#and you give me some tswift angst goodness ... well here it is

[merinelsa]

requested by @izzydoesnotknow

[disregardcanon]

oh while i still have some time to just sit and be today, i wanted to write some Thoughts TM that i had while listening to tswift’s folklore in the car yesterday 

1. folklore is really great as a concept album. there’s a couple of songs that don’t hit me perfect, but as a whole it does FEEL like the mystic, timeless folktale thing that she was going for. i’m impressed with the cohesion there 

2. i’m not entirely sure what “the 1″ is doing there. it feels a lot more reputation/lover than the rest of them, especially since it’s more straight up romance and doesn’t do anything very interesting with the style in the way that some of the other songs do. i don’t HATE it or anything, but it doesn’t feel like it belongs on this album 

3. i like how there’s clearly more than one story being traced through the songs

last great american dynasty going into mad woman is great. last great american dynasty is more about the character but also about taylor herself, and then it shifts into that theme of just wanting to go apeshit because there’s so many strings attached to civility. 

also, mad woman HITS a lot better than some of her rant stuff for me recently. i’m not a big fan of the man from lover because it feels more like “why can’t patriarchy work for me”, but mad woman feels more like shouting in a soundproof room, the way that it so often does trying to rage against the status quo. 

cardigan to betty is great, and i feel like august is probably also in that story because the earnest summer romance aspect seems like it happens BEFORE cardigan which happens before betty. so order of the story is 2 1 3

seven and mirrorball and this is me trying all feel like they’re the same story. there’s less backing for this one, but the way that seven is about returning to the fierceness, wildness, and sureness of self of childhood melding into mirrorball “this is where i am right now, melting myself into different shapes to fit for different people” to “i have done the melting for so many different people that now i’m far behind and don’t know who i am. i’m trying but it’s just not going well” feels like a narrative thread together. 

hoax and the lakes for sure go together. i’m not sure if it’s the narrator, but the way that the two play off of each other is perfect. the shift from screaming on the cliffside asking for a reason to jump going to lie in your sadness by the lake just to be there is so.... visceral 

it’s such a violent mourning shifting into more of a melancholy. 

4. many of them are about themes that just don’t really get explored much. 

seven as really the Purity of youth as much as the lack of knowledge and slightly feral quality. like, there’s the innocence, but not innocence as an entirely good thing. the narrator clearly doesn’t really understand the abuse the nature of the situation that “her” companion has been through and there’s this just run off to the woods and be pirates narrative that’s sweet, but clearly borne from a place of not really getting the situation. it focuses more on the narrator wanting to escape the confines of her adult life and civility than letting the companion with the bad home life escape. 

then it’s got that playground chant style that’s mixed with kind of a foreboding “haunted” feel that just gives it the perfect amount of creepy and wistful. it’s a good song. 

i also LOVE the lakes. i hadn’t heard it somehow until yesterday, but it’s just a feeling that i’ve never really felt expressed to music before. it’s that deep melancholy that you WANT to wallow in because there’s something about being a teenager that makes you drawn to lying in angst to lie in it, the “alone together” in a place of sublime in the literary sense, just to kind of soak up the way that the world feels vast and beautiful and terrifying and ugly and lonely- together with someone else who gets it too, while the assumption that no one else could ever GET that thing that’s kind of a universal experience is running through too. 

it feels so much like being a teenager to me in a really good way i’ve never seen before. the hamlet part of being a teenager. 

the style feels right for it, but i can’t tell you why as much as something like seven. i might be able to grasp it better with a few more listens. 

5. other highlights- cardigan DEFINITELY feels like it’s music video where you’re transported to another, magical world. it’s a mystical and scary one, though, which is perfect for a first love that leaves you heartbroken and adrift on the sea

exile feels so right for the content of the song- that loneliness that can only be achieved through miscommunications that could probably be solved if you talked a little better 

mirrorball’s style is hollow and feels like it’s spinning like a music box, which feels perfect for the image of someone who feels hollow trying to fit themselves into a million different boxes. this is me trying feels similar and works for about the same reasons. 

also lyrically, this is me trying has some of my favorite stuff from her. i have about six close readings i did in the car but here’s my favorite section 

They told me all of my cages were mental-- the narrator asked for help and did not get any because she was told she was making the issue up  So I got wasted like all my potential-- okay so let’s talk about this one 

1. wasted potential is of course a common phrase that we’re playing on 

2. “i got wasted” has the meanings of “i got drunk but in a way that was giving up my sobriety” and “i had things to contribute, but i didn’t, which is a moral and personal failing” and if you go a little further and take “wasted” to mean “thrown away like trash” that also implies a failure on the part of those THAT threw her away. like, all of the implications here of having had something to give and being tossed aside because there is no more efficiency attached and you aren’t Fulfilling Your Purpose is just fantastic, especially after the line about how she reached out for help that wasn’t given. 

