#its a sad state of affairs but it happens

[simptasia]

its really fucking hard to get a read on margo because she doesn't show up a lot, but from what i can gather, she's one of those people who sided with her spouse over her child

[anantaru]

— telling him “we need to talk”

including childe, gorou, alhaitham, scaramouche x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, childe's part is a bit sad, we‘re evil, they're panicking

— childe

"oh! and one last thing." you pause, luring a deep gulp of air through your snagged throat, "can you come over tonight? we need to talk."

correspondingly, childe groggily rubbed his eyes and frowned at the wearisome remembrance of your previous accursed encounter— it just couldn't leave him alone, that constricted gruff of panic.

the words you had spoken out earlier were continuing to peskily repeat themselves through his psyche, again and again— like a virus progressively taking over its host— and it did, wretchedly slow, even after he finished a couple more salient tasks of his work.

did something happen between you both? or did he unintentionally do something he should be aware of but isn't?

nowadays, he had been abundantly occupied with carrying on the crucial duties as the eleventh fatui harbinger, essentially the befalling of the various nations all around teyvat in search of the enigmatic gnosis.

consequently, ajax would go on about balancing his private life together with his work in a notably strategic way. He had always made it a habit to keep the serious out of your relationship, though now he was debating wether or not that was your last straw.

because you see, ajax was convinced you'd actually dump him tonight.

so, well, under those circumstances, yeah, it's fine, he's fine, or wasn't he? after all he couldn't force you to stay, maybe, he's joking, perhaps.

he gave himself a second to rewind his rational thinking in search of a breakout from this state of affairs but instead, a rising silence befell his mind and he couldn't concentrate for the life of him.

by that means, childe was inordinately nervous and a dizzying sense of anxiety had been manifesting from inside out— his breathing too, had become nimble, he felt as if someone had been suddenly suffocating him with a giant plastic bag over his head.

and then presently, there he was.

without a way to escape he was soon trapped in between the door and your body when he closed it shut behind him. You had made him follow you to the living room— your face, without a doubt, undisturbed and calculative which didn't make the appalling situation any better, due to this action his dreadful judgment prevailed over him much more unyielding.

he began to hatch a plot; because if he manipulates his emotions good enough while bamboozling himself over and over that he was in fact, okay, he'll maybe not suffer from an integral cardiac arrest after this blood curdling conversation.

for a brief period of time childe had been wholly iced to the ground, awaiting your voice. You turned around to face him, silence, a long and grueling five seconds of unbroken staring when you in confusion, pucker your brows together, "what's with you?"

he was overcome by a flat sense of both irritation and surprise at how casual you sounded, "w— what?" childe didn't mean to stutter out his words like that, but his voice was still distressfully stricken.

"you seem sick." you note, directly holding your hand towards his face to keep it on top of his forehead, a flicker of concern eroding inwardly, childe winced at that and he bleeds into your touch, it was alleviating and he missed it, "no fever."

your apprehensive tone faded when you hastened to follow up your words, "i'm glad, because there's this thing i need your help with." you press yourself into his body, "it's a present for a family member." with your lips instantly split into a humane smile, you settled to tease him, ruffling his hair a bit.

childe thought this had to be some kind of metaphysical fantasy he had been trapped in the moment he entered your home, could he be hallucinating or did dottore really mix something into his orange juice earlier?

one of the first couple skills he had learned in the fatui was to always keep a clear head, yet right now he didn't have the time to even recompose himself nor did he realize that he‘s been standing in front of you without moving an inch— it‘s as if he was currently deciphering a difficult secret riddle in his mind and wholly forgot about your presence.

ultimately, you had caught up on the panic and the unintentional perpetual twitch in his eyes, "hey." a sigh of relief, so soft yet it brought him to tears, he felt your hand shelter his once more, the tone on his face grew a bit lower and delicate— a little more allayed.

without trying to conceal his worry now, childe responds clearly to you, "i thought i did something." he blurted out— barely, his throat was still clenched and a continuing dread thudded in his heart.

his eyes widened and a light bead of sweat formed just above his browbone. The thought that you might‘ve broken up with him vehemently churned and wrecked a deep havoc in his gut, it almost had him see white of terror.

you saw the glint of fear— the panic, and closed the distance of your bodies, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him close, "you didn‘t." the sound of your voice seized his heart and he breathed out a shaking heave.

"because you‘re perfect to me."

as an instinctive counter, his eyes squinted a little of a bigger smile and a shadow of boundless solace stamped in his veins. effectively, he can breathe easily now— be that as it may but for childe to purely envision a skid second without you by his side hurt him so much, if the control of his body hadn't been as well trained by him as it was, he'd tremble into your enfold.

"i‘m sorry." you patted his warm, rosy cheek with a kiss, "i didn't mean to make you feel this way." the tepidity of your eyes felt like the sun buzzing on a sweet summer day, "don't apologize." he stated and swallowed hard, returning your hug.

"i love you." he's leaning his face against your head and closed his eyes shut, "i love you too, ajax." a tear— just one, was then glissading down his cheek at your well spoken words, .

— gorou

"gorou, we need to talk, i finally made up my mind."

talk about what? the great weather on watasumi island?

meanwhile gorou nearly lost what little self restraint he had left in his soul— his right ear repeatedly twitching and serving as a bodily response. However, the way he had acknowledged the teeny tiny letter in his hand in the first place— with the disreputable words frumpily scrabbled on top of it with a black pencil, was largely concerning, he realized.

gorou didn't move for a couple seconds and remained by his own company— in silence, now his eyes grew a tone darker, because he was beginning to feel sick to his stomach, precisely the lower area, a stormy tornado of panic exuberantly nagging on the base of his spine.

what was it that he did because there must've been something he had to mess up if you're handling the situation in that precise way.

fundamentally speaking, (and that was the most irritating component in this whole situation) for you, to not say it out right away but rather have a hand written letter sent over to his office— it's ambiguous, everything turned out to be like a complete mess and he was a part of it.

to say he was both bewildered and crushed combined into one heavy ball of perplexing emotions was a restrained statement. Because truthfully, he was on the brink of a mental breakdown, his face was now hiding in his palms while he leaned further into the desk.

"it's over." he's talking under his own breathing, "that must be the case!"

if you have figured out one thing about your boyfriend— it was that he had a habit of talking to himself whenever he was pressurized by an crucial mission or something was simply bothering him.

he (himself) stated that it was an eminent way of analyzing his scattered thoughts and bring down all meaningless components should there be any at hand.

having said that, you would mentally applaud him because gorou was a genius, it was a great way— while not the one that would be of any need to him right now.

he decided to go all out and search for you— from his perspective, there wasn't any other way. Gorou had previously decoded that you must've been at your home by now, his work wasn't far off anyways so he could show up any time— yet unannounced but this was an emergency, he noted.

for gorou there wasn't anything more important than his relationship with you, it was a part he'd protect vigorously, yet if you were to dump him tonight, that's a different story because then he wouldn't know what to do nor how to retaliate.

considering that, he had been vastly comfortable with you to the point that he simply cannot envision a life without you by this side.

so, yes, maybe that's why he was so tense and anxious moving forward to your home. Little does he realize it wasn't quite how he had imagined it because truth was, gorou didn't do anything wrong.

you see, for a while now, you had been greatly pondering with the thought on your living situation, after all, you had been a couple for a long time and moving in together was the next designated step to be taken.

resultantly you had talked about this with gorou, yet only once and the timing wasn't the best either. If it was for him, he had long since forgotten it, in any other occasion he was a great listener and infallibly did his best to memorize whatever important topic you had to say to him.

but as an automatic result of the miscommunication taking place, gorou had visualized how he thought the conversation would end up, it being with you dumping him for good.

on the other side of the coin there was you, so very happy you could barely wait to tell him that you want to finally approach the next step and move in together.

the moment you let him into your home, you, as always, you greeted him with a kind hug which caught him completely off guard, obviously he wasn't expecting it. You knew your boyfriend very much, so when you saw him in the composition he was currently in, you almost gasped out loud by the terror.

his eyes were sunken and he seemed a bit pale, his ears too, were pointing downwards and that frown on him— together with his ragged breathing made you realize that something wasn't on their designated place. "hey." you approach him gently, "did something happen at work?"

his muscles stiffed and he thought about the words he had planned out to say, repeatedly they had thudded into his skull but nothing arose off his throat. You watched him closely and his gaze softened when you decided to hug him once more, this time with your lips ghosting over his ears, "it's okay, you're home now gorou."

"home?" granted, he couldn't place any fault on you for his own too quick thinking or his habits of jumping to conclusion when it came to this relationship, gorou wasn't the most experienced in that peculiar department after all. "our— our home?!"

"yes!" you're quick to show your happiness to him, your eyes glowing with brilliant shades of delight.

"that's what i wanted to talk about, i was busy preparing everything so Ii couldn't visit you in person." you fleetly pecked his cheek, "i hope it was okay to send a letter instead."

gorou was stunned— bewildered, he thought his ears fell off. "wait." he's taking both of your hands in his to make you stare at him, "this it what you wanted to talk about all along?" your brow ploddingly arose at his way of speech, because you were still very much clueless about it all.

"what did you think i was going to say?" at this rate, your conversation would never end anytime soon. gorou fidgetily scratched his neck before he chirped his words out in a blabbering draw no one but you was able to discern.

"oh nothing special, ijustthoughtyourebreakingupwithme." you were rendered speechless— lost of words and you placed a mental sticker in the deepest ends of your brain to get better at spelling things out more clear.

your eyes formed of sadness and you felt bad, trying to soothe your boyfriend in your own ways, "why would i?" you humorously squeezed his cheeks in a strive to delete his troubled expression, smiling in a loving kind, "i'd never do that, ever."

— alhaitham

beyond the shadow of a doubt, becoming the acting grand sage was an astonishingly tedious task for alhaitham to take— and he did not look forward to it.

unquestionably it was apparent that he wouldn't potentially have as much time for you as he previously had when he was the akademiya's renowned scribe. In spite of his new occupation, you undeniably had supported him throughout the first stages as much as you could.

but, lets say, you had felt a bit neglected lately— or to state said emotion in a contrasting light, you were in need of some much required attention from your boyfriend, plain and simple. Of course— and this usually goes without saying but it's not like alhaitham did it on purpose because, by all means, he didn't.

there wasn't anything he'd like to do as much as leisurely resting on his cozy bed with you by his side, cushily enclosed in your arms while you play with his hair and talking about all kinds of topics at hand.

with it becoming worse, it followed that he rarely had time to come over for dinner anymore, sure, you had your own duties to be taken care of but you missed him so so dearly and weren't sure how else to get him to move his unwavering attention from his work to your sweet frame again.

though your approach seemed a bit evil, you realized. but wasn't your creative thinking one of the reasons alhaitham had fallen in love with you in the first place?

to accurately get your plan in motion, you had sent an overly prettily framed letter to his new office— you added your favorite symbols to the paper and used your best-loved colors to have it cross your boyfriends keen eyes the second it would land on his desk.

under those circumstances you had impatiently began to wait at your place for him to get to you. And he did see your letter glowing in midst all the important papers on his desk, bedazzled by your most dearest decorations.

alhaitham slanted his head a bit to the left when he caught a glimpse of it eventually— he was a bit puzzled at first because whenever you did require his cooperation you'd just show up in person. But then again, in recent times he had his hands full of work and you arguably wouldn't even meet him to begin with.

his fingers gingerly opened the fine letter to scrutinize the words at hand, "we need to talk, it's about us."

he was taken aback, very, and caught off balance. He didn't view you as someone who'd send cryptic messages like that one in particular. Alhaitham distressfully rubbed his eyes and placed the letter on his desk above all the other workloads he had gotten delivered today.

upon that, he leaned into the broad armchair and careened his head back, closing his eyes. In that peculiar state he might potentially arrange and categorize his thoughts more coherent. The last thing he would've wanted now was to have your relationship suffer because of his current job.

first, it's dreary, second, it would throw him off completely.

while alhaitham had a dozen more work to finish before he could routinely head home, he decided to go to your place instead to talk it out. In his opinion, pushing back a much needed conversation would only elude his rational thinking skills by a huge mountain of precious time. it would've been obtuse for him to not handle this.

deep wrinkles were forming around his brows when he knocked on your door, his eyes fixated with worry but also irritation. On the flip side alhaitham was also concerned that something might've happened to you without him being aware of it.

another knock and you had lastly opened the door to your home, with a pseudo sad frown on your lips, maybe that was your ticket to great evilness because you did feel a bit wicked for tricking your poor, overworked boyfriend like that.

he doesn't say much, a dreadful silence of a couple minutes had surrounded the atmosphere and the inches in between your frames. A direct steady approach hadn't been found before he decided to speak at last, though heedful. "i saw your letter." he remarked through a clenched jaw.

"you did?" you slowly turned around and simulated to shuffle something out of a drawer in your kitchen— pretending to make a cup of tea for you both. "yes, i did." alhaitham might be many things, but he wasn't stupid, he knew something wasn't adding up, at all.

at first note, there was your body responses, despite your d class acting skills you were still showing emotions that weren't classified as sad nor angered. Second, it felt as if you didn't even know what to say, more thoroughly did you appear to just like him being here because why else were you settling a cup of tea and would you look at this, a few pastries he was sure were freshly bought.

"do you want me to applaud to you?" his voice was dry but despite that it harvested a glint of humor, "for this performance, i mean."

you bit down on the mushy insides of your cheeks before turning around, "i don't know what you're talking about." there you stood with an empty cup in your hand when he resoluted to walk towards you, haltering himself when he reached your body. "you wanted to talk." his hand finds your cheek and banteringly nudges it, "then talk."

you avert your gaze to recollect your thinking, because truthfully you did not expect him to catch onto it that fast— plus, you could also say you didn't think too far ahead into the future as on what to do once he's actually there.

"okay, okay." you dramatically throw your hands in the air, "i pretended to be mad so you'd show up." silence, "because i missed you." before you could hide the embarrassment with your hands alhaitham had swiftly bolstered one of his arms around your waist to pull you into his chest, "I know."

"can you blame me though?" you tried to explain yourself through your shy smiles which he had found so so very adorable, "you're never home." you lay your cheek against his warm chest to reply with a cuddle back and alhaitham sighed out when he beheld your distressfulness— how much he longed for his calm days to return.

"i know." he idly pawed his hand over your spine, "i can't wait to be the scribe again." you quietly shake with laugher at his words, the sides of your lips creasing up, "though i have to admit." you suddenly state while blinking up into his multi colored eyes, "saying my boyfriend is the grand sage doesn't sound that bad."

he's amusingly shook his head and found himself deeply connected in your arms— though being wary of the entire settling of today, alhaitham's sadness resigned back into him, he realizing that the last time he had held you just like this had have been a long time ago.

for this, he couldn't wait to get back to his usual, comfortable life with you again because no matter which position he'd take in the akademiya, he'd never want to place you second under it because it was you who truly gave new meaning to his life.

— scaramouche

working in the shadows had been something scaramouche was practicing his entire life, he‘s as fast-moving as the wind, a split second and he was gone, poof, unforeseen and brief.

substantially, you weren‘t quite sure what made you reach the conclusion to perpetually poke your finger into his hardiness, over and over— to sweetly aggravate him because it’s fun. especially when he had gotten back to you after a long, monotonous day full of his duties to fulfill.

on the assumption that nothing was wrong, kuni, as in any other circumstance, had saddled back into the couch with you next to him— actively observing how you’re casually paging through a couple letters in your hand.

"hey." in the pitch of his voice alone you were capable to discern the fatigue in his body— he must‘ve been especially hard working tonight.

"put the book away." undoubtedly, it was that time of the day again, scaramouche required your unwavering attention because if you aren't handing it over to him right this second, he'd become actually ballistic and sullen, waiting until you notice.

"hm." you do not say much, pretending to have something critical crossing your current state of mind, "what do you mean hm?" he's peeved by your behavior— despite that it piqued his interest.

you evidently weren't drained or disgruntled by his presence, at least he thought you weren't, "is this more important than i am?" scaramouche loftily pointed towards the book in your hand which you then, meteorically closed.

"there is something—" you do not dare to look into his permeating eyes, being panicky stricken you might blow your cover in front of him. Kuni had a way of heeding every so little change in both the articulation in your voice and face.

"there is something we need to talk about— about us."

scaramouche didn't buy it, not even once, you were too perceptible and easy to detect.

what was there to talk about when nothing happened, in the morning you seemed fine, you even gave him a goodbye kiss when he left for work. "really now?" he's sharpening his eyes on you, his chin held up high to throw you off the high in your conversation and most pivotally, to make you all jittery so you‘d eventually slip up.

"yes." you outstandingly flumped back into the velvety cushions of your couch, "we're just so different." - "no we're not." he was right there to cut you off, giving you no room to breathe while also slouching closer to your frame so you‘d look at him.

without beating around the bush, scaramouche decided to play this game with you, though in his eyes, he was way better at this than you could ever be, "but we are." now coming across at him through distinct eyes, you sealed your lips together so you wouldn‘t suddenly burst out laughing.

in a wink of an eye he had edged himself so near to you— with only being a mere couple inches away from banging your heads together, "are you playing games again?" he really wanted to know it now, fundamentally, scaramouche was captivated by this— he never loses and this side of yours would never bore him, not even once.

"maybe." you blurt out bluntly, affectionately wiggling the tip of your nose against his own, "you're a menace." he rolls his eyes and pulls away. with how swift you were to follow him, you put your legs over his lap so you‘d be dotingly enclosed into one another. "don't do that again."

sweet scaramouche— what he didn't show you was that he in actuality shared a concern in result of your behavior. All things considered he was aware you were kidding to rally him up. He thinks your skills were amateurish at best, whimsical, he hoped you were practicing your acting to once really catch him off guard.

"it's so fun though." you brusquely admitted to him with a candid smile while venturing to case your arms around his neck.

if only he wasn‘t so utterly compelled by you he‘d actually be mad for once, yet he only puffs out a warm heave, "i'll get you back for this."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[luvrxbunny]

churn

pairing: knight!Miguel O’Hara x princess!reader

summary: Your royal knight helps you in a way your fiancé never could.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can be pushed over her shoulder, reader has visible collarbones, infidelity, miguel seems to have a little thing for readers collarbones.. Idk,  f! masturbation, IMPORTANT LINK (ill be refering to this throughout the fic)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i don't even think this is good guys cry i just needed to post something but i tried ilya 🫶🏾 (not proofread one bit)

He hated this part of the day. 

Miguel isn’t allowed to feel many things, he is even more limited in who he can feel them for, but he hates this part of the day. When you finally finish your chores and duties. You always tell him that you’re not going to get excited this time, that you know he’s busy but he always sees the excitement build in your face as you search tirelessly for your fiancé. 

Ser Isaac was one of the more well-known lords of the land. He’s known for his outstanding looks and entertaining charm. Everyone has heard of his endless generosity, empathy, and care for others. But in Miguel’s experience. He’s a selfish dick. 

He doesn’t hate Ser Isaac, of course not, that’d be treason. He is allowed to hate his actions, however; the way he neglects you. He hates how Ser Isaac is using you for your position, stature, and admiration throughout the kingdom. He spends all his time sucking up to your father, thanking him for his daughter's hand in marriage rather than worshipping the daughter for tolerating his artificiality. 

You round the corner to find your father and fiancé at the bar, once again. This is where they’ve been for the past few weeks. You’d asked them to try to spend less time together, to make some room for you, but they both laughed you off and continued their boisterous chatter. 

Miguel watches your smile melt off your face as you take in their inebriated state. You turn to him for a moment with a small smile, knowing he’ll give you the same pitying look you get every time this happens. It’s a small comfort; knowing that at least one person in your life cares about you, even if that person is your assigned guard.

You approach the pair of drunks with a brave smile. “Have you saved any for me, my love?” The two men pause to look at you before slowly turning back to one another and breaking out into a fit of laughter. Miguel can see your expression flush into one of embarrassment and anger. You open your mouth to speak again but their laughter raises in volume, drowning out anything you would’ve said. 

Miguel sees a heartbreaking sadness flash over your face before you compose yourself. 

In his mind though, it’s the same as you begging him for help, so he steps in. He moves from his corner by the doorway to stand at your side. His presence gives you a small boost of confidence and commands the men to give you more than 3% of their attention. 

Your fiancé is the first one to quit his laughter and sober up a bit. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes at Miguel’s presence. “Is he necessary?” He doesn’t even look at Miguel, his eyes don’t flicker in his direction once. Miguel does the same, keeping his eyes forward and surveying his surroundings. He can’t help the slight smirk that worms its way onto his face, however. 

You stand up straighter at the acknowledgment of your muscle. “Miguel is mine, therefore he stays by my side.” Miguel’s eyelids flutter and flicker to you for a moment. He tries his best to ignore the swirling in his stomach but his breathing stutters. “I’d like to confer with you about your schedule, dear.”

Your fiancé smirks maliciously at you before changing it into a faux kind smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make so much time for you.” He stands up, looming over you but not taller than Miguel. “When I’m finished organizing all of our affairs, paying all your maids.” His voice gains more and more venom as he stalks closer to you. 

Your confident gaze is gone, now looking at the wall rather than your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, dear. I’ll spend time with you when I’m done with cleaning your messes.” His voice raises to a shout, screaming right in your face as your eyes stay on the ground. Miguel’s hand goes to rest on the hilt of his sword, just as a reminder of what could happen if Ser Isaac decides to do more than yell. But that negatively catches his attention. 

He scoffs loudly and turns to Miguel, who still isn't meeting his threatening eyes. “You think to strike me? You?” Miguel hears you take a breath, like you’re preparing to speak up for him but he can’t allow that. “I only mean to protect the Princess, Ser.” Miguel keeps his smirk from crawling onto his face this time, he keeps his expression stoic and straight ahead. 

“Oh? OH? I’ll I have you know that I shall do whatever-” He raises his hand. “I’d like-” 

It comes down toward you “with MY wife.” Miguel grabs his wrist, stopping all movement. You watch his grip tighten before your eyes, so tightly you swear you can hear Isaac’s bones cracking. 

“You will not. Not in my presence, or ever, if I can help it.” You’ll never forget the look on his face. The pure shock on his face, the look of disgust and disdain. You don’t even want to think of Miguel’s face. The anger, and unwavering confidence. He exudes this certain dominance over Isaac that you can’t help but admire.

Isaac’s face shows a look of embarrassment once he sees how easily Miguel can hold him back, so he scoffs and goes back to his seat, grumbling about your ‘big oaf of a guard.’ He complains about the both of you to your father as if you aren’t even in the room. You’re not too sad about it, you’ve grown a bit used to his rejection, and it doesn't sting as bad. 

