshy, gorey pool of existence came to a simmering life, climbing into the existing creature’s mutilated body to combine into one entity.

Xavier and Wednesday fell from their threatening and defenseless positions at the sound of you choking and screaming on your own blood, some splashing across the window of the shed in a quick spray. Wednesday forced Xavier’s head away from the shed, moving in front of him, hands on his neck. She looked into his eyes, breathing deeply exaggeratedly, watching as he followed along dumbly.

“I know what is happening right now Xavier, but you need to either leave, or stay out here and promise not to come inside or look, okay?” she shouted, talking over the sudden increasing wind around them, she continued, “Okay? I promised them you wouldn’t see it. I’m going to go make it all okay in there again, alright?” her voice dropping to a near maternal one as his scared and emotional eyes met hers, nodding his head as he leaned against the tree to his right. Her hands fell to his chest, leaving the gun in his hands to keep him safe, unsure of what could be lurking in the woods. He dropped to his knees, dropping the gun as his hands land on the rough, stone path below him, weakly holding his weight as he let out a painful, bitter scream. His mournful sobs invaded the eerie night silence, wind carrying his hollers along with them. Wednesday entered the shed, body bag in hand that she recalled you reminding her would be in the bushes, hands shaking uncontrollably. The smell was horrendous already and the thin metal door swung shut behind her, iron and death filling her nostrils as her gaze stayed glued to blood pooling on the floor.

You lay against Xavier’s art station, head tipped back, throat jammed and pried open with his small, pointy, metal palette knife. Wednesday’s eyes widened in horror at the sight of your wide, horrific smile and creepy eyes. Her knees wobbled as she sobbed loudly, screaming at the sight, never been so traumatized by the sight of a dead body before. She soaked in your horrified stare, eyelids pulled so tightly apart that your eyeballs bulged from their place, bloodshot and teary.

Shortly after she wailed, the sound of the shed door pulling open paralyzed her. The tall boy stood just a couple feet behind as he let a deep, agonizing shriek of complete remorse echo off the walls around them followed by a ghostly, haunting silence. The sound of the gun in his firm grasp cocking has a gasp leaving Wednesday, tears dropping harder as she stood frozen in place, unable to even look behind her. A singular, bone-chilling gunshot rang against the dingy walls of the shed, singing into the dying trees and nature that lay outside. A heavy thud hit the floor as his body dropped, metal of the gun clanking against the ground alongside him. Wednesday wept harder, her hands wrapping around her sides as she fell to the ground, head hitting the concrete below weakly, eyes never leaving Y/N’s. She blindly reached around the cold cement above her, looking for the gun that was fired a mere seconds ago. Her fingers caught the hand of Xavier’s, ghosting over his red hot fingertips, skimming through the pool of his flooding blood before finally landing on the cool, smooth metal of the gun. Her fingers gripping it in her now slippery hold, she desperately, shakingly dragged the weapon to her face level, lifting it up to dig it in the space under her chin, cool rim of the barrel chilling her hot, flushed skin. She cocked the gun.

Y/N’s smile glared at Wednesday mockingly across the shed, swearing she heard the paling corpse whisper a rushed, quiet, “do it,” before she grinned as wide as her face could handle, cheeks straining so hard the highest points of her face dimpled under the tension, eyes wrinkling shut at the force. Wednesday Addams never smiled, face constantly stone-cold and unfaltering in her natural state but as your dreary, void eyes bore into hers she couldn’t help the instinctual movements of her face as she grinned wide at your corpse. Her hand wobbled slightly, lips splitting and drawing blood from how tight they pushed across her smiling teeth, fingers tingling as she pulled the trigger, everything going black.

As she expected, nothing came after death.

