#theme: reflection

[bearforcecaptions]

Evan stumbled into the bathroom, yawning, scratching the back of his neck. Another sleepy morning, another forgettable day. He barely even opened his eyes as he flicked the light on, letting the harsh fluorescent hum fill the small, dingy room. The mirror, streaked with old water stains, reflected back his pale, slight frame — but something made him blink.

Hard.

The man in the mirror wasn’t him.

At least, not exactly.

The figure standing where he should have been was a giant of a man — thick with muscle, dense with a heavy forest of chest hair, his beard sprawling past his collarbones. His arms bulged with cords of strength, veins thick and prominent. His hair was cropped short on the sides, a little longer on top, styled into a sharp, effortless look of rugged dominance. His face was weathered, mid-30s maybe — mature, confident — a few faint creases at the eyes that spoke of experience, but no weakness.

Evan’s breath hitched. He reached toward the glass. The man in the mirror mimicked him perfectly, hand rising.

Then the mirror spoke.

"You’ve always been this way, not Evan..." the voice rumbled, rich and commanding. "Your name is Eric."

The name hit him like a strike to the chest — wrong and right at the same time. Evan opened his mouth to object, but the sound dissolved on his tongue. Eric. Of course. It sounded natural. Strong. Familiar.

The voice continued, sliding through him like a slow, irresistible current. "Eric Steele. Born to be bigger. Born to be more."

A shiver ran through him as his body responded first. His shoulders pulled wider with a low, grinding stretch. His arms grew thick and heavy with muscle, veins webbing across them like rivers of molten iron. His chest swelled forward, two massive plates of strength, dusted with thick, dark hair that spread greedily over his pecs, arms, down into a heavy trail across his abs.

His beard surged outward, black and coarse, blanketing his jawline, framing a face that hardened into something fierce and commanding. His hair tightened into a neatly rugged cut — short, faded sides, a dense, heavy top that made him look even more powerful.

"You're not some nobody stuck in an office," the voice whispered, "You're a self-made man. Owner of Steele Ironworks. A real empire."

Images flooded his mind: rows of weightlifters clanging plates, men cheering as he benched impossible weight, his name on the wall in bold steel letters. The life of a small, invisible man disintegrated, forgotten.

The mirror shimmered, and his surroundings changed with it. The bathroom stretched larger, walls of black slate and chrome fixtures gleaming under industrial lights. The sink morphed into a thick slab of stone, sturdy enough for a man like him. The old, peeling door frame widened, as if recognizing it needed to accommodate his size.

"You're thirty-five years old now. In your prime. Built by work, sweat, and respect."

He watched his reflection age up, subtly but surely — fine lines creasing at the corners of his intense, dark eyes, a faint peppering of gray starting at the temples and threading into his thick beard. It didn't make him look older; it made him look formidable.

He flexed an arm absentmindedly, marveling at the tight coil of muscle swelling under his skin, at the thick mat of body hair running across his chest and thick thighs. His calves, once narrow and weak, were now broad and heavy, like stone pillars.

"Your hobbies, your life — it's all built around power," the mirror coaxed. "Iron. Brotherhood. Competition. Triumph."

And it was true. He remembered the heavy smell of the gym, the roaring engines of his motorcycle, the brothers he'd fought and laughed with. The empty hobbies of Evan — gaming, Netflix binges, scrolling social media — vanished, slipping from his brain like a bad dream.

He grinned, flashing perfect, strong teeth. Eric Steele. The name felt natural, like a second skin — no, like the only skin he'd ever worn.

The mirror stilled.

The man inside it no longer whispered, no longer coaxed. He simply stood, a reflection now, matching him perfectly. Matching Eric Steele.

There was no Evan. There had never been.

Eric ran a thick hand through his beard, feeling its heavy texture, admiring the way it framed his sharp jawline. His hand traced the curve of his powerful chest, the trail of hair down his torso, the sheer dense mass of himself. He was pride made flesh.

Without another thought, Eric turned from the mirror, his wide shoulders brushing the frame as he passed through the doorway into the rest of his reality — a world he didn't know had ever been different.

Behind him, the mirror stayed still.

Silent.

Waiting.

[wallpapersdehetalia]

Looks like ice, actually water.

Character: Germany

Theme: Reflection; Blues and Greens, Turquoise; Water

[taylore]

Thinking about Never Grow Up kind of being the closing statement of Speak Now. Feeling very ill.

