#written by woodvale

[woodvalewrites]

:: the start of an age // james x maria // for @inastonswithlove ::

They had done it, they had won. Here she was in number 10, surrounded by her team and yet she had never felt more alone. She knew that she wasn't going to be able to relax that evening, wondering what she would do with herself when she heard the knock at the door.

Checking her watch, she noted the time, who on earth would be arriving at gone 10pm, on a Friday night nonetheless.

"Come in.." She called out hesitantly.

[woodvalewrites]

Kelsey had been going through the motions of rehab, recovery and sobriety. In reality, it was all thanks to Malcolm, who had told her in no uncertain terms that she needed to escape politics. Now, she was forty-seven days sober and admittedly feeling much better for it.

She had even gone down to Mullion to visit her mother, only returning to London earlier that day. Seeing her phone light up with the text, she had to admit she was surprised, quickly shooting a text back to him. I've definitely been worse, Malcolm.

You have to know that I haven't found a job yet.

Come over to talk specifics tomorrow?

Kels x

:: i'm still standing // malcolm x kelsey // for woodvalewrites ::

⸻

It had been such a long day. Moreover, his mind was headed to places where it shouldn't have been. He wondered how Kelsey was doing, how she was now that the dust had settled. He was thankfully working at a new job. He was with a conflict resolution company, on the board of negotiations. They were called Off The Table. Jamie and Sam were both with him, thank fucking god.

On a whim, he sent Kelsey a text after settling at his kitchen table with a quick dinner.

How are you doing?

I have a proposition for you. Do you need a job?

Come join me at Off The Table.

MT

[lipslikethegardensofbabylon]

#ttpd analysis day nine - Guilty As Sin?

there are not enough words to convey how in love i am with the repeated motif of love being a religion. ex, sacred prayer i was there, stained glass windows in my mind, we bless the rains on Cornelia street, lord save me, etc etc etc. it’s difficult to neatly identify all of the lyrics this track parallels but the two primary songs are False God and ivy. this is one of my fave tracks she’s ever done and my only hot take is that this should’ve been a track 13. without further ado -

drowning in the Blue Nile - this line is genius for all of the implications, yes it’s a band, it’s also that (continued) metaphor for depression (ocean wave blues, I’m with you even if it makes me blue, etc), and in discussing with @aslowmotionlovepotion she also said denial is not just a river in egypt

falling back into the hedge maze is one of my favorite lyrics, there’s something so deeply romantic to me about falling (or as she says, crashing) fully into someone and getting tangled up/lost in the feelings. if you follow the imagery and previous tracks she basically describes being lost at sea, clinging (even white knuckling) the raft, and it’s almost like she comes to shore and enters this Alice in Wonderland type labyrinth as partially a reprieve but there’s also this residual guilt (am I allowed to cry?). I just love the imagery; she describes something lush and green when she could’ve described it more clinically like a chess game as she did in Dear John. idk it just speaks volumes to me. continuing with the lush imagery, the song parallels a lot of ivy

one slip and falling back into the hedge maze /your ivy grows and now I'm covered

oh, what a way to die, I keep recalling things we never did/I'd live and die for moments that we stole

my boredom’s bone-deep/I’d meet you where the spirit meets the bones

these fatal fantasies/I wish to know the fatal flaw

If it’s make believe/I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland

what if I roll the stone away/my house of stone

it’s a fire, it’s a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it/my sheets are ablaze

also the religious imagery and the False God (my other beloved) parallels are just

throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks/we were stupid to jump in the ocean separating us

oh, what a way to die/remember how I said I'd die for you?

why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?/we might just get away with it

religion's in your lips/messy top lip kiss

the altar is my hips/what if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh?

what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?/I know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me

I choose you and me religiously/even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love

I keep these longings locked in lowercase, inside a vault could be directly referring to folkmore. it could also be journal entries, poetry, or woodvale! (jk about the last part, lol). but i think the most obvious connection would be to loml on the same album, there are also religious lyrics within that track, but in going through the album I’m trying not to fully discuss later tracks until it’s their turn in the tracklist.

i also want to include this little bit

"La petite mort", from French: Small death, is an expression meaning "short loss or weakening of consciousness / consciousness".

it’s interesting considering the sex/orgasm euphemism and how closely it follows the repeated glimmers of death in Guilty As Sin? these fatal fantasies/building up like waves crashing over my grave/oh, what a way to die/they're gonna crucify me anyway

ending it with the dreamy am I allowed to cry? also reminds me of gold rush which “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it”

[kellykswift]

Mass coming out theory vs. Taylors work

So I d like to add my 2 cents to this excellent post, done by @daisyswift3

DISCLAIMER: I know that her art has other references / meanings as well like for example the ones about her muse etc. But I am ONLY focusing on the mass coming out theory connecting to Taylors work

I think this mass coming out theory is true and the first "public" easter egg was this interview in 2021 - when Taylor promoted RED TV. She is talking about easter eggs and jumping in the water.

WATER. SEA. OCEAN. - keep en eye out for those. She already told us in 2021. So i digged into it because it totally makes sense in 2024 - also with the latest events, posted by @daisyswift3

When the theory is correct and the plan of the mass coming out started around 2020/2021 – then we need to take a look into Taylors work. In this interview she also said that she recently hid her secret codes in the capital letters of her lowercase lyrics. So folklore is the first album with ONLY lowercase song titles. Maybe this mass coming out thing was just an idea first, but by the end of 2021, when RED TV was released, the plan fall got more specific.

So lets start with FOLKLORE

We know that Taylor is an excellent cone artist (aka cowboy like me). Maybe the lowercase thing was just an idea at first and the plan was not specific yet, therefore she only dropped the hint in an interview in 2021.

When Folklore was released, she made sure we believe Folklore is pure fiction written from different perspectives. But she also said in an interview when asked about it (one of the few she did for Folklore):

My world felt opened up creatively. There was a point that I got to as a writer who only wrote very diaristic songs that I felt it was unsustainable for my future moving forward. So what I felt after we put out Folklore was like "oh wow, people are into this too, this thing that feels really good for my life and feels really good for my creativity… it feels good for them too?"

— Swift on how Folklore changed her creative process moving forward, Apple Music 1

What if the original plan of a mass coming out was established during this writing process? The tortured poets, where Taylor is chairman … they existed in 2020.

Here are the songs containing water, sea, ocean imagery either in lyrics or in actual images.

BONUS:  mentioning of poets the first time in the lakes (and she made sure we get it because she released the original version of this song on July 24, 2021.

Remember the whole Woodvale thing?

… none of it was accidental.

The 1: Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

cardigan: Leaving like a father, running like water

The Last Great American Dynasty: They say she was seen on occasion, pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

My Tears Ricochet: And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

Seven: Feet in the swing over the creek

Peace: I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade, ocean wave blues come

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

Hoax

This is me trying

August

Exile

So lets move on to EVERMORE

To be honest, I am not so sure how Evermore fits into the narrative. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t acknowledge it, although it’s an amazing peace of art!