A clock in the corner of the room catches your eye and excitement runs through you with a soft gasp. Miguel looks over to you and follows your gaze to see the time, 3:00 PM. The swirling in his stomach returns as you clear your throat and begin to leave the room. Although you know Mguel will follow, you keep pace with him once you both exit the room, choosing to walk by his side. 

You’re always different for the next two hours. You linger by him more, find more excuses to touch him and talk with him. He knows why, he knows how princesses like to play their games, how they love all their suitors. But sometimes he slips up, sometimes he believes your advances are genuine, that you honestly wish for him to whisk you away from your castle life, your perfect, royal life. Then he comes back to reality. 

You enter your chambers and stand by the foot of your bed, Miguel by the door. His heart is racing because he knows what comes next. It’s- unfortunately, his favorite time of the day. You stand by your wardrobe, just looking into the mirror before catching his gaze in the reflection. “Mig?” Your soft tone sends a suppressed shiver through his body. “Do you think you could help me?”

He’s walking towards you without hesitation. “I- I’d ask one of the maids but they’re all busy and-” He doesn’t need a justification, you don’t need an excuse. “Of course, Princess. I understand.” You do this every time. Your maids are always ‘too busy’. You both know it's a ruse, but neither of you wants it to stop. 

He lets his hands rest on your side for a moment, relishing the way he can feel you expand with the deep breath you take. He slides them back to where you’re laced into your dress and takes his time untying the strings. You wish you could see his hands, the way they’d thread through the strings, how careful and gentle they’d be. Or how small the strings would look between his thick fingers. 

Once he finishes loosening your corset he opens it for you, reliving the extreme pressure it puts on you and you thank him with a soft sigh. He’s in a trance though, he slowly removes the fabric from your body. Your spine seems to compress itself, making you seem even shorter than usual now that you don’t have this brace forcing you upright. You’re just watching him in the mirror as his hands come up to your shoulders and slowly turn you around. He’s not looking you in the eyes yet, he’s just looking at you. He looks at your collarbones and slowly pushes your hair over your shoulder to reveal more of you to him. But something snaps him out of his trance and he puts distance between the two of you before you even take a breath. “S- I’m so sorry, Princess.I—” You cut him off before he can say more. 

“There's no need for an apology! I didn’t say anything, did I?” There’s a shy flirtiness in your tone that causes Miguel’s face to sink into a dark red color, bringing a giggle to your lips that only worsens his condition. He turns and walks back to the door while you finish undressing. 

He keeps his eyes dutifully out the window. Pretending he can't hear the fabric sliding against your naked skin. How he yearns to look, it's like you have your own gravitational pull. It’s a constant struggle to hear you undressing and redressing yourself into something he knows is going to screw with him. You’ll probably change into your favorite nightgown. It’s an adorable sleeved gown with feathers at the top. You always mention you don’t like how long it is, and that it’s “unflattering” but in truth, everything you wear is flattering. You make it so. 

Miguel suddenly becomes aware of the silence in the room. No rustling, no sliding fabrics. He risks looking over at you and his heart almost beats out of his chest. It’s new. You must’ve gotten it tailored because he’s never seen anything fit you so well. It’s a night dress, flowy but short, very short. It barely reaches the halfway point of your thigh. It has no sleeves, your neck, collarbones, and shoulders on full display, and the top hugs your breasts in a way he’s never witnessed. 

You watch him admire you for a moment before speaking up with a soft “Hmm?” and his eyes fly to yours. “I think it’s quite cute!” You smile at him brightly, waiting for his opinion. He doesn’t give you one though, he just stares at you for a little longer. You grow conscious under his stare and anxiety begins to eat away at you. “W- What do you th—” 

His face twitches before he blurts out. “Yes. Yes, you look-- It’s very- You look very cute. It’s beautiful. You- You look amazing, Princess.” His sentence ends with a sharp inhale that's followed by a calm exhale as Migusl straightens out. He’s been slowly leaning down, subconsciously trying to get closer to you. “You look incredible, Princess.” He tries to place his eyes forward again, trying to turn the environment back to professional, he can’t help but look at you one last time as you thank him. 

Your eyes are on the ground and your hand sliding up your arm, uncomfortable with all the skin you’re showing. “You do.” Your eyes snap up to his upon his third confirmation. You seem to be searching his eyes for something, looking deep into him in a way he’ll never get used to. 

Your brows furrow and you chew on your lip for a few seconds before declaring that he follow you and starting a rapid pace. He follows behind you urgently before realizing where the two of you are headed.

The castle has a lot of tunnels and hidden passageways, these passageways sometimes lead to other rooms in the castle or secret rooms in the castle. One of your handmaidens was kind enough to show you a passageway right by your washroom that leads to a secret chamber. You’d instantly fallen in love with what you found. 

Miguel was there the first time you saw it, you laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. You thought it was a novelty. He was there when he saw it pique your interest for the first time. It had been late at night, and Miguel hadn’t retired to his quarters yet so he was guardian of your door. Inside your room, he could hear you giggling with a drunk Ser Isaac. Your giggle soon turned to breathy whines but they were interrupted with a dull ‘thump’ before a very disappointed sigh from you. It was a matter of seconds before you opened your chamber doors and told him to follow you with about the same amount of urgency that you just did. 

You told him to guard the door and quickly shut it before you could see any opinion on his face. He was almost hyperventilating at his post. First of all, he was uncomfortable being out here, staring at your drunk, passed-out, fiancé, while you’re in that room doing god knows what. The other thing that bothered him was how he could not stop thinking about how he’d be so much better for you than that machine. 

You opened the door again far too quickly with an even more frustrated expression on your face. “I cannot figure it out. It- It doesn’t work.” Your words come out as an exasperated whine that tugs at his heartstrings. “Show me.” 

You chew on your lip for a second before opening the door to let him in and shutting it behind the two of you. There’s a single, yellow light overhead, shining down on where you would be sitting, where the heavy, metal rod protrudes from the seat. “This thing? It will not move, no matter how hard I try!” He examines the churning lever, immediately spots the problem, and starts removing his gloves. 

“It’s rusted over, Princess. I can fix it.” You watch as his thick fingers curl around the lever and his biceps tense as he pushes, trying to break it free of the rust. There’s an awful screeching sound and Miguel grunts roughly as the lever begins to move. You try to hide your smile of excitement as Miguel rotates the handle a few more times before letting go. “There.” 

You rush over to test for yourself and make sure you can operate it on your own. You smile and turn to Miguel after moving it around with ease. He smirks back at you while he brushes his hands together to remove the rust, and something about the whole scene does something to you. His hands are dirty, his knuckles hairy, his hands huge and thick as he stares at you with something you haven't seen before. You still have one more problem. 

“It also…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “It doesn’t seem to fit.”

Miguel has to shut his eyes for a moment as arousal floods his veins. He takes a deep breath before looking up at you with the softest expression he could muster, hoping it would hide his lust. “You need to start with your fingers, Princess.”

Your eyes widen at his answer and you quickly nod despite him being able to see the confusion written all over your face. He smiles fondly before explaining further. “That.” He gestures to the machine. “Is too big for most girls.” He looks you directly in your eyes as he speaks, slowly bending to your height. “So you have to start with your fingers.” Your eyes dart to his dirty hands for a moment. “You put them inside you, however many you can take.” 

You start blinking rapidly like your innocent little brain is having trouble processing what he’s telling you. All you respond with is, “Oh.” Miguel chuckles quietly before standing upright and putting his gloves back on. “Yes. I hope that helps.” You walk up to the door with him, to open it for him or accompany him out but you both pause when you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the door. 

You watch him as he identifies the noise, and breathe out a soft sigh of relief when you see his tense expression relax. “They’re cleaning up Ser Isaac.” He states with a certain disdain that makes you smile softly. You stare at him.

“Okay, then you stay here.” You walk over to the seat and churn the lever a few times to ensure you could do it yourself before sitting on the edge, not quite on the metal penis but close. Miguel is watching from the corner with wide eyes, unable to rationalize what’s going on. You simply tell him “Don’t look.” And he whips his head back around. 

He stares at the dark wall, unknowing what he’s waiting for until he hears it. A soft sigh leaves your lips. He waits. He receives more. You grow in volume as you become wetter, he can hear it, the little squelching sounds getting louder, and faster as you get more desperate. Miguel is using all his willpower to not turn around and take in what he has no doubt is a beautiful sight. 

He hears your whines muffle as you bite your lip and he wishes you could tell you not to, that he wants to hear them all and more. He heard you let out a ragged breath as you added another finger and he couldn’t help his desire to do it for you, but he happily settled with only hearing your beautiful sounds and movements. 

He thanks the Gods every day for letting him stay in that room, for giving him the saccharine memories of you pleasuring yourself for the first time. 

This time feels different though. You’re all dressed up and giving him that look. The one that swirls fantasies into his head and makes his hands clam up. 

He follows you to the room and assumes his position in the corner, but never hears the metallic clink of you situating yourself in the seat. He waits and waits but hears nothing, no movement from you. So he turns around. He has to see what you’re doing, even if it's only for a second, just to make sure you’re safe. 

He finds you standing directly behind him, staring right at him so you guys make eye contact the moment he looks over his shoulder. He instantly turns back around, embarrassed that you found him looking, and worried you might get the wrong idea.

Miguel tries to explain himself, stumbling and stuttering over the start of his sentence before you cut him off. “How come you never look?”

The question silences him. 

“Do you have no desire to?” He turns around again. You seem genuine in your questioning, he feels like he detects a bit of hurt in your voice as well, but that’s most likely in his head. 

“You know I cannot desire.” He states softly. He, as a knight, cannot desire any woman, and most definitely not a princess. Yet he sees anger flash through your eyes at his statement. 

“Just because someone tells you you’re not allowed, does not mean you can’t.” Miguel stays silent, not knowing what you want him to say in response. He can see you scanning his face, examining his features to try and find any crack in his exterior. You must find whatever you’re looking for because you suddenly nod and take a step back. 

“Who are you more loyal to, your oath, or me?” The question baffles him. “If I, your princess, were to tell you to disobey your oath… Would you?” 

His eyes widen and you can see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand where his loyalties should lie. His mouth opens and closes with unsaid words and you decide to give him a break. 

“Come here.” You demand, pointing next to the machine, by the churning lever. You take a deep breath, seat yourself by the metal phallus, and slip a finger under your gown before you can give it a second thought. 

You slide your fingers over your panties for a moment, teasing yourself. Through a lot of trial and error, you’ve found that this is your favorite part; exploring your body, what makes you feel good, and feeling yourself soak your panties throughout the process. 

You hear Miguel take a sharp breath of air, reminding you of his presence and sending a jolt to your core. You’ve never been like this in front of someone, aside from what Miguel could hear and the few times your fiancé was sober enough to attempt to get you off. But even then, it didn't feel like it does now. 

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Miguel was the one touching you. If it were his thick fingers sliding under the satin fabric of your underwear to finally slide into you. There’s a burning stretch due to you using two fingers instead of one but it only furthers your fantasies of Miguel’s large hands. You peek your eyes open for a moment, your gaze still on the ground but you can see his feet, a small (or rather large) reminder that he’s right there. 

You can’t help the whimper that slips out, louder than usual. You’re more desperate. You can’t think of any other reason aside from him. You’re soaking your fingers in a way you haven’t since your first time and it’s driving you wild. “Miguel” His name comes out with a small whine, pitching your voice up and scrambling his brain. 

He has to take a deep breath before answering you out of fear that his voice will shake. “Princess?” His voice is rough and gravelly. He hears you take a sharp breath at the sound of it before clearing your throat in hopes of composing yourself. 

“You will churn the lever for me today.” His heart stops. “Understood, Ser?” His eyelids flutter as his eyes burn holes in the wall he’s facing. He goes over your sentence in his head, assuming he must’ve misheard you. His brows furrow and twitch along with his face before accepting that he heard you correctly. “Un-” He takes a shaking breath. “Understood, Princess.”

His hand comes up to wrap around the lever without him even looking in your direction. 

You stare up at him as you pull your panties aside and slide down the cold metal, your teeth digging into your lip to try and keep any noises inside. You only let out a satisfied sigh once you’ve sunk to the bottom before pushing yourself to the tip again. 

You can’t help but focus on him. He’s right there. You can see the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips, the way they purse before his tongue comes out to wet them and pull one into his mouth to bite. He doesn’t have his helmet on so you can see his rich brown curls, the way they frame his face and dance over his neck. You can see his thick, bushy brows, and behind his beautiful lashes are his warm, chocolate-brown eyes looking down at you. 

You gasp once your eyes meet and Miguel goes red. He just wanted to see you for a moment. You’re right there, practically whining in his ear as you impale yourself on what should be his cock. 

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t hold his feelings back as he feels a ripple flow through him and blood rush to his dick. His head decides to conjure every arousing, heart-warming, lovable memory he has of you. He hears you whine again at the loss of eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Another ripple flows through him, settling in his lower stomach, and creating a painful pressure as your whimpers grow. He tries to redirect his thoughts and focus ahead as he keeps churning for you, cranking the lever again, and again. Your moans pick up as he regains his steady pace.

He tries not to imagine that it’s him. He tries not to think about the fact that your moaning aligns with the throbbing of his cock. He definitely doesn't think about the way his dick is pressing into the metal plate covering his cock. He doesn’t note the way his free hand twitches behind his back, wishing to provide any sense of relief to himself. He doesn’t get distracted by the thought of him touching himself with you sitting right there. 

You feel your orgasm building before Miguel starts to slow down again, his timing uneven again and you look up at him in confusion. He’s staring at the wall, his chest heaving and that same expression on his face. You don’t care to decipher what it means in your impatience. Miguel just feels your delicate hand on his, pushing his hand, forcing him to churn the lever.

You moan as your seat becomes functional. Your chin collides with your chest as you release all the moans and whimpers you’ve been trying to quiet. It almost feels like he’s been toying with you, with all his starting and stopping. You’ve been pushed to the edge of your sanity. 

You can’t comprehend how embarrassing this might be for you, a princess burying this rod inside you again and again, wishing it was someone other than who you’re set to marry. 

You shake the thought of Isaac from your head and replace it with Miguel. Just thinking about the life you could have with him has you tensing over the metal. Your fingers lace with his before you can even think about what you’re doing.

Miguel’s gaze is now on the ceiling, his eyes already slipping shut as your nails dig into his hand. His dick is leaking behind his crotch plate now, begging for your attention, a feeling he isn’t used to regulating. He feels himself pulse painfully and his free hand twitches again. 

Just for a moment. He thinks. Just one second. 

His hand comes from behind his back to crush itself against his crotch, trying to relieve any pressure before he loses his mind, but you hear the clink of the metal hitting and open your eyes instantly. You spot his hand over his dick before slowly looking up to meet his eyes. Miguel lets a moan slip out as he massages himself more thoroughly, squeezing more precum from his tip before pulling away and forcing himself to break your stare. 

“Please.” Is all he hears from you. It’s weak, pathetic, and punches him in the gut, taking all the breath from his lungs. His eyes wander back to you before he can think better of it and he’s instantly stuck, locked into your eyes. 

He watches your body catch alight. You tremble over the steel cock, holding eye contact with Miguel and pushing his hand, forcing him to churn, fuck you over and over as you cum. He can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t even think about touching himself, not wanting anything to take his attention away from this moment. 

He watches you come down, your body melting into a puddle before him. You drape yourself over the front of the machine as you huff. Even out of breath and covered in sweat, your hair a mess and your dress surely mussed, he thinks you look like an angel, and it breaks his heart that he’ll never be able to keep you. 

He takes a deep breath before releasing the lever, relishing in the whine that leaves your throat as the rod slides out of you one final time. Despite better thinking, Miguel pats your head fondly, almost petting you before speaking as softly as he can. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

You only hum and bury yourself in his neck as he lifts you from your seat. He takes his time getting back to your room, letting you rest in his arms for as long as he can allow. 

He lays you on your bed gently, propping your head up on the pillow and even going to cover you before you stop him. “Mmm Mig..” You begin sitting up again and stretch before opening your eyes to look at him.

Your eyebrows twitch, furrowing for a moment before he sees recognition in your eyes, quickly accompanied by mischief. “Sit down.” Your voice slurs adorably with your fatigue. He doesn’t get to hear this often. Normally, he’d do anything to stay with you, talk with you just a little more. 

But Miguel is still harder than steel in his suit, so pairing that with the hard metal of his armor, and sitting down? It sounds like the most painful thing he could do right now. “Princess… You should get some res-”

“ Sit down, Miguel.” He stares at you, debating his options again in the face of your stubbornness. You, however, take this as more defiance. “Please?” You beg him. 

You should know you never have to beg him for anything. 

He’s seated before your mouth even shuts. Your mouth is shaped into a smirk before he can take a breath, and you’re in his lap before he can blink. 

“Wha-?” Is all he can breathe out before your mouth is on his. His hands find your hips on instinct, grabbing all that he can and pulling it against him. You pull away. “Thank you.” And dive for him again. 

He places one hand behind your head to ensure you don’t do it again. 

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

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Arachnophilia: (Part Thirty-three)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

The HQ was lulled into a strange, quiet limbo in the wake of what came to be called ‘the serum fiasco’.

The details of what happened were whispered from person to person as everyone waited for Lyla to confirm that the anomaly was contained, and on the way the story turned into a strange amalgamation of its former self. Piece by piece things changed and shifted, details being embellished or lost.

People loved a good story. They loved a good villain, too. So why not whisper about how this giant, monstrous version of Miguel, the vampire, the beast, created an anomaly out of a twisted, lustful desire?

The Spider Society was made up of so many people, so many beings, and that inclusivity was brandished like a righteous sword on the outside. All belonged here. But a spider was still a spider, and just as Mig had feared, people hated spiders.

That black-and-white thinking seeped across the multiverse like a virus, and on that quiet, somber evening, it found its way into the whispered gossip of his colleagues’ mouths.

Thankfully the anomaly did not spread. The elites managed to stop it before it breached anything beyond Miguel’s office, leaving the HQ largely untouched, but the real damage it did wasn’t physical. It was mental.

The damage was in Mig’s broken, dull, glassy eyes as he sat folded on the floor. The damage was in Miguel’s cold red stare, his dissociative empty expression as he tried to pretend he wasn’t falling apart inside. The damage was inside you, in the storm of emotions you were feeling.

It was hard, but you couldn’t say that, could you? Mig was a mess, and he needed you at his side, which left very little room to acknowledge your own feelings.

Your own agony…

Mig loved you. He loved you so fiercely, so genuinely, that you’d forgotten the barriers between you. The logical part of your brain that used to flinch at the sight of his enormous spindly legs had been drowned out by kisses and whispers, by the word ‘arañita’ moaned against your forehead. Your naïve fascination, your tender growing adoration, had caused everything else to just melt away.

You forgot that Mig was from a whole other universe to you. You forgot he was a hybrid of man and spider. You’d always known your love was forbidden, nigh frowned upon, but even that had been drowned out if not met with outright disdain. He was your Mig, who cared what people thought?

But you couldn’t ignore it now.  

There was an unspoken expectation on you that evening, one that you saw in the eyes of everyone who passed you by.

There was an expectation on you to be the smart one, the reasonable one, and for you to leave Mig of your own volition. There was a sadness in the air, a pitiable sympathy, like someone putting an injured racehorse out of its misery. You were supposed to put the metaphorical gun between Mig’s eyes, and end this charade of an affair.

You’d look at Mig occasionally, and while he never met your gaze, you knew he’d felt it too. It thrummed in the air like static. He felt their judgement, and it sank into his flesh like a knife.

A human could not love a spider.

It disgusted you. It infuriated you.

Why couldn’t you love him?! He was more of a human than anyone else here. He loved like a human, he needed like a human, he WAS a human for gods sake. He was yours. He was yours. He was all you had.

You hadn’t realized how truly lonely, how truly miserable you’d been until you’d met him. He was your friend, your confidante, your lover, your biggest supporter. He was everything to you, and you were everything to him. Yes, you had issues. He was possessive, blunt, and driven to foolish flights of desperation, but you could work through it. You could DO this.

You weren’t ready to give up. You just hoped it wasn’t too late for Mig.

He was so quiet, so cold, it was agony to see him this way. You got no insight into his mental state, no little snippets to soothe your anxiety. You had no idea what he was thinking.

What if he decided to end it?

That whole evening you clung to Mig’s hand, refusing to ever let go. You couldn’t dare. He was your Mig, and you would not part with him.

Once the anomaly was confirmed to have been subdued, Miguel approached you in silence. He didn’t tell you what to do. He just stared, his eyes sombre and yet unwittingly affectionate.

‘You… You’re free to go home’ he murmured after clearing his throat. He used his watch to draw up a portal that would lead you back to Mig’s universe.

‘They won’t stop us?’ you instinctively asked. You were aware of the other elites watching from their vantage points around the open HQ, staring down like vultures.

Miguel shook his head. ‘No. No, they won’t. I spoke to everyone, it… It won’t make a difference to let you carry on as you are, as you have been for the past few months. You can go home. I… Suggest, that you go home.’

He fixed you with those cold, red eyes, and you fixed him with your own intense stare. You weren’t the same frightened newby you were before, skittering beneath his authority.

And Miguel knew it. His eyes softened as they stared into your own, and you watched that cold red glow turn warm and wet and wild, flickering like a dying fire. His face remained stern, but his eyes betrayed how he really felt.

He was scared. Just as scared as you.

‘Go home’ he murmured, and without another word he turned and stomped back towards where his office was being rebuilt.

Soon it was just you and Mig, sitting in silence amidst the destroyed decorations. A broken bat swung in a circle above your head, and bunting lay crushed and dirtied at your feet. You took in a deep breath and turned to face Mig.

‘We… He’s right. We should go home’ you whispered. ‘You don’t need to put up with all of this right now.’

Mig nodded, but he didn’t speak beyond that. You would have given anything to hear his voice again.

In silence you used your watch to create a portal back to his universe. You reached out your hand for him to take, and while there was a brief second where you thought he might reject your touch, you soon felt his thick, calloused fingers wrapping tightly around your own.

Together, you stepped through the portal and went home.

He barely spoke as you made your way into the den you’d both built together. He’d stop you every few steps just to lift you up and over any obstacles you’d missed in the dark, such as brambles and rocks, but beyond that he was silent.

You led him by the hand into the den. He almost refused, physically freezing in denial, as if he couldn’t handle going back to the home he’d made for you with the knowledge he now had. You had to coax him in by burying your face into his abdominal fluff, soothing his pain with gentle pets and small kisses.

‘That’s it’ you’d whisper when he took a tentative step, ‘that’s it. Come here, my love. I’m here.’