[taylore]

YES!! YES!! YES!!!

To me, there is very clear progression through her discography (more under the cut):

Debut - Fearless (Adolescence)

prime "growing up" time

going through the motions of *regular teenage life and dealing with it as it comes

*obviously she had experience with the very irregular concepts of fame and the music industry, even at this point, but it was NOTHING in comparison to what was about to occur

Speak Now - Red (Young Adulthood - Panicked)

the push into adulthood and adult experiences whilst still feeling Very young

Speak Now is about growing pains

Red is about settling into adulthood and finding solace in independent rather than terror

1989 - reputation (Young Adulthood - Settled)

both still incredibly messy and emotional, but in an "adult" way

primary points of conflict are transformed from self/romantic partner to society/the public eye and what comes with it (something directly tied to her unique experience, as opposed to the general lived one seen during adolescence)

Lover (Adulthood - Panicked)

being on the brink of actual adulthood and being terrified

the beginning stages of reflection on the past as it relates to the present, without the full understanding of why

primary point of conflict returns to self/romantic partner, specifically the loss of one

folkmore - Midnights (Adulthood - Reflection)

reflection on the past in the form of stories and in the form of memories

gaining understanding of the past in order to aid in understanding the present

The Tortured Poets Department (Adulthood - Acceptance)

focus on the present, now with an understanding of the past

the burying of old wounds in order to move forward

imo, taylor's been writing about loss of innocence since speak now. the nature of entering adulthood is you mourn that loss of childhood, and tbh? folkmore & midnights & ttpd follow a theme of accepting adulthood, that her girlhood is completely gone & never coming back to her. it's not about "being a girl" but rather "becoming a woman, and accepting all the wisdom that comes with it"

[hymnoeides]

I am so crazy about your Hermes and Athena designs! Your art is so good! Now I wonder what your Aphrodite looks like? 🤔

Quite a lot of people have asked for some Lady Aphrodite, so here’s finally some concept sketch for y’all !!

+ Bonus Eros🥺

[i-gwarth]

btw we do *get* that the worldbuilding of DE parallels the character's arc right? We understand that, right? That Our Guy commits all but a sliver of himself to the oblivion of amnesia in a moment where the only alternative he could see was suicide. And at the other end of that tragic attempt at self-annihilation he gets the chance to reinvent himself and overcome the longstanding, persistent habits that brought him to the cliff's edge to begin with. And that the world itself is presented as approaching an equally definitive precipice, with one of the richest characters in the cast even remarking that Capital is dead, and everything else being 20-odd years away from being swallowed by the pale

And we understand that the pale is forgetting, right? Right? It's informational entropy applied to the world, facts and events and places and memories being destructured and obliderated, reduced to an indistinct soup of whispers, past present and future. That it emerges from humanity's collective inability to imagine a future beyond moralist capitalism, and that this inability to see the horizon inevitably metastazises into Mesque's accelerationist nihilism that ultimately destroys the world. [starts shaking you] WE UNDERSTAND THAT RIGHT??

That the game's splash screen is a view from the bay of Revachol, from the deserter's island. And we know what it shows, right? Revachol, in the distance. And beyond that what? A horizon? No! It shows Pale. Because that's his perspective. Because he has abandoned all hope, lost all sight of the future and has committed to self-annihilation. For him the entroponetic collapse is imminent. We see that, don't we?

That the game is a thesis on hope. That the world has the chance to reinvent itself from the precipice of oblivion just like Harry does, and that the only thing that can do that is imagining the future. A future. Any future, and making it. Piece by piece, day by day, committing to it, and refusing to give in to despair and nihilism. We understand, don't we, that there must be no truce with the f-

you know what, nevermind...

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[taylore]

Apologies for the (mini) rant OP but I have #thoughts...

it's sort of written in this transitional phase between attachment and detachment from her partner, and from the life formed with him. we know that from it being written during the midnights bulk months. it comes at this point where she's questioning everything about her life up until this point AND her life moving forward. so much of midnights is as reflective as it is predictive. it's an album filled with analysis of patterns in her life - whether that be in her own behavior, or that of the people around her, OR in the people she chooses to surround herself with.

with that in mind, the song, much like so many others on the album, is sort of written in the past, and the future, and the present. we know the feelings of false idol-hood don't begin and end on midnights (ttpd is sort of... entirely about that, lmao), nor do the feelings of emotional isolation, even when that isolation is not physical (her comments on the 1989 era during miss americana, high infidelity, literally everything she's ever said about CH post dating him).