My guess is, that she made another HUGE hint to TTPD. It was released on Emily Dickinson's birthday.

… so does this sound familiar?

Also I think Guilty as sin is related to Evermore: I keep these longings locked in lower case inside a vault (Gold rush for example).

Water

So WATER. SEA. OCEAN.

willow: I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night

gold rush: Eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting, I almost jumped in

Long Story Short: And my waves meet your shore ever and evermore

Marjorie: Long limbs and frozen swims, you’d always go past where our feet could touch

Evermore: I’m on waves, out being tossed

Coney Island

Happiness

No body no crime

Carolina – released on june 24 2022 – this whole movie is basically on water.

O Carolina creeks running through my veins

Carolina: It’s between me, the sand, and the sea

Also very TTPD themed:

Oh, Carolina knows Why for years they've said That I was guilty as sin And sleep in a liar's bed But the sleep comes fast And I'll meet no ghosts It's between me, the sand, and the sea

Cassandra:

So, they killed Cassandra first 'cause she feared the worst And tried to tell the town So, they filled my cell with snakes, I regret to say Do you believe me now?

Guilty as sin

Someone told me There's no such thing as bad thoughts Only your actions talk These fatal fantasies Giving way to labored breath Taking all of me We've already done it in my head If it's make believe Why does it feel like a vow We'll both uphold somehow?

TSMWEL

Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed? Were you writing a book? Were you a sleeper cell spy? In fifty years, will all this be declassified? And you'll confess why you did it And I'll say, "Good riddance" 'Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden I would've died for your sins Instead, I just died inside

The ghost in Anti Hero

I just love the ghost, that’s why I put it here.

So flash forward to midnights. My assumption is, that since the pandemic has been over, and she was able to tour again, she wanted to do one LAST TS the brand heist (because speak now diamond heist music video was a hint to that) and create the biggest thing possible. The Eras tour. I haven’t looked much into midnights but the main hint for the mass coming out theory is the last scene in her tour: the Truman show paralells.

Here is the post to this analysis:

https://www.tumblr.com/kylieswift31/757073433557352448?source=share

I know it sounds crazy but I think the whole TTPD concept started already around 2021 before midnights was released.

If you wanna fall down the rabbit whole, here are also some amazing connections:

[tolerateit]

Poll request if it hasn't been done yet (I haven't seen it as written below on my dash (only variations of it) but then again, I've been busy and off tumblr for a few days)

Favorite Taylor Conspiracy:

1. Scrapped Karma Album 2. Long Pond Evermore Sessions 3. Secret Brother Album Woodvale 4. She Bought Her Masters Back 5. She Knows Which Rerecording Is Next AND When It's Happening 6. She Planned On Releasing 1989 TV First Not Red TV, Hence The Announcement 7. She's Only Seen in Public When She Wants To Be 8. 8 Theory

[daisgillam]

taylor wrote tis the damn season when she was DRUNK?? who writes “there’s an ache in you out there by the ache in me” and “the holidays linger like bad perfume” and “wonder about the only soul who can which smiles i’m faking” when they’re drunk…when i’m drunk i just talk too loud and lie on floors….i simply do not believe

[katierosefun]

good morning everyone, apparently people are thinking there’s a third album to the folklore series called “woodvale”, and i’m gonna lose my mind if it’s true

[imhereonthekitchenfloor]

what is the karma theory?? I know about woodvale but I've never heard of that one

I lowkey believe the Karma theory in the most basic sense.

The very basis of the theory lies in the fact that Taylor released an album in the fall every other year. This means she would release an album in October 2016. The album would most likely be about the previous two years of her life as every other album cycle went. Taylor instead said she would take a break after 1989 era and she released reputation in November 2017. She said NYD was the last written song on the album and it was all written fall/early winter 2016. The theory (and the part I subscribe to) is that there was probably songs written between 2014 and 2016 that Taylor could have easily formed into an album. She "scrapped" it all when she met Joe and centered reputation around him instead.

This was kind of controversial on whether or not Taylor wrote songs and didnt release them. Most people pointed to no. I disagree but no big deal. Then, March 2020 Taylor releases The Man music video. As seen below all the album titles plus the word "Karma" are seen.

The "missing" sign references her masters being bought out from under her. People thought that Karma was an unreleased album and the 1989 era was the time it was written over. They also reference Taylor's vouge interview during 1989 era where she said "karma is real" as proof it was a completed album. There's probably more details to this theory, but I think that covers the main points

[phoebe-delia]

Wip Snip

I was tagged by the amazing @corvuscrowned, @aqua-myosotis, @orange-peony, and @thesleepiesthufflepuff, thank you all! I loved reading your snippets 💛💛

Most of my WIPs are for anon fests, and while I wish I could talk about them, I sadly cannot. Still, I got one! I've had this fic idea for a long time, but I've procrastinated because I kept not having any inspiration, but it finally kinda struck today. I think—I think—it might possibly be the last in the official Drarry as TS series. I'm not saying that's for certain, or that I'll never write another TS songfic. But this is the last album that hasn't been represented in the series and while I ended up doing two for folklore, I only originally planned on doing one per album. If anyone's curious, the song for this fic is from Debut, but I'm not going to tell you which one. That's for me to know and you to find out lol.

Needless to say, ending the series would be very, very bittersweet for me. So it's entirely possible that, after I write this, I'll be compelled to write another one, which is part of why nothing is at ALL official. I'm just saying, that's the background for this. Also, I mean, hey, Woodvale could be a thing. Or Karma. Or whatever TS10 is. Plus vault tracks for Debut, Speak Now, 1989 and reputation lmao.

WOW this is a lot of needless build-up for, like, a few sentences so I'm gonna stop now lol. Enjoyyyy:

'You like the red candies best; I can tell, because every time she feeds you one of those, your eyes light up a little more. The orange ones are your least favorite, but you eat them anyway without complaint because you’re effortlessly good in a way I’ll never be; in a way she is. But I could try, for you. If only you’d let me.'

Draco sighed to himself, reading over the note before folding it up neatly and putting it with the rest in the pocket of his bookbag. He wasn’t sure if Healer Rostova had been genuine when she suggested writing down his feelings when they got too…big to manage, or if she was trying to collect physical, written evidence of his vulnerable thoughts, only to one day steal them, put them in a book and sell it in Flourish and Blotts for a nice profit. 

It was probably the former. Probably.

_

My brain is empty rn so tagging anyone who wants to do this!

[loverdeluxe]

not to be too loud but i think ts10 is really coming and her name is woodvale. taylor just tweeted 3 emojis as in the third album in the triology.