Step by step, inch by inch, you lured him down into the depths. Your den was just as warm as ever, almost as if mocking you with its indifference to your sombre mood.

The lamps in the earthen walls were burning with fiery, orange light, and the air was warm and sweet. It smelled like fur and dry wood, with a hint of cinnamon from when you last cooked. The silk-spun rugs were soft underfoot, and soon you were surrounded by homely bliss. Your fire hob, your pictures poorly pinned to the wall, your clothes on the floor and your empty plates in the water basin.

You saw books half-read, electronics still being tinkered with, and your skincare bag sitting on the floor by a mirror from this morning.

It twisted your heart until it hurt. You didn’t even want to think how Mig must be feeling.

With his hand still clutched in yours you led the way down the den’s tight tunnels to your bedroom, and only once inside did Mig take control. He grasped you with both hands and lifted you to his chest, clutching so tightly that his claws dug through your suit. You didn’t have time to protest, but you wouldn’t have even if you could.

You clung to him, burying your face into his bare chest, as he took you to the bed.

He collapsed on top of you, smothering you with his skin and fur, and all eight legs came to entrap you in that tight embrace. He lay awake in the nest with your body clutched to his abdomen, squeezing you like a child squeezing their plush toy, and you squeezed him right back.

You weren’t sure how much time passed in that bed. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but however long it was, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

‘… I love you.’

Mig’s voice breaking the silence broke your heart along with it. He sounded so defeated. As he spoke he shifted, pulling you closer, and your gripped his fur with every ounce of strength you had left.

‘I love you too’ you whispered.

Mig shuddered as he breathed in. ‘… I am so sorry’ he croaked. ‘What I’ve done to you—’

‘No. Stop. Stop it’ you interjected. It took all your strength to not sob. ‘Stop it. I love you, Mig. I love you, and I don’t regret a single thing. I never have, and I never will.’

‘Arañita…’

His voice cracked as he spoke your nickname, and you shook your head to fight back your own tears.

‘No, no. It’s okay.’

‘Arañita—’

‘We’re still together, mi amor’ you whispered. ‘I won’t let them separate us. I promise.’

Mig didn’t respond. He just clutched you a little tighter, a little harder.

‘It’s not… It’s not, perfect’ you murmured in between stroking his flank. ‘It’s not. I know that. I have to wear the wristwatch to be stable, and… And, obviously, there’s a few other things.’

‘A few other things’ Mig repeated back coldly. He wasn’t mad at you, but it didn’t help to hear the sting in his tone, the hopelessness he was facing. 

‘I know… He said, about kids—’

As you forced yourself to speak again, conjuring up what little positive energy you had left, Mig abruptly shifted in your grasp. You fell silent as he moved into the light, as the flame began to flicker across his gaunt expression.

He looked so haunted. Those deep grooves and dark shadows filled in around his eyes and his downturned lips, and you realized with some horror that he’d lost those lines since meeting you.

You’d seen them before when you first met, when you’d first encountered that scuttling, frightened, nervous man in the woods, carrying his trauma like a weight on his spine, but since then they’d dulled. They’d loosened, softened, eased by days then weeks and then months of smiling at your antics.

But there they were again. It was enough to make your throat choke up.

‘Mig’ you whimpered. His eyes softened a little in the face of your pain, and with a shuddered gasp he cupped your face in his hand.

‘It’s not about the babies’ Mig whispered back. In the flickering firelight, his expression was hard to parse. The shadows on his deep-set eyes seemed to shift, filling in the contours of his knotted brows and the lines in his forehead.

‘… It’s not about babies. I can live without babies. It’s about you.’

‘… Mig, what do you mean, sweetheart?’

‘... It’s about you’ he repeated in a whimper. ‘It’s about, you. Because we—’

He paused and pursed his lips. He seemed to be struggling to speak this next part, whatever it was. ‘When we die, arañita… Where do we go?’

For a brief moment your pain turned to confusion. You sniffled and frowned.

‘I… I don’t, know, Mig.’

‘Neither do I. I tell myself we go nowhere, as a scientist that is my lot in life, but… It is, somewhat hard to believe that now. When I’ve seen other worlds, other realities, when I know that they are all possible.’

You listened to his soft-spoken rambling while still tucked into his fur, your brow still knotted as you tried to parse what he meant.

‘… It can’t be that, people from every universe, share the same afterlife. Can it?’ he whispered.

You felt a burning pain in your eyes that compelled you to blink, only for you to realize you were crying. You looked down at the bed to escape your own agony.

‘The idea… That when we die, you might go somewhere else… And for eternity, I’ll be waiting for you, mi tesoro, waiting for you to come home…’

Mig couldn’t stand the idea that you would never belong. The idea you’d have to wear a metaphorical collar just to survive in his universe, the idea that if you removed your watch or left the society that you’d never be able to be his…

He couldn’t live like that. There was no real future. Forcing you to live on knifes edge for his selfish love…

And yet, he still couldn’t give you up.

With a soft sob he pulled you closer, burying you in his fur. You felt his human arms squeezing the life out of you. ‘… Mi amor’ he whispered, his voice barely a choked whimper, ‘mi amor…  Don’t go.’

You squeezed him back with a sob. ‘I’m not going anywhere’ you wailed. ‘Mig, I-I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I promise.’

‘Don’t go.’

He just kept repeating it, over and over into your ear, and nothing you said seemed to soothe him.

…

While you eventually fell asleep in Mig’s grasp, he couldn’t find the same respite. He watched you as you slept instead. He watched and caressed you, gently brushing the same piece of hair out of your eyes over and over like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. This simple, tender touch, repeated forever.

He’d never get tired of seeing you at peace like this. Even after all the stress of the day, the knowledge that he could lull you into the depths of a warm, dreamless sleep, with your lips parted and a trail of drool slowly accumulating on his fur, kept him sane.

He loved you, and he needed you, and when he saw you like this, he felt like you needed him too.

It wasn’t just instinct. He was a spider, yes, but he was a man too. Your man.

He couldn’t give you up.

He had to do something.

He shifted out of bed at around 3am, being extremely careful not to wake you as he did. Luckily you were exhausted, and even though you sleepily clung to his fur, you did not stir when he pried your hands aside.

He left you to sleep beneath the pile of silk blankets that he’d knitted for you, and silent as the night, he slipped away.

Mig crept out of the den and into the cold night, where he used his own watch to create a portal. All alone, he slipped back into the HQ.

When he stepped through the portal it was eerily quiet. The decorations were still up but the entire building seemed empty, to the point that it was almost uncanny. The open lobby wound upwards like a honeycomb made up of cold, white pillars, its surfaces sterile beneath the moon as it shone in through the glass walls. That great inner sanctum echoed with every step he took.

Mig walked his way through those empty corridors with no real plan in mind, wandering aimlessly as if on autopilot. He had no real intention of winding up where he did, but in hindsight, it was obvious that that was where he was heading. He padded his fluffy spider paws up, up, until at long last he wound up back on the edge of Miguel’s lab.

The empty doorway to the office gaped at him like a maw, creaking like a ship on a windy night. It seemed to move as he swayed in place. He felt like prey being lured towards something, some dark

He pushed aside broken beams and rebar to go deeper, forcing his way through the darkness towards a single, distant beam of light.

When he finally stumbled back into the office, he realized that the light was from a hole in the ceiling where the anomaly had ripped away the coating, allowing the distant moonlight to trickle downward. It created a perfectly cruel spotlight right over the broken glass on the floor by the broken desk in its centre.

Broken glass. Broken dreams.

He huffed and watched his breath turn to vapor in the air.

‘You shouldn’t be here.’

That familiar voice caused his hackles to raise, but Mig didn’t turn. He knew who it was, and he had no desire to speak to them. He allowed the silence to drag out until it became nigh unbearable, and then he dragged it out some more.

‘… I suppose I don’t blame you for coming, though.’

Miguel lowered his voice when he spoke again. His footsteps echoed as he walked out from his hiding space in the doorway and into the open, slowly rounding the giant spider hybrid so he could catch him face-to-face.

‘I’d be stupid to do that’ he added.

‘You would’ Mig growled.

Miguel paused once he was standing about three feet from Mig’s side, and there he stayed, staring ahead at the ruins of their ambition.

‘… How are they doing?’ Miguel asked.

‘…’

Mig, again, refused to speak. Miguel sighed. He felt his brow twitching, threatening to knot, but he held himself to some account.

‘… How are you doing?’ he asked instead.

‘I feel… Abstracted’ Mig replied in a cold, empty voice. Miguel’s brows twitched again.

‘Abstracted. You—’

‘I feel… Numb’ Mig continued, cutting Miguel off mid-query. ‘It’s not like a dream. I’ve felt that before. When I met… Them, mi arañita, that felt like a dream. It took me a while to realize it was real, that they were real. But this…’ He flexed his claws until his knuckles popped. ‘This is—’

‘A nightmare?’ Miguel cut in.

‘No. No, not a nightmare. That would still be a dream. This is the opposite… This is real.’ Mig paused his speech to swallow, only to discover a lump in his throat and tears in the back of his eyes. His barely suppressed agony was lingering there, choking him.

‘It’s all… Real. This is reality. It feels as if I have finally woken up after a long, long, happy dream, and now I’m here. I’m, me. I’m a monster who thought he could love something beautiful.’

‘… It’s like the universe reminding you of who you are. What you are’ Miguel replied.

Mig snorted in surprise, and for a moment his walls lowered enough for him to glance at Miguel below him. Miguel didn’t move. He was resting his chin on his hand while his other rested on his hip, and he looked a million miles away.

‘Just… A reminder that fate has other plans. Right?’

‘A reminder that this was all just a dream’ Mig concurred.

The two men stood in silence as water dripped down from the leaks in the ceiling above. The office felt dead, like the cavernous maw of some long-downed creature. The wide, dramatic space and high ceilings used to exist to give Miguel space, to isolate him from the world, but now that isolation felt like it was mocking them both. It was eerie to stare into.

‘I know that feeling’ Miguel eventually murmured. ‘I do.’

‘What feeling?’

‘The dream’ Miguel continued. His eyes roamed the cold walls. ‘The feeling that everything is too good to be true. That you’re living a dream. I remember always being afraid I’d wake up, living in that constant anxiety. And then it ended, and my fears came true, and… No matter how much I expected it to fall apart, it didn’t make it easier.’

‘… The child?’ Mig replied softly. He noted the way Miguel tensed, as if about to be sick.

‘… My, child, yes. My daughter.’

Another painful silence fell.

‘… I tried so hard to make it work’ Miguel said, his voice cracking as he spoke. It was painfully sincere, betraying a layer of emotion beneath his cold, hardened exterior that he rarely allowed to show. Mig didn’t respond beyond a slightly stilted breath.

‘I did. Same as you. I tested fate, and I pushed the limits of space and time and nature, for my own needs. Stupid, selfish beast, that’s what I am. That’s what we are.’

‘Do not—’

‘Because we’re still human’ Miguel seethed through his fangs. ‘We’re still, human. We need love. We need a family, we need stability, we need to touch and protect and cherish and love. And I hate it. You can’t do this work and be human, you can’t be me and still be human. Miguel O’Hara has to be MORE!’

He clenched his fist and physically restrained himself from punching the nearest wall.

‘I have to be more… Because I’m not good enough for those things. I want to be human, but I’m not. And you… You. You are me.’

He slowly rolled his eyes up to Mig.

‘… I cannot- I cannot give them up’ Mig gasped. He spoke as if he was being choked, and his enormous chest heaved as he struggled to take breath in. He reared up until his shadow eclipsed Miguel’s body, leaving nothing but his cold, empty red eyes glowing in the darkness.

‘I won’t. I won’t. I won’t.’

‘I’m not asking for you to give them up—’ Miguel tried to say, but Mig cut him off before he could finish.

‘You are!’

The enormous beast bristled until every hair on his body was standing on end. ‘That’s what all of this- stupid posturing is about!’

‘Stupid…’ Miguel repeated the word slowly before visibly sneering. He looked angry, yes, but more than that he looked hurt. ‘I’m not posturing to you, Mig, I’m trying to help you. I don’t—no, you know what? I don’t care. You’re upset, it’s—’

He paused to take a deep breath. He’d never been good at explaining these things, of keeping his temper in check, but he tried. He tried so damn hard. ‘Listen to me. I am trying to tell you, that I know what it’s like. I know how much it hurts.’

Mig was still breathing heavily, his chest heaving up and down as he fought his own irrational anger. He was lashing out in a desperate bid to gain back the control he’d lost, and he knew that, but unlike Miguel he wasn’t used to anger.

He’d gone so long being meek and quiet, subdued to his own worthlessness, but he wasn’t worthless anymore.

He had something to fight for.

‘You… You tried to break us apart’ Mig hissed.

‘Ay Dios- yes, I did! I did, and I have answered for that already!’ Miguel snapped back before raising both hands, willing himself back down. ‘No puedo mas… Ah, listen to me, Mig, I know. I’m not—I know it hurts, but I also know that the pain you would feel if anyone got hurt in your pursuit of this, you would feel worse.’

‘Nobody has to get hurt!’ Mig replied, but as he cried the anger left him. He was pleading, desperately searching for a lifeline that Miguel could never in good conscience provide. ‘It was a mistake! We were so close, so close—’

‘One mistake. That’s all it takes’ Miguel retorted. ‘One mistake, and people are DEAD! You don’t come back from that mistake! You carry it, every day, EVERY DAY, on your back! Can you do that?’

‘No, no—it’s not the same’ Mig pleaded.

‘It is the same!’ Miguel snapped again. ‘The dead will hurt the same—’

‘NO, no this- this situation is different—’

‘HOW? How is this different?!’

Miguel finally felt his claws unsheathe as his emotions grew too much for him to bear. Mig instinctively bristled back as his abdomen rustled and twitched. As always, he was torn between the man and the beast, the spider who saw only a rival male, and the man who saw both friend and foe at once.

‘It… It is different’ Mig repeated weakly. ‘It’s different...’

‘No, it’s not’ Miguel repeated coldly. ‘It’s not different. I went to another universe, to find a family, to be happy, because I couldn’t have it in my own world. And for that mistake, for the sin of believing I could be good, everything was destroyed. That one, good thing I made, was destroyed.’

‘I could fix it’ Mig continued, wilfully ignoring Miguel’s speech. ‘I could. We were so close…’

Miguel slowly lowered his hands as he realized he was never going to get through to Mig like this. Despite his anger, his jealousy, despite the hurt he felt at Mig’s perceived naivety, he was still deep down sympathetic. ‘… I thought, for a while, that maybe you were the exception’ he murmured in a softer tone. ‘I started to believe that. I really did. I wouldn’t have helped you otherwise. Maybe you would be the O’Hara, somehow, who broke it.’

Mig scrunched up his sharp nose as he forced his feelings down. ‘… And you were jealous’ he growled.

Miguel didn’t even flinch. ‘Yes,’ he conceded with a cold growl. ‘Yes. I was. Of course I was jealous. Pendejo.’

The two men fell silent again for a moment or so, breathing in the silence and the painful honesty they’d both torn from each other.

‘… I was jealous. But I got over that. And I am telling you this so you understand, I’m not doing this right now out of jealous, Mig.’

Miguel craned his neck to look Mig in the eye as he spoke.  

‘I’m doing this because I…’

Mig turned his head. He was drawn in by the way Miguel’s voice broke, something that was unusual for his cold, steady counterpart. Miguel faced him down. He’d bitten his tongue when he realized he was getting a little too honest, and so when he spoke again it was slow, methodical, and commanding. He had to be the leader right now, not Mig’s friend.

‘I… I can’t allow this’ he finally whispered. ‘I can’t. And I’m sorry. But I will never risk another universe again, ever. Ever. For both our sakes. I won’t… I won’t.’

He could have said his reasons why. That he didn’t want anyone else to carry the weight he carried, that he was petrified of seeing his other self watch your body fade into nothingness while he tried his hardest to hold on. He could have said that he was scared, scared beyond reason, of seeing anyone turn into nothing again.

But the truth was, he didn’t know how to say that. He couldn’t even admit it to himself, even now. So he stiffened his lip and grunted. ‘We were never meant to be happy, Mig. Be glad for the little joy you got. Anything more... I can’t allow it.’

Mig didn’t open his mouth to argue. Not this time. He turned away and instead stared out into the darkness.

Miguel watched him turn without a word of comfort. He briefly raised his hand, considering whether to touch his shoulder, or whether even to hug him. He knew, when he lost Gabriella, that he would have given anything for someone to just hold him.

But, no. It was better that they didn’t. It was better that he learned the hard way to close himself off. He didn’t deserve pity.

Mig deserved pity, but he also wasn’t the one to give it.

‘Go home’ Miguel growled. ‘Go home to your mate.’

Those were the last words he said before he turned and stomped out of his office, leaving Mig to stew in the dark.

With Miguel gone, Mig turned back to the destruction on the office floor.

He stood there for a long time, listening to the dripping of water above and the slow, methodical thump of his heart, stewing in his own mind.

Then, he took a step forward.

One spider paw went after the other, growing faster with each cautious step. He crept towards the mess, towards the broken monitors and the broken vial, and he bent his front legs like a horse so he could reach them with his human hands.

He grabbed a glass shard and lifted it to his keen red eye.

It was wet. It glistened when he tilted it towards the light, showing a smear of liquid that wasn’t water.

He lowered his head in silence and tapped on the broken screen. It flickered before dying, proving that despite its condition, it could be repaired.

Once again he went still and silent, listening to the void of sound in the empty office. He sniffed the air; Miguel was definitely gone.

With the slowness of a man who knew he was breaking all the rules, he gathered up the broken monitor and a few glass shards into a nearby bag. He clutched that bag to his chest as he left, cradling it like a newborn babe, because to him this was his life.

His only shot at life.

A selfish beast, that’s what Miguel called them, and he was right. He was just a man.

A man who wanted you, his arañita, his angel from beyond the stars.

He was panting as he created the portal home, and visibly sweating by the time he stepped back onto the cold, dewy grass outside his den. His breath formed little puffs of smoke in the air as he scurried through the dense foliage.

Never once did he let go of the bag

He scuttled back into the den and shut the door as tightly as he could. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if certain that he’d be seen. Thankfully, though, no one came after him.

He moved through the dimly lit earthen dens, stopping only to check on you in the bedroom. He saw your sleepy little body beneath a mound of warm silk sheets, still drooling and snoring and snuggling with one of the pillows that smelled like him.

He couldn’t help but give you a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving to one of the other free rooms. You stirred, just a little, but you didn’t wake up.

With bags in hand Mig pushed his way into one of the many empty rooms in your shared home. You’d been busy re-structuring, setting out new spaces to make it feel a bit more open, before the Halloween night fiasco. Mig had wanted to build you a little private study so you had a space to be alone in sometimes, and in a rut he had also dug out a theoretical nest for any young.

Now, though, he’d use it for something different.

In the dark, earthy room beneath the tree he lit a single candle and spread out his spoils. The glass, the monitor, and a few extra wires and vials. Without skipping a beat he sectioned off the glass and very carefully scraped what little juice was left into a new vial.  

He scurried back and forth, dragging boxes of his own electronics into the empty room while he set everything else up. His spider legs moved to and through, separating and organizing while his human hands got busy.

He patted the dirt on the wall down flat, and with one claw at the ready, he began to scratch out his equations from memory.

He wasn’t willing to sacrifice anyone else for his own shot at happiness. Not really. But he also wasn’t willing to give up the way Miguel had.

He could do better. He knew this could work. They’d been so close, so CLOSE, and all he had to do was learn from that mistake.

With or without Miguel, he’d finish this serum. He’d allow you to live permanently in his universe.

So long as you loved him, you would be his, no matter what.

[nightsadness]

Tags: fem!reader, headcanons, angst?, treason, mistress!reader, mention of Nacha

Pairing: Francis Mosses x fem!reader

Warning: Francis was cheating on Nacha. The author's command of English is not very good, and there may be errors in the text

A/n: Guys, if you want a sequel, just post it in the comments. I've had this idea in my head for a long time and couldn't sleep well until I wrote it. I don't know what kind of ending to make: happy or sad? In the idea, does the girl get a job as a doorman or do she and Francis just happen to cross paths

Word: 444

2 years ago you had a secret affair with Francis, he was still married and you were his mistress. He came to you like a party, and it was for you that Mosses saved his charm, his smiles, his funny stories. At home, he's a dreary family servant, a slave to the garbage can and material calculations. At yours, he's a conqueror of the universe, a superman, a knight. You take him for what he wants to be in your eyes. Yes, you'll never see him in his house slippers in front of the TV or making excuses on the phone to his boss. And that's great!

Nacha can sleep well - you and Francis have so little in common: only love. Love in its purest form, not translated into material details, not relegated to the boring ritual of eating together or watching television programs. And let his wife cook her praised food, flavored with her irritation and fatigue, an apple from your hands will still taste better. Because all you need is love. Yes, one day that love will be gone...one fine day. Everything alive goes away sooner or later. And you don't have to try to pretend that your feeling is eternal, it won't make it come alive. You don't have to pretend and lie for years that you're experiencing something that has no return.

But as previously stated, love was gone. One fine day, it would seem, Nacha found out about her husband's adventures. It was like this: she just happened to see you together and it didn't take her not long to put the puzzle together, especially since she caught you kissing. Nacha immediately divorced Francis, who did not resist, they separated quite peacefully, although Nacha gave him a scandal. Francis wanted to find comfort in you, but you also left him, justifying yourself by saying that you were going to another country and would not be back soon, Mosses wanted to keep in touch with you, but you left suddenly, just disappeared at one moment.

No, you were never a bitch, certainly you knew your worth and were a confident girl, but you never crossed the line. You could say you had feelings for Francis, but you never saw yourself as a wife, it wasn't your thing, you were a free bird and family wasn't your thing. And the real reason you left was fear that Francis would leave Nacha and then you'd be in her shoes. You left to let your feelings fester.

The long move did help you, and you no longer felt anything for Francis, so you returned safely to your hometown to continue your life here....

night, sadness ©2024

[wheregoodthingsthrive]

Politicizing Saiyans (but not how you might think)

To think too hard about Saiyans is my job. Especially in the context of what I do- I gotta combine my interests or else I will shrivel up like a sad little plant that hasn't seen the sun for five years nor had water in ten. So, what am I combining now? Dragon Ball and political composition, functions, and apparatuses. For reference, I am a political science student (International Relations and Military Force, specifically) so when I got into Dragon Ball, I was not expecting to be able to identify a minimally shown and explored militaristic galactic despot with vassal states with one said vassal state being a really interesting sketch of a government system so intricately avoided, I can't help but theorize and apply what I consider myself to know a lot about.

