#((MISS DOROTHEA MISS DOROTHEA MISS DOROTHEA))

[pinkorchidsinspring]

I was rewatching Miss. Americana because it’s pride month and why not. ANYWAYS I don’t really remember if I’m being honest, but did we all completely ignore the LESBIAN FLAG OF A CANOPY IN TAYLORS HOME’S DINING ROOM?!

Like um-

But you know maybe she just really likes those colors 😉

[hauntedlovewasteland]

Oh my god I just fucking noticed Karlie is shown here watching Taylor with that big ass proud smile of hers. I never noticed it and now I’m so confused on 1. Why the IMBD doesn’t show that Karlie is there. 2. When the IMBD changed a few months ago it showed Karlie but only having her voice being in the movie and not her in the footage and then they changed it to where she doesn’t show up in the cast anymore.

I feel insane because I thought she wasn’t in it at all but here I am now realizing she is.

[diioonysus]

hair + art

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Hey uh does anyone have the pic from the Eras Tour of when Taylor was dressed in one of those suits in the literal lesbian flag colours, sitting on a chair with her legs spread out like / \, doing the 🤘lesbian thingy with both her hands…

For research purposes 😭🙏

[nemo-in-wonderland]

I Will Always Find you

Flecks of snow fall on your face Keep this kiss, don't forget my name Darkness comes to take us away Don't forget that you loved me.

Love is a magic we were born to make Hold it tight, don't let it break Poisoned apples dark hearts make Will die when you kneel and kiss me

When stars are gone Pages fade in the tale we knew, Hope is born Don't be scared if you can't find truth We belong Never doubt I will always find you

Love is truth Darkness falls but our hearts stay true I'm with you Don't be scared if I'm gone from view I'll always find you Never doubt I will always find you

"I Will Always Find You" - Karliene

[words-with-wren]

@chrumblr-whumblr Day Four: Watching while a loved one is hurt

Fandom: Endeavour. Post 4x04 Harvest. I watched the episode like a week ago and Forgot Details and haven't rewatched it to fact check anything so if something doesn't line up with canon oh well ignore that. I just love Morse and Miss Frazil's friendship SO MUCH i wanted to explore it a little. (May cannibalism this scene if i ever get around to writing my 'joan says yes' au)

word count: 1,563

___

Dorothea wasn’t sure when it had happened, exactly, but somewhere through the years her acquaintance with Morse had shifted from a respectful professional relationship to genuine friendship. It was a development that hadn’t been entirely intentional, but there was something about the young man that made her think he hadn’t had much friendship in his life. There was a hungriness about him, a desperate desire to be loved that she was sure he didn’t admit even to himself. 

She found him almost on accident, the day after everything at the Bramford power plant had been wrapped up. He was sitting at the bar of the pub, nursing a pint and staring morosely at an untouched crossword in front of him. Dorothea took him in for a long moment, seeing the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion in the way he sat, leaned over the bar. He was staring at nothing, eyes dull and half glazed over, clearly lost in thought. 

He looked positively worn out, and Dorothea felt her heart clench at the sight of him. He was so brilliant, so young and full of energy. Had a brain so fast and wonderful, but life had beaten him down so quickly. He didn't share much, but Dorothea had years of investigative journalism behind her--she could read between the lines, could pick out a story in the shapes left behind by absence. Not for the first time she thought he was a man too used to caring and not used to being cared for. 

To break the ice, she cleared her throat and sat down at the stool beside him. He started, torn out of his thoughts and the lost expression on his face shifted into a small smile. 

“Miss Frazil,” he greeted, shifting his newspaper aside to give her room. She smiled back at him, placing her handbag on the bar. “Can I get you a drink?” 

“I'm alright, thank you Morse,” Dorothea answered. She eyed the mostly empty glass in his hands, wondering how many he'd finished before she had arrived. Best not to bring more alcohol into the equation--heaven knows he could drink enough without encouragement. 

She started with work, knowing he would close himself off immediately if she pushed too hard too quickly. 

“You were at the plant, were you not?” she asked. A wary expression crossed Morse's face, but he seemed to relax a little nonetheless. She thought back to their last conversation, when she had dropped him off by an empty field. He'd opened up then, just a little. Bared himself just enough to show his hurt, but not quite enough for her to do anything about it. “Anything you can tell me?” 

The request pulled a small smile from him, something Dorothea was grateful to see. He rolled his pint between his hands and shook his head, turning to look at her. There was a cut along his hairline she noted--that hadn't been there last she saw him. 

“I'm afraid not,” he said. He still seemed distant, mind on other things. Not fully engaging in their usual dance as they tried to tease information out of the other. 

“The official story is a fire,” she said. His hand drifted to the cut. He nodded. 

“Best to leave it at that,” he said. She waited, long years of experience telling her the best way to get information out of someone was to wait. Let him tell her in his own time. 

Though it wasn't really what had happened at the plant she wanted to know. Not right now, at least. Like as not, it wasn't going to be anything she could publish anyway. 

What she really wanted to know was what was bothering him. It was more than this current case, more even than his flat being burgled earlier in the week. She knew him well enough to see it in the way he sat, the line of his shoulders, the shadows in his eyes. 

“Off the record, sabotage,” he said finally. This time he did press his hand to the cut on his forehead. “Some plot by Bagley, planning to leak radiation into the nearby area to prove just how dangerous nuclear energy is.”

Now that would be a juicy story. The part of Dorothea that was pure journalist wanted to dig deeper into it, chase the story, share it with the world. But from the way Morse was hunched, from the sensitivity of the situation, she knew that this would be another story by the wayside. Another time societal requirements won over the truth. 

Sometimes she felt a little bitter about that. But she told herself to keep looking forward, finding the next story, uncovering the next truth. 

“And you stopped it,” she said and he nodded, his attention still wandering. “You alright?” 

It was an innocent enough question, one she knew wouldn't shut him down immediately. There were a lot of ways to answer that, and Morse could choose how much he shared. 

“I'll live,” he said. She wasn't surprised by the answer; it was a dismissal, his way of saying he didn't want to talk. Not quite fully a lie, not quite fully vulnerable. 

He infuriated her, sometimes. He was so clearly in need of someone looking out for him, but he was so stubborn he refused to accept help, let alone ask for it. 

Sometimes she wanted to force him to stop, put him up in her small apartment for a week so she could put some meat on his bones and light in his eyes. Drive it into his stubborn skull that people cared and he didn't have to go at life alone. 

“Really?” she asked gently. 

