#i gave up and now use both sets of names interchangeably

[mon3trous]

my husband and me both watched beyblade dubbed as kids but i went online and learned the og names and he didn’t. the result is that whenever beyblade would get brought up, we would mock argue about the names.

one time we put a yuri on ice poster up and he decided to make a Statement

the poster has looked like this for years and we never bothered to take the postit not off bc you know what, you can have your little tala on ice as a treat

[garbinge]

Welcome Home

Tyler Owens x F!Reader

Summary: After not being home for years, you come back and find yourself feeling everything that kept you from coming home to begin with. But that doesn’t stop you from calling an old friend and taking a trip down memory lane with him.  Created a playlist that inspired a lot of these scenes, some even mention the songs briefly. Welcome Home Playlist. // Word Count: 5k 

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Grief. Trauma. Dead Sibling. Talks of a break up, of drunk driving. No use of y/n. Mentions of having a sibling who has a name in this fic. Happy Ending. A/N: I… this was something that just poured out of me. I couldn’t stop until it was done. I can’t just simply write a one shot without giving reader so much background and backstory it becomes over 4k apparently LOL. Twisters Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

Being back home brought back up a lot for you. It’s why you hadn’t made any where home yet. The weight of the word was just as heavy as being back here. Your parents had gone out, taken the family to some line dancing event. It took plenty of convincing for them to leave without you, but eventually you and your sister gave them enough flack that they did. Now you sat alone on the large farmland on the back deck watching the sky turn pastel as the sun just began to set while your sister went inside to her room. After a couple minutes, you brought yourself inside, taking in all the things that never changed about home. The blankets, most of them were the same ones that you spent hiding under with your best friends when you watched scary movies. The furniture, the living room still had the same sets you’d make forts out of with your siblings. The pantry and fridge, your family was still an ingredient one so if you opened the fridge for a snack, you had to take the time to put something together instead of just grabbing and going. The pictures, there were new ones, ones that you and your sister both sent back home from your new lives away from here, but the old ones were in the same spots. Memories of building the back deck, going on vacations to Eureka Springs, high school graduations. This part of home was warm, it was welcoming, it was safe. As you entered your room, that’s where things got heavy. It hadn’t changed. There was no changing things into sewing rooms or storage. Everything was left untouched. 

It felt the same as downstairs. Only difference was your sister had been blasting Leon Bridges loud enough that you could hear it on the entire second floor. But besides that, pretty much interchangeable with the first level feeling wise. The blankets, most of them were the same ones you spent tangled in with him. The furniture, the loveseat facing the large bay window was where you spent most nights looking out of your telescope with him, not looking at the stars but looking at the clouds in the sky. The drawer in your nightstand, one that you jokingly called the pantry that held tons of quick non perishable snacks you’d find yourself sharing with him and even your sister when she would knock on your connected door asking for something. The pictures, those memories of who was with you helping build the back deck, who drove you down to Eureka Springs that one summer, who graduated alongside you. Then there were the ones that only the young group of you had memory of. Sneaking out to the swimming holes late at night, cow tipping because you had to see if it was a real thing or not. It wasn’t, instead you ended up drunk in a field with him and your sister. The party where you got violently ill all over your shirt and he gave you his. That was the photo you were staring at now. You, with the widest grin on your face in the backseat of his red dodge RAM, his green button shirt, only done up halfway, your white bra peeking out from it, your right hand with your thumbs up right next to your face, your hair drenched because he and your sister thought the hose from whoever’s house would wash the smell and stain of vomit from it. Your sister was next to you, her hands covering her face as she laughed and in the right corner was a blown out blob from the flash. The only visible markings you could make out was the top of dirty blonde hair and the slight of a blue green eye, but the same thumbs up as yours just closer and blown out similar to his face. As you picked the frame up, another photo fell out from behind. You bent down to pick it up and you realized it was from the same night, it was you and him, someone had taken this picture from behind you both, probably your sister. His arm was around your shoulder, the green shirt still on your back and him just in a white t-shirt. He was pointing at something and you were mesmerized by it.  While there was no way of telling what your face actually looked like from the photo, you knew you were because Tyler Owens always mesmerized you. Opening your dresser drawer to put the photo in was when you saw the same green shirt from that night folded under a couple old tank tops of yours. 

You swore it still smelt like him, which was impossible, you most definitely washed it after your drunken night but again, home had a weird way of holding feelings captive in objects. 

Without thinking, you draped the shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned, making your way over to the oval shaped full body mirror that was tucked in the corner of your room. One you had covered the frame with stickers and the stand with cardigans. As you stared at yourself in his shirt, you lifted your t-shirt to see not the same but the same color bra you had in the picture from all those years ago and you let out a chuckle and a head shake. As your body moved, so did the shirt, falling off your shoulder and without a second of hesitation, you plopped down on your bed, crisscrossed and searched your phone for his contact. 

Two rings. You’d thought it’d be disconnected, voicemail at best. You thought you’d hear a more matured tone of his voice than you could remember, telling you to leave a message after the tone, but instead you heard him answer and he sounded exactly the same. 

“Hey, storm girl.” 

There it was. Suddenly you were 16 again, and if you didn’t have recollection of every terrible thing that had happened in the last handful of years it would’ve been easy to fall back to that. Sitting in the room you grew up in, in your high school love’s shirt, your sister blasting Leon Bridges throughout the house, and Tyler answering the phone speaking a nickname you hadn’t heard in forever. 

“Didn’t think you’d pick up.” Bringing your knees to your chest, you rested your chin on them, again swearing that scent of him was still stained all over the shirt you still had casually draped over you. 

You could tell he was smiling through the phone. In spite of it having been years, there were just some things that you’d always be able to tell about someone you knew so well, so intimately. 

“Didn’t think you’d call.” His southern accent was so strong and it made you wonder if being away for all these years made you lose yours in a way that only he would notice.

“Just because I called you, doesn’t mean I miss you.” 

“Oh, well of course not.” 

And just like that, you were back in the teasing rhythm you always had with Tyler Owens. 

“You were just on my mind.” You replied. 

“Funny, I think I found you somewhere in mind recently too.” 

You smiled, and you knew he could tell you were smiling. “I found that shirt you gave me after I puked at that house party our graduation night in my bedroom.” 

“Asher Levi.” A laugh filled the speaker of the phone. “It was Asher Levi’s house party. I remember because a few of us took his jeans and created a zip line type of thing into his pool. I think that might’ve been what made you puke, that mixed with the drinking.” 

“Levi’s levis.” You remembered it so clearly, it was definitely less of a zip line and more just a single monkey bar if you recalled correctly, but it was definitely possible you didn’t with how much you drank. 

“Did you say in your bedroom?” Curiosity was littered all over his tone as he spoke. 

“I did.” Your eyebrows raised like you were shocked by the statement too. 

He was nodding, a nod that held so much emotion but he decided to answer with something a little more light hearted because he knew how hard it probably was for you to be where you were. “I thought I heard Leon Bridges in the background.” 

You laughed at that, it was your sister’s thing, and he would’ve known that better than anyone else. 

“Where are you right now?” You weren’t exactly sure what response you were expecting, but the one he gave definitely wasn’t it. 

“A motel on the coast of Oklahoma.” He sounded so amused, like he knew his sentence was going to leave you wondering how to answer.

“Oh.” Was all you could come up with, your mind was jumping through all the reasons why Tyler Owens was at a motel right now, some good, some bad, some you wished you didn’t think of, some that led you even more intrigued than the statement itself did. 

“How many scenarios just flashed through that pretty little head of yours?” He knew you too damn well. 

“Wasn’t counting but probably at least 17.” 

“Tell me one.” You couldn’t see it but he was kicking his feet up on a cooler as he sat back in a lawn chair. 

“I’ll tell you three. First one, hooker.” 

If he had a drink in his mouth, he would have spit it out, but instead just brought his feet down and sat up so he could let out a belly laugh. “A hooker?!” 

“I don’t know, maybe your game went down over the years, Owens. I don’t judge. Sex work is work.” 

“While I don’t judge either, I am not and was not with a prostitute.” 

“I know.” You agreed with him. “My second one was a little more upsetting. I was worried you got uprooted.” You were referencing a tornado, something so common where you grew up. 

“No, I’m not uprooted.” All joking tones were gone now as he reassured you. “What’s the third one you wanna share.” 

“I think it’s the right one.” 

“Well this I gotta hear.” There was that intrigue again. 

“You’re chasin’ storms.” You knew him too damn well, too. 

He opened his mouth in a smile, his tongue playing with the inside of his mouth knowing you were right on the money. “Ever since you left, I’ve been searchin’ for ‘em.” 

“Took a break to ride a few bulls, though.” You showed your cards with that one. 

“You’re cheating, you’ve looked me up.” 

“To be fair, you showed up on my instagram news feed a while back, something like ‘all the motivational phrases from hot cowboy Tyler Owens as he preps for his bull riding competitions’.” 

“Sounds about ri–wait so you don’t even follow me?” There was fake hurt coming through the phone towards you now. Realizing you were talking about a post from some news account, not even his own page.

“You don’t follow me! How can you be mad that I don’t follow you.” 

“I follow you. I liked your last post. Surfing in Sayulita.” He had you there. 

“You’re just looking at it right now.” There was actual defensiveness in your tone now. There was no way you didn’t realize Tyler Owens followed and liked your posts. 

“I feel kind of offended. I feel like I’ve been in contact with you this whole time you know, like I’ve been a part of your life from a far while you’ve just cut me out cold.” His cowboy drawl was strong in that sentence and you felt embarrassed almost. It was a reminder of the guilt you felt but it wasn’t something you’d discuss on the phone, this was meant to be reconnecting, fun, that Tyler Owens banter everyone knew and loved. And he knew it because he was following it up with more fluff. “If it makes you feel better, my instagram is all PR, Youtube stuff. I got a finsta for my cool stuff.” 

“Why do I picture you imitating the sunglasses emoji while you said that?” Your nostrils flared as you grinned.

“Because I did.” 

Now it was your turn to let out a belly laugh. 

“That’s probably why you didn’t realize it was me that was liking your posts.” He pulled his phone away from his ear and pulled up instagram to shoot you a DM. “There I just sent you a message so you can follow me back.” 

You saw the sunglasses emoji pop up on your phone alongside CloudTy. A play on Cloud nine,  the nickname you gave him. “Nice finsta name.” 

“Yeaaaa, someone cool gave it to me a bunch of years ago and it just stuck.” He was leaning back in the lawn chair now and he realized he hadn’t lost the smile on his face since he picked up the phone. 

“You want to pick me up?” You shocked yourself with the question and your boldness, but with how Tyler answered, that feeling of being 16 and in love again filled your heart. 

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

And just like that, your favorite Leon Bridges song came on. Appropriately titled, Coming Home. Falling back on your bed, you wished this feeling was one you could have drowned in forever. There were only a few people in this world where you could pick up where you last left off, and the list was short. Your family was a handful of them, but the difference is you always picked up at the same memory. The one each one of you were stuck reliving when you all came together. The reason you were back home to begin with. Tyler on the other hand, you picked up where it felt safe, familiar and just freeing. 

The door that led to your connected bathroom where your sister's room was to be found on the other side was opening and your head lifted up to see her one hand grasping the doorframe and the other still on the doorknob. “Uh, I think Tyler Owens just pulled into our driveway.” Her smile was hesitant and muddled as she waited for a reaction from you. 

“Okay, thanks.” You were jumping up, not eagerly because you weren’t stupid enough to act that way in front of your sister and open up the 20 questions. 

“Okay, sorry, I shouldn’t have worded it that way, why is Tyler Owens in our driveway?” She repeated her question in a different manner. It seemed like the 20 questions can opened up anyways. 

“He’s picking me up.” Again, said so nonchalant to throw off any more questions you weren’t sure you really had the answers too. You began gathering your stuff and ignored the full out beaming look your sister had on her face as she followed you downstairs. 

Opening the front door, your eyes fell on the same red dodge RAM he had in highschool, except now the truck was completely storm proofed. But you didn’t bother paying attention to the truck, your attention was on Tyler. His white cowboy hat matched his white t-shirt, his hand moved up to tip the hat down in a greeting and his smile was contagious.

“Okay, actually, I think my real question is, why is Tyler Owens in our driveway in a truck that looks like it belongs at a Monster Truck Rally?” You realized your sister was next to you and it broke your concentration. 

“You coming with us?” You were adjusting your stuff as you asked, breaking eye contact with him as you tucked your phone into your pocket. 

“No.” She answered quickly. “I’ll let you have your moment. Am I lying to mom and dad?” 

Wow, you really were 16 again. “No.” Your face twisted up, why would you need to lie to your parents, you were an adult. That’s when you heard the muffle sounds of the Luke Combs song, the guitar strums, although muffled, were enough to get your attention back on Tyler who was nodding his head to the beat. Suddenly, every bad thing you ever did with Tyler was running through your brain on loop. “On second thought, yes.” 

“God, for once I wish my life would present opportunities like this.” She mumbled under her breath as she wrapped her sweatshirt around her torso and ran up to the passenger window of Tyler’s truck. Shortly behind her you followed, hearing Tyler greet your sister and their quick conversation as she hung on the door through the open window, her feet on their tiptoes to reach. 

“Nora.” He greeted her. “How goes it.” 

“It goes.” She was looking around in his truck at all the modded technology. 

“You comin’ with us?” Tyler wasn’t asking in annoyance, he was asking because you knew he genuinely wouldn’t care if she tagged along, the invite was always there. 

“Nah, I’m running interference.” 

That earned you a look now from Tyler, he greeted you first before anything though, your name falling off his tongue with that extra drawl that managed to send chills down your spine. “Interference, huh?” 

“Every morally gray thing we’ve ever done flashed through my head and while I’m an adult, I think it’s better to fill my parents in on my whereabouts when I’m back.” 

Tyler chuckled with a nod. “What you plannin’ on tellin’ ‘em Nor?” His head fell back and his wrist rested on the steering wheel as he asked the question. 

“Could just say one of her girl friends took her to a party, maybe she went out to a last minute dinner with friends?” Your sister shrugged, it had been a while since she came up with a lie for you. 

“Dinner with friends. I think that’s a good one, not too far from the truth.” Tyler was teasing now and as much as you enjoyed the banter, you weren’t going to stand there all night. Squeezing past your sister so you could grab the door handle, she backed up and let you climb in, not stepping back too far though. “Tell you what, Nor, why don’t you just tell your parents, I took your sister storm chasin’.” He shrugged with his tongue playfully sticking out as he joked. 

“Be safe.” Your sister tapped the truck and started to head back inside. Suddenly, you didn’t feel 16 again, the butterflies of getting in your boyfriend's truck and the nerves of what was going to happen weren’t anywhere to be found. It was replaced with comfort and well, like the old feeling of being home. 

“Windows down?” Tyler asked as you hit the country roads after a few turns to get off your parent’s property. 

“Yea, windows down.” With your head out the window, the wind blew against your face. It was breezy but humid, you could see the clouds moving against the now pink sky as the sun continued to set. Even though home didn’t feel like home, this was as close to the feeling you had gotten in a while. Those Arkansas sunsets against the endless plains of land just brought you a feeling that felt like no other. 

“How are things?” His eyes were on the road as he asked. No teasing, no show, no banter. Just a genuine question. 

“I don’t know.” A genuine answer. 

He let the silence comfortably move in, the sounds of the road filling the space instead. 

“How about you?” It was a few minutes later when you asked him. 

“They’re alright.”

The road noise continued the conversation again. The wind howling became your voice and the thunder in the distance was Tyler’s as he continued to drive through the roads you both traveled on so much as kids. Music was still playing in the background, Tyler always had a knack for choosing the perfect driving playlists for each car ride you’d ever taken together, all based on the adventure and this was no different. 

“Why’d you come?” Your head was back in the car now, leaned against the headrest as you looked over at him. 

“Why wouldn’t I have?” Still one hand on the wheel, while the other was hanging out his door catching the wind. 

This conversation was going to be different from the one on the phone. The one on the phone was easy going, one that if you didn’t have the opportunity to see eachother it could’ve ended amicably and open to more down the road. This one was going to be facing all the things that couldn’t be said on the phone, only when you were sharing the same space. “We didn’t exactly leave things on the best terms.” Your head tilted slightly, like it was obvious why you were asking the original inquiry and he was still questioning it. 

“You didn’t exactly leave on the best terms.” He was correcting you but it was done so gently, giving you grace in some of your worst moments. 

“So you’re telling me you never held it against me? This entire time?” It was like you were begging to be punished for how you left things. 

“Never.” There wasn’t any doubt in his voice, and Tyler wasn’t the type of person to say anything he didn’t mean. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” WIth a deep breath you looked away from him and straight ahead on the road. 

“What’s that?” He asked, again the witty responses were long gone, this was the Tyler you fell in love with, not that the wild jokester wasn’t lovable either. That’s what pulled you in, but this, the real tender moments where sharing things without really actually saying them straight out was understood by him and when you did have it in you to really explain how you felt, things felt sacred. That’s what made you wonder if you ever truly fell out of love with the man driving. 

“Pretend like it never happened. I said awful things, Tyler. Awful things. And this whole time you’ve never held it against me? You’ve just–I don’t know what or how you do it.” 

Now he got what your question was. How could he be happy to pick up the phone to your call, how could he fall right back into rhythm with you, offer to pick you up, how could he not remember that last night you saw him. 

“We have so many great memories, one bad one isn’t going to just erase them all from my mind.” It was half an answer to your thoughts. “You were–” he stopped at that word, it felt weird referring to it in the past because if he was being honest, he still felt that way. “You are an important part of my life. We grew up together, you know.” There was another part answered. But you were waiting for that last bit. “I don’t pretend like it never happened. I could tell you exactly what you said, exactly what I felt when you said it, but it doesn’t change everything you said before, everything I felt before.” 

That should’ve been enough for you. That should have melted you, and if you were in a romance movie, maybe it would’ve. But you weren’t, and as much as you wished you could accept that and drop it you couldn’t. 

“I told you I couldn’t love you anymore.” You said it not to repeat the words, but to prove your point, and it broke you to even utter it out loud again. 

“You told me you couldn’t love anything anymore.” He corrected you again, his knuckles white as his grip tightened on the wheel and the loosened as the memory replayed in his head. “And when I asked you, ‘even me?’, you said ‘even you’.” 

The scene practically flashed in front of you like a slide projector. The rain, pouring down in your driveway, something that used to bring you so much joy, just added to the list of things ruined that day. Your tears mixed in with the drops of rain. Your black dress drenched, Tyler’s suit just as soaked. You were yelling, something you never did towards each other unless it was in a cheer of excitement. Granted, the rainfall was loud and your voices had to carry to be heard over it. As your eyes shut to get rid of the memory, you almost saw it clearer. The look on Tyler’s face when you said it. Like you had just gone inside his chest and ripped his heart out with your bare hands. 

“I–” You didn’t even know what to say, the guilt of it all eating at you at this moment. “I said awful things.” You repeated the same sentence as earlier, hoping that was enough to get across your sorrow, even though he didn’t need any of it, he knew even before you called. 

And so, he said what both of you were tiptoeing around. Not because he had to, you both knew why, you both knew the reason. But maybe talking about it or saying it outloud would do something about how you felt.

“You had just lost your brother.” 

And there it was. Grief had a funny way of popping up. Especially the first stages of it. And when your older brother died, from driving drunk on the freeway, two nights after your graduation, everything felt tainted with his memory. It was too much for you to deal with on top of dealing with mourning. You decided to leave home the night before the funeral. And to really add to the shittiness of the funeral day, you decided to solidify it as the worst day possible by also making it the day you broke up with the guy you were in love with, alongside of the day you buried your brother and the day you left home. 

“I lost everything.” Now it was your turn to correct him. Tyler wasn’t an asshole, he wasn’t going to say what you were thinking. How losing everything was on you, it could’ve just been one thing, one really awful thing but you had to go and make it worse. But that was just the thing. Tyler would never say that because he didn’t think it at all, you did. 

“I like this song.” You leaned forward to turn the speaker up. “What’s it called?” “Aimless.” 

You let out a snort. In your attempt to change the conversation, avoid the awkward and painful topic of this all, you managed to just end right back in the middle of it. “Kind of perfect.” 

“I figured you hadn’t found home yet, noticed you were kind of all over the map.” The kindness of this man. Despite knowing exactly what you meant, he still was giving you the grace to talk about travel, and while it still was dancing around the point of what you meant, it was giving you an out if you didn’t want to take the bait. And while you wanted to take it, to avoid this uncomfortable feeling, you didn’t. 

“Home has been hard to find since that day.” 

Tyler nodded in agreement, understanding why it would be. “S’why I don’t hold any of that against you.” 

And that’s when it really sunk in, Tyler got it. He had lost things too, knew how unpredictable the unravel of it all was. It didn’t make it right, it didn’t make it okay, but it made him see you. This entire time he saw you through the fog, while you were dead in the center of it, blind to it all. 

“Where we headed?” The lightness in your tone was more a product of feeling less heavy than when you arrived home versus wanting to change the topic.

“You’ll see, Storm girl.” His smile grew back on his face, the same lightness you felt was traveling over to his side of the truck, too, it seemed. He was shifting too, his left hand moved to the wheel while his right leaned on the center console. Your eyes fell down on it, staring at it as he mindlessly tapped to the beat of the next song playing, one he clearly listened to a lot to know the bass beats. That’s when you really took in where you were, back in Tyler’s life, and him back in yours. Without thinking you brought your hand to his and intertwined your fingers in his. He didn’t even flinch, or take a look down, he just opened his palm and welcomed you back in. No judgment, no pushback, no hesitation. And then, he squeezed it. Four times. Like a beating heart. The gesture you’d do when you were 16 and weren’t able to say anything. At parties, in the midst of the crowd, when you’d jump off those swimming hole cliffs, at dinner with your parents, and now, when the conversation felt itself hard to be had or maybe even just finished. 