#OH MY GOD ITS DONE!#i hope all who celebrate xmas had a grand one #and to everyone else i hope your holidays are amazing and wonderful #i thank everyone who read the first part and this one and to all who left me messages or likes #i'm a little scared of how ppl will reac to the ending #i just wanted something as tragic as possible and i think i got that down pretty good #anyway! love u all sm pls be safe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagines #xavier thorpe #wednesday show #wednesday angst #wednesday the series #netflix #angst #wednesday x reader #fandom x reader #dahlia.wrks

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likeadevils · 7 months

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1989 Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on 1989 in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing 1989 and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process

Of all the albums in Taylor's discography, I think this is the one that improves the most when you listen to it in order. All of those things Taylor was talking about in the promo for this album-- how this is an album of her coming into her own, figuring out her values, learning to stand on her own two feet-- it all clicks into place. Listening to it in order has made me cry on more than one occasion, and it's also the thing that made me start this whole crazy process of figuring out the dates she wrote each song.

If you don't want to read the whole post, check out this playlist of the album in order or this playlist of her entire discography.

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date:

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based on guesswork and is highly likely to change, or, all that is known is the general season.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices)

Without further ado...

Oct 6, 2012: Taylor seems to have been in a studio in London (Note: I have no idea where this photo comes from and I can not find a place that specifies if this is a music studio or radio interview.)

This Love: Oct 17, 2012 (Confirmed)

October 19, 2012: Taylor mentions wanting to work with Imogen Heap, prompting Imogen to get in touch with Taylor

Time Interview: Who’d be your dream collaboration, especially now that you’re taking more musical risks? Let me think. Imogen Heap! She’s amazing. Taylor: Someone asked me in an interview "Who would you like to work with?" and I said Imogen Heap. I get an email to my management, sent like "Imogen just saw that Taylor just said an interview that she would like to work together" She said "Why don't you come out to my studio." Imogen: I got a phone call [in 2014] saying Taylor Swift was in London, she'd love to work with me and the only date she could do (between 4 sold out 02 arenas!) was the day after we got back, Sunday. It was both unexpected and not at the same time as I'd heard Taylor was a fan a while back via this Time magazine piece but somehow didn't think it would actually happen.

Fall 2012: Taylor possibly writes a song with Harry Styles and Jacknife Lee (her producer for The Last Time)

“It was out of my field of expertise and interest, but I was intrigued and my girls were thrilled. Taylor was nice and very professional. She knew what she wanted and there was no fucking about. She was seeing Harry Styles at the time, so he came to Topanga on her recommendation. She wrote a few songs with him, and it was the same thing – quick. But this time it was more directed by the management and label. They were after something specific. I wanted more acoustic and gentle, almost Americana, and they wanted bombast. They got what they wanted, and that was the extent of my foray into teen-pop territory. It was fun.”

All You Had to Do Was Stay: Jan 10, 2013 (Confirmed)

Taylor is photographed outside Conway, and then tweets "Back in the studio. Uh oh..." Later, Taylor confirmed that she was recording All You Had To Do Was Stay. Taylor: I had a dream that my ex showed up at my door, knocked at my door, and I opened it up, and I was about ready to launch into the perfect thing to say [...], Instead, all that would come out of my mouth was that high-pitched chorus of people singing, 'Stay!'...and then you go to say something else, and it's just like 'Stay! Stay! Stay!' And I woke up, I was like 'Oh, that was mortifying. But that's kind of a cool vocal part.'

January 11, 2013: Taylor is photographed outside Conway again

How You Get The Girl: Jan 15, 2013 (Confirmed)

Taylor posts a picture of her playing a guitar in the studio, captioned "Somewhere in LA..". Later, Taylor confirmed that she was recording How You Get The Girl. Given what was going on in her personal life, she likely wrote this sometime in the fall/winter of 2012, but all we know for sure is the date she recorded it.

February 9, 2013: Tweets "Grammy rehearsals last night, studio today, who knows what tonight holds! (I do. Laying around watching TV and eating candy.)"