This is all personal headcanon and absolute indulgence in my own niche interests in the realms of history, world building, and political science. There is no evidence for easily 1/2 of what's going to be in here but that's how it is. This will probably be a yapping session meant to just. Get my thoughts on Saiyan structure (and Freeza Force application) out into words and hopefully (maybe, preferably) talk to other people who are equally insane about Saiyan/DB universe exploration despite having next to no evidence as to why we think the way we do lol (THIS IS VERY LONG)

I. Government Structural Basics

My favorite... Genuinely. The Saiyans are my political analysis DREAM (just without all the math). Some lore -- the first DB content I was exposed to, in full, was the 2018 Broly movie. Not the best start in terms of canonical timelines and building content from the ground up - BUT - it happened. I was not expecting a shonen manga-anime series to have a movie that opens with such a heavy handed demonstration of a tyrannical despot and vassal state patronage. Maybe I am giving it too much credit but the dictatorial, patrilineal passing of power, so seamlessly avoiding any form of deliberation or consultation we see Cold direct and the disillusioned response of the Saiyans is so so so easy to connect to an empire-vassal dichotomy that I simply cannot help myself. A vassal state, a medieval perfected concept, is a state that is beholden to an empire or superior state's power. A great example would be the Ottoman Empire and the lower cradle of S.E. Europe, feel free to go look it up. The controlled Vegetasei/Planet Vegeta encompasses this definition but ALSO it's more enriched one: "a state with varying degrees of independence in its internal affairs but dominated by another state in its foreign affairs and potentially wholly subject to the dominating state". Vegetasei is a fully functioning monarchy (more on this later, too) that is beholden to the Freeza Force with it's time, resources, militaristic strength, personnel, citizenship, and sovereignty. It functions internally with a significant degree of independence, with external function that benefits solely the dominating state. I think its not really a stretch of the brain to see the empire-vassal patron relationship here. Though we do not know HOW Cold overtook the Saiyans, the assumption of force is reasonable, a common denominator in vassal states. Or, possibly, given the Saiyan values and the expectation of the FF, they were absorbed consensually that then delved into tyrannical patronage. I don't know. This is more of a sketch of my general assumptions and thoughts for this section and a spring board for the deeper explorations of Saiyan politics.

II. Vegetasei: The Oppressive Oppressed Vassal State

Now that we've established the relationship at the core of Saiyans and their lizardy occupant, I can get into the specifics. More of my favorite thing to do! I see much discussion of the treatment of Saiyans by the Cold Dynasty but not much on the condition of Vegetasei's internal workings and authoritative structure. Which is strange as I feel the political condition of the Saiyans is just as conducive to character arcs like Vegeta's or motivations like King Vegeta's as the subjugation conducted by the Force is. So, what is Vegetasei's political composition? What makes the Saiyans, especially their prince and king, behave the way they do? Bear with me. The Saiyans are a monarchical meritocracy with values of militarism and rigid, hierarchical social cohesion philosophy. That's a lot of words. Too bad I'm going to make you read (understand) them!

III. Monarchical

This one is self explanatory but I am a yapper so yap about it I must! Saiyans are a monarchy. Wow. Shocker. But I would like to propose that the Saiyans function as a faux-mixed absolutist monarchy with hereditary expectation but is prone to socially acceptable coup d'état. Let's get some more defining out of the way. A faux-mixed absolutist monarchy is my own proposed hybrid of a mixed and absolutist monarchical structure.

Mixed: a form of government that combines elements of democracy, aristocracy and monarchy ostensibly making impossible their respective degenerations which are conceived in Aristotle's Politics as anarchy, oligarchy and tyranny.

Absolute: a form of monarchy in which the monarch rules in their own right or power. In an absolute monarchy, the king or queen is by no means limited and has absolute power.

Okay. So. We can see throughout many flashbacks to Vegetasei in its heyday that King Vegeta was surrounded by what looks like a council or military posse, constantly. He has a consultative court that, really, has no authority and might just be there for political bluff and show/posturing. We see matters of science, military, and general royal court procedures be present in King Vegeta's assembly. Paragus is described as a "colonel", implying there is a military hierarchy that spills out beneath the king. There is also a blue-cloaked Saiyan who speaks openly to King Vegeta about denying Freeza's request for the prince. Additionally, there are instances of scientists talking openly about the prince's incapacity compared to Broly to the king's face and live. So, given these, it seems these positions are places of legitimate prestige but hold no sway in political construction. Thus, I'd argue there are political apparatuses and institutional bodies placed beneath the king, who will ultimate say over them. I've included what I think the Saiyan monarchy is structured like (it's pretty rudimentary but I am not going for 100% depth*):

*You can see I denote that the presence of children makes or breaks minor positioning in the upper caste of the royal family/echelon of Saiyans. I think posterity is very important. Read more slightly below.

On top of being absolutist, I'd like to argue that the monarchy has "hereditary expectations [and susceptibility] to socially acceptable coup d'état". What do I mean by this? I believe it is pretty easy to assume that the Saiyan monarchy (given its corrupt maintenance) is held by the House of Vegeta/Court of Vegeta, depending on who you ask. I make the assumption on calling it the HOUSE OF VEGETA because of the familial name. Often, royal families are defined by the names inherited by its members (i.e. the Brits). With our prince of all Saiyans Vegeta being the fourth in his lineage, I think it is safe for me to assume this condition. From there, I work under the idea that the right of the king is passed down from parent -> child (assumedly father -> son if we look at what we have so far in canon. I would assume the same value is placed on females and that females can inherit the title of queen/whatever their female equivalent is from their father's or sole maternal parent. That's a whole other essay. Sexual dimorphism does not equal sexism but anyways). So, that covers the standard understanding of familial/hereditary expectations. Right? Sure. Hang tight. I think an important thing to note is that we never see or hear (as far as I know, please correct me if I am wrong) Vegeta call Trunks or Bulla by any term of royal value. Therefore, I'd like to make the argument that even if the royal tie is carried from generation to generation, there is only the expectation of royalty found in blood, not instant ordainment. This is where socially acceptable coups come in.

Vegeta says in the Broly 2018 movie (much to my dismay, this version is so much worse) that, upon the death of his father, "[he'll] never get to be King Vegeta" (paraphrasing). While this is a poorly written throw away line, pair it with how Vegeta never, ever refers to himself as king. Always prince. He will forever be the prince. Even Freeza observes this, albeit with malicious intent. I'd like to argue then that Vegeta, as the son of the king, is expected to fight for and win his position as king or to be purposefully given it by his father but because he can never be properly ordained/crowned as king, he is stuck as prince, dooming his lineage to never receive the rightful processes to accept their blood's expectation. This is how multiple families can compete for the throne. Should a blood-obligated child of the king fail to ascend (either by coup/force or by selection by their father), a rival family or individual can swoop in and compete for the inheritance of the throne. And how do they compete and validate their ascension to a throne that belonged to a different family? Merit. How does a son/daughter usurp, be granted, or claw their way to the throne? Merit. Which Segways perfectly into the next part of Saiyan structure!

IV. Meritocracy

Much like it's empirical controller, Vegetasei is so merit based it almost hurts. A meritocracy asserts that a government is ruled/power is held by individuals "selected on the basis of their ability". Further, "advancement in such a system is based on performance, as measured through examination or demonstrated achievement". A meritocracy also asserts that the accumulation of wealth, power, and influence is concentrated in those who are higher valued by the society itself. This I think is pretty well explained by the privilege and value placed upon those with higher power levels. Their concept of merit (as per Vegeta's narration and understanding of Saiyan culture, excusing any inconsistencies or indoctrination for a moment) is constructed on a few things: pride, capability, born caliber, and execution of these elements. The concept of these merits runs so deep in Saiyan culture that it runs BOTH ways in terms of power capacity: too weak is seen as a weakness that must be exterminated or exiled while also too powerful is seen as a danger to the fabric of society (i.e. the arrangement of power). So, merit is a double edged sword to Saiyan society and this facet of danger is increased by the Force's regime. Merit manifests itself in very different ways (that I will get to in later sections) but the important foundation here is that due to being a meritocracy, there is NO trickle down political or societal gain from the monarchy. There is only a frantic scramble up. If you are too weak, you must scathe by if you have not already been disgraced. Too strong? Either hope it's beneficial to the society or that the Force or the crown does not consider you a threat. Either way, whether you're run of the mill or an outlier in power level, the merit of your Saiyan Traits is what gets you anywhere. What I find interesting is that there is evidence that implies societal climbing while also hinging on NO social movement due to power levels being seemingly fixed at birth (or at least very early in life). I find this interesting-- in the OG Broly movie, we see the explanation that baby's power levels are observed and in the 2018 Broly movie, its implied birth power levels dictate not just what you're going to do, but how valuable you are and if you're even worth keeping on the planet.

I think the best exploration of this can be in Tarble. Despite the dubiousness of his canonicity, I find it particularly insightful that even a prince was not given the chance to be cultivated into a power house but rather nigh instantly abandoned due to two perceived faults in the classifications of merit:

No born caliber (low or untapped PL)

No capability (implied gentle spirit)

I think it also goes to show that the higher up you go in the society, the more a low PL matters to the merit of who the child is associated with. We can get more into this in the social hierarchy part but compare Tarble's position and fate with, let's say, Gine. Very different-- but the common thing is that the traits of merit are not exhibited to societal standards, garnering a societal ruling of less value, paid in either exiling or low-level societal jobs.

So, tangent aside, let's break this down in the last two categories of my aforementioned word soup of Saiyan political structure.

V. Militarism

Y'all could see this one coming. Militarism is classically defined as "the belief or the desire of a government or a people that a state should maintain a strong military capability and to use it aggressively to expand national interests and/or values." In political science (polsci), this extends into a school of thought called Realism, establishing the "security dilemma". While I do not think the full extent of this sketch of realism 100% applies to Saiyan political composition, I think it matters. Realism is defined by a few characteristics: the world is inherently anarchic, state actors are the main actors, and the security dilemma. The security dilemma asserts that a state must continue to bolster, improve, and better its militaristic prowess and power projection to defend itself and assert its own power as other states assumedly do/feel the same. Sound familiar? Security dilemma literally got the Saiyans slaughtered. Toriyama somehow managed to put the inklings of realism in an anime about a monkey boy who punches things. Anyways.

Saiyan societal structure is ALL ABOUT your place in the MILITARY, both in respects to the internal/domestic and to the foreign/Freeza employment. Let's focus on the domestic for a moment. The Saiyan Armed Forces is spearheaded by the House of Vegeta, maintained as a separate but maintained branch of the FF. The initial description of ranks were "Elites" and "low-class", showing merit assessed structure. It is a seemingly compulsory army, with some form of required service and with no retirement save for types of dishonorable discharges (example: Gine or...dying). The army is the backbone of Saiyan society, functioning on multiple levels of society and with a great menagerie of apparatuses for conducting operations. The army is dedicated to accumulation of resources, no matter the position. This is where the security dilemma assembles itself in the sketch of the army -- its entire purpose is to Saiyan bolstering (until it is commandeered by the CF/FF). The accumulation of planets, races, trade routes, resources (foodstuffs, raw goods, etc.) is the main goal of the army and the main identity-giver of any soldier. They also practice realism in that the army inherently treats ANY opposition as inherently anti-Saiyan (anarchic) and works on behalf of the state solely (state actors). I don't have too much to really say about the military given its pretty self explanatory nature. I think it's a perfect microcosm of the meritocracy and...omg...VASSAL STATE IS BACK!!!! GOSH THE ARMY IS A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF VASSAL/EMPIRE PATRONAGE.

As defined earlier, the vassal is subjected to the empire with "foreign affairs". The Saiyan army is its biggest hand in the international galactic arena, a force to be reckoned with and a force that is KNOWN for its impartialness in imperial conquest. The commandeering of a nation's foreign muscle is the perfect move for a vassal-owning and -employing empire. The control of the army is the swiftest, most effective move to undermine the Saiyan monarchy, society, and cultural values as the military is, was, and continues to be the Saiyan's "everything". By absorbing the army, the Cold Army/Freeza Force effectively paralyzed the Saiyans, making them MORE than beholden to the empire in that by controlling their strongest apparatus of control, the average Saiyan can do nothing without the FF. Another interesting note (that is a small tangent)-- it's fascinating how the CA/FF manages surveillance given the vastness of space and the hostile/temperamental nature of the Saiyans and their warlike inclination: the Scouters. The establishment that the Scouters LISTEN is so so so smart for a despot empire to put into place! It's very 1984 and establishes some control on the... drum roll please...next section!

Everything in this point is a little more out of my amateur "expertise" as it deals more with sociological domestic policy than military/IR so, it'll probably make less sense.

VI. Rigid, hierarchical social cohesion philosophy

Saiyan social structure is given to us very clearly, by multiple sources, and it seems to be handled with quite the lot of animosity. Social cohesion is "the strength of relationships and the sense of solidarity among members of a community" and is often identifiable by a community's social capital. Social capital is the basic trust, foundation, and interactions within a society permitting it to function. Social cohesion is upheld by the following facets: a sense of belonging, social relations, and an orientation towards the common good. The question now becomes -- Grace, if you're trying to say Saiyans have social cohesion, how can that coexist with animosity and competitive merit? Great question. I would like to posit that Saiyan social cohesion relies on this push-pull of merit, competition, and the pride of a conditional brotherhood rather than the cut and dry, earthly expectations of social cohesion. Let's walk through these real quick! (I must avoid making this another 2k words long). Sense of belonging: Saiyan's are described by Paragus in Broly 2018 as generally untrustworthy. They are backstabbing, power-hungry, violent cages of people. Yet, Saiyan pride (and the merit of it, see the follow through?) is what ties them all together. The sense of belonging perhaps doesn't come from actual, well-cultivated cohesion but rather their species identity in BEING a Saiyan, not BEING IN COMMUNITY. I have a lot of thoughts about how Saiyans are more tribal beings than they'd admit but that's another essay that cannot be tacked onto this one. We much stay focused, brothers. Social relations: Relationships and familial ties do exist in Saiyan society, though they don't seem to manifest in an exact one-to-one way as per Earth standards. I, as per earlier, argued there is power in the blood line and I think that rings true throughout the general society. Looking at how Goku is more often referred to as "Bardock's son" over anything else or how Vegeta is a seemingly patrilineal name, I'm going to make the leap that paternal line determines a lot of social relationships. They are maintained by fatherhood, power levels (a low enough PL can result in the bloodline 'dying', cause of death: disgrace), and a militaristic aspect of brotherhood over blood in most occasions. Orientation towards the common good: Don't let "common good" distract you- a common good can be anything the society agrees is good. So, what do Saiyans conclude as good? Conquest, war/conflict, victory, kill counts, strength, power of the people, power of the Saiyan, power in general. This is once again where merit-competition and cohesion interact- yes, one would want to ascend ranks, to claim victories, to pursue power, but can one do that alone all the time? Possibly. Vegeta sure does think so, but he seems to only act on this value when Nappa becomes useless to him. Use is a common good, purpose is a common good. Your fellow brother, your fellow warrior, etc. has purpose when the two of you can bring forth Saiyan glory. It's a temporary arrangement but one nonetheless.

All of these things though are maintained by societal structure. It is the rigid social hierarchy that encourages social cohesion and the subversive method of turning animosity into brotherhood and vice versa given the need at the time. The distance of the monarch, a seemingly untouchable governor, seems to imply also that these societal structures are upheld by the populous but made 'perfected' by the monarchy. A monarchy that wants to maintain power will cause controlled discord within its own state so that any transmission of power seems either 1. Improbable/dangerous (highly likely due to FF occupation) 2. Not needed because the leader provides some type of stability. I could argue that the social cohesion of Saiyans relies on a strange form of Diversionary War Theory. Diversionary Way Theory states that "unpopular leaders generate foreign policy crises to both divert the public's attention away from the discontent with their rule and bolster their political fortunes through a rally around the flag effect." I believe this is more of a...Diversionary Social Theory. With the society so folded in on itself for merit and competition, the king can maintain power for his line alone by altering it, looking at different social conflicts (low PLs, Frieza Force encroachment, etc.) rather than surrender powers. Sounds corrupt. I know. That leads me to my final facet of Saiyan political structure.

A little more back into my expertise, briefly.

VII. Corruption

I am sure you all knew I'd get to this to some extent. To say the Saiyans are void of corruption would be a fool's statement. I think there are two main forms of corruption seen in Saiyan society.

Despot maintenance of power

Society-induced and maintained methods of population/defection culling

Despot maintenance of power

A despot is an often tyrannical leader with a monopoly on power. Despotism is the "form of government in which a single entity rules with absolute power. Normally, that entity is an individual, the despot, but societies which limit respect and power to specific groups have also been called despotic." In writing this, I've realized that the Saiyans are equally despotic but geez I am too far into this to add ANOTHER section so a definition is all you will have to settle for. King Vegeta is a an active despot. I don't think this is a dramatic statement. He is shown to remove opposition, going to the lengths of infanticide and murder to do so. He antagonizes his specialists who dare question the legitimacy/efficacy of his lineage. He makes deadly errors in foreign policy by stationing snipers at Frieza at the risk (and expense) of their lives. He targets his own son and banishes him as an exile, completely intended to kill him in the long run. King Vegeta is losing 0-2 in trying to not kill babies/kids. I don't have much else on this subsection due to its pretty straightforward nature and political gain. In both Broly movies albeit for...weirdly different reasons...the King argues that the murder of Broly (and subsequently Paragus) is justified because it 1) ensures the social and political status quo, 2) muddles the waters on proving or accusing Vegeta's house in intending to not relinquish power even on correct merit values, and 3) shows how he, in general, is unwilling to admit defeat and hold onto power.

2. Society-induced and maintained methods of population/defection culling

This is touched on briefly in the aforementioned social cohesion section. Culling is the method of killing the population of a wild animal to preserve its maintainability. Saiyans practice this with different principles at its core; I believe it is simply an unsaid, dark reality for the majority of the media due to its reach and aimed audience. However, where we do see glimpses of infanticide with the goal to protect the purity of strength in Saiyan numbers. Goku's PL is a concern. Him being a runt or being behind on schedule seems to be an issue, even if minimally stated. Broly's PL is a threat. Tarble is a royal liability. All of these seem to be justifiable reasons to straight up KILL them (or at least exile them from the population with an understood mortality rate). Now, Raditz seems to be an exception but I'll argue that he serves as a necessary low-PL canon fodder for more powerful members society. That is a more social cohesion point that I could've included but my lanta guys this thing is long enough. The society itself seems to maintain this principle - whether you HC there being a governmental agency observing infants power levels as the OG Broly movie would imply (which is interesting in and of itself looking at it through a bureaucratic apparatus lens). Monarchy perfects, society maintains in striving for that perfection due to merit competition, value of the patrilineal line, and a cohesive idea of Saiyan pride on a general societal level.

VIII. Conclusion

The Saiyans are a monarchical + despotic meritocracy with values of militarism and rigid, hierarchical social cohesion philosophy.

I hope now that we've reached the end, this contributes something of at least SOME merit to the discussions and long text-posts I've been seeing floating around DB tumblr recently. I think smashing my degree and Dragon Ball together might've killed all my braincells but at least I can exhibit to my professor that I understand a majority of what I've been putting thousands of dollars to to learn.

I am not responsible for any typos or misspelling; y'all figure it out.

Takes the heaviest breath ever. I'm going to stop here-- it is finals season and I have a test over US foreign policy tomorrow. Yap session: OVER.

PLEASE INTERACT WITH THIS DB OVERTHINKERS PLEASE.

[taylor-on-your-dash]

WRITING OF FOLKLORE & EVERMORE TIMELINE

“I used to put all these parameters on myself like, ‘How will this song sound in a stadium? How will this song sound on radio?’ If you take away all the parameters, what do you make? And I guess the answer is... folklore.”

December 18, 2019: Taylor records my tears ricochet. On folklore: long pond sessions, she confirms that my tears ricochet was the first song written for TS8 and she knew right away that it would take the 5th spot on the track list.

“I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There's no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote "My Tears Ricochet" and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both. It’s definitely one of the saddest songs on the album. Picking a ‘Track Five’ is sort of a pressurized decision but I knew from day one this was probably going to be it. It’s a song about karma, about greed, about how somebody could be your best friend and your companion and your most trusted person in your life and then they could go and become your worst enemy who knows how to hurt you because they were once your most trusted person. Writing this song, it kind of occurred to me that in all of the superhero stories the hero’s greatest nemesis is the villain that used to be his best friend. When you think about that, you think about how there’s this beautiful moment in the beginning of a friendship where these people have no idea that one day, they’ll hate each other and try to take each other out. I mean, that’s really sad and terrible.”

March 5-12, 2020: Band rehearsals for Lover Fest. The band rehearsed 32 songs and Taylor sings on a few.

March 11, 2020: Taylor lands in LA. She'll stay there for the whole lockdown until May 22nd.

March 19, 2020: The state of California issue a stay-at-home order. The lockdown starts. During the Eras Tour, Taylor says that she started writing songs with Jack soon after. It's possible that illicit affairs and august were two of the first songs, as Taylor confirmed that august was the first song she wrote for the Love Triangle. This first version of august doesn't include the bridge.

[Taylor about illicit affairs] This was the first album that I’ve ever let go of that need to be 100 percent autobiographical because I think I needed to do that. I felt like fans needed to hear a 'stripped from the headlines' account of my life and it actually ended up being a bit confining. Because there’s so much more to writing songs than just what you’re feeling and your singular storyline. And I think this was spurred on by the fact that I was watching movies every day, I was reading books every day, I was thinking about other people every day. I was kind of outside my own, personal stuff. I think that’s been my favorite thing about this album: that it’s allowed to exist on its own merit without it just being, ‘Oh, people are listening to this because it tells them something that they could read in a tabloid’. It feels like a completely different experience.

[Taylor about august] In my head, I’ve been calling the girl from ‘august’ either Augusta or Augustine. What happened in my head was: ‘cardigan’ is Betty’s perspective from 20 or 30 years later, looking back on this love that was this tumultuous thing. I think Betty and James ended up together. So in my head, she ends up with him but he really put her through it. ‘august’ was obviously about the girl that James had this summer with. She seems like she’s a bad girl, but really she’s not. She’s a really sensitive person who fell for him and she was trying to seem cool and like she didn’t care because that’s what girls have to do. And she was trying to let him think that she didn’t care, but she did and she thought they had something very real. And then he goes back to Betty. So the idea that there is some bad, villain girl in any type of situation who ‘takes your man’ is a total myth because that’s not usually the case at all. Everybody has feelings and wants to be seen and loved. And Augustine…that’s all she wanted.

