#well a variety of reasons that boil down to she’s short and I don’t like her

[imaginita-est-omnibus]

Got the coolest thing for Chanukkah, and made it even better by repurposing old minifigs!

[yamayuandadu]

Circe by Madeline Miller: a review

As you might have noticed, a few of my most recent posts were more or less a liveblog of Madeline Miller’s novel Circe. However, as they hardly exhausted the subject, a proper review is also in order. You can find it under the “read more” button. All sorts of content warnings apply because this book takes a number of turns one in theory can expect from Greek mythology but which I’d hardly expect to come up in relation to Circe. I should note that this is my first contact with this author’s work. I am not familiar with Miller’s more famous, earlier novel Song of Achilles - I am not much of an Iliad aficionado, truth to be told. I read the poem itself when my literature class required it, but it left no strong impact on me, unlike, say, the Epic of Gilgamesh or, to stay within the theme of Greek mythology, Homeric Hymn to Demeter, works which I read at a similar point in my life on my own accord.

What motivated me to pick up this novel was the slim possibility that for once I’ll see my two favorite Greek gods in fiction, these being Hecate and Helios (in case you’re curious: #3 is Cybele but I suspect that unless some brave soul will attempt to adapt Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, she’ll forever be stuck with no popcultural presence outside Shin Megami Tensei). After all, it seemed reasonable to expect that Circe’s father will be involved considering their relationship, while rarely discussed in classical sources, seems remarkably close. Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and Apollonius’ Argonautica describe Circe arriving on her island in her father’s solar chariot, while Ptolemy Hephaestion (as quoted by Photius) notes that Helios protected her home during the Gigantomachy. Helios, for all intents and purposes, seems like a decent dad (and, in Medea’s case, grandpa) in the source material even though his most notable children (and granddaughter) are pretty much all cackling sorcerers, not celebrated heroes. How does Miller’s Helios fare, compared to his mythical self? Not great, to put it lightly, as you’ll see later. As for Hecate… she’s not even in the book. Let me preface the core of the review by saying I don’t think reinterpreting myths, changing relations between figures, etc. is necessarily bad - ancient authors did it all the time, and modern adaptations will inevitably do so too, both to maintain internal coherence and perhaps to adjust the stories to a modern audience, much like ancient authors already did. I simply don’t think this book is successful at that. The purpose of the novel is ostensibly to elevate Circe above the status of a one-dimensional minor antagonist - but to accomplish this, the author mostly demonizes her family and a variety of other figures, so the net result is that there are more one dimensional female villains, not less. I expected the opposite, frankly. The initial section of the novel focuses on Circe’s relationship with her family, chiefly with her father. That’s largely uncharted territory in the source material - to my knowledge no ancient author seemed particularly interested in covering this period in her life. Blank pages of this sort are definitely worth filling. To begin with, Helios is characterized as abusive, neglectful and power-hungry. And also, for some reason, as Zeus’ main titan ally in the Titanomachy - a role which Hesiod attributes to Hecate… To be fair I do not think it’s Hesiod who serves as the primary inspiration here, as it’s hard to see any traces of his account - in which Zeus wins in no small part because he promises the lesser titans higher positions that they had under Cronus - in Miller’s version of events. Only Helios and Oceanus keep their share, and are presented as Zeus’ only titan allies (there’s a small plot hole as Selene appears in the novel and evidently still is the moon…) - contrary to just about any portrayal of the conflict, in which many titans actually side with Zeus and his siblings. Also, worth noting that in Hesiod’s version it’s not Oceanus himself who cements the pact with Zeus, it’s his daughter Styx - yes, -that- Styx. Missed opportunity to put more focus on female mythical figures - first of many in this work, despite many reviews praising it as “feminist.” Of course, it’s not all about Helios. We are quickly introduced to a variety of female characters as well (though, as I noted above, none of these traditionally connected to the Titanomachy despite it being a prominent aspect of the book’s background). They are all somewhat repetitive - to the point of being basically interchangeable. Circe’s mother is vain and cruel; so is Scylla. And Pasiphae. There’s no real indication of any hostility between Circe and any of her siblings in classical sources, as far as I am aware, but here it’s a central theme. The subplots pertaining to it bear an uncanny resemblance to these young adult novels in which the heroine, who is Not Like Other Girls, confronts the Chads and Stacies of the world, and I can’t shake off the feelings that it’s exactly what it is, though with superficial mythical flourish on top. I should note that Pasiphae gets a focus arc of sorts - which to my surprise somehow manages to be more sexist than the primary sources. A pretty famous tidbit repeated by many ancient authors is that Pasiphae cursed her husband Minos, regarded as unfaithful, to kill anyone else he’d have sex with with his… well, bodily fluids. Here she does it entirely  because she’s a debased sadist and not because unfaithfulness is something one can be justifiably mad about. You’d think it would be easy to put a sympathetic spin on this. But the book manages to top that in the very same chapter - can’t have Pasiphae without the Minotaur (sadly - I think virtually everything else about Pasiphae and Minos is more fun than that myth but alas) so in a brand new twist on this myth we learn that actually the infamous affair wasn’t a curse placed on Pasiphae by Poseidon or Aphrodite because of some transgression committed by Minos. She’s just wretched like that by nature. I’m frankly speechless, especially taking into account the book often goes out of its way to present deities in the worst light possible otherwise, and which as I noted reviews praise for its feminist approach - I’m not exactly sure if treating Pasiphae worse than Greek and Roman authors did counts as that.  I should note this is not the only instance of… weirdly enthusiastic references to carnal relations between gods and cattle in this book, as there’s also a weird offhand mention of Helios being the father of his own cows. This, as far as I can tell, is not present in any classical sources and truth to be told I am not a huge fan of this invention. I won’t try to think about the reason behind this addition to maintain my sanity. Pasiphae aside - the author expands on the vague backstory Circe has in classical texts which I’ve mentioned earlier. You’d expect that her island would be a gift from her father - after all many ancient sources state that he provided his children and grandchildren with extravagant gifts. However, since Helios bears little resemblance to his mythical self, Aeaea is instead a place of exile here, since Helios hates Circe and Zeus is afraid of witchcraft and demands such a solution (the same Zeus who, according to Hesiod, holds Hecate in high esteem and who appeared with her on coins reasonably commonly… but hey, licentia poetica, this idea isn’t necessarily bad in itself). Witchcraft is presented as an art exclusive to Helios’ children here - Hecate is nowhere to be found, it’s basically as if her every role in Greek mythology was surgically removed. A bit of a downer, especially since at least one text - I think Ovid’s Metarphoses? - Circe directly invokes Hecate during her confrontation with king Picus (Surprisingly absent here despite being a much more fitting antagonist for Circe than many of the characters presented as her adversaries in this novel…) Of course, we also learn about the origin of Circe’s signature spell according to ancient sources, changing people into animals. It actually takes the novel a longer while to get there, and the invented backstory boils down to Circe getting raped. Despite ancient Greek authors being rather keen on rape as plot device, to my knowledge this was never a part of any myth about Circe. Rather odd decision to put it lightly but I suppose at least there was no cattle involved this time, perhaps two times was enough for the author. Still, I can’t help but feel like much like many other ideas present in this book it seems a bit like the author’s intent is less elevating the Circe above the role of a one note witch antagonist, but rather punishing her for being that. The fact she keeps self loathing about her origin and about not being human doesn’t exactly help to shake off this feeling. This impression that the author isn’t really fond of Circe being a wacky witch only grows stronger when Odysseus enters the scene. There was already a bit of a problem before with Circe’s life revolving around love interests before - somewhat random ones at that (Dedalus during the Pasiphae arc and Hermes on and off - not sure what the inspiration for either of these was) - but it was less noticeable since it was ultimately in the background and the focus was the conflict between Circe and Helios, Pasiphae, etc. In the case of Odysseus it’s much more notable because these subplots cease to appear for a while. As a result of meeting him, Circe decides she wants to experience the joys of motherhood, which long story short eventually leads to the birth of Telegonus, who does exactly what he was famous for. The final arcs have a variety of truly baffling plot twists which didn’t really appeal to me, but which I suppose at least show a degree of creativity - better than just turning Helios’ attitude towards his children upside down for sure. Circe ends up consulting an oc character who I can only describe as “stingray Cthulhu.” His presence doesn’t really add much, and frankly it feels like yet another wasted opportunity to use Hecate, but I digress. Oh, also in another twist Athena is recast as the villain of the Odyssey. Eventually Circe gets to meet Odysseus’ family, for once interacts with another female character on positive terms (with Penelope, to be specific) and… gets together with Telemachus, which to be fair is something present in many ancient works but which feels weird here since there was a pretty long passage about Odysseus describing him as a child to Circe. I think I could live without it. Honestly having her get together with Penelope would feel considerably less weird, but there are no lesbians in the world of this novel. It would appear that the praise for Song of Achilles is connected to the portrayal of gay relationships in it. Can’t say that this applies to Circe - on this front we have an offhand mention of Hyacinth's death. which seems to serve no real purpose other than establishing otherwise irrelevant wind god is evil, and what feels like an advert for Song of Achilles courtesy of Odysseus, which takes less than one page. Eventually Circe opts to become mortal to live with Telemachus and denounces her father and… that’s it. This concludes the story of Circe. I don’t exactly think the original is the deepest or greatest character in classical literature, but I must admit I’d rather read about her wacky witch adventures than about Miller’s Circe. A few small notes I couldn’t fit elsewhere: something very minor that bothered me a lot but that to be honest I don’t think most readers will notice is the extremely chaotic approach to occasional references to the world outside Greece - Sumer is randomly mentioned… chronologically after Babylon and Assyria, and in relation to Persians (or rather - to Perses living among them). At the time we can speak of “Persians” Sumerian was a dead language at best understood by a few literati in the former great cities of Mesopotamia so this is about the same as if a novel about Mesopotamia mentioned Macedonians and then completely randomly Minoans at a chronologically later point. Miller additionally either confused or conflated Perses, son of Perseus, who was viewed positively and associated with Persia (so positively that Xerxes purportedly tried to use it for propaganda purposes!) with Perses the obscure brother of Circe et. al, who is a villain in an equally obscure myth casting Medea as the heroine, in which he rules over “Tauric Chersonese,” the Greek name of a part of Crimea. I am honestly uncertain why was he even there as he amounts to nothing in the book, and there are more prominent minor children of Helios who get no mention (like Aix or Phaeton) so it’s hard to argue it was for the sake of completion. Medea evidently doesn’t triumph over him offscreen which is his sole mythical purpose. Is there something I liked? Well, I’m pretty happy Selene only spoke twice, considering it’s in all due likeness all that spared her from the fate of receiving similarly “amazing” new characterization as her brother. As is, she was… okay. Overall I am definitely not a fan of the book. As for its purported ideological value? It certainly has a female main character. Said character sure does have many experiences which are associated with women. However, I can’t help but think that the novel isn’t exactly feminist - it certainly focuses on Circe, but does it really try to “rehabilitate” her? And is it really “rehabilitation” and feminist reinterpretation when almost every single female character in the book is the same, and arguably depicted with even less compassion than in the source material?  It instead felt like the author’s goal is take away any joy and grandeur present in myths, and to deprive Circe of most of what actually makes her Circe. We don’t need to make myths joyless to make them fit for a new era. It’s okay for female characters to be wacky one off villains and there’s no need to punish them for it. A book which celebrates Circe for who she actually is in the Odyssey and in other Greek sources - an unapologetic and honestly pretty funny character -  would feel much more feminist to me that a book where she is a wacky witch not because she feels like it but because she got raped, if you ask me. 

Circe evidently having the time of her life, by Edmund Dulac (public domain)

[omgkalyppso]

The Unforgotten King

A Dimimari drabble that fits into Fae's post canon.

The icy winds pouring down from the frigid Fraldarian mountains were starting to upset the horses with how cold they were. Many roads this far north were impassable for carriages; even the main roads, which in many cases were the only option, were made to constrict the approach of enemies and allies alike, venturing to and from the historically chaotic northern border, and the capital to the south.

They had come first by boat and then followed the trade routes carved out by the fishing villages on the eastern coast.

Marianne held her scarf against the chill, wincing and shaking her head about Dimitri, with his scarf pulled down around his smile as he spoke about his homeland. He'd long ago let his hat fall back around his shoulders, secured by a cord about his neck, and his bound hair was a tangle as a result of the gales. He was going home, and it was as clear in his person as it was in his temperament. His nose and cheeks were pink and frozen, and his beard was gelid with frost, but the Faerghan climate suited him. Marianne even suspected that the temperature might have been harsh on another man's injuries, but Dimitri was only livelier by the mile.

Some might have said he was as a boy gone to the fair, but she knew him too well now, and could see the flit of his eye as he watched the forests. He was fighting his hauntings and his memories of war, and trusting her and their guard with his insecurities. A vast improvement when compared to the dreary state of his heart and mind during the year or two past.

Marianne had worried that despite Dimitri's growth, that returning to Faerghus was going to upset him and his friends, when he and they found him without the crown, without the armour and attire one expected of a king, and with the continued trauma of never having achieved his vengeance. She was overjoyed that it was nothing so simple.

.

"Do you see how the trees have turned from green to blue here?" Dimitri asked, gesturing to the evergreens, brightening as Marianne nodded. "They say the Goddess took pity on the verdant evergreens of Fodlan after her first ice storm, and blessed all the trees north of Conand River with a piece of her home on the Blue Sea Star, that they might from then on weather the storms."

Marianne held her scarf from her face as she replied, "They're quite beautiful. I hear they house wildlife too? I would have expected we'd only find migratory birds out in these temperatures."

"It would be wonderful to hear an owl at night," Dimitri mused. "You are right, though. There are a variety of creatures in the underbrush."

"As stubborn as any Faerghan," Marianne joked. "Although I suspect, in regards to your tale of a blessing, that similar accounts are told of the seas themselves, rather than only of Faerghan forests. Anything blue."

Dimitri had blushed and laughed awkwardly at Marianne's initial declaration, knowing that it was true that sailors in Faerghus were revered and worried perhaps even that he had misremembered his own short yarn, but then he'd smiled and contributed softly, "It is a color dear to my heart."

"Because of your house banner?" Marianne asked as if to confirm, offering Dimitri no space to argue. "Perhaps a square or kerchief could be sewn in one of your pillows? Or some other secret space? I am sorry that you're only clad as one of my guards."

Dimitri shook his head. "An honor. I am glad to ride beside you, Mari— my lady, and ... maybe with the right materials, I could try to award myself with the gift you suggest. It would be a small and challenging project for a man of my extremely limited skill."

.

Upon their arrival at the manor in Fraldarius, they were escorted to the entrance hall, where Dimitri embarrassed Rodrigue with a bow and an embrace.

"Dimitri," Rodrigue said softly, as a reprimand and a prayer, testing the name, free of title and ornamentation. "It is good to see you again. If Felix had not seen you himself, I would have assumed a ruse or extortion." He pulled away, a hand still on his once and fallen king's shoulder. "To bury you, would be as burying another son—"

"Rodrigue—" Dimitri said, meaning to interrupt.

"Humor me," he begged. "Hear me. Not only am I proud to host you, in secret, in public, but should you ever need a home in Faerghus, we will never turn you away." Rodrigue swept a tear from his eyes, "Hm. I think you'll find my lack of decorum is your fault, for hugging me first—"

"My sincerest—"

Rodrigue chuckled. "Don't apologize. Just know that I intended to be more reserved, for the sake of Lady Marianne, if not for that of my son."

"Where is Felix?" asked Dimitri, as a door to the entrance hall opened at the top of a far stair, and Felix, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid rushed out of it.

Although Felix had been to visit him in Margrave Edmund's territory three times, Dimitri could not suppress his joy at his friend's reveal, and after Rodrigue's admission, he could either hope that Felix too thought of him more fondly, or else worry that he needed to apologize to the younger Fraldarius for what he'd inspired in his father. "Felix!"

Dimitri spared a glance for Marianne, who waved him off delicately so that he could rush to his friends at the base of the stair. She shared a far more respectable greeting with Duke Fraldarius.

.

"Wait—!" Felix started to object, but too late or with too little conviction to keep Dimitri from fitting his arms around him and Ingrid and squeezing them to his chest.

Ingrid laughed happily, and Felix scoffed when Sylvain was greeted with only a joined hand and a clap on the shoulder, though Annette then jumped into Dimitri's arms.

"I half worried it was an exaggeration," Dimitri said softly. "That you all could make it."

"Mercedes and Dedue's boat is expected tomorrow," Sylvain said to assure him.

"Ashe won't be here for a week," Annette lamented as her feet hit the floor, "but I hear that will be long enough to see you?"

"I won't leave before," Dimitri promised. "It would break my heart if his journey from Gaspard was fruitless."

"Did you know that he needed to wait for Linhardt to take up residence in Gaspard?" asked Ingrid. "To deter the Adrestians from overreaching — even now."

"As well as general rebellion," Felix supplied. "Things aren't exactly settled that far west."

"You're helping him?" Dimitri confirmed, and a part of his heart stirred to be able to have this conversation with Felix in person, rather than over a period of days by letter.

"Fhirdiad's helping him," Felix said and then frowned when the others around Dimitri looked at him more directly, and corrected himself. "Yes, I'm helping him."

Fhirdiad had been Felix's home and his charge these past few years. He had taken up the title of Archduke and wielded his role with purpose. He always intended to return to Fraldarius, imagining that there would be an opportunity to suggest another lord be honoured with the capital region, but some days he worried he had sealed his fate. His father, and Sylvain, were less subtle in their matching inquiries about his return, but it seemed all others were slowly becoming accustomed to him sitting in that place of kings in the more temperate south.

"I appreciate it," Dimitri said carefully.

"There'll be plenty of time to worry about the shadow of dissent tomorrow," Sylvain said, looking to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh," Dimitri said in surprise, looking down at himself, dressed as a Leicester soldier in wool and armour.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Annette, turning over a side of his cloak to assess its thickness.

Dimitri chuckled. "I'm plenty warm, I—"

"How many layers is that?" Ingrid inquired critically.

"Do the rest of Marianne's escorts have hats like this?" asked Sylvain, propping Dimitri's upon his golden hair.

"Four. No, most have wool lined leather caps."

"Four? Like this? That's not enough," Ingrid worried.

"We'll warm him with drink and games," Sylvain suggested. "Maybe dancing if Annette feels like singing?"

Annette squeaked in protest, but Felix spoke first.

"You're being ridiculous. Dimitri's had a long ride—"

Dimitri's lips tightened to hear Felix call him by name, and he spoke gently, worried he might break this simple spell of friendship when he spoke in favour of Sylvain's suggestions, "I think it would be nice to drink with everyone, but I might like to bathe first. I fear as soon as I loosen my collar my sweat will thaw from where it's frozen upon me."

Three exaggerated tongues of disgust extended in sympathy.

"Do you want to stay inside?" asked Felix. "Wood fires can heat baths in the lower levels."

"Oh, no, lets show Marianne the hot springs," Annette said, as if pleading with Dimitri, though he would have agreed without any provocation.

"I would like that," he agreed, looking at Felix for permission.

With an expression of vague annoyance, Felix nodded, and then he and Dimitri each glanced to where Marianne continued her conversation with Rodrigue.

.

There was a social element to the hot springs that Marianne feared, but Sylvain made a joke that set her at ease, and challenged her to try the new experience.

Dimitri half expected Felix to return home after dutifully guiding their group to their destination, and thanked him for his continued company and conversation, such as it was, while they sat together in the steaming water. Sylvain was kind and assertive, inspecting Dimitri's right side as he stretched his arm and took advantage of the heat, to massage strong fingers into his shoulder.

Elsewhere, Ingrid and Annette had Marianne giggling as the trio raced from the spring to the snow and back again each time they grew over-red from being boiled together.

Later, they drank and reminisced, and Ingrid pulled Dimitri aside, to reaffirm that she would have been his knight and protector ... and that she still would, if he wanted to pursue his place in Fhirdiad. She saw no reason to defer to the law in Garreg Mach when Faerghus could still have its own king, and if not that, then at least he could be recognized, as the rest of them were, within Fodlan's nobility.

The shock that overtook Dimitri frightened her, when she had only meant to offer him his ancestral home, and the respect many had died to get him.

Sylvain and Felix were in listening distance, and Ingrid had known that; the four of them looked to Marianne, weaving Annette's hair in a five strand braid, while they spoke of seals and bears and other creatures that plagued the harbours.

Felix hissed about how Ingrid would throw them from one war into another, reminding her that Dimitri was hidden away precisely to avoid what she was suggesting: that there would be people willing to die for their rightful king to reclaim his place in Fhirdiad.

Everything would change if Dimitri returned, and they'd lose the trust of the Adrestians, especially Ferdinand, when they had already been caught in another lie.

"You can't come back," Felix said to finish his argument. Aggressive, nervous, cruel.

"Dimitri should be given a choice now that he's recovered," Ingrid said, firm.

"He's recovering," Sylvain insisted.

With a great expression of self control, Dimitri maintained his volume as he declared for his friends' forgotten benefit, "I am right here." He waited for the shame to silence them before he went on. "And things are not ... how I envisioned them — how I wanted them? My mind and upbringing feel ... wasteful, at times; and yet I have been consulted," he sighed, "on strategy and trade, customs and etiquette — by Felix and Marianne both. My input is heard in Faerghus and Leicester, and if I willed it, I am sure that Garreg Mach is within my reach ... even Almyra."

Sylvain raised his tankard in salute as he walked away then, seeing that a fight wasn't about to break out, and that Dimitri had their conversation well in hand. He complimented Annette's hair, and strove to further distract the ladies from the dark turn of that other corner of the room.

"If Faerghus was threatened, I would find my way back here, lance in hand. But I trust the peace that's been building. And the crown, as it was, only invited duplicity and massacres. Faerghus will thrive without me." With one arm he embraced Ingrid, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And Sylvain is right, I have been recovering. I would not risk all of Faerghus' progress, all of your work," his eyes drifted to Felix for a moment, "because I could not accept the truth of what a minister said. I still struggle. I am more comfortable with smaller challenges ... and I would appreciate your reassurance of our friendship as I am."

"Of course, Mitya," Ingrid insisted.

"Thank you."

"I miss you," Ingrid clarified. "I miss... The lives I thought I'd have by now."

"Change is painful," Felix agreed, sharp and forgiving.

"Yours is a life worth celebrating," Dimitri promised. He drank at the same time as his old friends, and then fumbled after, worried about sounding too much like his healers, but still he added, "Take time to recognize success."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Marianne and Annette hollering with laughter, and Dimitri could not even imagine Marianne's disappointment in him if in returning to Fhirdiad he brought a new conflict to her doorstep. He could not imagine his own heartbreak if their peoples ever returned to bloodshed. Sadly, he had imagined his horror with the possibility of witnessing another day like the tragedy, his blue love desecrated, their hypothetical children screaming, and him again, a lone survivor.

He would not speak of this in casual conversation with his friends, though perhaps in private with Marianne at some later time.

He was grateful for his anonymity.

.