He let out a long breath and emptied the last of his beer. 

“Still don’t feel entirely safe at home,” he admitted. “Feels too empty.” 

She nodded sympathetically. She knew a little about feeling vulnerable in a place that was supposed to be safe--it had been a few months since her kidnapping by Leyton-Asprey, and she still felt uneasy being alone in her office. Coming home to find his space invaded so violently had clearly shaken Morse and she couldn’t find fault in that. 

But he was using it as a shield, holding up the reasonable excuse so she didn’t dig any deeper, uncover the actual source of his hurt. Always hiding himself, was Morse. And Dorothea hated not knowing the truth. 

She let the silence sit for another moment, pondering her next course of action. It was always a delicate balance with Morse, finding the line between getting him to open up to her without shutting down fully. He needed to come at his own pace, but he needed to know she wanted to know. She wanted to share whatever his hurt was, help him in whatever way she could. 

She thought maybe he didn’t have many people he could feel safe opening up to, and she didn’t want to break the trust they had built over the years. 

“There was a girl.” 

His words came as a surprise, and it took Dorothea a second to process them. He spoke them softly, a mix of hurt and bitterness mingling in his voice. 

She thought back to that last conversation in the car on the country road. He’d denied a girl then, a scoffing almost-bitter voice proclaiming he didn’t have anyone. She’d thought it was a laden admission at the time, and now she felt a little vindication. 

It wasn’t sweet vindication. Not seeing how he was hunched into himself, not seeing the heaviness in his eyes. Heartbreak, she realised. Not something new to him, she concluded. 

“Ah,” she said softly. Morse stared into his empty pint glass. 

“She… had some trouble,” he said finally, looking anywhere but at Dorothea. “I couldn’t help her. She didn’t let me help her.” 

‘Sounds familiar,” Dorothea thought, expression soft and understanding as she looked at Morse. 

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, not knowing how else to help. She was glad he had let her in, glad he had shared at least something. Gently, she reached across the bar to squeeze his forearm. 

He started, looking down at her hand and then back up at her, seeming unsure what to do with the unexpected touch. Again, Dorothea couldn’t help but feel he had been so starved of everything a persons should have--love, intimacy, friendship. The knowledge that people care. 

For just a moment, he let her in fully. She saw the despair behind his eyes, the grief and loss. The hurt that informed every part of his life, walls and barriers and scars built up after a childhood starved of love and an adulthood seeing the worst of humanity. 

Then he shifted, pulling his arm away and looked back down at the newspaper in front of him. The moment was over, the walls were back up. Once again, he locked her out and was alone in his hurt. 

Dorothea knew there was nothing she could do for him except just wait until the next time he was brave enough to be vulnerable. For now, maybe that would be enough. 

“I’ll buy you a drink,” she said, sensing the companionship would be of more use than anything else right now. He flickered a small, forced smile in her direction and picked up a pen to start filling out the crossword. 

[bibelots]

I often think of the pub quiz of Harvest and think how it could be improved

(aka form the most powerful team in the world)

non-coloured versions !

[grimoirering]

Dorothea's new alt is soooo cute i had to draw it

[stergeon]

can someone please write this doropetra fashion designer/journalist modern au for me. i spent too long thinking about the devil wears prada today and now i have all the beats mapped out for this story i Do Not have enough time in the world to write.

please help. please. i'll give you everything. all of it. it's all right here. take it. mention me if you swap the names to sell the movie or streaming rights. i just want it to exist.

pitch: dorothea is a hot-nasty fashion mogul and petra is a journalist-turned-reluctant model who captures dorothea's attention (and her heart).

btw this is a Really long post so look out. also i know nothing about the fashion industry and Will Not Learn so don't tell me anything.

setting: various major cities in the USA. NYC, LA, Enbarr (you know, Enbarr, that major city somewhere between florida and texas. we've all been there).

cast

most everybody is in their mid-to-late 20s at the start.

petra: the last journalist with integrity in a world that's actively trying to eliminate journalism as a field. worked her ass off writing listicles and bullshit SEO articles for years until she caught a break and got in with a "Real Publication." she now works her ass off there. unfortunately there's rumors of her team getting laid off due to AI crap so she's stressed af trying to line up her next gig, just in case.

dorothea: hotshot young fashion mogul with a cult of personality around her. was a complete unknown barely out of college when she designed manuela casagranda's absolutely breathtaking met gala dress and her company blew up overnight. now does high-profile lines that are popular with movie star types and bougie social media influencers. notorious for being very, very friendly with her preferred models.

edelgard: petra's finance major/arts minor friend from college and her former roommate. nepo baby with Lots of connections. got petra her first big job writing PR crap for a division of the hresvelg business empire. caused a scandal by getting romantically involved with her TA (byleth) in grad school but they're still together. complains about her PA (hubert) and her lout of a stepbrother (dimitri), both of whom she's constantly texting or otherwise having to corral.

shamir: petra's boss/editor. admires petra's guts and her writing chops, as well as her ambition. somewhat of a mentor to petra, but is absolutely no-nonsense when it comes to work. she's been in this business a long time. there's no fucking around. leonie is another journo on the team. ignatz and linhardt also work with them doing layouts, formatting, and photo/video editing.

manuela: a famous singer from dorothea's hometown who basically adopted dorothea as a protégé after dorothea sent her sketches of designs she'd made. essentially responsible for dorothea's career. they have a bit of a contentious relationship these days as manuela's a bit jealous of dorothea's rising star and because dorothea's been ungrateful in recent years despite how much manuela's stuck her neck out for her. still, she's always there to give dorothea terrible advice when she needs it. her evolving relationship with dorothea is kind of a b-plot.

bernadetta: a reclusive, but well-connected social justice blogger and internet activist. one of petra's good buddies who regularly sends her scoops.

ingrid, ferdinand, sylvain, catherine, felix: models who commonly work with dorothea.