“woodvale” wouldn’t be written for no reason in the folklore photoshoot:

she used capital letters for WOODS as in WOODvale:

this!!:

ALSO woodvale is a property in the lakes district near lake windermere aka the lakes taylor wrote the lakes about... :

anyway NOT A LOT IS GOING ON AT THE MOMENT

[woodvalewrites]

About Me

Pen Name: Woodvale, yes inspired by Taylor Swift.

Age: 24

Location/Timezone: UK, GMT

Writing Experience: 14+ years across multiple platforms including Facebook, Twitter/X and Discord.

Fun Facts: I sporadically host a writing hashtag over on Mastodon.

Generally, my muses lie within Doctor Who, The Thick of It and Grey's Anatomy. Occasionally, I venture further afield but muse may be more sporadic in that case.

[path-of-my-childhood]

Aaron Dessner on the 'Weird Avalanche' That Resulted in Taylor Swift's “Evermore”

By: Lyndsey Havens for Billboard Date: December 18th 2020

One day this fall, Taylor Swift walked into Aaron Dessner’s home to wish his daughter a happy 9th birthday - but that wasn't the only reason Swift was there.

She was mostly there to film the Disney+ special, Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions, in which she was meeting up with her primary Folklore collaborators - The National’s Dessner and Jack Antonoff. They had all gathered for the first time at Dessner’s upstate New York studio to play her record-breaking album live.

On the last night of filming the special (a process that was done while following CDC guidelines, with a limited crew and COVID-19 testing), Dessner recalls how he, Antonoff and Swift stayed up until 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. - drinking and celebrating the more-than-warm embrace Folklore had received. But in the days that followed, Swift ended up staying, and she and Dessner unexpectedly continued working. Eventually, they had 17 more songs, all of which became the sister album, Evermore, released on Dec. 11.

“Folklore almost immediately was treated as a classic or a masterpiece,” says Dessner. “It was elevated fairly quickly and had been commercially really successful, so obviously it’s hard to follow something like that up. But one of the things I love about Evermore is the ways in which Taylor was jumping off different cliffs. The ability she has to tell these stories, but also push what she’s doing musically, is really kind of astonishing. It’s like I went to some crash course, some masters program, for six months.”

Below, Dessner tells Billboard all about the work that went into his second album in five months with one of the world's biggest pop stars.

With Folklore a lot of the production and arrangements came from a folder you had sent Taylor. Did you continue to pull from there, or was Evermore made from scratch?

A lot more of it 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.

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?”

And then it just kept going. She wrote "Gold Rush” with Jack [Antonoff] and by the end there were 17 songs, and it was only a couple months after Folklore came out, so it’s pretty wild. Each time we would just be in disbelief and kind of like, “How is this possible?” Especially because we didn’t need to talk much about structure or ideas or anything - it was just this weird avalanche.

Considering how industry-shaking Folklore was, what pressure did that introduce this time around?

I think because of how we made it, it really wasn’t like producing some giant record or something, it still had this very homespun feeling to it. There may have been a moment or two when I think Taylor was wondering when and how to put out Evermore, but I think the stronger it became, and as each song came together, it just started to feel like, "This is a sister record - it’s part of the same current of creativity and collaboration and the stories feel inter-related."

And aesthetically, to me, Evermore is wilder and has more of a band dynamic at times. You can feel her songwriting sharpen even more on it, in terms of storytelling, and also just this freedom to make the kinds of songs that were coming. When she started to write in a less diaristic way and tell these stories, I think she found she had this incredible wealth of experience and depth to her storytelling that was quite natural. She could easily make these songs more reflective or blur the lines of what’s autobiographical and what's not in interesting ways. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Folklore was made entirely remotely, how did that process change for Evermore?

This was both. Some of it was remote, but then 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.

Did you watch the Disney+ special?

I’m not a big fan of watching myself - but I did watch it, and I thought it was beautiful. It’s funny, because it was very DIY in a sense; a tight little small crew was there to do it, nobody was styling us or fixing our hair or anything like that, it’s very authentic. I rehearsed a little bit before, but both of us - Jack and I - were pretty much figuring it out as we went.

And I think the nice thing is that all of the songs could work like that, and that’s partly a testament to the strength of the album. Without big production tricks or backing vocals or anything like that, the songs stand up, and Taylor just sang the crap out of them. And hanging out with them was so much fun. They’re kind of like siblings almost; they’ve known each other a long time, there’s this quick humor between them.

Would you like to do something like that again with Evermore?

I don’t know if you can recreate exactly what we did with Folklore. I haven’t actually talked to anyone about that. But to me, the songs of Evermore would be even more fun to play, because more of them feel like band songs. But, that being said, I won’t be disappointed if we don’t - there is no plan afoot right now to do that.

During an interview on Jimmy Kimmel Live! Jimmy asked Taylor about the rumors behind Woodvale and if there’s a third album coming, to which she said she’s exhausted. How are you feeling energy wise?

I think we both feel like it was Mission: Impossible - and we pulled it off. I imagine that we’ll make music together in some ways forever, because it was that sort of chemistry, and I’m so thankful and grateful for what happened, but I think there’s a lot there. It’s not just the two albums, there’s also bonus tracks, and two of my favorite songs aren’t even on this record. We’re not pouring into another one now.

I’m going to finish the Big Red Machine album - I was really very close to finishing it when all of a sudden the Folklore and Evermore vortex opened up, and actually Taylor has been really helpful and involved with that as well - and The National is starting to talk about making music, and I think she’ll probably take a break. But I’m so excited for any future things we might do -- it’s definitely a lifelong relationship. And I’d say the same for all the people who worked on these records, including my brother and everybody who contributed. It’s a really special legacy.

[sprnklersplashes]

stars around my scars

or, the tatto artist!robin au that no-one asked for but everyone gets (ao3)

Ever since he was 11, Theo has wanted a tattoo. He still remembers the day he first asked, if only because of his dad’s expression. He had hurried across the schoolyard, with a cardigan that was slightly too big for him and his backpack hanging off one shoulder, thrown himself into the car, and proudly rolled up his sleeve to show his dad the ‘tattoo’ Sabrina had given him during homeroom. It was simple really, a sword and shield adorned with his initials. His dad had chuckled at it fondly, the way any parent would chuckle at their child’s antics, and started to pull out of the parking space when Theo asked, “so when can I get a real tattoo?”.

He very nearly crashed the truck.

His answer was simply “when you’re older”, and being 11, that felt an age away to Theo, and he felt his chest sink at the idea of waiting for so long.

In the run up to his fourteenth birthday, he tried again, responding with “a tattoo” when his dad asked what he wanted. He sits cross legged on his bed and pretends he cares less than he does, all the while watching his dad out of the corner of his eye. Either he must look sadder than he thinks he does, or he should look out the window and check for flying pigs, because his dad sighs, but then his face softens and he does the impossible; he relents, just a little.

“Maybe when you’re 18,” he says.