March 6, 2013: Taylor is photographed outside a studio in LA

March 23, 2013: Posts a picture of her playing guitar captioned "Pre show. Columbia, South Carolina"

I Wish You Would: May 28, 2013 (Inferring)

Taylor is photographed out for lunch in Rhode Island with Lena Dunham (and likely Jack Antonoff, who was Lena's boyfriend but not as famous at the time) on May 27 before leaving for her show in Phoenix, Arizona the next day Jack: "We were hanging out at her house in Rhode Island and we were talking about John Hughes movies, and a lot of the music that inspired [them], and just this general culture of sound in that time period that was really larger-than-life in an anthemic, positive way. These songs could be at the end of films that were really, really beautiful and said a lot. That actually ended up being a song called 'I Wish You Would' which is going to be on her album. We first worked on that song together and realised we kind of have a good thing. Taylor: “This is a song I did with Jack Antonoff, and Jack is one of my friends and so we were hanging out and he pulled out his phone and goes "I made this amazing track the other day. It's so cool, I love these guitar sounds." And he played it for me and immediately I could hear this finished song in my head, and I just said "Please, please let me have that. Let me play with it, like send it to me" And so he sent it to me and I was on tour and this was me playing the track on my laptop recording me singing the vocal into my phone and it ended up being a song called "I Wish You Would", because Jack wrote back and said "I love that".”

June 7, 2013: At the CMA fest, Taylor is asked if she's started writing for her next album yet

“It's starting, all the anxiety is starting and when the anxiety starts, then the writing happens right afterward, usually. Um, so, yeah, I basically... I like to, I like to write for about two years before I'm finished with an album because I... at this point I kind of know that whenever I write in the first year is going to get thrown away, because, I'm going to like it, but it's going to sound a little bit like the last project I had, and the second year usually ends up sounding like the next project. So I think at this point, at this point I feel like staying the same is the easy way to go but it's not the way that I want to go, creatively. I think you need to challenge yourself, I think you need to change up your influences, I think you need to be inspired by different things that you've been inspired by before, and, uh, y'know, It's harder to call people you don't know, and it's harder to think of topics you haven't covered and think of new ways to say old emotions that everyone feels, but, that's the goal at this point."

June 20-21, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez hang out, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

July 15, 2013: Taylor gives a brief interview to Rolling Stone

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

July 18, 2013: Taylor unfollows the three backup dancers that left her tour for Katy's, meaning Bad Blood was likely written sometime between July and November 2013.

Sweeter Than Fiction: Summer 2013 (Speculation)

Taylor wrote this one over email, and then it was recorded in New York (partially in Jack's living room, partially in an actual studio)

August 25, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez hang out at the VMAs, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

August 25, 2013: Taylor gives a brief interview on the VMAs red carpet

"But I think [songwriting is] about to start to kick into full gear. I'm about to go into the studio. It's about to get really intense."

Out Of The Woods: September 14 2013 (Inferring)

On September 14, Fun cancelled their show. Taylor was likely either flying to or from Charlottesville, where she had a show for the Red Tour. Jack: "When I did the track for Out of the Woods, which is a Taylor song that I'm really proud of, there was some issue at a venue and our show was canceled that night and I didn't have my stuff, I had left it on the bus, so I only had these old samples on what was on my laptop, and caught up that 'oh oh'' thing, and I only had one drum kit on there, and these dumb little things [sometimes turn into a great song]" Jack: "So 'Out Of The Woods' was the third thing we worked on together, and probably the easiest. I sent her the track for it, and she sent back a voice note with the verse and chorus in what felt like five seconds. And it was just perfect. It's eerie how similar it is to what the final product is." Taylor: "This is a track that Jack Antonoff sent me, and I was actually on a plane, I got it and I got on a plane and I'm listening to it, and I'm just like listening to it and mumbling melodies cause the song came to me immediately like, in full [...] I think what I should start by playing you, is when I got the track, what I sent him like an hour later, and it is, me.. um, me singing what came to me, which ended up being the finished version of the song, or at least really close to it."

September 20, 2013: In a brief interview with USA Today, Taylor says she plans to work on her next album between the next few legs of the Red Tour

"I’ll be in the studio, figuring out what comes next. I really like to take two years to make a record, and I’ve been writing and doing stuff for the last year. This is kind of the year that it goes into overdrive, and it’s all I think about and I become obsessive over it and I’m hard to talk to"

September 22, 2013: Taylor gives an interview to New York Magazine where she talks about her plans for TS5