Jeritza: a nobody fashion photographer who thinks he's somebody. he's absolutely awful.

claude and hilda: paparazzi who work for tmz, buzzfeed, whoever will take em. petra thinks they are the scum of the earth. they are.

act 1

we open with petra on yet another bullshit assignment for her crappy job writing articles about things that don't matter. this one is a profile piece about a local fashion photographer, the mononymous Jeritza, who might be somebody someday and seems to think he already is. leonie was supposed to do the article but she flubbed it by offending Jeritza, who now won't give her the time of day, so shamir asks petra to please step in last-minute. petra's mad, but she gets her hustle on and goes anyway. it's not like she can be too picky with gigs in this economy.

by the time she gets to the shoot, she's late, and Jeritza is throwing a tantrum. the model isn't working out. Jeritza cannot work in these conditions. Jeritza fires the model and is about to freak the fuck out when petra walks in the door. oh, Jeritza says. i can work with you. petra did NOT sign up to be a model, has never wanted to be a model, has no interest in this whatsoever. but let's be real: it is a great angle for the piece. this could get clicks. shares, even. so she does it.

the shoot is a massive success, which is to say Jeritza is delighted with the results, but as it's just for a local streetwear company, the impact on culture is negligible. petra writes her article, which gets some attention due to the very funny portrait it paints of the histrionic artiste that is Jeritza. it's not much buzz, but it's just enough buzz to get shared around in fashion circles—enough for it to wind up in dorothea's inbox, courtesy of manuela. "Thought of you!! XD XD This is so funny!!" manuela writes. dorothea replies "lol" and is about to move on with her day when she decides to give the article a courtesy skim and scrolls down far enough to see the pictures.

oh. who is that model?

a few days later, petra's out at a bar getting drinks with edelgard and bitching about life when she gets a call from an unknown number. she figures it's probably spam, but they leave a voicemail. the transcription mentions it's from a dorothea arnault, whoever that is. edelgard almost shits a brick. DOROTHEA ARNAULT? you need to call her back. right now. petra's like okay jeez, i will. what's the big deal. edelgard facepalms. she forgot that petra doesn't follow fashion even a little bit ("isn't the gucci, like, the area between your butthole and your—?" "no petra it is not"). embarrassing for her, but there's no saving some people.

edelgard briefs her on the arnault situation. dorothea's studio is huge right now. edelgard's family business has been sponsoring some of her recent fashion shows and everybody who's anybody is trying to get an arnault outfit for their next event. while dorothea's very popular on social media, she's very tight-lipped about her private life. a profile on her could be a huge break for petra.

okay, petra thinks, what the fuck, okay. i'll call her back.

dorothea picks up on the fifth ring. uh-oh: she sounds hot.

hel-looo, miss macneary, she says, it's nice of you to pick up the phone. i saw that little article you wrote recently. you're sooooo funny. [her voice is sweet and smooth like butter. she sounds like she's twirling her hair as she talks. she doesn't say how she got petra's number. petra doesn't think to ask.] and those photos of you... my, my. you're quite the looker, aren't you? and you don't even model professionally? that's a terrible shame. you'd do well, you know. i'm in berlin right now but i'll be in enbarr's fashion district on tuesday afternoon. why don't you come by the studio? we're doing a shoot for some designs i'm releasing soon... a secret summer collection. oops, i shouldn't have told you about that, should i? well, i'm sure i can trust you to keep my secret. and maybe i could even trust you to write something nice about me? i think they'd suit you, you know, these new pieces i've got. if you have any interest in trying your hand at modeling again, i'd love to see you in them. 11 o'clock. ciao!

petra gets a handful of words in edgewise. most of them are yes. she keeps her phone held to her ear for too long after dorothea hangs up. she wishes she'd been sober for this conversation. she's not really sure what she just agreed to. she doesn't want to forget the sound of that voice.

she shoots a text to shamir. edelgard buys her a shot the instant she steps back into the bar.

tuesday comes and petra's nervous. she packed and repacked for this. checked twenty-five times that she brought her tape recorder and her good camera. arnault is gonna think that camera's a joke, but it is what it is. she's trying to play it cool, hyping herself up the whole time she's on the train. it's gonna be fine. just keep the tape rolling. write the profile. she doesn't have to model, she can just do what she does best. listen. pay attention. write honestly. move on.

sure.

if petra thought dorothea sounded hot, she's wholly unprepared for how hot she is in person. she's spellbinding. drop-dead gorgeous. positively unreal. and on top of that, she's so charming. she's graceful. smart. funny. flirty. and she keeps touching her—little touches on her hand, her arm. chaste things. friendly things. things that could be accidents.

she's exactly petra's type.

but petra is a journalist with integrity, dammit. she's going to be professional. and to her credit, she is professional. arnault makes it hard, but she manages. she blends in, listens, stays focused, stays out of the way. the model's cute—ingrid something-or-other. she can't remember but she got it on the tape recorder. told petra her instagram handle like six times, too, so she won't have any trouble finding her. the shoot is almost wrapped when dorothea asks if petra would be interested in modeling for her. she's not at all offended when petra politely declines. she poses when petra asks to take her photo for the profile. thanks her for coming out and talking to her. says goodbye with a polite handshake and that dazzling smile. she thinks about that smile and that touch throughout the whole train ride home.

skip ahead to friday. petra is working on the story and transcribing the audio recording when she gets a text from dorothea. so lovely meeting you on tuesday [heart emoji] [kiss emoji] [heart emoji] i know it's last minute, but the final pieces of the summer collection are coming in tomorrow and i think you'll like them for your profile. i'll fly you up tomorrow morning to meet me at my studio in manhattan, unless you're busy, of course~

petra is not busy tomorrow. shamir is considering opening a new style division of their publication.

the flight is the train ride but worse. keep the tape rolling, macneary. listen. pay attention. write honestly. move on.

she's resolute. committed. her resolve doesn't waver even when she gets off the plane, ready to call an uber, and there's a guy in a suit with a sign that says MACNEARY on it. it doesn't waver when the guy stops her and says no, he's not looking for another macneary, he's here for her, courtesy of ms. arnault. it doesn't waver throughout the ride—the chauffeured ride, in a fancy car, just her and the guy—from jfk through the streets of nyc, seeing the skyline she's only ever known from movies and on tv. it doesn't waver when she's escorted into a skyscraper in the garment district and guided up to the floor where ms. arnault is waiting for her.

it wavers when she sees her. when dorothea says her model couldn't make it that day and she could really, really use petra's help, it falls completely.

you can guess how the rest of that trip goes. petra barely remembers it herself. she gets back home to enbarr, trying to recover from the whirlwind week she's had by doing what she does best—working. she can scarcely believe any of it was real. she has to believe it when she gets back to her shithole apartment, sets to the task of transcribing the audio from her tape recorder, and realizes it was rolling the whole time.

the whole time.

and there's absolutely no denying any of it after dorothea sends her the photos for her review.

you look so good in these, she tells petra when she sends her the first photoset. i think you look better out of them, she says when she sends the second.

petra considers her options. considers freaking out. considers not replying. considers moving to australia. she considers and reconsiders and does none of those things.