So like... it feels present because it IS, and it feels distant because it IS.

It's actually wild to me that she released Dear Reader. That was a song that I was convinced was from a midnight a while ago. Listening to it post ttpd is...ouchie

dear reader always confused me, i think because we all assumed it was from the past, but the lyrics and placement on the album feel SO present. also, considering how deeply it matches the midnights prologue, it's so funny that she made it a bonus track lmfao

[n4rval]

BUT YES.

family history.

[miraene13]

playing pretend

[bearforcecaptions]

Alex and Bryan had always been close, the kind of friends who made a pact over soda and pizza to turn things around, to finally hit the gym and build some muscle. They’d been nerdy, skinny guys their whole lives, and they felt awkward and out of place as they stumbled into the gym’s locker room after their first workout, faces flushed and sore from the exercises. Both of them wore cheap workout clothes they’d picked up from Walmart just that morning — faded T-shirts that hung loosely on their frames and ill-fitting, generic sneakers.

“Dude, my arms feel like noodles,” Alex groaned, shaking out his skinny limbs as he looked at Bryan.

“Right? I think I pulled something just trying to lift those dumbbells,” Bryan chuckled, but his laughter quickly turned into a grimace as he rubbed his shoulder.

Their voices echoed in the empty locker room, and the fluorescent lights flickered slightly as if the room were stretching itself, adjusting to accommodate these two new, inexperienced bodies. They walked over to the sink, looking at themselves in the mirror, barely recognizing the sweaty, tired faces staring back at them.

But then, almost imperceptibly, something started to shift. Alex leaned closer to the mirror, and he noticed his reflection looked… different. Just a little. His face seemed somehow sharper, his cheekbones a bit more defined.

“Hey… do I look weird to you?” he asked, glancing at Bryan.

Bryan squinted at him. “Maybe? Or maybe I’m just so tired everything’s blurry.” But then he stopped, staring as Alex’s T-shirt started to tighten around his chest, like it was shrinking or his chest was expanding. He looked down at his own shirt and noticed the same thing happening. The fabric stretched and then almost melted away, like it was dissolving into thin air.

Underneath, their chests were broadening, muscles slowly forming in places they’d never had them before. Alex stared, mesmerized, as his pecs seemed to inflate, one solid inch at a time, swelling until they were firm and full. He was startled to see a dark line beginning to etch itself over his right pec, the beginnings of a tattoo forming. Bryan looked over, his eyes widening as he saw the same tattoo mirrored on his own left pec.

“You’ve got the same one!” Bryan pointed, his voice trembling slightly, as he stared down at his own chest​. Both of them were transfixed, watching the tattoos slowly darken, bold lines taking shape, though Alex’s tattoo was slightly clearer and etched on the opposite side of his chest from Bryan’s. Their bare chests shone under the locker room’s bright lights, and it felt almost surreal, as though they were watching themselves transform from afar.

As their chests solidified, so did their arms. Alex flexed instinctively, watching with wide eyes as his biceps bulged out, the veins snaking along the surface like thick cords. Bryan mirrored him, mimicking the same pose, even though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. Their shoulders broadened, traps rising like hills beneath their skin, framing thick, muscular necks that hadn’t been there moments ago.

The cheap Walmart sneakers they wore started to warp, reshaping into sturdy gym shoes, and they felt a strange tickle as white athletic socks rolled up around their ankles. Their old, ill-fitting shorts slowly lengthened and changed texture, becoming soft gray sweatpants that clung to their powerful, thickened legs.

Bryan felt a sudden pressure on his head, and reaching up, he realized he was now wearing a black baseball cap. He turned to Alex, who was wearing the same cap, the brim low over his eyes, shading his gaze in a way that felt… different. He felt his thoughts slow, like they were softening, melting into something simpler. He wanted to look good, feel strong, and—

“Yo, dude, check it out,” Alex said, his voice deepening, each word sounding slower, less articulate.

Bryan grinned back at him, an identical expression on his face, as his mind began to echo Alex’s excitement. They stared at each other, an odd tension hanging between them as their minds dulled, syncing up, their personalities flattening into something singular, something almost blank.

