#you can’t tell me those lyrics don’t capture what that poor man feels

[adrift-in-thyme]

Warriors singing The Underworld

That is all

[setzappersto-pew]

StarKid and Musical Score #2

Pop culture parodies tread fine lines to avoid copyright violations, especially when it comes to music. Some go for a certain mood or genre to evoke the source. Holy Musical B@man! is a great example. Nick Gage and Scott Lamps used strictly synthesizer and an electronic drum kit. They made great use of the standard synthesizer sound, calling to mind ‘80s new wave electronic music; a darker electric guitar sound to capture the gritty Batman from The Dark Knight or The Killing Joke; and light and playful bell tones, representing the innocence of Robin or perhaps the campy silliness of the ‘60s Batman TV show.

When it’s a parody musical of a musical, the challenge is even greater. Enter Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier.

There’s not a lot of interstitial music to set the scenes, but what little there is excels with capturing the mood, like the eerie strings and woodwinds coupled with sporadic percussion during Aladdin’s breakdown near the end. Instead, Twisted features a large number of songs to fill its 2.25 hour runtime, so I’m going to focus on the instrumentals of those for this post. The instrumentation for this show includes keyboard, drums, guitar/bass, violin, cello, flute, clarinet, and alto/tenor saxophone. It’s a much bigger and more varied band than any StarKid show had before or since.

The endeavor that composer A.J. Holmes, accompanied by incredible lyricist Kaley McMahon, set out on was to evoke not only the source material, Disney’s Aladdin, but also other Disney movies of the same era and the Broadway musical Wicked. The Disney references are all over the place, including the Disney-fied StarKid logo. The latter was accomplished via the title (Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier vs. Wicked: The Untold Story of a Wicked Witch), the album cover, the method of role reversal (a villain posed as the hero of their own story), and even a direct reference to the book. But A.J., along with orchestrator Andrew Fox and music director Justin Fischer, took it a step further with several songs to give the audience a truly immersive and magical experience.

To keep it simple, I’m going to link each song--or most, as some I can’t quite figure out--to another Disney or Wicked song that A.J. was likely, or even obviously, taking influence from. The similarities are often in the instrumentation and tempo; chord progressions and adjacent melodies; or lyrics and character situations.

Not a song, but the opening music evokes the haunting strings and bells in the opening of Beauty and the Beast to a tee. Like...it’s a dead ringer, obviously in purpose.

“Dream a Little Harder”: An opening ensemble number like “Belle” from Beauty and The Beast. Introduces the protagonist and the surrounding characters with a sweet and tremulous flute at the beginning and bouncy strings throughout. Lyrics mirror each other, i.e. “Fuck you” = “Bonjour”...Nick’s favorite line, “Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!”...they all hate Ja’far vs. they all think Belle is weird. Belle is even part of the ensemble, telling Ja’far to keep his “fat face out of the mother fucking book”! It’s a pretty obvious comparison. 

“I Steal Everything”: “One Jump Ahead” from Aladdin is the obvious parallel in orchestration, melody, tempo, lyrics, character situation...everything.

“Everything and More”: Again, an obvious parody of “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid. Same gentle yet sweeping melody, same lilting tempo paired with vocals timid one moment and powerful the next, lyrics exploring desire for more.

“A Thousand and One Nights”: This one was a little harder, as really none of the Disney princesses have duets with their princes. But I think it pairs well with “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King, at least after Timon and Pumbaa have their moment! The back and forth between lovers talking to themselves about the other has a similar feel. Honestly, this song is pretty original and yet manages to evoke Disney love song perfectly without copying any. The gentle melody, sweeping yet sweet orchestration, and the dialogue really sell it. They knew it was the love song because they went ahead and parodied the cheesy pop covers that ‘90s Disney movies are known for with a true bop performed by Britney Coleman and Carlos Valdes.

“Orphaned at 33″: Perhaps the reprise of “One Jump Ahead”? It’s slower and more melancholy and has similar chord progression and crooning vocals. Maybe “Go the Distance” from Hercules? Both are songs of sadness and longing, but StarKid’s Aladdin is far more pathetic and creepy than Hercules. EDIT: “Proud of Your Boy”, which was cut from Aladdin and put in the stage show, is absolutely the reference here! Again, a song of sadness and longing and self-pity and lamentation of a bad childhood...and StarKid’s Aladdin is still more pathetic. Musical parallels: similar chord progressions, embellishments, instrumentation, time signature, tempo, etc.; starts with delicate notes and Aladdin just talking (this starts at 46 seconds in “Orphaned at 33″, after a prelude); lilting and tiptoeing melody in the middle (1:56 for “Orphaned”, 1:08 for “Proud”); powerful sustained vocals and sweeping winds and strings to finish. I know this song was in the back of my mind, but it just wasn’t coming to me. Thank you @hatchetfieldtheories and @melchron for helping me out! 

“Happy Ending”: The last half, at 1:50, really reminds me of “Defying Gravity” from Wicked, specifically at 5:15. The quiet and tense music make way for powerful vocals and are just waiting to burst forth for a showstopping ending. Both songs are also Act 1 closers. I can’t really place the rest of “Happy Ending”, but it all reminds me of Wicked with the powerful rock guitar and drums paired with cinematic strings. Plus, I always love when multiple melodies come together as reprises, most often as Act 1 closers!

“No One Remembers Achmed”: A sillier version of “Gaston” from Beauty and The Beast. The spurned villain’s cohorts are pumping him up and singing his praises! Both melodies are jaunty, though with different instrumentation...Twisted’s featuring sillier sound effects and goofy xylophone.

“Take Off Your Clothes”: A sexier version of “A Whole New World” from Aladdin. Slightly modified melody, and obviously the lyrics, but it’s exactly the same.

“The Power in Me”: A solemn and sweet farewell duet between friends like “For Good” from Wicked. The delicate woodwinds and strings sound similar to the gentle synth in “For Good”. Vocal performances are cautious and tender at first but quickly become strong and confident. “You are the power in me” and “I have been changed for good” follow almost the exact same rhythm.

The titular song has many facets, so I’ll detail them here:

Opening to 1:03 and 5:55 to the end = “No Good Deed” from Wicked, with the same intense strings and percussion. The whole situation and lyrics match, with both Ja’far and Elphaba deciding to just be antiheroes because no one sees them as heroes anyway. “I’ll be twisted, it’s my turn” matches “No good deed will I do ever again” and “I’m wicked through and through”.

1:10-2:06 = “Poor Unfortunate Souls” from The Little Mermaid...it’s Ursula, so of course...but also, the woodwinds and keyboard mimicking brass evoke the same bouncy yet menacing rhythm, akin to an evil polka.

2:07-2:50 = “Be Prepared” from The Lion King. Obviously, it’s Scar’s moment...but also, they have similar deep and primitive drums and woodwinds.

The rest of the songs (”Sands of Time”, “Golden Rule”, and “If I Believed”) I couldn’t really place, but they still evoke the source materials. “Golden Rule” has a classic musical theatre ensemble number feel, with fun strings and woodwinds and delightful choruses; the reprise turns it on its head with menacing piano and bass. “If I Believed” is another take on an “I want” song; the flute and cello pair very nicely together to support Dylan’s soulful voice.

My next post in this series will likely be about the Hatchetfield series: The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, Black Friday, and Nightmare Time. There’s a lot in between, like the AVP Trilogy, ANI, and Starship, but the music for those stands out less to me. They’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I think that the score is not what makes them special. The Hatchetfield stuff, however...is intense.

Thanks for reading!

[thisisthestoryofanotherus]

Hey, so can you write something like person at Starbucks collides with calum, coffee all over her... Meet again a week later at same place, both hungry, so calum offered lunch, forgot to exchange numbers... Both want to get to know each other more but don't have contact... Just add your flavours after this please. This is like a dream I had a long time back and I really wanna know what happens in the end lmao. It's kinda cringe but I really hope you will work your magic and make it better <3

For me the cringier the better haha. This idea was actually great!…and gosh I’m so jealous of your dreams shoot mine are just confusing af and very Calum-less haha Thank you so much!! Hope you like it!!! Idk about magic but you made me very inspired!

Requests for drabbles, mtls, reactions, and fake texts are OPEN!! Please send in requests!

  Fuck. You could not believe your boss. I mean sure you were his assistant but to send you on petty errands like coffee…fucking coffee, when the office was in a rush trying to complete all these orders. But no… you totally had time to go pick up his fucking americano despite the fact you had a million other things to do that actually related to him being productive rather than some caffeine intake. But here you were at the infamous Starbucks, packed as usual from the looks of the long line you could see from the window. You felt your pocket buzz as you approached the door. Reaching for the door handle you read the words “Y/n can you also get me one of those sandwiches?” from your boss when you felt the impact of someone colliding with you and the sensation of cold liquid running down your blouse. You screamed in surprise, looking down to see the iced coffee staining your blouse a caramel color. Your muttered quite the string of expletives and was ready to curse at whoever had the AUDACITY when your eyes met the most apologetic brown puppy eyes and all your anger faded away…

Tell me you wanna come over… wanna be closer…wait no that doesn’t sound right. Calum had been working on these lyrics for what felt like ages. The tune always came easiest to him, but lyrics was something he was always very particular about because it had to capture everything perfectly. He kept running what lyrics he did have for the chorus through his mind, trying to get them just right, as he walked out of Starbucks with his coffee in hand. Tell me tell me tell me you wanna come over…I wanna be closer… or no you’re telling me you’re telling me you wanna come over, you wanna be wanna be wanna be closer. Do-duh-do do-duh-do do-duh-do closer… shoulder rhymes… duh-da-duh hair over your shoulder… hold ya…duh-da-duhsshhhhiiittttt

He did not realize someone was on the other side of the door, so he was surprised to suddenly feel someone colliding with his chest and the crush of plastic in his hand. He noticed his caramel macchiato all over her blouse, looking up to her face he found her quite cute despite the frustration across her features. Before he could apologize, because he truly did feel sorry, suddenly all the frustrations were vocalized. Several curse words later she looked up at him, he prepared himself for your obvious rage to be directed at him, cursing himself for not paying attention since this girl clearly has been through enough today. Meeting her gaze, he watched as her features softened. He took this as his chance to finally apologize.

“I-I’m sorry…I didn’t see you-I wasn’t really paying attention-”

“No…it’s-it’s fine don’t worry about it” she said, cutting him off. “I just-ugh… it’s just the kind of day I’m having you know?”

“And I just made it worse…look let me get you some napkins and I’ll get your coffee. It’s on me…really the least I can do” He said as he walked back into the café, already grabbing napkins and handing them to her. “What is it you’re getting?”

She wiped the coffee stain as she recited her orders to Calum, running to the bathroom to get whatever else she could out as he placed her order. By the time she returned, he was already handing her the carrier of the various assortment of drinks.

“Thank you… you really didn’t have to do that I was on a coffee run for some coworkers” she said, blouse in better shape and a soft smile on her face.

“It’s really the least I can do. Can’t have a pretty girl like you having a completely shit day” Gosh that was cringy…he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth…what was he thinking?!

She laughed in response as she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

“Hello? WHAT? NOW!? Ya-no I’ll be right there” Panic filled her features as she glanced back at him.

“I’m so sorry-I gotta go… work is-yeah…maybe I can...um maybe we-uh um bye” She muttered as she practically ran out the door, leaving Calum wondering what on earth just happened.

You left the poor guy, the poor oh so attractive guy, as a stuttering mess. The right words refused to leave you mouth. You wanted to say SOMETHING that would allow you to see him again, but you were distracted by the incessant vibrating in your pocket and the thoughts of the chaos unfolding at your job. By the time you finally got out of work (two hours late, honestly how surprising) you couldn’t help but walk past that very same Starbucks hoping to spot the stranger who’s name you never did get, much less his number. Sure enough you couldn’t see the beautiful man through the windows…just employees wiping down tables ready to end their own shifts. When you got home, slipping on your pjs, you almost stopped yourself from spraying stain remover on your white blouse. Staring at the remnants of the coffee stain, you wanted some proof that today actually happened (even if you did nothing but completely embarrass yourself). After several moments, you finally pretreated your poor blouse and started the washer. The memory being washed away along with whatever minuscule chance you had with the beautiful stranger.

That did not stop you from trying though, oh no. You walked past Starbucks every morning on your way to work, and every afternoon after. Along with whenever you could sneak away during your lunch break, you weren’t stalking him, although you couldn’t help if this may be borderline stalking even though he never came.  After several days passed though, you wondered what on earth you would say to him if you had the luck to actually run into him again. Fate was not on your side however, since each time the man was no where to be seen. He probably didn’t remember you anyway.

Today. If he is not here today then this will be the end of it. It’s been nearly a week if I don’t see him now then I never will. You thought, making your way to the Starbucks entrance once again. Today you actually got the afternoon off now that work had slowed down. Your boss thought “you deserved it for you hard work”, as if you hadn’t put in dozens of hours of overtime. After a quick glance around the café, he was once again nowhere to be seen. Surprise, surprise. You gave your order to the barista at the counter and sat down at one of the nearby tables. You pulled out your phone to pass the time when you heard someone clear their throat next to you.

“Uh-hey” Calum said, almost in disbelief. After coming to this very Starbucks practically every day at various times hoping to run into you. So when he walked in, imagine his surprise when he looked around and saw you sitting at the table next to the counter. You looked frustrated, probably another bad day, so Calum almost didn’t approach you however he couldn’t stop himself. After saying hello, he was glad he did because the smile that lit up your face was breathtaking.

“Hey” you laughed. “I didn’t think I’d see you again” Your eyes widened after making this statement, redness spreading across your face as you put your head down in embarrassment. Calum chuckled as he sat across from you.

“Neither did I. I hope this doesn’t sound weird but I’ve been coming here a lot hoping to see you again…I mean…I just um… wanted to apologize”

“No I-I’ve been here a lot too… I had to leave so I didn’t get your name…”

“Calum”

You smiled holding out your hand “I’m Y/n”

Calum smiled back as he took you hand in his, holding on to it for longer than a simple handshake would require. “Do you wanna get out of here and get some actual food or something? There’s this great pizza place up the street and-”

“I’d love to” you smiled wide, pulling on his hand still wrapped around yours as you led him out the door, leaving your coffee order forgotten.

[bitchin-beskar]

Spidey Sense

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: So the original prompt for this was something along the lines of: "hey, what if Joe and Nicky keep pictures of each other in their wallets to remind them of why they're doing this whenever they have to be apart" and this was born from that. Enjoy!

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please like and reblog! I love feedback!!!

Gazing down at the image of the love of his life, forever immortalized by his hand, never failed to bring a smile to Joe’s lips. His drawings would never be as magnificent, as breathtaking as looking at Nicky with his own two eyes, but whenever they were apart, he had to make do with images drawn by his hand. 

Slipping the small slip of paper back into his wallet, Joe flipped it shut and slid it into one of his many pockets. He hated going on missions without Nicky, but this particular job had required his expertise in infiltrating one building while Nicky’s skills as a sniper were required four blocks away. It was unfortunate, but not the first time it had happened, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. 

When Copley had informed them of the job, he’d made sure they knew that he’d been unable to get any estimates on the number of guards they’d have to deal with. It made Joe uneasy, but they’d gone through with it anyways. Some tech company was trying to use their software to hack into the Pentagon to steal the locations of missile silos located all over the US. The government was very concerned about this threat, and so Copley had called them in.

Joe was supposed to create a distraction at the main headquarters, drawing the company’s attention and thus, allowing Nicky to eliminate guards at the warehouse that housed the company's main servers, which would then allow Nile and Booker to get in and plant explosives. Boom! No more servers, no more threat.

Nicky had been worried about Joe causing a distraction when they didn’t know the amount of guards, but Joe had tried to soothe his beloved’s fears as best he could. 

“Habibi,” he’d said, hand resting on Nicky’s waist, holding him close. “I will be fine. And if anything were to go wrong, I know that you will not allow them to hold me for long.”

Nicky had leaned his forehead against Joe’s, one of his many, silent, I love you’s that he bestowed upon Joe throughout the day. “I would prefer it if nothing goes wrong.”

“As would I.”

***

Nicky had been right to worry, and Joe knew he would never hear the end of it. There had been twice as many guards as Copley’s estimate, and even with Joe’s healing, and centuries worth of experience, he’d quickly been overwhelmed. They’d knocked him out–although, perhaps they’d killed him, Joe wasn’t entirely sure–and when he woke, he was chained to a metal chair, bolted in the middle of an all white room.

His first thought had been something along the lines of how poor of a choice it was to put him in an all white room, as it undoubtedly would become quite the grotesque scene when Nicky arrived. Blood clashed so horribly on white walls, and Nicky could get quite ferocious whenever Joe was threatened. 

His second thought was on the fact that even while bound, he could tell that his wallet was no longer in his pocket. That, in of itself was of no consequence, practically everything in it was fake–it was hard to have valid ID’s and such when you were an immortal warrior born nine hundred years ago–but there was one precious item in that wallet. 

The drawing of Nicky was one of many, but that didn’t mean it was any less special. Joe had saved every single scrap of paper he’d ever drawn Nicky’s likeness on, and while some had aged beyond recognition, he hadn’t had the heart to let any of them go. He knew that Nicky similarly had many, many photographs and paintings of him. Nicky always professed that he wasn’t as artistically inclined as Joe, but every time Nicky sketched him, Joe could see the love and care that went into each piece of art, and he fell in love with Nicky all over again. 

He was jolted out of his musings by the door opening violently, slamming against the wall. He didn’t react outwardly, instead analyzing each of the men that walked into the room. Ten men entered, the last, an older man with grey in his hair, shut the door behind him, making a show of locking it. Joe wanted to scoff. These men didn’t intimidate him in the slightest, and they would have to try a lot harder if they wanted to get a reaction out of him.

“Who sent you?” 

Joe laughed. So this is how they were doing this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man scowled, the expression twisting his features into a mask of hatred. “I don’t like your attitude, kid.” 

Joe laughed even harder at that, his body shaking with mirth, although his eyes were cold as ice. “I’m not quite as young as I look,” he chuckled under his breath, watching as the other men shuffled awkwardly. They clearly feared the older man, and he could see in some of their eyes that they feared for him if he continued to antagonize their leader. 

There was a sharp crack, and Joe’s head snapped to the side, the backhand delivered with an impressive amount of force. It might’ve hurt, if Joe hadn’t lived as long as he had, and had experienced far worse. Still, he kept up appearances. The longer these men were unaware of his healing and his immortality, the better. 

“Who sent you?” 

Joe grins, the perfect picture of innocence. “Who says anyone sent me? Perhaps I decided to come all by myself?” He probably shouldn’t be antagonizing this man, but he’s having too much fun. 

The man snaps his fingers, and one of the other men rushes forward to hand him something. Joe recognizes it as his wallet, watching as the man flips through it, pulling out his driver’s license. “Joseph Jones? Is that even your name?” The man scoffs. “Why were you trying to break in?”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to break in.” The man looks confused for all of two seconds before Joe opens his mouth again. “I’d already broken in. Your men found me after I got in.” Joe can’t help but brag a little, because, well, their security was shit, but also because he was trying to stall for time, so that Nile and Booker could get in and out without any issues. “You really shouldn’t have picked white walls you know, white stains so easily–”

He gets another backhand for his efforts, and the man in front of him actually growls. He goes back to pawing through Joe’s wallet, and Joe can feel his heart stop when the man pulls out Joe’s drawing of Nicky. 

The man looks at it, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to think at first. He studies the drawing, and Joe can feel sparks of anger igniting in his chest, although he tries not to show it. The man suddenly laughs, and it’s a cruel, mocking laugh. He shoves the drawing at one of the other men before turning back to Joe, a cruel smirk on his face. 

“How cute,” he sneers. “Mr. Jones keeps a picture of his boyfriend in his wallet.” The man spits on the ground at Joe’s feet. “God, that’s disgusting.”