It was then that you realized, he was driving up a mountain, the plains were fading in the rearview as he trekked up the trails. You knew exactly where he was taking you. Within minutes you were parking on an overlook ledge. The sky in its last stages of a sunset, the last chance to take a look at the cloud silhouettes, you could see the sunset on one side and the storm that was thundering on your way over on the other. It was your favorite spot to come and watch the storms brew years ago, sometimes the clouds would be low and dense enough to be gathered around the overlook. In fact some of them were currently, and you jumped out of the truck, looking up as the moisture was just an arms length away, moving towards the overlook where the view was a little clearer. Leaning forward against the rocks, you smiled and turned around to see you were alone in the dense cloud. In an instant your smile dropped until you heard Tyler’s voice. 

“I see you, I’m comin’.” 

He did see you. All along. When you were in the fog, he was always there. 

When he pushed through the moisture, he grabbed your hand, then brought it with his own over your head and then rested it across your torso, his body coming up behind you and intertwined in a hug as you looked at the storms. His head ducked down and pressed a kiss to your temple before standing straight up and pushing you back against him so you could feel his chest vibrate as he spoke the two words that allowed you to realize maybe it was time. 

“Welcome home.”

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

The Chicken

(just a small comedy quip (not the fic I've been working on))

Alastor x Reader & Vox

Vox moves into Hazbin Hotel looking for a way to win Alastor redemption...

You giggling with Alastor as you both try to shush the other as Alastor holds both your cargo as quietly as possible...

Alastor uses his umbrakinesis skills to keep you both almost undetectable as you both sneak down the hall to the desired room, holding back laughter at the combined diabolical plan.

Once there he sends forth his main shadow to unlock the door from the inside, keeping the hall in shadow to make sure not to awaken the victim.

You creep in together and there's a slight squeak from Alastor's hands, you both freeze, but the occupant snorts slightly in his slumber and stays that way to your relief.

You give Alastor a smug glare as he had been inistant he would make the least disturbance.

Finally you're both able to arrange everything the way you need it, swiftly and with only one small incident where you both panic as 'he' mumbled Alastor's name in his sleep, Alastor glares at you mortified and beseeching you to never mention it again.

Once safely out the room and back inside Alastor's you both fall about laughing for a good long while, making theories on what will happen when he wakes and finds the little surprise you both left... Re-enforced with Alastor's magic so it would be unremovable and indestructible until he deems otherwise.

---

The next morning...

Vox: "WHAT THE FUCK!" Followed by a loud screeching noise that has you and Alastor who had been loitering in the hall absolutely dying of laughter already, tears forming in your eyes as screech after screech sounds in Vox's room as he tries to find a solution to his problem...

Vox's door bangs open and there's a rather odd large lump in the front of his pyjama trousers, you both try and fail to look innocent as his furious look.

Vox: "What the fuck did you do to me!"

Alastor: "Why we simply gave you an upgrade, you were after all saying how versatile it was to have things interchangeable, we were just being good samaritans and giving you something worthy of your entertaining personality." He says smoothly as Vox's screen glitches and you snort in laughter.

Vox tries to round on you but Alastor steps in front of you.

Alastor: "Ah, ah, ah, old pal, I wouldn't even think of that if I were you, only I have the power to help you with your little problem and you harm a single hair on this ones head and you'll find you're stuck with a permanent attachment for as long as you exist." Alastor says so darkly even You shiver, although you're not sure if the source is fear... Or something else entirely.

Vox grumbles something along the lines of "we'll see about that" and stomps of the his room with little squeaks along the way.

You: "Have fun choking the chicken!" You call after him to raucous laughter from Alastor as you also have to lean on him for support having set yourself off too.

Vox's muffled voice swears, and there's a hilarious amount of squawking and squeaking likely finding no way to sever the rubber chicken from his pelvis and unable to find a way to loosen it from the attachment slot.

You and Alastor continue enjoying the show, both crying and holding each other for support now as Vox seemingly gives up to get ready for the day.

You both head for breakfast as there's not much else to hear as Vox heads to his bathroom... Still determined to not miss work it seems.

Breakfast was just as entertaining as Alastor willingly sat next to Vox, which one any other day would've had the TV man ecstatic yet today, he was anything but, as Alastor would find 'innocent' reasons to jostle Vox just enough for a slight squeak each time, that had you cracking up as Alastor would watch you keenly for reactions, his own face the mask of innocence as the repetitive sound had even Charlie wondering where it was coming from and asking Alastor if he could check the doors for squeaky hinges, to which he agreed knocking Vox again with a squeak as he emphatically gestures and speaks with Charlie, and Angel gives you a knowing look as you stare at Alastor.

---

Vox heads to work, he brings a briefcase and uses it to block the view of his oddly shaped bulge.

Vox makes it through with minor squeaking thankfully, but then it's time for his news segment, and unusually stays behind his desk throughout, but unfortunately and without thinking with his own exaggerated gesturing he crosses his legs with an almighty squeal from the chicken and everything goes quiet and everyone stares at Vox, who's stuck in that position now as if he uncrosses his legs the flattened chicken would reinflate with such a squark he wouldn't even live through the mortification, though he wonders if he'll survive this one.

Meanwhile at the hotel you and Alastor, who decided it was about time to put the picture box to good use and support your new 'friend', we're rolling about laughing so hard right now all the words anyone could make from the pair of you were "squawk" and "chicken".

When Vox finally returns to the hotel cheeks a darker blue than usual on his screen, he manages to corner you both and Alastor finally agrees to let Vox 'alleviate' his problem, under one condition... He makes the chicken make a loud sound on purpose in the main lobby, with Lucifer present...

Vox tried to beg, and plead, but Alastor's evil grin is unmoved and finally Vox gives in with such a death glare, 'if looks could kill' almost manifested.

Once he's gone...

Alastor: "Thank you My Dear, you were right all along, to make him leave me alone from his fawning, all I had to do was humiliate him, no wonder torture never worked".

You: "Much obliged, and you owe me money for the chicken, you know once he can get that off he'll shred it."

Alastor: "It's a deal".

Another huge squeak from the lobby has you both snickering and pelting straight towards the lobby eager to not miss the looks on everyone's faces.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Hello! I always have daddy issue so could I ask for a masculine and silver daddy? Instead of turning into one I want to be turned into a loyal son inheriting daddy's characteristics and being more like him.

You said you want to inherit his characteristics. Well I think I can do that. I can even go a step further.

You wake up in a hospital bed with your face wrapped I. Bandages. A deep voice can be heard as he’s talking to what you find to be a nurse. You begin to stir and that’s when they notice you. The nurse comes to you and begins to remove the bandages and when she is done she gasps. “Never have I seen such a perfect outcome”. She holds her hand over her mouth and the man with the deep voice laughs “well he is my son after all!” The man is handsome. A silver fox of a man and he is grinning widely. He holds up a mirror and to your shock you look exactly like him. Only younger. This was phase 1.

When the nurse left your father told you how proud he was that you did this. Having surgery to make sure looked exactly like your old man. “Now we can really begin to share everything”. It wasn’t long before you were discharged and you fell into your new routine. You shared everything with your father. Clothes, shoes. Everything. He even had your birthday changed to his minus the 20 year age gap. Everything he did. You did. It’s not even long before you are both confused for each other since you look like the younger version of him now. Every so often you have to go for a routine alteration. Your father wanted you to be as much like him as humanly possible. Even if it meant having injections in your groin to plump things up just like he did several years ago. Now with both of you having your underwear off no one could tell a difference. Even the tattoos that adorned his body you soon got as well.

You both went to the gym and interchange clothes. You’re used to wearing sweaty clothes and wearing sweaty shoes now. Your father doesn’t like to wash them often and with you two sharing everything now you get used to it. The big surprise to you took take place when he gave you papers to sign. A few days later a new piece of mail came addressed to you and it was then official. You both now had the same name legally. You father grinned “your almost 100% me now son”. Even though it should have scared you how far he was willing to make sure you shared his characteristics it didn’t. Maybe it was the conditioning that you had been through making you know that you had to be like him in every way possible.

Then a day came where you dad met you in the kitchen shirtless.

“Son I think it’s time we go a step further. You have inherited all the traits I have. We share everything…” he explained how everything about you was a reflection of him. “The step further is a swap. You’re going to be me permanently and vice versa. Everything is already set in motion.” You didn’t know what we was talking about but as if a shift happened you were now staring at yourself. You and your degree shared everything. Clothes, looks, and now a body. He whipped out his phone. Took a picture. “Dad. This is going to be one hell of a ride. Take a look at your body now. We will share everything permanently now.”

[worldismyne]

Iceberg Bing for layer 3 and 4.

My memory is really bad, so some of these might have already appeared in earlier layers.

AMVs - Either specific songs that were popular to use in the fandom, or any fanmade content from during the manga's run that was popular

Soul and Maka Split up - Apparently this interpretation of Maka and Soul's final discussion in the manga is a hot take. There was a lot going on in the final chapter, but here are the phrases from the manga that gave me that impression.

Will cross this box off for any analysis from that final chapter tho.

Thompson Twins - Can't remember if this specific reference was pointed out, but stands in for any pop culture references brought to light.

The Dress - This is a newer development, but at some point this dress got listed on Devil Inspired and advertised heavily on instagram.

A bunch of Chrona cosplayers independently saw it and adopted it. (There were at least 3 or 4 at the first con I went to after it was listed). It's so prolific I've seen it in fanart of Chrona now.

Mary Shelly Theory - Saw someone in the tag a while back theorize Marie might be an allusion to Mary Shelly. It would add a layer to the electricity power outside of the Mjolnir reference.

New Art - Any mention of the 20th anniversary drops. (It didn't fit well in the square)

Purple/Pink Gate - Another one I can't remember if it's already been covered. Despite most fan artists color picking a dusty rose for Crona's hair, lavender wigs are still more common for cosplayers. I am a pink wig truther.

Shinobi - Okay, this is a PS2 game that predates the manga by two years. The main mechanic is a katana that sucks the lifeforce/soul of the user unless it's constantly fed other souls. I am fairly sure this is the inspiration of the uncanny sword. Even the cover art gives post time skip vibes.

If not, both pieces of media have to be referencing the same thing.

Zagreus + Dionysus : Death the Kid's role in SE has similarities with the god of the rebirth. Particularly the part of the legends where he's dismembered and eaten. There is some confusion in greek mythology if these are just different names for the same god or just two gods whose roles overlap, thus why I put both names.

Ragnarok - Particularly how he stops being a character after Salvage. Will also check off for mention of the war of the gods.

Merch - There's a lot of merch out there. Apparently they made a speaker inspired by bonus art. I'm sure there's a bunch of official stuff I haven't seen before.

Official Cosplay - There's a few talking points here that come to mind. Like how Soul is the only weapon with an official cosplay prop. Any Spirit, Ragnarok or Tsubaki props you see were made by the cosplayer. Death the Kid rings get sold one at a time, even if they're advertised as a set.

Translations goofs - There's little things like Afreet and Kishen being used interchangeably in the sub. The Witch hunter evolutions have a few different names. I'm sure there's other translation stuff that I don't know about that might pop up.

Demi-god Black Star - Another umbrella square. Black Star's arc towards the end seems to be referencing something specific. Idk what it is, but Marie goes out of her way to put him and Death the Kid on the same level and snubs Maka at the end of the manga.

The Dread Queen - Comparing Chrona to Persephone is really common in the Kirona crowd. After listening to some deeper dives on the topic there's actually precedence for them to be an allusion ancient underworld goddess that predates Persephone and Hades, but not the abduction myth. They're never referred by name only by titles. Crona's name being literally Dark One in Japanese fits with this theme, as well as usually being referred to as the Demon Sword rather than by their given name. This could be more coincidence than anything else though.

Unlocalized content - The iceberg has already covered the games, but there might be audio dramas or other in-character content that didn't make it's way over when SE was popular in the US.

[truebluewhocanoe]

Dot & Bubble, RTD, and race (a ramble)

Maybe I'm just imagining it but I feel like this episode was VERY much being done in response to/in conversation with RTD's first era, especially Season 1. "Lindy" as a name, and as a character (for some of the run time, at least) feels reminiscent of "Lynda with a y" ("Lindy" is literally "Linda" but with a "y" at the end), they're both from societies inundated with screen media, but are shaped VERY differently by it (I think I'm overdue for a Bad Wolf/Parting of the Ways rewatch to dig more deeply into it). Lindy's dynamic with Ricky felt very Companion&Doctor but we all saw how that went.

Speaking of which, I don't know if Ricky's name is a deliberate echo of Mickey's alternate counterpart Ricky- probably not, but it's interesting nonetheless. As a reminder: the Doctor spent the first season and a half not bothering to remember Mickey's name and repeatedly calling him "Ricky", only to find out that in an alternate universe, Mickey is a badass revolutionary with a gun... who is, in fact, named Ricky. Kind of fucked up for the setting itself to undercut this version of Mickey by reaffirming the Doctor's "joking" mistreatment of Mickey. In fact, Mickey takes Ricky's place when the latter dies- as if they're interchangeable!

Meanwhile in Dot and Bubble, Ricky September is the one character who, despite also being rich & white, manages to break somewhat free of the society of ignorant racists, although it's left up in the air if Ricky had actually seen past that part of Finetime or not- I want to believe he did, but we don't get the chance to find out. But for the brief time we know him, he does get to, briefly, play a Doctor-ish role- until he got fucked over by an ignorant bastard that he was trying to save. Once again, I don't think a Ricky Smith/Ricky September comparison was intentional, and it's kind of hard to work a direct parallel out of those tangles, but it feels like there's something there- maybe someone smarter than me can untangle it.

Ultimately, the most important part of this is... I think most of us have realized, or have been taught, by now that the original RTD era had problems with race. (You can watch this video for a primer- if you have other recommendations, whether they be video, post, whatever, please drop them!) So RTD coming back and writing an episode dealing directly with it, how if you're in a bubble of whiteness then you can miss microaggressions and racism right in front of your face, feels like a step towards fixing that. He can't go back and re-write those episodes, but he gave us Dot and Bubble, which, from what I've seen, has been received very positively for how it pointed out the kind of racism that you can miss even when it flies right in front of your face- maybe even the racism of this very show. Here's hoping the show only gets better and better in this regard.

Although the best way they could achieve that would be to... you know... hire more people of color. Cough cough all of the episodes for Ncuti Gatwa's first season were written by white people cough cough. Kind of undercuts the message of the episode, huh?

[its-a-rat-trap]

undefined

Bob Geldof on Top Gear: Interview and Lap

Season 17, Episode 5 Original Air Date: July 24, 2011

----------------

Video is a screen recording of the clip available here on TopGear.com because I couldn’t figure out how to directly save the file from the site. The control bar is only visible over the BBC intro, not any of Bob’s bits!

If anyone wants to save this video for themselves, you can download it from here in either 1080p (119MB file) or in 720p (compressed 61MB file).

I highly recommend downloading the video or watching it on TopGear.com to see it in better quality!

Video transcript is below the cut.

----------------

Jeremy Clarkson: Now, though, it is time to put a star in our Reasonably Priced Car. Now my guest tonight has long, straggly hair, and an incredible ability to heal the sick and feed the hungry. Ladies and gentlemen… Jesus! It’s Bob Geldof!

(Audience applauds as Bob Geldof walks onto set and shakes hands with Jeremy.)

Jeremy: How are you? Have a seat. Sir Bob! Great to have you here.

Bob: Thank you.

Jeremy: Now obviously you’ve topped what used to be called the hit parade, you fed the world… but what a lot of people don’t know is that you built the M25.

Bob: I built the M23 and M25, Jeremy.

Jeremy: Do you know, I didn’t even know you built the road to Gatwick as well.

Bob: If you know the Merstham interchange, where you come off the 23 onto the 25, that’s more-or-less where I had my road digging… career.

Jeremy: Yeah.

Bob: And that’s Geldof Corner. I know you’ve got Gambon Corner, which I’m sure we’ll see later…

Jeremy: Yes, yes we will.

Bob: Geldof Corner is there, hence the tailbacks for miles on the M25.

Jeremy: So it’s when you go around that… Actually, it’s a fantastic- It’s one of the best corners on the motorway network, that.

(Bob makes a joking, “Yes, that was me.” sort of gesture.)

Jeremy: And you built that?

Bob: I built that. Yeah, long before I could drive a car they gave me the chance to drive these immense machines with, I think it’s 11 forwards gears and six reverses. Two engines, you’ve gotta- There’s two throttles, you’ve gotta sit like this with both feet on the throttles, and there’s a big bucket in the middle which you drop, and off you go.

Jeremy: And is it hard?

Bob: It is hard, I was crap.

(Audience and Jeremy laugh.)

Jeremy: What sort of driver are you?

Bob: Not good. Really, I’m not. I’ve got a Previa, because I have 600 children. And uh, you know...

Jeremy: With 900 names between them.

Bob: Yeah, and all excellent.

(Audience and Jeremy laugh.)

Bob: And, y’know, it’s just a superb thing. You’re up high, you’ve got this big, broad vision, you go like this and the wheel turns and you’re… You’ve just got endless amount of power in the thing.

Jeremy: There isn’t an endless amount of power in a Toyota Previa.

(Audience laughs.)

Jeremy: It’s a horrible car! Is it really-

Bob: No it’s not. It’s really not. I mean I’m Mr. Big on Toyota. I’ve got a Lexus so I don’t pay the congestion charge…

Jeremy: Oh, the hybrid one?

Bob: Yeah. And also, Jeremy, you know I think you should start now becoming a little more environmentally aware, you know?

(Jeremy rolls his eyes and feigns boredom.)

Jeremy: I am very aware of the environment. And I’m still not interested in it.

(Audience and Bob laugh.)

Jeremy: Um, you’re a business man now…

Bob: Sometimes.

Jeremy: Yeah, and you’ve got a lot of TV production companies. So how much time do you have left for music?

Bob: Most of the time I’ll do music… So there’s still, you know, a lot of the time is spent on the Africa stuff, and business stuff, music and the family. But the only thing I like doing, being specific the only thing I like doing is music.

Jeremy: Really?

Bob: Mm.

Jeremy: You’re touring soon, aren’t you?

Bob: Yeah, September and November here. So, you know, north and south…

Jeremy: Because you had the album out… What, three months ago?

Bob: Three months, yeah.

Jeremy: Which was Bob Geldof Aged… Well it’s actually, what was it, 58 and three-quarters?

Bob: It was 58 and a half.

Jeremy: 58 and a half, so…

Bob: I was going to call it that. And then I saw a book called How to Compose Popular Songs That Will Sell, and I thought that was… more ironic.

Jeremy: It’s a good title, that.

Bob: Yes.

Jeremy: Doesn’t fit on iTunes very easily. How to… Oh, wait a minute.

(Audience laughs.)

Jeremy: But no, so, you released that three months ago and-

Bob: Why? You went onto- You know how to use iTunes?

Jeremy: I do!

Bob: What do you listen to in the car?

Jeremy: What do I listen to?

Bob: Yeah.

Jeremy: Uh… Rat Trap, I Don’t Like Mondays…

Bob: Classics.

(Bob points to himself and mouths “Mine!”)

Jeremy: Classics. From the late 70s.

Bob: Yup.

Jeremy: You’ve got… Presumably you’ve got an iPhone…

Bob: No, I don’t have that. We spent about two hours before this extolling the virtues of the Nokia 6310! Does anyone remember a 6310?

Jeremy: Yeah.

(A few quiet Yeah’s from the audience.)

Bob: Five days without a charge, without a recharge- Five days!

Jeremy: Well that’s how long I do because I’ve got no friends, so nobody rings me up.

(Audience laughs.)

Bob: For self-evident reasons, the jeans being one.

Jeremy: At least I put socks on!

Bob: No he came here-

(Audience keeps laughing.)

Jeremy: Look, I’m wearing a sock!

Bob: But you don’t have beautiful ankles. A beautiful turned ankle is something that I admire in someone.

(Audience laughs as Jeremy fakes a nervous look.)

Jeremy: Um… Your lap. How did it go out there?

(Bob buries his face in his hands and shakes his head.)

Bob: I’m so crap at this. You start off and you’re really nervous, I’m not a speed-head… And then I started to enjoy it and be able to focus on what Stig told me, and I slowed down!

(Audience and Jeremy laugh.)

Jeremy: Well who’d like to see The Lap?

(Cheers and Yeah’s from the audience.)

Bob: Not me!

Jeremy: Come on, let’s have a look, let’s see how it sent!

(Clip of Bob’s lap starts to play. He drives off the starting line with a loud squeal from the tires.)

Bob (in the clip): C’mon, *beep* sake.

Jeremy (in the studio): Already we’re going to need the beep machine there… Ah, right, first corner, that’s- oh uhh where are we going… Nice wide line, like the look of that… Might be time to change gear…

Bob (in the studio): It’s so slow.

Bob (in the clip): Go, go, go…

Jeremy (in the studio): You have to change up! Where are we going now- Ooh, wide. You see that’s too fast in there.

Bob (in the studio): Uh-huh. Okay.

Jeremy (in the studio): That’s wide, went skidding wide…

Bob (in the clip): Clarkson, Stig said it’s raining now and the track’s getting slippery, so that’s going to slow me down. So shut up, I’m not making excuses.

(Audience and Bob in the studio laugh.)

Jeremy (in the studio): Let’s have a look at this torrential rain… Yeah, I can see what the Stig means, that is pouring down out there!

(Audience laughs as the clip clearly shows no rain.)

Jeremy (in the studio): No, wait, I don’t mean pouring down, do I? Hang on…

Bob (in the studio): It looks so slow, it feels so fast.

Jeremy (in the studio): No, that is just quite slow. Change gear!

Bob (in the clip): Take this extreme bend at full throttle, which is… If I can…

(Clip cuts to exterior of the car with a lot of tire squeal.)

Jeremy: Oh I say, that’s good!

