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luminoustarlight · 6 months

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"Slut!" | Modern!Anakin Skywalker

a miss americana and the heartbreak prince story

(modern!au / high school!au)

High school culture in this series is extremely dramatized and fictionalized. As mentioned in the series masterlist, the characters are 18 years old. Padmé is very out of character in this series as well. There are lots of nods to Taylor Swift lyrics in this, too. So it's really fun for swifties and star war babes.

Slut

noun

a woman who has many casual sexual partners.

The definition of “slut” more accurately describes Anakin rather than you. Afterall, he is the Heartbreak Prince of Lucas High School. But men never pay the price for sleeping around. They’re awarded a higher social status. Or in Anakin Skywalker’s case, you become the Senior every Freshman boy wants to be.

Anakin Skywalker used to be a player. Anakin Skywalker used to go through girls faster than the news could spread around school. He had no qualms with one night stands or taking a girl’s virginity because she asked him to. He was honored to be a girls’ first time.

He dated Padmé Amidala exclusively from January until June. When the new school year began, everyone wondered who would be the next one to get their heart broken by Anakin. Nobody could’ve guessed it would be Miss Americana.

The crowd at the Homecoming game nearly quieted when Anakin spun you around in the middle of the field. When he nuzzled his sweaty face into your neck, kissing your warm skin as if it was a greater reward than winning the football game. It took you by surprise, to say the least. You’ve only been seeing each other for about a month and had yet to interact or show affection at school. It was quite the announcement. And the message was loud and clear. Anakin had a new girl and she’s nothing like his ex.

Padmé had watched you and Anakin with a fire fueled by jealousy in her stomach. You had a stupid, naïve smile on your face as you walked off of the field with Anakin’s varsity jacket draped over your shoulders. That should be me. Maybe it’s all an act to make me jealous.

So that’s how the whispers began at the Homecoming dance. Padmé had rallied her cheerleading friends to start spreading rumors. By the time you walked through the gymnasium doors attached to Anakin’s arm, everyone had made up their mind about you. You’re nothing but a slut and a man-stealer.

It’s unnerving having so many eyes on you at once. It’s like they all have a radar when Anakin walks into a room. He’s just that magnetic of a man. And he’s used to it. But it makes you uncomfortable and Anakin can sense it.

“Are you alright?”

You swallow and plaster on an unconvincing smile. “‘M fine.”

“Hey,” Anakin says gently. He cups your elbows and rubs his thumbs over your arms. “We’re all dressed up, you look stunning and I’m having a particularly great hair day. They might as well look at us. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Maroon 5’s Moves Like Jagger thrumming in your ears makes it difficult to think or to argue. Anakin is right. You didn’t spend $120 on an aquamarine dress for nothing. “Fine,” you concede. “But if I hear people talking about me, can we leave and go to Denny’s?”

“They’re going to talk about you, angel,” Anakin kisses you on the cheek. “It’s just how it is. But none of it means a thing. C’mon, let’s dance.”

You dance for about twenty minutes before needing to get something to drink. Of course it’s the same time Anakin meets up with his football friends, leaving you at the snack table with a target on your back. Serena and Molly, Padmé’s closest friends slither up next to you.

“Hey, Slut,” Serena jeers. That insult was bound to reach your ears sooner or later. It’s by no means true or accurate but they don’t care. They’re not about to bad mouth Anakin.

“So… you and Anakin, huh?” Molly begins. “He’s a bit out of your league, isn’t he?”

“Don’t worry, Mol. She’s just his rebound. He’s gonna get back with Padmé when he realizes what a loser she is. No offense,” Serena adds insincerely.

“That definitely felt like something you wanted me to take offense to,” you say. You scan the gym for Anakin, hoping he’ll see the situation you’re in and rescue you. But when you put it like that, you sound so pathetic. You can get out of this yourself. “And I’m not his rebound.”

“No?” Molly puts her hands on his hips. “That’s not what I heard…”

No, you tell yourself. Don’t indulge her. Whatever she has to say isn’t true.

Serena laughs at you. “You don’t honestly think Anakin actually likes you, do you? He’s just using you to make Padmé jealous. You’re all part of his plan to get her back.”

Even though you know Serena is lying, her words still manage to plant seeds of doubt in you. But they don’t know anything about you and Anakin. There is something special kindling between the two of you. Anakin cares about you. It’s in the way he drops off a Dirty Chai latte on your porch before going to school. It’s written in the notes he stealthily slips into your locker when he says he’s going to the bathroom in the middle of class. It’s the sweatshirts he lets you borrow and the sleepless movie nights eating buttery popcorn and stale Red Vines over the last two weekends.

“You’re wrong,” you say with a slight quiver in your lip. You hate how Serena has made you question everything with Anakin. If it’s all just for show then why does he kiss you when no one is watching? Why did he insist on keeping your new relationship private if not to nurture your budding romance without prying eyes?

He’s ashamed of you.

Then why did he ask you to the dance?

To humiliate you in front of the whole school.

This is just a game to him. Your embarrassment is the prize.

“Aw, I think we hurt Little Miss Americana’s feelings,” Molly feigns a sad face, dragging her finger down her cheek as if it’s a fallen tear. “I hate to make it worse but it looks like he and Padmé might be making up right now.”

Molly and Serena point in Anakin’s direction, where he is indeed speaking with Padmé. It’s the first time you’ve seen her all night and she looks breathtaking. Her chocolate hair is curled to perfection, bouncy locks cascading over her shoulders. A plunging neckline draws your eyes down her chest and seriously, she was allowed to wear this to a high school dance?