His sophomore year of high school is when things start to get really rough. Nearly every day he comes home with bruises and cuts and his dad is less convinced by his excuses each time. He wakes up every morning and wonders what it’ll be; stuffed in a locker, shirt pulled up, pushed down the stairs. Words are used like weapons and hurt just as much, whether they’re spat in his face or written across a locker. Getting up is a constant battle and some days it just feels impossible. The school parking lot feels like No-Man’s Land at the best of times. His dad brings up the idea of transferring to him at dinner one night, but he just raised his chin and reminded him that he’s a Putnam. And Putnam’s don’t run away.

His dad had smiled at that.

There was some good mixed in with the bad though. He found answers to questions that had plagued him for years. He chose a new name, after the greatest woman he never knew, and found the courage to tell his dad who he really is. It hadn’t been easy, he hadn’t expected it to be, but when his dad drove him down to the Greendale barber that day, it had meant more to him than his dad might have understood.

His friends were amazing, which should go without saying. Of course they would be. And he feels good, in some ways he feels better than he’s ever felt about himself. Like he’s stepping into a new part of his life and while he doesn’t know what’s in front of him, he’s excited to see where it goes.

But as happy as he was, not everyone felt the same. Teachers and students alike struggled with his transition, some at least attempting to feign politeness, others not so much. The cruel words don’t stop just because he uses different pronouns now and he still comes home with the occasional bruised knuckles or bloodied nose.

Add on a few stressful long-distance calls with his mother and his high school experience thus far can only be described the same way his English essays are-“Could Be Better”.

Maybe that’s why, a week before his sixteenth birthday, his dad pops his head around his bedroom door and asks him “Do you still want that tattoo?”.

He looks up from his book, almost sure he’d imagined it. His dad may have changed his stance slightly, but if there’s one trait they share more than anything it’s that intense stubbornness. He was prepared to just ride it out and wait until he’s 18, or maybe even until he moves away to college altogether. But no, here he is, age 15, his dad looking at him expectantly.

“Really?” is all he can reply with.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it’s clearly something you want a lot. And I know you’re sensible enough not to get one of those crazy ones that go all the way across your face.” He giggles at that. “And you’ve waited long enough so I figure… why not just let you?”

His mouth falls open and he blinks, waiting for the catch, only for his father to simply shrug at him, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Well if you don’t want to-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Theo jumps and hugs him before he can.

He enlists Harvey’s help with the design. His drawing skills aren’t bad, but they’re not the best either and if this is going on his body, permanently, he needs to get it right. So he slides up to Harvey on Monday with wide eyes and a smile that’s just the right amount of cute. And if that doesn’t work, he has money in one pocket and a comic book that Harvey really wants in the other.

The other boy looks up with a raised eyebrow and Theo’s glad he brought the back-ups.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Why do you think there is something?” he asks. “Can’t I just be happy to see you? My best friend? My trusted companion I have known since-”

“Oh my God, what did you break?” Sabrina asks. She’s sitting on the desk behind them and her eyes have doubled in size. “Harvey, whatever you do, do not take the fall for him!”

“That was one time, Brina!” he replies. Sabrina bites back a giggle, a twinkle in her eye as she exchanges a look with Roz, and Theo exhales slowly. His cheeks warm, just a little, but he ignores it. Or at least he tries. Same with the nervous prickle of sweat running down his back “Harvey, what I was going to ask was… well, my dad finally said I can get a tattoo, and I was just wondering if maybe you could draw it for me?” His voice gets smaller and smaller as the sentence goes on, and the last word practically limps past his lips. He holds his breath, fingers twitching to grab his two back up plans. But as it turns out, he doesn’t need to, because Harvey bursts into a grin that warms his heart and undoes the knot in his chest.

“Of course I will,” he tells him. “That’s what you were so worried about?”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. Whatever words he had die on his tongue, and they laugh it off as Sabrina pats the space next to her. He jumps up next to her, their feet bumping against each other, and they take advantage of the few precious moments they have before class begins.

Harvey hunches over his desk, his hands moving as swiftly and carefully as only an artist’s can. It’s kind of amazing watching him, watching him lose himself in his work the same way Theo loses himself on the basketball court. No, it’s not the same and Theo knows it. He’s nevertheless fascinated by Harvey’s process and that’s why he’s hovering the way he is.

No other reason.

The nail chewing is also completely irrelevant. He does this all the time and it’s perfectly normal.

As is the pacing.

Eventually, Harvey just sights and pulls a chair up beside him and lets him sit. He only moves slightly, but Theo takes the hint and sits back, willing his heart to slow down. He does everything he can to pass time; jumps through social media apps on his phone, flips through Harvey’s stack of comics, even doodles something on a spare page. All the time waiting with baited breath and one eye on Harvey’s hand.

“Okay.” Harvey leans back in his chair, his fingers slightly greyed with lead. “I’m done.”

Theo leans forward and immediately a smile forms on his face. It’s exactly what he had in mind, the outline of a small bird sitting on a branch, poised to take flight, but Harvey’s drawing is more carefully and painstakingly structured than he could have hoped to make it. All his attempts somehow look flat, boring, but Harvey’s looks alive and it reminds him why he wants this particular picture on his body.

“Thank you.” He leans against him, cheek smushed against Harvey’s shoulder, and wraps his arms around him. He sings his words a little, bringing a smile to both their faces. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Harvey plays it down, but he hugs him back just as tightly.

Unfortunately, there are no tattoo places in Greenedale. Theo wonders how, in all his fifteen going on sixteen years of living in this town, he never once picked up on this. Especially since he spent most of that time wanting a tattoo. But no, here he is, the White Pages open on his lap and him staring intensely at the page as if the words tattoo parlour are going to magically appear on the page.

He sighs deeply and scratches his cat behind the ears.

“Well, Lila,” he tells her. “Time to go look beyond Greenedale.” Lila lets out a groan, her little ears flopping down as she rests her head against him, and he takes that as her saying she’s with him. He kisses her head, her fur tickling his nose. “Love you too, baby.”

He finds one close enough, in Woodvale, the next town over. It’s pretty decent money-wise, and while it looks pretty small on the Facebook page, it’s close, and more importantly, his dad goes there for business at least twice a month. He tells him that night he has some errands to run there next week, in fact.

“You can go in, get your tattoo done, then maybe we can go for lunch after,” he says. He shrugs awkwardly, wiping his hand on a tea towel. “You know, if you want. Unless you have plans or something.”

“I don’t have any plans, Dad,” he tells him. “I’d love that.”

He doesn’t miss his dad’s bright smile at his answer.

That night, Lila is sitting around his shoulders as he copies the phone number off the Facebook page. Her tail flicks him in the face and he sighs and adjusts her on his shoulders so she’s more comfortable. His dad sometimes calls her The Queen, and for good reason. That damn cat is more pampered than anything he’s ever known. Even if he does love her and thinks she deserves it.