It was late in the night when they made for bed, and Marianne was as drunk as he, and Dimitri worried between her state and their locale that he shouldn't have followed behind the door of her rooms. They had lain together a handful of times, but not for weeks now, yet she pressed him against the door like it was a casual thing, delicate fingers curving over his hips.

They leaned close as if they might kiss, and then she turned her face away from him with a sigh.

"I hope I haven't made a fool of myself. Did you have a good night, Mitya?"

"Beloved," Dimitri beckoned, curving a large hand around the side of her face, his scarred fingers had been mended and shattered an embarrassing number of times in the early use of his Crest. He guided her to look at him, his shining blue eye, deep as the ocean in the dark of the room.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, his tone deep and sincere. "The snow, the culture, my friends... I missed them more than I realized. I've had a very good night."

His last sentence was near whispered upon her lips, his thick lower lip tickling against her mouth.

Eyes closed, Marianne hummed her approval, bumping her nose against Dimitri's; narrow and then bulbous, a pretty princely feature that somehow he still maintained despite the violence in his life.

He bent to kiss Marianne, his hands finding her upper arms, her shoulders, her neck, and her twin braids, a gift from Annette that extended nearly to Marianne's waist.

"I should let you sleep," Dimitri whispered, though he felt how Marianne's hands wandered, pressing his shirt against the muscles on his chest and stomach.

Marianne looked from her bed to Dimitri. "Let me sit," she requested, "and I'll untie your hair. Stay with me a while longer." She swayed a little and Dimitri worried he would have to catch her. "Your friends are kind," Marianne confided, "but it felt a little strange as the night wore on, and maybe it's just me, and maybe it's just the building, but I know I can rely on you. Say you'll stay."

"A while longer," Dimitri agreed, drifting a thumb through her bangs as his hand rested on the side of her tightly bound hair again.

He sat between her knees while she pulled the ribbon from his fine hair, carefully carding through it with her fingers around the strap of his eye patch, and then allowing her hands to find the muscles of his neck, thick from stress and training.

One dainty foot made it's way over one of Dimitri's monstrous shoulders, and he brought the opposite one over his other side, leaning back into Marianne's space so her skirt ballooned out around him. They shared a soft laugh.

"Did you have any trouble today?" Marianne asked, gentle in her approach of his occasional visions.

"I thought of Glenn," Dimitri confided, "but I am uncertain if I saw him or imagined him today. There are many memories of him here. And ... at the gates, I ... I saw some violence that was not there, but I could not hear it. I'll write it down tomorrow."

"Tell me about Glenn? There must be a happy memory tucked into what came to mind."

"He would have made you feel welcome," Dimitri insisted with a smile. "He was very personable, and I was always glad to be in his company — though I was always closer with Felix, and so thought, like Felix, that I was in contest with him. Unless my Crest activated, I was always left embarrassed, and regardless of whether my Crest activated, I always lost. Felix was often disappointed in both of us."

.

Dimitri spoke of friends like family until well after Marianne curled up on her side. He stayed on the floor, and spoke with less frequency, though the memories didn't fade. He could picture Glenn on the opposite side of the room, a macabre spectre of the self from his memories, but it wasn't a hallucination this time, just a horrible imagining, the loss of a friend.

Dimitri kissed Marianne's forehead, and she mumbled that she was still awake, despite sounding as if she were miles away. Still, Dimitri smiled and kissed her lips, just in case, and then left for his own chamber.

[itsclydebitches]

TBH I think the whole "You didn't have an issue with this in 'insert x show here' but you have an issue with it in RWBY? What are you, sexist?" thing can easily be defused with a simple, "How did RWBY present this plot-point compared to the show I like?"

Sure, technically Cinder Fall and Darth Maul are the 'same' character, but how are the two presented in their respective shows? Cinder eats up screentime and none of it goes anywhere and gets frustrating. Maul is a relatively minor villain that had one season's worth of attention in CW and then was the villain of a few episodes throughout Rebels before getting killed off.

The only reason someone would be confused as to why people like Maul but hate Cinder is if they just read the two's respective wiki pages.

Really the whole "Your issues with RWBY are just subconscious misogyny" is just some people wanting to slap labels onto others so they can feel validated on not agreeing with their opinions.

Generally speaking, I'm wary of any take that boils down to a single sentence, "You're just [insert accusation here]." Not because such accusations are always 100% without merit—with a canon dealing with as many sensitive subjects as RWBY, combined with a fandom as large and diverse as it has become, you're bound to come across some people whose "criticism" stems primarily from bigotry—but because such dismissive summaries never tackle the problem a fan has pointed out. If one fan goes, "Ruby's plan was foolish because [reasons]" and the response to that is "You just can't handle a woman leader," then that response has failed to disprove the argument presented. The thing about "criticism" based in bigotry is that there isn't actually a sound argument attached because, you know, the only "argument" here is "I don't like people who aren't me getting screen time." So you can spot that really easily. The person who is actually misogynistic is going to be spouting a lot of rants about how awful things are... but very little evidence as to why it's awful, leaving only the fact that our characters are women as the (stupid) answer.

And yes, there is something to be said for whether, culturally, we're harder on women characters than we are men. Are we subconsciously more critical of what women do in media simply because we have such high expectations for that representation and, conversely, have become so used to such a variety of rep for men—including endlessly subpar/outright bad stories—that we're more inclined to shrug those mistakes off? That's absolutely worth discussing, yet at the same time, acknowledging that doesn't mean those criticisms no longer exist. That's where I've been with the Blake/Yang writing for a while now. I think fans are right to point out that we may be holding them to a higher standard than we demand of straight couples, but that doesn't mean the criticisms other fans have of how the ship has been written so far are without merit. Those writing mistakes still exist even if we do agree that they would have been overlooked in a straight couple—the point is they shouldn't exist in either. Both are still bad writing, no matter whether we're more receptive to one over the other. Basically, you can be critical of a queer ship without being homophobic. Indeed, in an age where we're getting more queer rep than ever before, it's usually the queer fans who are the most critical. Because we're the ones emotionally invested in it. The true homophobes of the fandom either dropped RWBY when the coding picked up, or spend their time ranting senselessly about how the ship is horrible simply because it exists, not because of how it's been depicted. Same for these supposed misogynists. As a woman, I want to see Ruby and the others written as complex human beings, which includes having them face up to the mistakes they've made. The frustration doesn't stem from me hating women protagonists, but rather the fact that they're written with so little depth lately and continually fall prey to frustrating writing decisions.

And then yeah, you take all those feelings, frustrations, expectations, and ask yourself, "Have I seen other shows that manage this better?" Considering that RWBY is a heavily anime-inspired show where all the characters are based off of known fairy tales and figures... the answer is usually a resounding, "Yes." As you say, I keep coming across accusations along the lines of, "People were fine with [insert choice here] when [other show] did it," as if that's some sort of "Gotcha!" moment proving a fan was bigoted all along, when in fact the answer is right there: Yes, we were okay with it then because that show did it better. That show had the setup, development, internal consistency, and follow through that RWBY failed to produce, which is precisely what we were criticizing in the first place.

What I also think is worth emphasizing here is how many problems RWBY has developed over the last couple of years (combining with the problems it had at the start). Because, frankly, audiences are more forgiving of certain pitfalls when the rest of the show is succeeding. I think giving a Star Wars example exemplifies that rather well. No one is going to claim that Star Wars is without its problems (omg does it have problems lol), but there's enough good there in most individual stories to (usually) keep the fans engaged. That doesn't mean that they're not going to point out those criticisms when given the chance, just that disappointment isn't the primary feeling we come away with. Obviously in a franchise this size there are always exceptions (like the latest trilogy...), but for most it's a matter my recent response to The Bad Batch, "I have one major criticism surrounding a character's arc and its impact on the rest of the cast, and we definitely need to unpack the whitewashing... but on the whole yes, it was a very enjoyable, well written show that I would recommend to others." However, for many fans now, we can't say the same of RWBY. Yang getting KO'ed by Neo in a single hit leads into only Blake reacting to her "death" which reminds viewers of the lack of sisterly development between Yang and Ruby which segues into a subpar fight which messes with Cinder's already messy characterization which leads to Ruby randomly not using her silver eye to save herself which leaves Jaune to mercy kill Penny who already died once which gives Winter the powers when she could have just gotten it from the start which results in a favorite character dying after his badly written downfall and all of it ends with Jaune following our four woman team onto the magical island... and that's just two episodes. The mistakes snowball. RWBY's writing is broken in numerous ways and that's what fans keep pointing to. Any one of these examples isn't an unforgivable sin on its own, but the combination of all of them, continuously, representing years worth of ongoing issues results in that primary feeling of, "That was disappointing."

Looking at some of the more recent posts around here, fans aren't upset that Ruby is no longer interested in weaponry because that character trait is Oh So Important and its lack ruins the whole show, they're upset because Ruby, across the series, lacks character, so the removal of one trait is more of a problem than it would be in a better written character. What are her motivations? Why doesn't she seek answers to these important questions? Why is her special ability so inconsistent? Where's her development recently? What makes Ruby Ruby outside of wielding a scythe and wanting to help everyone, a very generic character trait for a young, innocent protagonist? We used to be able to say that part of her character was that obsession and we used to hope that this would lead to more interesting developments: Will Ruby fix/update their weapons? Is her scythe dependency the reason why others need to point out how her semblance can develop? What happens if she is weaponless? Surely that will lead to more than just a headbutt... but now we've lost hope that this trait will go anywhere, considering it has all but disappeared. Complaints like these are short-hand criticism for "Ruby's character as a whole needs an overhaul," which in turn is a larger criticism of the entire cast's iffy characterization (Who is Oscar outside Ozpin? Why was Weiss' arc with her father turned into a joke and concluded without her? etc.) and that investment speaks to wanting her to be better. We want Ruby to be a better character than she currently is, like all those other shows we've seen where the women shine. Reducing that to misogyny isn't just inaccurate, but the exact opposite of what most fans are going for in their criticisms.

[monkeymindscream]

Beloctober Day 9: Favorite Coven Head

Darius refused to get out of his trailer for this one. I was all like “c’mon man it’s showtime!!” and he was all “ :/ ”

CONTENT WARNING FOR VIOLENCE. Nothing graphic, honestly I could easily see it happening in the show itself, but I don’t want to be the reason anybody has a bad moment because they went in blind. So be aware of attempted suffocation via abomination goo.

---

Darius was having a middling to somewhat disagreeable day. Hunting wild witches was by far one of his least favorite duties as a Coven Head. Why, again, couldn’t the scouts and guards handle it? They did usually. It wasn’t helped in the slightest by the fact that his quarry usually tended to find the filthiest places possible to hole up in – seriously, why did wild witches never try to hide in well-kept hotels, or something?

(Also, he was continually paired with Eberwolf, for some unfathomable reason. At this point he suspected it was because one of the higher-ups thought it was funny or something. Sadists, all of them.)

But oh well, never mind. He’d caught the witch Eber had been tracking, and their quota was full for the day. He could (literally) wash his hands of the whole affair.

Or at least that was the plan. The witch they’d caught was of the “won’t go down without a fight!” variety. And then even after she’d been caught, she was still making a point to put on as much defiant bravado as she could.

So she’d spat on him.

Darius could feel something boiling in his chest. He took a deep, calming breath to prevent himself from needing to come up with an excuse as to why the witch they’d been tracking had ended up in bloody chunks.

“Sweetling,” he began slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a step towards the witch presently dangling off the ground, “that was exceptionally rude. Now, I consider myself to be an even-tempered man—” (Eber snickered in the background – his eyebrow twitched in annoyance) “—but I have my limits, like everyone.”

The abomination goo presently holding the girl aloft began slowly creeping up her throat. It was nothing short of a relief to watch the defiance drain from her eyes and be replaced with concern. There were some witches who literally didn’t care what was done to them, and would be annoying to their last breath just because they didn’t want to join a coven. (And honestly? You’d choose death over getting a silly little tattoo? Re-evaluate your priorities, people.)

The goo didn’t stop at her throat, instead moving to cover her mouth and nose. The concern mutated into outright fear, then panic as she realized she couldn’t breathe without also inhaling the goo. She would essentially drown where she dangled.

“At present, I am very, very annoyed,” Darius continued, purposefully heedless of how the girl was now kicking and flailing uselessly. He reached out and took hold of her face, digging his index, middle finger, and thumb deeply into either cheek, and making her look him in the eyes. “But if you do anything like this again—” he gestured at the gob of spit still on his chest, “—I will be angry. Do you understand?”

Tears streaming from eyes that were slowly losing their light, she nodded.

“Good.” He let the abomination goo recede from her face, dragging it up out of her lungs as he did so. Most of it, anyway; he left just enough in her throat to leave an impression. Going off of how she was fighting to simultaneously gasp for air, sob, and retch all at once the second she was able, he’d say he could count that as a point made.

“I’ll be sending you to the Conformitorium to await your branding now,” he informed her. “Usually Coven heads would personally escort wild witches there, but honestly I think I’ve wasted enough of my time on you.”

(And anyway, he had the option to transport her there instantly, why not take it?)

Eber had appeared at his elbow, chattering insistently about something. He rolled his eyes.

“Yes yes, it’s ‘traditional’ or whatever that the wild witch be made to join the coven of whatever head brought them in, so odds are you’re going to be part of the Abomination Coven from now on. Welcome to the crew and all that.” He offered the still sniffling witch a look. “Though honestly, if you can swing to be put in literally any other coven, please do, I’d rather be associated with you as little as possible from this point going forward.”

Not waiting for a response he snapped his fingers, and with that the witch disappeared in a swirl of abomination goop.

---

A/N: So I don’t actually think Coven Heads actively go out to round up wild witches (Kiki makes a comment of “other teams” binding witches to covens to Lilith, but never elaborates on that). But I needed Darius to be doing something, and since I haven’t the foggiest idea what Coven Heads actually do apart from act as conduits for whatever B needs them for, I took this concept and ran with it.

[lonelyghosts-stuff]

Peppermint and Pinewood

Peppermint and Pinewood (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Premise:

Draco Malfoy x muggleborn, Slytherin! Reader

Although the time setting isn’t too important, I envisioned it taking place somewhere in the fifth year.

Warnings: none really? I mean, I guess bullying, mild angst, and fluff lol. I dunno if Draco goes a little off-canon character wise here but I tried to make his personality as close to the source material as possible.

Word count: 4,581

Note: This is my first ever fan fiction I’ve ever written so yea.

Read it on wattpad too:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/244556691-peppermint-and-pinewood

It was another bad day. After getting yet another berating from Snape due to putting one too many dried lavender flowers in the Calming Draught potion and subsequently losing five house points from Slytherin, y/n found herself once again the target of insults and sneers. As if being a muggle born placed in Slytherin wasn't bad enough, it seems like every single mistake made, no matter how simple or innocent it may have been, was held against her as if it was the highest insult to the wizarding world.

Following a long walk down the hallway to her next class, a cold and judgmental presence drew near. With his steely gray eyes, Draco Malfoy looked down upon y/n.

"Well well... looks like the mudblood lost us even more points! As if it wasn't enough of a plague upon wizard kind and the Slytherin House to have a mudblood part of it..." Draco leaned in towards y/n towering over her by at least 15cm (about 6 inches rounded up) and continued "we have to further suffer your utter lack of any practical skills in class. I mean, bloody hell y/l/n! We've been learning the calming draught for what, the past three days? And you still managed to screw that up. If it was up to me, your kind wouldn't even be allowed in the magical world much less Hogwarts; as pathetic as this school is."

After the cacophony of insults and belittlement, Draco continued onward, gesturing his cronies to follow...

Only, they didn't follow right away. Crabbe and Goyle decided that it was their time to shine and decided to push y/n around, knowing full well she wouldn't do anything to stop them. With some rude comments and pathetic chittering of a laugh, Crabbe gave y/n one final shove sending her onto the ground and spilling out her supplies including books, quills, and a jar of ink. Despite the squawking coming from Crabbe and Goyle, Draco looked more bemused than anything. While he should be laughing at a lowly mud blood getting what they deserved, he felt empty. He almost pitied y/l/n.

"Crabbe, Goyle, hurry up or we'll be late to D.A.D.A. and I sure as hell am not losing any house points because of you buffoons." Draco demanded, leaving y/n on the ground, scurrying to clean up the mess.

Eventually one Slytherin classmate and their Hufflepuff friend spotted y/n and helped her clean up.

"Scourgify! There you go! All better now!" The Hufflepuff chirped as the Slytherin handed y/n the last of her things.

"Are you sure you simply tripped and fell?" The Slytherin doubted y/n's story. "I mean, you aren't the most popular nor liked in Slytherin."

"Oh uh yea. I know where you're coming from but I promise it was just a little trip. Just me being clumsy is all!" Y/n fumbled through her response. "But thanks for the concern Mallory!"

Mallory was one of the few Slytherins who didn't despise y/n for her blood status. Coming from a home where her dad is a wizard and her mom's a muggle, not even muggle born, she found herself sympathizing with y/n.

"Hey y/n, promise us you'll come for help if you really need it, okay?" Susan Bones the Hufflepuff, a caring and hardworking witch who, while maybe initially coming across as weak and a pushover, is not one who is past fighting someone in order to defend her friends.

"Yea yea I promise I promise." Y/n chuckled. If only Mallory was in y/n's dorm room. Things would be a lot better for sure.

After a couple more minutes of reassuring Mallory and Susan that she was alright, y/n begrudgingly made her way to her next class with her fellow housemates of the same year, Defense Against the Dark Arts. While not her particular favorite due to the inconsistency of the instructors, y/n found herself enjoying D.A.D.A. more than most classes due to not only the wide variety of skills and spells learned, but the hands on approach of applying said new skills in practical situations. It was certainly a sight to behold when she transformed her boggart from Voldemort to a mere Pansy Parkinson, shackled by her ankles no doubt by Filch. Of course this only earned y/n more nasty comments hurled her way as well as an unappreciated "gift" from an owl left on her bed, but y/n felt that the site was worth it nonetheless.

D.A.D.A. was unfortunately highly uneventful that day as the class merely reviewed the basic defensive and combative spells from previous years (a shocking amount of students performed poorly on the review exam and thus the whole class had to suffer). On her way out of the class, y/n was met by another Slytherin, none other than the she-devil herself, Pansy Parkinson. As if on cue, the moment y/n stepped out of the classroom and was out of sight of any faculty, y/n was roughly pulled by the hand and pushed into the neighboring, empty classroom by Pany who promptly closed the door behind her, holding it shut.

"Hey let me out of here! Pansy you downright insufferable git!" Y/n burst out, an uncommon instance that was released due to pent up rage from days of harassment.

"Nuh uh! Maybe when you learn your lesson that Draco is mine and you'll neeeveeer be more than a pathetic, weak, and intolerable mudblood!" Pansy chortled in a sing-songy voice.

"Pansy I swear to Merlin..." y/n started before stopping themself to recompose and calm down. "Pansy, I'm asking nicely... please, open the door. I have no clue what you are talking about with Draco, but you don't need to worry. I want nothing to do with that cocky, rude, hair-gelling bastard, okay?!"

"Augh?! You think that pathetic excuse for an apology is gonna cut it? Nuh uh! Maybe you need some more time alone to think about your actions, y/l/n. Colloportus!" And with that, y/n heard the doors click locked, Pansy mumble the anti-alohomora charm, and the ever fading footsteps of Pansy proudly striding away.

Feeling all of her built up emotion come to a boil, y/n allowed herself to blow some steam off while she was alone. Casting one destructive spell after another, the classroom suffered greatly from the y/n’s rage.

"BOMBARDA! STUPEFY! DIFFINDO! INCENDIO!" Y/n proclaimed with much fervor before stepping back in fear.

The last spell carelessly cast quickly caught the ratted tapestry curtains over the windows, sending them ablaze. In the panic, y/n stumbled back to the door before pounding on it wildly for help. Fortunately for her, her absence in her next class and last class of the day was reported and McGonagall was passing by to look for her. Quickly reversing the rushed anti-alohomora charm on the door and then following up by unlocking it, the door swung open as y/n fell through, almost onto the ground before catching herself.

After extinguishing the fire with a quick flick of her wand and a mutter of 'aguamenti' and long winded conversation filled with explanations, denial, and intense pleading, McGonagall decided it was in the best interest to remove 100 points from Slytherin for the utter lack of safety and human decency.

Of course this didn't go well for y/n. That evening she found herself locked out of her own dorm room as her roommates found the blame for the points lost resting solely on y/n. Making her way to the empty common room, y/n sat on one of the couches in front of the green, crackling fire. Equipped with nothing outside of her button up, vest, and pants, y/n used her robe as a blanket and cuddled up on the couch.

At that moment, y/n's bottled up emotion overflowed and she sobbed into the couch cushion. Feeling more like a burden than a human, y/n repeated in her head the insults she's heard many times. "Hinderance. Pathetic. Weak. Worthless..." she choked out between sobs. "Filthy... little... mudblood."

Before y/n could even get one wink of sleep, a door creaked open revealing the prince of Slytherin himself, Draco. Only, unlike most other times, Draco was sans henchmen. Presumably, Draco snuck out for one reason or another and was only returning about now. As Draco stepped into the light, he noticed a covered figure on the couch. Draco glimpsed at y/n h/l h/c hair, quickly deducing it was y/n.

"What are you doing out here this late, y/l/n?" Interrogated Draco. "Shouldn't you be in your room?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Wandering about this late at night, you could lose us house points or worse depending on what suspicious activities you are into." Y/n mumbled as she tried to tune out the excess noise, not caring anymore about how she responded to Draco.

"Harsh, but fair." Draco let out a rare chuckle.

For some reason, hearing Draco chuckle sent warm tingles throughout her body from one hand to another. This is just barely a fraction of a side of Draco she wished she could see all the time. Before getting too caught up in daydreams, y/n remembered it was Draco's fault in the first place that she's even locked out of her room at all.

"Well, to put it short, I'm still a, as you say, a filthy mudblood and it would appear as if torturing me and locking me in an abandoned classroom wasn't enough for them so they decided to lock me out of our own room." Y/n vented with both a sense of exasperated relief as Draco stood silently, stiff as a board, as if he was shocked as to what he was hearing.

Draco took a moment to drink in y/n. Her e/c eyes, red and glossy from tormented crying. Even in this state she was still breathtaking. Wait, what? Breathtaking? Draco suddenly forgot how to speak as his mind raced from his sudden observation. She's not pretty, right? She's just a muggle born, a disgrace to the wizarding world! Is that all she is though? And only a muggle born, not a mudblood? Draco panicked internally for a brief moment before finally recollecting himself and regaining his composure.

"Oh." Was all Draco could manage at the moment. Appearing deep in thought, Draco organized a response. "As much as I would love to hear more of your life problems, I have a room to go back to. So... um... good night..."

Draco awkwardly turned around and shuffled towards his room, pausing only for a brief moment and throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as if he was contemplating something. He quickly shook off any feeling of turning back and entered his room for the night.