what she does do is send dorothea the audio recording. dorothea sends her some photos of her own.

they meet up again in LA on the day the profile drops.

act 2

if that first week was a whirlwind, the summer is a hurricane. petra's being lauded for the quality of her profile on dorothea, as well as for being the only member of the press who can get close to ms. arnault. it's borderline scandalous, how she's also modeling the summer line despite not even being a real model. it's a thinly-guised affair—almost completely un-guised when their flirting gets a little too overt during a show in tokyo. who cares. petra's entranced. dorothea takes her everywhere, her personal reporter, lavishing her with gifts, showing her the world. she's keeping her busy between all this travel and all this passion. they go to show after show, shoot after shoot; petra works her ass off, keeping the tape rolling, listening, paying attention. so what if she doesn't have time to answer shamir's texts right away the way she normally would. the website's getting more traffic than it ever has, carried by petra's inside scoop on the world of dorothea arnault. shamir can cut her a break.

and she's surprised by how much she likes dorothea. how much she likes spending time with her. dorothea's all the things petra thought she was: glamorous, bubbly, charismatic. but she's also so brilliant, so hard-working, busting her ass every single day of her life. and she's sweet, too. she lavishes petra with attention, gives her all kinds of little gifts and things—nothing too expensive as to make petra uncomfortable (the jetsetting is bad enough as-is), but small, practical things she actually likes and could use. she asks petra about herself almost as often as petra asks questions about her. it's not petra's job to talk beyond getting the conversation flowing, to put more of herself into the discussion than there needs to be to get dorothea to open up. she's here to listen. to pay attention. write honestly and move on.

but she's finding she doesn't really want to move on.

one night they're hanging out in dorothea's fancy hotel room eating room service and drinking wine when dorothea makes a crack about how little petra knows about fashion. petra admits that she really didn't intend to get into it, that it just kind of happened. that what she really wants to do is investigative work, writing about events, exposing corruption, that sort of thing. no offense to dorothea! it's been fun doing this, don't get her wrong, but she's got goals, other things she wants to do—once dorothea gets tired of her, she jokes. sort of jokes. dorothea laughs. she smiles at her and asks why she wanted to be a journalist.

and petra's honest again. honest like she hasn't been before. she tells her a little about her childhood, her family life. about growing up in brigid (you know, the country on planet earth) and moving to enbarr as a teenager after her father died. seeing her super-smart, brilliant mother and grandfather go from these auspicious jobs in their home country to shitty ones that just barely pay the bills here, all in the name of long-term security. how they taught her to work hard and always act with integrity, no matter what she's doing. she tells her about the struggles of learning a new language, how it made her become a good listener, how she fell in love with writing because it gives her time to think about her words, to express herself the way she wants to. she wanted to be a journalist to speak for those who can't raise their voices loud enough on their own.

dorothea smiles at her the whole time she's talking. petra's not used to being on this side of the table, to being listened to like this. she almost doesn't know how to handle it; she's apologizing, feeling embarrassed for having said so much, but dorothea says don't be sorry. that's beautiful. she's lucky to have such wonderful people in her life who love her and support her. and she likes hearing petra talk.

things are different after that night.

act 3

the start of the Drama Arc. the summer's coming to an end. petra and dorothea are still spending so much time together, jetsetting around the world. petra's working on a piece that's a backstage look at the arnault company's leadup to milan fashion week. the stress is getting Real and the cracks are starting to show. petra's missing deadlines, blowing off shamir, blowing off edelgard, blowing off her family. she's barely in enbarr these days, jetlagged to hell, lost between time zones. her pal bernadetta reaches out and says hey, there's something Big i'm working on that i could use help digging into, can you give me a hand? petra says sure, i'll take a look. she doesn't. she forgets somewhere between london and são paolo.

things are still hot between her and dorothea, but she's starting to see the cracks in her, too. she's getting to see more of her, more of what lies beneath all that glam and bubbly personableness. you don't go from being a nobody to a mogul in your 20s by being nice, and what petra slowly discovers is that dorothea isn't just not nice, she is ruthless. she's nonstop, working her ass off, and anyone who can't keep up with her gets left behind. she hints at her past sometimes: at her shitty childhood, at growing up in poverty, at being orphaned, at having spent years in foster care. but she never opens up. she's 100% focused on the future, and it's all she wants to talk about. dorothea wants to live her dreams, yes, but more importantly, her goal is self-preservation.

petra finds this out when they're at a shoot one day. petra's off to the side, fucking with her piece of shit camera when who storms up to her but ingrid, and she's pissed as shit. she chews petra out. calls her an asshole. says she stole her job. asks what the fuck is wrong with her, doing that while posting her articles, publicly announcing to the world that she never even wanted to be a model. petra's floored. she doesn't even know what she's talking about. she asks ingrid to start over.

that "second date" of theirs in manhattan, way back when? turns out dorothea was telling the truth when she said her model couldn't make it that day. ingrid was supposed to be modeling. she was dorothea's #1 for ages. she'd just come off back-to-back-to-back shoots when she got sick, really sick. stuck-in-shanghai-and-probably-not-going-to-be-able-to-board-a-flight-to-manhattan-tomorrow sick. she told dorothea so, said she'd try her best. dorothea said not to bother and didn't call her again.

it'll happen to you, too, ingrid tells petra, once you aren't useful to her. you're giving her all this press now, but if you ever do anything else, she'll drop you like she drops everyone else.

ingrid storms off, leaving petra standing there, holding her stupid camera. she looks at dorothea, standing across the room, running the show, correcting this and that, getting everything perfect, exactly the way she wants it. petra looks at her and wonders. wonders what would happen if she wrote something dorothea didn't like. if somebody new caught her eye.

they get dinner that night and it's tense. dorothea's stressed. she's carrying on about this and that, talking about the shoot, texting and responding to emails, slamming back glass after glass of wine. petra's quiet, letting her talk. too quiet, apparently, because dorothea eventually takes her head out of her phone and asks her what's up. nothing, petra says, just thinking about everything going on, about the shoot today. dorothea rolls her eyes. i know, she says; on top of everything else, ingrid was there, and she wanted to have a whole conversation with me, like i wasn't busy and like she didn't fuck me over the last time i saw her. she texted me earlier, too. the audacity of this bitch, she gripes, going back into her phone, still mad. a little later into dinner, manuela calls and dorothea answers it; she's bubbly and sweet, all hi how are you omg it's been so long, i miss you, sorry i've just been so busy~ i've gotta go but we'll catch up soon. she hangs up and shoots petra a look. she's so needy, dorothea says, laughing. petra tries to laugh too and can't quite manage.