[Taylor] I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective. It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is—Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

Taylor had previously written down the phrase ‘Meet me behind the mall’ in her phone years ago, wanting to write it into a song.

April 17, 2020: Lover Fest is cancelled. Taylor writes mirrorball and this is me trying shortly after.

MIRRORBALL

On folklore there are a lot of songs that reference each other or have lyrical parallels and one of the ones that I like is the entire song 'this is me trying' then being referenced again in ‘mirrorball,’ which is, ‘I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try’. Sometimes when I’m writing to an instrumental track I’ll push ‘Play’ and I’ll immediately see a scene set and this was one of those cases. I just saw a lonely disco ball, twinkly lights, neon signs, people drinking beer by the bar, a couple of stragglers on the dance floor. Sort of a sad, moonlit, lonely experience in the middle of a town you’ve never been. I was just thinking that we have mirrorballs in the middle of a dance floor because they reflect light, they are broken a million times and that’s what makes them so shiny. We have people like that in society, too. They hang there and every time they break it entertains us. And when you shine a light on them it’s this glittering, fantastic thing. But then, a lot of the time when the spotlight isn’t on them they’re just still there, up on that pedestal but no one is watching them. It was a metaphor for celebrity but it’s also a metaphor for so many people. Everybody has to feel like they have to be ‘on’ for certain people. You have to be different versions of yourself for different people. Different versions at work, different versions around friends. Different versions of yourself around different friends. A different version of yourself around family. Everybody feels that they have to be in some ways duplicitous and that’s part of the human experience. But it’s also exhausting. And you learn that every one of us has the ability to become a shapeshifter. But what does that do to us?

THIS IS ME TRYING

“I’ve been thinking about people who are either suffering through mental illness, addiction or who have an everyday struggle. No one pats them on the back every day but every day they are actively fighting something. There are so many days that nobody gives them credit for that and so, how often must somebody who’s in that sort of internal struggle wanna say to everyone in the room: ‘You have no idea how close I am to going back to a dark place.’ I had this idea that the first verse would be about someone who is in a life crisis and has just been trying and failing in their relationship, has been messing things up with people they love, has been letting everyone down and has driven to this overlook, this cliff, and is just in the car, going, ‘I could do whatever I want in this moment and it could affect everything forever.’ But this person backs up and drives home. The second verse is about someone who felt like they had a lot of potential in their life. I feel like there are a lot of mechanisms for us in our school days, in high school or college, to excel and to be patted on the back for something. And then a lot of people get out of school and there are less abilities for them to get gold stars. Then you have to make all these decisions and you have to pave your own way. There’s no set class course you can take. I think a lot of people feel really swept up in that. And so I was thinking about this person who is really lost in life and then starts drinking…and every second is trying not to.”

March/April 2020: the lakes was also done remotely, but written before Taylor started collaborating with Aaron, placing it between March and April 2020:

[Taylor] “We’d gone to the Lake District in England a couple years ago. In the 19th century you had a lot of poets like William Wordsworth and John Keats who’d spend a lot of time there. And there was a poet district, these artists that moved there. They were heckled for it and made fun of for being these eccentrics and kind of odd artists who decided that they just wanted to live there. I remember thinking, ‘I could see this.’ You live in a cottage and you got wisteria growing up the outside of it…of course they escaped like that. And they had their own community of other artists who’d done the same thing. I’ve always, in my career since I was probably about twenty, written about this cottage backup plan that I have. I have been writing about that forever. I went to William Wordsworth’s grave and just sat there and I was like, ‘Wow. He went and did it.’ And you kept writing but you didn’t subscribe to the things that were killing you. And that’s really the overarching thing that I felt when I was writing folklore: I may not be able to go to The Lakes right now – or to go anywhere – but I’m going there in my head. The escape plan is working.”

[Jack] On one of my favorite songs on folklore, “The Lakes,” there was this big orchestral version, and Taylor was like, “Eh, make it small.” I had gotten lost in the string arrangements and all this stuff, and I took everything out. I was just like, “Oh, my God!” We were not together because that record was made [remotely], but I remember being in the studio alone like, “Holy shit, this is so perfect.”

This version of the lakes was released on folklore's first anniversary.

April 24, 2020: For his birthday, Aaron Dessner goes on an Instagram Live where he plays a bunch of songs including “Gaite” aka “happiness” and “Stella”, like his daughter, aka “invisible string”

April 27-28, 2020: Taylor contacts Aaron Dessner and asks him to work with her. He sends her a folder of instrumental tracks he had recorded over the years. The first one that inspires Taylor is called “Maple” which will become cardigan. She sends back a voice memo, and right after, she posts a selfie on Instagram with the caption “Not a lot going on at the moment”. What a troll.

[Taylor] The song is about a long lost romance, and why young love is often fixed so permanently within our memories. When looking back on it, why it leaves such an incredible mark and how special it made you feel; all the good things it made you feel, all the pain that it made you feel... The line about feeling like you were an old cardigan under someone's bed, but someone put you on and made you feel like you were their favorite.

[Aaron] That’s the first song we wrote. After Taylor asked if I would be interested in writing with her remotely and working on songs, I said, “Are you interested in a certain kind of sound?” She said, “I’m just interested in what you do and what you’re up to. Just send anything, literally anything, it could be the weirdest thing you’ve ever done,” so I sent a folder of stuff I had done that I was really excited about recently. “cardigan” was one of those sketches; it was originally called “Maple.” It was basically exactly what it is on the record, except we added orchestration later that my brother wrote. I sent [the file] at 9 p.m., and around 2 a.m. or something, there was “cardigan,” fully written. That’s when I realized something crazy was happening. She just dialed directly into the heart of the music and wrote an incredible song and fully conceived of it and then kept going. It harkens back to lessons learned, or experiences in your youth, in a really beautiful way and this sense of longing and sadness, but ultimately, it’s cathartic. I thought it was a perfect match for the music, and how her voice feels. It was kind of a guide. It had these lower register parts, and I think we both realized that this was a bit of a lightning rod for a lot of the rest of the record.

[Taylor] “The quality that really confounded me about Aaron’s instrumental tracks is that to me, they were immediately, intensely visual,” Swift wrote in an email. “As soon as I heard the first one, I understood why he calls them ‘sketches.’ The first time I heard the track for ‘Cardigan,’ I saw high heels on cobblestones. I knew it had to be about teenage miscommunications and the loss of what could’ve been. I’ve always been so curious about people with synesthesia, who see colors or shapes when they hear music. The closest thing I’ve ever experienced is seeing an entire story or scene play out in my head when I hear Aaron Dessner’s instrumental tracks.”

Aaron Dessner shared a screenshot from when Taylor sent him back cardigan.

April 29-30, 2020: Taylor writes seven and peace. seven is the only song that was entirely recorded at Long Pond.

SEVEN

[Aaron] This is the second song we wrote. It’s kind of looking back at childhood and those childhood feelings, recounting memories and memorializing them. It’s this beautiful folk song. It has one of the most important lines on the record: “And just like a folk song, our love will be passed on.” That’s what this album is doing. It’s passing down. It’s memorializing love, childhood, and memories. It’s a folkloric way of processing.

PEACE

[Taylor] “I think this is a song that is extremely personal to me. There are times when I feel like with everything that’s in my control, I can make myself seem like someone who doesn’t have an abnormal life and I try that every day. It’s like, 'How do I make my friends, and family, and my loved ones not see this big elephant that’s in the room for our normal life?' Because I don’t want the elephant in the room. If you’re gonna be in my life I feel like there’s a certain amount that comes with it that I can’t stop from happening. I can’t stop from you getting a call in the morning that says, ‘The tabloids are writing this today.’ I can’t help it if there’s a guy with a camera two miles away with a telescope lense taking pictures of you. I can’t stop those things from happening. And so this song was basically like, ‘Is it enough? Is the stuff that I can control enough to block out the things that I can’t?' So it makes me really emotional to hear this song.

[Taylor] To know that a lot of people related to it who aren’t talking about the same things that I’m talking about. They’re talking about human complexity. It’s about someone who you wanna provide with peace, someone you love, so you want them to have as much peace in their life as possible and reconciling the fact that you might not be their best option for that. But is it still a deal they wanna take?

[Taylor to Paul McCartney] peace is actually more rooted in my personal life. I know you have done a really excellent job of this in your personal life: carving out a human life within a public life, and how scary that can be when you do fall in love and you meet someone, especially if you’ve met someone who has a very grounded, normal way of living. I, oftentimes, in my anxieties, can control how I am as a person and how normal I act and rationalize things, but I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and what they do and if they follow our car and if they interrupt our lives. I can’t control if there’s going to be a fake weird headline about us in the news tomorrow.

[Aaron] “I wrote this, and Justin provided the pulse. We trade ideas all the time and he made a folder, and there was a pulse in there that I wrote these bass lines to. In the other parts of the composition, I did it to Justin’s pulse. Taylor heard this sketch and she wrote the song. It reminds me of Joni Mitchell, in a way — there’s this really powerful and emotional love song, even the impressionistic, almost jazz-like bridge, and she weaves it perfectly together. This is one of my favorites, for sure. But the truth is that the music, that way of playing with harmonized bass lines, is something that probably comes a little bit from me being inspired by how Justin does that sometimes. There’s probably a connection there. We didn’t talk too much about it [laughs]. The song “peace” — when she wrote that, it was just a harmonized bass and a pulse. She wrote this incredible love song to it that’s one vocal take.”

May 2020: Taylor and Aaron spend the entire month writing all the songs on folklore.

EXILE (FT. BON IVER)

Taylor and William Bowery, the singer-songwriter, wrote that song initially together and sent it to me as a sort of a rough demo where Taylor was singing both the male and female parts. It’s supposed to be a dialogue between two lovers. I interpreted that and built the song, played the piano, and built around that template. We recorded Taylor’s vocals with her singing her parts but also the male parts. We talked a lot about who she thought would be perfect to sing, and we kept coming back to Justin [Vernon]. Obviously, he’s a dear friend of mine and collaborator. I said, “Well, if he’s inspired by the song, he’ll do it, and if not, he won’t.” I sent it to him and said, “No pressure at all, literally no pressure, but how do you feel about this?” He said, “Wow.” He wrote some parts into it also, and we went back and forth a little bit, but it felt like an incredibly natural and safe collaboration between friends. It didn’t feel like getting a guest star or whatever. It was just like, well, we’re working on something, and obviously he’s crazy talented, but it just felt right. I think they both put so much raw emotion into it. It’s like a surface bubbling. It’s believable, you know? You believe that they’re having this intense dialogue. With other people I had to be secretive, but with Justin, because he was going to sing, I actually did send him a version of the song with her vocals and told him what I was up to. He was like, “Whoa! Awesome!” But he’s been involved in so many big collaborative things that he wasn’t interested in it from that point of view. It’s more because he loved the song and he thought he could do something with it that would add something.

[Taylor on exile] “Exile was a song that was written about miscommunications in relationships, and in the case of this song I imagine that the miscommunications ended the relationship - that they led to sort of the demise of this love affair. And now these two people are seeing each other out for the first time and they keep miscommunicating with each other, they can’t quite get on the same page, they never were able to. So even in their end, even after they’ve broken up they’re still not hearing each other, so we imagined that the beginning of it would be his side of the story, second verse would be her side of the story, and then the end would be sort of them talking over each other and not listening to the other, sort of like an argument. Yeah, I’m really stoked about how it turned out because it really does seem like this sort of tragedy of two people, two ships passing in the night.”

[Joe Alwyn] Alwyn doesn’t consider himself a musician or songwriter and insists that he is, in fact, an awful singer. He was merely “messing around” on the piano when Swift heard and walked over, intrigued. He had been singing the fully formed first verse to the song that became “Exile.”. “It was completely off the cuff, an accident,” he says, shrugging. “She said, ‘Can we try and sit down and get to the end together?’ And so we did. It was as basic as some people made sourdough.” I’d probably had a drink and was just stumbling around the house. We couldn’t decide on a film to watch that night, and she was like, ‘Do you want to try and finish writing that song you were singing earlier?’ And so we got a guitar and did that. I press him on this point — he wrote an entire verse to a Taylor Swift song without trying? “Who doesn’t walk around the house singing?” he asks. I explain that it’s unusual for hit songs to spring forth like that from non-musicians’ heads. He says he wasn’t trying to write to Swift’s personal sound but had been listening to a lot of the National.

[Aaron] It was Taylor’s idea to approach [Justin Vernon]. I sent him Taylor’s voice memo of her singing both parts, and he got really excited and loved the song and then he wrote the extra part in the bridge.

INVISIBLE STRING

[Taylor] When I first heard the track that [Aaron] sent me I thought, ‘I have to write something that matches it’. And pretty quickly I came upon the idea of fate. ‘Cause sometimes I just go into a rabbit hole of thinking about how things happen and I love the romantic idea that every step you’re taking, you’re taking one step closer to what you’re supposed to be, guided by this little invisible string. I wrote it right after I sent an ex a baby gift and I just remember thinking, 'This is a full signifier that life is great!'

[Aaron] That was another one where it was music that I’d been playing for a couple of months and sort of humming along to her. It felt like one of the songs that pulls you along. Just playing it on one guitar, it has this emotional locomotion in it, a meditative finger-picking pattern that I really gravitate to. It’s played on this rubber bridge that my friend put on [the guitar] and it deadens the strings so that it sounds old. The core of it sounds like a folk song. It’s also kind of a sneaky pop song, because of the beat that comes in. She knew that there was something coming because she said, “You know, I love this and I’m hearing something already.” And then she said, “This will change the story,” this beautiful and direct kind of recounting of a relationship in its origin.

MAD WOMAN

[Taylor] [“mad woman” has] these ominous strings underneath it and I was like, ‘Oh, this is female rage.' And then I was thinking the most rage provoking element of being a female is the gaslighting that happens. For centuries, we were just expected to absorb male behavior silently. And oftentimes, when we – in our enlightened and emboldened state – now respond to bad male behavior or somebody just doing something that’s absolutely out of line and we respond, that response is treated like the offense itself. There’s been situations recently with someone who’s very guilty of this in my life and it’s a person who makes me feel (or tries to make me feel) like I’m the offender by having any kind of defense to his offenses. It’s like I have absolutely no right to respond or I’m crazy. I have no right to respond or I’m angry. I have no right to respond or I’m out of line. So [Aaron] provided the musical bed for me to make that point that I’ve been trying so hard to figure out how to make…How do I say why this feels so bad?

[Aaron] That might be the most scathing song on folklore. It has a darkness that I think is cathartic, sort of witch-hunting and gaslighting and maybe bullying. Sometimes you become the person people try to pin you into a corner to be, which is not really fair. But again, don’t quote me on that [laughs], I just have my own interpretation. It’s one of the biggest releases on the album to me. It has this very sharp tone to it, but sort of in gothic folklore. It’s this record’s goth song.

EPIPHANY

[Taylor] I remember thinking, ‘Maybe I wanna write a sports story.’ Because I had just watched The Last Dance and I was thinking all in terms of sports, and winners, and underdogs. But actually, what I had been doing really frequently up until that point was I had been doing a lot of research on my grandfather who fought in World War II at Guadalcanal, which was an extremely bloody battle. And he never talked about it. Not with his sons, not with his wife. Nobody got to hear about what happened there. So my dad and his brothers did a lot of digging and found out that my granddad was exposed to some of the worst situations you could ever imagine as a human being. So I kind of tried to imagine what would happen in order to make you just never be able to speak about something. And when I was thinking about that I realized that there are people right now taking a twenty minute break in between shifts at a hospital who are having this kind of trauma happen to them right now, that they probably will never wanna speak about. And so I thought that this is an opportunity to maybe tell that story. I often feel that there have been times in my life where things have fallen apart so methodically, and I couldn’t control how things were going wrong, and nothing I did stopped it. I just felt like I’d been pushed out a plane and I was scratching on the air on the way down. I just felt like the universe was doing its thing. It was just dismantling my life and there was nothing I could do. And this is a weird situation where – ever since I started making music with [Aaron] – I felt like that was the universe forcing things to fall into place perfectly and there’s nothing I could do. It’s one of those weird things that makes you think about life a lot. This lockdown could’ve been a time where I absolutely lost my mind and instead I think this album was a real floatation device for both of us.

[Aaron] For epiphany, she did have this idea of a beautiful drone, or a very cinematic sort of widescreen song, where it’s not a lot of accents but more like a sea to bathe in. A stillness, in a sense. I first made this crazy drone which starts the song, and it’s there the whole time. It’s lots of different instruments played and then slowed down and reversed. It created this giant stack of harmony, which is so giant that it was kind of hard to manage, sonically, but it was very beautiful to get lost in. And then I played the piano to it, and it almost felt classical or something, those suspended chords. I think she just heard it, and instantly, this song came to her, which is really an important one. It’s partially the story of her grandfather, who was a soldier, and partially then a story about a nurse in modern times. I don’t know if this is how she did it, but to me, it’s like a nurse, doctor, or medical professional, where med school doesn’t fully prepare you for seeing someone pass away or just the difficult emotional things that you’ll encounter in your job. In the past, heroes were just soldiers. Now they’re also medical professionals. To me, that’s the underlying mission of the song. There are some things that you see that are hard to talk about. You can’t talk about it. You just bear witness to them. But there’s something else incredibly soothing and comforting about this song. To me, it’s this Icelandic kind of feel, almost classical. My brother did really beautiful orchestration of it.

BETTY

[Aaron] This one Taylor and William wrote, and then both Jack and I worked on it. We all kind of passed it around. This is the one where Taylor wanted a reference. She wanted it to have an early Bob Dylan, sort of a Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan feel. We pushed it a little more towards John Wesley Harding, since it has some drums. It’s this epic narrative folk song where it tells us a long story and connects back to “cardigan.” It starts to connect dots and I think it’s a beautifully written folk song.

[Taylor] I just heard Joe singing the entire fully formed chorus of ‘betty’ from another room. And I was just like, ‘Hello.’ It was a step that we would never have taken, because why would we have ever written a song together? So this was the first time we had a conversation where I came in and I was like, 'Hey, this could be really weird, and we could hate this, so because we’re in quarantine and there’s nothing else going on, could we just try to see what it’s like if we write this song together?' So he was singing the chorus of it, and I thought it sounded really good from a man’s voice, from a masculine perspective. And I really liked that it seemed to be an apology. I’ve written so many songs from a female’s perspective of wanting a male apology that we decided to make it from a teenage boy’s perspective apologizing after he loses the love of his life because he’s been foolish.

[James] has lost the love of his life basically and doesn't understand how to get it back. I think we all have these situations in our lives where we learn to really, really give a heartfelt apology for the first time. Everybody makes mistakes, everybody really messes up sometimes and this is a song that I wrote from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy. I've always loved that in music you can kinda slip into different identities and you can sing from other people's perspectives. So that's what I did on this one," the superstar explained of the song's premise, before revealing, "I named all the characters in this story after my friends' kids... and I hope you like it!

[Joe Alwyn] I’d probably had a drink and was just stumbling around the house. We couldn’t decide on a film to watch that night, and she was like, ‘Do you want to try and finish writing that song you were singing earlier?’ And so we got a guitar and did that.” Initially, Alwyn didn’t want his name credited, anticipating that what he describes as the “clickbait conversation” would distract people from actually listening to the music. So he went by William Bowery as a nod to his music-composer great-grandfather and the Manhattan street.

[Taylor] With ‘betty,’ Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that’s exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people’s. It’s been really fun to watch.

THE LAST GREAT AMERICAN DYNASTY

[Taylor] When [Aaron] sent me the track to ‘the last great american dynasty’ I had been wanting to write a song about Rebekah Harkness since 2013, probably. I’d never figured out the right way to do it because there was never a track that felt like it could hold an entire story of somebody’s life and moving between generations. When I heard that [the track] I was like, ‘Oh my God, I think this is my opening. I think this is my moment. I think I can write the Rebekah Harkness story!' It has that country music narrative device.”

[Aaron] I wrote that after we’d been working for a while. It was an attempt to write something attractive, more uptempo and kind of pushing. I also was interested in this almost In Rainbows-style latticework of electric guitars. They come in and sort of pull you along, kind of reminiscent of Big Red Machine. It was very much in this sound world that I’ve been playing around with, and she immediately clicked with that. Initially I was imagining these dreamlike distant electric guitars and electronics but with an element of folk. There’s a lot going on in that sense. I sent it before I went on a run, and when I got back from the run, that song was there [laughs].She told me the story behind it, which sort of recounts the narrative of Rebekah Harkness, whom people actually called Betty. She was married to the heir of Standard Oil fortune, married into the Harkness family, and they bought this house in Rhode Island up on a cliff. It’s kind of the story of this woman and the outrageous parties she threw. She was infamous for not fitting in, entirely, in society; that story, at the end, becomes personal. Eventually, Taylor bought that house. I think that is symptomatic of folklore, this type of narrative song. We didn’t do very much to that either.

[Taylor] “Anyone who's been there before knows that I do 'The Tour,' where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.”

Dessner and Swift were working intensively and at high speed throughout 2020, so much so that on one occasion the producer sent the singer a track and went out for a run in the countryside around Long Pond. By the time he got back, Swift had already written ‘the last great american dynasty’ and it was waiting for him in his inbox.

Late May/Early June 2020: Taylor sends Aaron the last two folklore songs, the 1 and hoax.

[Aaron] “the 1” and “hoax,” the first song and the last song, were the last songs we did. The album was sort of finished before that. We thought it was complete, but Taylor then went back into the folder of ideas that I had shared. I think in a way, she didn’t realize she was writing for this album or a future something. She wrote “the 1,” and then she wrote “hoax” a couple of hours later and sent them in the middle of the night. When I woke up in the morning, I wrote her before she woke up in LA and said, “These have to be on the record.” She woke up and said, “I agree” [laughs]. These are the bookends, you know?It’s clear that “the 1” is not written from her perspective. It’s written from another friend’s perspective. There’s an emotional wryness and rawness, while also to this kind of wink in her eyes. There’s a little bit of her sense of humor in there, in addition to this kind of sadness that exists both underneath and on the surface. I enjoy that about her writing. The song [began from] the voice memo she sent me, and then I worked on the music some and we tracked her vocals, and then my brother added orchestration. There are a few other little bits, but basically that was one of the very last things we did. [Hoax] is a big departure. I think she said to me, “Don’t try to give it any other space other than what feels natural to you.” If you leave me in a room with a piano, I might play something like this. I take a lot of comfort in this. I think I imagined her playing this and singing it. After writing all these songs, this one felt the most emotional and, in a way, the rawest. It is one of my favorites. There’s sadness, but it’s a kind of hopeful sadness. It’s a recognition that you take on the burden of your partners, your loved ones, and their ups and downs. That’s both “peace” and “hoax” to me. That’s part of how I feel about those songs because I think that’s life. There’s a reality, the gravity or an understanding of the human condition.