The school year progressed without much of anything significant happening outside of the common bullying and stress of the holidays approaching. It was almost winter break and, as usual, y/n would be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Her parents always took a long vacation over Christmas break and figured they would save money by leaving y/n at school where she would still get food and housing without them having to pay for an extra plane ticket. Y/n didn't mind too much. She had always been pretty independent from her parents, but she loved them nonetheless. They all loved each other but they weren't very affectionate about it, a factor that probably contributed to her apathetic approach to most things. While always hopeful to be invited to one of her parents annual holidays, y/n also looked forward to the more or less peace and quiet of having the common room and school mostly to herself with the exception of the other few students who also remained for the holidays.

Unbeknownst to y/n, ever since their interaction at night in the common room, Draco has been secretly watching her. While seeing her in such a devastated state should logically make him happy as she is only a muggle born, Draco felt anything but happy. It was almost like looking into a mirror for him, seeing her broken. It reminded him of his many nights of anxiety and depression after getting an earful from his father about how he wasn't "good enough" or constantly feeling inadequate compared to the "chosen one", Potter. From that moment on, Draco avoided y/n. Y/n didn't really think anything of it except that she appreciated the extended periods of peace and silence between the other students' insults. This of course only prompted Crabbe and Goyle to try to make up for their ring leader's apparent avoidance and growing distaste of picking on y/n. Fortunately for y/n however, Crabbe and Goyle were quite dim witted and easy to outsmart or avoid. Another development for y/n was that, after her time in the abandoned classroom allowing her to let off some steam, followed by her mini rant to Draco, she found herself able to stand up for herself a bit more, much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson. Now when Pansy strode up to y/n with a cocky and mischievous smirk plastered on her face, y/n simply looked on with a strong and unavoidable expression of mere annoyance and anticipation of disappointment. Pansy would try to insult y/n only for y/n to retort with a simple motion of dismissal or a clever comeback.

"Well if it isn't the local mudblood of Slytherin!" Pansy would shout with falsely placed pride.

"Well if it isn't the local tramp of Slytherin!" Y/n would respond with a mock curtsy. "What an absolute honor to be in your presence. Oh, and of course the presence of all the guys you try to hook up with."

Pansy would only stare on, gobsmacked and dumbfounded. She would walk away trying to act as if y/n's responses meant nothing to her, but her embarrassment would be evident with the bright red burning at her cheeks. Y/n would always take a silent pride in herself when she managed to hold her composure and deliver lines to Pansy that would shut her up without the need to stoop down the Pansy's level herself.

The days progressed even more until it was eventually the last day before the Christmas holiday. As the other students were packing their things and saying their goodbyes, y/n spent her time in the library or in the Slytherin common room, sitting next to one of the many windows looking out under the Black Lake. Y/n would often sit by the windows and look at the fish and grindylows swim by, almost entranced by the aquatic life that resides within the lake. Y/n always hoped to spot the giant squid someday, but outside of the rare silhouette of a tentacle, she was disappointed. Of course her biggest achievement of her many nights of lake gazing was when she spotted a mermaid right outside the window. The mermaid smiled a soft and ethereal smile before singing a peaceful song, lulling y/n to a restful sleep. Y/n would constantly be on the lookout for that same mermaid each night, even more so than the giant squid, but was unfortunately commonly met with mere fish or the occasional grindylow that would give her a wicked smile. At the end of the day, students began to turn in for the night in preparation for leaving bright and early in the morning to go home or wherever for their Christmas vacations. Y/n, on the other hand, stayed up, sitting on the couch and watching the green flames dance and in the fireplace. A wave of contentment washed over her as she looked forward to a peaceful break. She had just been told by Mallory that, while she was leaving for the holiday, Susan Bones would be staying as her she had no family to return to (her family having been killed personally by Voldemort in the First Wizarding War) outside of her aunt Amelia Bones who was attending to business all holiday. Y/n looked forward to spending some time with Susan, especially knowing how hard the holidays are for her due to her family's past. She has already planned on taking her to Hogsmeade for some quality time as a “girls’ day” together and to make sure that, despite her circumstances, she would still have the best Christmas possible.

As y/n sat alone, mesmerized by the fire and picturing her plans to hang out with Susan, none other than Draco Malfoy once again stepped into the picture. He didn't directly approach y/n, more or less standing off to the side and looking outward at the lake. Y/n eventually directed her attention away from the fire and noticed Draco staring out at the lake. He seemed a lot more fidgety than usual, almost as if he was nervous or dreading something. 'It couldn't possibly be he's not looking forward to going home, could it?' Y/n thought to herself as she observed Draco's body language. After a brief minute, Draco turned around as if to head to bed only to notice y/n staring at him.

"Ah! W-what are you doing here y/l/n?" Draco jumped slightly, caught off guard.

Y/n quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks burn in embarrassment from being caught. "I, uh, well..." she calmed down and recomposed herself, "if you don't remember, despite yours and most everyone else's wishes, I'm still in Slytherin so I have just as much of a right to be here as you!"

"Oh. Yea. I mean, that's not what I meant." Draco fumbled through his sentences, his nervousness becoming more and more obvious. "I meant, what are you doing here, here. Shouldn't you be in bed so you'll be ready for the holidays?"

Once again, y/n found herself saying, "I could ask you the same thing." Y/n gave a playful yet unconfident smirk.

Defying anyone's best guess, a faint pink rose to Draco's cheeks, completely catching y/n off guard. He quickly tried to laugh it off before continuing to uncharacteristically stumble his way through the conversation. "Uh, yea. My bad, sorry."

Once again, y/n was caught completely off guard. 'Did the Draco Malfoy just say, "sorry"?' Draco didn't even seem phased by the absurdity of what he just said.

Quickly moving on from what just happened, y/n spoke up, "Well, to answer your question. No. I'm not leaving for the holidays. I'll be here all Christmas break."

Almost as if without a second thought, Draco made his way over to the couch area, sitting on the chai directly across from y/n. His previous nervousness seemed to fade away as he responded, "So, why are you staying here? How come you're not going home or traveling somewhere?"

"Well, my parents like to go on big fancy trips for the holidays and they figure that they can save money by leaving me here."

"Oh. Does that bother you at all? That they just leave you behind while they go and have a great time?"

Y/n shrugged, trying to ignore how weird this whole situation is. "Not really. It's always been like this. They never really went on vacations outside of an occasional camping trip with me when I was still living at home and they wanted to take advantage of the situation of me being at a school away from home to go on a nice trip while I was being cared for. We still go camping over the summertime though, so that's fun."

Draco was amazed, listening intently to every word that came out of y/n's mouth. The concept of needing to save money was pretty foreign to him, but he found himself able to relate to her situation of not having the most affectionate family.

"So, what about you, Draco? Why aren't you in bed? No doubt your family has some extravagant plans for the holiday." Y/n asked, turning the tables on Draco.

As soon as she asked this, the previously present nervousness and dread returned to Draco's face. "Oh, uh, not tired yet. A lot on my mind..."

"Well, surely your family has something exciting planned. I mean, you are a Malfoy after all."

As if she just pushed a button, Draco seemed to flinch away at the mention of his family name. For a brief moment, his nervousness was overcome with an irritated, defensiveness as he snapped, "Well it's not all perfect like you so clearly think!"

Y/n flinched back as he shouted this, confused by the sudden change in attitude. Draco noticed her almost immediately shut down, losing any joy that previously graced her face.

"I-I'm... sorry... I didn't mean to shout." Draco sighed. "It's just that-"

"No, I'm sorry." Y/n interrupted. "I saw you were clearly uncomfortable at the first mention of your family and I shouldn't have asked again... you don't have to say anything you don't want to."

"Thank you." Draco simply said. He began to stand up to head to bed before y/n got to say one last thing

"Draco. I-", y/n cut herself off, questioning if she should really finish her sentence. "I'm... always here if you need anything. Okay? I may not know of your family's background or yours, but I'm no stranger to hardships. I'm always here if you need help with something or even just someone to talk to."

Draco looked at her with a face full of mixed emotions. Uncertainty, confusion, fear of letting someone in, fear of pushing her away, and more. He was quiet for about a whole minute as he stood there, looking at y/n.

"But, why? Would you care about me? I've been nothing but cruel and rude to you. Why would you care how I feel?" Draco suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

"Just because you may not be the most pleasant person in the world to be around doesn't mean you don't have your own battles and issues in life, nor does it mean your issues are any less valid than anyone else's. You're still a human and... I care about you just like anyone else...", y/n looked down at the floor as she quietly said the last part.

Draco stood there, silent and uncertain about how to respond. Another minute of silence passed and, without a second thought, Draco turned around and walked to his room. Y/n kept looking down, berating herself in her head. 'You went too far you idiot! You just had to push it and make him feel uncomfortable...'. Y/n lied down onto the couch and closed her eyes as she tried to fall asleep.

As Draco walked away, he stopped for a second and whispered under his breath, "Thank you... y/n. Merry Christmas."

The night was rough for Draco; he couldn't sleep as he replayed the conversation in his head over and over again. When the time reached 1:30 am, Draco decided to get up and go for a brief walk to clear his head. He opened the door from his dorm room and quietly snuck out so as to not awake his roommates. Making his way down into the common room, he spotted y/n still there, only asleep on the couch. He quickly deduced she must have been locked out of her room again and that was another reason she wasn't in bed yet when he first came across her. He quietly walked over to her and looked at her. Despite her messy hair and unconventional sleeping position, she had a peaceful look on her face as she slumbered. As he turned away to continue his short walk, he heard a noise come from y/n. When he turned around, he noticed her shivering in her sleep. The fire had died down since he was last here and y/n was without a blanket or anything else to keep her warm. He wanted to relight the fireplace but he also didn't want to risk the sudden light waking her up. He eventually turned back to head to his room as y/n laid there.

The next morning, Draco and his friends were getting ready to leave the school and board the trains. A smirk was plastered on Draco's face, one which did not go unnoticed by Pansy.

"Hey Drayyyy!" Pansy cooed in a sickeningly sweet tone of voice. "What's got you so happy this be-a-utiful morning?"

Even Pansy's annoying presence couldn't dampen Draco's mood. "Oh it's nothing. Just looking forward to leaving this joke of a school is all." Draco proudly lied, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Despite many more attempts of learning what the truth was from Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle, Draco remained silent on the truth.

Back in the Slytherin common room, y/n began stirring awake. Surprisingly, she slept through the commotion of the other students leaving for Christmas. Stretching and yawning, y/n stood up off the couch, accidentally dropping the jumper that was draped across her onto the ground. Without hesitation she picked up the sweater and slid it on, quickly leaving to brush her hair and get ready for the day to take Susan to Hogsmeade.

Once in Hogsmeade, y/n lead Susan to Honeydukes to pick out an assortment of sweets.

"Thank you so much for all of this, y/n. I really appreciate it." Susan beamed as she grabbed a chocolate frog with one hand as her other held a box of treacle fudge.

"Of course. It's my pleasure and it's a nice change of pace from a normal school schedule. And one never needs an excuse to go to Honeydukes!" Y/n responded gleefully.

After they made their way back to Hogwarts with their bounty of sweets and a few items from Zonko's, Susan led y/n to the Hufflepuff common room so they could indulge themselves.

After taking a big bite from a liquorice wand, Susan spoke out, "oh I've been meaning to ask you, when did you get that jumper? It's been cold all winter but I haven't seen you wear it all!"

Y/n looked down at the jumper. It was green and silver in the Slytherin colors with a big, snake S in the center. "You know what? I don't know... I just woke up this morning and it was draped over me. I'm not sure how I got it."

"Weird. Maybe you made an impulse purchase and completely forgot?"

"No, I don't think that's it. It's a little big for me too. Maybe Mallory bought it for me and left it as a surprise? I know she's a bit bigger than me so that would explain it."

"No that can't be. She got you a new scarf and matching mittens for Christm-shoot!"

"Susan!!!" Y/n burst out laughing.

"Oh no I'm so so so sorry!!! Please don't tell Mallory I told you! She's been planning this for a week! Please act surprised when you get it! Aghhhh I'm so dumb!" Susan panicked as her face flushed from embarrassment.

"Don't worry don't worry!" Y/n chuckled loudly. "I'll act surprised I promise!"

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you!" Susan cried out as she stuffed her mouth with a pumpkin pasty.

The rest of the Christmas holiday was full of fun and funny times like this. For the first time in a while, y/n looked forward to getting up in the morning and seeing people. She would always wake up bright and early, brush her hair and her teeth, and slip on the mysterious oversized jumper. While it still bugged her and Susan as the jumper's origin remained a mystery, y/n was grateful to have it nonetheless on these cold, winter days.

It also had a pleasant scent of peppermint and pinewood cologne too.

[tl-notes]

Kobayashi’s Maid Dragon S2 Episode 10 Notes

I’m extremely not an expert in birds, but I tried to look these up to see if they were a species native to New York (since they’re similar to the sparrows we usually see around Kobayashi’s place). Apparently there are few similar-looking species in New York? My totally uninformed guess is that they may be house sparrows.

The sun sets in Japan relatively early (probably around 6:30pm when this episode takes place), which would make it entirely plausible that if she just flew east (with a slight northward angle) she’d find herself over New York in the early morning while most of the rest of the country is still dark.

These bumpy grey pads at the pedestrian part of the intersection here are known as (among other things) tactile paving; they’re to assist people who can’t fully rely on eyesight to get around.

Interestingly (imo), they were actually invented in Japan in the 60s (by a Miyake Seiichi), where today they’re extremely ubiquitous. They even show up later this episode!

They’re often referred to in Japan as 点字ブロック, tenji (Braille) blocks, and they tend to come in two types: the “dot” design, which indicates a place to stop (or an angle change, or more generally “caution”), and the “line” design which indicates you can safely keep going. They’re generally colored yellow in Japan, ideally making them stand out more to help people with impaired vision find them, and are mandated by law in most places public transport can be found (among others).

Not really a translation note, but “deer cola” felt especially funny in the context of all the horse medicine stuff. 

I guess “[animal] [drink]” is a common branding device in-universe, given the crab beer Kobayashi’s always drinking.

Also not really a translation note, but the difference between how “hard” Kanna and Chloe are running to be at the same speed was a nice animation touch.

遊んだ遊んだ！ asonda asonda!

One feature of the Japanese language is a very heavy use of repetition. This includes “reduplication,” a linguistic term for creating words by repeating a root (e.g. a “boo-boo” in English or the dara-dara example below in Japanese), but also just like… saying the same word multiple times, as Chloe does here.

Typically this is done for emphasis or to help increase clarity: if you’ve worked in a Japanese office, you’ve likely heard someone in a phone conversation say desu desu in response to someone asking for confirmation. 

This acceptance of repetition sort of extends beyond the obvious uses like this as well: for example, personal pronouns are much less common; instead (if the subject isn’t dropped) you’ll often just use the person’s name again. You’ll notice similar trends with other types of words as well.

Not to mention the ubiquity of things like otsukare.

This often ends up being a challenge for translators, because reusing words in English (when it’s not for an obvious reason) tends to stick out rather unflatteringly, even if they aren’t that close together. 

(Like when I overuse “hence” in these notes.)

This “Christ” in the Japanese was “ったく” (short for 全く mattaku, but just used as a semi-generic exclamation). I mostly bring this up because it’s a good example of a word that doesn’t work out of its cultural context; e.g. it wouldn’t make any sense for a fantasy character to say “Christ,” but since this is an American speaker it works just fine (and helps distinguish that fact, even). 

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but English uses a lot of “explicit reference” words like this, that can break immersion if put in the mouths of characters who wouldn’t have exposure to said reference—which can be annoyingly limiting when trying to write dialogue sometimes.

As a bit of a culture shock for a lot of Americans I’ve met, most Japanese homes tend to have wall mounted air conditioning units, like this one, that are only for heating/cooling the one room they’re in. (Many also have a “Dry” setting that makes them act kind of like a dehumidifier as well.) It’s common to not have them in every room, like bedrooms, however.

This is in contrast to the central air conditioning system used by a majority of homes in the US (though type/use of AC in the US varies a lot by region; less common in the north for example)—and places like the UK where apparently residential AC units of any kind are quite rare.

You may have noticed that the doors between rooms always seem closed in Kobayashi’s apartment. That’s not just to make the backgrounds simpler, it’s also a good habit to keep if you’re going to be running the AC!

“Kobayashi, are you お休み today?” 

“Yeah, お休み.”

お休み o-yasumi, is a noun form of the 休む yasumu, to rest. The word has a variety of applications, as we see here. A day off work/school, i.e. a rest day? お休み. Want to say “good night” to someone before bed? Also お休み.

In this case, it’s not even necessarily clear it’s being said as a pun; as mentioned earlier, repetition is a common feature of the language, so despite the yawn there wouldn’t really be any reason for Kanna to think Kobayashi was about to go to nap or anything.

“Laze about” here is だらだら dara-dara, another phenomime (擬態語 gitaigo in Japanese)—one of those words that mimics the “sound” of an idea/concept/state, which don’t actually make a sound per se.

These phrases aren’t necessarily childish or anything (overuse of them can be, but you can find them even in news articles and political speeches for example). They are, however, used frequently by children, and by adults talking to children, as they’re very “easy” words: they’re expressive, they capture useful daily-life concepts, and they usually roll off the tongue. You’ll notice, for example, that Kanna uses them a lot.

Kanna has a very interesting way of talking actually, which I’ll touch on a bit more later.

Kobayashi’s “bean jam” here is あんみつ anmitsu, a traditional Japanese dessert (technically a spinoff of mitsumame). It typically is a mix of red beans (and/or red peas), agar (an algae-based gelatin equivalent), some fruit, some variety of rice flour product (shiratama in this case, similar to mochi), and a syrup (often black sugar based).

You can find it year-round, but it has a strong summer association and is even used as a summer season word. (It’s typically chilled and you can often get it with ice cream as an ingredient.)

It’s also sometimes paired with a green-tea flavored something as well (e.g. ice cream, agar, or syrup). The trinity of green tea, red beans (aka azuki), and shiratama makes what I like to think of as the “Japanese S’mores Flavor (for Adults)”. No I will not elaborate on this.

I will though point out the shaved ice flavor Kobayashi ordered later in the episode:

え？今スイカ様子あった？

A word of note here for language learners is 様子 yousu, which has a lot of definitions, but in cases like this where it’s attached to a noun or phrase means roughly “the appearance of __” or “an indication of ___” etc. In actual use, it typically means something that makes you think of whatever ___ is—or the lack of something that would make you think ___.

For example here, it’s like “Watermelon? Where’d that come from?” (since the TV was talking about a different dessert-y food entirely). 

Or an unrelated example: “I think that guy is hiding something” → “Really? I haven’t seen any yousu of that.” In other words, it can be a lot like “sign,” as in “I’ve seen no sign of ___.”

These color-bordered envelopes (originally colored based on the flag of the country of origin) used to be the standard for air mail, domestic or international, though they haven’t been required for several decades.

That said, they’re still popular for that “ooh, international mail!” feel (at least in Japan) and you can buy them at most places that sell stuff like envelopes. As here, they’re often used in media to immediately convey that a letter came from outside Japan.

Kanna (and Kobayashi) says エアメール, lit. “air mail” in English, which is used colloquially for international mail specifically, rather than “mail sent by plane.”

They’re having what’s called 冷やしそうめん hiyashi soumen, chilled/cold soumen for lunch here. (Soumen being a thin wheat noodle; udon but thinner.) As Kanna says, it’s very easy to make!

Basically you just boil it, wash it in cold water, add ice, get some sort of sauce to dip it in, and you’re done! It’s a popular quick meal in summer, and much easier than the more involved nagashi soumen setups you may have seen elsewhere, where they slide the noodles down a chute for you to try to grab and eat. (It’s basically the same meal aside from that though.)

(You can of course add more to it, but as we see here, you don’t really have to.)

The type of tea here, for the curious, is 麦茶 mugicha, barley tea. Mugi is the general name for cereals/grains including wheat (komugi), barley (oomugi), rye (kuromugi or rye mugi), and oats (enbaku or oat mugi). It’s incredibly common in Japan (and much of East Asia), where it's the household summer drink.

It has no caffeine like many other teas, and has a bunch of various nutritional benefits, so it’s considered a good way to stay hydrated as you’re sweating buckets in the muggy Japanese summer weather.

帽子した？  boushi shita? した！ shita!

I thought this was a cute way of phrasing this question/answer, and a good example of the “parent and their young child” way these two talk.

The suru (past tense shita) verb used here is the ultimate in “generic verb,” and it basically doesn’t get any simpler grammar-wise to phrase something as “noun+suru” like Kobayashi does here (even the particles are dropped). 

Kanna, for her part, doesn’t respond with a “yes” or etc, but instead just repeats back the verb itself in confirmation.

Just to note another one of those words like dara-dara: bura-bura, used for things like wandering around, doing something (or nothing) casually/aimlessly, or (with one bura) for something dangling/swinging in a more literal sense, like a spider, slack yo-yo, or wind chime.

These booklets are a common homework assignment for practicing kanji; you can see along the left side there it shows the stroke order, with the first block giving an example to trace over & showing where to start each stroke.

Each character is made up of radicals (e.g. “hot” above: 日 and 耂), which each have a standard way to write them. There’s 214 such radicals (though many are pretty niche; only about ~50 of them are needed to make most characters), and once you get a hang of them it makes learning new characters much easier (not too different from learning word spellings in English imo).

Kanna is repeating out loud the reading for the “hot” character as she writes it.

In addition to the above workbooks (which usually involve both kanji and math problems at Kanna’s grade), elementary school summer homework in Japan typically involves doing an illustrated diary (not a daily one necessarily) and some sort of research project about a subject of your choice. (Think kind of like a small science fair project).

The “research” project part is pretty expansive, and you can typically even do something more arts & craftsy for it.

Manhole covers in a lot of Japanese municipalities feature art representative of the area. For example, the city of Chofu, where the author of GeGeGe no Kitaro lived most of his life, has several with art of that series.

(Photo from https://www.gotokyo.org/jp/spot/1734/index.html)

I mentioned earlier that Kanna has an interesting way of speaking. Probably a better way to put it is that she has a pretty convincingly childish way of speaking (despite the monotone). That is, she uses simple grammar and “easy” words most of the time, but then throws out random big words and fancy idioms from time to time that make you go “...where did you learn that?”

In this case, the phrase she uses is 巷で人気 chimata de ninki. Chimata originally means like a fork (in the road), and since those are often places with lots of people passing through, it expanded to mean “the undefined place where people talk about ~stuff~.” So it’s used for “many people are saying~” or “word on the street is~” types of situations (or “talk of the town,” as here).  

It’s kind of an “adult” word though; for example the character for it isn’t included in the jouyou kanji (the 2000+ that are taught in elementary through high school). Hence Kobayashi’s reaction here.

The word she uses for “protected” here is 死守 shishu. The word is the combination of the characters for “death” and “protect,” ~meaning to protect something even at risk to one’s life (to the death, as it were).

It's a word that you learn in third grade in the Japanese education system—the same grade Kanna is in!

Both of these types of signs are common sights in residential areas like this: depending on where you live, it can feel like there’s always some sort of construction project going on, and Japan’s many family/individually-owned businesses like this tend to be closed on various extra days during the summer (and certain other times) to allow for time off.  

In this case, them being closed August 12th~16th implies they’re taking off for Obon (and probably leaving town to visit family).