Bob (in the clip): Every instinct in you tells you to slow down.

Jeremy (in the studio): Ooh, you managed to stay off the bumpy bit there… And second-to-last…

Bob (in the studio): This is the worst.

Jeremy (in the studio): Oh it is the worst.

Bob (in the studio, over Jeremy): Gambon Corner, I couldn’t get it-

Jeremy (in the studio, over Bob): Absolutely awful- No, that’s the second-to-last, this is Gambon…

Bob (in the studio): Yeah. Couldn’t get it.

Jeremy (in the studio): And you… A little bit too slow, didn’t use all the road, but nevertheless! Across the line!

(Clip ends, audience applauds.)

Bob: Last!

Jeremy: Where do we think?

Bob: Third last.

Jeremy: Third last?

Bob: Yeah.

Jeremy: What, Louis Spence speed?

(Audience laughs.)

Bob: Yeah.

Jeremy: 1:53… No that was wet, yours was dry. These are all wet. Realistically you need to be looking above-

Bob: I know they are as people, but I mean with regards to the…

(Audience laughs, and Bob giggles at his own joke.)

Jeremy: So anyway. Bob Geldof.

Bob: Mm-hm. Don’t say it, and I’ll watch it at home. I’m embarrassed! Seriously, I thought that was rubbish!

Jeremy: You did it…

Bob: Look at him!

(Bob points to a very amused and smug Jeremy.)

Jeremy: You did it…

Bob: Mm.

Jeremy: Two minutes.

(Audience laughs. Bob nods.)

Jeremy: I’m joking!

(Audience laughs louder.)

Bob: I fully expect that!

Jeremy: (inaudible over audience laughter) …going “Mm! Mm, really?” One minute… forty… eight point one. And I don’t think- That is…

(Audience applauds.)

Jeremy: Faster than Jeff Goldblum!

Bob: Oh, god. Average at everything!

Jeremy: Well not really, I was just thinking… You’re a, what, you’re a Knight of the British Empire?

Bob: Mm-hm.

Jeremy: You were nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize.

Bob: Mm-hm.

Jeremy: And now you’re the 14th fastest celebrity ever to go around our track in a Kia Cee-Apostrophe-D.

Bob: You could’ve walked faster than that! Hands up, those who think you could do… who could be in the Top Ten, if you did it.

Jeremy: C’mon, hands up, you think?

(Murmurs and laughter from the audience as quite a few of them put their hands up. Bob makes a gesture like, “You see what I mean?”)

Bob: Thank you!

Jeremy: Ladies and gentlemen… Liars!

(Audience and Bob laugh.)

Jeremy: Bob Geldof!

Bob: Thank you.

Jeremy: Well done, thank you very much. Bob Geldof, everybody!

----------------

Note: For reference, the Toyota Previa that Bob mentions would have looked something like this (photo is of a 2009 model)

And for those unfamiliar with the Nokia 6310, it looked like this:

[canislupus-exe]

Like Always | richie tozier

>> gif credit to @/sanriogaki on weheartit <<

fandom | It: Chapter One

character | Richie Tozier

reader | she/her (he ver.)(they ver.)

requested | Anonymous

warnings | none

word count | 1,189

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

>> prompts <<

56 | “Are you flirting with me?”

67 | “Stop being so cute.”

68 | “You’re making me blush!”

summary | hi!! can I req a Richie x reader (teenagers- around 15-16?)  where they both like each other but are oblivious to each other's feelings? I think it prompts 56, 67, and 68 will work with this!

>> back to prev <<

Keep Reading

You stretched out on the hammock that hung from the posts of the clubhouse. The other losers were strewn about the rest of the space, doing various things to keep themselves occupied. Richie had taken the liberty of staring you down since you were lying on what he considered the second coming of Jesus.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer, dickwad.” You said, stretching out to get more comfortable. Annoying him was just a bonus.

“Eddie, didn’t you say it was a 10-minute limit?” Richie asked.

“Uh yeah well considering you didn’t respect that rule when it was my turn I think (Y/n) has every right to overstay her welcome on that hammock.”

“Aw stop it, Eddie, you’re making me blush.” You teased. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make me take it back (Y/n).”

“Love you too Eds.” You replied as you went back to reading your comic book.

“Fuck this bullshit,” Richie exclaimed as he walked toward your reclined body. You lowered your book just in time to see Richie sidle up next to you. You groaned.

“Oh come on man, have some self-respect.” You grumbled as he made the fabric sway. He smirked and got comfortable the best he could.

“Ah, that’s refreshing. I mean honestly, my back was killing me. You know, now that I think about it, I could really use a massage. (Y/n), would you be so kind?” He asked, his voice patronizing. You rolled your eyes and set your book down.

“Why of course Mr. Tozier, you should’ve said something sooner. Come real close and I’ll get all that tension out for you.” 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Finally getting the royal treatment I deserve.” He replied jokingly, knowing there was no way you’d go for it. You adjusted yourself and to his surprise, actually began to massage his back. His face slowly turned red as he felt your hands climb up his skin, gently pressing your fingers and palms down interchangeably. 

“You're actually…?”

“Anything for you Richie.” You teased. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears. His skin was so soft you were scared your fingertips might just pass through him. You tried to play it cool like this was just your normal, run-of-the-mill, Richie pulling punches and (Y/n) being the only girl dumb enough to punch back, but you knew that was a lie. You knew your hands were trembling as you caressed the back of the boy you’d had a crush on for God knows how many years and you knew he’d start to feel it soon as well.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asked, his voice almost faltering in his throat. He was joking. He had to be joking.

“So what if I am?” You asked, leaning your chin on his shoulder and resting your hands on his hips. Richie practically burst at the seams from this, but what happened next threw him out of the trance faster than he’d fallen into it. You roughly shoved him off the hammock, smirking in triumph at the sound of surprise that jumped out of him. He fell to the floor, and the wind immediately knocked out of his chest. All he could do was lie there for a solid minute, processing what had happened.

“You skank!” He shouted, sitting up and turning toward you. You smirked and reclined again, picking up the comic book you’d set down.

“You love me.” You replied. He gave a slight chuckle before shaking his head and leaning against the wooden post that held up one side of the hammock. He did. He really did.

>><<

You yawned as you approached the arcade snack counter. You’d been going at Street Fighter for far too long and decided it was time for a pick-me-up. An ultra delicious total brain-freezing wild cherry slushie. Or just a cherry slush, as those less passionate than you would call it. 

You sauntered over to the counter and the employee who stood behind it and smiled. He placed a cup under the cherry spout, already knowing what you’d gone there for. To say you were a regular was an understatement. You placed $1.50 on the counter, and the employee finished in record time, sliding the drink to you and putting the cash in the register. You walked away, knowing that he knew that you didn’t need the change.

As you walked away, you ducked behind a hanging tarp. The part of the arcade that was always under construction for whatever reason. You liked laying low here to enjoy your slushes in peace and quiet. Plus there was a working Computer Space cabinet so that was the sickest part.

“How did I know you’d be here?” A familiar voice asked after the rusting of the tarp stopped. You snickered and looked over your shoulder, seeing your best friend.

“Richard Tozier. How often have I told you not to bother me in my super-secret lair?” You replied. It was now his turn to snicker.

“Lair? Seriously? This dingy old place has got to be one of the lamest ‘lairs’ I’ve ever seen.” He said. You exhaled and leaned against the cabinet.

“Yeah, I guess you're right. But it’s gotta be worth something with this original Computer Space cabinet which has an unbeatable high score held by… Well… me.” You replied, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips. There was nothing in the world that pissed Richie off more than the fact that he just couldn’t seem to top you in that damn game.

“Again with this. I swear it’s like the only thing you have over my head. Computer Space this Computer Space that meh meh meh meh meh.” He mocked you.

“Aw, someone’s getting all worked up. Come on, yell at me some more, I like it.” You taunted as you took a sip from your slushie.

“You like everything I do (Y/n).” He said as he leaned on the cabinet beside you.

“Why yes. Every night I go to sleep dreaming of my knight in shining armor Richard Tozier who will sweep me off my feet one day.” You jeered sarcastically.

“I bet you do. I bet you dream of kissing me like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Oh not just kissing Richie. No no no. In my dreams, we do so much more than just kissing.”

“God just stop being so cute!” He exclaimed, his tone much more genuine than he’d intended. You choked on your slushie slightly, your face growing warm from the blood that rushed to it.

“Wh-What?” You stared at him. His face dropped as he registered what he’d said. 

“Oh, I just- um… I-I’m kidding. Like always.”

“Then why are you so red?”

“It’s warm?”

“You’re so full of shit Tozier.” You replied before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. He made a noise of surprise but within seconds he was practically melting into your touch. He wrapped his arms around your waist and deepened the kiss as much as he could. You still tasted like the cherry slushie, and he couldn’t get enough.

[anyataylorjoy]

Alright y’all, today is the day that I’ve finally managed to make a tutorial! I’m going to be showing how I created the effect in my lotr and the witcher sets!

For this tutorial you need to know how to make gifs and have a lot of time on your hands!

this is really long and really image heavy oops

I’m breaking this down into two parts: 1. Setting up and creating your gifs and 2. creating the actual transition part.

1. Guide to this tutorial

We’re going to be working with multiple smart objects and documents at once so I want to create a little keyword guide.

“small” gifs refer to your smaller gifs

“big” gifs refer to your bigger gifs

panel/document/canvas I use somewhat interchangeably here but they refer to the document where you will be placing both your small and big gifs

click on any images that are blurry so that you can view the HQ version! 

1.1 Setting yourself up 

The first thing to do is decide how many gifs you want to do. Standard gif width sizes for tumblr are 540px for one gif, 268px for two gifs and 177/178/177px for 3 gifs. You can do more than this, but make sure that you’re calculating in the gutter between gifs (4 px). 

Height is completely up to you, but take into consideration that the upload limit is 10mb! 

For my ROTK set, I did 177/178/177 x 150 which gave me a canvas size of 540x458. For my Sam set, I chose a different layout where I had four gifs of 268x150 and 3 gifs of 177/178/177 giving me the same canvas size. 

(150 x three rows = 450 + 4 px for gutter x 3 = 458)

Now that you have your sizes, you’ll know how many gifs you want to do depending on how many panels. For my ROTK set I wanted to do five panels so I needed 45 small gifs and five big gifs. 

The last thing I do before I start creating the gifs is to set up a new document for each panel with the larger dimension. 

File -> New -> this dialog (click on image for HQ) 

1.2 Creating your smaller gifs 

This is the most time intensive part as you will be creating individual gifs for each panel. You need to make sure that each of these gifs is the exact same amount of frames. I usually do between 30-40 frames.

Load your screencaps/movie and crop, resize and sharpen it. (shameless plug for my action pack here) and convert to smart object if it’s not already!!

I also like to name my gifs as either side (177 px) or middle (178 px) 

If you prefer you can also color your gif now. For color sets I like to color them once I have them all on the same canvas but that’s really just a personal preference there is no right or wrong way. 

!! YOUR GIFS NEED TO BE IN SMART OBJECT FORMAT FOR THE NEXT STEP !!

We’re now going to drag the gif onto the corresponding panel document (still in smart object form)

Once the gif is on the document I like to go ahead and create timeline and delete the base layer.

1.3 Aligning your gifs

Move the gif to the part of the canvas you want it be by selecting command + a and then command + v. This allows you to accurately place your gif using these buttons:

Now repeat this process until each of your panels are filled: (for the sake of time I just used 3 gifs that aren’t colored yet hp set coming soon tho ayeee)  

If you didn’t color your gifs earlier, color them now and then select each of your gifs and create one smart object by selecting all layers -> right click -> convert to smart object and name this layer “small” or something along those lines

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND SAVING AFTER YOU’VE COLORED AND BEFORE IT’S A SMART OBJECT just in case 

1.4 Creating your bigger gifs

Load the screencaps for your bigger gif. Make sure that it is the exact same amount of frames as the smaller gifs. 

You’re going to crop it to the size of your documents so 540 x the height you’ve chosen. DO NOT RESIZE IT. 

Click on VIEW -> NEW GUIDE LAYOUT

This dialog set is going to pop up - enter in how many rows and how many columns you want as well as the gutter size you’ve decided on (the image has 2 px on it but 4 px is the standard tumblr size)

A layout guide will appear that demarcates where you need to crop.

Remember to change your cropping size if you’re doing 177/178 for the middle column. 

Now crop out each section then resize it to the correct size, sharpen it and create a smart object. 

Drag this gif to the panel you want and position it in the correct place using command + a and command + v. 

Go back to larger gif document and reverse your steps until you have the guide layout. 

Crop the next part of the gif and repeat the above steps until your panel now has all of the larger gif on it. 

For coloring the larger panel, I like to resize it into the correct size on the original and color it separately and then drag the coloring group onto the panel with the smaller and larger gifs. 

Once all of the pieces of the larger gif are in the correct place and your coloring group is there, select the them and create a smart object.

You should now have two smart objects, one of the smaller gifs and one of the larger gif. 

2. Fade transition

Now for the transition! 

Duplicate your “big” layer so that you have a “big”, a “big copy” and a “small”

You’re going to drag your “small” layer onto the same line as your “big” layer, creating a video group. 

Then drag your “big copy” layer onto the same line but behind your “small” layer.

Your layers panel should look like this:

Click on this button in timeline here, and select cross fade. The amount of seconds you want to choose is up to you.

I did .3 seconds for my ROTK set which created 6 transition layers which I quite liked but it is really up to personal preference here!

Now drag the cross fade onto both the start and the end of the “small” layer. 

I find this is a good time to check my gif and make sure that everything looks the way I want it to and that the fade transition is smooth. 

The next few steps are crucial to getting the fade to actually stay in your gif so although it’s waaaay different than how I usually export gifs so stay with me.

Instead of converting back to frames and setting your timing you’re going to go directly to export for web and make sure you have the transparency boxes checked (CLICK ON IMAGE FOR HQ):

note: it might take a long long long time for the save for web dialog box to pop up so don’t worry it’s not you

!!!note 2: as of may 1st due to the new update make sure to uncheck "interlaced"!!!!

Save and then open that gif file you just created. Play it just to make sure that the fade transition is the way that you want it to be. 

The key to creating the smooth transition effect is that we will actually be deleting some of the big gif so that the actual “beginning” of the big gif starts after the smaller gifs, even though that’s not the beginning of the actual file. 

(this is kinda hard to explain I’m sorry!!!)

What you’re going to do is delete the first 10-20 frames of the first “big” gif and then delete the frames that you left in the first “big” gif from the back of the second “big” gif. 

So for this set I’m deleting the first 20 frames:

and now I need to delete the remaining frames between the “start” of the big gif and the first transition. The easiest way to do this is go find the first transition frame of the second transition - where the small gifs transition back into the big gif. Click through the frames until the you see where they start to fade. 

Once you’ve found that frame, count forward the amount of frames you deleted in the beginning. COUNT INCLUDING THE FIRST TRANSITION FRAME. 

Now delete the frames that come after your counted ones. The reason I count out 20 instead of 19 (or whatever you number is) is so that I can double check myself. My 20th frame (so frame 63) should be the exact same as frame 1 (the first frame in the whole gif).

This creates the effect that the gif never actually ends! 

a colored version:

Make sure that you then flatten your frames to layers and delete your excess layers and set the timing to 0.05! 

Finally (I promise) your gif is ready to be exported and uploaded to tumblr!

note: because you deleted a decent amount of frames your gif should be under 10 mb. If you’re struggling with the size limit, either cut down the original amount of frames or cut down the duration of the fade. 

(now repeat this process for each of your panels)

I really hope this was somewhat easy to follow and please message me if you have any questions or run in to any problems! 

💜 💜 💜 💜 💜 💜 💜 

[macaronistarship]

I saw this post by @protectspock about a theory that 90s trek technology is actually indicative of the future because people will get tired of the constant stress of smart phones/social media etc. It was really cool and gave some examples of new tech that is similar to the star trek tech.

I was inspired so I decided to make a list of products you can actually buy right now if you're rich and want to live like it's 2399.

1. (Mentioned in the post) this line of typewriters connect to the cloud and your computer if you need. They allow you to avoid distractions while you write. ($500-$800 USD)

2. Remarkable. A tablet that feels and looks like paper. No social media, no back lighting. ($400 USD)

3. The Light Phone (also mentioned in the post). Stripped of most things smart phones offer/force upon us. You can call, text, listen to podcasts and music, tell the time, use a calculator, and set alarms. But not much else.( pre-order for $299 USD. Both US and International versions)

4. The Paper Shoot. It's a digital camera without a screen. You use interchangeable lenses and SD cards to take pictures on this tiny camera. It's supposed to mimic the disposable camera experience so you stay in the moment. You can buy different skins to go on top of the hardware. (Their camera sets, which include everything you need including the SD card, are between $150 and $250 USD)

5. Hybrid smartwatches that look like normal watches, AND/OR This cool smartwatch called The Moment with no screen that uses vibrations to communicate with you. (ranges from $50 to a couple hundred USD)

6. Alexa or other things like Echo. I would argue that the concept of Alexa is very “slow tech” and trekkie because there’s no screen and you have to communicate by thinking more deeply about your questions and needs, and teach Alexa how to communicate with you. Definitely reminds me of the ship’s computer on trek. You could even program her to respond to “computer, lights.” 

6. Slow Games. This one is cheating because I don't think these are for sale. Slow Games is a series of research/art projects done by Ishac Bertran and continued by Will Odom (and many others). The idea is that you work with games that are both physical and digital. And you can only make one move per day. It stops you from feeling instant gratification and keeps you thinking. Obviously the researchers explain it better. So go support them!

I love all of Will Odom's portfolio and would definitely recommend checking out his website (linked on his name above).

7. Philips Somneo Connected Sleep and Wake-Up Light. This thing looks like it belongs in someone’s personal quarters on the Enterprise. ($170-$200 USD)

8. Kasina deep vision bundle / Muse Brain Sensing Headband-- the concept reminds me of what the captain of the Equinox uses to escape from his awful reality. It’s focused only on meditation and relaxation. ($300- 400 USD)

If anyone knows of any other slow technology/ trek tech let me know!! I love this whole concept.

[azenkii]

Sokka/Suki/Zuko Brotp Headcanons

These three are a god-tier brotp and i'm here to prove it

100% that one friend group who does the stupidest, most impulsive shit but they’re also super nerdy at the same time?

Like they'll be left alone together and you can guarantee that by morning they'll have broken into several heavily guarded government buildings. But like,,they didn't even steal anything important? they just wanted to see if they could find bosco's birth records and figure out why he's a regular bear

The last time they got drunk together they woke up on the Beifongs' roof in librarian's robes with a fully labelled diagram of a nonbending submarine in front of them

Suki and zuko braid each other's hair and sokka got jealous that he couldn't join in so he grew out his hair until it was long enough to braid

Suki teaches zuko how to fight with kyoshi warrior fans and he's absolute shit at it

In return, he teaches her how to fight with dual broadswords and she is not shit at it, which zuko thinks is unfair

all three of them spar together, all the time

sokka’s the unofficial leader of the group

he’s almost always the one who suggests the dumb/smart ideas

suki and zuko are pretty much on the same wavelength as him when it comes to plans so whenever he suggests something it goes like

sokka: so you guys know the new ozai society? well i was thinking about the pipes under the city-

suki: that’s a great plan. dibs on scouting the eastern block, zuko can you-?

zuko, nodding: the night market? on it

no one else can ever eavesdrop on their conversations because they just don’t make sense

the story of their escape from the boiling rock becomes legendary and they make a game out of retelling it. every time someone asks about it they’ll add something new. eventually the story ends up involving a platypus bear named Mai II, Chit Sang’s identical twin, a rope made out of bedsheets and three separate riots

sokka and zuko thought for a solid year that suki didn’t really like drinking because she always ended up relatively sober whenever they went out. turns out she drinks more than both of them combined and she’s just really, really good at holding her liquor

the amount of decrees they’ve passed while drunk is honestly ridiculous. only half of these decrees were cancelled afterwards because the other half actually made sense

suki once genuinely threatened to throw hands with one of zuko’s ministers. her reasoning was ‘he kept making weird faces whenever sokka suggested anything’

sokka and suki once ganged up against zuko. they called it ‘nonbenders solidarity’

zuko retaliated by creating a super-secret best-buds-only handshake with toph and they did it in front of sokka and suki whenever they could. sokka and suki eventually went ‘okay OKAY we GET IT also can you please...teach us the handshake it looks really cool’ and zuko was like ‘hm. no i dont think i will’

he then proceeded to drive them insane by immediately teaching the handshake to everyone he knew. aang? knew it. katara? knew it. mai and ty lee? knew it. every single one of his ministers knew it. the kyoshi warriors knew it (and wouldn’t tell suki). hakoda knew it. iroh knew it. that random regular visitor to iroh’s tea shop knew it.

sokka and suki gave up on ever learning the handshake. exactly one (1) day later zuko and sokka were playing their own modified version of pai sho with suki watching them and then zuko just casually went ‘so now that you’ve given up do you want to learn the handshake’

sokka and suki went FERAL and suki flipped the board

sokka: HOW DID YOU KNOW WE GAVE UP

also sokka, exactly 0.02 seconds later: also yes please teach us the handshake sifu hotman

the handshake is the stupidest most needlessly-complicated thing in the world but they learn it anyway and they don’t stop using it for approximately a month

and oh did i not mention that they made their own version of pai sho? they call it die sho and it features 16 homemade tiles and a set of rules that only suki understands. one game can last anywhere from 2 minutes to 2 days

they once wrote a book together under the pseudonym Wang Kyo-Lee. The book was a 500-page rant about plant husbandry. it became a bestseller in the earth kingdom.

they also once did a role swap for a day. zuko dressed up as a kyoshi warrior/the fire lord’s elite guard (complete with makeup to hide his scar), sokka was acting fire lord, and suki was his water tribe ambassador. that was how they discovered that they worked together so much that their jobs were literally interchangeable

there are rumours that the three of them are involved in a poly relationship. when asked, none of them will give a definitive answer

sometimes they’ll just go on holiday to some random obscure place without telling anyone and come back four days later with a frog, three new swords, a crate of theatre props and a valuable compilation of historical accounts that’s been lost for over a century

the most memorable thing they ever brought back was druk, aka a literal dragon

out of the three of them, suki makes the best tea. however, she’s also the worst cook

sokka learnt how to knit and promptly made them matching scarves. the scarves were ugly af but suki and zuko wore them anyway

when zuko overworks himself sokka and suki will literally manhandle him away from his desk and into his chambers, all while lecturing him as he nods sleepily and dozes on his feet

when suki overworks herself sokka and zuko will bring her tea and wrap her in blankets until she eventually falls asleep

when sokka overworks himself suki and zuko will drag him out somewhere under the open air and just sit with him until he relaxes and falls asleep on one or both of them

they have a running joke where suki and zuko will, in the middle of a discussion, go ‘GODS you remind me of this one guy i met while i was travelling’ and then proceed to describe sokka until he realises they’re talking about him

they all have a very dark sarcastic sense of humour that can honestly be alarming to anyone who doesn’t know them. mai thinks it’s hilarious

suki knows how to juggle. she tries to teach sokka and zuko and they both fail miserably

sokka takes them ice-dodging. sokka (once again) earns the mark of the wise. suki earns the mark of the brave. zuko earns the mark of the trusted. 