“Don’t suppose you want to take this phone call for me, do you?” he asks her. She meows back at him, which he takes to mean no you weirdo, make your own appointments, you’re an adult now. She’s right, he doesn’t like it, but she’s right, so he kisses her nose and hits the call button.

“Um, hi, Midsummer Night’s, how can I help?”

Theo clears his throat, glad he had the foresight to chug water right before making the call. Social skills aren’t his best in general and they somehow get worse on the phone. Especially with this kind of appointment-booking stuff. He’s made progress, at least. By that he means he doesn’t feel the need to ask his dad any more. Baby steps.

“Hi,” he replies. “I’d like to book a tattoo. For next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday…” Their voice trails off, the sound of stuff being shoved and moved around filling the silence instead. “Sorry, just bear with me for one second.”

“It’s fine.” He turns on his heel and walks the length of his room again, Lila flicking her tail. It takes him a while to recognise the song playing in the background; Kansas. Carry On My Wayward Son. He’s a little embarrassed; he didn’t spend all that time watching Supernatural to not recognise this song instantly.

He catches himself humming just as the second verse hits.

“Okay, here we go,” the other voice says. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” he replies, as though a pink blush isn't colouring his cheeks.

“So that’s next Saturday… what time were you thinking?”

“Is around ten am okay?” he asks. “Sorry, I know it’s like right when you open, but my dad has some business around town that he can’t move and-”

“No, ten’s fine,” they tell him. “And what’s the name?”

“Putnam,” he says, perhaps a little too quickly. “Theo Putnam.”

“Okay, Putnam, Theo Putnam.” It’s a terrible joke, a dad-level terrible joke, but he laughs all the same. “That’s you booked in. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“See you on Saturday,” he replies, and the flutter of excitement in his chest leaves him breathless.

*****

Midsummer Nights' turns out to be a relatively small shop nestled on a street corner, looking only slightly out of place with its dark blue paint job, contrasting with the more pastel colour palette for the rest of the street, and indeed, the rest of the town. He likes it, and he especially likes the shooting stars painted around the door and windows. Twinkling in the mid-morning sun and outlined in thin black lines, trails of gold and silver shooting out from behind them. They’re tiny and probably there as an afterthought, a way to fill space, but Theo is far more enchanted by them than he is the larger pictures of fairies and mermaids that adorn the walls. The care taken alone leaves him breathless. The bigger pictures are impressive, sure, but the care with which the stars have been painted almost takes his breath away. Whoever did them must have the patience of a saint. He’s never really been one for patience, nor for taking his time, instead always running from one thing to the next. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from this person, whoever they are.

“Woah, calm down there,” he tells himself as he turns the handle. “It’s a painting, not a therapy session.”

Inside isn’t entirely what he expected. Well, he’s not completely sure what he expected. Maybe a bunch of hairy biker types, the faint stench of alcohol in the air and a deer head mounted in the wall for good measure. But no, instead he finds white walls decorated with painted trees and vines and as he looks closer, tiny fairies and gnomes poking their heads around them. A smile tugs on his lips as he looks at it. It’s almost magical; a new creature appearing before his eyes the longer he looks. The space is bright, mostly thanks to the large windows, and someone plays folk music softly in the background.

He approaches the front desk, which in actuality looks more like a glorified coffee table and is manned by a girl with blue strands of her hair. She looks up from her book as he approaches and slips a bookmark in without looking. He takes an instant liking to her, or rather she seems like the kind of person he could like.

“Hey,” she greets nonchalantly. “You have an appointment or are you a walk-in?”

“Uh, an appointment,” he replies, scratching behind his ear. “It’s uh-Theo Putnam.”

“Okay, one second.” She flips open a spiral notebook, twiddling a pen between her fingers. Theo takes the opportunity to have another look around, his eyes once again drawn to the walls. He looks up at them, more than happy to wait. There’s something almost tangible yet so surreal about it; like he believes he could find himself here, just not in this reality. And as he cranes his neck, he spies right where the wall meets the ceiling; the stars from the outside.

“Sorry about that,” the girl says, snapping him back to reality. “So yeah, you’re all booked in, if you just want to go down to the back, Robin will take care of you.” Theo nods, a ‘thank you’ on his lips, but before he can say it, the girl turns her head and screams “ROBIN YOUR PERSON’S HERE!”. Theo stumbles backwards, blown away by and also amazed that all the windows are still intact. She simply turns back, her smile sweet, and opens her book again. “He’ll be down in just a second.”

He can’t decide if he likes her more or less after that.

“Jesus Christ Moth, I’m coming,” someone, he presumes Robin, calls from above them, the voice faint. Theo grins as he realises that he probably wasn’t meant to hear that. He wanders past the front desk, but not before catching the small shit-eating grin on Moth’s face.

He likes her.

Robin (he assumes it’s him anyway) emerges on the bottom step, shooting an annoyed look at Moth that disappears immediately once he sees Theo, instead morphing into an apologetic half-smile.

“I’m sorry about her,” he says. “She’s under the impression that she’s cute. And she’s also a middle child.”

“Ah that explains a lot,” Theo chuckles. “Well, it’s fine. I mean, it seemed to be effective anyway.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Theo’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t work out why. Robin is pretty, but he’s never been the type to lose his words over pretty boys. He’s tall, way taller than Theo, and his short-sleeved black shirt doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His dark hair is streaked with green and falls forwards into dark eyes, causing him to toss his head to push it back. Normally he’d find that kind of look douchey, but it’s not, not on him, it’s actually kind of cute in a punk-rock slash edgy poet kind of way and suddenly he’s aware how neither one of them have said anything yet.

“I’m Theo. We uh, we spoke on the phone.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, at least in his mind.

“Yeah, I remember,” he says. “Putnam, Theo Putnam.”

“Yep, that’s me,” he replies, caught between laughing and cringing at himself. If he had known it was going to be like this, he’d have tried to make that phone call way less awkward. Robin doesn’t seem to mind though, instead tapping his arm lightly and gesturing with his head.

“Why don’t you come through with me and we can get started?”

“That’s definitely what I came here to do,” he says, and when Robin smiles, his heart melts and he curses silently.

Dimples. Of course he has dimples. The asshole.

He sits up on a leather chair, his backpack and jacket discarded on the floor and his sleeve rolled up. His feet dangle just above the floor and he’s deliberately not looking at the very pointy needles. It’s not like he’s got a phobia or anything, and he definitely knew this would be part of the process. It’s just a little unnerving.

“You got a design?” Robin asks.

“Uh, yeah here.” He holds the paper out to him. “My friend Harvey drew it. He’s really great at the art stuff. But-but the idea was mine and I… dictated it to him.”

“Cool,” he replies. “And where do you want it?” Theo pulls his sleeve up, his fingers gesturing to just below his shoulder. Robin nods, and his eyes darken slightly, as if his focus is shifting entirely to the tattoo and nothing else. He positions himself as close to him as possible, and they sit in silence as he carefully transfers the design onto tattoo paper.