The word Kobayashi uses here is 風物詩 fuubutsu-shi. Fuubutsu refers to something that makes up part of the “scenery” of a place or season, in a pretty broad sense. This shi typically means “poem.”

So fuubutsu-shi is originally a type of poem celebrating a season or a scene of natural beauty, that sort of thing. From that, it’s also now (more popularly) used to describe things that are representative of a season; the kind of stuff you say “it’s not winter until…” about, or “you know it’s summer when…” (It can also be used for places + seasons, like the ice sculptures of Hokkaido winters, or even summer Comiket in Tokyo.)

They’re very similar to the season words I’ve mentioned previously, though they’re far less strict about what counts as one. Here, Kobayashi’s could be referring to the whole package experience of “having to take cover and wait out a sudden heavy rain, despite it being mostly clear skies a few minutes ago,” which you could call fuubutsu-shi (summed up probably as like 夏の雨宿り etc.)

In contrast the relevant season word here would probably be yuudachi (or niwaka-ame), a word referring to the short, sudden bouts of rain that tend to fall (from cumulonimbus clouds, the makings of which are noticeable in the backgrounds before this) on summer evenings.

Feels like in season one she woulda eaten it. Three cheers for character growth!

The parentheticals there are just the “English” in hiragana/katakana.

Kobayashi’s comment (nihongo de ok, roughly “you can just use Japanese”) is an internet-born term people originally would use to reply to someone who said something that didn’t make any sense, had terrible grammar, or was so full of katakana loanwords it was hard to read etc.

Kanna says this line in English, and while I have no proof at all, my guess is that the specific choice of “wicked” was taken from the translation of “maji yabakune?” used in season one.

[buckysbest]

IT WAS GOOD UNTIL IT WASN'T

CHAPTER TWO: CAN I?

PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Reader

Series Warnings: NSFW TOPICS, Manipulative/Toxic tendencies, sad boi steve rogers, cheating, alcohol

Series Summary: Heartbreak follows her everywhere and Steve Rogers is nothing but the latest victim, at least thats what she thought? Now she can't shake the feeling of him no matter where she goes.

Word count: 1.8K

A/N: Hey lovelies! Sorry I haven't been posting much, I am have just had a lot going on the past few weeks. I absolutely adore all of you (@lookiamtrying im talking to you extra) and I cant wait to see what you guys think!

ps sorry for any typos lol I really wanted to give you guys something today

Series Masterlist coming soon // Masterlist Coming soon

You could pretend you weren't petty and you could pretend he didn't have your blood boiling, but you knew you’d only be lying to yourself. At the sound of her voice, your stomach had dropped practically through the pavement and you were pissed.

Your “vacation” in Miami now officially cut short as you found yourself leaning back into your increasingly uncomfortable plane seat. You drummed your nails on the back of your phone as you began to actually consider the consequences that would follow the impulse purchase of your ticket.

You knew you shouldn't go back. You knew what kind of message this sent.

It practically screamed your need for attention from your boy in red, white, and blue while also displaying the jealousy you couldn't quite push down for all yo see

But you just couldn't help yourself.

If he was going to disrupt your plans this heavily, the least you could do is return the favor.

The sun was just rising over the wing of the aircraft as the flight attendants made their final rounds and speeches to the nearly empty plane. The pounding headache from your night of partying was only worsened as the roar of the engines seemed to get louder and louder. In an attempt to mitigate the pain, you pushed the power button on your phone and shoved it into the seat pocket beside you. Your head found the back of the seat with a small groan as your frustration with yourself only grew.

In need of some peace, you let your tired and heavy eyes drape shut. Much to your dismay, they only provided a screen for the tortuous highlight reel of his hands on your body to play upon.

This was going to be a long flight.

---

__

As the wheels of the plane finally landed, you quickly gathered your limited belongings and headed straight for the exit. Your rushed departure from Miami couldn't have been more obvious to the other passengers and pedestrians around you. The early morning business class was filled mostly with people in professional wear which provided a stark contrast to your, albeit, slutty and glittering minidress.

Your heels echoed throughout the airport with each step toward the exit of the building, disrupting the stillness of the morning. As you finally crossed the threshold into the fresh air, your driver waved you down excitedly. The pain in your head worsened once again as your agitation grew and you slid on your sunglasses with an eye roll.

“Miss. Y/N, it is really so lovely to see you, we all missed you so much! Your father was incredibly excited that you decided to come home early!”

As you walked further from the building, he rushed around you, gathering your belongings from you as he continued to sprinkle you with unnecessary compliments.

“Mhm, yeah, Thomas, that's really lovely- truly, do you mind though, can we just skip home and just go to the penthouse please?”

The request surprised him a bit, probably because your father prepared him for a different sight exiting the airport. Instead of a burnt out party-girl chomping at the bit for the comforts of home, he was met with a hungover and irritable heiress already smothered over her newly acquired lack of freedom.

The serenity of the ride into the city allowed you a moment of reflection as hints of guilt began to pool in the bottom of your stomach. While your attitude didn't completely improve, you did feel bad for the way you had spoken to Thomas because in all fairness, the limo was far warmer and comforting than the unwelcoming New York air and you knew he was simply doing his job.

The tension in the vehicle seemed to diffuse a little as you got closer to your apartment. Your eyes and energy had rather refocused on the real reason for your return as you turned to your phone, staring at the messages Steve had left you.

3:15 (We’ll talk in the morning, ok?)

3:20 (Sweetheart, look, if it's really important, I can stay up for a bit longer)

4:00 (did you at least get home safe?)

5:00 (doll, you're making me nervous, please just let me know your safe)

You bit your lip in concentration but your eyes were drawn away from your phone before you could craft a response as the car found itself coming to a slow stop. Thomas made his way to your door, opening it and offering you a hand as you stepped out and took in the building. After the all-too-long ride up the elevator, your mind was settled as you entered your top floor home. It was just how you had left it two months ago and it felt good to be back.

“Just a moment thomas, I just need to get changed”

Thomas awkwardly dismissed himself back to the car as you walked into your bedroom and subsequent closet. You paused under your closet archway briefly to finally type the response you had been thinking over.

8:00 am ( can I come over? or do you have company)

Your nails met your lips as you nervously awaited his response.

8:00 am (wait what? are you home already?)

8:00 am (you know you can come over anytime )

A smile grew on your lips at his timely response. Your hands rummaged through the variety of drawers lining the walls of your wardrobe before stopping to feel the lace of a white set of lingerie you knew he couldn't resist. Sliding it on, your eyes gel onto the perfect outfit for your intended purposes.

The black velvet top and matching skirt hugged your body in a way that should be illegal while your diamond-studded pumps found their way onto the floor replaced by equally stunning white pumps. They rubbed slightly on the blisters you had acquired in the past week as you quickly made your way back out the door after grabbing your handbag from the couch.

‘He lived right down the street’ you repeated to yourself as traffic dragged what should have been a five minute ride into a fifteen minute endeavor.

The anticipation of being reunited began to expose itself as your skin began to glisten and an excited glow rose onto your face. Before Thomas could even put the car fully in park, you had already opened the door, saying a quick don't wait up before slamming the door shut.

Your legs couldn't seem to move quick enough as you walked through the hallways until you reached his door. Your heels must have given your arrival away because before your knuckles could even knock on the door, he swung it open and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“I am so glad you're safe”

His warm breath tickled your neck as he mumbled the soft words into your hair. A small smile found its way onto your face at the notion before you raised yourself onto your tippy toes, whispering back an “I missed you”.

You could feel the silence and comfort in everyone of your muscles as they relaxed into the man you knew all too well. You turned around, stepping into the threshold of his home without breaking the strong grip that he still had on you. Taking the small note, he released you slightly, pulling his large frame through the door as well before he shut it gently. His eyes softened as they met yours for the first time in two months.

“What are you doing home?” A small smile raised onto his face as you took another step into him, laying your head on his chest.

“I already told you, I missed you,” you replied as his hands that laid respectfully on your lower back were lowered by your own mischievous hands. You placed a soft kiss beneath his ear, “Did you miss me too Cap?”

A small groan left his mouth at the nickname and you knew you were close to getting what you wanted.

You lead his hands once again lower, this time to the bottom of your skirt, prompting him to slide it up a bit. Your hands finally left his as you reached them up around his neck and leaned in.

His lips met yours halfway in a movement that could only be described as desperate.

The slow and agonizing pace that he had tried to set for you was now gone as he patted your thighs and you jumped. He carried you to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed and crawling on top of you.

His mouth then began to make its way down the side of your neck, eliciting a loud moan from your painted lips. A satisfied smirk momentarily appeared on his face as he lifted his eyes to meet yours. They seemed to search your eyes for a moment before they broke away from yours with a small frown. His hovering form came down as he placed his head on your chest with a groan.

“What's wrong cap?” you joked slightly as you ran your hands through his hair.

“Steve?”

“I can’t do this doll.” His sweet eyes raised to meet yours and you could immediately tell they were filled to the brim with guilt.

“Of course you can Ste-”

“You don’t understand y/n,” he said with a deep sigh before pulling himself further back and standing up. He began to pace slightly as he continued with a frustrated groan, “I- fuck- “

Your eyes widened at the uncharacteristic language and behavior of your golden boy as his eyes met yours once again. “I-I finally found someone who will give me what you cant y/n.” He paused momentarily, as if being hit by the recoil of the gun he had just fired into your heart. “She, She really sees a future with me doll and, and I-I can't just throw that all away for nothing” he says. His words and his eyes were laced with propositions and it really appears like he's trying to convince himself more than you.

Nonetheless, your heart dropped to your stomach and you could feel tears threatening to brim at your eyes. “Nothing? Am I nothing to you Steve?”

“Oh- of course no- I didn't mean it like that,” he sighed as he quickly walked back over to you.

You extended an arm out before pulling him back onto the bed and flipping him over. Straddling his hips, you leaned down and laid into his chest. His arms once again found their way around you, if only because of muscle memory. You held this embrace for a moment before sighing out your own proposition.

“I’ll go Steve… I’ll go and leave forever if you really want…. Just tell me..” You leaned your head up slightly to meet his ear and whispered,

“Is that what you really want?”

[oddlyhale]

James, James, James, James. My ultimate RWBY bias, my precious sad man. I have so much to discuss about prince charming here.

My Top 3 Ships For James IronQrow IronWatts IronWitch

To easily sum up all 3 ships as a whole, I like a character that directly challenges James’ personality. While James can be direct and cold at times, these 3 have a level of challenge but consideration for him.

Qrow is the rebellious grump that counters James with remarks but can relate to the emotional burdens. Watts is the cynic that still holds James to a higher regard if he had to choose between him and his team. Glynda is stern and insinuates, but she’s also careful and studious.

I think James works well with someone who can relate to the struggles he hides or someone that can shake it out of him. James is a selective guy, so I assume he’s extremely picky with who he’d like to have hanging off his arm. These 3 always gave me such strong personalities that counter James in a productive way, that they have an ingredient that James is missing in his own life that can spice things up or can change the flavour of what he’s used to. I never think James is into people who are just like him.

My Least 3 Favourite Ships For James This is hard for me to say since I’m pretty neutral with ships that include our tin man.

If I had to choose a few, it’d be IronWinter and IronRobyn.

I’ll admit, the only reason why I don’t like IronRobyn is that I fucking hate Robyn. She’s toxic and always has a short temper, and seems to direct it all at James when she could’ve been angry at any other enemy that’s right in front of her (cough Jacques cough.) I think she’d demean him way too much, which is why she’d be the worst girlfriend ever.

I’m still debating with IronWinter. I am falling off the ship due to V8’s ending, and how badly the writing handled their friendship (and possibly budding romance) horribly in the end. I think if only Winter could have tried to be compassionate towards James, and did everything she could to save him - express her anguish over his turmoil, showing how much it’s causing her pain as well, to the point where James has to stop and realize what he’s doing - then maybe I could like this ship. As it stands, it’s a no from me, doc.

My Biggest Criticism Of James Firstly, it’s obvious that I deeply despise what the writers had done to my boy in V8. They accidentally made him such a layered and likable character that they had to damn him straight to Hell, just so that we can like the sociopaths - I mean Team RWBY - again. It was such a sad sight to see, I still feel the string.

But also, I must criticize how James was barely portrayed as a bad guy from the beginning. People point at how cold he acted in the first few volumes, but I personally think that’s just people being too sensitive over such strong personalities. James is very direct and has no time for nonsense - which could make him disliked from the jump.

If he must be seen as such a morally grey person, then I would’ve loved to see that development properly from the beginning. Making him morally grey that teeters into villain status is exciting and tragic, but you knew it was going to happen. His entry into bad guy status would’ve made so much sense if he were quietly cold-hearted, choosing logic over emotion, and wouldn’t bother taking the time to protect people if he only created robots just to protect himself. He is evil, but deep down he finds himself vulnerable, and that would always be his burden that created a villain.

And don’t fucking kill him in the end. With an amasing written villain, you’d be stupid enough to not let him be recruited by Salem. He is a boiling pot of what she needs, and he would oblige if it meant he could ring the necks of our heroes.

My Favourite Thing About James Him. Just him.

Everything can be generalized into one word, which would be strength. Not only is he strong physically, but his heart also showed his truth and his mind was what kept him capable. He was always on top of the game, never asking for help, and would do whatever it took to save those before himself. He truly is a guy that could be the embodiment of true strength. Somebody that I can look up to, and read him for what he stood for, what he thrived on, and what made him move forward. He works so hard and still keeps pushing to do the job right. Your status didn’t matter to him, whether you were rich or poor, or just an adventurer, he would still have his own way of welcoming you as a trusted friend or shun you for being a prick. I think James would be the perfect example of someone who can keep going, and with so much persistence and diligence, you can succeed.

Even when he was a villain in V8, the writers proved to us that he was still the biggest character to always look forward to. Salem was practically a joke compared to our favourite tin man, and that’s sad when even the main villain is nowhere as important as James.

I have been told people did love and look up to James, which is such a major shame that he is gone and gone in such a disrespectful way.

A Headcannon I Have About James My biggest headcannon about James is that he is asexual-biromantic.

James valued anybody who was loyal and worked with him to reach their goals. I like how it doesn’t matter who it may be, whether you are female, male, or something more. James had his heart in his hands, and he would always give it to those he trusted most. Falling in love would be tough, but adorkable to see.

What I Would Change About James If I Was Making A Rewrite To be honest, not much. I adore him as he is.

My biggest change, however, would be his semblance and keeping him morally-grey-to-hero. I think James thrives on such a great story if he had a semblance that mirrored himself, and how he would try to stay on the path of heroics than to steer into the stupid cartoony villain one. Hell, James needs his own show.

I have a variety of ideas as to what his new semblance would be, but I’d be here all day. Instead, I always loved the idea that James has a sentient semblance that corresponds with him. James wants somebody to trust, so what better than your own responsive semblance? Such as barbed-wires, or a familiar, or even the ability to manifest weapons with his aura. How cool!

What I Think Of James’ Character Allusion And What (if anything) I Would Change About It

As much as I like the tin man allusion, I personally would have chosen something much more tragic and detrimental to his character. I get he’s supposed to be in the Oz Faction, but it’s lame at this point.

For me, I would’ve made him the Beast. (No I’m not asking for IronwoodxBlake, I am saying he should’ve been the Beast.) It makes sense if he were the Beast - he is cold, he is intimidating, he is brash, he is distrusting of others until they have his full confidence. Beast was always hiding away, not wanting to go out and expose himself to a world that would hate him or fear him. He masks himself in an authority role, but would likely drop it when he’s alone. He can go into a flurry of rage and is destructive. In the end, however, all he wants is somebody to break his curse - a burden.

You don’t have to change much about his appearance, other than making him a Faunus. Since Beast could have a closer likeness to a werewolf, give James some wolfish characteristics, like a bushy tail, or even some cute ass wolf ears. Even his eyes can shine menacingly in the dark, like a wolf. Or, give him some massive canine teeth, so when he bares them in anger, they’re gleaming sharp and ready to bite.

Yup that’s it. Thanks!

[arcadianstuff]

Can ask for a cheerleader reader and douxie, like they are from rival schools but meet at a game and they really like each other

I love this !! 1000% yes !!!

“Come on girls, hair and makeup needs to be done in ten minutes !” You called out into the changing room filled with giggling cheerleaders.

It was a Saturday evening, and a big football game was happening between your school, Arcadia Oaks High, and their arch rival, Arcadia Oaks Academy. Even thinking about the school made your blood boil. They had a nasty tradition of pranking your school the night before a game. One year you’d ended up drenched in red paint, ruining your hair and makeup. It took ages to wash it all off.

Not only that but the student were the worst. Tight Jeans Hank was a player if you’d ever seen it, and had broken Mary’s heart. But the worst had to be Hisirdoux Casperan. His name alone made your blood boil and hands clench into fists. Since the day he’d moved into town the two of you had been at odds. As another magical being you felt threatened that he’d stumbled into your territory. You didn’t trust outsiders, certainly not strange guys with rude cat famialirs.

Also He worked at Mr. Benoits as one of your coworkers so there was no escaping him. You hated his stupid skull necklace and black hair with blue dyed tips. Who did he think he was, coming onto your turf as a sorcerer and stealing all the good magical items ?! Not only that but he always seemed to go out of his way to piss you off.

Also that English accent was definitely not real ! He was totally faking it !

“(Y/n) I need help with my hair it just won’t behave !” Mary yelled upset, flinging her hairbrush onto the side in frustration. You were brought out of your angry, rage filled thoughts by her whining, and quickly ran over to stop her tantrum.

“I’ve got you, no worries girl.” You said reassuringly smiling at her as you picked up the comb, and started to pull her hair up into a high ponytail.

As the head cheerleader you felt a level of protectiveness over your team, plus you were the oldest as a senior in the high school (and nearly 800 years old as a magical being). Girls like Mary and Shannon (who you had struggled to convince to join the team since she was very shy and not to confident) looked up to you.

There was no pressure on your team to look or act a certain way. You hated all the stereotypes about cheerleaders and were trying to get rid of them. For one the uniform ou guys wore came in a variety of styles. If a girl wanted they could wear a short skirt and crop top, but if they didn’t there was also shorts, T-shirt’s or leggings instead. All had your schools logo and colours.

You personally liked the short skirt and cropped top, you knew it bugged Douxie to see you wearing it. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you and it pissed him off that you could do that to him. You on the other hand loved the power it gave you.

“There we go, you look great Mary.” Tying a neat bow into her hair you stepped back to let her eye your work in the mirror.

“You’re the best (y/n) !! I look fabulous !” She whipped out her phone to take a selfie which you rolled your eyes at.

Teenagers.

—————-

Douxie rarely came to things like high school football games, he wasn’t one for school events. Zoe has to drag him to prom, and he spent the short, thirty minutes he could manage there complaining about the awful music. However he knew that this game was against Arcadia Oaks high school. And he also knew that a certain girl was head of the cheerleading squad.

Douxie had laughed so loudly when he found out you were a cheerleader at work in one of your sarcasm-filled conversations. The amount of jokes he made like ‘give me a C for (y/n) can’t count properly’ or you being a ‘dumb cheerleader’. He’d planned on coming today to enjoy watching you embarrass yourself so he could tease you about it at work.

But then Douxie saw you and your team run onto the field And any thoughts of mocking you flew out of his mind, along with his drink which he dropped in shock, splashing the poor person in front of him.

You were clad in a skirt and top, both in your school colours, with a neat bow tied in your hair. The lively smile on your face made you look electric.

You looked really good. Like Douxie, who’s been alive for 919 years, has never seen anything that good good.

“Mordrax’s miracles.” He whispered, breathless as you and the other girls danced along to the music, pom poms flying in the air.

From atop of the pyramid formation, you and your team had taken, you noticed a certain punk rock guy in the bleachers surrounding the field. And you also noticed his shell shocked expression.

A mischievous grin spread across your face as you were launched into the air, flipping gracefully before the bases caught you. You weren’t daft. Douxie had practically been drooling the way he was looking at you, and it made your heart leap.

There might be some tension between the two of you but it wasn’t all bad.

————————-

For some reason Douxie hung back when the game ended. Even though everybody else was filing out of the bleachers, and into the streets of Arcadia, he found himself rooted to his seat. Well he had some idea why.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d get to see a certain cheerleader.

You bid the girls farewell, hugging Mary and Shannon goodbye as you headed out of the changing rooms. As your skin met the bitter winters night air you started to regret not brining a jacket. Shivering a little you rubbed your arms up and down as you turned to walk out of the field, lit by a few lampposts.

“Cold love ?” A British-accented voice asked aloud.

A scowl crossed your features as you recognised the smug owner of said voice. With a dramatic sigh you turned on your heel to glower at the one and only Hisirdoux Casperan.

“What’s it to you Casperan ? Also quick side note scene hasn’t been a thing since the early 2000s.” You sneered at him, putting your hands on your hips.

“Well darling I was going to offer you my jacket but I don’t feel quite so compelled now.” He answered smirking at the annoyed look on your face.

In all honesty he did feel a little bad for you. It was a chilly night and yet here you were in a tiny skirt and top. Honestly he knew you were dumb but really.

“Well I don’t want your stupid jacket ! It’s a lovely clear night !” You yelled at him, before turning around marching away. however you only got two steps before the heavens decided to open.

It began to rain, the droplets hitting your bare skin, making your slight shivering turn into fall on shaking. You cursed the gods who decided your life was a comedy routine.

However you kept walking, not wanting to be near Douxie anymore. The giddy feeling in your chest at being near him was quickly being overtaken by sheer annoyance. With a huff you tried to march away until Douxie reached out and grabbed your hand.

“Love as stubborn as you are, you can’t walk home in this. Come on I’ll give you a lift back.” He offered, for once sounding sincere.

Hesitating for a moment you looked him up and down, noting how his face had softened, the way his lovely dark eyes were focused on your so intently.

“Thanks.....Casperan.” You said awkwardly, unused to being civil with Douxie.

The boy smiled at you, chuckling a little at your awkward tone. As you both turned to walk to his car he unzipped his jacket and threw it at you.

“What the hell casperan !” You yelled, before quietening down once you realised he’d given you his jacket - abruptly sure, but he’d still done it.

Without saying anything you slipped the dark blue jacket on loving the feeling of warmth. The faint smell of pine trees and old books mixed with scent of the falling rain, and you couldnt help but take a deep breath in.

Douxie watched a content smile grace your face, and could feel his heart beat start to pick up. He prayed to Merlín that his cheeks weren’t as red as tomatoes. The sight of you in his jacket was doing things to him.

A sudden clap of thunder startled the pair of you and hurriedly you chased after Douxie, who made his way over to his car. You were dripping wet once you got inside the comfort of the vehicle, letting out a sheepish laugh.

“Sorry about your car seat.” You mumbled, rubbing your arm sheepishly. The leather of Douxies jacket was covered in rain and it dampened your fingers.

From beside you, Douxie glanced your way as he turned his keys in the ignition. The roar of the car was overtaken by another clap of thunder, a bolt of lightning shimmering through the sky.