Anger clouds Joe’s vision, bubbling up in his chest like rising magma before bursting forth from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Boyfriend? Boyfriend? Nicolo is not my boyfriend,” he spits, fire burning in his eyes. “You are a narrow-minded, childish, little man. Nicolo means more to me than all the stars in the sky. He has been my light, my heart, for over nine hundred years, and he will continue to be my light and my heart for nine hundred more. I have fought a thousand battles by his side, I have gone to war to protect him just as he has for me. There will always be those who try to separate us, those who cannot possibly understand the depth of my love for that man, and yet,” he pauses, a dark smirk on his face as some of the men step back in fear. “Those who try always end up dead. No, Nicolo is not my boyfriend. He’s all and he’s more.”

***

Nicky was in the middle of dismantling his rifle when he felt it. It didn’t even take him a moment before he recognized the feeling. It was the feeling he always got whenever Joe would make grand declarations of love, which, admittedly, happened quite often. While Nicky was more reserved when it came to lyrical speeches, Joe had no such qualms, and would gladly shout to the heavens–and had done so, multiple times–about his love for Nicky. 

Just as he was reaching for his phone to call Copley–because clearly something had to be wrong if Joe was waxing poetic about Nicky when Nicky wasn’t even in the same building–the phone buzzed.

Nicky didn’t even have time to greet Copley before the man was launching into an explanation. “Nicky, I’m sorry, there were too many guards, Joe’s been captured. They’re holding him somewhere in the building, but I don’t have eyes inside.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

Sending a quick message to Nile and Booker, informing them of what happened, Nicky finished packing up his gear quickly, leaving his spot on the roof and descending the fire escape as fast–and safely, he’d be no good to Joe if he executed a swan dive off the fifth story–as possible.

***

Joe could feel his mouth filling with blood, so he leaned forward and spat some on the ground. Apparently the older man hadn’t been too pleased with being insulted, and he ordered his men to get answers out of Joe, while he watched. 

The beating, while not one of the worst he’d experienced, had not been pleasant. Thankfully, the men hadn’t seemed to realize Joe was slowly healing from their attacks, but sooner or later they would get suspicious. He hoped one of the others would get here before that happened, he really didn’t like dying alone.

He’d just been punched repeatedly in the stomach when the man doing said punching stopped. Joe was confused, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about a reprieve. 

“What?” Barked the older man, pushing himself off the wall and stalking forward. “What is it?” The younger man shook his head, looking around. 

“Did anyone else–?” 

He cuts off when a loud bang sounds from outside the door. All of the men turn to look at the door, missing as a smile spreads across Joe’s bloody lips. Another bang sounds, louder than before, closer than before, and some of the men jump.

“What do you think it is?” One of them whispers, and before anyone can answer, something heavy slams into the bolted door from the outside. The whole door seems to shake in it’s frame, and it’s only made worse by the sudden scream of pain. 

There’s a sudden onslaught of noise, bangs, screams, gunshots, and crashes and–was that a cat screeching? The men all back away slowly from the door, hands on their weapons, but nothing could have prepared them for the way the door was blasted off its hinges, flying into the room and taking out two of the men. 

There’s a sudden burst of gunfire, taking out three more of the men before they can react. Watching their companions fall around them, the remaining four men all aim for the door, shooting wildly at a target they can’t even see. The older man, the leader, unlocks Joe’s cuffs only to pull him upright, pressing a knife against his neck, using Joe’s body as a human shield.

Joe rolls his eyes. If only this man knew how ineffective Joe would be at being a human shield. He watches with interest as the men stop firing, only for a knife to fly through the air and embed itself in one of the guard’s skulls. The others start firing again, but even though it's three against one, they’re no match for a furious Nicolo di Genova. Bursting into the room in a flurry of movement, Joe watches, fascinated–and more than a little turned on–as Nicky becomes a whirlwind, attacking violently with his longsword, cutting down the three men–with violent efficiency–who stand between him and Joe. 

The older man presses his blade tighter against Joe’s neck, but Nicky doesn’t even blink. Joe stomps on the man’s foot, and Nicky puts a bullet in his brain, quick as you please. The knife cuts Joe as he moves, but it’s certainly not life-threatening, so he’s unconcerned. 

Joe looked around the room, taking in the blood and guts and gore that decorate the white walls and floor and ceiling. “I told them that white was a bad choice, blood stands out far too much–” Nicky strides across the room, and kisses Joe hard, before he can get another word out. Joe grasps Nicky’s face with his blood covered hands, bringing him even closer, moaning as his beloved steals the breath from his lungs. 

Nicky pulls away, but only just, his forehead resting against Joe’s. “Yusuf, amore mio, are you badly hurt?” His eyes rove over Joe’s face, checking for any and all injuries.

“No, habibi,” Joe sighs. “The marks those men left are quickly fading. I am alright.” Nicky kisses Joe again, uncaring of the fact that Joe’s lips still taste of blood. 

They stand there for longer than they probably should, and when they finally part, Joe asks the question that had been pestering him since he first became aware of Nicky’s arrival. “How did you know so quickly, Nicolo? They’ve had me for less than an hour.”

The look on Nicky’s face is one of fond exasperation, one that Joe has been privy to many, many times. “You were being incurably romantic again, weren’t you?” 

Joe grins, his eyes shining as he looks at his love. “They dared insult you in my presence, hayati. Besides, you love it.”

Nicky sighs. “I do.”

Joe cups his face once more and kisses him, pouring nine hundred years of love and affection and desire into the kiss. He would defend his Nicolo to the ends of the earth, against anyone and anything that dared try to come between them. 

***

“I do not understand, Nile. Why do you keep referring to me as a cross between a human and an arachnid?”

“You have spidey sense Nicky, of course I’m going to call you Spiderman! Except instead of sensing danger, you sense whenever Joe’s delivering a love speech worthy of Shakespeare!”

“Hey! Do not compare me to that jumped-up English playwright–”

“Shut up, Joe!”

[amwritesitall]

The Sarahs as Songs from Folklore and Evermore

Masterlist

Link in the names are the Spotify playlists I have for each character. These playlists are a never ending work in progress. Some posts can be found on a few of them on the Masterlist link above.

The reasoning for these songs vary. Some are like I’m pitching you a thesis for an essay and others are just little blurbs. Also, I apologize for any grammatical errors! A lot of this was worked on after midnight, so there might be a few errors I missed.

Billie Dean Howard

“cowboy like me”

I've got some tricks up my sleeve Takes one to know one You're a cowboy like me Never wanted love Just a fancy car Now I'm waiting by the phone Like I'm sitting in an airport bar You had some tricks up your sleeve Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me Perched in the dark Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear Like it could be love I could be the way forward Only if they pay for it

You gotta love Billie Dean. This song gives me Billie vibes in the way that the narrator never was really looking for love, they just kind of stumbled upon it. Billie Dean was never really looking since she was focused on her show and her career in general, wanting fame and fortune. Settling down for love wasn’t in the cards, but then she finds the perfect person and the person she ends up falling for is someone similar to her, never wanting to settle down. 

Long story short, two lady killers meet and fall for each other.

“august”

But I can see us lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time 'Cause it was never mine And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine

A lot of folklore gives me teen au vibes for a lot of these characters. This one makes me think of teen summer romance au with lady killer Billie Dean. For teen Billie, I just picture her having a whirlwind summer romance that doesn’t last long, but it leaves such an impact on her and the other person even after they’ve returned to someone else at the end of the summer.

Lana Winters

“betty”

Yeah, I showed up at your party Will you have me? Will you love me? Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? Will it patch your broken wings? I'm only 17, I don't know anything But I know I miss you

I know this song isn’t gay, but I want it to be, so here we are. Pretty much my only reasoning for this one is teen au vibes.

“cardigan”

Sequin smile, black lipstick Sensual politics When you are young, they assume you know nothing

But I knew you Dancin' in your Levi's Drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you Hand under my sweatshirt Baby, kiss it better, I

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

Secret relationship with Lana and her giving her lover all the love she deserves. Lana Winters is such a loving person and from her trouble with her family and others in her life, she knows what it’s like to feel like “an old cardigan sweater under someone’s bed” and she doesn’t want her lover to ever feel like that.

Another thing about this is in the first three lines. Lana is a young woman working in a mainly male dominated field. All the men (most of them older as well) look down on her because she is a young woman assuming, as the lyrics suggests, that she knows nothing. I might be crazy, but I feel like these first few lines some up some of the Lana we know and see throughout season two and her multiple appearances in other seasons as well.

“dorothea”

Hey Dorothea Do you ever stop and think about me? When we were younger Down in the park Honey, making a lark of the misery You got shiny friends since you left town A tiny screen's the only place I see you now And I got nothing but well wishes for ya

Dear reader, I propose to you this, the narrator talking about our Lana Winters. Specifically, I’m referring to Lana towards the end of season two where she has gotten fame from her book and her newfound fame goes to her head a little bit. The spin is that along with this she’s got a lover back home that wishes her well, but misses her, yearns for her if you will. So, we’re going to pretend there’s an AU where Lana’s got a lover back home and watches this all occur.

Cordelia Goode

“my tears ricochet”

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same Cursing my name, wishing I stayed You turned into your worst fears

CORDELIA HAS BEEN DONE DIRTY BY QUITE A FEW PEOPLE IN HER LIFE. Sis has been done dirty by Fiona, Hank, and problem a few other people we don’t even know about. 

This song makes me think of a few different things with Cordelia. The Fiona aspect is 1) Fiona’s anger with Cordelia for being the Supreme instead of being happy and proud of her daughter and 2) Fiona’s overall poor treatment of Cordelia.

You could also interpret this as Cordelia’s awful relationship with good ol toxic Hank. Cordelia didn’t deserve the awful treatment from Hank and Fiona. Cordelia is trying to deal with all of this and she loved these people, but they treated her so poorly and in the end it’s going to come back and bite them in the end.

“tolerate it”

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid Use my best colors for your portrait Lay the table with the fancy shit And watch you tolerate it If it's all in my head, tell me now Tell me I've got it wrong somehow I know my love should be celebrated But you tolerate it

Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life Drawing hearts in the byline Always taking up too much space or time You assume I'm fine

This song HURTS me. You can interpret this song a few different ways, but the way I interpret it for Cordelia is to look at it as a mother/daughter relationship between her and Fiona.

As a child, Cordelia always wanted to impress her mother. Her mother was the Supreme after all, so she had a lot to live up to (makes me think of “Now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life”). She’s giving it her all like the lyrics “Use my best colors for your portrait / Lay the table with the fancy shit.” The first line from the excerpt above also points to Cordelia still seeking this approval even now that she’s an adult. She does all of this for her mother, but in return her mother just merely tolerates it. It never seems like enough to impress her even though Cordelia is a successful and overall incredible woman. She always feels like she’s not enough, merely getting in the way (”Always taking up too much space or time”).

“ivy”

Oh, goddamn My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Taking mine, but it's been promised to another Oh, I can't Stop you putting roots in my dreamland My house of stone, your ivy grows And now I'm covered in you

I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed He's in the room Your opal eyes are all I wish to see He wants what's only yours

AU AU AU AU AU

Picture it: a historical au with a forbidden love between Lady Cordelia Goode and a normal working class gal, however, Cordelia has been promised to marry another, say Hank. Secret relationship ensues.

I have so many thoughts on this au

Bette and Dot Tattler

“seven”

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

This song just captures the innocence that I think fits Bette and Dot really well. It’s hard to find songs to fit these two, but I really think this one has their vibes.

“willow”

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in As if you were a mythical thing Like you were a trophy or a champion ring And there was one prize I'd cheat to win The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man

Like “seven,” this song captures the innocent, sweet vibes that these two have. This one adds to the hopeless romantic aspect that both Bette and Dot have as well.

Sally McKenna

“hoax”

This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My win-less fight This has frozen my ground

Stood on the cliffside Screaming, "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do 

Sally is a sad bitch. Poor girl has been heart broken and I elaborate on this next part more later. With her love, Sally doesn’t want to move on from that person since she believed they were the love of her life, however, now they’ve betrayed her and are gone and she’s alone once again.

“right where you left me”

Everybody moved on, I I stayed there Dust collected on my pinned-up hair They expected me to find somewhere Some perspective, but I sat and stared

Right where you left me You left me no Oh, you left me no You left me no choice but to stay here forever You left me

AHHHH THIS IS A SALLY SONG! I’ve had this post in my drafts since evermore came out and I was worried I wouldn’t have much for Sally, but then this bonus track came out and I couldn’t not think of Sally when I listened to it.

This is another one of those songs that you can interpret literally or figuratively. In Sally’s case you could definitely interpret this as her being trapped as a literal ghost in the Cortez after her lover leaves her but you can also look at it in terms of Sally’s personality. In love, Sally seems like the person to hold onto someone long after they are gone and moved on. She loves hard, so it is extremely hard for her to move on. I think that if she found the person she believed was the right person and they ended up leaving her, she wouldn’t move on from them at all. She’d be holding on, waiting for them to come back even if they never do.

Audrey Tindall

“the 1″

But we were something, don't you think so? Roaring 20s, tossing pennies in the pool And if my wishes came true It would've been you In my defense, I have none For never leaving well enough alone But it would've been fun If you would've been the one

Audrey looking back on a love from another time. Basically I want all of the AUs. I wish I had more to say, but vibes.

“mirrorball”

And they called off the circus Burned the disco down When they sent home the horses And the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural All I do is try, try, try I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything To keep you looking at me

This song makes me think of Audrey having to be different versions of herself for everyone through her career path and being a celebrity because she wants so desperately for people to love her and everything she does. She loves the spotlight with “I’m still on that trapeze / I’m still trying everything / To keep you looking at me,” and she’s such a people pleaser that she’ll do anything to get people to continue to like her even if sometimes there’s nothing you can do (”And they called off the circus / Burned the disco down”). I come to this conclusion through Audrey’s insecurities about her age that we see in the second half of season six with her relationship with Rory. 

“champagne problems”

Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems

Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems

I’m not gonna lie, I don’t have a huge interpretation for this one. This kinda just makes me think of angsty au with Audrey.

“’tis the damn season”

So we could call it even You could call me babe for the weekend 'Tis the damn season, write this down I'm stayin' at my parents' house And the road not taken looks real good now And it always leads to you in my hometown

Out of everyone, Audrey is the person I picture going back to the ex for the holidays. She wants get cuffed for the holiday season even if it’s only for a little while.

“invisible string”

Green was the color of the grass Where I used to read at Centennial Park I used to think I would meet somebody there...

Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?

Audrey is definitely the type of person to believe in fate. To her everything happens for a reason and one day she’s going to find her soulmate. Overall, big Audrey Tindall vibes.

Ally Mayfair-Richards

“mad woman”

Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy What about that? And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry

And there's nothing like a mad woman What a shame she went mad No one likes a mad woman You made her like that And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out And you find something to wrap your noose around And there's nothing like a mad woman

You cannot tell me that Ally did not ghost write this like damn this song screams Ally. This song is literally all about how society has a habit of gaslighting women and that’s exactly what happened to Ally for most of season seven. The entire season focused on Kai’s cult working to convince Ally that she’s going insane and when people wouldn’t believe the very real terror’s she was suffering from, it pushed her closer and closer to madness until she nearly breaks from it all.

“no body, no crime” feat. HAIM

Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen And I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me ("She was with me dude") Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

They think she did it but they just can't prove it They think she did it but they just can't prove it She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it No, no body, no crime I wasn't letting up until the day he died

We love a homicidal queen. Ally isn’t in SCUM for nothing. Also I’m pretty sure this is my favorite song from evermore because I’m in love with the vibes.

“marjorie”

Never be so polite, you forget your power Never wield such power, you forget to be polite

This bit of the song just makes me think of how Ally holds herself at the end of the season. It’s a simple, but still expresses the perfect message.

“closure”

It's been a long time And seeing the shape of your name Still spells out pain It wasn't right The way it all went down Looks like you know that now

Yes, I got your letter Yes, I'm doing better

ALLY DOESN’T NEED YOUR APOLOGY! SHE’S A BAD BITCH

Wilhemina Venable

“exile” feat. Bon Iver

All this time We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out  You never gave a warning sign 

All this time I never learned to read your mind I couldn't turn things around  'Cause you never gave a warning sign

For these lyrics I’m picturing Mina’s lover saying/thinking them. Mina isn’t used to love, so when she finally falls for someone and they reciprocate those feelings she gets scared. She shuts them out without any warning sign because she’s not sure how to handle all these intense feelings for this person.

“illicit affairs”

Make sure nobody sees you leave Hood over your head Keep your eyes down Tell your friends you're out for a run You'll be flushed when you return Take the road less traveled by Tell yourself you can always stop What started in beautiful rooms Ends with meetings in parking lots

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings And longing stares It's born from just one single glance But it dies, and it dies, and it dies A million little times

The connotation of these lyrics is everything in my interpretation of it with Wilhemina. The story line is similar to the song “ivy,” but the connotation of the affairs taking place is completely different. “ivy” is all about a forbidden but loving relationship, while “illicit affairs” has a more negative connotation to where the affair is tearing the person apart. This song makes me think of a secret relationship with Wilhemina where her lover wants something more than just a secret affair, but Wilhemina isn’t willing to open herself up enough for that. This affair turns into something that isn’t working well for the lover, but they want Wilhemina so much that they put up with whatever they can get.

Mildred Ratched

“happiness”

Honey, when I'm above the trees I see it for what it is But now my eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head After giving you the best I had Tell me what to give after that All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness You haven't met the new me yet And I think she'll give you that

I don’t have much in the interpretation department for this one, but this song does make me think of Mildred’s personality. This song has the vulnerability and a bit of bitterness that I feel like Mildred would have in a situation like this. I’m not exactly sure how to describe it but this makes me think of her outlook on love and heartbreak.

“evermore” feat. Bon Iver

I rewind the tape but all it does is pause On the very moment all was lost Sending signals To be double crossed

And I was catching my breath Barefoot in the wildest winter Catching my death And I couldn't be sure I had a feeling so peculiar That this pain would be for Evermore

This girl has been “double crossed.” My woman Mildred has been done dirty. This makes me think of angsty Mildred getting betrayed by someone who she trusted in love. And I don’t it’s sad and I thought of some sad vibes with bb millie.

“epiphany”

With you, I serve With you, I fall down, down Watch you breathe in Watch you breathing out, out

Something med school did not cover Someone's daughter, someone's mother Holds your hand through plastic now "Doc, I think she's crashing out" And some things you just can't speak about

Nurse Mildred Ratched. That is all folks.

“gold rush”

But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush Everybody wants you

At dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit And the coastal town We wandered 'round had never Seen a love as pure as it And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea 'Cause you know it could never be

Call me crazy BUT this song makes me think of Mildred. She’s the type of person that isn’t really comfortable with love. She doesn’t like to be vulnerable and this pushes her to be uncomfortable with little things like someone making her blush. Love is new to her.

She is also envious of the effect this person has on her and, in turn, the effect that person has on everyone else because they are so stunning. When they do get together it is the type of love that poetry is written about. Witty banter and fiery gazes but also the gentle caress of a hand while walking along the shore. 

This love is perfect in every way, but of course there must also be a level of angst to nearly all stories and the angst with this one is the fact that the time period Mildred is around in does not allow her to love her lover openly and freely. Overtime this might cause a strain on the relationship with the line “And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea / ‘Cause you know it could never be.” Her and her lover both know that society would condemn them for who they are.

Harriet Hayes

“peace”

'Cause there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me

But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Harriet is a big celebrity. She has paparazzi hounding her all the time and once she’s in a relationship they start hounding that person too. It’s a lot for a person and a relationship. Harriet can change that aspect of their relationship (”But the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me”), but she can provide her lover with as much love she can give. She will always try her best for the person she truly, truly loves her. There may be some bumps along the way (like the next song) but she will do her best and hopefully that’s enough for her lover because she can’t ever completely give them peace.