Then Robin’s hand is against his skin, and the needle is barely an inch from it, and goosebumps prickle along there.

He must look as nervous as he feels, because Robin’s grip on his shoulder softens slightly, as does his face, and his voice comes in a careful whisper.

“Hey,” he tells him. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much. And I promise I’m careful.” Theo nods, even if his nails are digging into the leather beneath him. “Besides, it’s only the first one that really hurts. After that everything’s fine.”

“That’s what she said.” His voice is far weaker than he’d like it, the joke even more so, but Robin busts out laughing and so does he, and he barely realises that he started.

He was right though; while the pain doesn’t necessarily lessen, he gets used to it. If one could ever get used to the feeling of a needle jabbing one’s skin over and over. It kind of helps that he’s got plenty to distract him with the art on the walls and even if he didn’t; Robin is surprisingly easy to talk to.

“So you’re not from around here, are you?” he asks casually. “Sorry, it’s just… here you get to know people pretty quickly. And I’ve never seen you around here.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. He relates of course; small towns are small towns. “I’m from Greenedale. Ever been there?” Robin frowns slightly, his mouth falling half-open as he thinks.

“I think I drove through it once or twice,” he says. “Isn’t that the place that’s obsessed with witches and stuff?”

“That’s the one,” he says. “They’ve got all the spooky sights but unfortunately no tattoo parlours.” He goes to shrug but then remembers one arm is currently being used. “So I had to take a little trip out here.”

“You know when I was driving through I distinctly remember the lack of tattoo parlours,” Robin jokes. “Still. It’s a nice place.”

“I guess,” Theo mumbles. “I was always so focussed on the leaving.” He kicks the ground.  “I’ve never looked around properly.” Greenedale hasn’t exactly been kind to him either. He may love his friends dearly, and it’s not like his memories are all bad, but there are days when the familiar streets are less comforting and more maddening, and the town line feels more like a prison wall. It’s not every day he feels like this, but enough for him to have taken notice.

Robin chuckles beside him, and it’s then he suddenly remembers where he is, and that there is in fact a person beside him. A person he barely knows. And while a blush does creep over his cheeks, he doesn’t feel nearly as embarrassed as he should.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Kind of dumping my tragic backstory on you there.”

“Trust me, you’re not the first,” Robin tells him. “Guess there’s something about a person having a needle shoved into their skin repeatedly that puts them in a sharing mood.” He flips his head, tossing his bangs out of his face. “So what’s the deal with the witch thing?”

“Basically a lot of witches came over from Europe and settled over there,” he explains. “And when it came to picking a town personality trait, it was between either witches or thinly-veiled bigotry.” He goes to shrug, but then remembers the needle against his arm. “I guess ‘we’ll put a spell on you’ is a more catchy slogan than ‘we’re all raging assholes’.”

“Well, that may be true,” Robin says. “Though I’d admire any town with the balls to admit that they’re all assholes.” Theo chuckles again, swinging his feet slightly. Robin must be right; there must be something about getting a tattoo that makes you pretty chatty. That or Robin’s just… easy to talk to. He hasn’t met someone like in a while, not since Sabrina and Roz and Harvey. Something flutters in his chest and he doesn’t quite recognise it. He likes it, though. Even if in the back of his mind he wonders if he should be scared by it.

“Yo.” Moth appears in the doorway, hanging off the wall by her fingertips. She looks over at Theo’s arm, where Robin’s needle is, and a faint smile forms on her lips. “Not bad, Robin.”

“Thanks,” he replies, his eyebrow raised, and he looks up at Theo. “For her ‘not bad’ is possibly the highest praise you can get.”

“Not true. There’s at least two more levels, you just haven’t unlocked them yet,” she adds. “Anywho, I’m going on the coffee run, what do you want?”

“You know my order,” he replies, focussing more on his work than on her.

“So that’s an iced salted caramel latte, then,” she says. Robin’s cheeks turn pink suddenly, his hand slowing but not faltering. Judging by the look on Moth’s face-which can only be described as a shit-eating grin-that was the goal. “Do you want me to ask for whipped cream like last time?”

“No, thank you, Moth,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. The gesture is equal parts exasperated and fondness, like Moth has been a pain in his ass for so long, and he likes it that way. Theo relates.

“He always pulls that ‘you know my order’ crap when a customer’s here,” she explains. “He’s embarrassed ‘cause his actual order isn’t very macho. Plus he thinks the cool and mysterious vibe impresses clients. Especially around the ones he thinks are cute. Anyway, you want anything?”

Theo freezes, his response-whatever it would be-caught in his throat. Moth seems unaffected, checking her nails like nothing is wrong. Maybe nothing is wrong, and he’s just overthinking. Or misheard her and she didn’t actually imply that Robin might find him cute. Either way, there’s probably no reason his cheeks should be as pink as they are now.

“N-no I’m okay thanks,” he says.

“You sure?” she asks. “No extra charge, just give us a good review.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He clears his throat and hopes his voice doesn’t actually sound that high. “I’m going out with my dad after this anyway.”

“Mm. Suit yourself.” She turns on her heel and flounces off, the sound of jangling keys and her boots on the floor growing fainter. Theo doesn’t dare breathe until she’s gone though-the closing door releasing the tie around his chest. When he turns to Robin, the other boy seems far calmer than he is, already back to work with a bemused grin on his face. His eyes meet Theo’s and he shakes his head lightly, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Moth,” he tells him. “She’s taken it upon herself to try to set me up with every guy that comes in.” He shifts himself slightly. “Trust me, it was nothing.”

“Oh… okay.” The small tug of disappointment comes at a surprise to him, and he searches for a way out. “But was she right about your coffee order though?” Robin chuckles.

“Maybe.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry,” he tells him. “I personally think iced lattes are very macho. Of course we should ask ourselves ‘what is macho’ and then that takes us on a whole lovely journey that you probably don’t want to go through right now.”

“Eh, I might do,” he says. Theo turns to him, and his eyes are the exact mixture of teasing and serious, and the grin on his face widens. “But we can agree that salted caramel lattes rock, right?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and he realises in that moment he really likes this guy.

Which way he likes him though is a question he leaves unanswered.

In what feels like no time at all, Robin is slowly finishing up, an empty coffee cup at his side. At some point, Moth came in and started work on another client, casually talking to Robin above the hum of the tattoo needles. Robin doesn’t stop chatting to him though and they move through things like school (where he learns Robin’s favourite subject is English), music (where Robin actually has to stop and write down Theo’s music recommendations) and pets, where Theo goes on a ten minute rant about Lila and how she’s simultaneously the love of his life and the bane of his existence.

“Your cat sounds amazing,” he says. “Next time you’re in town you should bring her in so I can meet her.”