It’s golden light lit up your face for a few seconds and Douxie’s breath caught in his throat, stunned for a second time today at your appearance. A few strands of hair were stuck to your cheeks, which were coloured with pink. Completed with your glowing eyes he couldn’t help but think how beautiful you were, especially when you weren’t saying something sarcastic.

“It’s no problem at all love....” he flashed you a small smile before reversing out of the parking lot and driving steadily down the streets of Arcadia.

The two of you, soaking wet form the rain, driving through the quiet streets to the soundtrack of a thunderstorm; it was quite romantic. For the first time you both were enjoying each other’s company, in peace and quiet.

It left you almost feeling unnerved, a slight tension building in the close confinement’s of Douxies car. You went to break the ice first but Douxie already started to speak;

“So umm where should I drop you ?” He asked, finally realising he actually had no idea where you lived.

“Oh uh Peach street, I live in an apartment above the flower shop there.” You quickly responded, a little embarrassed that you’d been so stupid.

Quickly, the pair of you were both engulfed in silence once again, as Douxie turned left down the street. He was struggling to think of anything to say. You guys had the odd witty, sarcastic conversation but never really spoke. There was attraction definitely, but your interests remained unvoiced. Hell the pair of you had never even spoken about your shared magical talents.

Until now.

“I know you’re a wizard.” Blunt as a butter knife, your words caught him off guard a little. He’d wondered when you would have this conversation.

Since the moment Douxie first met you, at Benoit’s on his first day at work, he knew you were a wizard like him, or soreceress rather.

He could easily sense your magic, an aura of red, so fiery and bright it caught him off guard, surrounded you. Whereas you felt the cool blue aura that shrouded the teen, calm but telling of how powerful he was.

“Blunt as ever love. And I know you’re a sorceress. A pretty powerful one at that, or just pretty.” He winked at you, a smirk on his face as he saw you roll your eyes.

“So....now that’s our in the open. Why did you come here ? You know this is my territory right ?” Your long buried resentment at his arrival here was starting to surface, an edge to your tone.

Douxie sucked in a breath, “it’s a long story really, but this place it’s special. I’m sure you’re aware of everything’s that’s go on here.”

A smirk made its way across your face as you thought about the magical nature of Arcadia. You were all too aware of what happened in this town.

“Trust me Im aware. Last week I had to send an incubus back to purgatory outside my school. And then after, spent the day cleaning up the messes left behind by a bunch of chanelings.”

Before you knew it, you were ranting all about your magical problems. It felt nice to have someone to talk to, besides your familair there was nobody else you could vent to.

“It’s nice you know, to actually be able to talk to someone about this...” You started, trailing off as you felt your nerves growing.

Douxie pulled up outside your apartment, the car rolling to a stop. He turned to you and noted the small pink tint on your cheeks, and the way you were fiddling with the hem of his jacket. A pang rang through his chest at the fact that you would go now.

“Well if you want to talk some more we could go grab something to eat ?” He asked a little unsure but hopeful.

Your face broke out into a large grin.

“I’d love to Casperan.”

With a quick turn of the wheel, you both sped down your street, laughter filling the car.

[thatboomerkid]

Giff -- SpellJammer Race for Pathfinder

Giff -- SpellJammer Race [19 RACE POINTS] for First Edition Pathfinder

Known to the gnomes of Markovia as the nilski konj vojnici, to the Hin plantation-owners of Covington Farms as los mercenarios gigantes del río, and to the human field-workers laboring near New Arvoreen most-often simply as “those big goddamn bastards,” the giff -- as they are called in their own guttural, roaring language -- represent a recently-contacted species of huge, violent, powerfully-built, terrifyingly-focused, and dangerously cagey combatants.

In the little-over-a-century since their discovery by the Hin, platoons of giff have already carved a bloody name for themselves across the wilds of Verdura -- and far beyond -- as unparalleled river-guides, rowdies, strike-breakers, mob debt-collectors, private enforcers, heavy-weapons units, siege engines, bodyguards, and elite soldiers of fortune.

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

original image by the incredible Claudio Pozas, here

Type: Monstrous Humanoid (3 RP)

Ability Score Modifiers: Mixed Weakness (-2 RP)

+2 Strength, -4 Dexterity, +2 Constitution, -4 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom

Size: Large (7 RP)

Giff gain a +2 size bonus to Strength and a -2 size penalty to Dexterity (already included above). Giff also suffer a -1 size penalty to their AC and a -1 size penalty on all attack rolls; they gain a +1 bonus on combat maneuver checks and to their CMD, and suffer a -4 size penalty on Stealth checks.

A giff takes up a space that is 10 feet by 10 feet and has a reach of 5 feet.

Base Speed: Normal speed (0 RP)

Languages: Standard (0 RP); giff speak their own eponymous, curiously poetic language, and most are -- in the modern day -- also conversant in Low Kozah-Talosii (usually spoken with a thick, pompous Verduran accent).

This bastardized dialect, the so-called “Common tongue” favored across Pyrespace for use in international, intercultural, and interplanetary trade, is a degraded mongrel variant of High Kozah-Talosii: the ancient root-tongue of both Arvorean and Brandobarin, still employed by the Church of Yondalla for use in sermons, hymns, and in all official records.

Big Damn Guns: Giff are treated as gnomes for purposes of the Experimental Gunsmith Archetype. (0 RP)

Darkvision: Giff have 60 ft. darkvision (0 RP); giff have relatively poor eyesight while out of water, which is easily corrected with simple lenses -- such as a monocle -- for use while reading. This vision is not poor enough to impart a mechanical penalty on Perception checks or attack rolls made by the giff.

Natural Armor: Giff have +3 natural armor (4 RP)

Natural Attack (Headbutt): Giff receive one natural attack, which is treated as a gore attack that deals 1d8 bludgeoning damage. (1 RP)

Natural Swimmers: Giff have a swim speed of 30 feet and gain the +8 racial bonus on Swim checks that a swim speed normally grants. (1 RP)

Powerful Charge (Headbutt): Whenever a giff charges, it deals twice the standard number of damage dice with its headbutt plus 1-1/2 times its Strength bonus. (2 RP)

River-Sense: Giff can sense vibrations in water, granting them blindsense 30 feet against creatures that are touching the same body of water. (1 RP)

Slow On Land: Giff often select the Clumsy, Easy Target, Magically Inept, Nearsighted, and Slow Reflexes Major Drawbacks (0 RP)

Spell Resistance (Greater): Giff have spell resistance equal to 11 + their character level. (3 RP)

Sporting: The species-wide love of warfare exhibited by the giff draws a sharp line of distinction between “sporting” and “unsporting” combat (see below). (-1 RP)

Sporting combat includes arm-wrestling, fisticuffs, darts, cards, dice, checkers, chess, billiards, cricket, rugby, skeet shooting, tennis, and golf, alongside tests of boasting, carousing, headbutting, toast-giving, swimming, push-ups, and a complex, ritualized sort of thunderous, unarmed mixed martial-art performed solely while stripped down to breeches & undergarments, usually in ankle-deep to waist-deep water, ending in pin or submission, which -- up to a point -- also serves as a type of flirting.

The military mentality of the giff even makes special allowances for a variety of “sporting” duels to the death. Establishing a proper duel requires a huge number of complex ritual elements that -- in the end -- mostly boils down to both giff formally acknowledging that:

Both giff are armed with approximately the same quality of weapons & armor (warhammer, combat knife, pistol, full plate, etc.)

Both giff have equal access to military support, including healing

Both giff have a grievance, no matter how petty

Both giff are suffering approximately the same level of injuries

Both giff have made arrangements for their estate, and for the treatment of their body after death

Once a “sporting” challenge to the death has been agreed-to by both parties, anything up to and including outright murder of one’s opponent is considered fair game.

Several major holidays each year celebrated by the giff include a “violent dueling festival” as part of their celebration; to outsiders, these events have a very bizarre, genteel, 1800s-Victorian-Teddy-Roosevelt-meets-The-Purge sort of feel to them:

“Happy holidays, friend; best of health this year to you and to your kin. And I say, old chap, don’t suppose it’s high time for a kukri-duel, eh, wot wot? Seeing as you got drunk on my finest brandy, made a pass at the missus, wiped your prodigious buttocks with my table linens, and micturated in my hedge-row as of Christmas last, well ... in lieu of an apology, what say I have Jenkins fetch the carving blades, eh? See which of has the moxie, shall we? Cheerio and have at thee then, old sport?”

If this formal challenge to a lethal sporting-duel is declined, the challenger must make all possible accommodations to guarantee the immediate physical safety of the giff she just challenged (at least until such time as the two giff part ways once more): providing the giff with weapons, armor, food, water, medicine, reading materials, a place to sleep, liquor, smoking tobacco, and anything else a gentleman or lady of high breeding could reasonably expect to have access to (even while imprisoned).

In short: if the challenged giff dies immediately after declining a duel, it is considered very embarrassing for the challenger.

For his own part, the declining giff must treat her challenger with the very utmost level of respect ... or risk being guilty of unsporting conduct, a fate far worse than mere death.

Any giff who finds herself about to violate the terms of properly “sporting” conduct instantly becomes aware of the error, just as if she were wearing a phylactery of faithfulness and, at all times, actively contemplating the thought of doing bodily harm to another giff: this behavioral limitation is not built as a trap for players to accidentally stumble into, but -- instead -- as an interesting roadblock to navigate around.

If two or more giff find themselves forced into a position of armed conflict against one another on a battlefield, both groups traditionally retire for at least a day of drinking and sorting-out ranks; on rare occasion, one platoon will join the other; more likely, all giff involved in any part of the operation will quit their current hirings and look for work elsewhere.

Any giff who engages another member of her own species in any type of unsporting combat -- attacking another giff with a weapon, for example, or with magic -- immediately suffers a -2 penalty on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls and saves; she continues to suffer this penalty until such time as she is able to make amends: presenting her victim with a formal written apology, or seeking our her victim’s family to beg their public pardon.

Each month, this penalty increases by 2. Guilt is a poison that grows by degrees, after all: ever-gnawing.

While she is suffering penalties in this way, if the giff is presented with the chance to punish herself – or a non-giff opponent! – while presented with something that reminds the giff of her betrayal, she may find herself compelled to do so regardless of the consequences:

Any time her betrayal is directly brought to her attention, the giff must make a Will save (DC = 10 + her character level + the Charisma modifier of the wronged giff). Failure means that the giff falls into a rage of abject self-loathing, completely focused on her own guilt for a number of rounds equal to the DC, above. Until she has finished with this exercise in hate, the giff can take no action other than to harm the reminder of her failure or enable herself to harm it: grappling a human shipmate who mentioned her old friend so that she might headbutt the human while strangling them, for example, or calmly loading a shotgun so that she might shoot the human dead in cold blood.

Note that the giff, while wracked with guilt & grief, is not required to do anything or harm anyone: she may simply stare at an old photograph and feel sad, for example, ignoring everyone around her.

During the fury of this black tempest, the giff suffers a -2 penalty to her AC.

Once the giff successfully makes amends, either with the wronged party or with the victim’s next-of-kin, all of the above penalties are removed. Entire subsets of giff society -- mediators, arbitrators, and negotiators -- are explicitly adapted to making absolutely certain that any errors in sporting conduct among giff are resolved quickly, and to the satisfaction of all parties. 

Should she fail to make amends before her death, any giff who has harmed another giff in an unsporting way invariably rises again as an undead horror of some kind (often a blood knight or graveknight): reborn as a rotting, lurching mountainside of infinitely destructive hated.

Note that the Sporting Racial Trait is not purely social, but rather acts as a species-wide ingrained psychological virtue: two giff living on Fenris who never expect to see the wide rivers of Verdura again are still bound by the rules of “sporting” conflict; neither could shoot the other in the back any more than either of them could grow wings and fly to the moon.

Undead giff do not possess the Sporting Trait, which is seen -- by living giff -- as the most abhorrent and disturbing quality imaginable.

Note, also, that the desire to behave in a sporting manner extends only to fellow giff: Chaotic Evil giff will routinely massacre unarmed non-giff by the thousands, bellowing with laughter as they do so, and even a Lawful Good giff will rarely think twice before sucker-punching a crude human making drunken threats and impolite remarks at the bar.

-------

Giff Timeline:

1603 A.D. (118 years ago): The colony of New Arvoreen is established on Verdura; giff make contact with Hin (and their human servants) for the first time.

1620 A.D.: First generation of giff who have always known about the existence of Hin, humans, and -- most importantly! -- firearms fully comes of age.

1636 A.D.: New Arvoreen is significantly expanded.

1667 A.D.: Nation of Markovia -- the technological-marvel nation named for its Founder, Monarch and Supreme Leader, Dr. Adlai Markovitch -- founded on Verdua; diplomatic trade established with New Arvoreen.

1669 A.D.: City of New Arvoreen significantly expanded.

1702 A.D.: New Arvoreen significantly expanded; land officially cleared for Covington Farms, soon to be the largest agricultural facility in the system; rates of forcible immigration of indentured humans to New Arvoreen tripled.

1721 A.D.: (current year)

original image here

Giff Ranks: Lieutenant, General, Colonel, Major General, Lieutenant General, Lieutenant Colonel, Captain General, Brigadier General, Field Marshall, Major, Captain, Sergeant Major, Commandant General, Wing General, Lieutenant Colonel General, Staff Sergent, Master Sergent, Master General, Grenadier General; note that “Lord” may be added to any military rank, alongside the designations of “First” and “First Class” (for example, “First Lord Brigadier General First Class”)

Giff military ranks are, effectively, meaningless noise to everyone except the giff themselves: every member of the species is a decorated officer of some complex rank within some elite military company or another, but such ranks are largely ceremonial and may be inherited, purchased, or passed through elaborate, bombastic ritual.

Further, the only thing preventing a young giff from forming an entirely new military organization & immediately naming herself -- of example -- Supreme Acting Field Commander and Secretary General of the Armies and Navies at Wartime is -- up to a point -- her own willingness to do so.

Male Giff Names: Any invented male Hin name.

Female Giff Names: Any invented female Hin name.

Giff Family Names: Any invented male Hin first name

Society

The giff are military-minded, and organize themselves into squads, platoons, companies, corps, and larger groups. The number of giff in a platoon varies according to the season, situation, and level of danger involved.

A giff "platoon" hired to protect a gambling operation may number only a single soldier, while a platoon hired to invade an illithid stronghold may number well over a hundred.

The giff pride themselves on their weapon-skills, and any giff carries a number of swords, daggers, maces, and similar tools on hand to deal with troublemakers.

A giff's true love, however, is the gun. A misfiring weapon matters little to the giff (occasional fatalities amongst soldiery are simply to expected); it is the flash, the noise, and the damage that most impress them.

Even unarmed, the giff are powerful opponents. Against non-giff, they’ll often wade into a brawl just for the pure fun of it, tossing various combatants on both sides around to prove themselves the victors.

Once a weapon is bared, however, and the challenge becomes “unsporting,” the giff consider all restrictions off: the challenge is now to the death.

The giff prize themselves as top-quality mercenaries, and to that end take great pride in owning -- if not always wearing -- elaborate suits of full-plate armor. These suits usually include massive helms featuring hyper-detailed, semi-realistic images of exotic monsters on the crests, inlaid with ivory and bone along the largest plates.

Armor repair is a major hobby among the giff, although great skill at the craft is surprisingly rare.

The giff are deeply suspicious of magic, magicians, and magical devices; their legendary foes, the Five Tiger Princes, are despised for their esoteric abilities as much for their wicked deviltry.

image here

Family

The giff are, for the most part, happiest among fellow members their own race, intermingling broadly with the Ghoran -- whom the giff utilize as an edible, inexhaustible workforce -- and the Tengu: another unofficial “servitor race” of the giff, most often used as messengers and household servants.

Ghoran living on giff lands are stoic: dutifully tending the fields of the giff in exchange for protection from ten-thousand other, vastly more predatory dangers. For all that giff treat the ghoran as disposable -- a ghoran living on Verdura produces one seed each year, and can grow a new member of the species in a single month -- the giff do not want the ghoran hunted to total extermination. That, for the ghoran, is saying something,

Tengu, on the other hand, are deeply prized by the giff as staff, usually in the roles of personal assistants, groomers, decorators, butlers, bartenders, man-servants, attaches, major domos, and maids. Since all giff are “wealthy land owners,” to one degree or another, the true power & prestige of a giff can be accurately measured by the number of tengu he employs.

Giff otherwise consider anything larger than them deeply threatening, yet also complain bitterly -- in private -- about the fragility of the smaller races. Outside their own platoons, the giff are happiest among military organizations with a strong chain of command.

For this reason, giff hold the Church of Yondalla in exceptionally high regard.

Giff especially despise the catfolk: although they don’t speak of it to outsiders, a century ago the giff were on the verge of extinction: hunted for sport and trophy by servants of the Five Tiger Princes, their people nearly cut to nothing and their lands held by only a few remaining families. Since their acquisition of firearms -- and the arrival of the Hin -- the catfolk have broadly retreated.

Every giff -- male, female, and giffling -- has a rank within their greater society, which can only be changed by a giff of higher rank. Within these ranks are sub-ranks, and within those sub-ranks are color-markings and badges. The highest-ranking giff gives the orders, the others obey. It does not matter if the orders are foolish or even suicidal: following them is the purpose of the giff in the universe. A quasi-mystical faith among the giff -- who claim to worship, in a vague way, the Golden General Bahamut, who was killed and eaten by the cowardly Five Tiger Princes in order to steal his strength -- confirms that all things have their place, and the place of the giff to follow orders.

This makes the giff very happy.

Giff platoons can be hired from their sprawling, palatial riverside plantations and mountain hunting-lodges by anyone looking for muscle. The social leaders among the giff are contractors: these specially-trained giff review prospective employers according to ability to pay, then make a recommendation to powerful warlords and famous adventurers among the giff. The leaders, in turn, consider the danger of the job, and whether taking it will enhance their giffdom.

Giff jobs are usually paid in firearms & gunpowder, though they often will accept other weapons and armor. Aboard ship, the giff require their own quarters, and will often request to bring on their own large weapons. They favor fire-projectors and bombards for ground work, and will happily blaze away at opponents regardless of the tactical situation.

The giff require the ships of others because they have -- for the most part -- no spellcasting abilities among them.

Giff of both sexes serve in their platoons, and both fight equally well. Giff young are raised tenderly until they are old enough to survive an exploding arquebus, then are inducted fully into the platoon.

The giff practice equality among the sexes in battle and in childrearing. They live about 70 years, but do not take aging gracefully. As a giff grows older and begins to slow down, he is possessed with the idea of proving himself still young and vital, usually in battle.

As a result, there are very, very few old giff.

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Live Wire--The Dirt--15

Summary:  Wren Ledden, Tommy’s best friend from high school, has had a rough life, and she intends to keep the nitty gritty details of her suffrage to herself until the day she dies. Only Tommy has gotten her to open up about a small portion of her troubles, and it’s only Tommy who she trusts with her life. That is until her life gets turned around sneaking into a concert one night…the same night Motley Crue is born.

A/N: This chapter is a super long filler that’s mostly fluffy, but mentions and discusses self-harm, suicide, and abuse. Additionally, (SPOILERS) there’s mentions of sex and a short sex scene. If it’s not your cup of tea, please know I tried to make it tasteful, but feel free to skip over it.

Also available on AO3

Nikki and Wren had spent the months of 1981 through 1982 as acquaintances  who became friends, and slowly learned to live with each other. They'd grown together in ways so silent to one another that when they decided they wanted a relationship, neither quite knew how to act, let alone react to the other admitting they wanted to be more than friends. The night they first kissed didn't follow up with an admission of their feelings, or either of them even saying they had any feelings towards the other at all. It was a simple fact known in their individual hearts that they wanted the other--soul, mind, and body. There was no vocal acknowledgement on either Nikki or Wren's part that they were actively starting a relationship with one another, no discussion of how that relationship should or should not be presented to the rest of the band, no conversation about boundaries or deal breakers, nothing except the fact that they each wanted the other in ways much more intimate than physicality--more intimate than either of them had ever wanted to know another person.

In public, Wren and Nikki acted as they always had with one another--teasing each other and bantering in somewhat arrogant ways--but in their time alone, their conversations became deeper. Even in their relationship, it took time for each to warm up to the other, but as the months ticked by, both Wren and Nikki found it easier to talk about their pasts with the other, easier to talk about their fears, and easier to trust the other with the information being shared.

Nikki had been the first to open up and paint himself in such a vulnerable light. He'd been home alone with Wren one night, discussing philosophy as they sat across from one another on Nikki's bed when Wren asked about a scar that ran vertically along the inside of his forearm. Instead of the nonchalant lie he normally told people, or even a false version of the truth, he slowly and steadily began to relay the horrors of his adolescence to her until he found himself nearly breaking down in front of her. Suddenly, all of the anger and neglect he felt as a teenager came boiling back to the surface, along with the empty feeling of never being enough for the people he loved. He looked down at his arm, noticed the gentle way her fingers traced the scar, and jerked it away from Wren as quickly as he could. At first, he didn't want to tell the truth. He feared what would happen if Wren listened to his side of the story: would she see him any differently? Would she think he was weak and realize she didn't want to be with someone so hopeless? However, before he could allow himself to think too long on these hypotheticals, he took a breath, looked into her eyes, and extend his arm back out for her to see.

"I pulled a knife on myself just to get away from my mother." His voice was flat. unemotional, and hung in near silence through the room before he decided to say more. Before he could stop himself, Nikki had told Wren about the revolving door of his mother's boyfriends and his step-fathers that would torment his life, and although he did note a few of the good ones that gave him hope, Nikki made a point to share with Wren just how horrible his childhood was. He explained how calming it was whenever he found happiness and stability in the life he had whenever he was shipped away to live with his grandparents; however the calm never lasted once she brought him back to the chaotic cycle of neglect and abuse in her household. "I figured if I could get her arrested, I would finally be free from her, but if I died in the process, well, that was also another way out." Wren could feel her heart sink into her knees as she absentmindedly traced the tip of her thumb across the scar. Feeling the mood shift to that of comfort, safety, and serenity, Wren pulled her legs under herself to sit cross-legged on Nikki's bed.

"Tommy doesn't like to talk about this, but I owe him my life," Wren said softly and found herself growing weaker the longer she looked into those light, hazel-green eyes of Nikki's. "I swallowed a bunch of pulls--some painkillers. some sleep-agents, some I don't even know what the hell they were. I had completely forgotten he was supposed to come over that day, and when he came in, I had passed out. It didn't take a genius to figure out what I had done, so he jammed his fingers down my throat until I'd thrown up and then rushed me to the hospital. I could see how much I hurt him by doing that when I woke up after having my stomach pumped, and it honestly made me feel so much worse about trying to kill myself. As much as I wanted to die then, I'm grateful Tommy saved me. Somehow, he continues to save me."

Wren and Nikki continued to learn how to be vulnerable with others through each other, and as their conversations deepened, so did their passion--for one another, for music, for the band. It was curious for Wren to see how close she'd become with Nikki throughout the beginning of their relationship, yet their interactions with one another in front of the band remained unchanged. She wondered how could part of the pair stay the same during such a drastic change in their personal lives, but part of her knew that their public interaction with one another had been the foundation of their romantic relationship. No change was necessary, there was no need to show what they felt or to announce it for that matter, because they each held one part of the puzzle that was their feelings. Together, they just clicked.