“this is me trying”

I've been having a hard time adjusting I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting I didn't know if you'd care if I came back I have a lot of regrets about that Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

I just wanted you to know That this is me trying I just wanted you to know That this is me trying

They told me all of my cages were mental So I got wasted like all my potential And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad

The last line gives me hella Harriet vibes because I feel like when she’s angry she’s kind of blinded by it. She’s the type of person that says some really hurtful things that she doesn’t mean when she’s angry. 

Looking deeper, I get Harriet vibes from the beginning in the sense that Harriet is just trying to do the best that she can in a relationship, but it’s just not really working out. She has her career the “shiniest wheel,” however, now that’s slowing down and she’s lost on what to do with her relationships. She wants everything to work out like how she did so well so quick with her career, but everything isn’t working out like that.

[annab-nana]

What A Man Gotta Do - Colby Brock

Y/n’s current song obsession is “What A Man Gotta Do” by the Jonas Brothers, so she plays it all the time. After Colby hears it and listens to the lyrics, he takes into consideration what they are saying and decides to act on it.

Requested by an amazing anon 💙

Warnings: some curse words

Word Count: 1.5k+

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

"Caught my heart about one, two times. Don't need to question the reason I'm yours, I'm yours," I loudly sing the lyrics to my latest obsession as I apply concealer under my eyes. I reach for my beauty blender and blend out the concealer, pressing the sponge to my face along with the beat of the music as I goofily dance around as well. Watching my reflection in the mirror and smiling at my silliness, I am interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in!" I shout over the blaring music before continuing to move my body to the rhythm. Colby opens the bathroom door and leans against the doorframe, a smile spreading on his face as his eyes rest on my swaying figure.

"What is your loud ass getting ready for?" He asks with a chuckle. A mischievous smirk plays upon my lips because I have not told him about my plans for the day which he will be involved in.

"Well Colbs, I am getting ready because we are in quarantine and I am bored. I also don't have any pictures to post on Instagram and you are going to take some pictures of me," I explain to him as he scoffs playfully.

"Oh, am I?" He questions before I return him with a nod. "And what do I get out of it?" I roll my eyes at him as I apply powder to my face.

"Why can't you just do something nice for your favorite roommate?"

"So, you think you're my favorite roommate?"

"I know I am. Wanna know how I know that?" He nods, intrigued with what I am about to say.

"Because you love me so much that you are going to take pictures of me, right?" He rolls his eyes before sighing and nodding.

"And anyway, who films for your ass all the time and who is probably going to help you film on Thursday because you always film last minute? Me. I do. You can't tell me you don't rely on me to help because Jake is always playing video games, Corey is always dancing, and poor Sam, bless his heart, broke his damn back," I say as I brush on some bronzer.

"Okay, I get it. I'll take the pictures. Let me go take a quick shower and then, I'm all yours," Colby informs me as he grabs the doorknob, getting ready to close the door and head to his room before I stop him.

"Wait!" He looks up at me, his big blue eyes searching my own to figure out why I stopped him. 

"Dance with me for the rest of this song?" I ask with a huge grin plastered on my face. He returns a big smile as well before nodding and shutting the door behind him. As the rest of "What A Man Gotta Do" by the Jonas Brothers plays, Colby and I put on our best dance moves and if anyone knows us, they know we cannot dance to save our lives. I bust out laughing as Colby thrusts the air in front of him.

"Oh my God, Colby, calm down. I don't need you getting off to the air in my bathroom," I chuckle as he acts all shocked. A few more moves later and the song ends. Colby leaves to take a shower and I finish my makeup.

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

After a few outfit and hair changes, we were at our last spot and taking the last bit of pictures. I had put on a bright yellow romper to match my same colored vans. The color compliments my skin tone very well in my opinion. I also braided my hair into two french braids and added some simple gold jewelry to complete the look. I sat on the top of the bar of the tiki hut with my legs crossed, hands gripping the bar's edge, and eyes looking to my left.

"Say something funny so I laugh," I tell Colby.

"Umm, something funny so I laugh," he snickers from behind the camera. I shoot him a glare which he snaps a photo of.

"That one is a keeper," Colby laughs as he looks at me with a smile. I roll my eyes before returning the smile.

"Now say something actually funny. You normally have no problem making me laugh," I say as I go back to how I was sitting before. He ponders for a moment before thinking of something that will get me to laugh.

"You always laugh at my dancing," he mentions, and I nod my head.

"Yep, that never fails," I tell him as I pull my phone out and shuffle my music. Aryia's song "Mulholland Drive" comes on.

"Ooo, do the dance that Corey, Chazz, and Aryia do in the music video, milkman," I beg him and of course, he agrees.

"I can go ahead and tell you that it is not going to look like them. I can't dance," he states as we wait for that part to come up.

"You normally can't, but here lately in the tiktoks you do with Corey, you do pretty good." He gives me a thank you nod before beginning to dance and it works. My laughter fills the air and he grins before capturing the moment with some pictures. He continues to take pictures until "What A Man Gotta Do" comes back on. I hop off the bar and hold my hand out to Colby.

"Will you dance with me, Brock?" I ask before he sets the camera down and takes my hand. We spin our way under the tiki hut and dance around like idiots until the next song comes on. "It's Been A Long, Long Time" by Harry James and his orchestra. I fell in love with this song ever since I heard it in Avengers: Endgame when Steve Rodgers and Peggy danced to it. Being the Marvel fan I am, it has been my dream to dance to this song with someone.

"Okay, this is the last thing I'll ask you to do and then I'll leave you alone, I promise."

"What is it, y/n?" He chuckles lightly as he leans against the bar.

"Will you dance with me to this song? And then we are done. I won't make you do anything else." He nods his head at me before holding his hand out to me. I beam at him as I take his hand. He pulls me into him, wrapping his arm around my waist. My hand that isn’t holding his wraps around his neck as I rest my head on his chest. Together, we sway to the 50s music and the moment just feels so beautiful.

"So, y/n, tell me. What does a man have to do?" He asks me before I look up at him, confused.

"Huh?"

"What a man gotta do to be totally locked up by you?" He asks and then I see what he is doing. Those are the lyrics to the favorite song at the moment. I roll my eyes before placing my head back against his chest.

"Well, for starters, I want someone who can make me laugh all the time. I want him to make me smile when it feels impossible to do so and I want him to make me laugh so hard that it physically hurts, you know?" I tell him to which he lets out a small hum in response.

"I'm a sucker for blue eyes, but I'll be fine with green or brown, I guess. I also like hair that has a little curl to it. I love curly hair. I also want a sweetheart who cares for others and loves his friends and family."

"What does he have to say?" He continues with the questions based on the song.

"Umm, he has to be able to say I love you. I've dated someone who couldn’t, and it hurt like hell to not be loved back." He rubbed the hand that rested on my lower back up and down in a comforting and soothing way.

"What does he have to prove to be totally locked up by you?"

"Just prove that he loves me and will never leave me."

"By the sound of it, y/n, I think I fit your description pretty well," Colby softly speaks above my head.

"Yeah maybe, but you don't want me," I say as Colby pulls us apart to spin me around. A giggle escapes my lips as I spin right back into him.

"I'm not trying to be your part-time lover, sign me up for that full time, I'm yours, all yours," Colby sings into my ear.

"Are you just singing the lyrics or are you trying to tell me something?" I ask, looking up at him again.

"I'm speaking from my heart, y/n. I love you. Always have, always will."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I ask as we continue to sway to the orchestra playing through my phone’s speakers.

"I don't know. I didn't know how. But telling you now felt right."

"You really like me? This isn't a prank?" I question, just to make sure.

"Not a prank. Just me telling you how I feel."

"I love you too Colby," I say as I get on my tiptoes to press a little kiss to his cheek.

"So, what do you say? Can I be totally locked up by you?" I roll my eyes and chuckle at his absolute adorableness right now.

"Yes, yes you can."

[norabrice1701]

Only A Dream

A “The Sandman” fanfic

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream x Fem!reader

Summary: In which your sleeping mind conjures the most captivating voice and figure, and you hope your mind can do it again. After all, such a man couldn't possibly be real.

Rating: More sensual than graphic explicit, but still NSFW sexual content (please be ye warned and do not proceed if not your cuppa), couple of f-bombs

A/N: So, I listened to the Audible book and fell in love with Dream's voice and cadence (courtesy of the ever-wonderful James McAvoy). That combined with the visual imagery from the comics formed the basis for this shameless musing. I see this as happening somewhere in the adventures between Vol. 3 and 4. When Dream might be a little *ahem* starved after three score years and ten...

There was a voice in your dream. Rich. Sonorous. Captivating.

The figure attached to the voice proved equally worthy of your attention, but you jolted awake too suddenly.

You’d been back in high school. The uniforms were straight from your memory, as was the familiar setting of the cafeteria as you furiously labored over books and paper. Stress and anxiety lingered in the air – some assignment was late, or about to be overdue, or some such. Lunch din echoed around you as trays clattered, and students indistinctly conversed and chewed food. But that’s when you heard it – heard him – sharp and crisp above the dull background.

Sure, you had dreamt of your school days before, but never recalled the presence of such a man.

Perhaps work had you more stressed out than you thought.

That was why you slept with a notepad by your bed these days. Better to scribble the thoughts and reminders that plagued you at 3 am instead of dwelling on them until your alarm sounded. But when you woke last night, chasing and grasping the last vestiges of the dream – you reached for the notepad with a different purpose.

Your artistic skills were poor, so you made notes to help you remember.

Tall, very thin, long black robe

Wild, black hair

Black eyes lit with stars

Deep, sonorous, distracting voice

Holding a plate of chocolate cake

You tried to capture the untamed mop of hair, the slope of his elegant nose, the inscrutable expression when your gazes met. Though, sadly, your sketch didn’t do your dream man justice.

But that didn't stop you from thinking about him. Staring at your notes, wondering why – now of all times – your subconscious decided to throw this man randomly into your dream.

The dream proved just as fleeting as any other and if you didn’t have notes – you wondered if you’d still remember him. But the more you thought – allowed your conscious mind to fill in the gaps of that tall figure wrapped in black holding chocolate cake and conversing with the lunch lady – the more your curiosity grew.

Especially as the dream man didn’t appear again. It was a silly notion – but you wanted to see him again. You wanted to hear that voice again. Why would your subconscious tease you like that? The first man to remotely capture your attention in months and he was nothing more than a figment of your dreams.

Figures.

But that didn’t stop you from imagining. From fantasizing. Especially as you laid in your dark bed at night with your thoughts lost somewhere between waking and sleeping. Imagining more words in those rumbling, deep tones. Imagining studying those intriguing, starry eyes up close. And on particularly frustrating nights – imagining how that marble-hued skin would feel against yours. How soft would those dark locks be as they slid between your fingers? And the taste of his lips?

Of course, your subconscious just had to conjure up a man who was just your type – his bizarre qualities notwithstanding, of course. Because, seriously – stars for eyes? Such a cliché.

Perhaps you were a little overfond of the star-struck emoji.

But that didn’t stop you from abandoning yourself to the fantastical thoughts as you slid into sleep each night. Maybe tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.

Your mind did it once. Surely, your mind can do it again.

You stand on a shoreline. The water stretches out before you, an endless pool of black ink that reflects the sky above. The sky is a deep navy fading to black that shimmers with stars, near and far, and glows with rolling waves of light that resemble aurora. Waves of greens, blues, purples, and yellows cast a beautiful, peaceful, unnatural glow around you. Ankle-high grass sways in a non-existent breeze, glowing with its own soft internal light. The faint green hue is punctuated with pops of colorful flora that also shimmer and flicker under the rolling waves of light. There’s an outcropping of rocks from which inky water runs in a gentle trickle – a waterfall.

Perhaps it’s a meadow. Or...just a lakeside.

You’re not sure.

But as you glance around, your gaze catches on your attire. Standing there in just your pajamas – a worn pair of cotton shorts and thin t-shirt. Your hair is wrapped in the sloppy bun that you slept in. Your glasses are missing, but you can see perfectly. Goosebumps ripple across your skin as a chill settles underneath your thin clothing. And, of course, you’re not wearing a bra, either.

“I thought this setting would please you. I am glad that it does.”

That voice sends a different shiver down your spine. You turn with a sudden, jerking movement to see the tall, dark figure standing just behind you. He’s clothed in a robe blacker than the clearest night, making his pale white skin seem even more brilliant. The dark pools of his eyes reflect the distant waves of rolling color overhead, but nothing competes with the intensity of the twin, star centers. The black of his hair seems to swallow up all traces of light, much like his robe -  his robe that reveals a most intriguing swath of equally ashen chest.

“God, it’s you…,” you swallow, finding your words stick in your throat, “wh – where is here?”

“We are in my private gardens.”

“Your gardens?” Your eyes dart around, dubious. This doesn’t look like any garden you’ve ever seen. “Um, then…why am I in my pajamas?” You can’t help but feel waifish next to his majestic presence.

“Would you care for something different?”

You stare at him, feeling your cheeks flush. “Well, you’re just…you know…,” you gesture vaguely at him, “dressed like that.”

He tilts his head, as if he truly hasn’t considered his own state of dress and the difference from you to him. “I understand.”

The air moves, wrapping around you. Fabric morphs and stretches against your skin, turning from familiar cotton to lush, decadent velvet. Your shorts and shirt melt together, staining the dark black of his robe, hugging your curves as your own robe takes shape. The sleeves reach your wrists with an elegant, sweeping bell shape. A high collar cushions your neck and just a hint of your chest is on display above the v-neckline.

Even without a mirror, you can tell the robe is flattering and tasteful on your figure. The fabric slides against your skin - such an inviting texture that begs to be touched - as you move to observe the transformation.

A shiver races down your spine as you look back to him, realization catching up to you.

He hadn’t even needed to move.

The thought of his power shouldn’t be so arousing, but heat suffuses you as you meet his piercing gaze. “Thank you…this is – well, unbelievable quite frankly.”

He remains eerily still, not even blinking – does he need to with those eyes of his? But for all of his stillness, the edges of his robe sway around him despite the lack of a discernible breeze. “You observed me in your dream some time past.”

“Yes.” You don’t have a reason to deny it, recalling your notes. “You held a piece of cake in a school cafeteria. You…you certainly didn’t fit in.”

He tipped his head ever so slightly. “I had need of it. Melpomene is quite fond of chocolate, and your dream happened to be convenient.”

“Melpomene?”

“The Muse of Tragedy.”

Oh. What were you supposed to say to that? You vaguely knew there were nine Greek muses, but you didn’t know their names. Not really. But, of course – the Muse of Tragedy would have a penchant for chocolate. You nodded slowly. “That fits, actually. Sadness and chocolate. But…so, does that mean…you were stealing that cake from my dream?”

“Anything you bring into my realm is mine for the taking as I please.”

“Your realm?”

He nodded, the light glinting in his unearthly gaze. “And while it is not uncommon for me to move among the dreamers in my realm, it is far less common for them to take notice of me.”

“But I did.” You lick your lips, a sense of unease creeping into your gut. “I heard you.”

“Yes. You did.”

“So, what does that mean? You don’t….have I seen too much? Do you have to kill me now?”

He takes a step forward as if to placate your rambling, something like disbelief flashing across his face. The severe contrast between his jet-black features and snow-white skin distorts his expression and makes for a fascinating study as he advances. “No. That would be extreme and uncalled for.”

“Then, why am I here?” You draw yourself up to your full height, not wanting to appear intimidated even though his presence radiates undeniable power. It scares you just a little, but it is also strangely thrilling. If you are here, then surely that can only mean he has taken notice of you, too.

“I thought to grant you an audience. Allow you to sate your curiosity and free your mind for other pursuits.”

“Grant me an audience?” You scoff, shaking your head. “What, like you’re a king or something?”

“I am, in fact, the monarch of this realm. The Lord of Dream and Nightmare.”

You force a hard swallow, suddenly unsure. Had you said too much? Had you inadvertently insulted him? “Wow…uh, ok, your highness.” You’d never addressed royalty before. Are you expected to curtsey or bow?

“That is not necessary. You may call me Morpheus, if you have a need.”

“Morpheus…like the god of dreams and sleep. Like Mister Sandman? Like the song?”

“Mortals do have several lyrical musings about me, after a fashion.”

You smile, a tease. “You mean you don’t have two lips like roses and clover?”

He blinks those otherworldly eyes. “My appearance is as you see me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant…it’s a line from the song. ‘Mister Sandman’. Your lips…,” you pause, unbidden heat staining your cheeks, “they look fine.” A stab of annoyance surges through you that even in dreams you aren’t free of your traitorous propensity for blushing. Especially when someone of such ethereal beauty stares back at you.

For there’s no denying that’s where you are. Wrapped in the embrace of a dream with him…the Lord of Dreams. In his world. His realm – his kingdom.

Had he pulled you here? How did he know you were even asleep?

The more you take him in, though, the more you really hope you aren’t actually going crazy and losing your mind. Talk about an overactive, runaway subconscious. Carrying on such a vivid conversation with some demented part of your psyche.

“So, wait…,” you say, furrowing your brow, “I am asleep, right?”

He lifts his head to the deep navy sky, gesturing with an elegant, spidery hand. “You are indeed asleep in your mortal world.” Those eyes fall back to you, pinning you in place as he steps even closer. “Just as you are here with me in my world.”

His impressive height towers over you, sparking your blood. The thought of being wrapped up in his tall, powerful frame – feeling those slender fingers drift on your skin, hearing that melodious voice in your ear, just for you – pulls a sigh from your lips.

The stars of his eyes flash a brilliant mauve.

Oh, shit. Is he…could he read your mind? Does he know what you’re thinking? Does he know that you want to know the texture of his wild hair, the taste of his ashen lips?

God, you’d starved yourself of sex for too long if you were truly lusting after this so-called dream king. This being – this man – who couldn’t possibly exist.

Could he?

And if he didn’t? If this is just the most vivid dream of your life – then, what do you have to lose by laying your cards on the table?

You swallow, breathing deep to gather your confidence, feeling the indulgent fabric move with your chest. “I know I’m dreaming and you’re not real…but will I make a fool of myself if I kiss you?”

He arches a dark brow. “Presumptuous of you to be so forward with my person.”

“Presumptuous of me?” You arch a brow to match his. “What about you? The king who brought me to his private gardens?”

His voice purrs deep, washing over you in euphonious waves. “I am within my right when a dreamer invades The Dreaming with such cloying distractions. Such vivid and evocative fantasies about my person that circumstances have not allowed me to indulge in over three score years.”

Your breath stalls, liquid heat flaring in your belly. Later, you could try to figure out why you burn with the all-consuming need to have this figure that’s haunted your thoughts for weeks – but for now, you're willing to surrender everything. You moisten your lips. “I saw you in my dream, and I wanted to see you again. You – your voice…I didn’t want to forget. Dreams are so fleeting, after all. But from that first glance, I knew – I knew you were worth remembering.”

Would he be displeased if you reach out for him, touch his flowing robe, his alabaster skin?

“You are a curious study, my mortal.” His hand raises, the backside of his knuckles brushing down the smooth fabric of your copious sleeve. “You stand before one of the Endless, at his invitation, and you take such liberty.” He strokes back up the velvet fabric, a featherlight caress that does nothing to calm the racing of your heart.

God, how are you supposed to think? Your mouth is dry, your skin burns. What you wouldn’t give to have that hand – those fingers – find their way to your wrist and trace bare skin. Slowly, you manage to find words. “I’ve thought about you every night when I drift off. I always hoped I would dream of you again. See your eyes again. Hear you again. God, your voice...it’s what drew me to you.”

Deciding you don’t care, you raise you other hand, gingerly brushing your fingertips along his upturned palm as he continues his ministrations on your arm. His skin, smooth and refined, holds the slightest edge of frosty chill. Like…like marble. If marble was fleshy and corporeal.

His eyes burn with mesmerizing fire. “I have known your thoughts every night since – echoing in my being and in this place. Needless to say, your continual… persistence did heavily influence my decision to seek a meeting with you.” His fingers curl around yours, tearing a breathy moan from you to feel the strength there. “But make no mistake.”