These days, Swift is thinking a lot about her next record. While on the Red tour, she’d been writing songs and stockpiling ideas: reams of lyrics, thousands of voice memos in her iPhone [...] she plans to spend much of 2014 writing and recording the new album, a prospect she finds exhilarating and terrifying. “I worry about everything. Some days I wake up in a mind-set of, like, ‘Okay, it’s been a good run.’ By afternoon, I could have a change of mood and feel like anything is possible and I can’t wait to make this kind of music I’ve never made before. And then by evening, I could be terrified of the whole thing again. And then at night, I’ll write a song before bed.” Swift hopes to collaborate with new songwriters and producers. But she planned to begin, she said, by heading back into the studio with Max Martin and Shellback. “I want to go in with Max and Johan first, just to figure out what the bone structure of this record is going to be. “I have a lot of things to draw from emotionally at the moment. But I have to draw from them with a different perspective than on Red. I can’t say the same things over and over, you know? I mean, I think it’s just all the more important that I don’t ever allow myself to coast. At the same time, there’s a mistake that I see artists make when they’re on their fourth or fifth record, and they think innovation is more important than solid songwriting. The most terrible letdown as a listener for me is when I’m listening to a song and I see what they were trying to do. Like, where there’s a dance break that doesn’t make any sense, there’s a rap that shouldn’t be there, there’s like a beat change that’s, like, the coolest, hippest thing this six months—but it has nothing to do with the feeling, it has nothing to do with the emotion, it has nothing to do with the lyric. I never want to put things in songs just because that might make them popular, like, on the more rhythmic stations or in dance clubs. I really don’t want a compilation of sounds. I just need them to be songs.”

September 28-October 5, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez are in the same city, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

October 12, 2013: Taylor gives an interview to the Associated Press

Swift: I think the goal for the next album is to continue to change, and never change in the same way twice [...] How do I write these figurative diary entries in ways that I’ve never written them before and to a sonic backdrop that I’ve never explored before? It’s my fifth album, which is crazy to think about, but I think what I’m noticing about it so far is it’s definitely taking a different turn than anything I’ve done before. AP: You said recently you’ve been working on songs for the new album for about six months. What can you tell us about what you have planned? Swift: It’s too early to tell who are going to be my predominant collaborators, but I do know that my absolute dream collaborators were Shellback and Max Martin on the last project. I’ve never been so challenged as a songwriter. I’ve never learned so much. I’ve never just been so excited to show up to the studio every day, just because you never know what we’re going to put together. I’ll bring in ideas and they’ll take such a different turn than where I thought they were going to go, and that level of unexpected spontaneity is something that really thrills me in the process of making music. ... What if we did this? What if we made it weirder? What if we took it darker? I love people who have endless strange and exciting ideas about where music can go."

October 14, 2013: At the NSAI, Taylor talks about reinventing herself for different albums

"I’m making my 5th record now, so I think you have to change things up, you have to explore different corners of music as much as you can. Cause I really, it’s been a big goal of mine to never make two albums that sounded the same. I really want my fans to be able to be like "Oh that song? Clearly that's from the Fearless album", "No that one, that one was from Red" and so I’m in the process of doing that thing all over again for my 5th album and it’s amazing to be in the studio and to be songwriting again, and be honored for songwriting tonight"

Blank Space: October 26, 2013 (Inferring)

It looks like she’s wearing the same outfit in this behind the scenes footage and these candids Taylor: "I was going into write with Max Martin and Shellback, who are two of the primary collaborators on 1989, and I... was preparing all these things, and I, I think Blank Space was like the third thing I played them, and they just stopped and they were like "NO, this is the first thing we're working on today." [...] I had the idea for the chorus and I had the hook, but a lot of the verse was gibberish." Taylor (On what song took her the least amount of time to write): "Blank space, cause I'd written a lot of the lines down already in the year preceding the session"

October 29, 2013: Tweets "Sitting in the studio writing the next album (!!!!) and wanted to thank you for the American Music Award nominations!"

November 1 : While promoting Keds, Taylor is asked about her next album

"What I go through is going to be the story that I tell. I think lyrically, I always try to tell my fans exactly what’s happened to me in the last two years, and that’s the thing they can expect. Everything else, they won’t be able to expect. Having been in the studio with this one, I’m just like… oh, this is going to be fun"

Bad Blood: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

The backup dancer drama seems to have kicked off in mid-July. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

New Romantics: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Unfortunately, Taylor doesn't really talk about this song. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

Wildest Dreams: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Selena reportedly told a fan she was there when Taylor wrote this, and I've noted above all the times Selena could have been with Taylor in 2013 (Here's my personal ranking of how likely each date is). Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013.