[Taylor on the 1] I think, ‘I’m doing good, I’m on some new shit, been saying 'Yes' instead of 'No’ has a double meaning. Opening the album with that line applies to the situation that this song is written about where you’re updating a former lover on what your life is like now and trying to be positive about it. But it was also about where I am creatively. I’m just saying ‘Yes’, I’m just putting out an album in the worst time you could put one out, I’m just making stuff with someone who I’ve always wanted to make stuff with, as long as I’ve been a fan of The National. I’m just going to say 'Yes’ to stuff and it worked out.

[Taylor on hoax] The word ‘hoax’ is another one that I love. I love that is has an ‘x’ and the way it looks and sounds. I think with this song being the last one on the album it kind of embodied all the things that this album was thematically: confessions, incorporating nature, emotional volatility and ambiguity at the same time, love that isn’t just easy. And it’s the most symbolic and poetic thing, listing all these things that this person is to you. That line, ‘You know it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart’ – anyone in my life knows what I’m singing about there but everybody has that situation in their life where you let someone in and they get to know you and they know exactly what buttons to push to hurt you the most. That thing where the scars healed over but there’s still phantom pain. I think the part that sounds like love to me is, ‘Don’t want no other shade of blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do.’ To me that sounds like what love really is. Who would you be sad with? And who would you deal with when they were sad? And like, gray skies every day for months, would you still stay?

[Aaron] We didn’t talk about [the meaning of the album] at first. It was only after writing six or seven songs, basically when I thought my writing was done, when we got on the phone and said, “OK, I think we’re making an album. I have these six other ideas that I love with Jack [Antonoff] that we’ve already done, and I think what we’ve done fits really well with them.” It’s sort of these narratives, these folkloric songs, with characters that interweave and are written from different perspectives. She had a vision, and it was connecting back in some way to the folk tradition, but obviously not entirely sonically. It’s more about the narrative aspect of it. I think it’s this sort of nostalgia and wistfulness that is in a lot of the songs. A lot of them have this kind of longing for looking back on things that have happened in your life, in your friend’s life, or another loved one’s life, and the kind of storytelling around that. That was clear to her. But then we kept going, and more and more songs happened. It was a very organic process where [meaning] wasn’t something that we really discussed. It just kind of would happen where she would dive back into the folder and find other things that were inspiring. Or she and William Bowery would write “exile,” and then that happened. There were different stages of the process.

May 21, 2020: As stated in the folklore: long pond sessions, Taylor started recording the vocals on this day. She also finishes august while in the vocal booth.

[Taylor] In my head, I’ve been calling the girl from ‘august’ either Augusta or Augustine. What happened in my head was: ‘cardigan’ is Betty’s perspective from 20 or 30 years later, looking back on this love that was this tumultuous thing. I think Betty and James ended up together. So in my head, she ends up with him but he really put her through it. ‘august’ was obviously about the girl that James had this summer with. She seems like she’s a bad girl, but really she’s not. She’s a really sensitive person who fell for him and she was trying to seem cool and like she didn’t care because that’s what girls have to do. And she was trying to let him think that she didn’t care, but she did and she thought they had something very real. And then he goes back to Betty. So the idea that there is some bad, villain girl in any type of situation who ‘takes your man’ is a total myth because that’s not usually the case at all. Everybody has feelings and wants to be seen and loved. And Augustine…that’s all she wanted.

She previously had written down the phrase ‘Meet me behind the mall’ in her phone years ago, wanting to write it into a song.

May 22-June 5, 2020: Taylor leaves LA and goes to Upstate New York to touch up some vocals (Betty), and shooting the photoshoot at Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds' house. She also records Carolina at Long Pond. The song was recorded in one take using only instruments available before 1953.

[EW Interview] “I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a mood board and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.”

[About Carolina] About a year & half ago I wrote a song about the story of a girl who always lived on the outside, looking in. Figuratively & literally. The juxtaposition of her loneliness & independence. Her curiosity & fear all tangled up. Her persisting gentleness & the world’s betrayal of it. I wrote this one alone in the middle of the night and then Aaron Dessner and I meticulously worked on a sound that we felt would be authentic to the moment when this story takes place. I made a wish that one day you would hear it. here The Crawdads Sing is a book I got absolutely lost in when I read it years ago. As soon as I heard there was a film in the works starring the incredible Daisy Edgar-Jones and produced by the brilliant Reese Witherspoon, I knew I wanted to be a part of it from the musical side. I wrote the song “Carolina” alone and asked my friend Aaron Dessner to produce it. I wanted to create something haunting and ethereal to match this mesmerizing story.

June 5, 2020: The Inner Circle posts the Oxford definition of the word folklore: “The traditional beliefs, customs, and stories of a community, passed through the generations by word of mouth.” adding “Taylor, your secret is safe with us.” later that day.

June 16, 2020: The Inner Circle posts the Oxford definition of the word cardigan: “A knitted sweater fastening down the front, typically with long sleeves. (Taylor, your secret remains safe with us. Here at the IC we are anxiously awaiting your big reveal)”

June-July 2020: During June and possibly early July, Aaron and Jon Low mix and master the album. It's a complicated process.

[Aaron] If there was trouble it started to be because of track counts. I probably only used 20 percent of what was actually recorded, ’cause we would try a lot of things, y’know. So, eventually the sessions got kinda crazy and you’d have to deactivate a lot of things and print things. But we got used to that. [...] I think the main thing was I wanted her vocals to have a more full range than maybe you typically hear, because I think a lot of the more pop oriented records are mixed a certain way and they take some of the warmth out of the vocal, so that it’s very bright and it kinda cuts really well on the radio. But she has this wonderful lower warmth frequency in her voice which is particularly important on a song like ‘seven’. If you carved out that mud, y’know, it wouldn’t hit you the same way. Or, like, ‘cardigan’, I think it needs that warmth, the kind of fuller feeling to it. It makes it darker, but to me that’s where a lot of emotion is.

[Aaron on the mixing process] In some instances, the final mix ended up being the never bettered rough mix, while other songs took far more work. “‘cardigan’ is basically the rough, as is ‘seven’. So, like the early, early mixes, when we didn’t even know we were mixing, we never were able to make it better. Like if you make it sound ‘good’, it might not be as good ’cause it loses some of its weird magic, y’know. But songs like ‘the last great american dynasty’ or ‘mad woman’, those songs were a little harder to create the dynamics the way you want them, and the pay off without going too far, and with also just keeping in the kind of aesthetic that we were in. Those were harder, I would say.

[Mixer Jon Low] In the beginning it did not feel real,” recalls Low. “There was this brand new collaboration, and it was amazing how quickly Aaron made these instrumental sketches and Taylor wrote lyrics and melodies to them, which she initially sent to us as iPhone voice memos. During our nightly family dinners in lockdown, Aaron would regularly pull up his phone and say, ‘Listen to this!’ and there would be another voice memo from Taylor with this beautiful song that she had written over a sketch of Aaron’s in a matter of hours. The rate at which it was happening was mind blowing. There was constant elevation, inspiration and just wanting to continue the momentum. “We put her voice memos straight into Pro Tools. They had tons of character, because of the weird phone compression and cutting midrange quality you just would not get when you put someone in front of a pristine recording chain. Plus there was all this bleed. It’s interesting how that dictates the attitude of the vocal and of the song. Even though none of the original voice memos ended up on the albums, they often gave us unexpected hints. These voice memos were such on a whim things, they were really telling. Taylor had certain phrasings and inflections that we often returned to later on. They became our reference points. “Taylor’s voice memos often came with suggestions for how to edit the sketches: maybe throw in a bridge somewhere, shorten a section, change the chords or arrangement somewhere, and so on. Aaron would have similar ideas, and he then developed the arrangements, often with his brother Bryce, adding or replacing instruments. This happened fast, and became very interactive between us and Taylor, even though we were working remotely. When we added instruments, we were reacting to the way my rough mixes felt at the very beginning. Of course, it was also dictated by how Taylor wrote and sang to the tracks.”

[Jon Low on the mixing process] Throughout the entire process we were trying to maintain the original feel. Sometimes this was hard, because that initial rawness would get lost in large arrangements and additional layering. With revisions of folklore in particular we sometimes were losing the emotional weight from earlier more casual mixes. Because I was always mixing, there was also always the danger of over mixing. “We were trying to get the best of each mix version, and sometimes that meant stepping backwards, and grabbing a piano chain from an earlier mix, or going three versions back to before we added orchestration. There were definitely moments of thinking, ‘Is this going to compete sonically? Is this loud enough?’ We knew we loved the way the songs sounded as we were building them, so we stuck with what we knew. There were times where I tried to keep pushing a mix forward but it didn’t improve the song — ‘cardigan’ is an example of a song where we ended up choosing a very early mix.

July 2020: While folklore is being finished, Taylor continues to write songs. The first two songs, that at first seem like Big Red Machine songs, are dorothea and closure.

[Aaron] A lot more of [evermore] was made from scratch. After Folklore came out, I think Taylor had written two songs early on that we both thought were for Big Red Machine, “Closure” and “Dorothea.” But the more I listened to them, not that they couldn’t be Big Red Machine songs, but they felt like interesting, exciting Taylor songs. “Closure” is very experimental and in this weird time signature, but still lyrically felt like some evolution of Folklore, and “Dorothea” definitely felt like it was reflecting on some character.

[Aaron on closure] Vernon provided the grainy beat that kicks off ‘closure’, one of two tracks on evermore that started life as a sketch for the second Big Red Machine album. “It was this little loop that Justin had given me in this folder of ‘Starters’, he calls them. I had heard that and been playing the piano to it. But I was hearing it in 5/4, although it’s not in 5/4. ‘Closure’ really opened everything up further. There were no real limits to where we were gonna try to write songs.”

In the Billboard interview above, Aaron says he thinks that Taylor wrote them after folklore was released, while in the Rolling Stone one he says they were written while finishing up the folklore mixes.

“I think I’d written around 30 of those songs in total,” Dessner recalls. “So when I started sharing them with Taylor over the months that we were working on Folklore, she got really into it, and she wrote two songs to some of that music.” One was “Closure,” an experimental electronic track in 5/4 time signature that was built over a staccato drum kit. The other song was “Dorothea,” a rollicking, Americana piano tune. The more Dessner listened to them, the more he realized that they were continuations of Folklore‘s characters and stories. But the real turning point came soon after Folklore‘s surprise release in late July, when Dessner wrote a musical sketch and named it “Westerly,” after the town in Rhode Island where Swift owns the house previously owned by Rebekah Harkness.

Dorothea is the only evermore song to have been recorded at Taylor's home studio in LA, she left LA 3 days after the release of folklore so Occam's razor, I'm guessing that the RS interview is the correct one and dorothea and closure were written in late June/early July, while the Folklorians were finishing up the album.

July 24, 2020: folklore is released, after being announced the day before.

August 6-18, 2020: To celebrate how well folklore was received, Aaron composes an instrumental track called Westerly, named after the town in Rhode Island where Taylor owns Holiday House. Taylor writes willow on it, then sends a voice memo to Aaron.

[Voice Memo] “Here's the Westerly one, written in Westerly!”

[Aaron] And I, sort of in celebration of Folklore, had written a piece of music that I titled “Westerly,” that’s where she has the house that she wrote “Last Great American Dynasty” about. I’ll do that sometimes, just make things for friends or write music just to write it, but I didn’t at all think it would become a song. And she, like an hour later, sent back “Willow” written to that song, and that sort of set [things in motion] and we just started filling this Dropbox again. It was kind of like, “What’s happening?”

There are so many stories I could share. When I sent Taylor the music for our song 'willow' — I think she wrote the entire song from start to finish in less than 10 minutes and sent it back to me. It was like an earthquake. Then Taylor said, 'I guess we are making another album.'

I liked opening the album with ['willow'] because I loved the feeling that I got, immediately upon hearing the instrumental that Aaron created for it. It felt strangely witchy, like somebody making a love potion, dreaming up the person that they want and desire, and trying to figure out how to get that person in their life. And all the misdirection, and bait and switch, and complexity that goes into seeing someone, feeling a connection, wanting them, and trying to make them a part of your life. It’s tactical at times, it’s confusing at times, it’s up to fate, it’s magical. It felt a bit magical and mysterious, which is what I want people to feel going into an album that was a collection of these stories that were going to take them in all kinds of directions. I just wanted to start them off with a setting of the vibe.

August/September 2020: Taylor writes no body, no crime, possibly while in London.

[Taylor] Working with the HAIM sisters on 'no body, no crime' was pretty hilarious because it came about after I wrote a pretty dark murder mystery song and had named the character Este, because she’s the friend I have who would be stoked to be in a song like that. I had finished the song and was nailing down some lyric details and texted her, 'You’re not going to understand this text for a few days but... which chain restaurant do you like best?' and I named a few. She chose Olive Garden and a few days later I sent her the song and asked if they would sing on it. It was an immediate 'YES.'

[Aaron] Taylor wrote that one alone and sent me a voice memo of her playing guitar — she wrote it on this rubber-bridge guitar that I got for her. It’s the same kind I play on “Invisible String.” So she wrote “No Body, No Crime” and sent me a voice memo of it, and then I started building on that. It’s funny, because the music I’ve listened to the most in my life are things that are more like that — roots music, folk music, country music, old-school rock & roll, the Grateful Dead. It’s not really the sound of the National or other things I’ve done, but it feels like a warm blanket. Taylor had specific ideas from the beginning about references and how she wanted it to feel, and that she wanted the Haim sisters to sing on it. We had them record the song with Ariel Reichshaid, they sent that from L.A., and then we put it together when Taylor was here [at Long Pond]. They’re an incredible band, and it was another situation where we were like, “Well, this happened.” It felt like this weird little rock & roll history anecdote.

[Aaron] [We realized evermore was going to end up being another album] after we’d written several songs, seven or eight or nine. Each one would happen, and we would both be in this sort of disbelief of this weird alchemy that we had unleashed. The ideas were coming fast and furiously and were just as compelling as anything on Folklore, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. At some point, Taylor wrote evermore with William Bowery, and then we sent it to Justin, who wrote the bridge, and all of a sudden, that’s when it started to become clear that there was a sister record.

September 16- 23, 2020: Taylor and Jack go to Upstate New York to record the Long Pond Studio Session. She writes 'tis the damn season there on the 17th. Afterwards Taylor stays a few more days to record the bulk of the evermore vocals: willow, champagne problems, gold rush, 'tis the damn season, tolerate it, no body no crime, coney island, ivy, long story short, marjorie, closure, evermore, and it’s time to go.

After the Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions, [Taylor] stayed for quite a while and we recorded a lot. She actually wrote 'tis the damn season when she arrived for the first day of rehearsal. We played all night and drank a lot of wine after the fireside chat — and we were all pretty drunk, to be honest — and then I thought she went to bed. But the next morning, at 9:00 a.m. or something, she showed up and was like, “I have to sing you this song,” and she had written it in the middle of the night. That was definitely another moment [where] my brain exploded, because she sang it to me in my kitchen, and it was just surreal. That music is actually older — it’s something I wrote many years ago, and hid away because I loved it so much. It meant something to me, and it felt like the perfect song finally found it. There was a feeling in it, and she identified that feeling: That feeling of... “The ache in you, put there by the ache in me.” I think everyone can relate to that. It’s one of my favorites.

[Aaron] She stayed after we were done filming and then we recorded a lot. It was crazy because we were getting ready to make that film, but at the same time, these songs were accumulating. And so we thought, “Hmm, I guess we should just stay and work.”

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

[Taylor] Joe and I really love sad songs. He started that one and came up with the melodic structure of it. I say it was a surprise that we started writing together, but in a way it wasn’t cause we had always bonded over music and had the same musical tastes. He’s always the person who’s showing me songs by artists and then they become my favorite songs. ‘champagne problems’ was one of my favorite bridges to write. I really love a bridge where you tell the full story in the bridge. You really shift gears in that bridge. I’m so excited to one day be in front of a crowd, when they all sing, ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head’. Cause I know it’s so sad, but it’s those songs like ‘All Too Well’. Performing that song is one of the most joyful experiences I ever go through when I perform live, so when there’s a song like ‘champagne problems’ where you know it’s so sad… I love a sad song, you know?

GOLD RUSH

During the willow live stream premiere, Taylor revealed that “gold rush” is Jack's favourite song and that it takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.

[Jack] gold rush was a pretty different sound than what was on folklore. Even the movement in the chorus and some of the chord changes, they're very outside of the realm for what we've done together. We have different processes. Sometimes we sit in a room, sometimes she'll send me a song, sometimes I'll send her a track. That was one where I had the track going. And she did the classic thing where you send it to her, and a very short time later, she sent back a voice note with all of these brilliant ideas of what the song is.

'TIS THE DAMN SEASON

[Aaron] '‘tis the damn season' is a really special song to me for a number of reasons. When I wrote the music to it, which was a long time ago, I remember thinking that this is one of my favorite things I’ve ever made, even though it’s an incredibly simple musical sketch. But it has this arc to it, and there’s this simplicity in the minimalism of it, and the kind of drum programming in there, and I always loved the tone of that guitar. When Taylor played the track and sang it to me in my kitchen, that was a highlight of this whole time. That track felt like something I have always loved and could have just stayed music, but instead, someone of her incredible storytelling ability and musical ability took it and made something much greater. And it’s something that we can all relate to. [Note: The instrumental Aaron is talking about is called Ingrid and was written in 2013 when his daughter Ingrid Stella was born. It was released in 2018 on the album Songs Without Words.]

TOLERATE IT

[Taylor] When you watch a film or you read a book and there’s a character that you identify with, most of the time you identify with them because they’re targeting something in you that feels that you’ve been there. That’s why we relate to characters. When I was reading Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier I was thinking, ‘Her husband just tolerates her. She’s doing all these things, trying so hard to impress him and he’s just tolerating her the whole time.’ There was a part of me that could relate to that because at some point in my life I felt that way. So I ended up writing this song ‘tolerate it’ that’s all about trying to love someone who’s ambivalent.

[Aaron] When I wrote the piano track to 'tolerate it,' right before I sent it to her, I thought, 'This song is intense.' It’s in 10/8, which is an odd time signature. And I did think for a second, 'Maybe I shouldn’t send it to her, she won’t be into it.' But I sent it to her, and it conjured a scene in her mind, and she wrote this crushingly beautiful song to it and sent it back. I think I cried when I first heard it. It just felt like the most natural thing, you know? There weren’t limitations to the process. And in these places where we were pushing into more experimental sounds or odd time signatures, that just felt like part of the work.

CONEY ISLAND

[Taylor on coney island] “The story behind writing Coney Island - Aaron Dessner had sent me this track that he had created with his brother Bryce and I wrote the lyrics and the melody with William Bowery. I think I might have been coming from a place of somebody who’s been in a relationship for decades and wakes up one day and realizes that they have taken their partner completely for granted. So whether you wanna look at it from the perspective of somebody who’s in a new relationship or very long-standing relationship, I think it just really speaks to if people are trying to communicate but they’re two ships passing in the night, they’re trying to love each other but their signals are somehow missing each other - I just found that really interesting... and yeah, we’re really proud of this one. There were elements of it that immediately reminded me of Matt Berninger‘s vocal stylings and his writing, and I kind of targeted some of the lyrics of the second verse to sound sort of like what he might do - cause I hoped that he might sing on it. Because, you know, we already had two members of The National on the song, with Aaron and Bryce. So we got our wish and Matt sang on this song. I think he did an amazing job, I’m such a huge fan of the band and I’m really honored this was able to come together with The National.”

[Aaron on coney island] One key track on evermore, ‘coney island’, features all of the members of the National and sees Swift duetting with their singer Matt Berninger. “My brother [Bryce] actually originated that song,” says Aaron Dessner. “I sent him a reference at one point — I can’t remember what it was — and then he was sort of inspired to write that chord progression. Then we worked together to sort of develop it and I wrote a bunch of parts and we structured it. Taylor and William Bowery [the songwriting pseudonym of Swift’s boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn] wrote ‘coney island’ and she sang a beautiful version. It felt kind of done, actually. But then I think we all collectively thought — Taylor and myself and Bryce — like this was the closest to a National song. Dessner then asked the brothers who make up the National’s rhythm section, drummer Bryan and bassist Scott Devendorf, to play on ‘coney island’. Matt Berninger, as he often does with the band’s own tracks, recorded his vocal at home in Los Angeles. “It was never in the same place, it was done remotely,” says Dessner, “except Bryan was here at Long Pond when he played. It was great to collaborate as a band with Taylor.”

MARJORIE

[Aaron] “Taylor’s family gave us a bunch of recordings of her grandmother,” Dessner explains. “But they were from old, very scratchy, noisy vinyl. So, we had to denoise it all using [iZotope’s] RX and then I went in and I found some parts that I thought might work. I pitch shifted them into the key and then placed them. It took a while to find the right ones, but it’s really beautiful to be able to hear her. It’s just an incredibly special thing, I think.”

EVERMORE

[Taylor] When Joe wrote the piano, I based the vocal melody on the piano, and we sent it to Justin, who then added that bridge. And Joe had written the piano part so that the tempo speeds up, and it changes. The music completely changes to a different tempo in the bridge. And Justin really latched onto that, and just 100% embraced it and wrote this beautiful sort of... The clutter of all your anxieties in your head, and they're all speaking at once. And we got the bridge back, and then I wrote this narrative of, 'When I was shipwrecked, I thought of you.' That sort of thing, where there was this beacon of hope, and then in the end, you realize the pain wouldn't be forever.

IT'S TIME TO GO

[Taylor] it’s time to go is about listening to your gut when it tells you to leave. How you always know before you know, you know?

Aaron Dessner, Jon Low, Stine Dessner and Taylor at Long Pond in September 2020.

October 6, 2020: Taylor and Paul McCartney get to chat for Rolling Stone. Taylor softly references tolerate it, ivy and willow.

Swift: I was reading so much more than I ever did, and watching so many more films. McCartney: What stuff were you reading? Swift: I was reading, you know, books like Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier, which I highly recommend, and books that dealt with times past, a world that doesn’t exist anymore. I was also using words I always wanted to use — kind of bigger, flowerier, prettier words, like “epiphany,” in songs. I always thought, “Well, that’ll never track on pop radio,” but when I was making this record, I thought, “What tracks? Nothing makes sense anymore. If there’s chaos everywhere, why don’t I just use the damn word I want to use in the song?”