A whisper of chilled air brushes your lips as you realize he is close now. So tenderly close. Had you moved? Had he? The cool tip of his nose teases your cheek and you lean into his touch, breathing him in - all icy, crisp snow, and burning, celestial forges.

His words form between you with barely a breath. “Touch your lips to mine, and you will take my seed this night.”

You whimper high in your throat, wanting nothing more. You’d waited weeks to see him again and you aren’t going to let him get away now. "If that was a threat...it failed, Morpheus."

"A promise, then."

You angle your head, nuzzling the slope of his nose, gusting your breath over his lips. Charged anticipation hangs thick in the remaining space. You press forward, sealing your mouth to his in a kiss of acknowledgement. Of acceptance. Of pure fucking want.

The chilly texture of his lips creates pleasant sensations as your mouth moves with his, savoring the endless caress. He meets your advances, sliding his hand up your arm and around your back, pressing you closer. You reach out to his robe, finding the fabric so feather-light, so inviting, as you lick against the seam of his lips, teasing for an opening. And open he does.

You gasp as control of the kiss shifts. As his tongue drives forward, plundering yours and the warmth of your mouth. You grip his sharp shoulder, arching into him as you whimper at the onslaught. The motions of his mouth mimic motions that you long for from other parts of his anatomy, and you can't stop your hand from raising to those tempting, raven locks. His hair cards through your fingers like fine silk, and you struggle to breathe as everything within you screams out for this man. This king. This lord.

You clench your hand low on his nape, withdrawing from his deep kiss. You want more - so much fucking more. He groans low, the sound inhuman and intoxicating as you angle your head, dropping kisses along his defined jawline. Each press of your lips against chilly skin emboldens you further, drowning in his whispered gasps and strangled moans. You close your teeth over the juncture of his neck and shoulder - where a racing pulse should reside - and the world tilts.

Strong arms sweep you up, drawing you down and laying you out against the unnaturally soft, glowing ground. The faint light from the swaying grass illuminates his dark features, catching the mauve glow of the stars in his eyes. He presses the full length of his slender, hard body against you, tearing a gasp from you as your eyes fall closed. When had...had any man ever felt so good?

Crisp fingers dance across the exposed skin of your chest, drifting down over the front of your robe. Summoned by the power of his touch alone, the fabric parts as his fingers trail down your sternum, your belly. His mouth lays siege to your neck, your breasts, nibbling and tasting as he nuzzles the fabric aside.

Your hands pull at his own robe, feeling yours continue to fall away. Then, there are no barriers between you - and you feel everything . Every hard angle, each press of chilled skin, the rigid length of his arousal. You feel like an inferno by comparison, trying to lift your hips to meet his, to guide him where you want him most.

“You wanton creature," he scolds. His teeth graze your breast and you tremble beneath him. “You try my patience.”

“I... ohh, I didn’t ask you to be patient.” Another gasp leaves you as he shifts to return his mouth to yours, the length of him brushing between your legs. You lift a leg to wrap around his hips, coaxing him down to fully connect your bodies.

“The lady is demanding of her king.”

It almost sounds like a low current of amusement warms his voice. But you don’t trust your blurred senses, intoxicated by his all-consuming presence.

“Please…,” you catch the transcendent glow of his eyes, desperate, “please, my king. I want to feel you.”

His lips press to yours, the most chaste of kisses. A complete contrast to the full press of bare skin to bare skin. Surely, your heart will explode if he makes you wait any longer.

“And so you shall, my lady.”

With the smallest shift of his hips, the cool, blunt tip of him catches at your slick, burning entrance. Your head falls back against the soft ground as he pushes forward, breaching and filling you. God, it's perfect - he is perfect. You can feel each chilled inch of him as he buries to the hilt, groaning into each other's mouths.

You cease to exist as he begins to move. Surrendering to the push and pull that his body extracts and yours demands. Your cries echo into the dreamscape, unable to censor the sensations from such escalating, mind-numbing pleasure. Your body coils tight around him, drawing his most delicious grunts and groans in a primal register that no mortal could match. Each thrust hits deep and true to your most sensitive place time after time, a relentless rush with only one end. You explode in a blinding fury of ecstasy, floating mindless in starlight and darkness.

His serrated groan echoes in your mind as cool liquid floods you.

Your mouth finds his, languid and content and so intimate. Something in your heart aches as your body rests under his, drifts with his.

You woke up, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. Tears welled in your eyes at the overwhelming sense of boneless satisfaction and sudden loss.

A dream...sure, it had only been a dream. But it felt more real than anything you'd known. Was that it, though? Would you ever see him again?

You rolled over, trying to calm your raging thoughts and emotions, feeling a slippery dampness between your legs. Of course, after a dream like that, you weren't surprised. But as the moisture continued to spread and seep through the cotton, your brow furrowed. It...it seemed like too much. With a slow reach of your hand, you explored beneath the covers.

Your fingers came away coated in something far more thick and viscous than your natural slick. The implication seized you, breath catching and eyes widening.

It was only a dream…right?

Only a Dream.

[bisluthq]

hi I was wondering what your favourite sapphic songs of Taylor's are? cause kaylors make such a big deal of the 'male perspective' in songs like our song, love story, mine. and I agree that wanting to experience that is gay in itself. but those songs just feel so straight country love songs that I really cannot see them as sapphic, particularly given that she also sings from the 'female perspective' to the man. so I wondered which songs feel most sapphic to you?

Ohh boy yeah the male perspective (except Betty where it’s gay in concept and feels very like when 15 year old me was obsessed with Blue Mountain State lmao) never screams gay to me. Let’s do a roundup of sapphic lyrics and themes.

In Teardrops on My Guitar, Taylor says: “Drew walks by me... Can he tell that I can't breathe? And there he goes, so perfectly... The kind of flawless I wish I could be.” Now the whole song’s unseen pining is pretty gay to me. Like I say, there are unrequited straight songs but it’s very like... “why aren’t you understanding that I’m right here? How can you be so blind?” In Teardrops Taylor seems very aware that this person (well boy in the song) won’t ever notice her.

And sure we could say “well she has poor self-confidence” but then there’s that line in the bit I chose: “The kind of flawless I wish I could be” - why is she comparing herself to a boy? Do I want to be you or do I want to fuck you is such a big mood for queer women especially young queer women. I dunno, like my first few late elementary/early middle school crushes (and my first few crushes were on girls) were very like: “Do I want to be her? Do I want to be her best friend? Or do I want her to hold my hand? And why does her holding my hand make my heart beat faster and seem to have no effect on her?” There’s a definite way queer women compare ourselves to the object of our affections that straight women don’t seem to do that makes “my crush is the kind of flawless I wish I could be” feel extremely sapphic to me.

Oh bonus one from Teardrops: “The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star / He's the song in the car I keep singing. Don't know why I do” - why doesn’t she know? Like what’s confusing about this situation? She likes this dude why is it such a big fucking deal that she does? And again why does she want to be like him?

Anyway yeah that whole song.

Also Invisible is gay af. Like if you reverse the pronouns it’s the universal queer woman’s story of being in love with your friend. And this bitch is into some dude who isn’t anywhere near good enough for her and your affections are invisible but if she only knew - and she won’t - the two of you could have something beautiful together.

Stay Beautiful also reads gay but apparently she wrote it in the fourth grade so maybe her vocab was just bad idk.

On that album, Tied Together with a Smile and I’m Only Me When I’m With You are formally, officially, according to Tay’s explanations about her female friends btw. If you listen to those two songs and then the first two I listed they’re... not that fucking different lmao. It’s that same idea of “you get me and I just want you to be happy”. It’s all just... gay...

Fearless is probably one of the least gay albums overall IMO (tho I’m open to people making stuff gay) but it does give us the title track which is very fucking gay lol so it makes up for the number of straight sounding songs on here. First there’s this bit:

We're drivin' down the road

I wonder if you know

I'm tryin' so hard not to get caught up now

But you're just so cool

Run your hands through your hair

Absent-mindedly makin' me want you

Man “I wonder if you know” is exactly that feeling I was describing like, I wonder if you realize this is more than friendship? I wonder if you know that I want you. And the “you’re just so cool” isn’t as explicitly “I want to be you” but it’s also got some of that shared energy. This person is so cool that them running their hand absent-mindedly through their hair is making her feel some type of way and yet she’s not sure if the person knows that. Now why wouldn’t this extremely cool guy know that the girl he’s giving a lift to is possibly interested?

Then there’s this bit:

My hands shake

I'm not usually this way

But you pull me in and I'm a little more brave

It's the first kiss,

It's flawless,

Really something,

It's fearless.

Why does this first kiss require so much bravery? It’s not her first ever because “I’m not usually this way” implies she has been in a similar position before. And then:

And I don't know why but with you I'd dance in a storm in my best dress

Fearless

“I don’t know why” - well because you like this person! Girl, you’re into them. Oh, you’re not sure why because it’s a girl? Also lbr discussing clothes with your crush/partner is a very gay girl thing so just that addition of “my best dress” in the context of the rest of this incredibly gay song is... gay...

Oh and a bonus point:

'Cause I don't know how it gets better than this

You take my hand and drag me head first

Fearless

Making that big a deal of handholding and saying it requires bravery is, you guessed it, gay af. 

Untouchable also delivers some gems: “Untouchable like a distant diamond sky / I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why / I'm caught up in you” - I mean this is that whole vague confused forbidden vibes I spoke about before and the “And when you're close I feel like coming undone”. For me, it’s the fact that this person’s mere presence is enough to make her undone and she’s begging for a “taste of Heaven” feels... gay...

Jump Then Fall is also pretty damn gay to me. It’s got that dangerous “this could be dangerous” thing going on (“I had time to think it all over and all I can say is come closer”) but it’s also positive and... she’s saying jump and I’ll catch you which... like I get that it could be metaphorical but generally with het couples the dude would do the catching. Like if it was just that it’d not be that gay but again, the whole thing... is...

Whoa, oh, I need you baby

Don't be afraid, please,

Jump then fall

Jump then fall into me

Baby, I'm never gonna leave you

Say that you wanna be with me too

'Cause I'mma stay through it all

So jump then fall

Jump then fall, baby,

Jump then fall into me, into me

Like why are they both so scared? Why is she convincing herself and this person? What’s the danger? Is it just meant to be a “loss of virginity” song?

Then there’s the catching bit I mentioned:

The bottom's gonna drop out from under our feet

I'll catch you, I'll catch you

When people say things that bring you to your knees

I'll catch you

Idk man. It’s gay.

By the way for two unrequited songs that fundamentally feel straight to me, look at The Other Side of the Door and You Belong With Me. I’m not saying you can’t have queer readings. But both of them have that “blame” angle to the guy’s lack of interest or inability to requite her feelings. Like she’s saying “I won’t tell you what I want or that I want you but you should figure it out ya big dummy!” which is inherently different to that “I know this is completely pointless and I’m barking up the wrong tree” energy of the other songs I mentioned. “I’m worried you’ll hurt me” songs are also different to “if you stand close to me I’ll completely fall apart but I can’t let you see” of... like... Untouchable.

Hey Stephen has the “I can't help it if you look like an angel” line but it’s generally straight for me because:

Hey, Stephen,

I could give you fifty reasons

Why I should be the one you choose.

All those other girls—

Well, they're beautiful,

But would they write a song for you?

Do you see what I mean it’s like “I know you might not want me but you should” and that’s not a sapphic vibe. Like that’s to me what makes her gay sounding songs so much gayer like they capture a very specific feeling - being confused on if you want to be her, be her friend or fuck her dumb ass.

On Speak Now Taylor adds another type of gayness into her repertoire. She does the “I’m singing about a guy but it’s all about a girl” thing in Better Than Revenge. Now I know she has been called out a lot for this and she herself has now said obvi girls don’t steal your boyfriend BUT that’s not the part I find interesting. It’s shit like: “She thinks I'm psycho 'cause I like to rhyme her name with things” - like girl, that is psycho. Being obsessed with the fact that she is wearing vintage dresses is weird. And Taylor does this in the title track with her lengthy descriptions of the bridge compared to ZERO description of the guy. Not even “looking so handsome” - like there’s nothing. But the bride is “floating down the aisle like a pageant queen”.

Idk this is only three albums and only like my favorite gay bits and I already have so many and I haven’t even gotten to Treacherous 😭 I think I should make a hashtag for this and carry on later.

The point is, for me, it’s not about her singing a back and forth with a guy and a girl. It’s capturing supremely sapphic wlw feelings that I’ve never seen a straight female songwriter or musician convey, even where I’ve loved their music and felt it strongly resonated with me for other reasons.

[ms-maj]

Jug’s Last Day

I know you guys were really jonesing for another songfic ;)

All of the gratitude to @bettycooper for her amaze beta and graphics skills. Cat, as always, thank you for turning my alphabet soup into a lovely word salad. You the best!

And to Sarah, @theheavycrown​, thank you for your support and friendship and believing in my words even when I don’t <3

Oh when you left home and moved to Ohio

The summer had come to an end

My best friend goes I try to follow

Running as you disappear

Stay, you know how bad this hurts

It’s been three weeks and just gets worse

Come back to PA

Forever this time

Greg’s Last Day- The Starting Line

May 24

“So do you know when you’re leaving yet?” Archie asked quietly, trying not to draw the eye of their friends wading down the bank of the river.

Jughead shrugged, eyes cast down, kicking at the pebbled ground with the worn toe of his boot. “Not until August, I don’t think. Before school starts for sure. I think I get the summer at least.”

“Did you tell her?”

He stopped and sighed, head shaking no.

“Neither part I take?”

Jughead finally met his best friend’s eyes. What was sadness a moment ago is now abject horror. “Why would I do that to her? To me? I’m only going to be around for another two months, max—”

“Okay, okay!” Archie held up his hands defensively, dropping them when he noticed his friend’s attention had once again been captured by the meandering bank of Sweetwater River and the blonde ponytail that traced its path. He stepped forward to nudge Jughead’s shoulder with his own. “Then don’t tell her that thing, but you have to tell her that you’re leaving, Jug.”

“I know, Arch, I know.”

June 10

“How are we already seniors in high school, Jug?” Betty sat cross-legged on the cot in the back of the projection booth.

Jughead grunted in response, the bulk of his attention on the finicky machine in front of him.

“Maybe I’ll finally get a real date to homecoming this year, since Kevn has a boyfriend and all.”

His hands stilled on the projector. At thoughts of Betty in dresses of satin and lace, across every color of the spectrum, hair curled in soft waves over her shoulders, spinning out of his arms and onto the dance floor a smile crept to his lips. He could almost feel the warmth of her hand in his, hear the soft lilt of her voice when she says—  

“Juggie?” He’s snapped back to reality, the dream sequence bursting appropriately above her head as he turned to meet her questioning gaze, the dawning realization that all of those things will come to pass whether he’s in the picture or not sinks like hot lead in his stomach.

“Sorry, this thing’s a piece of shit. Always takes a while to get going. If you want, you can go find Kevin and Archie. I know a bunch of other kids from school are here, too, so you don’t have to sit here and watch me fight the projector,” he swallowed the bile down with the lie. The projector was old but well-cared for, and in all the years of the Twilight’s operation it had never failed.

“Oh,” her voice was hushed, almost disappointed. “I thought we…”

The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as their eyes held over the projector. “It’s just not going to be much fun watching me try to keep this thing running.”

It was dark in the booth save for the light emanating from the machine which gave off just enough to see the tears welling in her eyes. “Sure, whatever you say Jug.”

She was gone before the last of the breath he was holding escaped.

(read below or check it out here)

July 7

The lights were hung from the trees in her backyard, encircling them and twinkling in the humid July night. It was Betty’s seventeenth birthday and yellow frosted cake sat too brightly between the various healthy snacks that seemed terribly out of place at a teenager’s party.

“You look really pretty,” he managed as his hands sat awkwardly on her waist. The pink fabric of her dress was slick yet stuck under the dampness of his fingers.

She smiled. “Thanks, Juggie. I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He felt the furrow of his brow, his fingers tightening against satin.

“Oh,” she flicked the hair off her shoulder, eyes cautiously glancing back to meet his. “It’s just that you’ve been really busy. I haven’t seen you much.”

Her voice was soft. Even through the music and raucous laughter of their peers, it was lyrical and light and maybe just a little bit sad. Jughead tightened his grip on her sides in a poor attempt to tamp down the ever growing desire to run his hands across the entirety of her body.

“Work,” he said, probably more terse than he meant, but it was a lie he was trying to sell. “Between the Twilight and taking shifts at Pop’s...it’s been a busy summer.”

Betty nodded. “No, I know that. It’s just…” Her head shook softly as her most tried and true generic Cooper smile faltered. “I was hoping to see more of you before we got bogged down by school.”

Jughead could swear he smiled, but the look reflected back at him conveyed he did not. He could feel the sweat forming under the betraying rim of his beanie, a lock of escaped hair sticking to his brow. Her arm rose from his shoulder, and while he missed the sensation, the one that replaced it made him shiver. Her soft, slender fingers found their way to the unruly curl, sliding under it and wrapping it around them before gently brushing it from his forehead and back under his beanie.

“Betts,” he swallowed thickly, her hand still lingering on the side of his head.

“Hey, Mr. Jones!”

Jughead felt the air leave his body as he turned toward the gate to see Mr. Andrews and his father talking.

“Are you here for Jug? I can’t believe you guys are leaving already!” Archie called out from behind them.

“Leaving? Where are you going, Jug?” Her hand fell from his face and landed awkwardly on his shoulder.

There was no way around it now. Not when she should have known since the beginning. Not when she was looking up at him more confused than he’d ever seen her. “Um, do you think we could go somewhere and talk?”

He was so fixated on the wrinkle between Betty’s eyebrows, the way her face scrunched up when she was deep in thought, that he didn’t see the movement to his left. Didn’t know his father had made his way through the crowd to clap him on the back and proclaim to the entirety of their classmates: “Truck’s all packed. Just a good night’s sleep is all that’s separating us Jones men from the Buckeye State.”

“Buckeye?” Betty echoed absently, her arms dropping from around his neck. “Jughead?”

He swallowed, opening his mouth to speak and promptly shut it when no words came out. The dawning realization stole over her face, confusion melting away to hurt. Shaking her head, she turned out of his arms, her hands in fists at her sides, before she ran from the yard altogether.

“Fuck!” Fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose while the other hand balled up at his side.

“I’ll let that one go, boy. Looks like you have bigger fish to fry,” FP squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, gaze softening as he walked back toward Fred.

“Bro, how did you not tell her?” Archie’s voice sounded distant in his ears even though he was standing right next to him.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot, Arch,” he slipped the beanie off his head and grabbed a fistful of hair.

“You know what you have to do, right?”

He looked up at his best friend, who looked far more sympathetic than Jughead deserved. “I know, I know. But where do I even start?”

Archie clapped him on the shoulder and nodded encouragingly. “You know exactly what you have to do, man. And now you have to tell her the other thing too. Good luck. She’s got a mean left hook.”

There was another reassuring squeeze of his shoulder before Archie ran back into the crowd. Jughead sighed, replaced the worn beanie on his head, and took off for the one place he was sure Betty would be.

Except she wasn’t.

Not at the river. Not at Pop’s. Not in Archie’s old, dilapidated tree house nor at Picken’s Park. He stalked through the streets berating himself, kicking at the pavement and scuffing the dangerously thin soles of his shoes.

Archie said she hadn’t made it back to the house yet, which meant his search wasn’t completely wasted, but the longer he walked with no sightings, the harder it was to accept she wanted to be found. Not that he’d stop looking. There were too many things left unsaid and too much history between them to let it all fall to the wayside, because he’d been an idiot.

He wished it was cooler. Sweat beaded on his brow, so much so he resorted to using his beanie as a rag, shoving the damp wool into his back pocket instead of back on his head. Between the stagnant midsummer night air and the way his anxiety seemed to simmer just under his skin, he felt fully aflame.

If only he had…

There were so many things he could have done, or said, so many missed opportunities and moments left to chance. He played every interaction he and Betty had since school let out, since he knew he was leaving and understands—knows implicitly—he is the only one at fault for his current predicament.