Mick had been the first to find out about Wren and Nikki's hidden relationship about ten months after they had gotten together. The couple had been drinking and smoking pot--Wren only a few puffs here and there to keep the buzz alive, and Nikki blowing through multiple joints at a time to reach the high he'd given up getting through coke due to his promise to her. It was a normal weekday night where they had been left alone due to Vince wanting to take Tommy to the strip clubs late at night. It was always during these times of solitude that Nikki found writing to be most productive, and this productivity only escalated when Wren was around to help him.

Wren sat on the couch with her feet kicked up, and a glass of wine in her hand as she passed the joint back to Nikki who continued to pace through the room. A half-eaten pizza sat on the makeshift coffee table, and beer bottles were littered about the pizza box. Mick had decided to drop by the apartment on a whim. He'd made tentative plans with someone he knew in the area only for them to decide to bail on him only after he'd driven out to the strip. Walking into the scene, everything appeared normal to Mick: Wren and Nikki were having their bickering matches over either lyrics or chords, and she seemed like she was wearing him down until he quipped back with some sarcastic remark that helped no weight when it came to Wren, because he knew that if she was criticizing something, it was for a good reason. Mick took a beer Nikki had offered him, pulled a seat up to the coffee table, and started in on what remained of their pizza. He played a few riffs that Nikki had asked him to in order to better who Wren his vision which she "was refusing to see." Then, he would play the altered version of Nikki's riffs that Wren had rewritten, and together, Mick and Wren convinced Nikki hers were better.

It wasn't until Mick glanced up from the pages of notes Nikki had put in one of Mick's hands and the pizza in the other, that he noticed Nikki stop pacing, make his way towards the pizza, pick up two slices, hand one to Wren, and then plant a soft peck on her cheek before he walked away. Mick silently smirked to himself as he smugly bit into the slice of pepperoni pizza in his hand. It was such a domestic thing, a moment of sweetness that no one ever got the chance to see either of these two rough and rugged people express, and it was this knowledge that kept Mick from bringing it up. He had briefly known Wren for a time when she was hardly thirteen, and even from that encounter, he knew she wasn't one to express her feelings. Hell, since meeting her again with the band, Mick still hadn't seen her be soft with anyone besides Tommy, and he never thought he'd see the day when Nikki Sixx of all people would be so docile with another person.

Mick ended up staying until the early morning hours practicing new songs with Nikki, conversing about theology, becoming a moderator for Wren and Nikki's differing points of view, discussing a variety of topics, and entertaining themselves with a variety of drinks. Shortly before three forty-five, Mick decided it was time to head home and get some rest, but on his way out, he forgot he had pledged to himself he wouldn't mention the little moments of soft, sweet, domestic life that Nikki and Wren had gifted one another with throughout the night.

"I'm glad you two found each other," he said as he made his way to the door. "You git each other well. Just don't hurt her, Sixx, or I'll hurt you."

Tommy was the next to learn Nikki was in a relationship, however they were able to keep Wren's involvement in that relationship a secret for a bit longer than anticipated. Tommy came home early one night from a family dinner with his parents and sister, and he quickly learned Nikki had a girl over thanks to the sound of the bed rhythmically hitting the wall and the heavy breaths that hung in echoes through the apartment. He quickly left the apartment, returned to his parents' house, and waited an hour to phone back home.

"Hello?" Wren asked through her shortness of breath as she answered the phone.

"Hey, Wren, you okay?" Tommy asked upon hearing her panting into the phone.

"I just got done working out," Wren sighed into the line as she leaned against the kitchen wall wearing only one of Nikki's shirts.

"Oh, my bad! Was today a cardio day or something?"

"Yeah, today's cardio day," she responded as a smirk fell over her face. With a laugh hiding in her lungs, she eyed Nikki where he sat on the counter, a bowl of cereal in his hands and a chuckle on his lips.

"When I got back an hour ago, Nikki was...occupied...with a girl. Is it safe to come back?" Tommy asked without a thought in his mind about Wren possibly being the woman Nikki was with.

"It's just me and Nikki at the house now, so I'd assume it's safe for you to come back," she said and watched the playful chuckle on Nikki's face fall to a sultry smirk as he waited for Wren to hang up the phone and return her attention to him. "Tommy's headed back now, so I think we have time for one more round if you make it quick."

For another three months, Wren and Nikki kept up the joke of Nikki having some mystery girlfriend whenever they were around Tommy. Nikki went so far as to leave a pair of Wren's underwear in his laundry for Tommy to find, knowing he wouldn't suspect they were hers. Wren went out of her way to buy a shade of lipstick Tommy would never expect her to wear in a million lifetimes so she could smudge a kiss on Nikki's lips or cheeks or neck, only to wipe all remnants of a the color from her face, only to keep the joke alive. Tommy didn't become fully aware of who Nikki was dating until he heard splashing water and those heavy, sexy breaths coming from the bathroom one afternoon. He decided to wait in Wren's room rather than leave this time, and after a few minutes, he could hear the shower turn off and people exit. Once he was certain Nikki had brought his guest back into his room, and that they were clothed, Tommy emerged from the bedroom only to see Wren sitting in the living room.

"When did you get home?" Tommy asked her as he sat down beside her as she thumbed through a book.

"I've been home, where have you been?" The question left her mouth without a second thought.

"I've been in your room waiting for Nikki to stop fucking his girlfriend in the shower," Tommy grumbled as he kicked his legs over Wren's lap and titled his head back as he heard Nikki walk down the hall towards the living room. "Other people live here too, Sixx!" Tommy shouted out. "Just take it to her place like I do most nights." With a smirk playing on both Nikki and Wren's lips, Tommy's eyes quickly flashed back to his best friend. Her nose was buried so deeply in the book that she was sure her expression wouldn't give away her secret, but her hair was a different story. The soaked brown strands fell around her shoulders in wet waves, and Nikki's black locks were no different. With a quick glance between Wren and Nikki, Tommy's eyes and moth widened. "Oh, shit!" he cried out in realization and then jumped up and trapped Wren in a hug. "Nikki, you better not just be fucking my best friend!"

"I'm not," Nikki grumbled in response as he reentered the room to see his girlfriend tangled up beneath the mess of limbs that was his drummer. His girlfriend...the words still hadn't left his mouth since the pair started their relationship over a year ago, yet they felt so right hearing them in his head.

"If you so much as make Wren cry, I'll end every part of you, Sixx," Tommy tried to threaten Nikki as he eagerly hugged both of his friends in excitement.

"Get in line! Mick has first dibs," Nikki grumbled as he broke free from Tommy's grasp and fell into an armchair to allow Tommy to sit with Wren.

"Mick's known before me? You two are shitty friends for that," Tommy huffed as he threw himself back down and put his legs over Wren again.

"Not to Mick, apparently," she smirked only to have Tommy lightly kick her arm, which caused her to drop her book. "Seriously thought, T. we didn't say anything to anyone."

"Well," Tommy sighed as he locked eyes with Nikki, "how long then?"

"How long since what? Since Mick found out?"

"No, how long have you been fucking my best friend?" Tommy had a faux bitterness in his voice that his excitement over Wren and Nikki being together couldn't hide.

"Dude, she's like your sister! Do you really want to know that?" Nikki asked as he tried not to laugh at how happy he was that Tommy was this  excited for him and Wren.

"You're my friend too, Nikki, so guy-to-guy, how long have you been fucking my surrogate sister?" Wren smirked at how red Nikki's ears became under his jet-black hair as he realized he was being forced to answer the question.

"Only a few months, but we kind of started going out on dates a little over a year ago." Wren bit her lip softly as she heard the words leave Nikki’s mouth. She didn’t expect him to be honest with Tommy about the timeframe of their relationship and its relation to their timeline of intimacy, simply because she knew how the guys were. Tommy had a new girl almost every week as teenagers, and now it seemed he was making the acquaintance of a new girl almost every night. Vince was still technically dating Lovey, but each night he found himself either at a strip club, or fucking a fan before a show. Nikki was definitely a looker, and Wren wasn’t ignorant or naïve enough to think she was anywhere close to his first. Although he wasn’t truly hers, he was the first to not pressure her into something she wasn’t ready for,; he was the first man she wanted to be with, and even then, it was nerve-wracking for her to admit her fears and reservations about sex to Nikki.

Nikki would have taken Wren to bed the night they first kissed had she been anyone else, but he knew enough about her to know not only would that never happen, and trying to do so would be a terrible move on his part. Getting her to open up about what happened in her past with Clay was damn near fucking impossible, and he wasn’t ever going to pry that out of her. He figured that with time, she’d feel safe enough to come to him about it, and until then, he’d just test the waters and see what she was comfortable with. Very slowly, she grew to trust more of her body to Nikki, and each time she did, he tried to show her true pleasure without asking of anything in return. He thought things were fine between them sexually and knew she would eventually come around and either talk to him or feel safe enough to take the next step with him. However, one night roughly five months ago, as Nikki’s hands found themselves around Wren’s waist while she lay next to him in his bed, he could feel a hot tear somehow transfer from her face to his.

“Wren, what’s wrong?” The lights were off in the room, but Nikki swore he could see Wren’s sorrow radiating from her heart. “Come on doll, talk to me,” he said as he pressed his lips to her temple. For a while, she remained unmoving in his arms as his breath traveled gently down her neck and he waited for her response.

“You’re being too good to me, Nikki,” she sighed through a small hitch in her breath. “And I want you! I mean, I really, really want you, I just—”

“Wren, we don’t have to have sex right now if you’re not ready,” Nikki tried to say despite the pulsing in his groin.

“I want to, Nikki, I really want to, it’s just—”

“You went through something hard that you don’t have to talk about, Wren.”

“Clay forced me into a lot, and tying me to a bed while he forced himself on me after I screamed and begged for him to stop is something hard,” she said through anger as the tears slowly stopped falling from her face. “But I don’t want some fucking asshole taking something from me to keep me from wanting to be with you.” Nikki traced small circles on Wren’s back as she leaned into him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. After he felt her breathing subside, Nikki pulled her even closer to him and whispered softly into her ear.”

"I'm never going to expect something from you, Wren. You should know by now that you don't have to change a thing about you to be special to me."

"Nikki, I know I put up a front, and--"

"You don't, Wren. I know you think you're just playing a part of the badass rock and roll chick, especially when life's being a bitch and you're feeling more vulnerable than you care to admit, but just because shit happens to you doesn't mean you're not that badass. You are one of the only people I can hold an intellectual conversation with, you're defiantly strong willed even though it causes us to butt heads, you're so talented and insightful that I'm ashamed to admit to the fear in the back of my mind that, without you, the band wouldn't be what I can feel it's becoming, and most importantly, you are the single most incredible woman I've ever known. Just so we're clear, you will never have to change anything about yourself for me. I just want to let you know that I’m here when you’re ready, and until then, I don’t mind continuing to show you that I’m not going to push you into anything.”

Wren had her eyes pressed closed as he spoke, but when she opened them, she could see the moonlight fall over his clear skin and dance in his light eyes. Before she could think about her next steps, her lips were on his as she pulled him over her and she lay her back against the bed. She’d wanted this for so much longer than she thought she had and was surprised by how gentle Nikki was with her. Everything about their first time was different than either could have expected. Normally, sex wasn’t something Nikki had to wait for, and was almost always was quick, rough, and near emotionless; however, Wren wasn’t one of the random hookups or cheap dates he was looking to get a quick lay out of. He wasn't lying when he said she was special, but he didn't quite understand how special until then.

Part of Nikki knew his soul was drawn to Wren’s the second she stepped around him and paced out of the men’s room and into the bar, and then again when she made her way through the diner to his table and sat down defiantly across from him. There was a fire in her that drew him to her like a moth to a flame, and it wasn’t long since they met that he knew he’d do anything for her.

From the second they became one, Wren was weak and trembled under Nikki’s weight and touch as she clung to him so desperately. Every motion they made together caused her heart to swell in her chest and her walls to come crumbling down. Nikki sighed heavily and his breath trickled down Wren’s neck and chest as he stared at how beautiful her skin looked as the light from the moon fell over her body as it lay beneath him.

“You’re so beautiful, Wren,” Nikki sighed against her ear as he pressed his bare chest against hers, “so fucking beautiful.” He could feel himself getting close to finishing as he looked into Wren’s eyes and saw them locked on his. The way her mouth hung open as she gasped with each slow thrust he took made him weak, and he felt a pull in his stomach when a soft, longing gasp fell from Wren’s lips. As her nails clasped into his back and her legs tightened around her waist, Nikki couldn’t hold back any more. A low moan escaped his lungs as he felt her clench around him before he collapsed onto her on the bed and got lost in the smell of coconuts as he buried his face in her hair.

It wasn’t long after Tommy found out about Wren and Nikki that Vince was clued into the little secret that had been floating around in the band. He’d finally been caught cheating on Lovey just before a show one night, and despite being upset for about half a second, after the show he wasted no time in making a pass at Wren.

“So, now that Lovey’s gone and you’ve forgiven me for the bullshit in high school, what do you say about getting a drink?” He asked as he tried his hardest to keep his words from slurring. Tommy and Nikki had left her, Vince, and Mick at a table in one of their regular bars—one that her great uncle or one of his friends didn’t own—to get another round of drinks. Wren tried her hardest not to laugh at Vince’s proposition, so she directed her attention to Mick, who was smugly smirking across the table with his eyes narrowed on her. “And not just like this. I mean without the guys as chaperones.”

“Hey singer, I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Mick chimed in after Vince drunkenly ignored Wren shaking her head.

“And why is that? Are you trying to play the long game with her, mister two-kids-and-an-ex-wife?” Vince snarled.

“That’s pretty big talk for the guy who knocked up a girl in high school and hasn’t seen his own kid in who knows how long,” Wren snapped back.

“Damn, Wren. I’m just trying to be nice and ask you out!” Vince grumbled as he finished the drink before him and glanced up to see what was taking Nikki and Tommy so long with the next round.

“And I’m just saying don’t bother,” Mick again tried to intervene on Wren’s behalf in order to keep her and Nikki’s relationship under wraps.

“And why is that?” Vince repeated his question again in a mocking tone as he stared down the guitarist across the booth from him.

“Because Sixx would kick your ass,” Mick muttered as he took a swig of his beer and narrowed his eyes on Vince.

“Sixx? Oh, come on, he hasn’t done shit to try and get with her in the damn year and a half of knowing her. Shit, if he wants her, he’s gotta work quicker than whatever he’s been doing. I’ve waited long enough for him to make his move,” Vince huffed just as Nikki and Tommy returned with the group’s drinks. With a smirk playing on Wren’s lips, as Nikki slid back into the booth beside her, she brought a hand to the base of his head, pressed her lips firmly against his, and smiled into the kiss as she felt his hands fall onto her waist.

“Hey, babe,” she said upon pulling her face from his and seeing Nikki’s taken aback expression.

“What did I do to deserve that?” he asked in sultry tone that was meant to be under his breath but was loud enough for the table to hear.

“Vince was asking me out so I figured it was about time we just let this cat out of the bag,” she said as her fingers wrapped around the chilly glass he’d just brought her.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How long did I miss the window to make a move on you?”

“You’ve over a year late, Vinny,” Tommy said with a laugh in his voice as he saw his two best friends in a new light. Sure, Nikki had been the only other person besides himself who could get away with being physically affectionate with Wren, even before they were a couple. Tommy had noticed since the early months of the band’s existence the subtle ways Nikki would sit closely to Wren on the couch, the way his arm would find its way around her shoulders, the way she would gently rest her head against his, he’d seen it all, but something was different the moment Tommy saw Nikki pull Wren closer to him in the booth, rest his chin on her head, and glare over her at Vince as he spoke.

“Were you seriously just trying to hit on my girlfriend?” Nikki’s gravely voice rolled through the air and caused Wren’s heart to rise as if it were a helium balloon. As the last word of his sentence fell from his lips, Nikki could feel his lungs deflate, his cheeks grow warmer, and his stomach twist into knots. Almost instantly, he became even more aware of her body language—the way she was positioned against him, the amount of pressure she placed on him as she leaned her torso into his, the way her jaw felt as it rested on his shoulder. It was as if his were dialed up to their max so he could detect any non-verbal indication of what he said being either a good or bad move on his part. He didn’t want to have the “what are we?” talk with her because he had been damn near certain that they were a couple—not two people who were dating, not just friends, not even friends that had sex. To him, the second they kissed in the hallway that night over a year ago, they were a couple. Thankfully, the way Wren gently folded herself against him, leaned further into his embrace, and lightly traced circles with her thumb on his thigh was enough to convince him that they were on the same page.

[yuusa]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟏𝟗

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐𝟑𝟔𝟗

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟏𝟗:

"Hello (Y/n)-kun!" Tohru waved at you as she and Yuki entered the store, the same short-haired blond girl from yesterday stood silently by their side while they approached you. 

Your eyes widened at the sight of her skipping over to your crouched position that was still reorganizing the shelves. You were wearing an apron that Aikyo gave to you since the most recent package was filled with calligraphy ink, she instructed you to wear the garment to avoid any of the black substance staining your clothes. Yuki gave you a smile while you turned away from him, feeling a tinge of heat smeared across your cheeks as you stood up. 

"I didn't know you were coming today," You said, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand to clear any dust.

Kisa looked up at you as she held onto Tohru's clothes, her timid eyes quivering slightly underneath your intimidating form. You crossed your arms over your chest as you listened to Tohru explain that she was taking out Kisa around town since she seemed to be stuck to her like glue. She noticed that you looked much more mature and had sharp, cold eyes that could pierce through steel walls, your figure was hugged by the fabric of your pants and sweater as your hair was back. The young Sohma looked around the room, seeing Aikyo wave to her from behind the counter as she wrapped up a customer's purchase in a neat bag. 

The store was certainly very colorful and eyecatching to a child. There was an array of notebooks and stationaries that were placed neatly in each of the shelves and boxes, she wondered if you were the one who organized most of what was displayed. It didn't seem like there were many workers aside from you and Aikyo. The shop itself was slightly old but it still held some charm to it, the lights were a warm color that emitted a sense of comfort within her. Kisa looked back up to you to notice that you were smiling at her before telling Tohru to look around the store and ask for help when she needed something.

Tohru looked down at her and gave Kisa a small pat on the head before guiding her around the store. Yuki stayed by your side while the other two began to check out the variety of erasers and pencils that were stacked against each other. 

"Do you work part-time here (L/n)-san?" He asked, looking around the store as he followed you around when you reshelved items. 

"I just volunteer." You replied, trying to place the notebooks on the higher shelves by going on your tippy-toes, "the owner is quite nice and she doesn't have many employees working for her." 

You struggled with the top shelf and almost sighed in exhaustion, as you were about to turn around to grab a nearby chair Yuki already grabbed the notebook from your hand and began to reshelve the top shelf. He smiled at you innocently, trying to act as if he simply didn't steal your job. 

"You didn't have to help me, you came to visit didn't you?" You huffed, turning around from him and grabbing another box from the floor. 

"You looked like you needed it, reminds me of the time I first came over to your house huh?" You could feel a rush of heat flow to your head as you began to speedwalk towards the other side of the store while he followed you. "You don't have to act all shy about it (L/n)-san." He teased. 

"I-I'm not shy." You mumbled, taking out the stacks of paper from the box and placing them on the wooden shelf. Yuki only hummed in response, feeling slightly proud of himself to see you in a state of embarrassment. 

"Are you sure about that?" He reached out to pat the top of your head, further emphasizing your height difference as you puffed out your cheeks slightly, an action that almost went unnoticed by Yuki but was quite cute.

"You really treasure that don't you?" He saw that in your pocket was your phone, the eagle charm dangling off of the side as you continued to stack school supplies together.  

You looked down to see where exactly he was suggesting and quickly shoved the rest of the notebooks into the corner, "w-whatever! I-It looks nice okay?!" 

"Yes yes. . ." He laughed, causing you to turn away once more to hide your glowing face. 

You noticed from the corner of your eye a group of young students walking into the store, their parents standing next to the door as they let their children roam the area. They seemed like good friends based on the way they interacted with each other, the smaller children began to run around the store, exploring the variety of school supplies that they wanted to beg their parents to buy. Although you were used to having small kids at the store, there were moments where they could be real brats. 

The group was staring at Kisa from across the room, their eyes narrowing in disgust while Kisa and Tohru looked at the different styled notebooks that were stacked on the shelves. It didn't seem like Yuki had noticed anything wrong within the group but you felt as if there was something that didn't sit right within you when you saw those kids. They pointed their figures at Kisa's figure and walked closer towards her, surrounding the blond-haired girl like a circle of sharks while acting calm. You pressed your lips together in a frown as you watched Kisa's eyes widen at the sight of her classmates at the store, she clutched onto the clothing of Tohru tightly, bundling the fabric into a tight ball under her fist. 

You could hear them snicker at her from across the room, disgust filling your veins as you clenched your wrist tightly, restraining yourself from any violent actions that had occurred in your mind. Your frown deepened as you dropped the task that was in your hands. Yuki focused his attention on your movements, seeing the way you maneuvered around the room quietly towards Tohru and Kisa without a single word. Before one of the girls could poke at Kisa, you grabbed onto her wrist. 

"Do you girls need help finding something?" You innocently smiled, your intimidating glare hidden underneath the warm lights of the store, "oh, sorry!" You let go of her hand and stepped back a few steps, "it seems like your hands are quite small, would you like to try out this product?" 

"We have it in pink and blue colors as well." In your hand, you held a small bear pen that was fitted to the size of her palm that you swiped from the table. You watched as their eyes sparkled as she reached out to the pen to examine its painted details.

Her friends gathered around you as they looked at you in awe, your figure was alluring and the smoothness of your voice attracted them like moths to a flame. You couched down to the girl's height as you peered up to see Kisa staring at you, still hiding behind Tohru in fear at her classmates. 

"Are you friends with Sohma Kisa?" You asked, watching as some of the girls flinched at your question. You could see the small beads of sweat beginning to form on their necks as their eyes flickered to somewhere other than your (e/c) orbs. 

Your suspicions seem to be right then, they really weren't friends of Kisa. Yuki walked over to your side and tilted his head over to Tohru, wondering what was happening in the situation. His eyes widened at the sight of you crouching next to the children while Kisa stood away from them. Tohru reached out to hold onto Kisa's shoulder to comfort her. She wondered if these were her classmates that she heard about from Momiji during lunch, you hadn't heard about this conversation but you seemed to have jumped the gun and intervened on your own accord.

Your blood began to boil as you silently watched them whisper to each other in the back. There was something about these children that made you frustrated but you couldn't put it into words. Perhaps it was because of their childish ignorance or naivety that annoyed you, or it was the way they stared at Kisa with disgust. There were too many factors to add up that you simply didn't want to focus on. 

"She's our classmate!" One of them perked up, the rest of them nodding in agreement. You could see that many of the children were lying based on their reactions, their eyes made it all too easy to see the hidden intent that was wrapped underneath their seemingly innocent eyes. 