they're still going everywhere together in the leadup to milan fashion week, and petra's still working on the piece, but she's feeling a little gross and she's quieter than ever. she lets herself believe that maybe it's fine, maybe it's okay, maybe she's not really that cold and ruthless. but then dorothea shows her one day.

everything's been going wrong: there's equipment stuck in customs, marketing materials haven't been delivered from the printers yet, the studio they rented for pre-shoots is double-booked. then a model's late to the shoot and another one is complaining and dorothea is done, so done. she fires them on the spot, gets on the phone and calls two new ones who will get the job done and done without question. petra's quiet. listening. paying attention. keeping the tape rolling as dorothea justifies herself aloud, without prompting. don't judge me, she says. i do what i have to do, and everyone else should, too. i know no one is going to take care of me. i've got no reason to take care of anyone else.

she's a mess all night. angry. stressed. shutting herself off. petra's seen her get like this a few times, but this is the worst it's ever been. she's in her phone all night. practically snaps at petra when she asks if she can help her with anything. shrugs away from petra's touch.

they go to bed and petra barely sleeps. she just lies awake, thinking. thinking about dorothea. thinking about herself. thinking about how she's been blowing off her friends, her family, her boss. thinking about how swept up she's been in all this crazy stuff she doesn't even really care about, putting off her own career. feeling guilty about ingrid. feeling guilty about blowing off shamir and bernadetta. worrying about who she's become around this woman. wondering what happened to her integrity.

fashion week goes great. flawlessly. petra heads back to enbarr afterward. she's almost ready to publish her piece, but she's gotta make up with shamir first. she apologizes. says she's so sorry. sorry for blowing her off. sorry she missed her deadlines. shamir is pretty fucking done with her and has told her as much already, but petra's earnest, and her piece is ready, and she wants to give the girl one more shot. she tells petra alright, i'll forgive you, but i need this piece tonight or we're done. i can't keep waiting on you and your schedule.

okay, petra says, you'll have it tonight.

she's worried. nervous. there's so much on her mind. the piece is ready but it's not going to make dorothea happy. she wants to call her first. she tries and gets her voicemail. tries again. nothing. texts her instead, a few times. hey, she writes, i need to talk to you. call me when you get the chance. it's about the profile. it's important. i'm on a deadline.

nothing. the hours are ticking by. she calls her. texts her. it's really important, dorothea. i need you to talk to me. please.

nothing.

petra's left wondering. wondering what to do. whether she should hit send on this email or hold off. wondering what she wants out of this.

and what is this, anyway? a summer fling? are they dating? girlfriends? they've never put a name on anything. do they have a future? can petra even think about building a future with someone she doesn’t trust to keep her along if she ever should need help? maybe dorothea’s hot and smart and maybe she’s got incredible drive but if she doesn't share petra's values, if she’s not going to be able to live for more than herself, and be true to herself, can petra accept that? does dorothea even know herself well enough to be able to be authentic?

time runs out and petra sends her piece to shamir. dorothea leaves her on read.

the piece is published. it's a huge hit, and not just in fashion circles, because it's a perfect portrait of dorothea arnault, and who doesn't love a biography of a wunderkind. it's honest. it's real. it talks about everything: her light, her darkness, the ups and the downs of being with her. it's raw. personal. revealing. it's all her brilliance and all her evils, captured in the way only someone who really loves her could do.

when it drops, petra expects dorothea to call and rip her a new one. she doesn't expect her not to call at all. but dorothea's radio silent. a few days later, some dickhead paparazzi petra has the misfortune of knowing (hilda and claude) send her a picture of dorothea in LA, running around with some red-headed douche (ferdinand).

sorry, dorothea texts her eventually. i've been soooo busy. i've missed you, but we'll catch up soon.

sure, petra writes, knowing they won't. i'll see you soon, she writes, knowing it's goodbye.

act 4

petra goes back to her career. back to her friends. crashes on edelgard's couch for a while. spends time with her family. starts addressing the connections she fucked up, fixing things with shamir, trying to gain momentum again. despite the profile on dorothea being such a success, it takes a long time for her to get back on her feet. but it's okay, 'cause if she's busy, she doesn't have to think about her.

months go by. every couple of nights, dorothea drafts a text to petra and deletes it.

it's february now, which means new york fashion week is here, and although petra is branching into investigative stuff nowadays, shamir calls in a favor and asks her to help cover it. petra knows she might see dorothea there. knows it’s a risk. decides she’s gonna be so strong and brave, and she can’t really afford to pass it up anyway because it’s a big career opportunity, a chance to revisit fashion after her profile last year. so she goes.

and they see each other. and nothing happens. they don't even say hello.

but that night, when petra’s in her hotel room, spiraling, dorothea calls her. she's in a hotel up the street. she asks petra to come over. for all her sense, her morals, her logic, petra is no more than a lesbian, so she says yes.

they don't talk. they jump right to making out sloppy style and fucking nasty and holy shit, it’s just like it was when they first met: hot and intense and so good, so perfect. except it’s not, it’s not, because this isn’t going to work out no matter how much they want it to, and they both know it. they get into a big fight after dorothea makes a crack about the profile and petra loses it. she puts dorothea on blast for being such a piece of work, saying she can’t ever be with her no matter how much she wants to because dorothea won't ever put someone else first and she’ll never figure out how to be anything other than alone.

then petra drops another bomb. over the past few months, she's made up with bernadetta, and it turns out that the big scoop bernie uncovered is about exploitative business practices a certain scummy fashion company engages in. a certain scummy company that dorothea's company is partnered with. said company's dealings wouldn't get their business partners in legal trouble, but public perception would certainly change. she's been working on an exposé about it. she's going to release it soon. really really soon. like as soon as she gets back to enbarr.

dorothea looks like she's been hit by a truck. she begs petra not to release the story about the company. it’s going to fuck her brand. she'll be ruined. she offers petra whatever she wants. gets nasty, even, defensive. then she fucking breaks. she doesn’t fully open up, but it’s the closest she’s ever come to doing it. she says she's sorry, sorry for hurting her, sorry for shutting her out, sorry she cut and ran like she always does when she might catch feels, when she might be vulnerable for once. she says she's sorry and she asks her please, please, not to release the story.

petra doesn’t give her an answer. she just goes back to her hotel.