Wonderland: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Another one Taylor just doesn't talk about all that often. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

Nov 20, 2013: Taylor posted "While in the studio, I came to the realization that my bangs are long enough to use as a sleep mask on long flights. Then I remembered I don't ever use sleep masks on flights. So really, I just need a haircut"

November 25, 2013: Taylor and Scott Borchetta have a meeting to talk about her plans for TS5 and are both asked about the next album at the AMAs

Taylor: “We got a lot already. There are probably seven or eight [songs] that I know I want on the record. It’s really ahead of schedule for me. I’m just stoked because it’s already evolved into a new sound, and that’s all I wanted. And I would have taken two years to make that happen, but it just kind of happened naturally, so that’s all I could really ask for.” Scott Borchetta: "Well earlier today we got together and she played me seven new songs, and she’s just on fire. The level of desire and passion that she has just to keep getting better, she’s an artist that just really never wants to just say ‘Well okay this is good enough’. It’s always gotta be better. She’s in amazing creative place right now." By the end of November, Taylor had likely recorded This Love, All You Had To Do Was Stay, How You Get The Girl, I Wish You Would, Out Of The Woods, Blank Space, Bad Blood, New Romantics, Wildest Dreams, and Wonderland. That’s 10 songs total, 5 of which were likely recorded in the past two months, and 7 that had been made since Taylor and Jack had their conversation about 80s music in May.

Dec 21, 2013: Taylor briefly talks to Billboard about TS5

"I’m really loving collaboration right now [...] I see it as a bit of an apprenticeship. I want to be around people who love writing songs and have done it for years. Every time I’m in a studio I’m learning, like how to build a drum track, and getting a new perspective on things. It’s so thrilling to keep learning on your fifth album. As soon as [an album] comes out I’m figuring out what the next one will be. It’s gotten to the point where each one is a reinvention, which is what I like best. I like it when it sounds new and people don’t know where you’re going to go next."

Say Don't Go: Jan 1, 2014 (Confirmed)

Diane Warren: Warren, who typically writes on her own, says the two of them “sat down and wrote the song […] from scratch” during the last few days of 2013. She remembers being impressed with how specific Swift was with her lyricism and how considerate she was about how her fans might receive it. “She was very particular about how she said certain things. It was a really interesting experience. She gets her audience [...] She’s deeply aware of how her fans want to hear something. I can’t explain it, but that’s probably why she’s the biggest fucking star in the world.” Several days after writing the song together, they got into Warren’s office to record a demo, where Swift played it on her acoustic guitar. “We demoed it on New Year’s Day. And I’m a workaholic, and that’s fine for me,” she says. “But I remember being impressed that she did, too. Everybody’s on vacation, but she showed up.”

You Are In Love: Jan 2014 (Inferring)

This song is copyrighted for 2014. Taylor has said a few times that Clean, Shake It Off, and Style were the last songs written for the album, meaning You Are In Love was likely completed in January or early February. Given Taylor's busy schedule in late January and early February, I'd guess this was written at some point in early January. Furthermore, I'd guess it was sometime after the 9th, when she returned from looking at house in New York.

I Know Places: Jan 22, 2014 (Confirmed)

Taylor: "I sent this voice memo to Ryan Tedder because I'd always wanted to work with him, and finally we scheduled some studio time. So I always wanna be prepared, I wanted to send him the idea that I was working on before we went into the studio just in case he wrote back and said "I can't stand that, I wanna work on something else, think of something else" So I just sat down with the piano, put my phone on top of the piano and just kind of explained to him where I wanted to go with the song, how I saw the melody sitting in and we ended up recording the song the next day and it ended up being on the record called "I Know Places" So this was the voice memo that I sent to him the night before we ended up finishing the song"

Welcome To New York: Jan 23, 2014 (Confirmed)