(does zuko earning the mark of the trusted make him cry? perhaps)

hakoda takes one look at suki and zuko and immediately goes ‘oh ok youre my children now’

zuko can handle himself pretty well in the cold (breath of fire, remember?) but that doesn’t mean he likes it. sokka and suki constantly tease him about it whenever they visit the south pole

zuko once startled suki while she was sleeping and she accidentally chi blocked him. sokka laughed until he cried

they 100% have heated debates about super niche topics

anyway they’re all bffs who may or may not be dating each other send tweet

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of All Saiyans

-

Masterlist

-

Chapter 10 is finally here. Something I noticed while working on this chapter is when I'm writing as the narrator. I use Goku and Kakarot interchangeably. I looked back into the other chapters and noticed I've been doing that the entire time. I honestly just write whichever name feels natural in the context. I think I'll continue writing like that. I think it's more fun switching up Goku's name every once in a while. As always, if you have any comments or questions, feel free to let me know.

-

Chapter 10

-

You and Goku sit on opposite ends of the ditch. The choice to sit as far away from him as possible was strictly for your own sanity. You can feel his scolding gaze on you, burning holes through the entirety of your body, making your skin crawl. 

You've been desperately attempting to evade eye contact with the defective Saiyan, which is becoming significantly more strenuous with each second that passes. Goku lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Can we at least sit closer together?"

You turn your head at him, narrowing your eyes. "No, Kakarot."

Goku presses his thumb and index finger together, leaving a tiny hole. He brings the flexed hand up to his eye, looking at you through the minuscule opening. "What about this much closer?"

"No." Your gaze remains locked on him, with a deadpan look on your face.

"But why not?" He wines as you begin to massage your temples. If he keeps this up, the two of you won't survive down here together for much longer. You're ninety-nine percent sure that being stuck with Kakarot will somehow be the greatest adversity of your life. Okay, so maybe you're being just a tad bit overdramatic. 

"Because I don't trust myself not to kill you." You snarl at him. Your composure is dangling by a thin thread, and Goku is an extremely sharp pair of scissors.

Your words seem to have shut Goku up, well, at least for a little while. "Hey Y/N?"

You ball your hands into fists, clenching your jaw as your right eye begins to spasm. You're developing an eye twitch. How lovely. "What is it now, Kakarot?"

"How did you do that thing with your eyes?"

You furrow your brows at the younger Saiyan. "What the hell are you talking about?" You're really starting to get fed up with him, and you've only been trapped down here for around fifteen minutes.

"Your eyes turned red when you were fighting that guy." Your eyes widen before you quickly cover up your shock with a scowl. Fuck. You knew you should've kept your temper under control. How could you have been so stupid?

Lucky for you, Kakarot is a moron. He lacks understanding regarding body language and various emotion cues. It shouldn't be difficult for you to get out of this at all. "Your eyes were just playing tricks on you. Your vision was probably strained from traveling for such an extended amount of time. My eyes did not, nor have they ever changed color."

"But, I saw---" 

"Well, you saw wrong!" You take several deep breaths, attempting to regain your composure. Spoiler alert, it doesn't work. "I can't take this anymore!" You've finally snapped, but to be fair. You lasted much longer than you expected. "Stop asking me a million questions! No, you know what. Stop speaking to me in general! You are the most infuriating---"

Amidst your screaming, Goku jumps up, pulling you into a far corner of the trench. One of his hands is placed over your lips. And his other arm is tightly wrapped around your waist, his hand ghosting over the base of your tail. Your back is pressed up against the rocky wall, and you feel like his larger body is engulfing your form entirely. You glare at him in irritation as an oddly serious expression crosses Goku's face. 

"I'm gonna take my hand away. Be quiet and focus for a minute." He moves his hand, resting it comfortably on your side. It's placed directly on your wound, courtesy of your battle with Burter. You bite your lip, preventing yourself from wincing. Even the smallest amount of pressure is causing you severe pain. Maybe your injury is worse than you presumed. 

You shut your eyes partly to distract yourself from the pain, but the main objective is to focus on the energy around you. There's someone out there, and they're powerful too. That has to be Ginyu. Shit, your explosive outburst could have just gotten you both killed. What is wrong with you today? 

Where you're standing in the pit. There's still a patch of grass over the top. Providing a shield from anything or anyone from the outside. You hate to admit it, but this was actually a wise decision on Goku's part. Never did you think that Kakarot would be the one to remain collective while you're the one behaving recklessly.  

The two of you remain pressed up against each other. Frankly, you're too close for comfort. You can feel every fall and rise of his chest. You can even hear his heartbeat, which is thumping just as rapidly as your own. The sound of Ginyu's faint murmuring invades your ears, though you can't hear anything he says clearly. He must be too far away.

You try to keep your erratic breathing under control, which stems from both pain and nerves. Your surroundings grow quiet, and Ginyu's energy disappears altogether. He must have left. You finally have room to breathe as Goku takes a few steps back, distancing himself from you. His eyes scan your face before quickly darting down to one of his hands. Specifically, the one that's now covered in your blood. His eyes go-round as he moves closer, invading your personal space once again. "Are you hurt?"

His tone lacks his typical cheery nature, causing you to tilt your head upward, your brain desperately attempting to form a contingency plan to get you out of this mess. "I'm fine." Goku makes you uneasy. He's nothing like a Saiyan should be. His behavior is all over the place, and not a single one of his actions adds up in your realm of logic. Out of all the ruthless and sadistic Saiyan's that could've survived, never in a million years did you expect one as pathetic as Kakarot to live.

"But, you're bleeding." This timid side of Goku is somehow worse than his typical cheerful self. You didn't think he could disgust you further, but once again, that defect proves you wrong.

You suppress an eye roll, keeping your piercing gaze locked on him. If you were to look away now, it would appear like you were backing down. And you refuse to let a fool like Kakarot win. "It's not my blood, Kakarot." Hopefully, he'll fall for your lies and drop this pointless conversation here.

"If it's not your blood, then let me see." He moves his hands to your hips, clawing at the bottom of your chest plate.

You grab his wrist, pushing them away. The two of you continue going back and forth, gripping and pushing at each other. It's been a while since someone challenged you like this, one on one. No one back on the Frieza Force would have dared to go against your wishes. Goku's different from them. He's not afraid of you, and it doesn't seem that he'll give up anytime soon. You would've never pegged Kakarot for the stubborn type. Maybe there's still a bit of true Saiyan nature in him, after all. And as infuriating as he is, you can't say you're disappointed. "Knock it off, Kakarot!" 

"Stop being such a baby, and let me help you." If you were in a public setting, those passing by might have believed you were a couple. Having one of those sweet but sicking play fights. While in reality, that was far from the truth. This proves just how thin the line between love and hate truly is. 

"I don't want your help!" You stop fighting him, crossing your arms over your chest, denying him access to your upper half. 

You thought you had outsmarted him, that was until his hands landed on the sides of your top. "Fine. I'll just tear your armor off then."

You stare at him in disbelief. "Do you have no boundaries?" He has to be bluffing, right? No one could be this shameless. However, the look on his face, mixed with his grip on your top tightening, tells you a whole different story. He's serious about this. "Wait---" You place one of your hands on his chest. "If you back off, and shut up. I'll take it off."

He complies with your terms, stepping back, pressing his lips into a thin line. Your hands are violently shaking as you slowly move them to the corners of your chest piece. You've stripped your armor off in front of Raditz, Nappa, and Cado a million times before. So why does this feel so different?

You steadily pull your tunic above your head, slipping your chest piece off your body, leaving you in your nylon blue sports bra. And it really doesn't leave much to the imagination. You turn your head, finally getting to see the wound yourself. It's much deeper than you thought, but due to your Saiyan genetics, it's already healing quite nicely. "Are you pleased? Now, will you finally shut up?"

Feeling self-conscious from his gaze, you cross your arms over your chest again. "No. Why would I be happy about this? It looks, really, bad Y/N." Why does he care about your physical condition? At the end of the day, you're enemies, and your nauseating alliance is only temporary. You just don't understand him. You can't read him either, so you have no clue what he'll do next. And it's driving you mad. 

"Wait." He grins. "I brought Senzu Beans with me." A Senzu what now? Those must be those healing beans he gave Krillin and Gohan back on Earth. He searches his pockets, only to come up empty-handed. He grabs his head as a look of realization crosses his features. "I'm so stupid. I left them on the ship."

Well, there's one thing you both agree on, Kakarot does have a moronic nature. "Hey, relax. I'm fine, Kakarot." You wrap your tail around your waist, applying pressure to your wound. "This is all I need to do. I've done this several times before, and look, I'm still standing, aren't I?"

Your assurance doesn't seem to be enough for Goku. "Please--- just let me help you." He's pleading with you. Does he really have no ulterior motives? Does he really just want to help you? You'd typically laugh at someone pleading with you, but when it's from him. It makes you uncharacteristically sad.

Those puppy dog eyes should be illegal. You swear Goku would be able to make you do anything just with that one look. "O-Ok." Did you seriously just agree? How can a simple glance make you so weak? An expression like that would typically make you sick. Maybe the amount of blood you've lost has made you delirious. That's a plausible explanation. You're clearly doing everything under Namek's three suns to evade the possibility that these new strange feelings could be your own mind's fabrication. 

He removes the cord holding his gi together, causing the orange fabric to hang loose. You now have a clear view of his torso, revealing the blue undershirt that was once hidden under his gi. He slips the shirt off, ripping the bottom of his shirt into strips. "You know I might not be the smartest guy in the world. But I do know that you have to keep wounds clean to avoid infection." He kneels in front of you, giving himself easier access to your side. You don't mind. Him leaning down to help you would've probably made you even more flustered. 

His hand brushes against your tail, causing you to jump. He stares at you in alarm. "Sorry, I forgot that hurts you."

"I-It didn't hurt. I trained myself out of that weakness a long time ago. It's just a sensitive area still." He nods as you uncoil your tail, giving him direct access to your injury. He wraps the strips of cloth around your torso. The fabric is in replacement of a bandage, not bad for a makeshift patch-up at all. You've seen Nappa and Raditz do much worse.

Goku stands back up, tying his gi back together. "See. Good as new." That dopey smile on his face really makes you want to punch him. His facial expression may be causing you mild irritation, and his words had no humor to them, but you can no longer hold back your fit of laughter that is now escaping your lips. "What's so funny?"

"You are."

He pouts, which only makes you laugh more. "I'm not funny."

"Oh, yes you are, Kakarot. Everything about your existence is either. A. amusing or B. irritating." You're about to berate him even further, but you stop yourself. Someone is standing directly above you, and It isn't Ginyu this time. Their power level is far too low. It's not anyone you're currently aligned with either. By now, you know Vegeta's power level by heart, and you were able to memorize the other's energy levels during your previous encounter with them. So it's best to assume that above you is one of Frieza's minions. 

You do have a weapon at your disposal. No one knows that Goku is here except for you. And you intend to use that piece of knowledge to your advantage. You grab his wrist, pulling Goku back to the wall, successfully switching positions with him.

 You look up, getting a good look at the figure above you. Just your luck, it's Jeice. What's next? Will a scorned, old flame of yours show up in an attempt to win you back? Or will Frieza show up for a tea party?

Sadly, it's too late for you to duck back into the corner. That prick already saw you. You move out into the open, keeping Jeice off Kakarot's scent. A self-satisfied grin appears on Jeice lips as he admires your practically bare torso. "Hello, love. You having fun down there?"

"Oh, it's a real party, Jeice." His gaze makes your skin crawl differently. Kakarot's makes you nervous, but Jeice's makes you want to hurl.  

"I have to say, Y/N. I am surprised you'd fall for something so simple-minded."

You turn your head, subtly glaring at Goku. "You're right. That's not like me at all. I must have had a severe lapse in judgment."

"Well, gorgeous. Looks like today's your lucky day. I'll pull you up, but under one condition." You wouldn't accept his aid even if there wasn't a catch. You'd rather spend an eternity in the pit with Kakarot than owe Jeice any favors. "All you have to do is betray Vegeta, re-pledge your allegiance to Lord Frieza, and of course, become my wife."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Ya, no chance in hell I'm doing any of that."

"Oh, come on, Y/N. You'd rather be stuck down there, all alone. Then be with me."

"I wish I was alone right now." You mutter to yourself. Whether this statement was directed at Jeice of Goku is unclear, but it's most likely the latter.

He moves his hand to his scouter. "I didn't quite catch that Y/N. Was that your native tongue? Or were you just whispering?"

"I said I'd rather rot down here! And by the way, the only thing less appealing than death on this shitty planet would be marrying you."

He scowls at you. "I was trying to play nice, but now I see that's not a viable option. So if you insist you'd rather die down there, I won't be the one to stop you. Just know, you lost your only chance of leaving this damn rock alive." He takes off, now in an irritable mood. Maybe you should've played nice and asked him about Vegeta and the others. It probably doesn't matter either way. Who's to say Jeice would've told the truth.

Goku walks over to you, sheepishly handing you your chest piece. You find him much less irritating now. It turns out Kakarot isn't the worst being you could've been trapped with. It could've been much worse. You could be stuck down here with Jeice instead.

-

The group of four has covered a lot of ground, considering what terrible shape they're in. Recoome really did a number on them, especially Vegeta. He's limping while the others are still able to walk with only mild discomfort. After Vegeta was down for the count, it took Gohan, Krillin, and Raditz all together to finish Recoome off. Raditz is by far in the best shape of the group. Since he jumped in last, getting the KO. The other three would've been executed without the intervention of the largest Saiyan. And lady luck appeared to be on their side because Jeice fled shortly after Recoome fell. A few weeks ago, this group teaming up would've been unimaginable, former allies, enemies, and friends alike, with the lines between each category, quickly blurring together.

The issue with you suppressing your power level is now more prominent than ever. They can't easily locate you, so a search party is sadly the best they can do. Vegeta knew he should've gotten you chipped when he had the chance. He'd be able to locate you anywhere, anytime he wanted. So what if it violated your privacy. If it was up to Vegeta, you'd be one leash by now.

Gohan turns to his uncle. "Do you think Y/N's alright?"

"She's fine. Y/N's incredibly resourceful. If she couldn't surpass him in strength, she'd be able to easily outwit him. Y/N's always done as she's pleased, so it's not surprising if she got a bit carried away." Raditz knows you're alive. He can feel it. A creature as brain-dead as Burter wouldn't be the one to take you out. You'd definitely go out with a bigger bang.

"Stop the chit-chat, and stay focused!" Vegeta snarls at the uncle-nephew duo.

Raditz lowers his voice to a whisper. "Don't mind him. Vegeta's just worried."

"Shut your damn mouth, Raditz! Before I shut it for you, permanently." Raditz's eyes widen in terror as he frantically restarts his search. Pissing off Vegeta right now would not be an intelligent choice.

They explore another good portion of the planet. The only downside is they haven't found any sign of life. The group was about to pause and rest until a strange ship entered their field of vision. Krillin's eyes widen, a grin spreading across his lips. As he reads the words located on the side of the vessel. He begins sprinting toward the machine with Gohan not far behind. "Capsule Corp! We're saved!" 

Vegeta and Raditz observe the two in bewilderment. Vegeta never thought that Raditz could ever be the second smartest person in his vicinity. Today is just full of surprises. "Slow down, you neanderthals!" Vegeta shouts. "It could be a trap." The two Saiayn's have obviously seen more of the world. Even a fool like Raditz understands protocol about behavior on a foreign planet.

The pair ignore their Saiyan allies. With Krillin entering the ship first. "Goku?" He shouts.

"Dad?" Gohan enters the ship, only to find no sign of his father. The pair begin searching the aircraft, looking for clues to where Goku's whereabouts may be. The two Saiyan's tread carefully into the ship. Nothing seems dangerous at the moment. And they wouldn't put it past Kakarot to abandon the only source of transportation off this damn planet. Gohan furrows his brows. "Where could he have gone?"

"Do you guys think he could've been captured? Krillin's question was directed toward the Saiyan's. Vegeta and Raditz both know what the Frieza Force can do while he and Gohan are basically fish out of water.

"Relax." Raditz is the one to break the silence. "If Kakarot was captured, we'd all already know."

"There would be signs of a struggle. And extreme damage to the outside terrain. Kakarot left on his own accord, now let's go, we now have two fools to find."

Krillin was about to follow Vegeta's orders until his eyes land on a small bag. "Wait." He grabs the bag from the table. "If this is what I think it is--- it is. Leave it to Goku to forget an entire bag of Senzu beans." He pulls one of the green beans out of the bag, tossing it to Gohan and grabbing another for himself. 

He throws the bag at Raditz, who catches it with ease. The Saiyan watches the earthling and half-breed eat them first. Their injuries heal instantly, so it isn't poison. That small fact seems to be enough for Raditz, as he eats one of the beans himself. 

After he heals, he hands the bag to Vegeta. "Wait! Raditz!" Krillin shrieks. He's aware that their alliance is quite temporary and will probably end once they successfully disband the Ginyu Force.

Krillin charges at Vegeta, only to be stopped by Raidtz's hand. Which is placed firmly against his forehead, the Saiyan can hold him back with ease. "Stop. You know we can't do this on our own, even with Kakarot's help. Take it from someone who personally knows Frieza and the Ginyu Force. We need him."

Vegeta holds the Senzu bean in his hand, eyeing it skeptically. Before tossing it in his mouth, chewing it slowly. His eyes flash in amazement as his substantial injuries heal instantly. Even though he's seen the bean work wonders before, he still can't believe its capabilities. 

"Do you guys think that Goku and Y/N could be together?" Krillin's question makes a lot of sense, and unknowingly to him, very accurate. 

Vegeta sighs. "It's a possibility." The idea alone makes Vegeta cringe. Just the possibility of you being alone with Kakarot makes him irritable. 

"Well, if they're together, that's a good thing, right?" Gohan's cheerful voice cuts in. "It should be easier to find them, then."

Raditz snickers. "But, will they both be alive? That's the million-dollar question."

Krillin's eyes widen. It wouldn't surprise him if Goku's personality pushed you over the realm of sanity. He sometimes even feels like he's losing his mind when he's with his childhood friend. "Good point. If that's the case, we better step up our game."

The group of four exits the ship, continuing their search. And it doesn't take long for them to discover something else that stops them in their tracks. They located Burter's corpse, more specifically a headless Burter. Decapitation seems to be your go-to method of execution today. It's good to mix things up once in a while.

"Well, it looks like we know what happened here." You jump up in the pit. You'd recognize that voice anywhere. As always, your big brother, Vegeta, comes to your rescue.

"Vegeta! Get me the hell out of here!" Vegeta furrows his brows, desperately looking in all directions. He flys up to get a birds-eye view of the landscape. A higher altitude should be beneficial in tracking you down.

As soon as you hear Vegeta's obnoxious laughter, you know he's found you. He lands on the side of the dip in the ground. "Looks like you're in quite the predicament there, baby sister!" You've never been happier to see that arrogant smirk before in your life. 

"Vegeta, come on, get me out of here! I can't take another second of this torture."

"I don't know." Vegeta rubs his chin. "You did leave me alone, with those three idiots. Maybe I should leave you down there with Kakarot so you can learn a lesson."

"Come on, Vegeta. You know we don't have time for this." Raditz places a large branch in the pit. You should easily be able to climb up it. The barrier is only activated for those inside the hole. So it should cause a rift when something is poking out of it.

You place your hands on the wood as you start shimming upwards. You wince in pain, stumbling a bit. Your injury must be affecting you more than you thought. Goku quickly grabs you, placing his hands on your hips holding you in place.

"D- Don't touch me!"

Goku sighs. Your hot and cold behavior is really confusing to him. "I was just trying to help you. You were gonna fall."

"As we discussed before. I don't want your help." You pull yourself up the rest of the way up, rushing to Raditz. You wrap your arms around the giant, desperately clinging to him. "I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you."

Raditz furrows his brows, looking over your head at his brother, who had just climbed back to the surface. "God, Kakarot. What did you do to her?"

"Relax, you drama queen. You were only down there for about an hour or so." Vegeta pulls you off Raditz as your hand quickly lands over the sight of your wound. There's no need to worry Vegeta about this. It's just a minor scratch, that's all. He scans his eyes over your from, checking for any irregularities. "No injuries. All your limbs are intact. I'm surprised."

"Well, actually---" You slap Goku's leg with your tail, causing him to yelp out in pain. 

"Yep, I'm all good." You plaster an ingenuine smile on your face.