once she gets back, she doesn't sleep. she stews for ages, pacing, going back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. act with integrity and drop the story as-is. don’t drop the story and protect the person she cares about, in spite of herself. amend the story so maybe dorothea won’t catch heat...? no, that wouldn’t be acting with integrity either. she can’t win either way.

and dorothea’s having a think, too, which is to say she’s a fucking WRECK. realizing how bad she’s fucked up her life. realizing that petra liked her for her. wanted to get to know her for more than her name and her money and her connections. told her things about herself she didn’t even realize were true. and she hurt her at every single turn. for the first time in her life, she had a chance at something real with a good person who really loved her and she fucking blew it. there’s so much dissonance as she tries to defend her own actions to herself and can’t because petra’s wormed her way into her head, the only person who ever Really questioned her, the only person who ever made her question.

she's always figured things out alone. she's always had to figure things out alone. this time, though, dorothea's not sure she can handle it. so she does the only thing she can think to do: she goes to manuela with her tail between her legs. manuela's a little pissy at first as dorothea's been blowing her off for a while now, but she's also worried, because dorothea has never come to her like this. not once. and she's offered for her to, a lot.

when manuela hugs her, dorothea breaks. she ugly-cries into manuela's arms. tells her how bad she's fucked up. how much she hates herself. how sorry she is for being a dickhead when manuela's only ever wanted to be there for her. manuela comforts her. chastises her for being an asshole, yeah, but shores her up, too. tells her if she's really sorry, she'll figure out how to change. tells her that she's there for her, and she'll keep being there for her, so long as she tries. dorothea's blown away. she thought she'd lost her shot at having love in her life, but she was too blind to see there are other types of love she's been shutting herself away from, too.

dorothea leaves manuela's, still feeling like shit, but with plans to get lunch or at least call each week, and with the promise that she's going to do better, be better.

she makes an effort, too. she cuts ties with the skunks. changes her business practices. starts being more charitable, less ruthless, less aggressive. it’s a slog and it sucks and she’s bad at it but fuck she’s going to try. even if petra never takes her back, even if petra just thinks dorothea’s trying to cover her own ass again and protect herself from the impact of the story, it doesn’t matter. she’s going to be better. she’s going to try to do things right, because someone believed in her, someone thought she could be better. and she’d never thought so highly of herself, never thought she could be more until petra came into her life and saw the potential in her.

petra releases the story a week or so later, unrevised. she texts dorothea before she does. says she’s sorry. dorothea says it’s alright. she understands.

the story drops and it’s a clusterfuck. an absolute PR disaster. the scummy company folds overnight. a bunch of related fashion companies, including dorothea’s, are in huge hot water. dorothea’s on the press circuit, doing damage control. petra’s watching an interview with her, listening to her spouting off her PR beats. fully expecting dorothea is going to deny everything, throw everyone she can under the bus to keep her shit afloat. so she just about has a heart attack when dorothea admits she’s fucked up. admits she made the wrong decisions, did stuff she knew was scummy. takes accountability. is honest for once. honest in a way petra didn’t think was even possible for her.

dorothea outlines her plans for how she’s going to be better, the changes her company’s making, how things are going to be different. says she’s making a commitment. if it all folds, so be it. at least she’ll be able to sleep at night.

because capitalism is the way it is, the company doesn’t go under. they’re in the red for a while and the "Controversies" section of her wikipedia page is now significantly longer, but the news cycle goes on and consumers forget and a few months later, pieces from dorothea’s summer line are all the rage with the kids on tiktok. petra’s more than a little bitter about it, but mostly she doesn’t give it any thought. she did her part. wrote honestly. spoke the truth. kept her integrity. she’s become a big name since that scoop, too, with her career really taking off. she's writing books and shit, appearing on tv, what have you, doing the investigative work she's always dreamed of doing.

she’s in london one night on the final leg of a press tour, sitting in her hotel room, when she gets a call.

it’s dorothea. she’s in london too. would petra like to get brunch tomorrow?

yeah she would. bitch loves a mimosa.

they get brunch and it’s tense. they try small talk but don’t really know what to talk about. dorothea makes it more awkward by cracking a joke about petra writing an article about her after this brunch and petra only kind of laughs.

but then dorothea apologizes. earnest. honest. like she’s never been with petra. tells her she’s sorry. tells her how she changed her life and made her think about herself differently, made her think she could be a better person. made her Want to be a better person. convinced her it’d be worthwhile to try. and she has. she’s made so many steps since they last saw each other. doing better. living kinder. living true. says she doesn’t expect anything from petra at all. just wanted to say sorry, and thank you for seeing the best in me.

petra says you’re welcome.

dorothea pays for brunch and they go their separate ways. dorothea holds it together until she gets to her hotel room and then she loses it, bawling her eyes out like she has never ever done, like she’s never let herself do. but it’s okay. she loves petra, that hot journo with the cute accent and more morals than sense, but dorothea knows she doesn’t deserve her, and she’s going to be okay with that. she’s going to live better anyway, for herself, because she’s worth it.

act 5

a year and a half goes by before dorothea and petra run into each other at a formal Thing. they talk, cordial, business-like, just catching up. dorothea makes a crack about the tmz photos of petra with three or four different high-profile supposed gfs over the past year and a half, calling her a heartbreaker. petra laughs, a real laugh. says dorothea's one to talk. asks if she's been keeping up with her? how often does she google her? dorothea says she does it more often than she'd like to admit. petra blushes, laughs again, flattered.

she asks if dorothea's been breaking more hearts lately herself and dorothea says nah. she's been focusing on her business. she's got this non-profit going now too, and it's been taking off. just landed some pretty big investments that will bring arts programs to schools that don't have funding for them. she looks proud of this. she is. she's actually spending more time doing that these days than her fashion stuff, which makes her a little sad, but it's not so bad because it's given her a bit of a mystique: the designer whose work was once Everywhere, now dropping limited release lines every few seasons instead of keeping up with the fast fashion whirlwind. it's different but it's good. she likes it. she's happy.

petra says she's glad to hear that. that she's happy for her. makes a reference to the new line dorothea's rumored to be dropping this fall. dorothea's eyes almost pop out of her head. you know about that? yeah, petra says, i google you. she's known about the non-profit, about everything dorothea's been telling her about. she's a journalist. she likes knowing things. but she likes knowing about her. knowing that she's doing well. and it's really good now, knowing that she's happy. she tells dorothea she's happy for her. that she's proud of her. that she knew she could do it.

dorothea doesn't cry. just says thank you. she gets called away by somebody else, and petra does too, pulled in the opposite direction. dorothea thinks about hugging her first. almost touches her hand. elects not to. says it was good to see her. then they're both whirled elsewhere and they don't see each other again.

but that night when dorothea's in her hotel, she gets a text. it's from petra. would she like to get coffee tomorrow?