“You could always come over to Greendale,” he says. It’s so casual he didn’t even think about it before he said it, and he might have freaked himself out. If Robin feels the same, he doesn’t show it, only nodding and saying he might take him up on that.

They turn to talking about Midsummer Nights’ itself; how Robin started working there one summer as a teenager, how only last year he graduated from sweeping floors to taking clients, and how just a few months ago he and Moth (“mostly me,” he added, just loud enough so she could hear) redecorated the entire place, including the outside.

“I did those little stars on the wall outside,” he remarks. “Don’t know if anyone notices them, but they’re my crown jewel as far as I’m concerned.”

“I noticed,” Theo tells him. “I like them.” He doesn’t tell him how entranced he was by his work, but he does notice the softness in Robin’s smile, the pink hue in his cheeks. It makes sense, somehow, that Robin painted those stars. He barely knows him, but he feels like it makes sense.

For the last few minutes, the conversation drops away, and silence falls as all Robin’s focus shifts to his work. It’s a look he recognises from Harvey, an artist’s expression, but it feels deeper with Robin. His movements are so precise, so deliberate, that Theo feels he should hold his breath lest he break his concentration. He imagines him months ago, the same expression on his face as he paints the stars outside, and he’s almost sad he wasn’t there to see it.

Robin groans as he leans back, pushing his hair away from his face, and his eyes light up.

“We’re done,” he says. “You want to see it before we put the bandages on it?”

“Hell yeah I do.” He jumps off the seat and follows Robin, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he goes. Robin leads him to a mirror, his face shining with anxious pride, and Theo gives him a small smile before he turns and his breath is taken away.

“It’s perfect,” he breathes. Perfect as anything could be, really. Clean cut, careful, delicate. There’s so much life in it, even though it’s only ink. The little bird sits perched on its branch, determination strong on its small face. He couldn’t have asked for a better job. It’s everything he dreamed when he was younger, now a physical reality. He takes a deep breath, trying not to be the kind of person that cries after their first tattoo. “Thank you, Robin.”

“No problem,” he says softly and when Theo looks up, he finds Robin’s eyes lingering on him. “Putnam, Theo Putnam.”

                                                                        *****

He and his dad find a little cafe in the middle of town and sit outside, taking advantage of the good weather.

“So was it worth waiting for?” his dad asks. “The tattoo?”

“Yes, it was,” he replies. “Thank you, Dad.” His dad waves his hand dismissively, as though the back-and-forth between them never happened.

“No problem kid,” he says. “It was what you wanted. And the place was good?”

“Yeah.” He pops another French fry in his mouth. “It was really, really good. They were uh… good at their jobs.” His hand moves to where the bandage sits on his arm, the tattoo perfectly preserved beneath it, and yet that’s not what he’s thinking about. Instead his mind drifts back to Robin, with his hair falling into his eyes and his laugh and those damn dimples. He takes a drink just as he feels the heat rush to his cheeks, and his dad eyes him curiously. He sets the glass down, even though his mouth is still dry. “It was great.”

A knowing smile spreads across his dad’s face and he curses under his breath. This is what he gets for having a close relationship with his father. Stupid strong father-son bond.

Theo puts his hand in his pocket and his fingers close around empty fabric, rather than plastic. He hurriedly checks the other pocket, then his jeans, his panic rising each time. His dad turns when he realises Theo is no longer beside him, his feet rooted to the sidewalk instead, and his eyes widen, reflecting Theo’s own alarm back at him.

“Theo?” he asks. “What happened?”

“I-I can’t find my phone!” he sighs. He pulls items out of his pockets one by one, his wallet, his keys, loose change… no phone. He taps every pocket again to make sure, as if it was going to magically appear if he willed it hard enough. No such luck. He mumbles under his breath, a stream of ‘oh shit’ and ‘oh no’ as he tries to fight off the rising panic. He tries to retrace his steps, to remember the last place he had it out, to think of wherever the hell his phone could be in this town-

“Theo!”

Or maybe he doesn’t need to.

“Theo!”

He turns around to see Robin running down the street, skidding to a half just in front of him. His face is bright red, not from teasing his time, his chest heaves and his hair sticks to his face. They look at each other, breathless, and just as Theo opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing, he holds his hand out.

“My phone!” he squeaks.

“Yeah you… you left it in… with me,” he says between gasps. “I was really hoping I’d be able to catch you before you left.”

“Oh God I’m sorry,” he says, taking another look over Robin. The tattoo parlour is far enough from here, and the streets here twist and turn around as they please. And Robin ran through them. For him. In jeans. “Thank you so much, Robin. I-how did you know it was mine?”

“The picture on the lockscreen,” he explains, pointing vaguely. “It was you.” He pushes his hair away from his face. “And… your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?” he asks. For a second his mind goes blank, then he realises and it nearly knocks the wind out of him. “Oh God no, Harvey’s…. he’s just my friend. No, no I…” He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes meeting Robin’s and he can’t work out if the hopeful look on his face is real or his imagination. Either way, he ends up saying “I’m completely single.”

“Oh,” he says, about ten times higher than usual. He clears his throat, his hand sliding into his back pocket. “Uh… me too.”

“Seriously? What the whole jacked as hell, dyed hair tattoo artist thing doesn’t attract anyone?”

“Not around here it doesn’t, apparently,” he says, implying that the reason he’s single is beyond no-one wanting to date a tattoo artist. There’s a pause, a brief moment of silence, and Theo goes to say goodbye, to run before it gets awkward, but Robin holds out a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?” he asks as he takes it. Robin ducks his head, his bangs falling in front of his face.

“I hope it’s not too forward,” he begins. “But it-it’s my number.” He shrugs and pushes his hair back. "Just in case you ever want to call me sometime."

“Oh,” he replies. It’s a short, quick word. It hardly means anything. Certainly doesn’t reflect how his stomach as dropped out from under him, or how his brain is vibrating at an insane frequency, or how the unending cry of ‘HE GAVE ME HIS NUMBER’ blasts around his head like a fire alarm. And all the while he just stands there, the paper in his hand, blinking up at Robin like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Um… thanks.”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, his face scrunched up. “I-it was too forward, I didn’t mean like that.”

“No,” Theo says, just as Robin’s hand twitches. He slides the paper into his back pocket with a shaky hand and gives him a small smile. “It’s not… like that at all.” It’s really not. It’s not… He’s not sure what it is. All he knows is that Robin’s not at fault. “It’s okay, really.”

He turns slightly and sees his dad standing at the truck, pretending to be interested in a receipt he pulled out of his pocket. His dad hasn’t pressed and knowing him, he’s probably fully intending on giving the two of them as long as they need to work out… whatever it is they’re working out. Anxiety clutches his chest and he backs up suddenly, his hand still slid into his pocket. He needs time all right, but not here.