October 14, 2020: Jason Treuting records the glockenspiel on willow. (I got this date form the original willow stems)

October 28, 2020: Bryce Devendorf records the percussions on willow. (I got this date form the original willow stems)

October/November 2020: Aaron goes to see Justin Vernon in his home studio in Wisconsin, where they work on the album. Aaron writes the instrumental sketch to right where you left me before going on this trip.

[Aaron] I went to see Justin at one point — that’s the one trip I’ve made — and we worked together at his place on stuff. He plays the drums on “Cowboy Like Me” and “Closure,” and he plays guitar and banjo and sings on “Ivy,” and sings on “Marjorie” and “Evermore.” And then we processed Taylor’s vocals through his Messina chain together. He was really deeply involved in this record, even more so than the last record. He’s always been such a huge help to me, and not just by getting him to play stuff or sing stuff — I can also send him things and get his feedback. We’ve done a ton of work together, but we have different perspectives and different harmonic brains. He obviously has his own studio set up at home, but it was nice to be able to see him and work on this stuff.

November 4, 2020: Taylor shoots the evermore cover, the Red TV cover, and the EW photos. (I got this date from an insider)

November 7, 2020: Taylor films the willow music video. (I got this date from an insider)

November 20, 2020: Aaron records the bass on willow. (I got this date form the original willow stems)

November 25, 2020: Taylor is at Marcus Mumford's studio called Scarlet Pimpernel to finish evermore. They record vocals for two new songs, happiness and right where you left me, they touch up the vocals for coney island, they record Joe's piano on evermore the song, and Marcus records backing vocals on cowboy like me. She possibly stays more than one day.

Taylor has mentioned that you recorded “Happiness” just a week before the album was released. Was that something you guys wrote, recorded, and produced all at the last minute, or was it something you’d been sitting on for a while before you finally cracked the code? There were two songs like that. One is a bonus track called “Right Where You Left Me,” and the other one was “Happiness,” which she wrote literally days before we were supposed to master. That’s similar to what happened with Folklore, with “The 1” and “Hoax,” which she wrote days before. We mixed all the tracks here, and it’s a lot to mix 17 songs, it’s like a Herculean task. And it was funny, because I walked into the studio and Jon Low, our engineer here, was mixing and had been working the whole time toward this. And I came in and he’s in the middle of mixing and I was like, “There are two more songs.” And he looked at me like, “…We’re not gonna make it.” Because it does take a lot of time to work out how to finish them. But she sang those remotely. And the music for “Happiness” is something that I had been working on since last year. I had sang a little bit on it, too — I thought it was a Big Red Machine song, but then she loved the instrumental and ended up writing to it. Same with the other one, “Right Where You Left Me” — it was something I had written right before I went to visit Justin, because I thought, “Maybe we’ll make something when we’re together there.” And Taylor had heard that and wrote this amazing song to it. That is a little bit how she works — she writes a lot of songs, and then at the very end she sometimes writes one or two more, and they often are important ones.

[Taylor on cowboy like me] Take yourselves back to 2020, and I put out folklore, and I just kept writing. I thought, 'Let me make a sister album to folklore and call it evermore.' And so I started immediately. Aaron, Jack, and I were just writing remotely. And the challenge at the time was trying to figure out how to record things. Most studios were completely shut down due to Covid, understandably. I could not find a studio, essentially. So Aaron is like, 'Let me call around to see if there is anyone who is cool, and nice, and generous, and might be willing to offer up their home studio, if we do the right amount of testing, we're totally locked down, and quarantined.' And I was like, 'Okay, please, I really hope someone comes through.' And so he calls me ,'I have really really good news. Marcus Mumford said that you could record at his home studio.' So I first of all, I am so excited that he's saving us, because without this trip, we wouldn't have recorded five or six of the songs on evermore, which came from me getting in a car, driving six hours out into the country past thousands of beautiful sheep, to Marcus Mumford's beautiful house where he has a studio. So I got to do this, we get there, and the whole time I'm thinking, 'Okay, wouldn't it be so cool if he would sing on something?' Because I'm such a Mumford & Sons fan. I just think he's brilliant and has one of the most gorgeous voices in the world. So I'm like, 'Will he sing something, please?' But I didn't want to be weird about it, so I'm like, 'I wonder if fate will have him wander into the studio at the right time.' So sure enough, we're recording a song, and he wanders in at the perfect time and just kind of started humming a harmony. And I turned to him as if I hadn't been thinking of it the whole time, and I was like, 'Oh! You sound really good on that harmony! I wonder if you might sing on this song?' And he said, 'Yep, I would love to!' So essentially, because of Marcus Mumford we have a lot of the songs that probably we wouldn't have been able to put out evermore as quickly as we did. And we also have a gorgeous harmony on a song called 'cowboy like me.'

[Aaron] The music for happiness is something that I had been working on since last year. I had sang a little bit on it, too — I thought it was a Big Red Machine song, but then she loved the instrumental and ended up writing to it.

[Taylor] right where you left me is a song about a girl who stayed forever in the exact spot where her heart was broken, completely frozen in time.

Taylor at Scarlet Pimpernel Studios, and a signed sheet with cowboy like me lyrics which Taylor gave to Marcus Mumford.

December 3 & 4, 2020: Aaron works on willow for the final time, recording some synthesizers. (I got this date form the original willow stems)

[Aaron] On evermore, I would say willow was probably the hardest one to finish just because there were so many ways it could’ve gone. Eventually we settled back almost to the point where it began. So, there’s a lot of stuff that was left out of willow, just because the simplicity of the idea I think was in a way the strongest. It almost felt like a dare or something. We were writing, recording and mixing all in one kind of work stream and we went from one record to the other almost immediately. We were just sort off to the races. We didn’t really ever stop since April.

[Low] The final mix stage for evermore was “very short. There was a moment in the final week or so leading up to the release where the songs were developed far enough for me to sit down and try to make something very cohesive and final, finalising vocal volume, overall volume, and the vibe. There’s a point in every mix where the moves get really small. When a volume ride of 0.1dB makes a difference, you’re really close to being done. Earlier on, those little adjustments don’t really matter.

December 11, 2020: evermore is released.

With folklore, one of the main themes throughout that album was ‘conflict resolution’, trying to figure out how to get through something with someone, or making confessions, or trying to tell them something, trying to communicate with them. evermore deals a lot in endings of all sorts, shapes and sizes. All the kinds of ways we can end a relationship, a friendship, something toxic and the pain that goes along with that.

I have no idea what will come next. I have no idea about a lot of things these days and so I've clung to the one thing that keeps me connected to you all. That thing always has and always will be music. And may it continue, evermore.

[clownfishbites]

Back in ye old Y2K DC put out a little comic run called Batman: It’s Joker Time. It has its issues for sure, it’s a bit like Batman: Cacophony in that it’s a story about Joker getting badly hurt and the only one that actually cares in the whole world is Batman.

It’s also interesting in that the unethical ‘therapy’ they put Joker through actually has an effect. After they lock him in a small room for months with no stimulation that isn’t a mindless reality show he becomes a shell of himself. In this altered state he’s vulnerable and is kidnapped to be used as entertainment on the show himself. As he’s effectively held prisoner here and the police don’t care, the only one left to help him from the outside is Batman, and some of his men once Joker starts an affair with a producer lady just to get him items like, better clothes, furniture, a phone and the assurance of some privacy.

So actually it’s pretty dark and pretty sad, and it brings us not just to Batman: Cacophony but also Batman: Devils Advocate, where Batman has to step in to actually get Joker some human rights every once in a while.

It makes me think about the concept of Joker and bodily autonomy. His masochism is a well known fact but it’s not a big reach to suggest there is an element of reclaiming EVERYTHING for himself, because he knows terrible breaches of his autonomy will happen anyway, so in his mind it’s better to not just accept it, but embrace it, so his spirit remains undamaged even in the face of great harm. He breaches enough people’s bodily autonomy daily, he understands how easily it’s done.

And yet in Joker time, cacophony and devil’s advocate Batman is there to pick up pieces of a person even Joker would’ve shattered.

[ackerifle]

Yandere Levi finding out reader is pregnant by another man

a word with you!

yan. no regrets levi ackerman x fem prostitute. reader

+ CW. — harassment, coercion, delusional behavior, kidnapping, confessions of murder, threats of domestic violence/abuse, implied: slight past age-gap relationship, baby-trapping; darling’s pseudonym is galatea; not proof-read.

it was simply too good to be true, you had known it then, and you know it now. but wishful thinking and desperation will do terrible things to good people, no soul would willingly continue living in the underground should they find themselves with any better alternative. at a constant risk of disease and decay, mother nature’s evident distaste for her children dwelling beneath the surface, careless to the living that remained untouched by the sun. abandoned by its creators in favor of more ‘pressing matters,’ the people left relinquished in a forgotten city of ruins had fallen on hard times, people like yourself.

and thus, you had found yourself in quite the predicament. although nothing in your life had ever come particularly easy, and this once, just this once, you could manage all on your own. there was no shame in working in a brothel, not when the people around you were often worse off than yourself, and pride was a small price to pay for simply surviving. it was only once you had first bared witness to the frequent deaths of the other prostitutes had you ever come to the realization that the madam must have really favored you a lot— to clean you, to clothe you, to feed you, to care for you; to keep you. but the state of affairs in the underground have since changed from the time of your youth, you’ve changed. you wanted out, and you were not immune to making grave sacrifices for what you wanted.

you’ve encountered and met many clients in your time, men and women alike, and it is rare for new faces to draw your attention. but as of late, there has been one. a soldier from the surface, a military police member who seemed far too young to be venturing below the safety and security of the royal capital by himself, and far too naïve to be falling absolutely head over heels for some prostitute who only offers an hour and faux moans in return. it almost tugs at your heartstrings, almost. he isn’t as innocent as he looks, and you are reminded why terrible things happen to good people. he had held citizenship over your head since the moment he met you, through legal marriage, and one simple request: that you give him a child. after all, who was a man of his merit to invest such a scrupulous amount of time into a common whore without the reassurance she won’t leave him right away?

so you do, allowing him to touch and hold you in a way your other clients could only dream of. to whisper sweet nothings in your ear about your future together, because admittedly, you too are thinking the same thing. thinking about your future, but you find that there is nothing romantic about it. and perhaps the worst of it all, he hasn’t come back for you.

laying down on your tarnished bed of tattered sheets and thin blankets, you stare aimlessly at the darkened ceiling. without thought and without interest, it has been weeks, maybe months, and you think you’ve truly fallen ill, “dammit, i knew i shouldn't've let that prestigious prick back in here.” forever grateful and beholden to the brothel keeper, she continues to tend to your needs, even now.

“look at you. so sad, little girl.” the madam coos apathetically, but her actions say otherwise. a gentle hand checks your temperature, brushing aside any loose strands of hair with the swipe of her thumb. her frown only deepens when she just barely pushes your head back, met with complete compliance as your head tilts further into the pillow from even the slightest of movements. somehow, you’re still so tired and still so restless, “i’m sorry.”

she’s upset with you. she’s been upset with you ever since you’d been involved with that shady scumbag, but truthfully the madam is more upset with herself. and she wants to ask why you of all people are apologizing, but she doesn’t, “i’m sorry too.” there is more she yearns to say, her mouth is still open, as if to somehow keep you responsive in this one-sided conversation, but nothing comes out. and it’s too late when there are three loud and concise knocks banging on the door downstairs.

the madam is quick to pry a worried hand from your unresponsive body, storming towards the exit of the oppressive room, but not without taking a curious glance in your direction. her remorse does not last long, as she shuts the door with a shove, but is intentional in not forcing it too hard. and you are left alone. swallowing dryly, your eyes dart around the room, and you wonder just how intense that person must have been hounding at the door for both you and the madam to hear it from a story above. but that was no matter, it was already noisy in the brothel, the walls were thin because peace and quiet was no luxury anyone living there could afford; and who knows how many women you shared the small space with. and surprisingly, it benefitted you greatly to be sick, as the madam refused to work you; and you’d known girls who worked during pregnancy, it never did end well for them.

deafening commotion could be heard ringing throughout the brothel, to the point it had felt as if the walls were shaking and the building was caving in. you chalked it up to hysterical figments of your imagination, that the floorboards beneath your bed weren’t vibrating, and that the sound of a panicked woman and determined man arguing with one another weren’t getting closer, “sir! galatea isn’t well, she’s not seeing anyone right now!”

“i don’t give a shit, lady. i know name is still here, she hasn’t left this fucking whorehouse in a month.” it pains you that you recognize this voice, and it isn’t the one you want to hear.

brazenly, the door is reopened with much more ferocity and wrath than it had initially been closed with, and it startles you. despite anticipating a confrontation as the verbal fight had neared your room, it comes as a surprise when the door nearly breaks free from its hinges, revealing an all too familiar black haired man. he looks awful in the dour lighting, and he adorned a uniform that haunted your very soul. a lesser version of what the military police had dressed in, lacking the coat with their respective symbol, it was the odm gear that struck you odd. eyes averting, you had noticed madam — who was standing behind him, with a languid arm extended towards his figure as if to grab him — was somehow much worse for wear as she had a dramatic hand over her heart as she caught her breath.

you regret not locking the door, but then again, that has never stopped levi from doing what he wants. he calls to you only by your name, and your spine crawls. whipping his head around, the hand levi had placed over the hilt of one of the unsheathed blades draws it from the holder, and he wastes no time in threatening the madam. it only takes the sight of the sharpened edge looming dangerously close to her neck for you to yell at her to get out. she hesitates, and you know why, the madam has failed to protect you countless times from levi, but this will be the time it counts, and she knows it too. but the downright malicious glare levi sends her way has her halted in her steps, and she makes no effort to stop levi as he enters the room and places a deceivingly quiet palm flat on the door, all whilst maintaining eye contact with her, before he slams the door behind him.

you set your hand on the bed, forcing yourself to sit up as levi stomps his way over to you. and the closer he gets, the more uncharacteristically messy you realize his clothes are. the white shirt he so often wears is not clean, it’s rather dirty in all honesty, sullied with what appears to be sidestreet grime and dross filth. his boots are muddy, dragging in sludge and black water that hadn’t already been scraped off at the doorstep and staircase. but perhaps what was the most disturbing were the stains of blood on his gear, ranging from inconspicuous flecks to big streaks that were likely still wet. levi must’ve noticed your perturbed observation, because when he finally finds himself standing before you, he bends down and grabs your jaw in his hand, roughly squeezing your face, and leaning down until your noses are just barely touching.

“i leave you alone for a month, and you let some piece of shit from the mp’s knock you up?” it’s his eyes that are the scariest, more than his strength, and you crumble underneath his scrutinizing gaze. your retaliation is much more timid than you intend it to be, as if you were guilty and confessing your sins. sins of disloyalty to a man you aren’t even with in the first place, “you can’t expect me to want to stay here, i saw a way out, and i was going to take it.”

it doesn’t cross your mind to question how he knows all of this. you’ve simply accepted it as fact that you will never experience true privacy after meeting levi. in retrospect, it’s ludicrous that you’re even explaining yourself to him, but you are and it’s not helping your case, “and how did that work out for you?” levi spits venomously, violently shaking your head side to side in his grasp until your eyes were rattling in your skull. levi only lets go to prop his foot up onto the side of the bed.

instinctively, you lean away from his knee, which is almost parallel to your head, setting your hand on his calf in an attempt to direct his body away from yours. levi places the blade he had refused to release from his grip back into the metal box it belonged in, dropping his leg to the ground and hoisting you up by your shoulders, “groveling at the feet of those pigs, you’ve become real pathetic, haven’t you?” you want to defend yourself, to call him a hypocrite, to call him pathetic for harassing someone like you that was undeserving of his badgering.

“how did you even know he was a soldier?” deflecting the topic from yourself to your genuine concerns, you go limp in his arms as levi twirls you around the room until he’s satisfied with your placement. positioning you in front of the windows, leaning slightly on the stool as he pushed you backwards until you could feel the cold glass frame through your nightgown. levi slovenly flicks the sash lock, holding onto the lift and pushing the window up, “where do you think i got all of this from?” you didn’t need any clarification to know that levi was referring to his equipment.

your chest tightens, constricting your airway as you stop breathing altogether to attain perfect stillness. you only look at him with vacant eyes, and it becomes too much when he doesn’t elaborate any further, “what did you do, levi?” he sticks his head through the window, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the top rail, and peering down at the ‘city,’ below. it isn’t as if he needed to, there wasn’t anyone on the streets. when levi pulls himself back into the room, he slings an arm around your hips to bring you closer, “what do you think i did? the man’s dead, do i have to spell it out for you?”

the prickling sensation underneath your skin erupts in waves across your entire body. you were no stranger to the realities of what went on around you, the hushed rumors of what men and women who had the will to do what they wanted to others simply because they were capable, and not out of survival necessity, “you’re sick, what is wrong with you?”

“call it what you want, but he has nothing for you. you want to leave the underground? hmph, well don’t we all?” levi mocks contemptuously, tightening his hold when he feels you threaten to slip away in the slightest. he moves you around like a rag doll by the sides of your body, until you're in front of him. levi closes the little space that was left between you, until you’re forced to grab onto him for support, seeing that straining your wrists to secure yourself by the windowsill was becoming too painful, “we can go wherever you want, but you won’t be going anywhere without me.”

suddenly, levi veers down. his body collapsing onto yours until you’re nearly halfway out of the window, and he, looming over you, “oh my god, what is wrong with you?!” you repeat, blood rushing to your head as you try to prevent your upper half from being upside down and being taken by gravity completely. levi guides your arms around his neck, loosely as you refuse to acknowledge you’re even embracing him in the first place, but your fear of falling surpasses your personal grudges. and in one swift motion, levi thrusts the rest of your body out of the window, and he follow suits mere seconds afterward. and you scream, as loud as humanly possible.

levi’s body never leaves yours, and you’re uncertain as to whether it’s because you won’t allow it, or because he won’t allow it. either way, the detach hold you had on his neck fastened into a tight chokehold the moment you had felt yourself even remotely lean back any further. the landing is much smoother than you anticipated, levi doesn’t let you touch the ground before he does. and if you hadn’t shut your eyes, or buried your face into the crook of his neck, you may have gotten to witness the vertical maneuvering equipment in action; what used to be a dream for you, to leave with it, but you could kiss those fantasies goodbye now that they found themselves in the hands of levi. and he’s cautious, all too cautious with you.

you’re trembling like a leaf, and he thinks that if he lets go of you, you’ll fall to the ground, “don’t think you haven’t pissed me off, now. there’s a million things i ought to do to you after getting with that sorry excuse of a man.” levi rests a warning hand on your shoulder, loutishly hauling you towards him until you just about trip over your feet. he makes sure you’re aware of the desolate area that surrounds you two; and it becomes increasingly obvious that no one would come to intervene. if not by your shrieking, then never. levi tilts his head with an unimpressed frown, “you’re lucky you’re pregnant with our kid, because i won’t even be half as merciful once they’re born.”

[binkszamsstuff]

Red

Very dark Steve! Mob Steve! Non con! Reader and Steve have a child. Angst!! Lots of grammar and spelling mistakes I’ll edit in the morning or never who knows🤷🏻‍♀️❤️

Red. the pain, the hurt, the passion, the love, everything was red. He was toxic, he was the obsessive. And you were his feen, his drug, his obsession , his love. But the days blurred, the lines no longer were standing, they had fallen. The fights, the late nights, the guessing and questions that went unanswered by him. It was a house on fire, it was red.

There was no time in the day to plan, with his anger, and yours. It was spontaneous, the fight had started because of steves affairs. The lying, the cheating, he ruined you, tore down all walls, made you just as obsessed with him as he was with you. Just to leave you in the dust, to cheat. To add gasoline to the fire that was you, or what was left of you anyhow.

Peggy was a glossy, classy woman with the perfect bubble of power and wittiness. She was everything you weren’t. You were messy, hazed with trouble, a woman gone mad by a man who drove her there. You were his frankenstein, you were old pieces of yourself glued back together again. The young, innocent, naive, funny, charming, and free girl was now chained to the scars he left.

You ran out of the house in the early morning, he came home late yet again. You had stayed up waiting for him, going to confront him in his act. Thats exactly what you did, but the end was not what you pictured. You hopped that he would hold you, say you were wrong, make love to you like in the beginning.

“Are you cheating on me?’ you asked quietly, you sat on the bed. You couldnt took at him.

“I dont want to have this conversation with you, it’ll only hurt you” steve spoke. That was all the answers you needed. You started to yell, scream, through insult after insult.

“I knew it! You’re scerwing peggy! Huh you’re fucking your secretary!” you yelled in his face crying. He rolled his eyes at you and shoved you to the side going to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“Im tried of this steve” you sobbed walking to the closet grabbing any bag in sight packing up everything.

Once steve heard you say that so defeated he knew that you were serious about leaving him. You and him had lots a fights because of his actions but everytime he kissed it better. He drew back in promising his love and that it will never happen again. But it always does. Steve now had his suite jacket off, his selves rolled up, strands of his hair in hs face,

“You’re not leaving me” he stated

“Watch me” you said back in anger, masking the sadness.

“y/n i own you, you’re mine! You cant leave me baby” he said getting angry.

“You cheated steve! Again. I-i cant do this i cant sit here and wait for you to love me again. We are not the people we were when we first started dating. I cant and wont be the drunk housewife waiting for her husband whose never gonna come back because his mistress.” you were out of breath from crying and talking so fast while packing.

Steve stepped closer “baby come on its me! Its us! We always get through stuff like this!” he tried to manipulate you with his soft words but this time it wouldn’t work. the naive girl you used died, not even a ghost left of her

“We wouldnt have to “get through this stuff” if you didnt cheat and fuck other women.” you held up air qoutes while talking.

“I love you” steve pulled you in near, kissing the top of your head. You sobbed in his chest, hurt, angry, betrayed. The three year relationship was now smoke, the fire was all burnt out. The engagement ring heavy on your finger, it was a line of whispered lies and i love yous.

Steve drew you to the bed, kissing his way up your neck. His hands sliding down your frame gripping your hips. His false hope whispered in your ear and apologies that didnt have any meaning stuck to you, like a cigarette burn. He took off your clothes and gently laid you on the bed. ‘When was the last time he was gentle with me?’ you thought to yourself as he kissed and licked at you lower lips.

“Say something baby, tell me you wont leave me, that you love me” he begged like he was the victim. You stayed silent, numb.

“prettybaby i love you. Say it back! I need you! I cant live with out you!” both of you now naked on the bed. he pushed himself into your entrance, all you could do was cry.

Steve begged and whined for you back but little did he know the car was running outside waiting to escape him and this burning house.