Gohan, Krillin, and Goku all have a little reunion. The rest of you will not take any part in that conversation. Kakarot's arrival isn't something to celebrate. He won't be your saving grace. "So, what's our next move?" Raditz turns to Vegeta. It's almost like nothing has changed. Like you've stepped into a time machine and went back to a much simpler time. Back when things were much less complicated.

"We go find Ginyu and Jeice too." Vegeta turns to you. "That red menace got away."

"I know. Jeice paid Kakarot and me a visit. Putting it simply, he's not gonna be in very high spirits."

Raditz chuckles. "Well, getting turned down so many times can't be good for his ego. Especially by the ice princess."

"She's far from an ice princess. Saiyan-wise, my sister is actually quite friendly. Out of our entire bloodline, I'd say she has the best people skills. She knows how to work a crowd. That's why our father wanted to put her in charge of foreign affairs."

"Was that a compliment, Vegeta?"

"I wouldn't dare." He pauses, turning to the other three. "Alright, let's get this over with. I don't want to spend any more time with you fools than necessary."

-

The group is finally reunited. But what does Captain Ginyu have in store for our heroes? And will Jeice ever get Y/N's attention? Find out in the next chapter of The Princess of All Saiyans..

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice: Part 1.5 (Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader)

synopsis: you meet your captors, but why are you really here?

wc: 1.8k

tw: none

masterlist

Giggling.

Giggling?

Do people giggle in heaven?

When you finally come to, all you can hear are muffled whispers and excited chatter around you.

“Mom? Dad?” You slowly open your eyes and take in the blurry shapes surrounding you, blinking multiple times so that they would take form.

“No mom or dad here,” a soft voice whispers, and cold fingers touch your forehead.

“No,” another voice echoes and finally, you can see who is circled around you. A gaggle of women surrounds you, each one having an unusual skin color - rose pink, cerulean, blood red, hunter green, and mauve - and sporting a set of unfamiliar-looking ears that came to a small pinched point at the tops.

“We’re glad you’re awake!” A woman with short black hair and green skin exclaims, clasping her hands to her clothed chest. “Everyone is shocked when they come here at first, but we’ve never had someone pass out,” she giggles and the other women do as well.

“You made quite a spectacle,” another woman sighs, shaking her rose-pink head. “We had to get the men to help us get you up here.”

Here? You look around the room you’re in, fully noticing your surroundings. You’re still in the clothes from the ceremony, and the pendant hangs neatly around your neck still, untouched by the women. But the room… it’s immaculate.

Every piece of furniture is either gold or white, and to your left, a set of open-air windows are covered by gauzy curtains that blow in the invisible wind. You’re laying in a four-poster bed, covered in white sheets and white fur that looks expensive. And when you run your hands over it, it feels expensive.

“Wait…” you exhale, looking around at the room again. “Am I in the Dragon God’s--”

“You’re not dead if that’s what you’re asking,” The blood-red-skinned woman answers, fingering her long braid. “But I’ll let His Holiness explain.”

“His Holiness?” you mutter, right as a sharp ripple runs through the curtains. All of the women turn to the archways and in one motion begin to scramble there.

“Move, Ariadne!”

“Serena, scoot over!”

“Danai, I can’t see!”

You cautiously slide out of the bed and pad over to where the women have thrown open the curtains and are leaning over the banister to look left and right.

“Do you see them?” Someone asks, and one of them replies,

“Up there!” Your eyes follow to the point in the sky where the mauve hand is pointing, and you can see two figures dancing about in the sky, flashes of gold and white passing between them. As they get closer, you can clearly make out that they’re...

“Dragons.” A black one circles around a white one, both of them exchanging fire in turn. All of the women begin to squeal, their excited chatter like the sounds of birds in the morning light.

“You came to just in time,” the tall, blood-red woman nudges you, smiling widely. “His Holiness and His Highness like to spar during the day, and it looks like they’re putting on quite the show.”

“Ah,” you answer, looking back up at the dragons, who were getting even closer, almost right upon the place where you all stood.

“What’s your name?” she asks, raising a brow at you.

“Y/n,” you reply, fiddling with the edges of your sleeves.

“I’m Clymenestra,” the woman offers her hand to you, and you take it, shaking it firmly. “But everyone calls me Cly. I’m the head of household affairs, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“Household affairs?”

“Food, drink, sheets, anything you associate with households, I’m in charge of it.”

“So… you’re not the Dragon God’s… wives?”

Cly laughs, tossing her head back and holding her stomach as her fox-like features slide into a wide grin. “Oh, y/n, you are so funny!” You turn back to the spectacle in front of you and watch as the two dragons engage in a death-drop, wrapping around each other in an endless loop.

“They’re going to do it!” Someone squeals and you all watch as they drop into the water right below them, neglecting to emerge for what feels like eons. As you scan the shoreline for any signs of re-emerging dragons, you wonder why two dragons - fire-breathing creatures - would descend into the depths of what appeared to be an ocean. But when two male figures emerge from the sea, you’re suddenly aware that it was just what Cly said: it was all a show.

“Oh! Cly, we have to get their robes!” One of the women shouts and the women break into a frenzy again, scurrying about and opening drawers and shutting wardrobes, hands suddenly filled with different articles of clothing. Clymenestra stands beside you, arms folded over her chest as she oversees the chaos, then opens a set of doors that leads to a large, long hallway. The doors at the end of the hallways open out to the outdoors at the same time, and you watch the women file neatly into the hallway in two rows. Cly tugs you to her side at the end of the line, holding your hand with an iron grip.

“Say nothing until I introduce you.”

When the two men who resurfaced from the sea stride through the doors, you swallow hard, feeling your palms become clammy at the sight of the muscles on display.

Oh, no. They’re hot.

“Your Holiness.”

“Your Highness.”

The women coo these words interchangeably as a black, long-haired man and a white-haired man take the clothing offered to them, wrapping the towels and silk robes around themselves. As the white-haired man gets closer to you, your knees begin to quake under your dress, his blue eyes piercing your soul.

“Clymenestra, it seems we have a new guest here,” he purrs, placing a hand on his hip. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m--” Cly yanks on your hand surreptitiously, which stops your speech.

“Her name is y/n, and she’s the newest addition to His Holiness’ household, your Highness.”

“Ah,” the man sighs, looking away. “I was hoping they would send me a new plaything this time.” The black-haired man catches the end of this conversation, tying his black robe around him and raising a brow.

“Have you asked for a new plaything, Gojo?” he wonders as his black eyes slide to you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you catch his gaze, which is tender and curious. Not at all like the devouring gaze the man with the blue eyes gave you.

“No,” the blue-eyed man mumbles, walking down a different corridor and disappearing.

“I’m sorry about my friend, he’s a little touchy around this time of year,” the black-haired man mentions, and Cly bobs into a small curtsy.

“Your Holiness, this is y/n.”

“What a beautiful name,” he muses, and you bow your head slightly. “You can refer to me as Geto.” When he speaks to you - and so familiarly at that - you feel a shiver run down your spine and rest in the pit of your stomach. “You’re my guest here and I will treat you as such. Have you fully recovered from your episode?” he wonders, and you nod in response, words unable to be formed in your mouth. “Fantastic. Let’s have dinner, I know you’re probably famished after losing your horse.” Cly urges you to follow him down a separate corridor, and you follow obediently.

_____________________________________________________________

Two pairs of eyes are on you as you try to politely scarf down the food offered. When the smell of loaves of bread, meats, cheeses, fish, delicacies you’ve only dreamed of having for the past five years wafted into your nose, your rational mind switched off and your self-preservation kicked in. Now, you were sitting at a table for four in the middle of a large dining hall that could possibly hold twenty couples total. The room is the same white and golden color scheme, only this time, the chairs and table cloths are black.

“You would think the villagers would have fed her,” Gojo - his highness - grumbles as you shove a slice of bread into your mouth. Geto just chuckles, picking at his own food with little interest.

“No, Satoru. They were cruel enough to send her up the mountain, certain she would die. Why would they waste food during a famine?” The famine. You look up from your plate at the black-haired one and frown, mouth full of food.

“We sacrifice women to you so that you’ll send rain.” You mention, and he shrugs, shaking his head. “At least, that’s what the elders tell us.”

“He’s not a rain god,” Gojo replies, steepling his fingers together. “So there’s something wrong about that assumption.”

“But we’ve been doing it for--”

“Two decades.” Geto finishes for you, then looks down at his plate before clearing his throat. “What did you do in the village, y/n?” He wonders, changing the subject suddenly.

“I--” I stole some food. I lived on the streets. I was an orphan.

I am an orphan.

“What difference does it make? Obviously, she wasn’t valuable enough for them to want to preserve her life.” Gojo interrupts, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like she’s not better off up here, Suguru.”

“But--” you try to speak, but Geto speaks over you, holding a hand out so Gojo will stop talking.

“Gojo, I know that. I just want to know a little more about our guest here. Is that okay with you?” The blue-eyed man tosses his hands up in defeat, squinting at you after looking you up and down. “Y/n, tell me about your time in the village. What did you do before you were picked?”

“I was… an orphan,” you admit, and Geto leans back in his chair, humming softly. Gojo runs a hand through his white locks, averting his gaze.

“My condolences,” Geto murmurs, tilting his head to the side so his hair dangled to the left. “Were you very close?”

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” you blurt, and Geto and Gojo both frown. “I mean, am I going to die after eating this meal?” Gojo tries his best to hold in his laughter, but fails miserably, tilting back in his chair as the sharp sounds echo around the room. You turn back to Geto, who chuckles as well and is hunched over in his seat.

“No, no, no,” Gojo wipes the tears from his eyes and continues. “You’re out guest, y/n. We would be horrible hosts if we killed you.”

“So what am I here for?” you reply, and Geto whispers:

“You’re only here to repay a debt, y/n. It has nothing to do with you personally, but just know, you’re not going to die. Actually, I would go as far as saying that you have the opportunity to live forever.”

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @leanne-tamashi @brownskinnedgirll

[jamestaylorswift]

My giant goes with me wherever I go: a study of the geographic metanarrative of folklore

This topic has been rattling around in my brain ever since I first heard folklore and I think it’s endlessly fascinating. Cue this lengthy but (hopefully) intriguing piece.

I’m afraid the title may not be an accurate reflection of this essay’s content, so here’s a preview of talking points: geography, existence, metanarrative, making sense of the theme of death, the “peace”/“hoax”/“the lakes” trio, history/philosophy, and exactly one paragraph of rep/Lover analysis (as a treat).

I make the standard disclaimer that analysis is by definition subjective. Additionally, many thanks and credit to anyone else who has written analysis of folklore. I am sure my opinions have been influenced by yours, even subconsciously.

Questions, comments, and suggestions are always welcome, and thank you for taking the time to read :)

——

“Traveling is a fool’s paradise. We owe to our first journeys the discovery that place is nothing. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me in the stern Fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

——

If Taylor Swift’s music is anything, it is highly geographic. Taylor has been a country, pop, and now alternative artist, yet a storyteller through and through—one with a special knack for developing the aesthetic of songs and even entire records through location. The people and places she writes about seem to mutually breathe life into each other.

It is plausible that Taylor, as a young storyteller, developed this talent by using places as veritable muses just like she did anything else. Furthermore, her confessional storytelling became much more geographic as she shifted to pop because of factors including (though certainly not limited to) purchasing real estate, traveling more, writing in a genre that canonically centers coastal cities, and dating individuals with their own established homes. The geographic motif in her work is so identifiable that all of the corresponding details are—for better or worse—commensurate to autobiography.

However, folklore is not autobiographical in the way that most understand her other albums to be. The relationship between people and places in folklore is likewise much less symbiotic.

The first two songs on the record illustrate this. We are at bare minimum forced to associate the characters of Betty and James with New York: the lyrics about the High Line imply a fraction of their relationship took place in this city. Even so, this does not imply Betty or James ever permanently resided in New York, or that Betty is in New York at the moment she is narrating the story of “cardigan.” Taylor places far more emphasis on James and the nostalgia of youth, with “I knew you” repeated as a hook, to develop the emotional tone of the song. Rhode Island also comes to life in “the last great american dynasty” because of Rebekah Harkness’ larger-than-life character. But Taylor, following Rebekah’s antagonism, states multiple times throughout the song that the person should be divorced from the place. folklore locations are never so revered that they gain the vibrancy of literal human life. Taylor refrains from saying a person is a place in the same way that she has said that she is New York or her lover is the West Village.

For an album undeniably with the most concrete references to location, it is highly irregular—even confusing, given that personification is such a powerful storytelling device—that Taylor does not equate location with personal ethos.

Regurgitating the truism that geography equals autobiography proves quite limiting for interpreting Taylor’s work. How, then, should geography influence our understanding of folklore?

I submit that the stories in folklore are not ‘about’ places but ‘of’ places which are not real. Taylor’s autobiographical fiction makes the settings of the songs similarly fictionalized, metaphorical, and otherwise symbolic of something much more than geography. It is this phenomenon which emotionally and philosophically distinguishes folklore from the rest of her oeuvre.

——

As a consequence of Taylor’s unusual treatment of location, real places in folklore become signposts for cultural-geographic abstractions. Reality is simply a set of worldbuilding training wheels.

Prominent geographic features define places, which define settings. The world of folklore is built from what I’ve dubbed as four archetypal settings: the Coastal Town, the Suburb, the City, and the Outside World.

Each has a couple defining geographic features:

Coastal Town: water, cliffs/a lookout

Suburb: homes, town

City: public areas, social/nightlife/entertainment venues

The Outside World serves as the logical complement of the other three settings.

Understanding that real location in folklore is neither interchangeable nor synonymous with setting is crucial. Rhode Island is like the Coastal Town, but the two settings are not one and the same. The Suburb is an idyllic mid-America setting like Nashville, St. Louis, or Pennsylvania; it is all of those places and none of them at the same time. The City may be New York City, but it is certainly not New York City in the way that Taylor has ever sung about New York City before. The Outside World is just away.

Put simply, folklore is antithetical to Taylor’s previous geographic doctrine. While we are not precluded from, for instance, imagining the City as New York City, we also cannot and should not be pigeonholed into doing so.

Note:

This album purports to embody the stereotypically American folkloric tradition. “Outside” means “anywhere that isn’t America” because the imagery and associations of the first three cultural-geographic settings indeed are very distinctly American.

While Nashville and St. Louis are relatively big cities, they are still orders of magnitude smaller than New York and LA, the urban centers that Taylor normally regards as big cities. In context of this essay, the former locations are Suburban.

In this essay, the purpose of the term ‘of’ is simply to replace the more strict term ‘about.’ ‘Of’ denotes significant emotion tied to a place, usually because of significant time spent there either in the past or present (tense matters). Not all songs are ‘of’ places—it may be ambiguous where action takes place—and some songs can be ‘of’ multiple places due to location changing throughout the story. (This does not automatically mean that songs with more than one location are ‘of’ two places. A passing mention of St. Louis does not qualify “the last great american dynasty” as ‘of’ the Suburb, for example.)

Each of the four archetypal settings must instead be understood as an amalgam of the aesthetics of every real location it could be. Setting then exists in conversation with metaphor because we have a shared understanding of what constitutes a generic Suburb, City, or Coastal Town.

Finally, by transitivity, the settings’ metaphorical significance entirely hinges upon the geographic features’ metaphorical significance. This is what Taylor authors.

The next part of the essay is concerned with deciphering geography in folklore per these guiding questions: how is an archetypal feature used as a metaphor? By proxy, what does that say about the setting defined by it? What theme, if any, unites the settings?

The Coastal Town: Water and Cliffs

The Coastal Town is defined by elemental features.

The first (brief) mentions of water occur on the first two tracks:

Roarin’ twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

Leavin’ like a father, running like water

“the last great american dynasty” introduces the setting to which the pool (water) feature belongs, our Rhode Island-like Coastal Town. It also incorporates a larger water feature, the ocean, and suggests the existence of a lookout or cliffs:

Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever

Flew in all her Bitch Pack friends from the city

Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names

//

They say she was seen on occasion

Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

“seven” and “peace” also have brief mentions of water; however, note that these songs remain situated as ‘of’ the Suburb. (More on this later.)

I hit my peak at seven

Feet in the swing over the creek

I was too scared to jump in

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

“my tears ricochet” and “mad woman” with their nautical references pertain to the water metaphor:

I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

Now I breathe flames each time I talk

My cannons all firin’ at your yacht

“epiphany” also counts, though with the understanding of “beaches” as Guadalcanal this song is ‘of’ the Outside World:

Crawling up the beaches now

“Sir, I think he’s bleeding out”

“this is me trying” and “hoax” reiterate the cliff/lookout geography:

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could’ve followed my fears all the way down

Stood on the cliffside screaming, “Give me a reason”

Finally, “the lakes” features both water and cliffs:

Take me to the lakes, where all the poets went to die

//

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

//

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

In folklore, water dovetails with permanent loss.

“epiphany” is the most egregious example. Crawling up the beaches of a war zone proves fatal. “the lakes” describes grieving in water, perhaps for the loss of one’s life because there exist cliffs from which to jump. “this is me trying” and “hoax” mirror that idea. On the other hand, in “peace,” death does not seem to have any connection to falling from a height.

Loss can also mean loss of sanity, such as with the eccentric character of Rebekah Harkness or Taylor as a “mad woman” firing cannons at (presumably) Scooter Braun’s yacht.

Subtler are the losses alluded to in “my tears ricochet” and “seven,” of identity or image and childhood audacity, respectively. And in the opening tracks water is at its most benign, aligned with loss of a relationship that has run its course in one’s young adulthood.

The most fascinating aspect of water in folklore is that it is an aberration from water as the symbol for life/birth/renewal, derived from maternity and the womb. folklore water taketh away, not giveth.

As of now, the greater significance of the Coastal Town—the meaning to which this contradiction alludes—remains to be seen.

The City: Nightlife, Entertainment, and Public Areas

Preeminent in Taylor’s pop work is the City; New York City, Los Angeles, and London are the locations most frequently extolled as Swiftian meccas. This archetypal setting is given a more understated role in folklore.

“cardigan,” ‘of’ the City, illustrates this setting using public environments and nightlife:

Vintage tee, brand new phone

High heels on cobblestones

//

But I knew you

Dancin’ in your Levi’s

Drunk under a streetlight

//

I knew you

Your heartbeat on the High Line

Once in twenty lifetimes

//

To kiss in cars and downtown bars

Was all we needed

“mirrorball” paints the clearest picture of the City’s nightlife/social venues by sheer quantity of lyrics:

I’m a mirrorball

I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

I’ll get you out on the floor

Shimmering beautiful

//

You are not like the regulars

The masquerade revelers

Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

//

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down

“invisible string” briefly mentions a bar:

A string that pulled me

Out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar

In addition, “this is me trying” implies that the speaker may currently be at a bar, making the song partially ‘of’ the City:

They told me all of my cages were mental

So I got wasted like all my potential

//

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere

Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here

Pouring out my heart to a stranger

But I didn’t pour the whiskey

It goes almost without saying that the City at large is alcohol-soaked. Indeed, alcohol will help us understand this location.

Each of the aforementioned songs has a distinct narrator, like Betty in the case of “cardigan” or Taylor herself, at the very least in the case of “mirrorball” or at most all songs besides “cardigan.” And because the narrative character is so strong, I posit that the meaning of this geography is tied to what alcohol reveals about the speakers of the songs themselves.

“invisible string” and “mirrorball” are alike in the fact that the stories extend well beyond or even completely after nightlife. Meeting in a dive bar in “invisible string” is just the catalyst for a relationship that feels fated. Taylor, in her “mirrorball” musing, expresses concern about how she is perceived by someone close to her. Does existing after the fact (of public perception, at an entertainment venue) constitute an authentic existence? Alcohol, apparently a necessary part of City life, predates events which later haunt the speakers. Emotional torment is then what prompts the speakers to recount their stories.

On the other hand, alcohol directly reveals the emotional states of the speakers in “cardigan” and “this is me trying.” “cardigan” is Betty’s sepia-toned memory of her time with James, in which James’ careless, youthful spirit (“dancin’ in your Levi’s, drunk under a streetlight” and “heartbeat on the High Line”) inspires sadness and nostalgia for their ultimately temporary relationship (“once in twenty lifetimes”). “this is me trying” is tinged with the speaker’s bitterness; hopelessness and regret lead them to the bar and the destructive practice of drinking just to be numb.

These observations suggest that the City is also a site of grief or loss, though not for the same reason that the Coastal Town is. Whereas the Coastal Town is associated with a permanent ending such as death, the City reveals an ending that is more transitional and wistful, tantamount to a coming of age. There is a clear ‘before’ and ‘after’ to loss related to the City: life, though changed, goes on.

The Suburb: Homes and Towns

Noteworthy though the City and Coastal Town may be, the former in particular concerning the pop mythology of Taylor Swift, it is the Suburb which Taylor most frequently references in folklore and establishes as the geographical heart of the album.

The Suburb is defined by a home and town. A “home” encompasses entrances (front/side doors), back and front yards (gardens/lawns/trees/weeds/creeks), and interiors (rooms/halls/closets). The “town” is pretty self-explanatory, with a store, mall, movie theater, school, and yogurt shop.

Observe that the folklore Suburb is the aesthetic equivalent of the “small town” that provided the debut and Fearless albums’ milieu and inspired the country mythology of Taylor Swift. While Taylor primarily wrote about home and school on those albums (because, well, that was closer to her experience as a teenager), the “small town” and the folklore Suburb are functionally the same with regard to pace, quality, and monotonicity of life. Exhibit A: driving around and lingering on front doorsteps are the main attractions for young adults. (From my personal experience growing up in a Suburb, this is completely accurate. And yes, the only other attractions are the mall and the movie theater.)

The Suburb becomes a conduit for conflict.