“I should go,” he says. “But I’ll...” His voice trails off, his fingers fidgeting in mid-air. The piece of paper burns like a small star in his pocket. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Robin says. He tosses his hair again and damn, he should not find that as cute as it is. “Look us up if you’re ever back in town.”

“I will.” He gives a wave to Robin, who responds with a wave, and Theo responds to that with a small finger gun and screams at himself the minute he turns around. He climbs into the truck beside his dad, who already rolled the windows down. Thank God, Theo thinks, because he feels fit to explode. He leans out as his dad pulls away from the curb, closing his eyes as the air tickles his skin.

“So you made a friend?” his dad asks. He doesn’t need to turn around to see the bemused smile on his face.

“He was the guy who did my tattoo,” is his reply. His dad nods, a soft chuckle escaping him, and goosebumps prickle on his skin.

“He gave you his number,” he points out. “Are you gonna call him?”

Theo sighs, his fingers tracing over the paper in his back pocket.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t call him. At least, not right away. Who he does call is Harvey, Roz and Sabrina, who all stand around his bed with him, the offending phone number sitting in the centre. He filled them in as best he could, although with all his energy being focussed on the decision, he’s only really been able to give them ‘I met a guy, he gave me his number’. And now they’ve been standing there, minutes passing in silence, while Theo stares at it with enough intensity to light it on fire.

“I think you should call him,” Roz says eventually.

“Why?”

“Because he gave you his number for that very purpose,” she tells him slowly. Theo pulls a face at her, but it only lasts for a second because… she’s right. She has an infuriating habit of being right. If she wasn’t so cute and supportive and lovely he’d have stopped hanging out with her long ago for that very reason.

“So why haven’t you?” Sabrina asks. “Called him. I mean his number’s right there. What’s stopping you?”

“What isn’t stopping me?” he mumbles, just loud enough for them to hear, and the three friends share an understanding nod. His experience with romance is extremely limited-his first and only “relationship” was the Valentine’s card that appeared in his backpack in third grade. He never chased them up, and that was the end of it. All other knowledge either comes from his friends or movies. At this moment, he feels like he’s on the edge of the deep end, nothing to help him, and he’s not sure he won’t drown when he jumps.

“Hey.” Sabrina appears at his side, her shoulder bumping against his. “I still think you should do it.” He raises his eyebrow at her. She simply shrugs in response, her eyes flitting over to Harvey as she speaks. “I mean… I know it’s a cliche, but you’ll never know until you try.”

“Yeah,” Harvey adds. “I mean what’s the worst that could happen?”

“So many things,” Theo sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He’s not blessed with what Harvey and Sabrina have-a sweet little romance that’s been blossoming since childhood-nor does he have his pick of suitors like Roz does. As far as he knows, this Robin’s his one chance. He shakes his head, his fingers drumming on his arm. “Maybe I just shouldn’t.”

“I disagree,” Roz pipes up. “I think very hot boys giving you their numbers doesn’t just happen every day and since the universe has presented you with this opportunity, I for one think you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” She delivers everything so quickly that it takes a few seconds for him to register it, and then she comes round to his side and slings her arm around his shoulders, all warm smiles and warm eyes, and he rests her head on her shoulder. “Besides, I know you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She’s not wrong. Again. If there’s one idea that scares him more than it not going well, it’s never even happening at all.

“And in the event it goes horribly wrong, we’ll all buy ice cream and we can have a good cry session,” she promises, and the other two nod in agreement. Theo closes his eyes and buries his face in Roz’s shoulder so they won’t see his blush.

God damn it, he loves his friends.

It takes a week for him to call him, even with those assurances. One day he feels braver than usual; he chalks it up to a good day at school and an even better one at practice, and so he sits on his bed and punches Robin’s number into his phone, the note sitting on his pillow. Because yes, he kept the note instead of writing it down. Nothing wrong with that.

“Hello?” Robin picks up too suddenly, and Theo bites back a squeak. He jumps off the bed and pulls on his shirt for some reason.

One chance he reminds himself. One chance.

“Hi, Robin?” he asks. “It’s uh, it’s Theo. Theo from Greenedale? You did my tattoo last week.”

“Oh, Theo, hey,” he replies. “Um, hi. H-how’s it turned out? The tattoo I mean?”

“Perfect,” he confesses. “It’s a hit with the guys on my basketball team. You should be expecting an influx of jocks coming round soon.”

“I’ll let Moth know, we’ll stock up on Gatorade.” Theo chuckles and sits on the edge of his bed, the beating of his heart slowing slightly. Maybe this could work. Maybe, if the stars are right, this won’t fall apart.

“Robin,” he begins quietly. “The reason I called was… em… I wanted to ask you-” The words stick in his throat like grains of sand against rocks. So many questions overlap in his head, each drowning the other out and turning into static. He closes his eyes, takes deep breath in, and back out. No need to overthink it, he tells himself. Just jump.

“Do you have plans on Saturday?” he asks.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” he replies. “Why do you ask?”

Theo throws himself on the bed, his legs in the air, and is amazed at just how easy this actually is.

                                                                          *****

They have their first date in Greenedale, seeing a movie at the Paramount, followed by a personalised tour. Robin gives Theo his jacket at some point, the sleeves falling past his hands, and Theo’s heart flutters.

They have their first kiss by the Welcome To Greenedale sign, Robin’s hand caressing his arm, right above where his tattoo is.

A year later, he’s laying in Robin’s bed, his boyfriend’s fingers gently caressing his newest tattoo-free of charge this time around. Theo kisses his bare shoulder before Robin goes to sit up, reminding him that he has to be at work in half an hour. Theo just pouts, grabs his arm, and tries to see if he can get five more minutes out of him.

Yeah, life is good.

[theprologues]

Oof. I feel you, anon! If Woodvale is another sad album full of break-up songs co-written with the love of her life Toe, I don't want it either. If it was an album full of mom songs and apologies to Karlie (for never getting in her corner once to defend her all these years) then maybe I'd be interested. But I hate the feud narrative, I hate the Kaylor break up narrative, and I hate the "Toe is the greatest songwriter of our time" narrative. Why would I be excited for more of the same?

[darkbluenostalgia]

Remember how pre-Lover era we wouldn't shut up about the double album theories ME! and YOU! so in her next era she made sister albums? folklore and evermore. I am now convinced that Taylor will release Speak Now, Red, and 1989 TV simultaneously because y'all won't shut up about the woodvale trilogy theory and also, I think she'll re-release debut and reputation together since debut is self-titled and the rep album cover art has Taylor Swift written all over it multiple times. Also, for her AMA Artist of the Decade performance debut and reputation were on each of her sleeves and Speak Now, Red, and 1989 were on the front of her shirt while Fearless was on the back but that's just me so ... 🤡

[tshifty]

What’s the woodvale thing? I feel like I’m missing something

it was just!!! written in the corner of folklore!!!! for no apparent fucking reason!!!!!!!!!!!!