And yet he wants to lash out at everyone. At Archie for spilling his admittedly stupid secret, at his dad for insisting they leave right after Betty’s party, at Betty for looking so sad and hurt when he knew that she’d miss him for maybe a minute. Tops.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” her voice came from behind him, louder and sharper than usual. He slowly turned to find her sitting on a bench, the harsh light from the streetlamp cascading down on her.

“I didn’t think I said that out loud,” he started toward her, halting when she held up her hand. It dropped to her lap after a moment, joining the fingers of her other hand clutching at the fabric of her dress. “Betts…”

“Do you really believe that, Jug? Has our friendship meant that little to you, or are you just trying to make yourself feel better for being a dick?” He saw the tear roll down her cheek, the attempt to leave it unacknowledged, and then, the hasty removal of it from her face. “You know, honestly, at this point I don’t know if I care,” her sniffle carried across the space, somehow not drowned out by the restless cicadas or the pounding of his heart.

“No! No,of course not, Betty. I know you would miss me for at least five whole minutes,” he deadpanned. However, it seemed Betty was not in the mood for his misguided attempt to deflect. The roll of her eyes and the sharp set of her jaw had him reaching for his sweat-soaked beanie, retrieving it from his back pocket and pulling at it aggressively as he tried to cover his hair. “Can I try this again?”

He was answered by a curt nod as Betty looked away from him once again.

“My dad is about a hairsbreadth away from both falling off the wagon and back into the inglorious cesspool of gang life. As a last ditch attempt in not destroying everything, he and my mother came to some sort of arrangement if we moved to Toledo.”

Betty’s mouth opened slightly before snapping back shut, the juncture of her jaw throbbing against the soft curve of her cheek. Her eyes closed for a moment before she spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not a conversation that I wanted to have with anyone, Betty. Least of all you,” his hand scratched at the back of his neck, eyes not daring to look up from the pavement.

“But you obviously told Archie, right? So why not me? Are we not…” she stopped and pressed the tips of her fingers against her lips. “I guess we’re just not as close as I thought.”

The hand dropped from Jughead’s neck as he stepped toward her. “You know that’s not true either.”

“So what was it then, Jughead! Tell me why you could confide in Archie but not me? Tell me why you pulled away when you already knew you’d be leaving?”

“Because I refused to have you look at me like that! Like some sad, lost cause with one foot in the grave and the other following exactly in dear ol’ dad’s footsteps.”

“What? Jughead,” she stood, quickly wrapping her arms around her torso, seemingly to stop herself from reaching for him, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. “You know, I don’t know what hurts worse. The knowledge that my best friend is moving. Tomorrow. Or that he thinks I think so little of him and our friendship I would (A) judge him for things completely out of his control, (B) not understand what it was like to deal with fucked up parents, or (C) think I wouldn’t be there for him.”

His arms stretched before him of their own volition, long fingers wrapping around her upper arms. “Betty,” he breathed, willing her eyes to meet his. “I know you wouldn’t have done any of those things. It wasn’t because of you that I didn’t tell you. I was embarrassed and ashamed and million other things that I have no explanation for at the moment.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t step out of his grasp. “I just don’t understand, Jug. What changed?”

“Nothing! And everything, I guess. It was supposed to be different. It was all supposed to be different this year. We were gonna get control of the Blue and Gold and fill out college applications at Pop’s over milkshakes and burgers and…”

Betty looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes, vestiges of her party makeup smeared around her eyes. “And what, Jug?”

“And,” he swallowed, unable to help the thumb that had crept up to wipe the mascara away. “And I was finally going to work up the nerve to tell you how I feel.”

He could feel the laser focus of her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the thudding of her heart under his fingertips. “What?” Her voice came just above a whisper.

“To ask you to be my date to homecoming and winter formal and prom; to ask you to be mine.” Jughead’s hand slid from her arm to her waist, pulling her closer to him in the process.

“That’s not fair,” she trembled beneath his fingers, chin wobbling and shiny eyed.

“Betts,” his thumb dipped to her chin, angling her face up to his, “this wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“Which part? The part where you have feelings for me or the part where you’re leaving tomorrow? Because right now, both of those things hurt the same.”

“I know. I know, and there’s nothing I can do to change how it came out but,” he could feel the air sucking into her lungs they were that close. “I can only say I’m sorry for one of those things, Betty, because as awkward or poorly timed as this is, it’s led to this. You and me. In this moment.”

Her eyes were wide “You have no idea, do you? How long I waited for this, how badly I wanted this.”

“I’m still right here, Betty.”

“Yeah, but for what? A few more hours?” Her hands grasped at the fabric of his shirt. Stretched out on tip-toe, her lips landed gently on his cheek.  “All I wanted tonight was to finally be brave enough to kiss you. I never imagined our first kiss could be a goodbye, and honestly, I just don’t think I can do that to myself.”

She slid out of his arms, his fingers flexing on her skin. Words to keep her there flew through his brain—screamed through his veins—and yet he simply let her fall away. His fingers traced where her lips burned his cheek and wondered if he would have survived the phantom feeling if she’d kissed his lips. The sight before him nearly choked him. His mind latched on to the creases in her dress, the patterns of mascara on her tear-stained cheeks, her jasmine perfume that hovered around them and stuck to him long after he finally moved from the spot.

July 8

Jughead woke before the dawn. Never much of a sleeper, he found it exceedingly difficult when the image of her turning away from him played over and over in his mind. The ancient hot water tank couldn’t produce a stream scalding enough to burn it from his mind either. He stewed in his own thoughts, typing out and subsequently deleting about a hundred different messages to his blonde haired best friend, but couldn’t find it in him to send a single one.

No platitudes seemed enough, and what good would it serve? Maybe it would be easier to be in Toledo if she hated him or if he thought she did. He threw his head back on the couch (the one they wouldn’t need in Toledo, where he’d have a real bed, in a room all his own) and tried to remember what the world was like before Betty Cooper looked at him like he was a leper.

His downward spiral didn’t get to progress too far before the sound of an approaching car snapped him back to reality. He peeked out the bare window, the sight before him bringing a smile to his face.

“So this is really it,” Archie sniffed, standing beside him, a cup of half drank Pop’s coffee between his palms.

Jughead nodded, taking a slow sip of his own coffee, trying not to choke on the words and feelings that seemed to lodge in his throat. “Thanks for the pick me up and the donuts. Those might make it to the state line.”

Laughing, Archie knocked his shoulder into Jughead’s. “I’m gonna miss you, man.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Arch.” The cup stilled at his lips again. “Have you, um, talked to Betty at all?”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” He ran over to his dad’s truck and reached through the open window, producing a large tupperware from inside. “She didn’t say much; she didn’t have to. She looks about as good as you do.”

Jughead chuckled morosely as he took the proffered container. Perched on top, folded as neatly as could be and inscribed with her exacting script was a note addressed to him. He sucked in a breath, shakily peeling it off and tucking it into his pocket before prying open a corner and seeing a rather large chunk of her birthday cake inside.

“She knows me too well,” he set it down on the hood of his dad’s truck, shaking his head. “I really fucked up this time.”

Archie grinned.

“What? That makes you happy?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, it does not make me happy. None of this is exactly happy, Jug. But the fact that for once in our lives the ire of Betty Cooper is directed, in its entirety, at you is not something that is lost on me. Now, let me bask in this short-lived glory, because I’m going to be the shoulder she cries on when all of this sinks in.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he swallowed down the last sip of bitter coffee with the bile that started to rise. “Just tell her…”

“She knows.”

He nods, somber, letting the words and feeling sink in. Coffee finished and goodbyes thoroughly dispensed, the Andrews men departed Sunnyside and left the Joneses to start their new lives.

“You ready for this, son?” His father asked as they slid into the truck. Even though the sun was barely up, FP seemed energized; happy. He smiled despite himself.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“A new chapter for us, boy. Hell, a new story all together! I know it doesn’t seem like it right now but, it’ll get better, I promise.”

His father’s hand rested on his shoulder for a moment before making its way back to the wheel. Jughead sighed, head hitting the window with a dull thud. “Yeah, well, it can’t get any worse.”

As the truck pulled away from the trailer park, and he watched as Riverdale shrank behind them in the mirror, he wondered if the note in his pocket would ever stop burning or if the ache in his chest would ever cease.

[welcometothevoiddarling]

evermore

okay when evermore came out I was re-reading harry potter (cause that’s my coping mechanism don’t @ me) but yeah I realised those lyrics fit so well with harry’s perspective at the end of Order of the Phoenix after sirius has died (rest in peace my beautiful boy...)

But yeah here is my lyric anaylsis:

I’ve been down since July - End of Ootp takes place at the end of the school term in june/july time

Motion capture put me in a bad light - Not as strong but ‘motion capture’ like photographers (and the press) in the daily prophet had been coming for Harry all year

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong - Of course in the aftermath of everything we know self hating harry was overthinking every action he took that lead up to sirius’ death and 100% beat himself up about it much much more than is shown in the books 

Writing letters addressed to the fire - Sirius was his main correspondent, with him gone, he has no one left to write to. All his letters may as well be thrown in the fire, there’s no one left to send them to. And also the association with talking to sirius in the fire. Now sirius is no longer there he can only toss the words he would tell him into the fire, but there’s no one there anymore.

And I was catching my breath, staring out an open window catching my death - (Okay I know the opening of the song sets it out as November but work with me here) beginning of HBP, Harry is sitting next to his fogging window waiting for dumbledore to arrive (and let’s pretend it was cold) and he describes how that summer he’s been living life on a loop (a consequence of his grief and his fear of the unstable situation) and he’s clung to this promise of Dumbledore’s visit leaning out of the window, unsure if it’s too good to be true in his new bleak existance 

And i couldn’t be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar, that this pain would be for evermore - Do I even have to explain this one?

Hey december, guess I’m feeling unmoored, can’t remember what I used to fight for -  Well if we’re going by the time referenced then around christmas time Hermione and Ron fall out and also Harry believes the stuff about Malfoy and Snape and no one else does (Remus actually puts down his theory on Christmas day quite forcefully) and whilst yes obviously Harry does know what he’s fighting for (since he refuses Scrimgeour when the latter asks for his help) it is bleak time when no one will listen to his theories or give him the time of day. And we all know Sirius would have.

I rewind the tape but all it does it pause on the very moment all was lost - So I don’t know if you can tell but Sirius is my favourite character, and clearly I was a lonely child cause I feel very very real grief when a fictional character dies. And I have re read Ootp many many times and every single time I will see every decision made that lead to his death and scream (internally ofc i’m not an animal). And I’ve dedicated hours to replaying things to see how they could’ve turned out differently. I’m sure Harry did too.

Sending signals to be double crossed -  Every time I always see that chapter when Kreacher goes to the Malfoys and comes back happier than normal and harry’s like ‘this is sus but whatever’ and you’re just so wrong if harry doesn’t think about that and hate how he got doubled by kreacher and voldemort.

Can’t not think of all the cost, and all the things that will be lost, oh can we just get a pause? To be certain we’ll be tall again - I don’t need to tell you all the things that Harry lost the moment Sirius was taken from him. A father figure. A connection to his past. A friend. A comfort. Moments and memories. It’s like the most traumatic grief possible on it’s own, but then on top of it he gets told he’s like mankind’s canon saviour and he doesn’t get a real moment to process it all really cause he comes back to school and starts Voldemort defeating training and I don’t Harry has ever really felt tall in his whole life. This poor kid.

Whether weather be the frost or the violence of the dog days -So there’s that scene I always associate this HBP with Katie being cursed by the necklace in the snow and the obvs the scene at the end with the freezing lake etc like the whole story feels frosty to me. Not just weather but relationships, it’s suddenly hard to know who to trust, (and the Romione fight) and obvs the rise of voldemort promises a return to the style of life from the first war (i.e. the violence of the dog days). Also dog. Padfoot.

I’m on waves, out being tossed, is there a line that I could just go cross - I’ve sort of said this already but Harry has so many things in his head with defeating Voldemort, his friends fighting, processing grief, falling in love (yes i ship hinny fight me), the world going to shit, you tell me this boy didn’t once think he’d love to just leave it all and go see his godfather again

And when I was shipwrecked I thought of you in the cracks of light I dreamed of you it was real enough to get me through, but I swear you were there - First off this is like gods version of a bridge, like Justin Vernon really outdid himself. Secondly Sirius’ death was a symbol of the start of the meaningful things in his life that start to be taken away. And he will fight in their name. And that’s how a 17 year old boy started a revolution. And won it. Cause he held onto the things that had once given him happiness in a life that was so bleak, and fought to see them again. The boy ESCAPED POSSESSION BY VOLDEMORT AT THE END OF OOTP BECAUSE THE THOUGHT OF DYING TO SEE THE THINGS HE LOVED WAS SO STRONG. THE BOY WALKED TO BE KILLED CAUSE HE’D GET TO SEE THOSE tAKEN FROM HIM AGAIN. ONce again I say, this. poor. boy. 

And I was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step, and I couldn’t be sure I had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be for evermore. - Okay not canon but image after the final battle of Hogwarts maybe that day, maybe months later, Harry comes back to Hogwarts and goes to the shrieking shack, to the place where he first met this man who would change his life and though he’s not here anymore, he knows that he’s out there, proud of him. And now the fighting is over (no harry does not become a cop wizard I refuse [redacted’s] suggestion) he can begin to greive and come to terms with everyone he’s lost. And he can realise, this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.

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Feel free to add more/ debate with me I love any lyric analysis and I wrote this out instead of the emails I need to send so really I’m so ready to chat about this. Taylor Swift and Harry potter, literally my two favourite things in the world :) 

[dafukdidiwatch]

Titanic 1997

Alright, I finally caved and watched it.

It could have had a happier ending.

<spoilers>

I was against watching this movie for a long time. I didn’t have anything against the plot, it was just I knew how the movie ended.

The boat sinks.

My mentality was, if I knew how the event ended why bother watching? Like, all the movie was going to do was let me see a bunch of people who is just going to die at the end.

Plus, back then I was really against romance movies of any kind. If it was a movie marketed as a romance, I would be super against it. Meaning the entire lure of Jack&Rose was strike two against this film.

Then, it didn’t help that I knew the end and main plot points because of how big Titanic was. (pun unintended but accepted). I knew the song, the motif, the opening shot, specific lines like “Paint me like your French Girls” and “It was called the Ship of Dreams,” “I’m king of the world,” Jack could have fit on the door. Basically, all the best/iconic parts of the movie.

So it felt like, if I knew plot of the film, for something that didn’t really held my interest, in a very sad event, why do I need to really watch it?

Well, I was wrong. And really wrong.

Overview: Treasure Hunters search for a rare necklace that was lost on the Titanic. Soon they discover information from an unlikely source, an old woman named Rose Dawson, who explains her experience of love and lost on the maiden voyage of the Titanic.

I did not realized that the movie opened in present-ish day. I was expecting to just jump right into actual story, so that was a little off-putting. I was against it at first, because they were going for the whole “flashback” route and I wasn’t really into it. But it grew on me, and looking back it was probably the best way to tell this story. It opened on modern day because that was where we are, but we can’t possibly imagine how/what happened on the Titanic unless someone who has been there tells us. It just makes it feel more real that way. I think Rose explains it the best when that one guy was explaining how exactly the Titanic sank to her: living through it was a different experience than just explaining it.

The transitions between old and new are just beautifully done, both in a long emotional transition as everything fades from old to new to old again, and a quick jump for comedic timing. I never really expected this to be a funny movie, but there are a LOT of good jokes throughout. Old Rose is especially hilarious. She is just old and spunky and didn’t give two shits. I hope to be like that someday. .

The supporting characters are good too. Cal the fiancee was a dick and a trash person and oh so wonderful to hate. Fabrizio and Tommy were the fun party guys just there for a good time. We got to see some cool historical characters brought to life like Margret Molly Brown, who is a fun take charge kind of person. Thomas Andrews the ship builder as a kind and thoughtful man who really did care a lot about the people on the ship. They were like two of my favorite people in the movie.

And speaking of historical things, James Cameron did a lot to portray the movie as historically as possible. Not just the big things with the ship and the historical people. There were so many small moments that were historically important and relevant to the sinking that were included. Like the missing binoculars, wanting the ship to go faster, “woman and children first” to “woman and children only.” There is just a lot of respect in trying to make this as accurate as you can.

The romance felt natural, it was a nice slow burn of just trying to open a new world for Rose. Stuck in a shitty and loveless engagement, ending up just talking to a genuinely kind people. Like, Leo was perfect in his role as Jack. I just love his care free attitude and his kind nature to just try to help. Granted, I wished that there was a....Better Way for them to have initially met, but it just pulls you in that you know you want there to be a way for them to work it out.

I’ve also noticed you don’t really see a genderbend version of the trope, the poor but free traveler and the wealthy but trapped socialite having a romance. It’s always a poor boy and rich girl in those specific roles. Just a thought I had while watching. 

You know, I never actually heard them really play the song “My Heart Will Go On.” I mean as the full song. I was expecting the lyrics to play at some point at least. Instead it was just a motif in little parts throughout the movie, but at all the romantic parts whenever Jack and Rose were really bonding together. And it also got sad when you hear the music over, you know, the ship about to sink. 

God I was freaking crying when Rose jumped back into the ship and Jack and kissing her calling stupid but they just kept kissing! Arg!!! 

Also, have you noticed that there were a LOT of hints to Jack dying when the ship sinks? I get catching the lines foreshadowing the ship sinking, but there were a bunch of moments that also point out his own demise. If I didn’t know about Jack’s death already, I probably would have just chalked it up to specifically the ship sinking.

This movie has a terrible habit of getting me attached to side characters only to watch them die. It also has a terrible habit of getting me attached to characters I’ve never even seen before while I was watching them die. Which makes sense, because this movie managed to really capture just how awful and tragic the entire sinking was. We see people panicked, fighting for the boats, silently accepting their fate, trying to survive, and I couldn’t really blame anyone for their decisions. Like, there were a TON of dick moves that people did, but at the same time you KNOW most of them are going to die so you know they are also just trying to survive as best as they could.

Overall: This film has helped me realize that I didn’t really have a problem with romantic movies, just bad romantic comedies. Basically, just watch this film. It is gorgeous in the set designs and shots. It is funny, romantic, thrilling, horrific, historical, kills you in the feels, literally everything that you could/would ever want in a movie. Is it a long ass time? Yes, over 3 hours. Does half of the movie just cover the ship sinking? Also yes, but it was time well spent.

[thebeautyoffandoms]

10 of The Best Vocaloid/Utaite/J-Pop/Anime Themes/etc Songs That I’ve Stumbled Across! (AKA 10 Best Weeb Songs That I’ve Stumbled Across):

Sorry for my repetitive vocabulary...

1) (trigger warning) Ruru’s Suicide Livestream (Shinsei Kamattechan)- 

One thing I always find amazing about songs is when they have a story behind them. Ruru’s Suicide Livestream (also translated into other similar titles. I.e. Ruru’s Suicide Show on a Livestream, Ruru’s Livestream Suicide Show. You can search and find it by any title such as those.) tells the story of a 14 year old Japanese girl. According to what I’ve read, she would livestream things ranging from singing and playing the piano (rather impressively), to running across busy streets. Up until the day she livestreamed herself jumping, with some people encouraging it. The singer/songwriter for this song, who has BPD and has attempted suicide in the past, felt deeply enough for the poor girl to write a song about it. As sad as the story is, I have to compliment how well the song’s put together. Along with the fact that I have a huge soft spot for songs that have sad lyrics/meanings but a happy tune, the singing in this song sounds so… strained? Sad, almost in pain. Which is how Roro-chan must have felt. The art and animation in the video are also incredibly impressive. I really respect how they tried, and succeeded I believe, to tell the story in Roro-chan’s perspective. With everything put together how impressively it was, the song is enough to bring me to tears, even if it does have such a positive-sounding tune.  (NOTEWORTHY COVER: MDATripleStar’s Cover! I really, really, like this cover! The singer manages to keep the sadness that the original singer had, and does a really great job at keeping the same overall sound in her voice. I also think that the lyrics used here fit really nicely!)