"I see. What do you like about her?" You smiled at them while placing the weight of your chin on your open palm. Kisa's eyes widened at your question, unsure about how she should feel about the situation as you coaxed the students into answering you. 

"W-Well. . . Um. . ." One of the girls mumbled, fumbling with her hands as you stared at them intensely. 

"Do you not like anything about her?" You asked, the girls flinching.

The same girl dropped her hands to her side as her friends closely surrounded her, "h-her hair is different and her eyes aren't natural!" 

"No one has gold eyes in our class!" Her friend added. 

Yuki took several steps forward to talk to the girls but your voice interrupted his movements.

"Since when did her hair color matter?"

Kisa felt her grip on Tohru's clothes loosen slightly as she listened to your voice, her heart beginning to beat faster, "if she is unnatural, what does that make you? Normal? Doesn't that make you the same as everyone else? If anything, she's special compared to the people in your class." 

"The color of her hair isn't a good reason to dislike her," You picked up one of the erasers from the table and began to toy with it in your hands, flicking the material up into the air like a coin, "so what if she's different? It doesn't make her less human than the rest of us." 

They fearfully flinched before tearing their eyes away from you. Her friends gripped onto the edges of their clothes as they stared down at the floor, their eyes full of guilt and frustration. Kisa watched as you smiled at her, a sense of warmth filling her body as you slowly stood up. Your knees began to ache but it was nothing you couldn't handle. 

"You shouldn't judge your classmates based on how they look," You scolded, holding up your finger to the tip of their noses as the children quietly mumbled apologies. 

Kisa didn't know who you were or your connection to the Sohma family, but there was a sense of a physical burden being lifted off of her chest as she watched her classmates scramble to the door when their parents called out to them. You sparked a different kind of feeling that was similar to Tohru, yet different in your own way. Although Tohru's words and compliments made her feel motivated and accepted, you were the one to set the stage through physical actions. She wondered if she will see you more often in her life or would this simply be the last time you would ever meet. 

"Are you okay?" You smiled at her, the intimidating glare wiped from your eyes as she slowly nodded, "that's nice to hear." 

"A-Ah (Y/n)-kun I didn't know that you came over! You surprised me!" Tohru let out an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you that way, do you still want to check out the other areas of the store?" You pointed at the separate section that was across the room.

Yuki pressed his lips together as he tried to formulate a thought into the conversation. Despite the boiling anger that was bottled up within you, you decided to handle the situation in a mature fashion with wise words. There were many mysteries about you, but there were also a lot of things that Yuki found to be jealous of. Whether it was your outer confidence or awareness of someone's emotions, you looked as if you were also very capable of protecting others. He felt his hand grip the side of his arm as he watched you interact with Tohru while Kisa stared at you in interest. 

He wondered if it was worth stressing out about, but he couldn't help but think that there was truly something special about you that he couldn't express in words. 

There was a lot he wanted to talk to you about, some of which were things that may break or advance your friendship. He wanted to learn more about you, even if it was something as simple as your favorite color or food, he wanted to try to open up to others the same way you have. Before he could dive even further into the sea of his own thoughts, you turned your attention back to the grey-haired male that was standing frozen.

"Sohma-san, are you alright?" You reached out to brush some of the strands of his hair that blocked his vision but quickly retracted your hand back. Although Tohru and Kisa left to look at the other notebooks in the room, you had almost forgotten that you were in a public space and something as simple as touching his hair may be a sign of something else. 

"A-Ah sorry. . ."

Instead of letting your hand fall to your side, he held onto it and kept it against his cheek, feeling the warm feeling of your skin giving him comfort as he slowly inhaled. The flush feeling rose back to your cheeks in strong waves as he looked at you with his doleful eyes, the two of you standing next to each other while Aikyo pressed her hands over her mouth in shock at the sight. 

"It's nothing."

[petri808]

Hauntober prompt Garden

Inukag requested by @umacaking canon divergent.

Kagome sits back and relishes in her growing gardening skills. Before coming to the feudal era, the idea of growing her own vegetables would have made her laugh. The modern era was simply to convenient with their stores and vending machines to bother. Plus, studying took up a lot of her time. But, thanks to Kaede’s patience and Jinenji’s skills, her garden had come to life.

A few months earlier, the gentle giant had given Kagome seeds for a new vegetable brought to Japan. She knew exactly what it was because it’s common in the modern era, but had only been recently introduced in the Sengoku period by Portuguese sailors. Known as Kabocha, this squash variety that looked like a green pumpkin had a variety of uses in stews or soups, fried, baked, or mashed with a distinctive sweet flavor.

She sighs contentedly, dusting off her hands of dirt, and gathering the few picked veggies for cooking that evening into a basket. Her toils had paid off well and Kagome was proud of the two kabochas she’d grown. She had plans to cook one into a nice soup for this colder evening, but the second...

“Momma!”

As soon as Kagome walks into the hut, their daughter Moroha bounds over and latches onto her legs. The child looked like her, but was so much like her father. She’d even given up on making the child wear shoes.

“Hey, baby girl,” she smiles sweetly at the toddler.

Inuyasha walks over and takes the basket load off of Kagome’s hands, then kisses her cheek. “How was the shrine today?”

“The colder weather is causing some illnesses, but nothing worrisome.”

Kagome picks Moroha up and gives the girl a hug and kiss before setting her back down to play. Inuyasha was waiting with the basket by the hearth where he’d already set up her cooking tools and a boiling pot of water. “Thank you, Inu,” she kisses him then settles on the ground to start cooking.

“What’s this?” He taps the kabocha. “Is it the thing Jinenji gave you?”

“Yup. It finally grew to a good size.”

“You gonna cook both of these?”

“No, just one. The biggest one I want you to help me with after dinner. A fun activity I think Moroha will like or at least make a mess with,” she chuckles.

“Yeah sure, whatever you need.”

It takes about 40 minutes for the stew to cook down and the root vegetables to soften up. When she tasted it, the squash did add a sweetness to the mix but not enough to overpower it. Inuyasha and Moroha seemed to like the additional item too, so perhaps she should continue growing more of it for them as well as to share with their friends.

Kagome cleans up their dinner plates and utensils, putting everything away to create an open area to work on the next project. She sets out an older woven mat she kept specifically for times like this to keep the floors cleaner, or at least make it easier to clean up afterwards. Finally, she grabs a sharp knife to cut the outermost rine with.

“Here you go,” Kagome hands the knife to Inuyasha. “See where I marked with charcoal, I want you to cut those areas starting with the top.”

“What’s this for?”

“You’ll see.”

Moroha sat patiently in her fathers lap as he cut through the toughest top section first. The kabocha was the size of a small kettle pot and should work for what Kagome envisioned. Once he’s done with the top, he starts the more tedious task of cutting the triangular shapes Kagome had created in charcoal. It looked like a creepy face to him, but assumed there was a reason for what she’d wanted done.

When Inuyasha finishes cutting up the kabocha, Kagome takes over, digging out the contents of the squash carefully to cook in the morning for breakfast and not crush the outside. She cleans it up well, smoothing down the insides until it’s a nice hollowed bowl. “There we go,” Kagome places in front of her daughter.

“Momma, what’s that?”

“In my time, they were called jack-o-lanterns.”

The child face scrunches up at such a weird word making Kagome chuckle. “It’s like a lantern holder but made out of a vegetable. When momma was your age, she made this with her parents for a holiday.”

“Oh! I don’t know what a holiday is, but now I get to make this with my momma and papa!”

“Yup! And when you get a little older, we’ll let you make them yourself.”

“So, just another one of your weird modern day holidays,” Inuyasha teases. “Don’t worry baby girl,” he directs his next comment to Moroha. Papa still doesn’t understand what holidays are.”

With the carving complete, Kagome places a small, short candle inside, then covers the top. “Watch,” she grins, then puts out the fire in their hearth, allowing the glow of the candle to fully be seen.

“Wow! Wow!” Moroha bounces in her fathers lap. “That’s so cool!”

“It’s creepy, but that’s a good trick,” Inuyasha adds.

“See, told you it would be worth it. It only lasts a day or two before you have to throw it out, but the fun is just in the making of it.”

“Momma, can we show it off to everyone tomorrow?!”

“Of course, we can,” Kagome smiles.

“Yay!”

Kagome shares a knowing smile with Inuyasha. Seeing their daughter happy was one of the best parts of being a parent and one she was happy to share with the love of her life, no matter what timeline she was in.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #411

“everybody’s got loaded stories, and i know for a fact everybody sees a bullseye on my back”

Have you ever been to jail? No. Opinion on snow? I absolutely love it! Not big on the slush it leaves behind, though. It gets ugly. What are you best at drawing? Meerkats. Are you scared of going over bridges? Nah. If you had endless energy and stamina, how would you spend your days? Plenty of exercise, lots of exploration with my camera, doing chores much more regularly... stuff like that. What mental or physical space do you go when you want to recharge or relax? I go to my room and watch YouTube. Did you have/use a comfort object as a child (do you continue to have one)? I actually don't remember. Now as an adult, if I go somewhere, my purse is actually like my comfort item in that I like to sit and sort of hug it to feel more secure. When was the last time you said something you regret? What did you say? I'm unsure. What do you tend to get carried away with? New hobbies/interests. It will be like all I care about for a long while, ha ha. Do you believe we have souls; do you believe in a life after death? Yes to both. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Ugh, yes, and it's the absolute worst. What kind of vitamins did you take as a kid? We had those Flintstones ones for a while, but for most of my childhood, we had gummy vitamins. Have you ever gone to court? Well, yes, but not for like your ordinary court hearing. While hospitalized on one occasion, a lawyer visited to speak to the patients informing us that we could argue against our discharge dates if we believed we were going to be committed for too long, which I thought I was, so I signed up to bring my case in front of a judge. So yeah, I've been to court, but not for ordinary reasons. Are you friends with your neighbors? "Friends," no. The people to our left like just moved out, and I don't even know if we've ever been outside at the same time as the family on our right. Favorite color? I like baby pink. How long has it been since you’ve seen The Lion King? I saw the CGI remake when it came out, if that counts? I don't know about the original. When did you last hold hands with someone? Sometime when I was at my sister's house, my niece grabbed my hand to drag me somewhere, ha ha. Have you ever had a crush on your sibling's friend? No. Have you ever gone to a beach? Multiple times. How good is your eyesight? It is very, VERY bad. I need new glasses severely. What’s the best wedding you’ve been to? My former dance teacher's. Have you ever had a negative encounter with the police? What happened? No. What’s your favourite thing to cook/bake? Do you eat it often? I don't do either. How do you flush the toilet in public? I generally use my elbow. I don't like standing on one leg, so I don't really use my foot like I'd prefer. Favorite horror movie? Silent Hill is dearest to me overall just because of what it is, but as a horror film, I think the original Blair Witch Project is best. Do you have your wisdom teeth? X-rays have only ever shown two are present, but I have enough space for those. What would you name your pet snake if you had one? It would depend on their appearance. The snake I have currently is named Venus because her coloration is similar to the planet. Do you like peanuts? Only when covered in chocolate. Where do you typically shop for bras and underwear? Do you tend to keep it simple, or have a variety of different items? Have you ever gotten a professional bra fitting? I don't get new undergarments (or clothes in general) frequently, but historically, my bras are bought online and underwear just from Wal-Mart. I don't really get the second question? I mean I don't have a style when it comes to those types of clothes, if that's what you mean. I've never had an actual bra-fitting, but I absolutely need to but keep putting it off. It seems like NO bra fits me properly all-around, and it's ridiculously annoying. What (if any) types of xrays/scans/other diagnostic tests have you had done? Was anything found? Idk man, a lot. I've had xrays on my wrist (found a fracture), teeth, legs... maybe more? I've also had an ultrasound on my liver for reasons I don't recall. I either had an MRI or CT scan (I can't remember which) when I got a concussion, and uhhhh... I can't think of anything else. Were you breast or bottle fed as a child? If you plan to have children, which do you think you’ll choose? Do you think one is really better than the other? I was nursed, and if I hypothetically had children, I'd definitely try to do the same. It was so incredible to me that I've never forgotten this: when I was at the hospital while my sister had her first baby, there was a chart on the wall of how many more nutrients were in breast milk versus formula milk, and the list was GARGANTUAN. Like, unbelievable. Now, do I think it's BETTER? That's a complicated question for which, in short, my answer is no. More nutritious, well, given what I just said, obviously. But breastfeeding just doesn't work for all mothers for a plethora of reasons, like the time demand, they can be self-conscious, it's painful... and all those things are okay. A mother should do what works best for her. Neither one is "wrong" or makes someone less of a mother because they feed their child less traditionally. Do you find that you have become more selective in terms of friendships as you’ve gotten older? Did the friendships you thought would last over time end up that way? Absolutely. There are just some kinds of people I absolutely do not tolerate anymore. And no, not most. We just drifted apart with time, or given most of my closest friendships are/were online, they just fell off the face of the earth. What are you doing right now? This and re-watching John Wolfe play Bloodborne. Bloodborne is such a comfort series to me... somehow, ha ha. Yet another game I've never played but desperately want to. Where are you? In my bedroom, as always. When you get yelled at, do you yell back or let it go? Depending on who it is, I might yell back, but most likely cry, ha ha. I hate being yelled at, like a lot. Is the person you last texted single? That would be my mom, so yeah. I've hoped she'd find a partner forever... She, probably more than anyone I know, deserves love from the *right* guy. I worry a lot how lonely she may become whenever I move out. Are you easily scared by horror movies? Not at all. Are you friends with any of your ex boyfriend/girlfriends? Girt and Sara, yes. Are you lonely? Be honest. Very. What has made you happy today? It's too early for this. What has made you sad today? Nothing, really. Last thing eaten? I had leftover pancakes from yesterday. Are you wearing anything that’s not yours? No. Do you like to wear makeup? I mean it makes me feel prettier, sure, but the actual time investment doesn't feel worth it for me personally. Especially when you're not even that good with applying it. Have you ever attempted to write a story or novel? Many times when I was younger. Would you rather have perfect hair or perfect skin? Perfect skin. I hate my skin, it has so many blemishes. What’s your middle name? Marie. How big is your bed? Queen. Do you drink? Only a bit for special occasions, really. I'll have a daiquiri on your average day every once and a blue moon. Would you fall apart if that last person you kissed walked out of your life? That's an understatement. Do you prefer pasta, salad, or coleslaw? Pasta. I hate coleslaw. Do you find smoking unattractive? Yes. Where’s the last place you went besides your house? The TMS office. Do you eat breakfast daily? Yes. Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater? My dad. Do you like your cell phone? No, but it gets the job done. I just wish I had a phone with a good camera. Has anyone ever sang to you? Yes. So, what if you married the last person you kissed? That's the dream, but I acknowledge and accept it just might not work out like that. Do you usually answer your texts? Almost always. Have you ever changed clothes in a vehicle? Yes. Who has seen you cry the most? My mom, for sure. Have you ever just laid down outside and stared at the stars? Yeah, Jason and I did that one night on the trampoline. Have your friends ever randomly stopped by your house? In the past, yes. Think to the last person you kissed; have you ever kissed them on the ground? No. Do you have a condom in your room? No, got no use for one. Do your siblings ever pay for stuff for you? Yes. What brand is your digital camera? Canon. Do you own expensive perfume/cologne? No; I really don't get the point. When was the last time you went tanning? Ew, never. I find NO appeal in just lying in the boiling sun. Do you like the smell of fresh cut grass? No, I hate it. Do you get embarrassed easily? Like you would not fucking believe. It's one of the things I hate most about myself, because I'm embarrassed about everything I like and what makes me me. Has anyone ever thrown you a surprise party? No. Do you always wear your seatbelt? Absolutely. You couldn't pay me not to. Do you sing in the shower? No. Have you ever been called a slut/whore/something along those lines? Only playfully among friends. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly/didn't even know? Yes. Have you ever fallen in love with a really good friend of yours? Yes. Do you own a blacklight? No. Do you like fruit better than vegetables? Definitely. Have your friends met the last person you kissed? Of my current friends, only Girt has. If you’re straight, have you ever thought about kissing the same sex? If you’re gay, have you ever thought about kissing the opposite sex? I'm bisexual, soooo. What does your laugh sound like? Do you have a loud laugh or a quiet laugh? Bro my laugh is so fucking loud and obnoxious. Is there a reality TV show you would consider taking part in? No.

[jamestaylorswift]

Love’s a game, wanna play?  A meta-analysis of the game of love and Taylor’s love of games

—

Before actually getting into this, I’m obligated to make the disclaimer that this is just my interpretation of some songs. I’m not claiming to be “right” about anything.  I have no way of knowing whether my observations will hold true if/when Taylor releases more music. It doesn’t really matter. There are many ways to interpret music.

Games are not the only extended metaphor in her discography; if you understand one, you don’t necessarily understand them all. This essay is an exploration of how one particular metaphor could be so effective.

In addition, I am often the first person to say that “not everything is that deep.” Yet here I am, making something deep. I was only mildly curious about this metaphor at first. In the process of documenting my understanding, I surprised even myself as I realized how rich this metaphor is.

A warning…this essay is very long. (It’s either mildly interesting or completely ridiculous and nothing in between. Likely the second.)

—

The notion of a ‘game’ is often conflated with the notion of adversarial conflict. This misunderstanding is largely due to Western structural/cultural forces. Mathematicians and economists have a passion for framing most predicaments as zero-sum, or strictly competitive, where one player’s advantageous move by definition disadvantages their opponent. But collaborative and otherwise not strictly competitive games exist too.

Taylor’s fascination with games spans her entire discography. Artistic preoccupation is reason alone to analyze her work from such an acute angle. But pleasantly, Taylor also does not share the academics’ favorite pastime. She strays away from the zero-sum bias in very unpredictable ways. In fact, she has no bias. She prefers to mix and match her language to each situation as she sees fit. Her convolution of love and games is expressive, divorced from the logical framework by which games are defined. I think examining this facet of her work with a fine-toothed comb may be especially illuminating.

It seems counterintuitive to argue that games could (or should) be anything more than Taylor’s favorite metaphorical manifestation of logos. Yet revisiting a metaphor is itself communication, conscious or not. Advancing an understanding of this extended metaphor, in my opinion, substantiates what is usually intangible about Taylor’s songwriting brilliance.

On Games

Precocious and perceptive, Taylor has, for as long as she’s been writing, placed competition, strategy, and collaboration alongside conflict. Therefore, for the sake of coherence and relative brevity, analysis is scoped only to songs with significant mentions of games, puzzles, or game-related imagery. ‘Games’ are not conflated with general fighting, trickery, toying, revenge, mention of rules/strategizing, or winning/losing. ‘Puzzles’ are not conflated with disorder; puzzle pieces must be pieces of a larger, vivid picture.

Consider football. Imagery of high school football makes “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” fair territory. Someone shouting over a football game in a bar does not qualify “Mean.” The football helmet worn in “Stay Stay Stay” is an absurd and compelling detail in context, as likely to be fictitious as it is true, and hence more significant than a televised sporting event; “Stay Stay Stay” qualifies. In essence, games are interesting as a device rather than a simple detail.

Below is a list of the songs with significant game reference(s), categorized by implied type. Note that a song can belong to multiple categories if it contains multiple references.

Generic/unspecified games: “Come in With the Rain”, “Dear John”, “State of Grace”, “Blank Space”, “Wonderland”, “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Card games: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Dice games: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Board games: “Dear John”

Sports/contests: “The Story Of Us”, “Long Live”, “Stay Stay Stay”, “End Game”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Puzzles: “Red”, “All Too Well”, “So It Goes…”

Other: “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Like many people, Taylor habitually seeks structure to manage unpredictability. (Games provide structure for situational volatility, hence her artistic love affair with this metaphor.) The stylistic choices she makes to entertain this habit, however, are anything but consistent.

The games have a variety of different players, such as in “Dear John” and “Look What You Made Me Do.”

She does not establish strict parity between characters’ emotional affiliation and the competitiveness of a game. “Dear John” features an adversarial game. Conversely, her partner in “Blank Space” is a co-conspirator/collaborator. “All Too Well” analogizes autumn leaves as puzzle pieces; puzzles are collaborative games.

Taylor famously claims that love is a game in “Blank Space.” This song is colloquially understood to be about the love story we see play out in the media. Games can thus include all parts of her ‘love life.’ Arguably, she foreshadows this in “Long Live” by intertwining parts of her ‘America’s sweetheart’ image with professional success, which is derived from writing about love.

Taylor is not always a player in a game, such as in “Cruel Summer.” Her partner may not be either; see the crossword in “Red.”

In short, humans are unpredictable, as is love. It is clear that Taylor uses games as an incredibly powerful metaphorical device. They are a genuine reflection of her feelings about love.

Musical analysis usually begins with careful consideration of each track. Given a disparate and lengthy list of songs, it is probably more fruitful to go up a layer of abstraction. Of particular intrigue for this set of songs is the relationship between time and Taylor’s willingness to divulge more information about a metaphorical game.

We revisit the set of songs to list them in chronological order. The purely ‘generic’ songs are now bolded: “Come in With the Rain”, “Dear John”, “The Story Of Us”, “Long Live”, “State of Grace”, “Red”, “All Too Well”, “Stay Stay Stay”, “Blank Space”, “Wonderland”, “New Romantics”, ”…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”, “So It Goes…”, “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Specificity about a game seems to decrease with proximity to the 1989 era.

Lyrical imprecision in “Come in With the Rain,” a true outlier, probably boils down to youth.

“State of Grace” is a preamble about the themes of Red. “Begin Again,” though much later on that album, shares the same inspiration as “State of Grace.” Red is constructed as a sandwich between these two songs which present the album’s thesis. The album considered as a whole is thus a buffer for 1989.

reputation is a buffer for 1989 because the ‘generic’ game songs are heavily and intentionally front-loaded.

“New Romantics” is a coda for 1989, and its poker game reference is slightly ambiguous. What, exactly, is poker; what is all in the timing? The thematic material of “New Romantics” is most similar to that of “Blank Space.” ‘It’ is the same crude game played in the earlier track, the affair of collecting men. Perhaps this close relation subsumes “New Romantics” under the ‘generic’ game category. (Though this is a loose explanation.)

There exists an undeniable chronological pattern to game characterization. If you graphed the amount of game-related lyrical obscurity versus time, it would look like a shallow sand dune with the tip at the 1989 era. (Or a hill. Or a big pile of leaves. You get the picture.)

Armed with a basic understanding of Taylor’s career, one might say that her desire for personal privacy manifests as reticence to define metaphorical games. The 1989 era was the height of media attention on her. This caused more than a few issues. The art created around this time would have naturally reflected how she felt about the public eye. (See: the entire reputation era.)

But isn’t Taylor almost as famous as ever today? Sure, her name is not as saturated in the zeitgeist as it was in 2014. She’s still one of the world’s mega-stars. And does she not have a very private relationship today? Taylor’s work reflects her hardened personal boundaries, but boundaries alone do not explain the pattern of how she writes about games. Otherwise Lover would be filled to the brim with songs about ‘generic’ games.