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad I have a lot of regrets about that-- 1. the words shoot to kill when i’m mad coming after the frustration of her wasted potential is great because it shows that there’s still that resentment towards the people that helped the narrator end up in this situation and she takes it out on them 2. she regrets doing so, whether because they don’t deserve it or because it doesn’t help that. 3. the “i have a lot of regrets about that” line is a motif in the song, but both times it comes back it’s more regrets for things she feels she has no control over than things she’s done 

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here-- i think that this one’s pretty self-explanatory? anyone who was a gifted child knows the feeling of having been great at academics but not necessarily socially or in fields that translate well to “real life” and then ending up at the bottom of things because the skills that you were building left you ill-fit for the way that world actually is. 

the instrumentation and bounciness of betty just feels so nostalgic and childhood summer-lovey in a way that works perfect for two young lovers coming back together after a fight 

6. i don’t know, other than the 1 this album just really feels like what it was going for. there’s a lot of great running themes that make it FEEL like folklore and a few of the songs take some great stuff from folk songs which helps 

the emphasis on narratives and perception and especially movies helps with that. 

as a whole with running themes and motifs and junk, this is definitely some of tswift’s best work. maybe THE best work. some of the songs aren’t necessarily “fun” to listen to and i wouldn’t choose to put some of them on just individually, but they make for a great whole. 

7. i’m not saying you have to listen to folklore because i don’t make your choices but there’s a lot of great stuff on it so 

[juliusschmidt]

i want them all! but... 4

‘cuddling in front of the fireplace’  

from the lbo ‘verse, ~1.6k, G 

angst!, hurt/comfort!, and tswift gets a hard mention or three.    

~

Louis’ nose burns with cold, his bum hurts (in an ice-bruised way and not a well-fucked way) and he misses his mum. Today has not gone well. 

A holiday. That’s what Harry called it a month back when he’d begged Louis to come along. Louis’d be on break from school, wouldn’t he? It’d be fun. Didn’t Louis deserve a break from England in January? 

But instead of sunshine, surf lessons, and lazy morning sex, Louis’d gotten snow, humiliation, and far less Harry than he’d been led to believe. 

A holiday. 

Didn’t really seem like much of a ‘holiday’ at all. Louis wishes he’d heeded his mum’s advice, left luxury to the rich and studied for his exams instead. God knows he could’ve used it.

Louis pulls the fluffy white hotel blanket even more tightly around him. His mum says Harry’s lovely, but that he’s leading Louis on. What Louis’ tried to explain is that it’s even more tragic than that. He and Harry have an arrangement. Louis’ allowing Harry to use him for easy sex out of the kindness of his heart. 

He opens Facebook on his phone. Bad idea. Nearly all his notifs are from fans asking whether or not Harry and Taylor Swift have the Real Thing. 

Louis’ heart, which had just started to warm thanks to his half-drunk pint on the bedside table, freezes again. 

Louis closes his phone and his eyes and fights the urge to call his mum and tell her that she was right all along, that his miserable self needs to hop on the first flight home where he can spend the rest of his break cuddling his baby siblings and cats. 

His phone pings with a text from Harry. 

See you soon. 

He types, already asleep and then deletes it. He tries, kinda want to be alone, and then deletes that, too. Finally, he decides on, i’m in bed. Which is true, but, also, at 8pm gives off the vibe of sullenness that’s settled in Louis’ bones. 

Honestly, he’s not sure whether or not he wants Harry to come see him or not. He’d probably be brimming of stories of Swifty. Maybe she’d turn him straight. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d achieved such a feat as far as the gossip sites are concerned. 

Closing his eyes, Louis tries to tug sleep over himself like darker, heavier duvet. If he’s asleep, he’ll never have to know whether or not Harry shows, whether or not Harry’s decided that the celebrity dating game isn’t too bad after all. 

Louis doesn’t fall asleep, though. Instead, his mind races with regrets. The boy on the ski slope who’d asked him to grab drinks back at the lodge. His mum who complains of never seeing enough of him between uni and pursuing his famous not-boyfriend around the world. His tutor last fall who’d confessed that Louis was funniest, most beautiful boy he’d ever met. 

What was wrong with Louis. Why was he here? 

Harry bursts into the room just in the nick of time. Louis blinks back the tears of self-pity that’d begun to form in the corners of his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

If Harry’d led with any other words, that might’ve been the end of it. Louis might’ve confessed the end of the ruse and asked to be flown home. He might’ve told Harry he couldn’t do this anymore.  

Louis peeks his head out from under the covers. Harry’s fully dressed in his ski apparel, winter jacket, snow pants, heavy boots; he’s even got his hat on. 

“I came back as fast as I could,” Harry continues. He’s pulling his gloves off. Or trying to. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but there was an accident.” 

At this, Louis sits up fully, taking in the bandaid on Harry’s brow and the sling that’s holding his right arm tight to his chest. 

“Fuck,” Louis cusses, climbing out of bed to help Harry, who’s now struggling to unlace a boot, one-handed. 