2) (trigger warning, adult themes) Wozwald (Niru Kajitsu)- 

I have to start this by saying, I’m honestly not a big fan of how they tuned vflower. But, even with that, this is still my favorite song. Wozwald has such an eerie tune, that’s also pretty sad-sounding, with (in my opinion) equally as eerie/sad lyrics. I enjoy the fact that they leave most of the theorizing up to the viewers. Though, at my first glances, Wozwald seemed to be about a man questioning religion, the more I listened to it and watched the video closer, the more I began to see it a bit differently. Is is about religion? Morals? Happiness? Lost family members? Oswald the Lucky Rabbit? All of the above? Or maybe none of that.  (I really like this theory!) I also really like that they throw in another character from another song (Kalmia.) The visuals also stole my heart from the beginning. It being mainly black-and-white suits the song, and I adore the art style. Especially the lighting. It’s really nice to look at! (NOTEWORTHY COVER: any fan of this song probably saw this coming- miy_yuu’s cover!  He always does such an awesome job on his covers, and this one is no different! From the whispery parts, to the high notes, I think just about everything here is beautiful. The subtitles on the video are also super neat!)

3) Yellow (Yoh Kamiyama)- 

This song, right from the beginning, is awesome to listen to. The way it starts off with a simple beat, and Kamiyama’s amazing voice, and then quickly switches to more instruments. Though the switch isn’t anything crazy, it’s still there, and it’s a rather beautiful change. I think the meaning of this song is clearer than Wozwald, but I still like that it’s left for people to decide. The most “obvious” (in my opinion) theory being that Yellow is about a past relationship, most likely a toxic one, and the boy trying to get over it. While some may say the art isn’t “anything impressive”, I think it’s still a key factor in what makes this song one of my favorites. It’s done sort of like a sketch, and has simple colors. Which reflects how the song itself sounds… pretty simple. Yet, it’s still incredible, just like the art. The animation is also very neat! While it looks almost like normal animation, it manages to be… a bit off putting? Most everything about this song and video is almost… hypnotizing? (NOTEWORTHY COVER: JubyPhonic’s Cover! I really like her vocal range in this cover! It suits her voice amazingly. And, once again, I love her translyrics. I also admire the fact that she got this cover out, and beautifully done, when she wasn’t feeling her best.)

4) Nandemo Nadari (KANA-BOON)- 

Such a cute song! It may not seem very impressive to some, but I absolutely adore this! It’s such a genuinely happy sounding song, and the lyrics, though maybe not what was expected, are just as precious! Or… pretty much just as precious. The dances in this song are simple, but the way everyone seems to be goofing off slightly makes me smile! I also love how much fun everyone looks to be having! It’s also really cute how some of the people’s timings are a little off in the dances. It makes it seem… more fun! Cuter! Happier! Less… pressured! The people, not just the band members, are also so, so precious. 

5) (adult themes) Liar Dance (DECO*27 and NAOKI ITAI)- 

To be honest, I’m not entirely sure why I love this song so much, but I’m going to try and describe it. While I admire the tuning, and I really like the video (the one used in Rachie’s cover anyway-), I think it’s simply the tune and lyrics that got my attention. It’s quite upbeat, and I love the way it begins. Slowly fading in, then changing the beat a bit. Though some of the lyrics, and the overall theme of this song, is… not the most appropriate, I just… really love the way it sounds. (NOTEWORTHY COVER: Rachie’s Cover!  This cover is actually what made me fall in love with Liar Dance, and is the primary way I listen to it. Though she said she wasn’t a big fan of the song, she still did incredibly for not loving it! I also agree with her other comment, she does sound really, really awesome here! But… I can’t think of a time Rachie doesn’t sound beautiful- this is still one of my favorites of her covers~.)

6) Zettai Zetsumei (Cö shu Nie ((The Promised Never ED 1)))- 

Aah… The Promised Neverland… an, honestly, amazing anime. And Zettai Zetsumei, a song that truly fits this show! Of course, the fact that this song fits this show that I love so well is a big reason I love the song, but the other big reason is: the vocals. More importantly, the way she hits the high notes. I’m not sure how to describe how it sounds, other than absolutely incredible! The singer’s voice through it all is insanely beautiful, of course, I was just really impressed with the higher notes. She overall has a… somewhat soft voice, and to have such a gentle-seeming voice sing lyrics like those, it also reflects the anime. Just a bunch of kids going through an awful situation.

7) Outer Science (Jin ((Kagerou Project))- 

Kagerou Project. A series that captured my attention from the moment I heard Kagerou Daze. While Outer Science sounds really awesome not knowing the story, it just seems all that more powerful when you know the context. Kuroha strikes again. Wreaking havoc just as he’s done previously! And plans to do it again and again! Well- enough about that evil boy- I don’t tend to enjoy a lot of songs with IA, Jin does an amazing job using her for this series. Especially Outer Science. Bragging on the visuals a bit, I adore the animations! And basically all of it! The drawings, the way the lyrics are placed, and the animations! The way it’s all colored also stole my heart. Especially the lighting. Shadows being cast to give it the right amount of spook, and Kuroha and Mary being in the center of some of the light.  As for the music part… summed up, it’s incredible. Like I said, IA sounds really good, but the instruments are also wonderful! The guitar being one of the best parts of the song, in my opinion. The song manages to sound chaotic while still sounding like a somewhat normal rock song. From the “softer”, “calmer” parts, to the loud, evil parts! I love this song so much! (NOTEWORTHY COVER(s! And Remix!): Kuraiinu’s Cover! While Kura usually impresses me, I really fell in love with this cover! I think his voice suits it nicely, and he pulls of the insane-sounding parts beautifully. His laugh too… amazing… RafScrap and Others (A-L1)! I truly think everyone did crazy great in this cover… from the independent screams, to the parts where they all sing together. Adding all that with the art, and video in general, this really is one of the best group covers I think I’ve ever heard! Teddyloid Remix! I think the dialogue at the beginning sounds pretty realistic, especially for a Vocaloid! The remix itself is also amazing. The video is a huge plus~.)

8) (adult themes?)  Goodbye Ms. Floral Thief (Mel)- 

I’d like to start this off with saying: Miku sounds so soft! It’s adorable, and very beautiful! Along with a lot of songs I fall in love with, I found Goodbye Ms. Floral Thief through a cover, which I’ll be putting in the noteworthy covers section. This song has a sort of… nostalgic feeling to it. I really adore songs with a nostalgic feeling such as this. Though this song may talk a little bit about “adult themes”, it’s still a beautiful song. It’s sad, and, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure on what the meaning of the song is. Though I think it’s about a lover dying, I’m not entirely sure. That seems like the most likely to me and, if that’s the case, it makes this song just that much sadder. (NOTEWORTHY COVER: Rachie’s Cover! Aaah, Rachie’s voice… it really is so lovely, especially in this cover! I believe she does an amazing job at sounding soft, and somewhat emotional. And Anthong did an amazing job with the lyrics!)

9) (trigger warning?)  Tokyo Teddy Bear (Neru)- 

I think the main thing that made me fall in love with this song was the guitar. It’s my favorite instrument, and it was played amazingly in this song! I think it’s incredible when it’s being plucked at to mimic Rin texting, though that may be a strange thing to be so impressed with. Though the texting isn’t the only impressive part with the guitar, don’t get me wrong! I think every part, especially with the guitar, in this song is super impressive. The song sounds so… loud, and gives off “I’ve given up” sorts of vibes. Plus, Rin sounds… amazingly realistic. Heck, she even breathes! Onto the art! Though it’s just a picture, in this video anyway, it’s still really neat! A kid, covered in cuts, dirt, and bandaids, in a box with a stuffed bear. As the lyrics show, the kid is almost… lost-seeming. They just want to be replaced with anything that will even be somewhat fitting. They want to be loved, and they want to feel like they belong, but they don’t think they’re fit to have any of that. So, they make themselves, basically, a living doll. A fraud, and nothing like the self they really are. Or that’s what I’ve gotten from it at least~. (NOTEWORTHY COVER: Princessemagic’s Cover! I think her voice suits this song rather nicely! It has the perfect amount of emotion put into it, and manages to be soft, yet powerful! I especially love around 1:30 when she says the lines with such… hatred.)

10) Hurricane (i’m not sure who i would credit... ((Death Note the Musical English))) - 

Gosh, where do I start…? I know the Death Note musical gets a lot of hate, but I enjoyed it! Especially this song. I think the man singing for Light is the perfect english voice, and his voice is beautiful! He sounds soft at the beginning, but, throughout the song, his voice grows stronger, which suits what happens perfectly! It’s showing Light realizing how much power he has, and it’s ever so slowly beginning to get to his head. Yet, he still has somewhat innocent intentions. But, by the end, Light is starting to see himself as the “god of a brand new world.” That’s when his voice really starts to get powerful. And his growls! They’re perfect!! Amazing, beautiful, absolutely breathtaking! The lyrics progress nicely, slowly shifting from innocent Light wanting to rid the world of evil, up until the end where he wants to become a god.  As for the instrumental itself, I also think that it’s rather perfect! I really enjoy the somewhat-gloomy piano at the beginning. It almost reminds me of a sort of “calm before the storm.” The instruments slowly pick up pace, adding more in, the further into his power Light finds himself.

[makistar2018]

Inside Taylor Swift's Personal Diary Entries: Read All of the Biggest Revelations

By Tomás Mier August 24, 2019

Photo: DIA DIPASUPIL/GETTY

Lover of Diaries

Fans got an inside look at some of Taylor Swift’s most personal thoughts when they bought the deluxe version of her new album, Lover.

Along with some behind-the-scenes recordings, each album featured a 30-page booklet with excerpts from her personal diaries — some even from she was just 13!

“I’ve written about pretty much everything that’s happened to me. I’ve written my original lyrics in those diaries, just feelings,” she said on an Instagram Live announcing the booklets. “It’s everything from pictures drawn, photos of that time in my life, I used to like tape stuff in my diaries.”

Here are the top 10 takeaways from her personal diary entries.

Photo: CHRISTOPHER POLK/GETTY 

Swift the Lyricist

If the diary entries are filled with anything, it’s a deep dive into her song lyrics.

“Red” was born on a long flight — and everyone she played it for loved it.

“Its [sic] so different than anything we’ve done,” she wrote in 2011. “I can’t even tell you how alive and worthwhile I feel when I’m writing a new song and I finish it and people like it. It’s the most fulfilling feeling, like getting an A+ on your report card.”

The diaries also share early versions of “All Too Well” and songs like “Long Live,” “White Horse,” “Holy Ground” and “This Love.”

In a 2014 entry, she writes about the creation of her ultra-hit “Shake It Off.”

“The best way I know how to describe it is that the chorus just fell out of the sky,” she wrote in 2014.

“We all went home and I wrote the first and second verses and brought them in the next day. We wrote this chanty cheer leader bridge that I absolutely LOVE,” she continued.

As for the album cover that would accompany “Shake It Off,” she wrote that she “saw it within 10 seconds.”

“The craziest moment came when something caught my eye. The cover photo is photo 13. I kid you not,” she wrote about the polaroid cover to 1989, which she accompanied with a sketch.

Photo:  HENRY LAMB/BEI/REX/SHUTTERSTOCK

A Glamorous Gala

In a diary entry, Swift writes about being invited to “this event called ‘The Met Gala.’”

To an 18-year-old Swift, that day was “THE party of the year.”

“The paps started SCREAMING for me. It was crazy,” she wrote in May 2008. “We made our way up the red carpet, posing for everyone. All of the women looked so glamorous in their gowns.”

Along with meeting Anna Wintour, George Clooney, Julia Roberts and Giorgio Armani at the event, she wrote that “models stood as decorations, standing still and wearing gorgeous gowns.”

Once inside, she lists “every celebrity ever created” at the event, including Scarlett Johansson, Tom Brady, Beyoncé, Victoria Beckham, Tom Cruise and Jon Bon Jovi “who called me over to talk to him.”

Photo: LARRY BUSACCA/GETTY 

Borchetta's Beginnings

Weeks before the release of Lover, a public feud involving Swift and her old label Big Machine made headlines when the label’s founder Scott Borchetta sold the label (and ownership of her masters) to Scooter Braun.

But years before, Swift had nothing but kind things to say about the label founder who signed her.

After meeting with Capitol Records and not being offered “the deal I would want,” she met with Borchetta — and left with feelings of excitement.

“I really loved all the stuff he said in the meeting, and he stayed for the whole Bluebird show,” she wrote in November 2014. “And he’s SO passionate about this project. I think that’s the way we’re gonna go, I want to surround myself with passionate people.”

A meeting with Borchetta also made “Sparks Fly” as she came up with the name of her second album.

“We were talking about the record and I had this epiphany,” she wrote in April 2010. “I didn’t talk in interviews about how I felt about much of what has happened in the last two years. I’ve been silent about so much that I’m saying on this album. It’s time to Speak Now.”

“Scott freaked out. He loved it,” she wrote in April 2010. “We have a title, ladies and gentlemen!”

Photo: SPLASH 

"The Hunters Will Always Outnumber Me"

Swift also opens up about the lack of privacy that comes with being a celebrity — and how she’ll never get used to seeing “a group of people staring, amassed outside my house, pointing, camera phones up…”

“They could never imagine how much that feels like being hunted,” she wrote.

Swift compares her “mostly perfect life” to “being a tiger in a wildlife enclosure.”

“It’s pretty in there, but you can’t get out,” she described in the August 2013 note.

“No matter how big my house is or how many albums I sell, I’m still going to be the rabbit,” she added. “Because the hunters will always outnumber me. The spectators will stand by, shaking their heads, going ‘that poor girl.’ But the point is, they’re still watching. Everyone loves a good hunt.”

But her feelings about being “hunted” also translated into worrying about her generation’s obsession with taking photos “so that they can spend all day checking the comments underneath.”

“They will never truly experience a moment without attempting to capture it and own it,” she wrote, comparing pulling a flower from the ground to take photos. “Nevermind that picking a flower kills it, the same way taking a picture of a moment can ruin it altogether.”

Swift has notably kept comments off of her post to improve her mental health.

“I’m training my brain to not need the validation of someone telling me that I look 🔥🔥🔥,” she wrote in Elle. “I’m also blocking out anyone who might feel the need to tell me to ‘go die in a hole ho’ while I’m having my coffee at nine in the morning.”

Photo: AL MESSERSCHMIDT/GETTY

From Fearful to "Fearless"

Though Swift is now known for her jaw-dropping stage presence, as a young singer she wrote that she would “get stage fright every time I walk onto a stage.”

“I wish it wasn’t so, but I can’t blame my mind for freaking out about performances,” she wrote in 2010, days before releasing Speak Now. “Criticism of my performances has been the biggest source of pain in my life.”

“I sometimes feel like my college degree is in acting like I’m ok when I’m not,” wrote a 20-year-old Swift.

But even as a burgeoning singer at just 13, she would get hate while on stage. During one performance, her guitar pick broke in half and fell while she was playing.

“There was this huge silence! It was awful! I had to bend over and pick it up in front of everyone!” she wrote next to the broken pick. “And while I was singing, this guy was shouting stuff like, ‘Go on, b*#@! Sing that country bulls#*%! Go on motherf—!.’ It was awful.”

Photo: SCOTT GRIES/GETTY IMAGES

Done with Dieting

In her diaries, she also candidly writes about sticking to a diet as a teen.

Soon after Thanksgiving 2006, she returned to Nashville to her “own comfy bed” and planned to go out to eat with her best friend Abigail Anderson during a day off.  

“Oh and I’m dieting again,” she wrote right after.

“Over the holidays I didn’t watch what I ate and man its [sic] so weird how fast I can gain or lose weight… It’s crazy,” she ended the note. “So I’m going to lose some now.”

Earlier this year, she wrote about finally being okay with gaining weight.

“I learned to stop hating every ounce of fat on my body,” she wrote in Elle. “I worked hard to retrain my brain that a little extra weight means curves, shinier hair, and more energy.”

The “Daylight” singer also said that she’s constantly working on her body image.

“I think a lot of us push the boundaries of dieting, but taking it too far can be really dangerous. There is no quick fix,” she said. “I work on accepting my body every day.”

Photo: CHRISTOPHER POLK/GETTY IMAGES

"I'ma Let You Finish, But..."

“Ahh… the things that can change in a week…” wrote Swift in a Sept. 18, 2009 journal entry.

Five days had passed since Kanye West crashed Swift’s Video of the Year acceptance speech at the MTV Video Music Awards, but the whole ordeal was all she — and everyone else — could think about.

“If you had told me that one of the biggest stars in music was going to jump up onstage and announce that he thought I shouldn’t have won on live television, I would’ve said ‘That stuff doesn’t really happen in real life,’” she wrote.

“Well… apparently…. It does,” she ended the note.

Little did 19-year-old Swift know that West would cause more tumult in her life seven years later. In an August 2016 note, she simply wrote, “This summer is the apocalypse.”

The “apocalyptic” summer came when West referred to the singer as “that bitch”in his track “Famous” and featured a nude version of the “Shake It Off” singer in its accompanying video.

Then, Swift said she never approved of the lyric after his wife Kim Kardashianleaked a phone call conversation between the two singers.

“Being falsely painted as a liar when I was never given the full story or played any part of the song is character assassination,” she wrote then. That “Cruel Summer” ordeal would go on to inspire her sixth album, reputation.

Photo:  SPLASH NEWS

A Joe Alwyn “Love Story”

Like in Lover’s lyrics, Swift doesn’t hold back about her deep feelings for boyfriend Joe Alwyn in her personal diary.

Clearly writing about Alwyn, the singer confessed about wanting to keep their relationship under wraps as much as possible.

“I’m essentially based in London, hiding out trying to protect us from the nasty world that just wants to ruin things,” she wrote in a January 2017 note. “We have been together and no one has found out for 3 months now. I want it to stay that way because I don’t want anything about this to change or become too complicated or intruded upon.”

“But it’s senseless to worry about someday not being happy when I am happy now,” she concluded. “OK. Breathe.”

But Swift wasn’t always so sure about love being real — especially when it came to Valentine’s Day.

“I somehow feel like it’s my destiny to roll my eyes at happy couples and resent Valentine’s Day. I also feel like I’m the girl before ‘the one.’ I’m not ‘the one,’” she wrote at 19. “I’m the girl you think is the one for you, and when it doesn’t work out with me, you meet the next girl and realize she IS the one.”

And as a mere 13 year old, she imagined the first time she’d have her first kiss — and about being “such a romantic.”

“I just dream about looking into someone’s eyes and feeling something I’ve never felt before, you know?” she wrote. “I just never was able to put a face to my fantacy [sic]. But something tells me that my first kiss is really far away from happening!”

Photo:  LARRY BUSACCA/WIREIMAGE

The Night Before...

Before the 2014 Grammy Awards, Swift was confident her album Red would take home the biggest award of the night.

“It’s the middle of the night and I was at the Clive Davis party tonight which means… the Grammys are tomorrow,” she wrote. “Never have I felt so good about our chances. Never have I wanted something so badly as I want to hear them say ‘Red’ is the Album of the Year.”

Though she was up for four awards that year, Swift would head home empty handed.

Though she had won that award two years prior with Fearless, it wouldn’t be until her 2014 album 1989 that she’d take home the coveted prize again. In her 13-year career, Swift has won 10 Grammys from 32 nominations.

Photo:  MICHAEL LOCCISANO/FILMMAGIC

“This Might Be Worth Money Someday”

Though her diary entries are filled with some insight into the more complicated times in her life, the entries also feature some cute memories of her youth — including her middle school class schedule, some song lyrics and memories about listening to Sugarland for the first time.

Accompanied by drawings and the number 13, in her first journal entry, she signs her name and writes “(That could be worth money someday!! Just kidding hehe).”