To summarize, Taylor uses games as a perennial favorite metaphor to frame her experiences of love. Increased public scrutiny undoubtedly changed the way that Taylor approached songwriting; even so, fame was not a factor that changed how she wrote about games. The connection between time and types of games suggests that we cannot consider game metaphors in isolation.

On Love

The next piece of the puzzle (no pun intended) is what she shares about love. Which 1989 songs are most revealing? Technically…most of them, if you think hard enough. I’d like to draw special attention to “Wonderland” and “You Are in Love.”

Ah, “You Are in Love.” The musical gift that keeps on giving! Fitting, because true love should be too.

In “Wonderland,” Taylor says:

It’s all fun and games ’til somebody loses their mind

Shortly thereafter in the “You Are in Love” bridge, she proclaims:

You understand now why they lost their mind and fought the wars

And why I’ve spent my whole life trying to put it into words

Taylor reverses her opinion about the prospect of losing her mind for love. (The abruptness here is a consequence of a real-life relationship change, plus the fact that both of these songs are bonus tracks.) Of course, she also tells us an important connection between love and games.

I’ll pause here to say that I’m not going to turn this into a (frankly uninteresting) relationship timeline/proof post. But may the profound significance of “You Are in Love” and its subject never escape us.

“You Are in Love” is written in the second person. Taylor is the intensely guarded ‘you.’ We witness her emotional walls get broken down by her lover, the ‘he.’ Fascinatingly, Taylor departs from the second person point of view in the bridge. Suddenly, she alerts us to the presence of an ‘I.’ The bridge says that ‘you’ Taylor, whole and normal-person-in-a-relationship Taylor, finally understands true love. In the same breath, ‘I,’ writer Taylor, admits that she’s had it all wrong for years. (This is not to say that her writing pursuits before this moment were pointless.) Therefore, breaking the second person point of view to include the ‘I’ line shows that Taylor distills the nature of true love in that ‘eureka’ moment.

Yet she exposes the schism of writer Taylor and whole, normal person Taylor in a moment where, in theory, those two roles could not overlap more. Taylor has every reason to faithfully represent her feelings. Her sentiment is always sincere even though she may falsify details of a story. “You Are in Love” is (as far as I’m aware) the only song in which Taylor ever blatantly admits to writer-person misalignment. The schism must run extremely deep.

Taylor was—and surely still is—drawn to songwriting as a means to explore love. She tries to to capture its enigmatic essence with the written word. How fascinating it is that, at the very moment she communicates her deepest understanding of love, she says that the part of her that puts it into words is inherently disconnected from her spirit which feels it.

On Games And Love

We must briefly table the meta-implications of “You Are in Love” to return to the topic of games.

Love probably would have stopped feeling like a game after finding a real gem of a person who doesn’t mess with your head. (Love also probably would have stopped feeling like a game after dialing down on brazen PR tomfoolery.) Taylor has written several albums about her true love. It’s easier now to trace the arc of her feelings: it is a positive path, as anyone would predict.

Why would she continue to write about games after 1989? The obvious answer is that she likes doing it. It remains a useful metaphor.

But recall that chronology discourages us from considering metaphorical games in isolation. To clarify the principal function of the game metaphor in her discography, we must consider the writer-person dichotomy.

First, note that Taylor exposes the writer-person dichotomy in an honest, vulnerable moment. She confirms it as a human phenomenon. The phenomenon thus must extend beyond a singular moment during 1989. Distance between writer Taylor and whole, normal person Taylor—a measure henceforth called writer-person distance—is necessarily a function of time. Coincidentally, so is the measure of game-related lyrical obscurity.

Writer-person distance can grow or shrink. It was small in her youth; this is what pushed her into songwriting. It is small now, as she has told us in the albums since 1989 that true love has stitched her back together. Again, because writer-person distance is a human phenomenon, it changes slowly, smoothly. (“You Are in Love” simply marks the biggest distance.) Does this sound familiar? If you graphed writer-person distance versus time, the graph would look like a shallow sand dune with the tip at the 1989 era. (Or a hill. Or a big pile of leaves. Once again, you get the picture.)

To summarize, game-related lyrical obscurity and writer-person distance are smooth functions. “You Are in Love” is the inflection point of both measures.

With “Wonderland” and “You Are in Love,” Taylor tells us that games are linked to how she conceptualizes love. But not just any love. 🎶 True love. 🎶

At the same time, Taylor presents “You Are in Love” as a dividing line between ‘that which is a best attempt to understand something that inherently cannot be captured’ and ‘that which refines the thing that, against all odds, was captured.’ Our interpretation of games must synthesize an abrupt ‘eureka’ moment with both the measures’ gradual changes.

If we are to talk about metaphorical games, we also must talk about true love. But we know that if we are to talk about games, we also must talk about time. Vital to uniting these ideas is the revelation that Taylor conceptualizes the nature of true love as the nature of time. For doesn’t time define what is gradual and abrupt?

The most important line in “You Are in Love” is when Taylor finds it—‘it’ being love. A literal ‘eureka’ moment. This isn’t just a one-time coincidence.

Writer-person bifurcation clarifies why the game metaphor is surprisingly effective. As Taylor revisits the convolution of love and games, the metaphor morphs in tandem with her innate understanding of love.

Some Good Old-fashioned Song Analysis

Observing how games, love, and time are intertwined requires that we reject purely literal interpretations of game-related lyrics after “You Are in Love.” Of course, literal interpretations are still generally useful, even correct. Games are literal, so references to them should be interpreted as such. Also, lyrics about games are probably Not This Deep in reality. We didn’t have to do all this work to realize what songs might belong in conversation with each other; identifying lyrical callbacks would have been sufficient. Treating game lyrics as purely literal limits how we might decipher a recurring metaphor. Without the notions of game specificity or writer-person distance, we would lack a framework with which to fully interrogate how these songs are are connected (i.e. through time). And, after all, the ultimate goal is to understand why the game metaphor is so successful. But, I digress.

(We’ve also made it this far and we might as well keep going. Another couple thousand words…don’t threaten me with a good time, amirite?)

To observe how games, love, and time are intertwined, I propose the following rule of thumb: A game reference before “You Are in Love” is Taylor’s description of love, whereas a game reference afterwards is a pointer to past instances of that game. Such a reference is metaphysical, or more appropriately, meta-lyrical. If she’s referenced a game already, she knows how to use that reference again. If she introduces a new reference, she’s planting it for future use.

We can group the songs after “You Are in Love” by game type:

Generic/unspecified games: “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Dice games: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Card games: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Sports/contests: “End Game”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Puzzles: “So It Goes…”

Other: “It’s Nice To Have A Friend"

Analysis requires precision. We should pare down the duplicates, if possible.

“It’s Nice To Have A Friend” is tricky because it’s naturally sparse. “Video games,” for example, are more than a simple detail: they are an essential part of creating a childhood vignette. “Twenty questions” and the card game “bluff” function analogously in the later verses. The brilliance of this song lies in how Taylor illustrates the development of companionship and intimacy. The verse about marriage is the most significant verse because it reveals the meaning of the whole song. Thus, we may take the bluff to be more important than twenty questions, which is more important than video games. “It’s Nice To Have A Friend” ultimately belongs in the card game category.

Central to the pathos of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” is the “stupid” dice game lyric. Of equal importance is the portrait of Americana, painted with lyrics about Friday night lights. This song truly belongs in two categories.

At the end of “…Ready For It?” Taylor fires a starting pistol, letting ‘generic’ games begin. “End Game” follows and we assume it must pertain to the same game. So Taylor intentionally places this song in the first category. The hook has lyrics about a varsity “A-team,” though this is probably just a nod to Ed Sheeran. The other truly interesting game-related lyric is the one about bluffing. Thus, “End Game” also belongs in the card game category.

Here’s the new list:

Generic/unspecified games: “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Dice games: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Card games: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Sports/contests: “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Puzzles: “So It Goes…”

Each of the four obvious groups of songs illustrate a different way Taylor weaves the natures of true love and time together:

Déjà vu: “So It Goes…”

Hindsight/wisdom: “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Fate: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Progress: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Déjà vu

The puzzles category only contains one song, making it easiest to analyze. The namesake of “So It Goes…” is Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five, famously constructed like a mosaic. Puzzles are central to the meaning of this song.

“All Too Well” contains the first instance of a puzzle metaphor in her discography:

Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

Taylor calls back to “All Too Well” in the chorus of “So It Goes…”

And our pieces fall

Right into place

Get caught up in the moment

Lipstick on your face

By referencing a previous song using identical phrasing, Taylor creates the illusion of a sudden ‘déjà vu’ moment. The effect is similar to “You Are in Love,” where she reaches sudden enlightenment.

Sonically and lyrically, the “moment” she gets caught up in is implied to be the one in which she gets lost in passionate sex. The déjà vu moment could be this moment, but it doesn’t have to be. Déjà vu is agnostic to the present in the sense that the feeling can be triggered in the strangest of times. The déjà vu moment is whatever prompted her to write this song.

This game lyric connection clearly shows how a moment of love is defined by a moment of time.

Hindsight/Wisdom

The bombastic group of singles, “…Ready For It?”, “End Game,” and “Look What You Made Me Do,” sets the tone for all of reputation. The ‘generic’ games in these songs are the same as those in 1989, particularly the crude (and, in Taylor’s case, often interchangeable) games of celebrity and dating. In “Blank Space,” Taylor spells out in gory detail what she does as an agent in the celebrity dating game. She does not explicitly define the rules of that game, though. It remains sufficient for her to prove that she knows how to play by them. (Musically, this is far more interesting.)

We know that the reputation singles’ literal proximity to 1989 indicates Taylor’s direct emotional response the previous era. The consequences of a ‘fall from grace’ underpin the entire reputation era. Therefore, Taylor uses lyrical connections from reputation back to 1989 to illustrate hindsight. She tells us what she learned from her mistakes and what she wished she would have done differently.

But first, she gets to be salty about it. In “Look What You Made Me Do,” Taylor laments the fact that she participates in public games to appease others. (Because, really, withdrawing from the celebrity circus would immediately solve a lot of her problems. Alas, megastardom is a Venus flytrap.)

I don't like your little games

Don't like your tilted stage

The role you made me play

Of the fool, no, I don't like you

Let’s return to “Blank Space” for a moment. Taylor’s boyfriend in “Blank Space” is considered a co-conspirator/collaborator with her in the celebrity dating game. Central to our understanding of that song, however, is the unequal power dynamic. Taylor is the strategic mastermind, whereas her boyfriend is just along for the ride. The two are on the same team, but they are not equals.

Taylor actually leans further into the games of the 1989 era in “…Ready For It?”

Baby, let the games begin

Unlike in 1989, her partner is an equal on her team:

Me, I was a robber first time that he saw me

Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry

But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist

And we'll move to an island

She then connects “…Ready For It?” to “End Game”

Baby, let the games begin

Are you ready for it?

//

I wanna be your end game

Both Taylor and her partner are forced to play the same game and they share share the same goal. Her partner’s “end game” is Taylor; thus, Taylor keeps her true love by beating the celebrity dating game. They have to work together to achieve this difficult task.

Though the celebrity dating game is not true love, it impacts Taylor’s relationship with anyone who could be her true love. In hindsight, Taylor realizes how media games blew up in her face. It is wisdom—to keep her relationship private, to dial down on PR tomfoolery, to prioritize her happiness—that helps her pre-empt these problems for the reputation era. And indeed we understand the love story of reputation as the lovers’ prolonged attempt to hide from the public eye.

Hindsight comes with the natural passage of time. One only accrues wisdom, however, when they apply the lessons of hindsight to make better judgements about the future. Games again unite the ideas of love and time; they elucidate how Taylor uses wisdom to protect someone she loves.

Fate

“Cruel Summer” and “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” highlight the elegance of the meta-rule of thumb.

The dice game in “Cruel Summer” is a unique incarnation of the game metaphor because Taylor doesn’t confirm whether she is directly involved in this game:

Devils roll the dice

Angels roll their eyes

What doesn’t kill me makes me want you more // And if I bleed you’ll be the last to know

The song doesn’t reveal much about the nature of the dice game other than the fact that it is competitive. It could be a fitting description of what is going on in Taylor’s personal life. It may not be. What is more important is that Taylor positions herself as collateral damage of the outcome of the game.

This is also the dice game’s first appearance. By our rule of thumb, this lyric exists only to be a link to “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince.”

“Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” belongs to two different game categories, sports/contests and dice games.

First, dice games. We get a few more answers about the nature of the “Cruel Summer” competition:

It's you and me

That's my whole world

They whisper in the hallway, "she's a bad, bad girl"

The whole school is rolling fake dice

You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes

It's you and me

There's nothing like this

Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince

We're so sad, we paint the town blue

Voted most likely to run away with you

Both Taylor and her partner are forced to play the dice game by virtue of being metaphorical students. As a disgraced and about-to-be-vagrant prom queen, Taylor has finally realized that winning the school’s dice game is not worth the price of a ‘fall from grace.’

Next, sports/contests. With the understanding of these lyrics as pointers to her previous songs, sports/contests harkens back to “The Story of Us,” “Long Live,” and “Stay Stay Stay.”

“The Story Of Us” suggests that a shared quality of sports/contest metaphors is that conflict is nuanced, even hidden to outsiders:

This is looking like a contest

Of who can act like they care less

In “Stay Stay Stay,” football is connected to (for lack of a better word) violence, conflict that could result in emotional and physical harm:

I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night

I threw my phone across the room at you

I was expecting some dramatic turn away

But you stayed

This morning I said we should talk about it

'Cause I read you should never leave a fight unresolved

That's when you came in wearing a football helmet

And said, "Okay, let's talk"

Finally, “Long Live” blends the ideas of small town Americana with Taylor’s personal and professional life:

I said remember this moment

In the back of my mind

The time we stood with our shaking hands

The crowds in stands went wild

//

I said remember this feeling

I passed the pictures around

Of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines

Wishing for right now

We are the kings and the queens

You traded your baseball cap for a crown

When they gave us our trophies

And we held them up for our town

And the cynics were outraged

Screaming, "this is absurd"

'Cause for a moment a band of thieves in ripped up jeans

Got to rule the world

The backdrop of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” is not just any part of America. The juxtaposition of idyllic parts of American life with frictional, violent, yet sometimes subtle forces tells us that the song’s backdrop is an American culture war. It is conflict which unsettles everyone, but by nature hurts only some.

In totality, the function of the dice game metaphor is to position Taylor as collateral damage of an American culture war. (Chew on that one for a bit.)

Again, we probably could have surmised this by examining the lyrics closely. The song lends itself to being a signpost in the Lover chronology. It seems too autobiographical to be anything different. We all remember 2016.

However, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” sticks out like a sore thumb from the album’s theme of “a love letter to love itself.” Revisiting games as a glue between love and time expands on the purpose of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” in Lover.

The “Cruel Summer” bridge contains this lyric understood to be about her true love:

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate

Taylor identifies “that summer” in the 1989 era as the moment which she sealed her fate. Implicit in this confirmation is her perspective from the future. She is looking back on 1989 from the time when her terrible fate has just been realized.

The moment of realization is—you guessed it—the chorus of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince.” The chorus depicts post-prom queen defamation. Taylor is aware of every single action (many, probably deliberate) that helped her achieve royalty. She never divulges them. The song is scoped only to the time when she lives her fate.

We usually take observations about fate and love to describe how two souls are bound to each other. Taylor does not tell us much about her lover in “Cruel Summer” sans the fact that the shape of their body is new. Paying special attention to games reframes “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” within the Lover theme as a commentary on fate. However, the emphasis of fate should not be on her lover. The dice game connection tells us that Taylor views “that summer” in the 1989 era as the time when she sealed her fate as collateral damage in the American culture war. From the “love letter to love itself” perspective, the moral is that passion and excitement can make lovers forget the immutability of individual destiny. If you are fated to be with someone, both of you are at the mercy of whatever the world has in store for the partnership and you as individuals.

Progress

An eclectic group of songs shares a reference to bluffing in a card game. The game metaphor beautifully stitches these songs together into parts of the same story.

The first and most detailed description of the card game is in “New Romantics”

We're all here

the lights and boys are blinding

We hang back

It's all in the timing

It's poker

He can't see it in my face

But I'm about to play my ace

A bluff in poker is an attempt to trick one’s opponent into thinking one has a better hand than they do in reality. The opponent may call their bluff and challenge them to prove their hand is as good as they advertise.

Bluffing requires deception, often telegraphed by facial expressions. Here, Taylor says that she is good at bluffing because she doesn’t let her façade crack. She is not truly bluffing, though, because she possesses an ace, presumably part of her even better hand. Her opponent has called her perceived bluff to prompt to her to reveal the ace.

The opponent, “he,” behaves as though Taylor is bluffing. Taylor, strategic as ever, is prepared to counter by revealing the most powerful card. We should thus interpret this metaphor as the ‘bluffer’ exceeding expectations. (Remember that the first instance of a metaphor is a base case, so we must take its meaning more literally.)

Likewise, in “End Game” and “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”, Taylor is the bluffer:

You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks

//

Call my bluff, call you "babe"

However, “Cornelia Street” allows room for the interpretation that both Taylor and her lover are bluffers:

Back when we were card sharks, playing games

I thought you were leading me on

I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street

Before you even knew I was gone

But then you called, showed your hand

I turned around before I hit the tunnel

Sat on the roof, you and I

Taylor may have also been a trickster: “then you called” could refer to the lover calling Taylor’s bluff.

The recurring bluff metaphor coincides with progress or forward momentum in a relationship.

Recall a previous discussion of “New Romantics.” We defined the “it” which is “all in the timing” as a reference to finding romance. “New Romantics” is set in a club with a dance floor, boys, and blinding lights. It’s the kind of setting conducive only to landing one-night stands. Taylor plays games with someone in the club, but exceeds expectations for the outcome of that game. What was flirting or courting becomes something more serious than a one night stand (i.e. an actual relationship). The act of calling a bluff in a card game engenders (relationship) progress. Yet again, what is intrinsic to time is intrinsic to love.

This observation fits with each song.

reputation charts the development of Taylor’s relationship, but the card game bluff in “End Game” is at the beginning of the album. That’s exactly why this lyric works so well. Her relationship is still new, nonetheless significant, after 1989. Her verse mixes these ideas:

I hit you like bang

We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't

And I bury hatchets but I keep maps of where I put 'em

//

And I can't let you go, your hand print's on my soul

The “End Game” bluff represents how Taylor goes from wanting a steady relationship to wanting everything.

You might be able to see where this is going. “It’s Nice To Have A Friend” is the ‘discographical endpoint’ of the bluff metaphor. The verse about marriage delivers the song’s emotional punch:

Church bells ring, carry me home

Rice on the ground looks like snow

Call my bluff, call you "babe"

Have my back, yeah, everyday

Feels like home, stay in bed

The whole weekend

Notice, however, that the bluff metaphor occurs after the implied wedding. This is actually a beautiful sentiment. Intimacy, trust, and commitment are ongoing; growth doesn’t stop with a ring on a finger. The bluff, which represents delivering on promises and exceeding expectations for love, powers the relationship forward.

All signs point to the “Cornelia Street” bluff as the one that may have led to marriage.

Back when we were card sharks, playing games

I thought you were leading me on

I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street

Before you even knew I was gone

But then you called, showed your hand

I turned around before I hit the tunnel

Sat on the roof, you and I

So emotionally charged is this scene that we have to wonder what, exactly, Taylor’s steady partner could do to make her (1) walk out if she were being led on and (2) come back so quickly.

The most intriguing detail about this card game is that both parties may have been bluffing. The lover is leading Taylor on, but Taylor does not stay to call the bluff. She leaves. Usually in poker, one would not want their opponent to be able to prove the bluff with a good hand. (Think back to the ace in “New Romantics”.) But what if both players are on the same team at the end of the day? Calling a bluff is now setting oneself up for potential disappointment. Taylor walks out because she is frightened by the mere possibility of being let down.

Taylor is also bluffing, but her lover doesn’t let her walk away so easily. They pull out all the stops and concede their hand in a desperate attempt to get Taylor to turn around from the tunnel. It works. By our understanding of the bluff metaphor, the lover exceeds all of Taylor’s expectations. The events that transpire on the roof presumably are when Taylor reveals her own cards.

The topic of marriage fits with this emotionally charged scene. Of course both lovers would tiptoe around the topic and be scared to reveal their true feelings. 

So following the bluff metaphor helps us follow the course of true love. Calling and revealing a bluff is the catalyst for Taylor’s relationship. However, it also is the nature of time which underpins progress. 

I concede that interpreting the bluff metaphor as the catalyst of a story makes it vulnerable to any truth-fuzzing. Perhaps Taylor hasn’t ever written about a real-life engagement or marriage. We have no way of knowing. We instead should take comfort in the fact that her lyrics are beautiful and music is open to interpretation.

On Writing

Our beliefs about love are bound to change over time. As a writer, Taylor is in a unique position to capture this change by revisiting a metaphor.

Take “It’s Nice To Have A Friend.” The song is written as a series of vignettes to define the qualities of love that remain consistent while relationships change over time. The middle vignette, with its reference to “twenty questions,” could very well point back to the same day as the “Cornelia Street” card game. Feelings reoccur in certain moments—déjà vu. The first vignette is a picture of childhood. The last vignette is a picture of adulthood. Therefore, it seems just as natural to interpret the middle vignette as a picture of adolescence or young adulthood. Light pink skies, back-and-forth conversations, and brave, soft moments of intimacy illustrate a coming-of-age experience. The same moment that pulls Taylor forward in her relationship is the one that also pulls her back to a different time.

Then the coming-of-age experience is reminiscent of the portrait of Americana, the Friday night lights, marching band, and high school prom. During adolescence, we only have an inkling of our futures. We are less aware of all the ways we are connected to others and our world. Young and impressionable, our only job is to live, to change, to make memories and mistakes. Memories and mistakes define what was, and experience creates wisdom that shapes what will be. So Taylor captures this duality in fate. The moment a fate is realized is a moment that is equally a fossil of the past and a forecast for the future. The moment it all makes sense…eureka!

As an artist, Taylor’s job is to communicate her human experience. Listeners decide whether or not she successfully telegraphs what is universal about it. However, Taylor is no more of a spokesperson for the universal human experience than anyone else. She simply possesses the talent, work ethic, and privilege to make a career of it.

Consider Taylor’s own summary of the past decade:

I once believed love would be burnin' red

But it's golden

She consciously and elegantly edits her previous beliefs about love. (Obviously, she may plant callbacks to previous songs purely for fun. This one is certainly sincere.) These lines illustrate the craft she has worked hard to develop.

Manifested in her craft is the need to revisit her ideas. It seems as though certain recurring metaphors have become the only way for her to accurately capture some parts of love. They become self-perpetuating. Unforced yet expressive subconscious consistency constitutes artistry. It is artistry which compels us to believe in the universality of music.

The self-perpetuating love/games metaphor is especially fascinating. It is one of the purest examples, though perhaps also one of the strangest, of how writing about love engenders new experiences of it. Taylor translates love into game language. Games illustrate duality. Duality is love.

Perhaps this conclusion is something others already know about Taylor’s talent. I’ve never quite been able to put my finger on it until now.

To me, it seems like the songs are writing themselves.