FIN

[digitalresorts]

[jun 30, 2021] more linhardt winfart (with a bonus ferdie and dorothea bc i lobe them)

[hauntedlovewasteland]

Miss Americana Documentary Taylor speaking to Brendon Urie about the Me! Music Video: “ And like whatever makes you, you. You know just like “Emo kids, theatre, dance sequences, La La Land everything.”

Brendon: “Nailed it!”

Taylor: “And when it’s like me-e-e it’s like “Dancers, cats, gay pride, people in country western boots” I start riding on a unicorn. Just everything that makes, me me. If you were to split open my imagination.

Mourning: the expression of deep sorrow for someone who has died

When I hear the line “You can mark my words that I said it first In a mourning warning no one heard.” I think of the Miss Americana documentary and how she talks about how she has felt misunderstood her whole career and she has been silenced from saying things she wanted to. When she talks about the creation of the music video for her song Me! She openly says gay pride is apart of her. One of the big parts of the documentary are about her political activism and being so loudly for the LGBT community by making the You Need To Calm Down video that was for gay rights. She said it first and no one heard her when she said “gay pride makes me, me.” they all just seen it as a form of activism and kept saying she was straight. It really showed how homophobic people still are. How something as simple as that and as clear as that is for people to just ignore it and say “oh no she didn’t mean it for herself” when she literally said it. She knows when the day comes that her hetlor and homophobic fans finally realize what she’s been saying this whole time it will be like a death. I think her Lover “activism” era really showed her how homophobic her fan base is and how they wouldn’t stand by her if she was very loudly queer. And so her being so loud about LGBT rights as an “ally” was a warning for her homophobic fans.

[deliverred]

...and then there were four.

like clockwork, the weasel cabin grows quieter each week, with this one becoming more dangerously still. not even the guise of a grand finale can mask the unsettling feeling of watching their numbers dwindle ( and all this talk of a ringmaster doesn't help any, either. )

"you know, it wasn't so bad out there," dorothea says airily, trying for a smile. "granted, we were given soapy drinks and chased through a labyrinth by something that couldn't take a joke...but see? not so much as a scratch." both arms are held out to prove a point.

"forde and i made the most of your advice. we were plenty cautious out there." despite everything, she allows herself a small laugh. "maybe a tad too much, even. but we're here now. a handful of weasels is better than no weasels at all, right?"

dorothea's voice trails off, the light-heartedness now replaced by a more somber demeanor.

"though i suppose you’ve already guessed that’s not the real reason i’ve come here." a pause ; she hesitates briefly. "if i may, lukas? you've earned the team's respect. i think a rally from you might do wonders for morale, considering the current state of things."

She's attempting to put on an act here. He's not sure he understands why she feels the need, but he would not deny her whatever rituals she desired to get through this upcoming week.

"I am relieved you both were able to return unharmed," his tone is gentle, tired gaze observing the young woman before him. No wounds, just as she said -- but he knew well, not all damages were physical. Some were in your head, your heart, your spirit. "I am sorry if my...words and advice did not serve you well. I feel as if I've made several costly miscalculations as of late, and I apologize that they have fallen back on you and the others."

He is tired, yet he cannot rest. This is not over yet, and even if the odds are not in their favor, to give up is unacceptable when they can still put forth some kind of effort.

"We're here now...," he echoes, letting the background noise of the ocean crashing against the shore fade until it was but a thrum in his veins. He pulls in a breath through his nose, holds it a moment before fully meeting her gaze with his own. There is no smile this time, no mask in place, merely the reserved relentlessness that had seen him through to this point.

"I fear you may be asking the wrong person for this, Miss Dorothea; I am not a man with which passion stirs easily, nor do I think I could blow such life into the embers of our team."

Did they see differently than he? If they peeled back the layers of steel, would they see something in the hollow space he feels at his center? A spark of light, of warmth, in the darkness?

Or would they see nothing but a hollow echo of what it means to live?

"But I shall see what I can do. Please, try to get some rest while we still have the time."

[grantaireble]

Tortured Poets & "The Bride of Frankenstein"

To a new world of gods and monsters!

Alright this is soo long now and I came about this revelation the weirdest way (while watching world class color guard) but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. All of my ttpd thoughts were rattling around in my brain as we were watching videos and one group put out a Bride of Frankenstein show last year and they used this quote as a V.O:

“What do you expect? Such an audience needs something more than a pretty little love story. So why shouldn’t I write of monsters?"

And, man, something about that got the neurons firing, especially because I had already been thinking a lot about the connections between Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and TTPD. Here are some of those:

Frankenstein visuals in the Fortnight MV

“The 1830s” Mary Shelley's Frankenstein was originally published in 1818, but she made some edits for an 1831 edition

Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron were sort of their own little TPD, writing horror stories together one rainy summer.

TTPD and Frankenstein seem to reference many of the same things

Both Taylor on TTPD and Mary Shelley in Frankenstein reference the Rime of the Ancient Mariner and the albatross

“I am going to unexplored regions, to “the land of mist and snow;” but I shall kill no albatross, therefore do not be alarmed for my safety, or if I should come back to you as worn and woeful as the “Ancient Mariner?” – Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Both Taylor and Mary Shelly reference Greek Myth 

Frankenstein: “The Modern Prometheus” (often compared to the Christian story of Christ)

Cassandra: gifted the power of prophecy but cursed to never be believed

Does the headpiece above not give Medusa?

Both Taylor and Mary Shelley reference the Bible

“I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel...” (Frankenstein) / “I got cursed like Eve got bitten,” etc. 

Both Taylor and Mary Shelley reference principles of Alchemy! 

"The modern masters promise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted, and that the elixir of life is a chimera." (Chimera = lion's head, goat's body, and a serpent's tail, more Greek mythology)

Some lyrics from TTPD also feel like direct references to Frankenstein quotes or themes

“I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein / “I was tamed, I was gentle ‘til the circus life made me mean.” – Taylor Swift, Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“I am alone and miserable. Only someone as ugly as I am could love me.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein / “Down bad like I lost my twin.” – Taylor Swift, Down Bad

“I am malicious because I am miserable” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein / “Because I’m Miserable!” – Taylor Swift, I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

“One wandering thought pollutes the day” ― Mutability, Percy Blythe Shelley (Quoted in Frankenstein) / “One bad seed kills the garden” – Taylor Swift, The Albatross

“This feels like the time she fell through the ice” – Taylor Swift, The Bolter / In Frankenstein, ice is symbolic of isolation and alienation.