Under “Journal #1,” a 13-year-old Swift writes a poem: “The world is as big as you make it / Never be shameful to fly / When a chance comes you should take it / May you never be scared of goodbye…”

After performing at a school talent show, Swift wrote: “I ❤ SCHOOL!”

Reminiscing on the grand day, Swift wrote, “I got a standing ovation and everything.”

People

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Part VII - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

THEN - Day 1245

I can’t necessarily say that I didn’t know this would happen. I can’t sit here and act as if I didn’t know they’d all see her as the bad guy. But for the most part, right now, I’m okay with it.

I moved my thumb along the screen of my phone--the headline was brutal, but it wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it.

Messed-up Margot leaves heartbroken Harry to fend for himself.

I was sat in the kitchen of my mum’s house--sipping at a cup of tea that she’d placed on the counter in front of me a few moments earlier.

“What’re you readin’?” She asked, her voice soft as if she knew the weight on my chest threatened to push me under water at any moment.

“Just another thing shitting on her,” I answered.

When Margot left and vanished off the face of the earth for a month and no one--not even me--knew where she was, I was angry. I was angry that she broke up with me and angry that she left New York and angry that she did it right before I was set to leave the only band I’d ever known.

She really couldn’t have picked worse timing.

I was still angry. There’s not really a better word to describe it. I could wake up day after day and put more time between me and that night in New York but it still hurt just as much as it did when it happened--I just wasn’t crying as much.

“Should you be reading those articles?”

I looked up at her with a straight face. Should I? No. Was I going to? Yes.

I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know what other people were saying and I wanted to know what other people thought. I couldn’t help but click every link I saw with her name in it. I knew she was back in L.A.--I didn’t have details and I didn’t know what she was doing, but there had been a few photos of her leaving whatever treatment facility she was at.

Instead of answering my mum, I set my phone down on the counter and took another sip of my tea. Maybe Margot thought about me, too.

My mum was stood across the island from me, her own cup in her hands as she watched me with sad eyes. I’d been home for a while, returning to the middle of nowhere in the country to hide from the paparazzi that inevitably followed me everywhere. I don’t think they cared so much about me, it was more that they wanted to know about the band breaking up and Margot leaving.

I wish I had answers for them.

But instead of answers--instead of reasons or logic or a plan--I was left with my mother and tea and getting dragged along to brunches with women in their 50s. Don’t get me wrong, there were definitely worse things I could have been doing, but making small talk with my mum’s friends wasn’t exactly high up on my list of things to do in my period of mourning.

“Have you talked with Mark at all lately?”

I pushed my lips out and shook my head. I hadn’t done a lot of communicating with anyone at all. Mark, the man my mum was referring to, was on the A&R team at Columbia--they’d offered me a solo deal for a debut album. I’d told them I’d think about it. I hadn’t gotten back to them.

I knew I wanted to do it--I knew I would. I just didn’t know when. It felt soon, still. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Go to a studio, and write fifteen super angry songs about how much of a bitch my ex-girlfriend was? I think all I was capable of write now was ‘fuck you, you’re a twat.’

Something told me that wouldn’t really do very well on the charts.

“You should give him a call--meet with a few people, see if anyone wants to write.”

I appreciated her advice--she was doing her best to deal with the fact that I had crashed. Everything I knew, everything I’d accomplished was suddenly sitting in the bin by the road ready for pickup. It must have been hard to see your son accomplish so much and then lose it all within a matter of weeks.

“And write about what?” I asked her, my tone more angry than I’d intended.

She shrugged her shoulders, offering a small smile. “The truth. Write what you feel, tell your story.”

I looked at her for a second--it sounded so incredibly daunting and hard. How was I supposed to write it all? How was I supposed to capture the way the sun was setting behind us in her backyard the day we met? How was I supposed to describe the silence in the hotel room in November?

I didn’t know. But maybe I could find out.

THEN - Day 1026

I sat on the edge of the bed--Nick and Sinead were stood behind me, watching on as if they were too scared to speak. Margot’s panic attacks were worse than I’d ever seen them, but she still didn’t really admit that’s what they were. She’d wake up and be stuck in bed--so overwhelmed with some sort of feeling that she couldn’t quite explain--unable to move and unable to string words together to tell me what was wrong.

“What can I do--how can I help?”

“You can’t do anything,” her voice was fragile, as if the tears in her eyes threatened to spill over at any second.  

“What do you need?” Her manager asked, I looked up at him, begging him with my eyes to help me.

“I don’t need anything,” Margot nearly yelled at Nick--he took a step back, hesitant and unsure.

We stared at her for a second, Sinead walked over and brushed some of her hair out of her face. She didn’t say anything, though, she just let me hold Margot’s hand and sat incredibly still beside me. Margot, after a few minutes of silence, took a breath and then slowly let it out. It felt like Sinead, Nick, and I hung on every last syllable she said at this point.

“I just can’t fucking do it anymore,” she started to cry, I moved closer to her instinctually, trying to pull her into me.

“Do what?” I asked, voice quiet enough to not startle her. I tried to lean forward more, she pushed my hands away.

“Anything, this, all of this!” She motioned around the room--but I had no idea what she meant. Her voice was cracking and rocky and high pitched--that level of frequency that only came when someone was speaking through tears.

“Can’t do what, Margot?” Nick came closer now, still seemingly afraid of her volume.

“All of it,” she said more quietly now, the anger suddenly disappearing from her voice. I saw this as my chance for contact--I pulled her into my quickly, she didn’t fight it. Maybe I didn’t know what to do when she felt this way, but at least when she was pressed against my chest I could feel her heartbeat and listen to her breathing. That felt more stable than anything else.

I could hear it in her voice that she was trying. She wanted us to know how she felt and she wanted to tell us. She just didn’t have the words. 

We stayed like that for a while--Sinead watched on, Nick finally found a seat in the corner. I hugged Margot and she cried and sobbed and mumbled words that sounded like “I can’t,” but didn’t quite have enough volume to reach my ears.

I wish I could have something. I stared at the clock on her bedside table and wondered how I could watch someone I loved so much crumble before my very eyes. I wondered, even more though, how I could watch and not know what to do.

Eventually, she peeled herself away from me, wiping the tears off of her face and bringing her feet to the floor. “Sinead, can you read over the schedule?”

Sinead blinked a few times and stumbled for words--clearly surprised at Margot’s sudden change of tune. “Uh, yeah, sure,” she said, standing and pulling out her phone. There was a knock on the door and Margot’s make up artist appeared--immediately rushing forward to conceal any traces of emotion on her face.  

And just like that, we all acted like it never happened.

NOW - Day 1695

I strutted into Geoffrey’s like I wasn’t just about ready to shit a brick. I let the girl behind the counter know I was meeting a friend--she pointed me in the direction of the small back room that overlooked the ocean below.

Margot was sat at the same table where we’d had our first date--I mean, it wasn’t exactly a date. The first time I paid for her to eat something, the first time I heard about her family, the first time we spent a moment just the two of us.

It was a few hours without the other boys, without her costars, without her family. It was just the two of us and the waves crashing on the rocky Malibu coast.

“Hi,” she stood up, hesitant for a second, but then opening her arms to wrap around my waist. I hoped I was faking it well enough, I smiled down at her and pulled away. For a split second I was angry--there were so many words I’d yet to say, so many things I wish she knew and things I wish she didn’t. I could feel them piling up in my mouth.

She looked at me, like she was weeding through the thing she should and shouldn’t speak aloud. 

“It’s good to see you,” I nodded, pulling out my chair before I sat. She did the same, reaching for the mug of tea that sat in front of her--some things never changed. I took a bit of a breath, a poor attempt to calm my own anxiety.

“Thanks for meeting with me, thanks for letting me listen to the album.”

I smiled a little, unsure of how to respond. I didn’t know if she’d meet me here and tell me to go fuck myself--the lyrics I’d written were raw and honest and probably not the most polite. I knew her well enough to know that part of her--even if it was a small part--was mad at me for it.

She looked better than the last time I’d seen her. Granted, the last time I saw her was in dreary New York in the fall of 2015. She had dark circles around her eyes and she always seemed distracted.

The Margot sitting across from me was here. She seemed present and content and it felt like she was truly looking at me for the first time in years. I guess, in a way, she probably was. Her big blue eyes looked nervous--I almost wanted to tell her how much I missed her.

Instead, I cleared my throat. “I’m really glad you liked it. I hope it wasn’t--too much.”

I saw a bit of a smirk tug at her lips--her silent appreciation for my acknowledgment of my own exposé. “It wasn’t too much. When did you write it?”

“Spring of 2016,” I told her. “I spent a bit in London and back home after the promotion of the last album, y’know, after the split.” I was referring to the band’s hiatus, but I guess it could have been in reference to us, as well.

“I needed to get out of London, though,” I moved on, hoping she wouldn’t catch my ambiguous phrasing. “Figured writing and recording an album in Jamaica would be a nice change of scenery.”

She was quiet, she sipped at her tea and kept her eyes on my face. I could feel some beads of sweat forming on my hairline--I was quite committed to playing it cool, I didn’t want her to sense my anxiety. It’d probably only make her more nervous.

“Niall had said you went straight to treatment after Thanksgiving, how was that?”

It felt almost abrupt--but the last thing I wanted to do was continue the old pattern of pretending that nothing was happening. She went to rehab. She got help. It was one of the key arguments in our relationship and one of the key reasons we didn’t work out. I wanted to hear about it. I almost felt that I had the right to hear about it.

She let out a laugh that almost sounded sarcastic, shrugging her shoulders quickly. “It was--hard. But it was helpful, and really necessary, I think.”

I felt a bit of smile on my lips--I was relieved, in a way. I’d wanted nothing more than for her to get the help she needed, and it also felt good to hear that I wasn’t crazy for thinking she needed it to begin with. Margot needed to do something if she wanted to stay alive--she needed therapy and she got it. She seemed at ease, too, like telling me almost made it a reality. I wondered if she had a knot in her stomach the same size of mine.

“It was in Tennessee. A lot of land and there were these horses that they made us ride which was terrifying at first,” she let out a laugh, running a hand through her hair. “But I got on one and got used to it and before I left I even knew how to make it gallop.”

I raised my eyebrows at her--she’d never really been an outdoorsy kind of girl. “Pretty impressive. When did you come home?”

“Right before Christmas that year. We just had a quiet day here at my mom’s and then 2016 was pretty quiet in and of itself.”

I thought back to my 2016--a whole year ago. Months in Jamaica, time off to film the movie, then back to the island house and dark studio. It was quiet--more quiet than my time in the band--but not as quiet as hers. She hadn’t released any music. Hadn’t made any appearances. She went from being one of the biggest names on the planet to a girl who now recounted her ‘quiet’ year.

“I heard you did that movie,” she said suddenly. “Ben saw it--he said you were great and that the movie was amazing.”

I smiled at the thought of Ben--the boy who had been 15 when I met him. The kid who asked me how to shave because their step-dad was out of town. “How is Ben?” I asked. “He’s twenty-one, now, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, turned twenty-one three weeks ago. Had a wild night with Sara.”

I laughed at her disturbed tone--thinking back to the younger version of Ben’s girlfriend who’d brought friends to a show in San Diego. “I can only imagine what a night it was.”

She let go of the tea now, her eyes concentrating on a knot in the wooden table. “Let’s just say that I’m thankful I don’t live at my mom’s and that Ben is at UCLA. The last thing I would want would be for him to come home and be puking in his room on the other side of the wall.”

I furrowed my brows together--I had no idea that she wasn’t at her mum’s still. I guess, after all this time, it made sense. I guess she was different than she was back then and I guess New Margot didn’t want to live with her parents. “You moved out?”

She nodded, letting out a slow sight. “I did, I bought a house right up the street, actually. It’s right past the Starbucks on the PCH near Steep Hill Canyon.”

I wondered what her house looked like--who did she have over? What did her bedroom look like? Did she still have the same white duvet that she insisted was grown up? There was a tightness in my chest at the thought that she had a life without me, now. She probably watched TV shows we used to watch and listened to songs we used to like. She did things without me and I had no clue if she spent as much time thinking about me as I did about her.  

“So y’must come here often, yeah? Not just the first date spot anymore?”

“Sinead loves the blueberry scone,” she shrugged, laughing. “I’m here at least twice a week.”

Her laugh--sweet and warm and familiar--seemed to wrap around me in a way that felt like home.

“Sinead always did have a love for baked goods,” I nodded thoughtfully, crossing my arms on the table. I leaned in a little bit and held her gaze, blinking a few times to keep my emotions in check. “How is she? How’s everyone? Your mum, Maya?”

“They’re good--everyone’s good. Maya’s graduating high school next month--starting at USC in the fall. My mom and Pete are good, Pete’s still at Jenkin and Fischer and my mom is still riding Nick’s ass about everything that has to do with me,” she rolled her eyes playfully.

I was quiet for a second--I could listen to her talk all day, if she wanted. She was the type of person who’d eventually get sick of it and tell me to stop staring at her, but I almost wanted to risk it.

“How’s your mom and Gemma?”

“They’re good,” I nodded quickly, pulling myself back to the table and the ocean out the window and the coffee in front of me. “Gemma’s got a new boyfriend--he’s nice, he’s normal, I think.”

“He could be the nicest guy ever and you’d pick on him,” she retorted, challenging me a bit. I let out a laugh and leaned back in my chair--she was right, she knew she was right.

I let out a sigh, taking in the sight of her. She watched me, waiting for a response, but I was too busy trying to remember every detail of her, just in case I had to go another eighteen months before I saw her again.

I didn’t understand, as she sipped her tea, how I could be so in love with her and so mad at her in the same exact moment. 

“I guess I just care about people a lot,” I said quietly. She nodded, knowing just as well as I did that I wasn’t just talking about my sister.

THEN - Day 8

I didn’t know if it was a date. Something in the nervous and lanky 18-year-old me was saying it was, but I think any guy going on a date with Margot Jones would surely talk himself up enough to have the balls to walk in and sit down across from someone of her celebrity.

I got there first and wiped my hands on my pants fourteen times as I waited--making sure they wouldn’t be clammy. When she got there and sat down, I didn’t feel as nervous. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed so normal--she’d lost the allure of fame as soon as I saw her childhood bedroom the day we met.

There was something weird about meeting celebrities in person. I’d been getting more used to it, sure, but someone like Margot Jones wasn’t just a celebrity. She was fit, she was talented, she was my age, she was Margot Jones.

But when she told me about her little brother and sister, and when she told me about the fear she had that one day she’d wake up and no one would care about her music anymore, she didn’t seem so untouchable. When I sat with her on the grass the first night we met, she seemed more real than she’d ever seemed on the screen of my phone or through my headphones at the gym.

And when I hugged her goodbye in the parking lot that afternoon, I had a feeling that my time in L.A. was about to get a whole lot better.

NOW - 1695

I don’t think Jeff thought seeing Margot was a good idea. Sure--he’d been the one to hear the most about it, aside from my mum and my sister, really. He’d listen to me complain and rant and say all sorts of terrible things about the girl who broke my heart. I didn’t know Jeff too well before the split--I mean, I knew him, but not like I knew him now.

Before the split he didn’t know Margot at all, really. Nothing more than a few quick hellos when they happened to be at the same event for the band. He knew her, really, as the girl who fucked me up.

So when he picked up the phone on my drive back to Agoura Hills, I was almost nervous to tell him where I’d been.

“I saw Margot,” I came out and said it quickly, as if the words would burn a hole in my tongue.

“Oh,” he said, I turned on my left blinker. “How was that?”

I nodded to myself in the car, taking inventory of the experience. “Good--yeah, I mean, it was weird, y’know. But, good.”

“That’s good,” he said. He didn’t mean it, I could tell he didn’t mean it.

“What, Jeff?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly. “I just didn’t know you were going.”

“She called me at 6 in the morning,” I explained.

“So what did you do all day until now?”

I thought about it for a second. I had breakfast, took a shower, sat on the couch and thought about what on earth I’d say to her. I wasn’t going to tell him that. “I just hung out.”

And maybe Jeff wouldn’t get it. Maybe he saw Margot as the girl who fucked me up, the girl who seemed to drain me of all the hope and love and energy I once had. Maybe she was that girl.

But what I knew about Margot was that she didn’t mean to be the way she was. As angry as I was at her, as mad as I was about the way she left and the way she gave up, I also knew that I missed her. And feeling so torn over one person sucked.

The end of 2015 felt like a painfully slow and very poignant memory. The months after it happened felt like I was hyperaware of every thought, every feeling, and every piece of her that I missed. Every time I found a hair tie in my suitcase or when I heard a song she liked, I’d be brought right back to the moment it happened. The moment I walked out of the room and the last time I saw her.

I’d never been so confused in the months following--the months filled with rebuilding and sleeping and crying. And now, driving down the Pacific Coast Highway, I felt even more confused than I did before.

**

THEN - Day 389

One of the things I liked best about her was that she got along with my friends. Sometimes I think Niall forgot that she was my girlfriend, not just his friend. But it was moments like this, really, that made me thankful for the fact that she was in the business, she was successful in her own career, and that she even had a knack for pissing Niall off.

“You’re completely missing my point,” she said to him across the table, her face straight and her voice firm. I wasn’t about to get in the middle--I’d learned to not even bother when it came to their endless fights over lyrics.

“How am I missin’ the point?” He held his hands up in the air.

While Margot and Niall were definitely a dynamic duo when it came to writing together, they seemed to struggle it came to final choices between lyrics. Often they’d disagree about two or three words--sometimes it was just a single syllable and how something should be sung.

“Because I’m not saying it should be ‘here’ because of the way the word sounds, it’s saying it should be ‘here’ because of the concept of the song.”

Niall forked a bite of dinner into his mouth but stared at Margot across the table. He was annoyed with her and everyone knew it. Margot, with a smile on her face, simply pleased with herself because she was getting a rise out of him, didn’t seem to care.

“You’re bein’ ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath as a few people passed by our table. Catering was busy before shows--Margot was on the road with us for a few days and Niall, as annoyed as he was right now, was just glad that his songwriting partner in crime was back.

“Alright,” I said, looking over at him. “Relax. You’ll live.”

“Don’t take her side just because you’re gettin’ laid,” he sneered at me, causing both Margot and I to laugh. I rolled my eyes but turned to Margot, intending to change the subject.

“So what time are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Not until like three or four,” she shrugged, sipping at the water bottle in her hands. She pulled a leg up to fold it over her lap, her lanyard hung around her neck. “Plenty of time,” she reassured me.

Being on the road was hard--being on the road when Margot was also on the road was harder. We did our best to align our schedules, keep some days off open for trips to see each other and try to match the time off that we got. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

But leaving her or having her leave felt like a piece of me was staying with her. Being with her--even if Niall was right behind us being a twat--felt better than being alone.

I don’t think either of us meant for this to happen. I don’t think either of us knew that day on set that we’d be here--eating barbecue in catering somewhere in Florida, Niall licking his fingers after finishing a pile of ribs.

I don’t think Margot thought she would fall in love with someone who was in the business--after doing it once she swore she never would again. After spending her time traveling back and forth and trying to match schedules, she told me when we first started dating that she didn’t know if it would work.

She knew how hard it was to date someone who was just as busy as she was. I think the difference was that she felt like my whole world. Flying to see her or staying up late waiting for her flight to get in didn’t seem like a hassle. I’d do it every day if it meant I’d get to fall asleep beside her.

THEN - Day 1003

Sometimes I think people are under the impression that Margot changed overnight. Sometimes I think they see her as a fragile doll that broke. Like one day she woke up and the string you pulled in the back to make her sing just snapped.

It was much slower than that. Much more slow, and much more painful.

Watching her fall apart was like watching a horror movie--when you know they’re walking straight up to the person who’s going to kill them but with the terrible feeling of hopelessness that washes over you when you realize they can’t hear you scream at the telly.

Her mood declined and she lost weight and she slept more and she was irritable. But it wasn’t overnight.