Ryan Tedder: "I thought we were going to walk in and start something from scratch because that's what I was used to. Then she calls me and says, 'Is it cool if I already have an idea?' I said, 'Sure.' She said, 'I have this song, I'm obsessed with New York and I just moved there, I want to write an ode to New York because no one's done it in a long time.' And then she sent me a voice memo. She's like, 'I want it to sound like 1980s.' So the next day I brought in a Juno-106, which is a very 1980s keyboard and I literally programmed that entire song right in front of her. It was very much on the fly, and that song was done in about three hours. And I did the rest of the production I think later that week. I was in Switzerland on a tour bus, and I did four versions of 'Welcome to New York,' one of which I liked personally more, but the thing about artists is they become very obsessed with the demo. She was in love with the demo so no matter how hard I fought, she brought it back to the demo, so really what you hear is what I did on the first day."

January 26 2014: Dianne Warren says that she recently wrote a song with Taylor

"I worked with Taylor Swift on a great song [...] I'm excited about the [song] that we did, it's pretty cool Dianne in 2016: “I know [Swift] likes it, so hopefully it will see the light of day. I know she really likes the song. She didn’t want me to give it away, so hopefully that means she wants it.”

January 26 2014: Taylor loses Album of the Year at the Grammy's to Daft Punk. She tells a few different stories about what the rest of the night looked like for her-- in some she goes home alone, in some she has some friends over-- but in all of them, this is the night where she decides that she's gonna name the album 1989, and she's not going to let her label tell her to put any country songs on it.

Clean: Feb 9, 2014 (Confirmed)

According to Imogen Heap's blog post, Taylor had the first verse and chorus by the time they got into the studio, and then wrote the second verse and bridge during the session. Taylor's part was wrapped up in 9 hours, ending at 8pm, while Imogen stayed up until 4am because she didn't want to stop working on it. Taylor: ""Shake It Off" and "Clean" were the last two things we wrote for the record, so it shows you where I ended up mentally. “Clean” I wrote as I was walking out of Liberty in London. Someone I used to date— it hit me that I’d been in the same city as him for two weeks and I hadn’t thought about it. When it did hit me, it was like, ‘Oh, I hope he’s doing well’. And nothing else. [...] The first thought that came to my mind was – I’m finally clean." Imogen Heap: I was really writing the tiniest amount just to help her do what she does. I put some noises to [“Clean”], played various instruments on it, including drums, and anytime she expressed she liked something I was doing, I did it more. It was a really fun day. She recorded all her vocals [for “Clean”] during that one session. She did two takes, and the second take was it. We always thought she would probably re-record it, because we thought it can’t possibly be that easy. But after we lived with it for a few months, we felt it was great.

February 15, 2014: Taylor posts "It was a studio Valentines Day with Max and Johan!"

Shake It Off: Feb 15, 2014 (Confirmed)

Lover Diaries (From Feb 22): "This week I’ve been in the studio with Max and Johan every day and it has been the most creatively successful and fulfilling time. The first day, Johan just made a really up tempo drum beat because we decided we needed something UP and light. We worked at it for a few hours before I just started singing “shake it off, shake it off.” And then the best way I know how to describe it is that the chorus just fell out of the sky. It ended up being this song about doing your own thing even though haters are gonna hate, and you just have to dance to your own beat. We all went home and I wrote the first and second verses and brought them in the next day. We wrote this chanty cheer leader bridge that I absolutely LOVE. We spent all day doing vocals and the next day recording background vocals. I think it’ll end up being the first single and Max said it’s his favorite song he’s ever been a part of." Taylor: "The problem was, I had all these lyrics, and I didnt have, like... writing session was coming up and I'm just like "I'm not getting a melody, I'm dead, I don't know what I'm gonna do." The thought terrified me, so I just sorta sulked into the studio and I was like "Guys, I have like an idea but its like, lyric, but I... and I know the vibe I want-- I want it to start off and the second the song starts, I want it to be the song where like, if it's played at a wedding, and there's this one girl who hasn't danced all night at the reception, all her friends come over to her and there like "You have to dance, come on, you have to dance on this one!". That's what I wanted. So I was like "Shellback, can you just go to the drum kit and try to play that?" Taylor: "There's one thing that I've always said to Max, is like "I don't like horns" I just always had a thing about it, I was always like weirdly scared of it, or intimidated by horns, I don't know what it was? It's a weird, like, nerdy studio fear of mine. I was like "No, no horns!" and I don't.. I don't even know, I don't have a reason for it, I love songs that have horns on them, I was just like "I don't think I can pull off horns." Strange. But, he goes over to the mellotron and he starts playing this horn sound. I'm like "What are you doing. Don't do that." and he's like, "No, I think this is cool" and I'm like "No it's not cool, and where are your chorus chords, because, that, you're just playing three chords over and over again and I can't make a chorus out of them, why don't you go to like a chorus chord that starts off the chorus, where is the one, like why don't you go--" and then there was this moment, where I thought of the whole chorus, and it's over the chords that I had just told him are not "chorus chords", which is a ridiculous thing to say."