“Wretch” or “Wretched” is a huge word in Frankenstein / “That I’m fearsome and I’m wretched and I’m wrong.” Taylor Swift, Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“In the streets there’s a raging riot” / In the story, the Monster gets chased by angry mob of townspeople 

The First Two Pages of Frankenstein by The National (The Alcott appears on this album and The National toured it with Patti Smith)

Bonus: Dr. Frankenstein is something of an anti-hero. He, along with his monster, are also sometimes referred to as Tragic Heroes. Greek philosopher Aristotle first laid out the attributes of a Tragic Hero.

So all of this to say, I had originally only been thinking about TTPD only in the context of Mary Shelly’s original Frankenstein, even though that Fortnight imagery was definitely inspired by the films. But then that quote just really felt like it had Taylor written all over it.

So I googled Bride of Frankenstein.

It's basically an "everyone lives" AU sequel to Frankenstein lol. It's the 2nd of a trilogy (...hmmm?) although the third film Son of Frankenstein has a different director. The line I heard in the guard show is said by a fictionalized version of Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, who "appears" in the Bride of Frankenstein movie, along with poets Lord Byron and Percy Shelly.

In the scene, Mary Shelley explains that she wanted Frankenstein to show its audience the consequences of mortal man trying to play god. She then reveals that there is more to the story than everyon thinks. This, of course, got me thinking about the term "playing god" and the Mastermind of it all, along with all of the religious/worship imagery Taylor uses on the album. Bride of Frankenstein also uses Christian/crucifixion imagery to convey this theme. 

The movie picks up right where the original Frankenstein left off. Both the doctor and the monster somehow make it out of the original story alive. Dr. Frankenstein, despite wanting to step away from his experiments after his horrific first attempt, gets pressured/blackmailed by his mentor to create a mate for the monster. While this is happening, Frankenstein's original monster is sort of bumbling around out in the world trying desperately to make a friend. This never works, as everyone is too afraid of how different he appears on the outside.

This is around where the queer reading of "The Bride of Frankenstein" comes in. I'm getting most of my info from this video, which definitely clicked things into place for me.

The queer reading is based on a few things:

The relationship between Dr. Frankenstein and Dr. Pretorius (two men creating life together)

The monster as a figure that does not fit into the norms of society and the effects of that on his search to find someone "like him"

The director, James Whale, having been one of only a few openly gay men in Hollywood at the time

The character, Dr. Pretorius', "campy" queer coding

The Bride of Frankenstein was subjected to censorship from the Hay's board while in production and by censorship boards once released

"In the decades since its release, modern film scholars have noted the possible gay reading of the film. Director James Whale was openly gay, and some of the actors in the cast, including Ernest Thesiger and, according to rumor, Colin Clive, were respectively gay or bisexual." (Wikipedia)

This reading focuses on Dr. Frankenstein's inability to stay away from his "experiments," despite having a new wife and a potential regular life waiting for him at home. He is rejecting "the natural" in favor of "the unnatural.”

This reading also looks at the monster's deep desire and inability to find belonging in a world that fears otherness. The Monster tries multiple times to make a friend, but is always rejected.

He saves a woman from drowning but she screams in fear at his appearance.

He does befriend a blind hermit and they bond and become friends! But soldiers find the Monster there and they are separated. (At this point in the story the Monster wishes he were dead again.)

Finally, the Monster gets to meet the the Bride, who was literally made for the Monster. Unfortunately, the Bride, horrified at having been brought alive for the sole purpose of being a companion, also rejects him.

Here are some connections that relate to the Frankenstein/ Bride of Frankenstein films:

"Such an audience needs something more than a pretty little love stories" / "Are you not entertained?"

Safety Pins, Bride of Frankenstein / Hairpins, Fortnight video

“Strings tied to levers"? –Taylor Swift, Robin / At the end of Bride of Frankenstein, the Monster pulls the “self-destruct” lever, killing himself, the Bride, and Dr. Pretorious (might be a stretch, but this movie is the origin of the "mad scientist self-destruct lever")

In Son of Frankenstein, Dr. Frankenstein's grandson is named Peter (definitely a stretch?)

In Bride of Frankenstein a maid character, Minnie, tries to warn the town that the Monster is still alive, but no one believes her and she says "Nobody'd believe me! All right. I wash me hands of it. They can all be murdered in their beds." (It's giving Cassandra)

In Bride of Frankenstein the Monster saves a young shepherdess from drowning / "She almost drowned in frigid water" -Taylor Swift, The Bolter

Frankenstein freaks out and accidentally burns down the hermit's cottage (the only place he found human connection, hidden away from judgmental eyes) when they are found there by two hunters

Anyway this is so so long and and doesn't even include any real analysis (I might save that for a more cohesive post) but once I got started I just kept noticing things.

Right now I think the question I'm currently trying to answer is: Frankenstein Taylor Swift the Monster or the Doctor? The Bride? The drowned girl? The almost drowned girl? The Author??

[allamericanb-tch]

me after taylor plays another song she wrote about me at a show i didn’t go to

[agreyrose]

Hey Taylor quick question what the fuck happened in Texas and in Florida? Why are we singing about them so much this album? Jw thanks

[cotharach]

"that wall’s an illusion ! hiding what, i wonder …" ( hiii miss flayn 😌 )

bg3 starters (accepting!)

"Is it really so?"

Flayn, raised on fables and the dreams borne of a long slumber, is eager to believe whatever mythos might emerge from this age's folk. She enjoys, particularly, the stories they've constructed of the saints—though this tale that Dorothea whispers to her with a grin... this one is also quite good. Of course, Flayn would never admit to believing in such things as wonders hidden within walls (stories are but that: stories!), but... there always was a chance, was there not? Indulging in that chance seems like the natural course of action anyone would take!

Fingers go to trace the walls, pale digits running over brick and grout like a stone skipping across water. Flayn leans closer towards it, feeling for a heartbeat. She turns back to Dorothea, eyes agleam with a small helping of whimsy—that childlike belief that the world is more special than it truly is, or that the walls have secrets they wish to share.

"I must admit, your words have fascinated me. If this is true... then we must break through this illusion and take hold of the truth!"