At some point, Bryan found himself staring at Alex, watching him flex. His own arms lifted in the same way, though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He felt a strange compulsion, a need to mirror Alex’s actions, to match him move for move. As he flexed, his mouth moved of its own accord, saying the same thing Alex was saying, their voices blending into one deeper, dumber tone.

“Lookin’ good, bro,” they said in unison, their gazes fixed on each other, and yet somehow, only on their own reflections.

The locker room seemed to shift, as if walls were moving subtly, altering to create the illusion that there was a mirror between them. Bryan blinked, realizing he was standing opposite Alex, but his own reflection now felt hazy, as though he was losing himself in it, becoming less real, less independent. The only thing he could think was how good it felt to flex, to see his thick muscles rippling beneath his skin.

With each passing moment, Bryan’s sense of self faded further, and he became more of an image, a reflection. He could feel his mind flattening into a mere echo, a shadow of Alex’s thoughts, his individuality dissolving as he mimicked Alex’s every action and word. Soon, there was only one real man left in the room, looking into the mirror.

“Lookin’ huge, bro,” Alex grinned, his voice a low, slow rumble.

And Bryan, now only a reflection, grinned back, saying the same words at the exact same time, a perfect mimic. The tattoo on his pec was a mere shadow, reversed and less distinct, as if to signify he was nothing more than Alex’s reflection. With one final flex, Alex turned to leave, leaving the locker room behind, and the reflection vanished, leaving nothing but an empty mirror.

[zhongli-lover-69]

[taylore]

My biggest issue with midnights is it felt like the first album that Taylor has ever written where it felt like she didn’t know the core them of she what she was writing about (turns out she was hiding it) and so she overcompensated by overwriting and underwriting the album. she was so mad about so many things but felt like she couldn’t write about the thing she was the most upset about so she just circled around it and made the album about all of the other things she gave herself permission to be upset about. midnights is in my bottom 3rd of tay albums but it’s probably my favorite album to discuss bc she is vague on just about every song except WCS.

It's also towards the bottom of my ranking, but I agree with you that it's interesting to discuss. I don't think it's necessarily "vague" so much as it is complex. In light of Joever, a lot of people have begun looking at Midnights as a breakup album, and pinning every song on him. I don't really agree with that in the literal sense, as in every song is explicitly about him. My take continues to be that I think the Midnights described are from throughout ALL of her life, or at least all of her adulthood, BUT I think the particular nights reflected upon are a direct result of the detioration of her long-term relationship.

To me, there are a few different categories for the album.

General Self-Reflection

- Anti-Hero

- You're On Your Own, Kid

- Bigger Than The Whole Sky

- Dear Reader

Songs About Joe (Positive Leaning)

- Sweet Nothing

- Paris

- Lavender Haze

- Glitch

- Mastermind

- Snow On The Beach

- Labyrinth

- The Great War

Song About Joe (Negative Leaning)

- You're Losing Me

Songs Reflecting on alternative life paths through the perspective of a past relationship (or in the case of WCS, trauma)

- Maroon

- Midnight Rain

- Question...?

- Bejewelled (kind of)

- Would've Could've Should’ve

- Hits Different (BIG maybe. I honestly have no idea about this one).

Songs (partially) About The Masters Heist/Scooter

- Karma

- Vigilante Shit

[honeyforbees]

Vaughn Bakker ━ Three of Swords

[batw1nggg]

i need u guys to know that even though hajime was in the reserve course he Was Not Rich. he couldn’t pay off the tuition. crippling self doubt aside, the reason he accepted the kamukura project was partly because they offered to cancel his debt. a chance at climbing the ladder — the one HOPES PEAK established — came with the cost of either getting lobotomized or falling into lifelong debt before he even reached university. it adds so much to danganronpas messaging about capitalism and it makes me sad when people ignore the financial incentive. hpa were the thing that gave hajime his self doubt issues to begin with, but bringing his debt into this ??? the debt they also gave him ???

[1o1percentmilk]

"i think mark is the hottest character in severance" "i think devon is hotter" "i want to suck helly's face" SHUT UP EVERYONE!!! LET'S GIVE IT UP FOR THE LUMON HEADQUARTERS BUILDING!!!!

the real life location is the Bell Labs Holmdel Complex btw, it used to be owned by Bell Labs and now it's used by a lot of smaller businesses and stuff.