Conflict that Taylor explores in this setting, including inner turmoil, dissension between characters, and friction between oneself and external (societal) expectations, naturally can be distinguished by distance [1] between the two forces in conflict. As an example, ‘person vs. self’ implies no distance between the sides because they are both oneself. ‘Person vs. society’ is conflict in which the sides are the farthest they could conceivably be from each other. Conflict with greater distance between the sides is usually harder to resolve. One must move bigger mountains, so to speak, to fix these problems.

The folklore Suburb is additionally constructed upon the notion of privacy or seclusion. We can imagine a gradient [2] of privacy illustrated by Suburban geography: the town is a less intimate setting than the outside of the home, which is less intimate than the inside of the home.

I combine these two ideas in the following claim: the Suburb relates distance between two forces in conflict inversely on the geographical privacy gradient. Put simply, the more intimate or ‘internal’ the setting, the farther the two sides in conflict are from each other.

(I offer this claim in the hopes that it will clarify the nebulous meaning of the Suburb in the next section.)

Salient references to the Suburban town can be divided into one of two categories:

Allowing oneself to hope

Allowing oneself to recall

“august” clearly belongs in the first category. Hope is central to August’s character and how she approaches her relationship with James:

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

Canceled plans just in case you’d call

And say, “Meet me behind the mall”

If we interpret the bus as a school bus then “the 1” also belongs in this first town category:

I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though

//

I hit the ground running each night

I hit the Sunday matinee

“invisible string” indicates that the yogurt shop is equally innocent as Centennial Park. The store represents the hope of Taylor’s soul mate, parallel to her hope:

Green was the color of the grass

Where I used to read at Centennial Park

I used to think I would meet somebody there

Teal was the color of your shirt

When you were sixteen at the yogurt shop

You used to work at to make a little money

“cardigan” and “this is me trying” alternatively highlight the persistence of memory, with a relationship leaving an “indelible mark” on the narrators. These songs belong in the second category:

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time

Chasin’ shadows in the grocery line

You’re a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

James’ recollection qualifies “betty” for the second category as well. This song shows that emotional weight falls behind the act of remembering:

Betty, I won’t make assumptions

About why you switched your homeroom, but

I think it’s ‘cause of me

Betty, one time I was riding on my skateboard

When I passed your house

It’s like I couldn’t breathe

//

Betty, I know where it all went wrong

Your favorite song was playing

From the far side of the gym

I was nowhere to be found

I hate the crowds, you know that

Plus, I saw you dance with him

The surprising common denominator of these two categories is that conflict is purely internal in public spaces. Regardless of whether the speakers feel positively or negatively (i.e. per category number), their feelings are entirely a product of their own decisions, such as revisiting a memory or avoiding confrontation. This gives credence to the theory that the Suburb inversely relates conflict distance with privacy.

On the other extreme, the home is a site of conflict larger than oneself, and often more conflict in general. Conflict which occurs in the most private setting, inside the house, is conflict where the two sides are most distanced from each other. Conflict near the house, though not strictly inside, is closer, interpersonal.

“my tears ricochet” is just an ‘indoors’ song. The opening line depicts a private, funeral-like atmosphere:

We gather here, we line up, weepin’ in a sunlit room

There are multiple interpretations of this song floating around. The two prevailing ones are about the death of Taylor Swift the persona and the sale of her masters. In either interpretation, society and culture are the foundation for the implied conflict. First, the caricature of Taylor Swift exists as a reflection of pop culture; second, the sale of global superstar Taylor Swift’s masters is a dispute of such magnitude that it is not simply an interpersonal squabble.

For the alternative interpretation that “my tears ricochet” is about a dissolved relationship, “and when you can’t sleep at night // you hear my stolen lullabies” implicates Taylor Swift’s public catalogue (and thus Taylor Swift the persona) as the entity haunting someone else, as opposed to Taylor Swift the former member of the relationship.

“mad woman” is just an ‘outdoors’ song because of the line about the neighbor’s lawn:

What do you sing on your drive home?

Do you see my face in the neighbor’s lawn?

Does she smile?

Or does she mouth, “Fuck you forever”

It’s clear Taylor has a lot of vitriol for Scooter Braun. Though it’s probably a bit of both at the end of the day, I am comfortable calling their feud more of the ‘person vs. person’ variety than the ‘person vs. society’ variety.

Consequently, the privacy gradient claim holds for both songs.

“illicit affairs” is one of two songs with a very clear ‘transformation’ of geography:

What started in beautiful rooms

Ends with meetings in parking lots

In context, this represents the devolution of the relationship. External conflict, the illegitimacy of the relationship, defined the affair when it was in “beautiful rooms.” Relocating to the parking lot (i.e. now referencing the Suburban town) coincides with discord turning inward. Any external shame or scorn for both lovers as a consequence of the affair is replaced by the end of the song with anger the lovers feel towards each other and, more importantly, themselves.

“seven” is the best example of how many types of conflict are present in and around the home:

I hit my peak at seven

Feet in the swing over the creek

I was too scared to jump in

//

And I’ve been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

And I think you should come live with me

And we can be pirates

Then you won’t have to cry

Or hide in the closet

//

Please picture me in the weeds

Before I learned civility

I used to scream ferociously

Any time I wanted

The first few lines exemplify ‘person vs. self’ conflict, a fear of heights. The third segment introduces a ‘person vs. society’ dilemma, shrinking pains as a result of socialization into gender norms. (I am assuming that the child is a girl.) The second verse indicates strife between a child and a father. It leaves room for three interpretations:

The conflict is interpersonal, so the father’s anger is wholly or partially directed at the child because the father is an angry person

The conflict is sociological, so the father’s anger is a whole or partial consequence of the gendered roles which the father and child perform

Both

Is curious that we need not regard sadness and the closet in “seven” as mutually inclusive. The narrator says the child’s options are crying (logical) or hiding in the closet. Both the father’s temper and the closet are facts of the child’s life, either innocuous or traumatic or somewhere in between.

But we might—and perhaps should—go further and argue that conflict in “seven” is necessarily sociological, and specifically about being civilized to perform heterosexual femininity. For, taken to its logical extreme, if only gender identity and not sexual identity incites anger, then men must be socialized to become abusive to women, who must be socialized to become submissive to that abuse. Screaming “ferociously” at any time would also denote freedom to be oneself despite men, not freedom to be oneself for one’s own gratification. Yet the child surely enjoys the second freedom at the beginning of the song. While the patriarchy is indeed an oppressive societal force, the interpretation of the social conflict in “seven” as only gendered yields contradiction. This interpretation is much more tenuous than acknowledging that the closet is, in fact, The Closet.

(Mere mention of a closet, the universal symbol for hiding one’s sexuality, immediately justifies a queer interpretation of “seven” notwithstanding other sociological and/or semantic technicalities. A sizable chunk of Taylor’s extensive discography also lends itself to queer interpretation by extension of connection with this song—for instance, by a shared theme of socialization as a primary evil. To me it seems silly at best and homophobic at worst to eschew the reading of “seven” presented here.)

It is undeniable that “seven” represents many types of conflict and places them inversely on the privacy gradient. The father embodies societal conflict larger than the young child and introduces that conflict inside the house. The child faces internal conflict (i.e. a fear of heights) and no conflict at all (i.e. freedom to act fearlessly) outside.

Reconciling “august,” “exile,” and “betty” with the privacy gradient actually requires a queer interpretation of the songs. To avoid the complete logical fallacy of a circular proof, I reiterate that the privacy gradient is simply a means of illustrating how the Suburb functions as an archetypal location. Queer interpretation is a sufficient but not necessary condition for an interesting argument about Suburban spatial symbolism. Reaching a slightly weaker conclusion about the Suburb without the privacy gradient would not impact the conclusions about the other three archetypal locations. Finally, queer (sub)text is a noteworthy topic on its own.

“betty” situates the front porch as the venue where Betty must make a decision about her relationship with James:

But if I just showed up at your party

Would you have me? Would you want me?

Would you tell me to go fuck myself

Or lead me to the garden?

In the garden, would you trust me

If I told you it was just a summer thing?

//

Yeah, I showed up at your party

Will you have me? Will you love me?

Will you kiss me on the porch

In front of all your stupid friends?

If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it?

Will it patch your broken wings?

Influencing Betty’s decision is her relationship with her “stupid” (read: homophobic) friends who don’t accept James (and/or the idea of James/Betty as a pair), her own internalized homophobia, and the trepidation with which she may regard James after the August escapade. The conflict at the front door is external/societal, interpersonal, and internal.

The garden differs from the front door as an area where James and Betty can privately discuss the August escapade. By moving to the garden, the supposed root of their conflict shifts from the oppressive force of homophobia to James’ behavior regarding the love triangle (“would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?”). Much like in “illicit affairs,” motion along the privacy gradient underscores that micro-geography is inversely related to conflict distance.

Next, the implied settings of “august” are a bedroom and a private outdoor location such as a backyard:

Salt air, and the rust on your door

I never needed anything more

Whispers of "Are you sure?”

“Never have I ever before”

//

Your back beneath the sun

Wishin’ I could write my name on it

Will you call when you’re back at school?

I remember thinkin’ I had you

The backyard holds a mixture of ‘person vs. self’ and ‘person vs. person’ conflict. August’s doubts about James manifest as personal insecurities. However, James, by avoiding commitment, is equally responsible for planting that seed of doubt.

The song’s opening scene depicts a young adult losing their virginity. The bedroom can thus be conceptualized as a site of societal conflict because the queer love story expands this location to the geographical manifestation of escapism and denial. James runs off with August as a means to ignore externalized homophobia from a relationship with Betty, who has homophobic friends. Yet they eventually ditch August for Betty, either because of intense feelings for Betty or internalized homophobia—the relationship with August was too perfect, too easy.

“betty” and “august” are consistent with the gradient theory provided we interpret the love triangle narrative as queer. Identity engenders conflict in these songs. The characters then confront the conflict vis-à-vis location. ‘Indoors’ becomes the arena for confronting issues farther from the self, namely concerning homophobia. ‘Outdoors’ scopes cause and therefore possible resolution to individuals’ choices.

Last but not least, consider “exile,” the song with strange staging:

And it took you five whole minutes

To pack us up and leave me with it

Holdin’ all this love out here in the hall

//

You were my crown, now I’m in exile, seein’ you out

I think I’ve seen this film before

So I’m leaving out the side door

“I’m in exile, seein’ you out” and “I’m leaving out the side door” contradict each other. The speaker, “I,” seeing their lover out means that the speaker remains inside the house while their lover leaves. But the “I” also leaves through the side door. Does the speaker follow their lover out? If so, then whose house are they leaving? It is most likely a shared residence. They plan on coming back.

Taylor said in an interview [3] that the verses, sung by different people, represent the perspectives of the two lovers. The “me” in the first segment is the “you” in the second. So our “I” is left in the hall too. Both individuals  in the relationship are implied to leave and stay at different times.

An explanation for this inconsistency lies in the distinction between doors. A front door in folklore is symbolic of trust, that which makes or breaks a relationship (see: Betty’s front door and the door in “hoax”). It also forces sociological conflict to be resolved at the interpersonal level, lest serious problems hang out in the open. Fixing the world at large is usually impossible, and so front doors only create more issues. (The mountains, as they say, are too big to move.) The main entrance is thus a site for volatility and high stakes.

“exile” suggests that a shared side door is for persistent, dull, aching pain. This door symbolizes shame which is inherent to a relationship. It forces the partners to come and go quietly, to hide the existence of their love. Inferred from a queer reading of “exile” is that it is homophobia that erases the relationship. Conflict with society as evinced in individuals is once again consistent with the staging at the home.

Note that few (though multiple) explanations could resolve the paradox between intense shame in a relationship and the setting of a permanent shared home. Racism, for example, may be a reason individuals hide the existence of a loving relationship. Nevertheless, the overall effect of Taylor’s writing is that it is believable autobiography. It is unlikely that she’s speaking about racism here, least of all because there are two other male characters in the song. So a slightly more uncouth name for “exile” would be “the last great american mutual bearding anthem.”

To summarize, the Suburb is an archetypal setting constructed upon the notion of privacy. Taylor makes the folklore Suburb the primary home (no pun intended) of conflict of all kinds. Through an intimate, inverse relationship between drama and constitutive geography, Taylor argues that unrest and incongruity are central to what the Suburb represents.

The Outside World

The final archetypal setting is the complement to the first three—a physical and symbolic alternative.

The Guadalcanal beaches in “epiphany” (which are also alluded to in “peace”) contrast the homeland in “exile” through a metaphor about war. The Lake District in England is opposite America, the setting of most of folklore. The Moon, Saturn, and India are far away from Pennsylvania, the setting of “seven.” India quantifies the lengths to which the speaker of the song would go to protect the child character, while astronomy abstracts the magnitude of the speaker’s love.

This archetypal setting is symbolic of disengagement and breaking free from limitations. Moving to India in “seven” is how the speaker and child could escape problems at the child’s home. Analogizing war with the pandemic in “epiphany” removes geographical and chronological constraints from trauma.

The Lake District is where Taylor, a poet, goes to die. The line “I don’t belong and, my beloved, neither do you” could also suggest that this location is where Taylor and her muse break free from being outcasts (i.e. they find belonging). Regardless, the Lake District is where she disengages from the ultimate limitation of life itself.

——

How is an archetypal feature used as a metaphor? By proxy, what does that say about the setting defined by said feature?

Analysis of each archetypal feature yielded the following:

The Coastal Town is representative of permanent loss/endings

The City is representative of transitional loss/endings

The Suburb is the site of character-defining conflict

The Outside World is freedom from the constraints of the other settings

What theme unites these settings?

Though the majority of songs in folklore are anachronistic, the album has a temporal spirit. Geography seems to humanize and animate folklore: the meanings of the settings mirror the stages of life.

(The theoretical foundation for this claim is a topology of being; that the nature of being [4] is an event of place.)

The City, characterized by transition, is the coming-of-age and the Coastal Town, characterized by permanent endings, is death.

The Outside World, an alternative to life itself, is hence a rebirth. (After all, Romantic poets experienced a spiritual and occupational rebirth upon retiring to the Lakes to die. We remember them by their retreat.)

Outwardly, the Suburb is ambiguous. It could be representative of adolescence or adulthood—before or after the City. Analysis shows that this setting is nothing if not complex. Adult Taylor writes about the Suburb as someone whose opinion of this setting has unquestionably soured since adolescence. Yet she also approaches the Suburb with the singular goal of creating nuance, specifically by exposing unrest and incongruity which the setting usually obfuscates. This setting, ironically one that is (culturally) ruled by haughty adolescents, is where she explores the myriad subtleties and uncertainties coloring adulthood. The Suburb thus cannot be for adolescence because James is 17 and doesn’t know anything. Taylor intentionally situates the Suburb between the City and Coastal Town as the geographic stand-in for a complicated adulthood.

Despite genre shifts, Taylor has always excelled at establishing a clear setting for her songs. She is arguably even required to establish setting more clearly for folkloric storytelling than for her brand of confessional pop. If we can’t fully distinguish between reality and fiction, we must be able to supplement our understanding of a story with strong characterization, which is ultimately a byproduct of setting. Geography is a prima facie necessity for creating folklore.

This further suggests that the ‘life story’ told through geography is the thing closest to a metanarrative of folklore.

I use this term to refer to an album’s overarching narrative structure which Taylor creates (maybe subconsciously) in service of artistic self-expression. Interrogating ‘metanarrative’ should not be confused with the protean, impossible, and distracting task of deciphering Taylor Swift’s life. True metanarrative is always worth exploring. Also, though some conclusions about metanarrative may seem more plausible than others, at the end of the day all relevant arguments are untenable. Only Taylor knows exactly which metanarrative(s) her albums follow, if any. It is simply worth appreciating that folklore allows an interesting discussion about metanarrative in the first place; that it is both possible to find patterns sewn into the fabric of the work and to resonate with that which one believes those patterns illustrate. I digress.

folklore is highly geographic but orthogonal to all of our geographic expectations of mood or tone. Through metaphor, Taylor upends our assumptions about the archetypal settings.

The Outside World is usually a setting which represents a brief and peaceful respite for travelers. Here, it is the setting for complete and permanent disengagement. Hiding and running away was a panacea in reputation/Lover, but in folklore, finding peace in running and hiding becomes impossible.

The City is usually regarded as a modern Fountain of Youth and, in Taylor’s work, a home. However, the folklore City’s shelter is temporary and its energy brittle, like the relationship between the characters that inhabit it. The City has lost its glow.

One would expect the Coastal Town to be peaceful and serene given its small size and proximity to water. Taylor makes it the primary site of death, insanity, permanent loss. The place where one cannot go with grace is hardly peaceful.

The Suburb is not the romanticized-by-necessity dead end that it is in a Bildungsroman like Fearless. Rather, it is the site of great conflict as a consequence of individual identity. The American suburb is monolithic by design; Taylor points the finger of blame back at this design for erasing hurt and trauma. By writing against the gradient of privacy, she obviates all simplicity and serenity for which this location is known. Bedrooms no longer illustrate the dancing-in-pjs-before-school and floodplain-of-tears binary. Front porches become more sinister than the place to meet a future partner and rock a baby. Characters’ choices—often between two undesirable options in situations complicated by misalignment of the self and the world at large—become their biggest mistakes. It is with near masochistic fascination that Taylor dissects how the picturesque Suburban façade disguises misery.

If we have come to expect anything from Taylor, it is that she will make lustrous even the most mundane feelings and places. (And she is very good at her job.) folklore is a departure from this practice. She replaces erstwhile veneration of geography itself with nostalgia, bitterness, sadness, or disdain for any given setting. folklore is orthogonal to our primary expectation of Taylor Swift.

Yet another fascinating aspect of folklore is the air of death. It’s understandable. Taylor has ‘killed’ relationships, her own image, and surely parts of her inner self an unknowable number of times. Others have tarnished her reputation, stolen her songs, and deserted her in personal and professional life. She perishes frequently, both by her own hand and by the hands of others. The losses compound.

I’ve lost track of the number of posts I’ve seen saying that folklore is Taylor mourning friendships, love, a past self, youth…x, y, z. It has literally never been easier to project onto a Taylor Swift album, folks! At the same time, it is very difficult to to pinpoint what, exactly, Taylor is mourning. To me, listing things is a far too limited understanding of folklore. The lists simply do not do the album justice.

Death’s omnipresence has intrigued many, and I assert for good geographic reason. Reinforcing the album’s macabre undertone is nonlinear spatial symbolism: each setting bares a grief-soaked stage of a single life. From the City to the Suburb, Coastal Town, and Outside World, we perceive one’s sadness and depression, anger and helplessness, frustration and scorn, and acceptance, respectively. folklore holds a raw, primal grief at its core.

The geographic metanarrative justifies Taylor’s unabridged grieving process as that over the death of her own Romanticism. For the album’s torment is not as simple as in aging or metamorphosis of identity, not as glorified or irreverent as in a typical Swiftian murder-suicide, not as overt as in a loss with something or someone to blame. folklore is Taylor’s reckoning with what can only be described as artistic mortality.

——

To summarize up until this point: geography in folklore is not literal but metaphorical. The artistic treatment of folklore settings evinces a ‘geographic metanarrative,’ a close connection between settings and the stages of a life spent grieving. I propose that this life tracks Taylor’s relationship to her Romanticism. folklore follows the stages of Taylor’s artistic grief, so we will see that the conclusion of the album brings the death of Taylor’s Romanticism.

It is important to distinguish between the death of Romanticism in general and the death of Taylor’s Romanticism. folklore presents an argument for the latter.

A central conceit of Romanticism is its philosophy of style:

The most characteristic romantic commitment is to the idea that the character of art and beauty and of our engagement with them should shape all aspects of human life.…if the romantic ideal is to materialize, aesthetics should permeate and shape human life. [5]

Romanticism is realized through imagination:

The imagination was elevated to a position as the supreme faculty of the mind.…The Romantics tended to define and to present the imagination as our ultimate “shaping” or creative power, the approximate human equivalent of the creative powers of nature or even deity. It is dynamic, an active, rather than passive power, with many functions. Imagination is the primary faculty for creating all art. On a broader scale, it is also the faculty that helps humans to constitute reality…we not only perceive the world around us, but also in part create it. Uniting both reason and feeling…imagination is extolled as the ultimate synthesizing faculty, enabling humans to reconcile differences and opposites in the world of appearance. [6]

Imagination then engenders an artist-hero lifestyle [7]. This is similar—if not identical—to what we perceive of Taylor Swift’s life:

By locating the ultimate source of poetry in the individual artist, the tradition, stretching back to the ancients, of valuing art primarily for its ability to imitate human life (that is, for its mimetic qualities) was reversed. In Romantic theory, art was valuable not so much as a mirror of the external world, but as a source of illumination of the world within.…The “poetic speaker” became less a persona and more the direct person of the poet.…The interior journey and the development of the self recurred everywhere as subject material for the Romantic artist. The artist-as-hero is a specifically Romantic type.

Taylor’s Romanticism is thus her imagination deified as her artist-hero.

Moreover, the discrepancy between perceptions of grief in folklore is a consequence of the death of her Romanticism.

We (i.e. outsiders) naturally perceive the death of the Romantic as the death of Romantic aesthetics. Hence the lists upon lists of things that Taylor mourns instead of celebrates.

Taylor seems to grieve her Romantic artist-hero. Imaginative capacity predicates an artist-hero self-image, so conversely the death of the Romantic strips imagination of its power. The projected “fantasy, history, and memory” [8] of folklore indeed unnerves rather than comforts. The best example of this is from a corollary of the geographic metanarrative. Grief traces geography which traces life, and life leaks from densely populated areas to sparsely populated areas (it begins in the City and ends in the Outside World). Metaphorical setting, a product of imagination, aids the Romantic’s unbecoming. So, imagination is not a “synthesizing faculty” for reconciling difference; it is instead a faculty that divides.