Steve fell asleep hugging you, his head resting on your tummy his arm wrapped around you. You ran your fingers through his hair, soaking up what was left of the man you used to know, he was burned alive, gone. You slowly pushed him off of you and got dressed, grabbing the bags on clothes and bathroom care you walked out. You looked around the house as you left, the nicknacs and photos of you and steve. The nursery that sat empty. Steve promised children but then came peggy. You kissed your engagement ring and then placed it on the entry table by steves keys.

Getting in the car and speeding off in to what was left of the mess steve made of you.

One year later-

A wail of a new born was calling out to you in the dead of the night. You never got frustrated being a single mother, reminding yourself when you caught yourself being negative that you could still be with steve. Penny was three months old and her blonde curly hair was sticking in every which way. It made you giggle.

“Hi! Mommys here its okay penny girl” you picked her up rocked her in your arms.

She might be steve daughter but you never let her know what pain she was created from, you would never let her end up like steve nor you.

“Mama loves you” you said as she closed her big eyes again just needing comfort from her mom to make her feel better. Steve didnt know that the night that the two of you had sex before you left was the cause of a beautiful little girl. He had tried to call, and text you put after smaing you phone and leaving to state of New York for Washington you knew he wouldnt find you.

You lived in a little white house with a garden in a small town tucked away from the crazy and hurt.

You sat in the rocking chair in pennys room rocking her, your tiredness was catching up to you. Just as your eyes started to close he spoke from the depths of the darkness that was the closet.

“Oh prettybaby you are such a good little mommy, just like i knew you would be” he walked closer.

You screamed. Getting up with penny in your arms backing away from him trying stumble to the door backwards,

“Get out. Steve get out! I-i cant-” you sobbed your hold on penny grew tighter.

“Baby its okay, i wont hurt you. y/n im so proud of you, look at the life you built for our little girl, now i am mad you didnt tell me you were pregnant. But baby she is gorgeous. Now i need you to decide either you come home or we can live out here. Ya know i kinda love it here. Good thinking babe this is great place to rise kids”

You sobbed harder.

“How did you find us” you asked crying, so scared.

“Oh baby dont be naive, i will always find you”

“You cant be in our life, your toxic and i wont rase my daughter in the life we used to have. She wont end up like us! You cant be here! You ruined me!’ you sobbed and hyperventilated. He slowly walked closer like approaching an injured animal

“Baby i know i know, i was wrong and mean and cruel to you. I was blind i thought you would always be there for me. I took you for granted. Shes gone y/n, i got rid of peggy, shes taking a long nap and i aint ever gonna hurt you like that again. I need you baby…..and i need to be in my daughters life. I cant live without you nor am i gonna be able to leave her all alone now too” he explained

“I wanna have a good life, nothing like the one we used to have. You scare me steve and you’ve hurt me” you said looking at little penny who had a frown on hef face, she could read the distress from her mother.

“y/n look at me!” steve grabbed your face in his hands and made you look at him. “I will make it up to you i promise. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you baby. I cant live without you” you shock your head no

“Its okay i get it y/n we need time, but im not going anywhere” steve spoke again.

“Come on lets put penny girl back in ger crib and go to bed” steve guided you to the crib and put penny down. She was right back to being cozy and sleepy. Steve pulled you in a hug while you sobbed into his chest, he was sliding his hand over your hair while shushing you.

“Come one lets go to sleep.” steve took your hand in his and leaded you back to your room. You laid down still crying, steve undressed himself down to his boxers and then joined you. He spooned you.

“I’ve missed you so much baby” was the last thing you heard before falling into slumber because you had cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

The house was burnt but in its ashes something new rose.

Authors note; i know some people will not understand why she didnt fight more, and the reason why was because she was in shock. It been and year and he shows up and shes like oh crap he found me and our now daughter. She is really scared of him and numb. Also steve is a mob boss by the way.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

I have to start this one with the sad news that the hero who saved others by stopping the terrorist yesterday, despite being stabbed in several places (including in the neck), has passed away. His name was Uri Moyal, he was 51 years old, he leaves behind a wife and three kids. Yesterday, the number of wounded was still not fully clear, today it's confirmed that in addition to Uri, the terrorist managed to injure 2 more people. In the pic below you can see Uri holding up a lifetime achievement award. At his funeral today, his daughter Sapir mourned him: "Thank you for being a dad, who was also a teacher for life. There is no one who knew you and didn't fall in love with you."

The German press has reported (so far I've only managed to find this English source) that this week, the antisemitic, genocidal slogan "From the river to the sea" has been found painted in Arabic on the site of the 1972 kidnapping and massacre of 11 Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists. I'll point out that recently, the grandson of one of the murdered athletes was attacked (he had several bones in his face broken) in Berlin by an Arab anti-Israel activist.

A terrorist attack was prevented from happening, when two Palestinians, carrying a big knife and a sword, were arrested on their way to a Jewish community in the middle of the night. They're currently being questioned.

After Canada and Sweden, now Australia has also announced that it will renew its funding of UNRWA. I may sound like a broken record, but this is morally broken. They KNOW that UN agency is complicit in countless crimes of helping anti-Jewish hate and violence, the IDF evidence uncovered thanks to the war are just the tip of the iceberg when we're actually talking about decades of complicity, and resuming the funding without any changes, without even an investigation into this being completed, means these countries don't even care about looking as if they care about Jewish and Israeli lives. It's beyond ccontemptible. So. Canada, Sweden and now Australia, whenever these countries' heads tell you that they care about human rights, know that this includes, "but not for Jews."

And because I mentioned the long, long complicity of UNRWA (and many in charge of or dealing with it), here's the CEO of the NGO UN Watch explaining it better than most can, because they have been working for years on calling attention to the wrongdoing of UNRWA:

There's this common lie spread by the anti-Israel crowd, that everything was just peachy between Jews and Muslim in the Middle East, until Zionism came along. This is a blatant erasure of repeated discrimination, persecution, forced conversions, expulsions and massacres perpetrated against Jews living in Muslim majority countries for centuries. The ethnic cleansing of the entire Middle East of Jews (other than in Israel) is only the climax of that long history of antisemitism under Muslim rule, exactly like the Holocaust is just the climax of the long history of antisemitism under Christian European rule. And yesterday, I came across another reminder.

I was listening to an interview with Rabbi Abraham Cooper, an American rabbi, about the discrimination he had recently suffered during a trip to Saudi Arabia. I'd read the headlines, but hearing him tell it in his own words (in amazing Hebrew, might I add) really drove it home. He was heading a US delegation meant to inspect the state of religious freedom in Saudi Arabia, when he gets a phone call from the Saudi Ministry of Foreign Affairs, telling him that the Saudis have laws which must be respected, and which dictate that no one but "the members of our religion" (meaning, Muslims) can walk around publicly displaying signs of their religious identity. In other words, Rabbi Cooper was told to remove his kippah (the head cover religious Jews wear). Rabbi Cooper asked the official on the phone, whether he was sure, and tried arguing against this decision. When the demand was reaffirmed, Rabbi Cooper responded that he wouldn't take off his kippah for the Soviets decades ago, and he wouldn't be taking it off for the Saudis, either. That meant he had to leave, and so the delegation had to end its visit. This isn't a small incident of anti-Jewish discrimination in the 1930's, in an Arab country where no one would even bat an eye at that. This is a Saudi official, speaking to an American Jew, in 2024, during an official visit, meant to check the state of religious freedom in that country, while Saudi Arabia is doing its best to present a more tolerant, modern and progressive image for the world. And this still happened. There is a long tradition of antisemitism in the Middle East, it doesn't simply disappear even when Jews were forced to, and the attempts to deny it with the excuse of "But Zionism!" are antisemitic, too.

This is Hadar Gadol.

He's an Israeli author, a practitioner of alternative medicine, and as a reservist, he serves as a casualty officer (an army official who lets a family know that their loved one was killed in combat, in Israel a casualty officer also continues to work with and support the family after the initial notification, kind of like a social worker appointed by the army). In January, IDF soldier Mark Kononovich was killed. A few weeks ago, as party of taking care of the family, Hadar took Mark's dad Alex on a tour of the last army post where Mark and the friends who died with him had slept. In the middle of that, Hadar got a heart attack. Alex happens to be a doctor, he recognized the signs, administered some first aid, and made sure Hadar would be taken to the hospital to receive the treatment he needed. This is Hadar after being released from the hospital, visiting Alex to thank him (you can also see Mark's younger brother in the pic):

During this visit, Alex told Hadar, "You took our case as very close to you, you felt it like we do, very close to the heart." I have no doubt their bond is gonna be there for years to come. Hadar is actually not the first Israeli casualty officer I've heard of, who collapsed and was in need of hospitalization since Oct 7, just the latest. I think that in a way says something about how acutely Israelis feel the pain of the massacre, whether we personally lost someone or not.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[lauralot89]

Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I., etc.

I searched this trying to figure out what the fuck was happening, and these were the results:

Thankfully, the Dracula Daily subreddit had my back:

Had the same question and there probably should have been a comma between S and L. MD - Medical Doctor MRCS - Member Royal College of Surgeons LKQCPI - Licentiate of the Kings and Queens College of Physicians of Ireland

He has had another outbreak

Poor Renfield. First Dracula ditches him for Lucy, and then Seward does the same.

I went down to see if I could make out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred

Except for his fits of violence he's never been violent

led me to believe that he was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of his cunning

I mean that's not particularly cunning, that's what a toddler does when they realize they're about to be in trouble for acting up and/or the Shaggy Defense

Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death.

I keep remembering that he's saying all this out loud. So dramatic. Can't blame him.

Her teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they had been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the canine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest.

There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled round—doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim—and every now and again struck the window with its wings.

what are you even doing Dracula, do you just want to watch your girl transform?

I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic flowers from her throat.

Oh shit

It was certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close.

This is sad. I'm sad now. Damn it, Dracula.

The wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared.

Oh shit.

For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with his face at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly:—

"She is dying. It will not be long now.

well it would have been five minutes longer if you hadn't stood there gaping at her

He was stooping to kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. "No," he whispered, "not yet! Hold her hand; it will comfort her more."

Guys, if ever I lay dying, I just want you to know that I do prefer hand-holding and forehead kisses to mouth kisses. I don't know why this will ever be relevant, but just so you know.

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!"

Lucy what are you even planning here, are you going to suck the blood out of his lips? His tongue?

Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great brown one; drawing it to her, she kissed it. "My true friend," she said, in a faint voice, but with untellable pathos, "My true friend, and his! Oh, guard him, and give me peace!"

no that's fine, I didn't need my heart anyway

Do you ever wonder if Dracula had similar emotions when he turned

I took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing-room, where he sat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a way that nearly broke me down to see.

I too am broken

"Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!"

When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:—

"We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see."

FOR FUCK'S SAKE, MAN

[4acoffee]

Hold Me Tight (Or Don't)

Headcannon that if something happened to upset them, there would be more people to comfort Deku than Katsuki. u know what I mean.

Words. 1.0k~

Notes. I'm sorry I always write bakugou so sad, but hey, it gets me the notes. I hope this makes up for not posting much bakugou content in awhile.

Masterlist

Several years after his unexpected retirement, the crushing death of All Might shook the whole world once again.

And it was no quiet affair, people from all around the globe came together to pay their respects for the fallen hero. His loyal students made certain that everything the Symbol of Peace sacrificed for the people he loved would never be forgotten.

Standing amongst the hundreds of solemn people dressed in black like ants at his funeral, made you realize just how small and insignificant you really are.

The selfless actions of one man led to the gratitude and inspiration of so many when he did everything in his power to leave this world better than it was when he first came into it.

While you didn't know him personally, you met him through your friends from high school. Sweet, bubbly Midoriya who you went to school with, would never miss an opportunity to ramble on and on about his childhood hero.

Seeing him grieve now made a wave of sadness envelop your heart in a choke hold. His regularly bright, emerald eyes that held all the worlds hope in them, glistened with shed and unshed tears.

The great Symbol of Peaces' successor, wept for his fallen mentor, with his friends who mourned with him.

Rain began to pour from the skies as you moved to join them. A melancholy smile worked its way onto your face at the irony. It seemed as if the heavens itself lamented at the loss.

You silently thanked the weatherman for being accurate in his predictions for once as you unfolded your umbrella.

The others around you did the same, some deciding that it was a sign to leave and retreated to their cars. Looking around, you paused when you caught sight of one figure hunched over near the lavishly decorated tomb for the hero.

The distinct ash blonde head was unmistakable, and you noticed that his usually annoyingly sharp and messy hair was drooping sadly from the downpour and lack of an umbrella.

You spared a glance at Midoriya to see that he was not covered by just one, but multiple umbrellas from several people over his place on the ground. Even Kirishima and the rest of his closer friends were standing with him.

While Midoriya had more than a handful of people to rub his back comfortingly and murmurer reassuring words to him, ― you realized that no one seemed to notice just how hard it was on the #2 hero.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten that Deku was not the only hero mentored by their beloved champion.

He looked so fucking alone — abandoned.

Suddenly, you wanted to slap yourself for not noticing earlier. His dark clothes befitting the occasion were soaked through from the rain and stuck uncomfortably to his skin, and you didn't miss the way his shoulders shook with silent shudders.

It made you almost uncomfortable to see him like this, with his usual attitude, it felt utterly wrong to watch someone like him look so broken.

Even if offering to assist did get your ass hurled into the outer reaches of space, you couldn't sit idly by and watch him suffer like this.

You moved to make your way to him when he suddenly collapsed onto his knees. Startled, you hurried your pace, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the state he was in.

Hand curled tightly in his hair in a way that looked painful, he looked up suddenly when you moved your umbrella over him. Your grip on it tightens when you see his eyes all glossy and red with tears, it makes the carmine of his irises look dull and lifeless.

Water runs in rivulets down the sides of his face, a mix of droplets falling from his hair and streaks of tears you couldn't really tell apart.

It made your chest hurt to see him like this, as you carefully kneeled down next to him. How could you have not noticed earlier? You can only imagine how this whole situation must be eating up at him. You didn't know him as well as your other friends, but you've spent enough time with him to know just how much he looked up to the former symbol of peace.

His eyes never left yours as you both watched each other in silence. It seemed he couldn't even find it in himself to look angry at you for bothering him. He sounded so horribly fragile and on the verge of breaking down when he spoke to you, "What do you want, huh?" His voice cracked and he pulled tighter at his hair, "Shouldn't you be with Deku?"

A sudden cough racked through his body and that seemed to unleash another load of tears from his tired eyes. You watched him carefully and reached out to gently pry his hand from where it was twisted in his unruly hair.

It was rough with scars and trembled sorrowfully in your grasp and you squeezed it in what you hoped was a reassuring manner. He gasped out one last sob and met your eyes again.

"Oh Bakugou, it's ok to feel sad right now. I'm gonna be right here if you need me."

Bakugou stared at you, he looked terribly beautiful and miserable at the same time, and you swore that you would do anything too never see such an expression on his face ever again.

His lips trembled and you thought he was going to say something when a sudden tremble shook through his body, and he chocked out another sob. His head drooped towards you almost violently, and you dropped your umbrella. Pulling him towards you and holding him on your arms as he gripped at your smaller figure tightly. Like you would crumble to dust before him too if he let go.

The rain seeped through your black funeral gown and chilled your skin, but you only clutched him tighter. You would hold him as long as he needs. Until he feels whole again, until you never had to see his pretty red eyes look so dead ever again.

Your heart ached for the broken hero in your arms under a crying sky.

[tictacpbandai]

Finished FFVII Rebirth and while I have a lot of thoughts about it, I REALLY want to talk about its world design and how they built off of the existing world of VII.

Break cause this is long and kinda rambly

Okay, so I love the aesthetic of the world, both purely for the aesthetics (I love overgrown, weathered, and decaying machinery) but also for what it says.

The abandoned industrial machinery, collapsing buildings, and decaying highways almost feels post apocalyptic, with the ways the wreckage is inhabited and being used for scrap, giving more of a post-post-apocalypse.

But the apocalypse in question is just Shinra.

There weren't any massive mega weapons unleashed (yeah theres stuff like the canon in Junon but thats not really what I mean here), no plagues, sure there was war but they're farily distant in time or location.

No it's purely the dominance of The Shinra Electric Power Company and its negligence in maintenance and lack of public investment outside of that which'll direclty impact the managerial class and the troops.

They stop maintaining highways cause if their managers are traveling they can afford to fly, construction and excavation equipment gets abandoned in the desert cause it's not producing anymore and doing anything to move or disassemble any of it is more expense than it's worth, failed remote Mako reactors sit abandoned and full of hazardous material cause why should Shinra give a shit? it's not like they have any reason to care about the people who relied on them, what're they gonna do?

And because it's happened on such a long timescale nobody in the world really seems to conceptualize it as an apocalypse, just a sad state of affairs, maybe one with a clear cause, but nobody views the world as *being* post-apocalyptic despite it being so.

Famously apolitical video game Final Fantay 7

[the-write-thing3]

"I know you better."

Laurens had been gone for quite some time, still, the memory of him lingered. He sees him everywhere, from the birds singing nature’s hymns to the shine in his son’s eyes. Still, Laurens stayed young and his body was one with the earth for nearly ten years now - had it really been that long? Maybe it was time to set the pen down and sleep. The New York summer had been stifling, having his wife and children upstate removed some of the suffocation. Still, he was but a man and became lonely. He swiftly remedied that with home visits to Ms. Reynolds, who seemed grateful for his company. Alexander hums with satisfaction at the thought of his last escapade. When the candle flickered, he was brought back to the present day and the essay he was near finishing. He would have to visit her again tomorrow. As he went to dock his pen, a hand stopped him. 

To say that his blood ran cold would not be enough. 

It could not be. 

Afraid to look up, but still willing himself, Alexander’s eyes worked their way up a creme-colored suit. Death could never destroy such beauty. God himself most likely crafted the wings to match his radiance. Even in this sleep-starved state, Alexander knew he looked into the eyes of his beloved. Somehow his knees allowed him to rise. 

“John?” He hadn’t said that name with such love and tenderness in so long. When the man, nay, angel smiled at him? How his heart burst. 

“How are you here? You made it into heaven? Please tell me you are well.” Alexander went to hold his dearest when John stopped him. 

John stopped him. 

Why did John stop him?

"I know you better, Alexander." The warm smile turned into disappointment. "I know you better. Why would you do this to your wife?"

He thought of playing dumb, but if this man was to be God’s best angel, he likely knew all. Opening his mouth to offer an excuse and once again Laurens stopped him. 

"I come to warn you once, and only once, Alexander. Quit your affair, it will bring you more trouble than you can ever know. You can be better, I know it. I believe you can move past this and be faithful."

As the angel’s words began to process into Alexander’s mind, guilt formed a pit in his stomach. "How do you know this? What happens if I don’t stop? You’re just a dream, John. I will wake up this morning to a cold bed and a broken heart again because you couldn’t stay alive!" His patented rage increased with each sentence.

Anger, sadness, and then understanding radiated from the messenger. Alexander’s own rage shrank into nothingness with each expression. "I wish you would learn the easy way, beloved. I know you have the capacity to grow. You’re but a seedling now. I will see you on the other side."

His back ached from the uncomfortable position it had been in for ages, so he sat up and regretted aging once more. The essay he had worked on was ruined by the dribble coming from his open mouth. His candle burned out hours ago. As Alexander noticed how the sun filtered through his windows, a beautiful cardinal sat on a branch outside. Its song was lyrical and every note only grew the pit inside of him.

[maidragoste]

Hi !

(Im the anon that said "DELICIOUS" when you wrote about rhaenyra and reader's crush on eachother, i also made some headcannons of the reader being able to fight and how that makes her closer to the boys, idk if ou remember me 😂 ,im saying this so i can ask to be 👻 anon)

About what the other anon said about jace and readers relationship, i had a thought that i would like to share 🥰

Remember when rhaenyra and daemon came back and saw the new state of the palace (it was all dark and religious)

-So imagine they get there and its all free spirited and disney-like, aegon is not drinking, aemond is reading and halaena is playing, when they just start running .

-is the reader, who is coming back from one of her "raids" .

-They all scream : "mama!", and they run to her to give her a hug.

- when rhaenyra sees her again is like she doesnt even recognize her, shes confident, powerfull.

-they all have dinner and it feels like rhaenyra and harwin were never missed, both of them look at her, how they are with the children, how jace admires her and how dismissive she is of them.

- also , i feel like daemon is going to have a arya stark and the hound friendship with her and its going to be cute.🤭❤

-harwin still wrotes for you and misses you, its somehow even worse, now you talk to him with pity, like he is a bother in your life

I love this story! Hope you find this cool!

Hi, anon, yes I remember you. I'm so glad you wrote again 🥰🥰

I apologize if I misunderstood any of the headcanons because I was somewhat confused and I don't know how well I understood. I understood that Rhaenyra and Harwin went somewhere and that Jacaerys stayed in King's Landing with Reader.

-I LOVE the idea of green kids calling the reader "mom" but I don't see them calling her that in public. It would draw a lot of attention. In public they would surely call her "aunt". But yes, every time she comes back from her trips or her raids they run to hug her 🥰🥰

-Now if Jacaerys called Reader "mom" in public that would make the whole court talk about it. Above all, people would point out how the princess's own son seemed to prefer Reader more and how she seems to be a better mother. That would be good for the greens because it's bad publicity for Rhaenyra. Why would they support Rhaenyra when it seems that not even her own son chooses her? Still, it's hard for me to imagine that happening because Jacaerys loves Rhaenyra. He loves both of his moms. He is the son of a divorce 😔

-Rhaenyra admiring Reader throughout dinner and trying to get her attention but Reader only has her attention on Alicent and the kids.

-I can see a friendship between Reader and Daemon because I feel that at one point the two came to love each other and respect each other a lot. Besides that Daemon loves the fact that Reader is a dragon rider and knows how to fight, I'm sure that on more than one occasion they fought among themselves and went flying together. But I feel like everything changes between them once Jacaerys is born. Daemon always admired Reader's fire and expected a reaction, he hoped she would make Harwin and Rhaenyra pay. Then he was disappointed to see that she did nothing. Before his eyes, Reader now became the same as the rest of the women of Westeros, letting herself be trampled on by her husband. And Reader is not stupid, she realizes how Daemon sees her now or treats her like before. This is sad because Daemon is only frustrated with Reader because he knows she has potential and he knows she's smart enough to find a way to get rid of Harwin but she still endures the humiliation of Harwin and Rhaenyra's affair. But what ends up breaking the friendship between Reader and Daemon are: The deaths of Laena and Laenor and the wedding of Daemon and Rhaenyra.

-Harwin will always have hope that one day you will give him a chance again…

Thanks again for writing to me, I hope to hear from you again soon and I hope you are well anon 🥰🥰💕💕