February 18, 2014: Taylor is photographed entering Conway Studios

Style: Feb 19, 2014 (Confirmed)

Niklas Ljungfelt (guitarist): I played on “Style,” a song I started with Ali Payami for ourselves. He was playing it for Max Martin at his studio; Taylor overheard it and loved it. She and Max wrote new lyrics. But I recorded the guitar on it before it was a Taylor song. It was an instrumental. I didn’t have a clue that Taylor would sing on it. The inspiration came from Daft Punk and funky electronic music. Taylor: I'm pretty sure after we finished this one I knew the record was done. Shake It Off and Style were the last two songs to be written for 1989.

March 2014: Taylor's interview with Glamour is published (likely conducted two months beforehand)

TS: Working on this album has been unbelievable [...] I'm already in love with it. It's so different. CL: What's the new sound? TS: On Red I did three songs with Max Martin Shellback [...] I think we'll be doing a lot more than three songs together on the next album [Laughs].

March 26, 2014: Taylor is photographed entering a music studio in New York

May 30, 2014: Taylor writes in her diary:

So a crazy story unfolded in the last 24 hours. Last night, I had this vivid dream where the photo I’d chosen for the album cover wasn’t good enough, intriguing enough, artful enough. It woke me up. I couldn’t shake it and it stayed with me all day. Because that nagging feeling I’d been pushing back for weeks was now confirmed in my gut … It wasn’t good enough. I went to the venue, mind racing, wondering if I’d have to do an entirely new photo shoot … I got to my dressing room with newer versions of the “cover.” I looked at it and felt nothing. The team pulled up this new scanned file of the Polaroids we had taken during the shoot. I saw within 10 seconds. The shot. The cover. It’s a Polaroid of me sitting against a beige wall with a blue seagull swear shirt on. You can see my red lips, but the photo cuts off my eyes. From some reason unknown to me, it’s the most intriguing photo I’ve seen. I think it’s the mystery of not seeing my eyes. Maybe it just looks effortlessly cool. The craziest moment came when something caught my eye. The cover photo is photo 13. I kid you not.

August 23, 2014: Taylor is photographed walking out of a studio in LA (Note: I can not find a place that specifies if this is a recording studio, dance, photography, radio, or television studio.)

Now That We Don't Talk: Summer 2014 (Speculation)

Seeing as Taylor said she didn't have time to figure out the production, I imagine this came fairly late in the process. Taylor has a habit of adding songs right up to the deadline-- with Folklore and Evermore, she added multiple songs a week before the album came out. The latest she added songs to albums while signed to Big Machine was September, though (both Forever & Always and So It Goes...), so I assume that's the absolute latest she could've added a song. Taylor: "Now That We Don’t Talk” is one of my favorite songs that was left behind, it was so hard to leave it behind, but I think we wrote it a little bit towards the end of the process and we couldn’t get the production right at the time. But we had tons of time to perfect the production this time and figure out what we wanted this song to sound like. I think it’s the shortest song I’ve ever had, but I think it packs a punch, I think it really goes in. For the short amount of time we have, I think it makes its point.

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

#txt*#timeline*#taylor swift #OH MY GOD ITS OUT ITS OUT ITS OUT I'VE BEEN RESEARCHING THIS FOR THREE YEARS AND IT'S DONE #!!!!!#as always let me know if you want further sourcing on anything/if you spot a typo or something

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