Discriminating between the death of Romanticism in general and the death of Taylor’s Romanticism contextualizes folklore’s highly individualized grief. It is hard to argue that Taylor Swift will ever be unimaginative. But if we assume that she subscribes to a Romantic philosophy, then it follows that confronting the limits of the imagination is, to her, akin to a reckoning with mortality, a limit of the self.

——

folklore follows the stages of Taylor’s artistic grief. The album ends with Taylor accepting of the death of her Romanticism and being reborn into a new life. The final trio of songs, set ‘of’ the Suburb, Coastal Town, and Outside World in turn, frame the album’s solitary denouement.

In truth, “peace” is hardly grounded in Suburban geography. The nuance in it certainly makes it a thematic contemporary of other songs belonging to the Suburb, however. And consider: the events of “peace” are after the coming-of-age, the City; defining geographic features of the Coastal Town and Outside World are referenced in the future tense; an interior wall, the closest thing to Suburban home geography, is referenced in the present tense:

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

//

But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade ocean wave blues come

//

You paint dreamscapes on the wall

//

And you know that I’d swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Per tense and the geographic metanarrative, “peace” is Suburban and is the first story of this trio. “hoax” and “the lakes” trivially follow (in that order) by their own geography.

The trio is clearly a story about Taylor and her muse. Understanding perspective in these songs will help us reconcile the lovers’ story and the geographic metanarrative.

We must compare lines in “peace” and “hoax” to determine who is speaking in those songs and when. Oft-repeated imagery makes it challenging to find a distinguishing detail local only to the trio. I draw attention to the affectionate nickname “darling”:

And it’s just around the corner, darlin’

'Cause it lives in me

Darling, this was just as hard

As when they pulled me apart

These two mentions are the only such ones in folklore. Whoever sings the first verse of “peace” must sing the bridge of “hoax” too.

“hoax” adds that the chorus singer’s melancholy is because of their faithless lover:

Don't want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Augmenting Lover is an undercurrent of sadness to which Taylor alludes with the color blue. By a basic understanding of that album, Taylor sings the “hoax” chorus.

The fire and color metaphors in tandem make the “hoax” verse(s) and bridge from the perspective of the lover who is burned and dimmed by the energy of their partner, the “peace” chorus singer:

I am ash from your fire

//

But what you did was just as dark

But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm

Finally, a motif of an unraveling aligns the “hoax” verse(s) and bridge singer:

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

//

My kingdom come undone

The “hoax” verse(s), chorus, and bridge are all sung by the same person.

In sum: Taylor sings the first verse of “peace” and her lover sings the chorus of “peace.” (See this post for more on “peace.”) Taylor alone sings “hoax.” “the lakes” is undoubtedly from Taylor’s perspective too.

Now let’s examine “peace” more closely:

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly this summer, it’s clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it’s just around the corner, darlin’

‘Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love’s for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Taylor’s lover has the temerity to die for her in secret. We can infer from the first verse that Taylor’s coming-of-age brings not the courage her lover possesses but clarity about an unsustainable habit. She realizes that she cherishes youthful fantasies of life (such as “this summer,” à la “august”) for mettle. This apparently knocks her out of her reverie.

The recognition that being an artist-hero hurts her muse frames the death of Taylor’s Romanticism. It is impossible for Taylor to both manage an unpleasant reality and construct a more peaceful one using her Romantic imagination. The rift between her true lived experience (“interior journey”) and the experience of her art (“development of the self”) is what fuels alienation from Romance. The artist is unstitched from the hero.

“hoax” continues along this line of reasoning. In this song, she admits that she has been hurt by herself:

My twisted knife

My sleepless night

My winless fight

This has frozen my ground

As well as by her lover:

My best laid plan

Your sleight of hand

My barren land

I am ash from your fire

And by others:

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

The bridge marks is the turning point where she lets go of of her youth and adulthood, both of which are tied to her Romanticism through geography:

You know I left a part of me back in New York

You knew the hero died so what’s the movie for?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

You knew the password so I let you in the door

You knew you won so what’s the point of keeping score?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

Of utmost importance is the very first line. The muse to whom Taylor addresses “hoax” is said to have been present at Taylor’s side through all of her struggles (“you knew”). The first line reveals that the lover did not know that Taylor left a part of herself back in New York (“you know [now]”). Taylor is only sharing her newfound realization as she stands on the precipice of the Coastal Town.

Nearly imperceptible though this syntactic difference is, it is an unmistakable reprise of the effect of the verses and chorus of “cardigan.” (Coincidentally, references to New York connect the songs.) “Knew” and “know” in both songs underscore a difference between what a character remembers (or had previously experienced) and what they understand in the current moment (or have just come to realize). Betty realizes at the very moment that she narrates “cardigan” that it was a mistake to excuse James’ behavior as total ignorance and youthful selfishness. Taylor realizes in “hoax” that she can no longer cling to youth, the romanticization of her youth, or romanticization of the romanticization of her youth. The youth in her is gone forever because she is no longer attached to the City. The adult in her has also matured for she is past the Suburb as well. The Coastal Town thus very appropriately stages the death of her Romantic.

Anyone who listens to Taylor’s music has been trained to connect geography to the vitality of Romantic artist-hero Taylor. In short, aestheticized geography renders Taylor’s Romantic autobiography. By letting go of the parts of her connected to geography, Taylor abandons the Romantic aesthetics both she and listeners associate with location. Divorcing from aesthetics also pre-empts romanticization of location in the future. The bridge of “hoax” is thus most easily summarized as the moment when any fondness for and predisposition towards Romance crumbles completely.

Lastly, we must pay special attention to micro-geography in the “hoax” chorus. We recall from “the last great american dynasty” and “this is me trying” the insanity that consumes the characters who contemplate the cliffs. The Coastal Town is not a beautiful place to die; one is graceless when moribund:

They say she was seen on occasion

Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

I’ve been having a hard time adjusting

//

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could’ve followed my fears all the way down

From “peace” we know that Taylor’s lover is willing to die for her, in particular if Taylor’s sadness becomes too great (i.e. if she goes to the sea).

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love’s for show

But I would die for you in secret

The “hoax” chorus is when Taylor’s sadness balloons. Taylor the Romantic is ready to die:

Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason"

Your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in

Don't want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Remember Rebekah, pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea. Taylor is in this same position, on the cliffs, facing the water. Why is she screaming? Taylor is yelling down at her lover, who has already died (in secret, of course) and is in the water below waiting to catch her. (“I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below,” anyone?) Taylor’s singular faith is in her lover, and Taylor wants them to promise to catch her when she falls. In the end, though, the inherent danger nullifies what the lover could do to convince Taylor that the two would reunite safely below.

Taylor examines the water and realizes that her lover’s hue is combined with the blue of the sea. The sea cannot promise to catch her. Already mentally reeling, the admixture of sadnesses—in the setting which represents the culmination of life—makes Taylor recalcitrant. The Coastal Town has too much metaphorical baggage. It is not the place Taylor leaps from the cliffs. The first line of the “hoax” chorus uses “stood,” which implies that Taylor is reflecting on this dilemma after the fact.

The outro reinforces that the Coastal Town is where Taylor the Romantic comes to term with death but does not actually die:

My only one

My kingdom come undone

My broken drum

You have beaten my heart

Don’t want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Romantic imagination cannot protect Taylor from all the hurt she has suffered in reality. A calm settles over her as the chords modulate to the relative major key. She reflects on her journey: “my only one” corresponds to the first verse which introduces her solemn situation; “my kingdom come undone” ties to the self-inflicted hurt that froze her ground; “my broken drum // you have beaten my heart” supplements the second verse about suffering from her lover’s duplicity. The last lines are again her rationale for not jumping from the rocks. Finally, after the album-long grieving period, Taylor the Romantic has made peace with her inevitable death.

Romanticism is Taylor’s giant which goes with her wherever she goes. Running, hiding, traveling, and uprooting are indeed the fool’s paradise in her previous albums. Impermanence of setting—roaming the world for self-culture, amusement, intoxication of beauty, and loss of sadness [9]—engenders an impermanence of self, which fuels the instinct to cling tightly to what does remain constant. Naturally, then, Romanticism is Taylor’s only enduring companion. It becomes the lens through which she understands the world, yet the rose-colored one which by virtue inspires problems on top of problems. Forevermore does her Romantic inspire a cycle of catharsis that plays out in real life. Thy beautiful kingdom come, then tragically come undone.

Taylor chooses to go to the Lakes to escape from the constraints of this cycle:

Take me to the Lakes where all the poets went to die

I don’t belong and, my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I’m setting off, but not without my muse

Of the death story in the “peace”/“hoax”/“the lakes” trio, it is impossible to ignore the mutualism of Taylor and her muse. Neither of them belong of this life—and ‘of’ American geography—anymore. Taylor’s last wish is to go to the Outside World and jump (“[set] off”) from the Windermere peaks with her muse, who is ever willing to both lead Taylor to the dark and follow her into it.

Taylor bids a final goodbye—appropriately, in the tongue of Romance—to the philosophy which has anchored her all this time:

I want auroras and sad prose

I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet

'Cause I haven’t moved in years

And I want you right here

Romanticism, her art and life in tandem, brought Taylor what she values: union with her muse in the privacy of nature and her imagination. The final ode holds respect.

Finally, her death. The journey of grief concludes with Taylor both accepting death and, fascinatingly, being reborn into a new life:

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground

With no one around to tweet it

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

In keeping with metaphorical geography, old life dwindling in water is exactly concurrent with new life flourishing on land.

Observe that the rebirth concerns ice frozen ground, an element of “hoax,” which is set in the Coastal Town. The rebirth must happen back in America even though the death happens at the Lakes.

Despite the imagery, this is not a Romantic rebirth. Begetting a new life is the juxtaposition of two things Taylor once romanticized toward opposite extremes—a red rose for beauty and an ice frozen ground for tragedy—with her simple refusal that either be distorted as externalities of her experience.

This final stanza is wide open for interpretation with regards to the story of the two lovers. It allows a priori all permutations of Taylor and/or her muse experiencing rebirth as the red rose and/or the frozen ground:

Taylor and her lover experience a rebirth together

Taylor is the red rose and her lover is the ice frozen ground

Taylor is the ice frozen ground and her lover is the red rose

Taylor and her lover are indivisible: they are both the rose and the frozen ground

Taylor alone experiences a rebirth

Taylor is the rose

Taylor is the ice frozen ground

Taylor is the rose + ice frozen ground

The lover alone experiences a rebirth

The lover is the rose

The lover is the ice frozen ground

The lover is the rose + frozen ground

(2) and (3) make death at the end of “the lakes” purely sacrificial. This is inconsistent with the disproportionate emphasis placed on the lovers’ mutualism. I am thus inclined to dismiss (2) and (3) as consequences of combinatorics.

There are also two interpretations of the final lines of the bridge:

Taylor the Romantic is the implied ‘I’ overcome with grief; her muse is her calamitous love with whom she bathes

Taylor the Romantic possesses both calamitous love and insurmountable grief; her lover, as per usual, dies with her in secret

It is unclear which is the truth. Still, (1) is relatively straightforward: there are two entities said to bathe in the Lakes and two entities said to be involved in reincarnation.

There need not be ‘parity’ between old life and new (reincarnated) life with respect to the lovers’ relationship status. If Taylor’s muse dies, does her relationship dissolve? Or must her muse, who dies at Taylor’s side, be reborn at her side too? If Taylor declares her devotion to her lover before her death, does that ensure that they are together in perpetuity? Or is that sentiment purely a relic of her past life, in which case her love disappears anew? Perhaps the invisible string tying the lovers together bonds them in eternal life. Perhaps the string snaps. Which is the blessing and which is the curse?

Whatever you make of ‘parity’ in reincarnation, it is important to remember that Taylor insists the relationship between her and her muse is at least a spiritual or divine one—if not also a worldly one—for it exists in conjunction with her own metaphysic.

How does reincarnation betray Romanticism?

A. Taylor is the red rose and the lover is the ice frozen ground.

Taylor as the rose does not trivially align with a bygone Romanticism, for the rose epitomizes Romance. Key, therefore, is the line about tweeting. Taylor abhors the practice of cataloguing and oversharing in service of knowing something completely—effectively ‘modern’ Romanticism.

Digital overexposure is an occupational hazard [10], but Taylor refuses to let ‘modern’ Romanticism to become invasive this time around. New life shall not be defiled by social media. It shall remain pure by individual will. Though Taylor’s rebirth into a new life happens on land in America, that it does not become a hyperbole of local Twitter is the proverbial nail in the coffin of Romanticism, distortion in service of aesthetic.

Rose imagery also draws a direct parallel to “The Lucky One,” Taylor’s self-proclaimed meditation [11] on her worst fears of stardom. The “Rose Garden” in this song contextualizes the “lucky” one’s disappearance from the spotlight:

It was a few years later

I showed up here

And they still tell the legend of how you disappeared

How you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out

They say you bought a bunch of land somewhere

Chose the Rose Garden over Madison Square

And it took some time, but I understand it now

Emphasis on individual choice in the aforementioned star’s return to normalcy bears a striking resemblance to the individualistic philosophy of “the lakes,” as exemplified by Taylor and her muse choosing to jump from the Windermere peaks and Taylor keeping her rose off social media. Mention of a “legend” that describes disappearance and simultaneous return elsewhere is another connection to the “the lakes.”

Taylor as the rose could alternatively represent a chromatic devolution of true love (“I once believed love was burnin’ red // but it’s golden”). That is, becoming a rose suggests she may have changed her mind back to believing that love is burning red. This more generally represents returning to the beginning of a journey that began in the Red era. Perhaps Taylor sees Red as the beginning of her calamitous Romanticism. She realizes by folklore the fears which she surveyed in “The Lucky One,” so choosing a new life presents an opportunity to protect post-Speak Now Taylor from self-inflicted wounds which fester and prove fatal to her Romantic. (In essence…time travel.)

Taylor’s lover, ice frozen ground, is reborn frigid not blazing, the opposite of their raging fire. Taming the lover’s wild essence renders it impossible for them to be a Romantic muse in a new life. If the two lovers do indeed share an eternal love, then death reveals a conscious choice not to glorify it.

Additionally, Taylor’s artist-hero imagination has no power in her new life. Taylor and her lover have effectively switched spots. All we previously knew of the lover’s secrets and secret death was from what Taylor wrote, so Taylor (for lack of a better phrase) concealed her lover. The lover, ice frozen ground, is now the one concealing Taylor, the rose. As a smothering but not razing force, Taylor’s lover thus is reincarnated into the role of a public protector. Reincarnation reveals that the death of Romanticism is abetted through the death of secrecy, which always allows distortion of truth.

Another possibility: the secrecy surrounding the lover is that they were the ice frozen ground. If Taylor confirms that the lover was something ‘tragic’ before, then after the death of Romanticism they counterintuitively may become beautiful. Or, the lover continues to be tragic, and paramount again is Taylor’s choice not to sensationalize her muse.

B. Taylor is the ice frozen ground and the lover is the red rose.

Many of the themes above apply to this interpretation too.

Taylor reborn as ice frozen ground does not change her essence from “hoax.” By not ‘shaking off’ a sadness with her rebirth, she subverts the usual expectation—a product of the many years devoted to fixing any and all criticism [12]—of artist-hero Taylor Swift.

The lover reborn as the red rose means their being surfaces where they once were hidden and/or that they are not the golden love they had been in reputation, Lover, and “invisible string.” New life brings the bright, burning “red” emotions. Either what was once very bad is now very good and vice versa, or these emotions are simply not very anything because Taylor doesn’t want to sensationalize them as a pastiche of Red. If Taylor’s love is eternal, then she will be more subdued when sharing it; if it is not eternal, then she will simply move on.

This interpretation implies that Taylor’s Rose Garden is eternal love without the necessity of elevating her partner to Romantic muse status. No one being around to tweet the rose bursting through the ice means that Taylor alone gets to appreciate her lover for their pure essence before modern society does—lest the lover be perceived at all.

C. Taylor and her lover are indivisible: they are both the rose and the frozen ground

Taylor’s “twisted knife”/“sleepless night”/“winless fight” froze her ground but her lover’s “sleight of hand” made the land barren, unable to sustain life. The two lovers are emotionally at odds, but Romanticism acts as the “synthesizing faculty” which unites them in their old life.

The metaphor of the rose and frozen ground does not work without each part. It is possible that the lovers remain equally united in their new life; the lovers’ spiritual connection yields unity after reincarnation. Abiogenesis is therefore the phenomenon which betrays Romanticism. The lovers exist alongside each other naturally, not because they are opposites which Romanticism has forced together.

This is probably the most lighthearted interpretation of the last stanza in “the lakes.” Extreme hardship helps the lovers grow, and they remain intertwined through eternity.

——

The geographic elegy of folklore is that for Taylor’s giant, her Romantic, something both treasured and despised right until its end. (How appropriately meta.)

This raises the question: what replaces it?

Nothing.

folklore can—and perhaps should—be understood as a Transcendental work rather than a Romantic one. From this angle, Romanticism is that which prevented Taylor from connecting with something deeper within herself, something more eternal.

“Transcendental” does not mean “transcendent” or beyond human experience altogether, but something through which experience is made possible. [13]

Transcendentalism and Romanticism were two literary and philosophical movements that occurred during roughly the same time period [14].  Romanticism dominated England, Germany, and France in the late 18th and early 19th centuries slightly before Transcendentalism swept through America in the mid-1800s.

The two movements heavily influenced [15] each other. Transcendentalists and Romantics shared an appreciation for nature, doubt of (Calvinist) religious dogma, and an ambivalence or dislike of society and its institutions as corrupting forces. We see Taylor align herself with these ideas by the end of the album. “the lakes” holds a reverence of the natural world, disregard of predestination, and contempt for Twitter.

But Transcendentalism sharply diverged from Romanticism along the axis of faith. Transcendentalism thrived as a religious movement that emphasized individualism as a means for self-growth and, in particular, achieving a personal, highly spiritualized [16] understanding of God:

For many of the transcendentalists the term “transcendentalism” represented nothing so technical as an inquiry into the presuppositions of human experience, but a new confidence in and appreciation of the mind’s powers, and a modern, non-doctrinal spirituality. The transcendentalist, Emerson states, believes in miracles, conceived as “the perpetual openness of the human mind to new influx of light and power…”

Romantics, for instance, viewed nature as a source of imagination, inspiration, and enlightenment, whereas Transcendentalists saw nature as a vessel for exploring spirituality. Transcendentalists believed in an innate goodness of people for possession of a divine inner light [17]. Occupied with the perverse and disparate, Romantics believed people were capable both of great good and terrible evil.

It’s tempting to scope Taylor’s shift from Romanticism to Transcendentalism to this album alone. It’s true that folklore is filled with individualism, a hallmark of Transcendentalist philosophy. However, I argue that spirituality reveals a journey towards Transcendentalism that began well before folklore.

Consider the evolution of faith from reputation to Lover. Taylor places more emphasis on personal spirituality as she becomes increasingly disillusioned with organized religion/religious dogma. In “Don’t Blame Me,” Taylor defies religious convictions in favor of chasing the high of her forbidden love. Then her quiet and private life with her lover in “Cornelia Street” advances whatever traditional religious beliefs she possessed towards a self-defined spirituality (“sacred new beginnings that became my religion”). Individual spiritual enlightenment and religious conviction become mutually exclusive by the end of Lover, for the lovers would still worship their love even if it is a “false god.”

The final scene proves most important for establishing the album’s philosophy. In the end of “the lakes.” Taylor chooses death and is reincarnated into new life, kept pure also by individual will. (It should be noted that Transcendentalism was heavily influenced [18] by Indian religions, of which reincarnation is a central tenet.) Choosing reincarnation—to the extent that one even can—reflects a greater understanding of oneself. Choice, the ultimate power granted in the self, engenders spirituality. It is the means by which one follows a divine, guiding spark (i.e. “inner light”) in search of connection with others and the natural world. The album’s ending marries individualism with spirituality, which makes Taylor a true champion of Transcendentalism.

——

Transcendentalism is considered one of the most dominant American intellectual movements. Exploring the significance of Transcendentalist Taylor Swift is a rather unimaginative end to this essay. If we try hard enough, we will always be able to connect its philosophy to any art that exists in conversation with American culture.

Perhaps a more gripping conclusion comes from the assertion that philosophy doesn’t matter…

…at least, not in the way this essay regards philosophy as the ultimate Point.

So identifiable is the geographic motif in Taylor’s work that it is nearly impossible to ignore. This is especially true for folklore, an album that would literally not be folkloric if not for the blending of reality and fiction, real location and setting elevated as metaphor. So moving, moreover, is the grief at folklore’s core that it is natural to wonder what else it could represent. Hence, this essay’s charade of poking around both to see if they convey a deeper meaning.

A strong philosophical foundation establishes the ethos of art, that with which we resonate. However, we will never know to what philosophy Taylor subscribes. The interaction between her beliefs, creative spirit, and innate sense of self will always be a mystery. Any and all conclusions about the philosophical foundations of her art thus (1) are highly subjective and (2) reveal more about the ones making them than about Taylor herself.

Ironically, it is paramount to appreciate Taylor’s (Romantic) style above all else. The ways she uses basic building blocks of literature—theme, imagery, mood, setting, to name a few—piques curiosity. After all, without those building blocks, one would not be able to cultivate (should they so desire) an interest in the metaphorical, philosophical, or otherwise profound.

——

Disclaimer: this essay references (explicitly and implicitly, by way of citing expanded theoretical work) the ideas of Emerson and Heidegger, two preeminent thinkers whose ideas have had especially deep and lasting impacts on society. They are also two individuals noted to have had poor and even abhorrent political/personal views. I do not condone their views by referencing any ideas connected to these individuals (done mostly in service of rigor). I furthermore leave the task of generating nuance to those who dedicate their lives to critical examination of these individuals’ personal philosophies and the impact of their work on society.