“I’m fine,” Harry assures him. “Just a scratch and all that.” He pulls off the boot and wobbles wildly for a terrible moment before Louis reaches out to catch him. 

“What happened?” Louis asks. 

“There was a snowmobile and a tree…” Harry trails off. He meets Louis’ eyes with a pout. “I don’t really want to get into it. It was all terribly stupid and totally my fault. My manager’s doing damage control so that Swifts people don’t come after me with an exorbitant lawsuit. American’s, you know.” 

Louis pulls Harry’s jacket carefully off one arm and then the other. He wants the story and he’ll get it, eventually. Now, he’ll settle for checking Harry over to make certain for himself that Harry means it when he says ‘only a scratch.’ 

They tussle a bit- Harry continues to insist that he doesn’t need help- as they loosen and free Harry from each and every item of clothing he’s wearing. Once’s Louis’ got him down to his boxers (and sling), Louis proceeds to pat him over from head to toe. 

Harry’s hisses at the first touch of Louis’ palm. 

Louis stills, hand on Harry’s left shoulder. “Does this one hurt, too?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Your hands are just cold.” 

Louis blows on them a bit and then rubs them together a few times before continuing his exploration. Harry stays still, watching. 

Louis’ fingers are gentle over the large pink and blue bruise on Harry’s right side. “What’s this? Is there internal bleeding? Have you broken a rib?” 

Harry sighs. “No. I told you, just the cut on my forehead and the shoulder tear, that’s all.” 

“How’s she, then?” Louis finally thinks to ask. 

Harry shrugs his shoulders and then winces in pain. “About the same. Maybe a little better. I sort of blocked her fall.” 

Louis lets out a breath and tries not to be disappointed. Wishing bodily harm- even on your sworn enemies- is not kind and Louis does try to be kind. For his mum’s sake. 

Harry’s squeezes Louis’ fingers. Louis hadn’t even realized they were holding hands. 

“You’re still freezing,” Harry says. He casts his gaze around the large suite that they’re sharing for the weekend. “Why didn’t you turn on the fire?” 

Louis glances at the large gas fire place underneath the mounted flat screen television. He’d been so caught up in his stewing that he hadn’t even noticed it there before. 

“I- I was waiting for you.” This explanation is even stupider and more embarrassing than the truth. 

Harry beams at him. “You didn’t have to.” With his good arm he pulls them toward it. 

All it takes to turn it on is the flick of switch. Harry presses one button and suddenly the room is lit by the merrily dancing flames of full-grown fire. The technological advances hoarded by the wealthy never cease to amaze Louis. 

Harry drops to the floor, leaning his back up against the huge bed, feet out in front of him, inches from the glass plate holding back the fire. Louis grabs a blanket off the bed before dropping down beside him. 

“No,” Harry says. “Not where I want you.” 

Louis raises a brow at him. 

Harry pats the ground between his legs. “Better to warm you up.” 

Louis can’t disagree. But, then, as he’s settling back against Harry he remembers the ugly bruise on his side. Frozen, he says, “I’m going to hurt you.” 

“No, come on.” Harry pulls Louis more firmly to his chest. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s true, too. Even though less than twenty minutes ago he’d been miserable enough to leave Harry forever, he does not want to hurt Harry. 

“You’re not hurting me. It’s my side that’s injured not my chest. Anyway, they gave me some good drugs.” Harry’s lips tickle Louis’ ear and emotion wells up inside Louis so thickly that he reaches out to squeeze Harry’s thigh, hard. 

They sit for a long few minutes in quiet, watching the flames jump and twirl. Louis listens to Harry’s low, quiet breaths. Harry’s okay. He’s not partying with a new, beautiful, rich, famous, talented girlfriend. He’s not dying in a snowbank in the woods, waiting for his corpse to be eaten by wolves. 

He’s here with Louis, alive and well. 

Harry’s voice is rough when he breaks the silence. “I hate this. All the fake… you know… It’s the worst part of all of it.” 

Louis squeezes Harry’s thigh again, his eyes stinging. 

“I’m really glad you came along, Louis. I don’t think-” he pauses. “I couldn’t do this without you. When I was in the A&E, that’s all I kept thinking. As soon as this is over, I get to be with Lou.”

Louis’ throat is too tight to reply so he waits a moment before, scratchily, saying, “We’re not even fucking right now.” 

Fucking. The word sounds strange spoken between them in the firelight. But that’s what this is about, after all. If he doesn’t say it, he’ll forget. The romantic thoughts he works so hard to keep at bay will break free, take control, convince him to hope in things that will never be. 

Harry’s chin sinks into Louis’ shoulder. His stubble rubs against Louis’ cheek and Louis’ breath catches. 

“No, that’s good. The fucking, I mean,” Harry whispers. “But I think this might be better.” 

Louis squeezes Harry’s thigh again and, this time, he doesn’t reply, only wordlessly nods his agreement. He’s not sure Harry sees it. He’s not sure it matters.