She’d been worried about going on tour that summer--she knew she was tired and she had even mentioned that she’d probably need a vacation when it was all over. Come November, she’d said, we could take a trip somewhere together.

But the first few weeks were okay. We called and texted and things went fine, or so I thought. She seemed to be handling the stress of a touring schedule just like she did every summer. She’d wake up, do the promo she needed to do, take a nap, hang out with her family, do sound check, she’d even started reading more books.

I thought she was doing well.

But when I went out to visit her in June--when summer was officially upon us and her tour was in full swing, something felt different.

She didn’t run to hug me like she had the summer before. She didn’t cry when I left like she did at the beginning of tour. I thought she was just tired--sick with a cold, even. I thought she needed a day or two to just relax and she’d be back to her old self.

I had no idea that the old Margot was something I’d lost.

She rolled over in bed--the white hotel sheets seemed to lay as a barrier between our skin. “Morning,” I smiled at her.

It didn’t take much to make me love her. Just the way she rubbed at her eyes when she woke up, or the way she brushed her hair out of her face was enough to make me want to hold her.

She didn’t respond--instead, she looked at me with those big blue eyes for a few seconds. Her mind was racing, I could tell. I wished I could press pause for her.

“What are you thinking about?”

She shrugged beneath the sheets. “Dunno.”

“Dunno?” I asked her, a smile tugging at my lips. She didn’t smile back.

“I’m just tired.”

I nodded--she was serious and sad and she wasn’t in the mood for any jokes. “I know you are--we can go somewhere when the summer’s over.”

She looked at me again, her eyes looked they held a thousand words, none of which could travel to her mouth. “I wish it was over now.”

The worst part of all of it was that I couldn’t help her. There was nothing I could say or do to take her sadness away--nothing that would change it. I looked down at her--equally unsure of what to say and how to relay my feelings to her.

“I love you,” I told her. It felt like something I was saying more and she was saying less. I didn’t think much of it, really, but sometimes I’d pick up on her hesitance.

She nodded but didn’t look me in the eyes. “I know you do.”

THEN - Day 1134

There were nights when I went to sleep and wished that I could read her mind. I wished I could hear her thoughts--as sad and as dark and as confused as they might be. Sometimes I convinced myself that if I could know what she thought, I’d be able to fix it. It was wishful thinking.

There were days when I woke up and wondered what on earth was happening. It’s like I woke up in a life that wasn’t mine. She wasn’t the girl I knew and she wasn’t the girl I fell in love with. I loved her, I loved her every second of every day, even when those days were bad. But I didn’t know what happened--what had happened to us, to her.

I think the thing that made it worse was constantly feeling like I had to keep everything from falling apart. Margot was sad? Fix it. She was anxious? Calm her down. She woke up in a bad mood? Do anything and everything possible to hold on to the goofy girl with a loud laugh that I fell in love with.

No one really addressed that I was doing it, but I think everyone knew. We were all doing it, really. We were all walking on eggshells to make sure that Margot, under no circumstances, fell apart. We were all overthinking our words and our jokes and our actions to make sure that she was okay.

It wasn’t because we were afraid--and it wasn’t like she made us do it. We did it because we loved her and cared about her and because we wanted her to be okay.

I rubbed at my eyes in the bathroom, hoping the headache that was coming on wouldn’t last. She seemed alright today--cheery enough that she was excited to watch the show with Sinead. I didn’t need any illness or issue to get in the way of that.

She knocked on the door and poked her head through the crack. I could hear Niall’s loud laugh from the green room behind her, Liam responded with something as Sinead chimed in. It was a full house, Margot was having a good day, everything was fine. At least, I wanted to believe it was.

“Hey,” she said, her voice quiet and calm. I looked at her in the mirror in front of me as she walked towards me at the counter. She had a small smile on her face, her energy was much more centered than it usually was now. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” I nodded quickly, turning around to let my arms drape over her shoulders. She didn’t flinch under my touch--that was a good sign. “Just needed a second away from the crowd.”

It wasn’t really a crowd, per se. It was just the boys and Sinead and our managers. If anyone understood the sudden need to be alone, it was Margot. I hoped she didn’t press.

“Your eyes look bloodshot,” she commented, reaching a hand up to touch my cheek.

I forced a smile, letting my hand clasp around hers as it made contact with my face. I didn’t know if I was tired, or sick, or maybe it was just hay fever. Whatever was going on only posed as a roadblock to having a good night with her.

They were so few and far between that all I wanted was a night where she didn’t cry, where she didn’t bicker with Niall, where we just felt normal.

“I don’t know why--I feel okay,” I lied.

She looked up at me, almost as if she were deciding whether or not to believe my words. She let out a sigh and leaned her head against my chest. I paused for a second, but soon I wrapped my arms around her, thankful for a second where everything felt stable.

So often it felt like we were living on top of a house of cards--like any second something would blow everything over. It felt like a balancing act and I was exhausted, but I didn’t dream of telling her that. If I told her that this was hard for me, too, she’d feel even worse. She’d feel guilty and terrible and that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

So I put on a smile and told her day after day that everything was fine. That’s what you do when you love someone.

“You feel warm,” she said--but it wasn’t a compliment. She pulled away from me and looked up, reaching her hand up again to put it against my forehead. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, love, really.”

She licked at her lips and I wondered what would happen if I told her. I wondered what would happen if I told her I was tired, too, and that I was upset and worried and concerned. She’d brush it off like she always did. She’d tell me that she was okay and that everything was fine and I would sit there in silence not bothering to tell her that I saw through her lies--we all saw through her lies.

That’s what made me angry--the fact that we were both in this cycle of lying to each other and pretending everything was fine when we knew it wasn’t. That’s what scared me most.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” she said quietly, her eyes looking from my eyes to my lips to the ground and then back.

I nodded. “It’s okay if you’re not, too, y’know.”

She nodded, her eyes steady on the space between our bodies as she pulled back. “I know.”

But that was the problem--she didn’t.

NOW - 1695

I was set to meet a friend for dinner at 6pm, but again, the conversation with Margot and the fact that I was in the same room as her after eighteen months left me with a buzzing in my veins that didn’t feel like it was going away any time soon.

Should I text her? Did I call and thank for her talking with me? We’d left on a vague and unclear note--we said we’d see each other soon, we’d talk soon, but how soon?

I went from talking to her everyday to not hearing from her for eighteen months. Reaching out now to reiterate that I was glad to see her felt strange--but I also wanted her to know that I was okay, that we--maybe--were okay.

So I texted her. I thumbed out a message and pressed send and turned on the telly. I felt it ding in my pocket and counted the thirty-two seconds I lasted before I read it.

I agree, thanks for talking with me.

Her words looked strange. They felt distant and seemed cold, even though I knew she probably didn’t mean anything other than what she’d typed.

Maybe I was reading into it--maybe I was destined to do that now that our relationship had crashed and burned so badly. Maybe I needed to slow down, not get my hopes up that just because we spoke once, just because things felt--for just a second--normal, that it meant anything more than cautious friendliness.

And what I hated most about the fact that her message had my head spinning was the fact that despite the anger I could feel in my veins when I thought back to the summer of 2015 or the day she left was that I loved her. Despite all the things she’d said and all the things she didn’t say, I loved her. I didn’t know if that would ever change.

[xrkeunji-blog]

                      -.✦･｡ﾟ━━━━ jung eunji.                                                         ┆dancing to trust my lonely by alessia cara

being here doesn't seem fair. eunji wouldn't have been so upset if she had been dropped after the callbacks; really, she'd anticipate junhee, jeonghan, and joohyun being more upset than she would have been. but here she is, back again, feeling as if she's stealing a child's dream out of their hands when her own time should have been long gone. but that doesn't mean she'll perform poorly. she owes it to those that were eliminated far too early, if not just to herself, to do her best. and it's televised after all; she may as well give the audience a good show.

immediately after the mission announcement, eunji knew she wanted to do something different than what she's shown so far. sure, pop covers and hip-hop style is fun and an attention-grabber, but she has a whole background in ballet and contemporary dance that she hardly ever gets to use. at first she scrolls through an ipod from middle school, trying to remember old routines and gauge how appropriately they'll show her skill level.

it's then that she realizes how boring it all is.

not just for eunji, who's danced to the same sad-slow ballad a hundred times in her life already, but for an audience as well. even if the song is different, at some point all of them start sounding and looking the same. perhaps her first plan wasn't her best plan. rather than give up entirely though, eunji instead reaches out to her resources.

the studio she goes to is pretty small and usually she only takes classes for the exercise. but it has kept her in shape and maintained her flexibility, so eunji can hardly complain. how shocked she is that the teacher she approaches knows what she's going to ask before she even says anything; i saw you on tv! what are you going to do for the next episode? that's when eunji has to admit that she doesn't know, but she hopes that the people here will be able to help her find that out. they know her skills, after all. they've seen her dance on more than one occasion.

english is just one of many languages that the woman doesn't understand, but an online translation of the lyrics helps her put context to the moves she's trying to perfect. eunji's blood almost runs cold at how perfectly these words speak to her; how long has she spent trying to please men who have only screwed her over? it's a new way to word her journey toward a more healthy relationship with herself and the world, but she decides she likes it. i've got to trust my lonely. and she does now, at least more than she ever did before. she's happy with herself, with being alone and figuring out where she's going from here.

also, she just loves the choreography. while not quite what she's used to, the elements of contemporary dance pull her original idea together with something that will look so much more fun on stage. she practices with the teacher until she's sweaty and breathless, and then practices more. it's like she's a teenager again, dancing until her feet are too sore to bear her weight any longer and singing until her voice is hoarse. only for now, not so much singing.

eunji enters the recording space with the same nervous anticipation that she had the first time, searching immediately for her friends before finding a seat. they start with the singers, the contestants being called up to stage one by one the same way they had at the callbacks. the dancers are next, and eunji lets out a cheer when joohyun's invited to the stage.

she worries about her friend though; that injury hasn't had any time at all to heal, and poor joohyun was already in pain at the callbacks just from sitting in those hard straight-backed chairs for as long as they did. eunji bites the inside of her cheek as she watches the performance, half-ready to jump from her seat at any moment in case her friend needs assistance.

finally, the name jung eunji is called. she stands, swallows nervously, and takes the few steps from her seat to the stage. she lays down to start, closing her eyes as she eases down on her back. it's the cue to start, and after no more than a second or two of stillness, the music plays and she sits up immediately.

it's a story she's telling in this choreography, eunji had realized. even without knowing the meaning of every phrase word for word, she hopes that she can capture the message and communicate with her audience. he movements in the first verse are stiff, jerky and her expression fearful or frantic when appropriate. at the bridge she puts a painful expression onto her face, as if struggling with something immense. you did a number on my health, the song sings, and eunji dances just that.

the chorus is an apex of sorts, the part of the story where the dancer realizes exactly what the singer is saying. don't you know that you're no good for me? yes, she finally realizes, albeit a little perplexed at first, he isn't good for me. slowly she builds confidence, dancing around the room as she realizes how much better off she is without that man, without any man. she flies like a bird finally released from its cage, wings spread for the first time in months as it soars toward its freedom. her movements are bigger, more joyous, expression smiley and confident where it wasn't before. i found my footing on my own, the singer coos, and eunji plants her feet firmly on the ground.

finally, the clip is coming to its close. she lays back on the floor the way she had in the beginning, this time with a final smile before her face falls out of view. eunji lays there, chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. was it the effort of the dance that has her so winded, or coming down from the adrenaline high? perhaps both, but regardless she can't lay here forever. she stands after a few seconds, bowing and thanking the ceo judges and the audience for watching before hurrying back to the safety of her seat.

it was a rush for sure. for just a moment, eunji relishes in the feeling of being back on the stage, of performing with a purpose and an audience. for just a moment, she thinks that maybe she actually wants to be here. and for just a brief second, she thinks that it would be pretty cool to win.

[gingerling]

JUST ANOTHER GANGSTER

THEY PAINT THE PAVEMENT WITH OUR BLOOD AND CALL IT JUSTICE. THEY CALL ME SLURS AS IF IT WAS MY OWN NAME. THEY GUN US DOWN BECAUSE IT'S LAW. AND THEY TAKE OUR RIGHTS TO FUND THEIR PRIVILEGE. OH AMERICA! YOU LEAVE THESE STREETS IN SIN TO FEED YOUR STARVED STAR-SPANGLED STOMACH WITH US MELANIN MARTYRS. ALL WE CAN ASK IS: WHERE IS THE LAND OF THE FREE?

your justice is just another word for murder. but i'm just another gangster to you, eh? the type of boys to slang cocaine in the hollow jowls of alleyways, slippin' crystal rocks to junkies, tote guns through the loops of our pants, treat the peaceful streets like a battlefield—yet a another war we weren't drafted for by the wrinkled hand of our dear uncle sam: shooting whoever's dressed blood-red and veined-blue, except the white that bleached out our culture. 

we're the type of boys to sag the jaws of their pants, wrap their black heads in the embrace of a durag, slur their words and drip their tongues inside the sea of african-vernacular and waves of cusses,  and who worship the words of an unraveling madman instead of a passionate poet on the radio. 

you called it: rap. i called it: poetry. you called: violence. i called it: news. you called it: trash. i called it: art. you called it: the problem of america. i called it: this is america. 

but i guess it doesn't matter since i'm just another gangster to you, eh? like that black boy you shot in the convenience store on that monday night? what a thug he was! slithering his dark-chocolate hands onto that milk-chocolate bar, and inside the maw of his baggy coat pockets. he was committing a crime, you say? he was a young boy. a tired boy. a hungry boy. a thieving boy. a black boy. a negro boy. you just couldn't wait till he turned around, your milk-ivory hands caressing, itching to pull the black trigger on the poor nigger.  

like a young buck, frightened and scared, he ran. and you could've grabbed him by the hand, he was there, in your grasp, you could tell him to put it back—but that would've been too good for a black boy him. a thief like him. a pickpocket like him. boys like him never learn you said. that's why you had to pull the trigger. the steel claws of your bullet ripped through my brother like a unheard crescendo, as if moses had ruptured clean through the threads of his tendons, the tongues of his tissue, and the twine of his tender flesh—splattering his beating heart on the cold isle floors, a red gory sea enveloped a boy of ten as he was declared dead and dismissed as nothing more than another criminal

"clean up on aisle 1! there's a dead boy in my store! he's sinning up these aisles with his innocence!"

"clean up on aisle 10! there's a boy crying his heart out to a world that won't listen. he's staining my tile floors with his tears!"

and on the contrary to your belief he bled red. not black. but red. i could tell that you were surprised—from the warmth of his pure blood poisoning your peach-palmed hands. he bled scarlet-red, ruby-red, crimson-red, rose-petal red. it was as if you were surprised his blood was the color of yours. something living and human. but he's just dead and doe-eyed now. nothing more than just a dead black boy to mark off your check-list—just so you could feed your fallen melody with his heartbeat as your drum.

i called this: murder. you called this: justice. i called this: pain. you called this: beauty. I called this: death. you called this: art. 

but i'm just another gangster to you, eh? and i find it funny. my attire, my clothes, you deemed ghetto, and uncolonialized, and uncivilized—fits those cotton-fed kids so well. what a style they say! they're making such a statement! it suits them so well! can't you see? how those cornrows crown their aristocratic-kingly heads so prettily? how those braids—the same braids they cut off my sister's skull—look so cute on little becky and her friends? it's trend! it's a fashion, haven't you heard? the fashion—fashioned from their lack of compassion for the boys and girls in the ghettos who die wearing the same thing sends a certain passion in my throat, and keeps on thrashing, till i can't speak no more— 

the buried poet beneath my lungs and the passage of my ribs begins to scream—

EVERYBODY WANTS: to be black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to see black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to act black. BUT DON'T NOBODY WANT: to be black. 

EVERYBODY WANTS: the power to say 'nigga' but as soon a cop pulls the trigger, they scatter! as they all watch a black man's blood spatter—seeping onto the floor, no one keeps score, as nobody says anything any more. always. they keep their silence. as nobody wants a black man's violence. 

BUT EVERYBODY WANTS: to speak black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to see black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to act black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to move black. BUT DON'T NOBODY WANTS: to be black.

EVERYBODY WANTS: the chocolate complexion, the flesh of confection, fetishized in all ivory directions, but they pull off the brown when they go outta town, cause nobody wants to get pulled over for a beat-down, yet you dare wear my color as your gown. as nobody wants to carry my fate—as nobody want's to carry ebony's burdening weight.

SO PUT ON YOUR COSTUME AND WEAR THE WHIPPED FLESH OF A SLAVE! HIS VEINS AS YOUR SLEEVES! HIS PAINED LEGS OVER YOUR PANTS BUCKLE! HIS INSIDES AS A DECOR AND HIS SOUL AS YOUR CROWN—AS I WATCH IT ALL GO DOWN! 

EVERYBODY WANTS: to dance like negros feet, but they don't know the rhythm of defeat, they don't hear black thunder recoiling against the streets, that's why their legs struggle against the roaring beat, their fingers wriggle like rancid meat, their torso's harden like expired sweets, their feet falter as if swimming in concrete, everybody wants to mimic negro's tone but they don't know words that come from bones, and since they don't have a culture of their own, they'd rather wear mine over their rusted throne.

BUT EVERYBODY WANTS: to be black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to feel black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to act black. EVERYBODY WANTS: to move black. BUT DON'T NOBODY WANTS: to be black.

AND YOU'RE WELCOMED TO BE BLACK AS LONG AS YOUR READY: to seethe black, as long as you're ready to rage black, as long as you're ready to fear black, as long as you're ready to hold back, as long as you're ready to cry black, as long as you're ready to fight black, as long as you're ready to die black

OR DO YOU PREFER TO GO BACK? as lightness never fades—but darkness never cracks

but i imagine i'm still another gangster to you, eh? the type of boys who're violent by nature, ruled by the laws of the streets and savagery—the type of boys who destroy things until there's nothing left, the type of boys to leave destruction in their wake with the talk of retribution in their mouths. and if i am a force of nature, i imagine myself to be a storm. a storm with tempest for teeth, with fingers wreaking havoc like heaven's wrath. a storm louder than a heartbeat rattling against zeus' skull, louder than thunder clamoring in the awning sky—a storm that captured calm and put it to death because a storm lives once more. but boys like me aren't storms, i suppose. boys like me are nothing more than a dark reckoning of sudden executions and false accusations

and i guess you're right. i am nothing more than a gangster. i am nothing more than a gangster with gangly black arms. i am nothing more than a hoodlum with hooded-eyes and hungry heart craving true justice. i am nothing more a ruffian with rough earth for flesh. i am nothing more than a thug with thick skin and thin vows. i am nothing than what you paint me to be. so i guess i am nothing more than a fallen poet who bleeds sickly sweet sonnets, burning ballads, empty elegies, weathered worthless words, gospels of vicious verses, lying lines of lyrics, and unholy ominous odes—as i am nothing more than a pile of bare blood and bones

as i ask myself was it worth speaking to you as you pulled the trigger—a bullet right in my back stopping me cold in my tracks—(i forgot i had stolen something as well)—lying in the puddle of my blood i say your wrong. i am now nothing more than a statistic. a dead boy. a black boy. a dead boy. a black boy. a dead boy. a black boy. a dead boy. a black boy. it all adds up the same. it all ends leads up to the same: a dead black boy. 

but tell me was it out of wickedness or weakness that you killed me? tally up your numbers, and tell me, how many of us are dead? is it the birth of a nation that sets the land and boys like me free? am i just another melanin martyr with darkness in my skin but with dying light in my soul? please tell me as the streams of blood is reaching my throat, making it hard to speak—

i know you feel me staring as i watch you file out the police report: a failed robbery (a failed boy, a failed system, a failed child, a failed future)—you forgot to fill out those white lines and pages of blank paper; the bleak future of our america. i hope that you'll tell them how i screamed for you to stop and how your bullets pulled me apart—

but i guess it doesn't really matter in the end because i'm just another gangster to you, huh?

~art~

"in another life your death had mattered. although i can't promise to give you justice i can try to make your death an art." 

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