[canislupus-exe]

Like Always | richie tozier

>> gif credit to @/sanriogaki on weheartit <<

fandom | It: Chapter One

character | Richie Tozier

reader | he/him (she ver.)(they ver.)

requested | Anonymous

warnings | none

word count | 1,189

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

>> prompts <<

56 | “Are you flirting with me?”

67 | “Stop being so cute.”

68 | “You’re making me blush!”

summary | hi!! can I req a Richie x reader (teenagers- around 15-16?)  where they both like each other but are oblivious to each other's feelings? I think it prompts 56, 67, and 68 will work with this!

>> back to prev <<

Keep Reading

You stretched out on the hammock that hung from the posts of the clubhouse. The other losers were strewn about the rest of the space, doing various things to keep themselves occupied. Richie had taken the liberty of staring you down since you were lying on what he considered the second coming of Jesus.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer, dickwad.” You said, stretching out to get more comfortable. Annoying him was just a bonus.

“Eddie, didn’t you say it was 10 minutes each?” Richie asked.

“Uh yeah but considering you didn’t respect that rule when it was my turn I think (Y/n) has every right to overstay his welcome on that hammock.”

“Aw stop it, Eddie, you’re making me blush.” You teased. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make me take it back (Y/n).”

“Love you too Eds.” You replied as you went back to reading your comic book.

“Fuck this bullshit,” Richie exclaimed as he walked toward your reclined body. You lowered your book just in time to see Richie sidle up next to you. You groaned.

“Oh come on man, have some self-respect.” You grumbled as he made the fabric sway. He smirked and got comfortable the best he could.

“Ah, that’s refreshing. I mean honestly, my back was killing me. You know, now that I think about it, I could really use a massage. (Y/n), would you be so kind?” He asked, his voice patronizing. You rolled your eyes and set your book down.

“Why of course Mr. Tozier, you should’ve said something sooner. Come real close and I’ll get all that tension out for you.” 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Finally getting the royal treatment I deserve.” He replied jokingly, knowing there was no way you’d go for it. You adjusted yourself and to his surprise, actually began to massage his back. His face slowly turned red as he felt your hands climb up his skin, gently pressing your fingers and palms down interchangeably. 

“You're actually…?”

“Anything for you Richie.” You teased. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears. His skin was so soft you were scared your fingertips might just pass through him. You tried to play it cool like this was just your normal, run-of-the-mill, Richie pulling punches and (Y/n) being the only guy dumb enough to punch back, but you knew that was a lie. You knew your hands were trembling as you caressed the back of the boy you’d had a crush on for God knows how many years and you knew he’d start to feel it soon as well.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asked, his voice almost faltering in his throat. He was joking. He had to be joking.

“So what if I am?” You asked, leaning your chin on his shoulder and resting your hands on his hips. Richie practically burst at the seams from this, but what happened next threw him out of the trance faster than he’d fallen into it. You roughly shoved him off the hammock, smirking in triumph at the sound of surprise that jumped out of him. He fell to the floor, and the wind immediately knocked out of his chest. All he could do was lie there for a solid minute, processing what had happened.

“You douchebag!” He shouted, sitting up and turning toward you. You smirked and reclined again, picking up the comic book you’d set down.

“You love me.” You replied. He gave a slight chuckle before shaking his head and leaning against the wooden post that held up one side of the hammock. He did. He really did.

>><<

You yawned as you approached the arcade snack counter. You’d been going at Street Fighter for far too long and decided it was time for a pick-me-up. An ultra delicious total brain-freezing wild cherry slushie. Or just a cherry slush, as those less passionate than you would call it. 

You sauntered over to the counter and the employee who stood behind it and smiled. He placed a cup under the cherry spout, already knowing what you’d gone there for. To say you were a regular was an understatement. You placed $1.50 on the counter, and the employee finished in record time, sliding the drink to you and putting the cash in the register. You walked away, knowing that he knew you didn’t need the change.

As you walked away, you ducked behind a hanging tarp—the part of the arcade that was always under construction for whatever reason. You liked laying low here to enjoy your slushes in peace and quiet. Plus there was a working Computer Space cabinet so that was the sickest part.

“How did I know you’d be here?” A familiar voice asked after the rusting of the tarp stopped. You snickered and looked over your shoulder, seeing your best friend.

“Richard Tozier. How many times have I told you not to bother me in my super-secret lair?” You replied. It was now his turn to snicker.

“Lair? Seriously? This dingy old place has got to be one of the lamest ‘lairs’ I’ve ever seen.” He said. You exhaled and leaned against the cabinet.

“Yeah, I guess you're right. But it’s gotta be worth something with this original Computer Space cabinet which has an unbeatable high score held by… Well… me.” You replied, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips. There was nothing in the world that pissed Richie off more than the fact that he just couldn’t seem to top you in that damn game.

“Again with this. I swear it’s like the only thing you have over my head. Computer Space this Computer Space that meh meh meh meh meh.” He mocked you.

“Aw, someone’s getting all worked up. Come on, yell at me some more, I like it.” You taunted as you took a sip from your slushie.

“You like everything I do (Y/n).” He said as he leaned on the cabinet beside you.

“Why yes. Every night I go to sleep dreaming of my knight in shining armor Richard Tozier who will sweep me off my feet one day.” You jeered sarcastically.

“I bet you do. I bet you dream of kissing me like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Oh not just kissing Richie. No no no. In my dreams, we do so much more than just kissing.”

“God just stop being so cute!” He exclaimed, his tone much more genuine than he’d intended. You choked on your slushie slightly, your face growing warm from the blood that rushed to it.

“Wh-What?” You stared at him. His face dropped as he registered what he’d said. 

“Oh, I just- um… I-I’m kidding. Like always.”

“Then why are you so red?”

“It’s warm?”

“You’re so full of shit Tozier.” You replied before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. He made a noise of surprise but within seconds he was practically melting into your touch. He wrapped his arms around your waist and deepened the kiss as much as he could. You still tasted like the cherry slushie, and he couldn’t get enough.

[siswritesyanderes]

ooh! now that you've begun in dabbling in some s p i c i e r stuff (love it!!!) what would you think about Tom finding a familiar soul in the orphanage, if you want to make it real spicy, sister perhaps (continuing the habit of inbreeding in the family without conditioning; nice!) and him deciding that it would be only right, even though his sister is not a slytherin, to make her rule by his side- j-just to keep him in line, and continue the great line of slytherin! love your work :)))

Okay. Let’s do this. Ooh boy.

(N S F W) (TW: non-con) (TW: incest)

She was like him. She was, in fact, the only one like him in the entire world. It had seemed so, at least, when they were children.

She didn’t have his harsh temperament, or his impatience, but she had the same unsettlingly intelligent gaze and, most importantly, she could do the same sorts of things that he could. She made things move (most usually, books to her hand, especially if one of the other orphans had tried to take said book from her), she had made her hair grow back when a bully had cut it off (but not before Tom punished the other child for the mistake), and she could talk to snakes.

Even apart from her powers, they were very alike. They were quiet, and didn’t socialize much, and had a tendency to scowl. They spent all of their time together, and so that had developed rather identical mannerisms and turns of phrase.

It was tact that made her different; for some reason he could not hope to understand, his twin sister thought it worth placating the matrons and their fellow orphans. (Certainly, her social skills persuaded the caretakers to see his side of things more often than they would if he spoke to them, but still he found such diplomacy monotonous.) She spoke sparingly to the snakes, and only when he was already speaking to them, on the grounds that it was “rude” to do things that they knew made the others uncomfortable. She did not snap at anyone, or use her power to make them hurt; she ignored people who annoyed her and allowed Tom to handle people who provoked her.

“I’m glad for your temper sometimes,” she mused once when Tom returned, cool-faced, from scaring off a boy who had thrown a frog at her. “I don’t think you should always make a habit of it, though.”

“Habits are for people with dull minds,” he replied, returning to the book he had been reading.

When Professor Dumbledore came to tell them that they were magic and would be going to a place called Hogwarts, she let her brother do all of the talking; all of the asking and bragging (and, when the man set their wardrobe on fire, protesting). In the meantime, she observed from the social cues that Tom and the professor were developing a clear mutual dislike (as subtle as they both were about it) and considered the ways in which she could serve as damage control; it wouldn’t do for her brother to antagonize someone with power over them, as he had done with the matrons here.

The only time she spoke up was after Dumbledore gave them their allowance for school supplies, at which point she asked, “Are Galleons pure gold, sir?”

“Yes, Miss Riddle, they are,” the man answered.

“How many pounds to a Galleon?”

The professor told her.

She nodded, privately supposing that they could exploit the exchange rate of gold to pounds and pounds to Galleons and increase their money seemingly forever. She would tell Tom about it tomorrow.

That night, as Tom lay in bed with the day’s revelations running through him and his sister likewise resting on her side of the room, he whispered into the dark about how they would be running this new wizarding world before they were done. She didn’t answer, so he couldn’t be sure whether she believed him, but it didn’t matter; it was true. He would excel, because it was in his nature, and she would be with him because she was supposed to be.

At Hogwarts, they were sorted into Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Tom detested the separation, detested that they wouldn’t be sleeping in the same room, and he detested it more in the following weeks and months, as she came to make friends in her House. He had earned his housemates’ respect, through his own power and intelligence and aided on by the priciness of his possessions (thanks to his sister’s savvy Galleon exchanges), but it always soured his mood when he saw her laughing at the Ravenclaw table with some Other Person.

She knew him, though, well enough to make a point of giving him the most of her time, including leaving her friends straightaway, even mid-conversation, if he called her to be with him. It was out of respect for her that he allowed her these diversions, instead of scaring them away, but it was imperative that she show him that he took priority.

“You’re quite jealous,” she remarked in third year, while they were walking the grounds together without his followers. He had learned that she did not enjoy being near his followers and would spend longer times with him if they weren’t around. “It’s a sign of insecurity, you know.”

He ignored her attempt at starting a pointless argument. “I didn’t find anything using our father’s surname. I think our middle names must be the clue; ‘Marvolo’ and ‘Merope’ sound just like wizarding names, don’t they?”

“They do,” she agreed. “Thank you for keeping me updated on your search, though I wish you weren’t in Slytherin; almost none of the other Ravenclaws care about blood status. They don’t care if we’re Muggle-borns.”

“We’re not Muggle-borns,” he snapped, and was rewarded for his terseness with silence from her. His followers had come to uncomfortably ignore his heritage (or lack thereof) because he was frightening, cunning, and clever (and because his having grown in an orphanage with no knowledge of his parents allowed them to pretend that his parents could be purebloods), but there were only so few of them, because so many of his peers in Slytherin couldn’t get past his lack of a respectable name. No one provoked him, but he wanted them all to worship him.

And his sister, too.

When he found out that they were Slytherin’s heirs, he was sixteen, sitting at a table in the library by himself, poring over records. He checked over his readings several times before the feeling of vindication came over him.

He didn’t tell his sister about his findings until he had discovered the entrance to their Chamber, a month later; then, he dragged her out of the Great Hall (in the middle of a chess game with the “friend” he detested the most; that boy who she always seemed to be talking to and joking with) and into the girl’s bathroom, breathlessly saying, “Tell it to open.”

Flummoxed, it took her two tries to manage Parseltongue, but soon enough they were sliding down into the underbelly of the school, into their birthright.

As they wandered, with their wands lit, through the stone corridors, Tom felt the most alone with his sister he had in a while; it was like they were in their own world that no one else could access. Sealed away. She couldn’t talk to other friends here, nor had he any followers for her to take exception to. It was just them, and their destiny, and it was glorious.

He felt intoxicated by their aloneness, and wondered if this was how things had felt in the womb.

Their Chamber, their womb, their rebirth as heirs.

She seemed less pleased by the development; she kept murmuring, “I’ve read about this,” either to herself or to him.

“Relax,” he drawled. “This is our Chamber; nothing can happen to us here.”

“The stories say there’s a creature in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom. Some sort of monster.”

“A creature meant to serve the heirs of Slytherin; that’s what we’re looking for.”

“I don’t want to find it.” She turned to go back the way they’d come, but he grabbed her arm.

“Don’t go back. Aren’t you supposed to thank me for keeping you updated?”

She shook her arm from his grip. “Keeping me updated is telling me your findings, not tricking me into a dungeon full of snake skins. I can only think of the sort of monster that would leave these behind.”

“A snake, perhaps?”

“You’re not funny.”

Unexpectedly, her dry response awoke a rage he hadn’t noticed brewing inside himself. “No, that honor is reserved for Wilbur Cadwallader, isn’t it?” 

The memories were rising, unbidden, to the surface, now; all the times he had looked up from his plate because the sound of her laugh was audible to him even in the Great Hall. All the times he had approached her in the Transfiguration Courtyard for no other reason than because watching her converse with Cadwallader and that ditzy redhead friend of hers made him want to chew glass. That one night, fifth year, when she had spent her prefect rounds walking with Cadwallader instead of him.

“Don’t use your envy to deflect. I want no part of-” 

“Envy?” he repeated, very quietly. His sister was smart; she knew the difference between jealousy– the fear of losing what one owns –and envy– the desire for what someone else owns. She was too smart to use them interchangeably, which meant that she had chosen the word “envy” intentionally.

She recognized, also, his danger signs, and it was clear from her expression that she understood his change in tone, yet she carried on, “I want no part of Slytherin’s legacy.”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted a part of,” Tom said, still speaking very quietly. He noticed, suddenly, that he had grown much taller than her, in the past few years. “We are Slytherin’s heirs, and we are fated for greatness. It falls on us to restore the noble house of-”

“I’m a Ravenclaw,” she cut in coolly. “And anyway, I won’t be carrying the name of the family, in case you’ve forgotten; you will. Restore to your heart’s content. I want no part in it.” She tried, again, to walk away, but again he caught her arm, this time not releasing it. 

“You’ll be restoring it with me, because we’re supposed to do it together. We balance each other; we always have. I’m going to rule this world, and you will be at my side if I have to…” Her suddenly sharp look caused him to trail off, as only she could.

She stormed away, and he fumed in place but allowed her to leave because if they continued to anger each other, he would probably hurt her, and he did not want to do that.

They did not speak to each other for a time after that, though he glared at her whenever she was in his line of sight and she made a point not to look his way. In the meantime, he opened the Chamber of Secrets, left messages on the school walls in rooster blood proclaiming the return of the heirs of Slytherin, and killed a mudblood from her house.

It was after this that she stalked up to him in the school library, her eyes fascinatingly red-rimmed and her expression furious. “They are going to close Hogwarts.”

He found it interesting how, even though he had spent so long enraged that she was ignoring him, seeing her so upset still made him want to alleviate her unhappiness. He ignored this feeling, though, and maintained a dry tone as he replied, “Don’t worry; I’ve made arrangements for the culprit to be brought to justice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve said not to worry about it.” He watched her as she seemed to decide whether or not to leave him now. It was so weird to him that she saw herself as an individual. It was so obvious that she belonged to him; she was his sister, and they were Slytherin’s heirs, a deteriorated bloodline in need of strengthening. In need of purifying. “You haven’t met the basilisk,” he said, suddenly desperate to get her back into the Chamber.

“There’s a basilisk?” she said indifferently.

“Our basilisk. You should meet her.”

“Why would I want to meet a basilisk, Thomas?”

“You haven’t spoken to her.”

“No, but I’ve heard her, in the pipes. She doesn’t sound a dazzling conversationalist.”

“Come with me.” Somewhere in the building, Rubeus Hagrid was in the headmaster’s office, trying to explain away his illegal acromantula even though the poor thing had been doomed the moment he walked into this school as a half-giant. Tom could only imagine how wonderful it would feel to have a second victory today.

“You’re plotting something,” his sister accused.

“How astute.”

She rolled her eyes, in a clear, if reluctant, concession. “If it’s something stupid, I will leave.”

He took her down to the Chamber for a second time, adamant that she would not leave, even if she wanted to. He led her down a few corridors, rather than to the stone atrium he usually visited. There was a large pile of snake skins in this hallway, more commodious than the trails of snake skins littered throughout, that would be perfect for his purposes, and he hoped to put them to use.

“Last time you were here, I told you that we would rule together,” he said.

“So you did,” his sister answered, almost boredly. “I don’t suppose you’ve lost your enchantment with that idea?”

He licked his lips. She was walking ahead of him, as there were no forks in the corridor for him to guide her through. She wasn’t looking his way, but rather watching the ceiling as she went, as though intrigued by the idea of the whole of Hogwarts being above them.

Always walking ahead when she should have been walking by his side.

Tom pulled out his wand silently. The hex that he sent her way would have cleanly and entirely disabled her for at least the next ten minutes, but the sudden light that the spell provided had alerted her to his intentions, and she had spun hastily out of the way, removing her own wand from her pocket as she did so; he should have taken that from her before doing anything else. No matter.

What followed was a short duel, with extremely impressive spellwork all around. They were evenly matched, and he didn’t say that lightly; few ever matched him. But it came down to who wanted victory more, and her wariness of him did not exceed his desire for her.

Soon enough, she was crumpled on the ground, groaning and scarcely able to move. He lifted her into his arms and walked her to the chosen pile of snake skins. They weren’t exactly soft, but they had enough give to them that they were easily preferable to the stone floor. He set her down on them and climbed atop her. 

Her eyes were nearly closed, but not quite, and they still followed his movement, which meant that she was conscious. Good.

“We’ve always kept each other in balance,” he said calmly, while keeping his wand leveled on her torso, working nonverbal magic to unfasten her robes. “No one of us could rule nearly as well without the other.”

Her gaze left him, instead peering at the far wall. He suspected she was looking for her wand, which had rolled down the corridor, but she wasn’t strong enough to move her head.

She should have been looking at him.

Her robes fell away, and his eyes feasted on her bareness. He had not seen so much of her in years.

She managed to growl at him, but only weakly.

“I let you have five years with those friends of yours,” he said softly. “I was generous, wasn’t I? I let you laugh and pretend with those idiots?”

She shut her eyes, because of course she knew exactly what would annoy him more than looking away from him.

He cast a mild stinging jinx to make her open them again, while at the same time removing her undergarments. “Watch me,” he hissed. “Watch me touch you.”

She watched, but only because he would keep stinging her if she didn’t.

He kissed her lips, then advanced his tongue into her mouth, and then moaned loudly, just so that she would have to know that she was giving him pleasure, no matter how much she hated it. She was naked under him, naked on a pile of snake skins in their Chamber of Secrets. He loosened his necktie, then his belt.

“We have the greatest magical lineage in the world, and it will be because of us that it continues,” he said.

“I will hurt you for this,” she told him, in Parseltongue because it was the only language she could manage in this state.

He thumbed licentiously at one of her nipples. “Maybe,” he allowed. “But I’d be careful making threats like that.” He pointed his wand at the middle of her head. “Maybe you’ll be better at carrying my babies if you don’t remember you’re doing it, hmm?”

She tried to keep glaring at him, but her bottom lip trembled, and she ended up closing her eyes again.

“Look at me,” he ordered, not stinging her this time.

She opened her eyes, and they were damp and scornful.

He kissed her lips again, more softly, and eased his trousers and pants down his waist. “Just think of how powerful we will be together,” he whispered, with the same awed tone he had once used to whisper to her at bedtime, when they’d shared a room at the orphanage.

(He’d been furious with Mrs. Cole when she’d made them move to separate rooms on account of his sister’s first menstrual cycle. Muggles always ruining things, always asserting themselves where they didn’t belong.)

“Ours will be the only bloodline that matters,” he breathed. “None of those so-called purebloods will dare say their family name in our presence. We will be royalty together.”

She was trying to move her arm, still trying to resist, but she was too weak. She would come around once she had to; she couldn’t stay mad at him once he had started making good on these promises.

He eased her legs apart and thrust himself inside of her. Her resulting moan rang through the stone halls, far from anyone who could dare to steal the symphony; it was just for him. Cadwallader certainly couldn’t hear her, couldn’t feel…Ohhh, Merlin. The contact, the perfect joining of two halves, was almost enough to make him release straightaway, but he knew that there was more, so he kept thrusting.

She listened to his hitches of breath and tried not to give him anything to listen to in return, though it was impossible not to make a sound. He was her first, but she would never tell him. She would go to the grave pretending that there was someone else before him.

Was she his first? Almost definitely.

This was so sick.

She thought that she wanted nothing more than for him to be done, but then when he finished inside her, it was a new kind of horrifying. Feeling him empty a load of horrors into her body, where they couldn’t be reached, all while making such enraptured sounds…They hadn’t taken contraceptive potions before the fact; she didn’t even know how to brew or access any, nor how to find out about them without destroying her reputation. And that was all counting on the assumption that Tom had only been trying to scare her, when he’d implied that he might erase her memory of this whole incident.

That thought sickened her the most, made her truly distraught, the idea that he might do all of this to her, wring pleasure from her helpless and unwilling body, and then she might be civil with him tomorrow regardless.

Himself, Tom intended to make full use of this night. His followers would cover for him if anyone inquired after his presence, and he would not be satisfied with exploring his sister’s potential only once.

He smiled. Upstairs, the whole issue of the dead mudblood was being squared away, with him scot free and even likely to receive an award for his heroism, and down here, he had finally achieved the correct amount of closeness with his sister.

He pulled out only once he was sure that none of his seed would be wasted. It actually wouldn’t be terribly convenient for her if she became pregnant while still in school, but it would increase her dependence on him, and she wouldn’t be foolish enough to name him as the child’s father (especially if he decided to make her forget that he was), so he could safely consider it a non-risk for himself.

He stared at her. Covered in sweat, even though she hadn’t been moving. Eyes closed, but he didn’t feel like bothering her over it now, when his mood was so good.

She probably considered it rude that he was allowed to keep his shirt and necktie on while she was completely bare; he rectified the problem, taking care to drape his clothes over the snake skins instead of on the dusty floor. He liked it better this way, at any rate; only skin against skin.

Clearing his throat to make her open her eyes, he pleasantly announced, “We’re going to go again, okay?”

Her gaze was positively gelid, but she didn’t growl, which he took as assent.