She’s throwing her head back dramatically, as if Anakin just told her the joke of the year. And then— dear God, you want to throw up— he’s hugging her. You count the seconds. 1…2…3… you can’t watch it anymore. You turn away from Serena and Juliette abruptly and make your way out of the gymnasium.

“So long, slut,” Serena waves.

The brisk October air assaults your skin and invades your lungs, but it’s welcomed compared to the betrayal you feel coursing through your veins. Is this the end of Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince? You’ve only had a month with him but you want a dozen more. You’ve barely had time to discover what your relationship could become.

Perfect pearls of salt begin falling down your cheeks. How could you have been so lovelorn? How could you have gotten it all wrong? You were too blinded by Anakin’s charm to see that it was always meant to be temporary.

“Y/N!” Anakin calls for you. He spots you sitting on the curb with your head in your hands.

A little piece of him crumbles. Someone has hurt you. Little does he know it was him who did.

He rushes over to you and lays his arm over your back as he sits down. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You let yourself relish in the feeling of having his protective arm around you. It might be the last time. “Go back inside.”

“No,” Anakin replies, tilting your face toward him with a finger beneath your chin. “You’ve been crying.”

“What an astute observation, Anakin.”

Okay, so apparently you’re going back to the days when you hated each other. Right. Great. Why?

“You’re… mad at me…?” Anakin thinks out loud.

“I’m-” you stand abruptly, making you dizzy as all of the blood rushes out of your head. You wait until you can see clearly before continuing to speak. “I’m confused, Anakin! I’m angry at myself for falling for you, I’m angry at myself for being so naïve in thinking this was as real for you as it was for me. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid-”

Anakin stands as well. Clearly, something happened in the gymnasium. Someone said something to you. Or you saw something that wasn’t what it seemed. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Padmé.”

“Are over,” Anakin emphasizes.

“But…” you close your eyes, replaying the scene you saw before you. Padmé laughing, Anakin bringing her in for a hug… it was all so friendly.

“But you saw us hug?” Anakin asks calmly. You nod. “But you didn’t hear me?”

“No,” you reply shamefully.

“I told her that I don’t want to get back together with her. My relationship with her was the first real one I’ve had and it taught me a lot, but it is not what I want. It��s not what I need. She is not who I want or who I need.”

“Ani…”

Anakin shakes his head. “I’m not done. Look, I know we’re only 18 and I know we have our whole lives ahead of us but let’s not think about that. Think about right now,” Anakin grabs your hands. “This is real for me. You’re my favorite person to spend time with. I’m so fucking excited that everyone at this fucking school knows we’re together because now I can kiss you whenever I want. I can push you up against the lockers and make out with you until we get yelled at by Mr. Windu.”

That makes you giggle. You can totally hear Mr. Windu telling you to get off of each other before he gives you both detention.

“I don’t have to be so fucking sneaky with putting notes in your locker. You can wear my Varsity jacket at games. We can actually go out to a restaurant and go on a date. Don’t give up on us, baby. We’ve only just begun.”

It’s not a proclamation of love or anything, but it’s enough. Everyone wants Anakin Skywalker and that seems to be your crime. You stole him before anyone else had the chance.

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#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fan fiction #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker imagine #modern!anakin skywalker #modern anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fanfiction

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evankinard · 1 year

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Thinking about the beginning of Buck and Eddie's story and how they started with a very specific promise of protection. And the most interesting thing about it was that it wasn't the most straightforward one either! It wasn't "I will always have your back", it was "you can have my back any day", and this immediately set them apart from every other relationship in their lives. Because sure, it would've been sweet for them to promise to protect each other, but it wouldn't have been anything extraordinary because they make that promise to all sorts of people in their lives every day. These are two men who are both protectors through and through - Buck, whose entire life purpose was to save and fix other people, and Eddie, who was a father, eldest son, and soldier before he was anything else - but at that moment they looked at each other and said: "You. You are the one I will let save me."

And the most incredible thing is that that's exactly what they did! For the next five seasons, they have very deliberately and importantly been shown to be each other's safety net through every single hurdle life threw at them. I don't think there's been a single plot point with Buck or Eddie that didn't have the other involved in at least a supporting role. (Even with their parents, both of them are seen being a listening ear for the other. Even with Ana and Taylor, it's them giving the other the push needed to break things off. The sperm donor storyline was sort of unique in that Eddie wasn't shown as having that big of a reaction (at least so far) but it also turned out that Buck didn't really need support, he needed advice and Hen was the best person for that. Being a sperm donor wasn't an emotionally challenging decision once he made it, so he didn't need Eddie's support.)

I know for a lot of us it felt like in 612 they were finally making it textually crystal clear, with Buck quite literally fleeing his apartment and escaping to Eddie for comfort, that buddie are each other's safe place. But this has been the foundation of their relationship the entire time and the show has never shied away from it. And it is absolutely the reason why they are soulmates and life partners in every sense of the word. How beautiful is it for two men who have spent their entire lives feeling alone and unwilling to burden others for fear of being too much to look at each other and go I will let you bear the ugliest parts of me and trust that your love is not conditional.

#this is the thing that has been swimming in my brain since recovery aired #and i still dont think i put it into words as well i would have liked but GOD i feel insane #911 fox #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #weewoo brainrot

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kay-elle-cee · 5 months

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Okay @sunshinemarauder and @athenasparrow, I believe you both requested silence and patience, pining in anticipation from the Taylor prompt list, so here you go!

Read here on ao3 or under the cut!

“It’s been a shit few months, that’s for sure,” Sirius commiserates, sloshing his third glass of firewhiskey.

James throws a shot back, grimacing. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Cheer up, mate.” Sam slides another shot across the table. “You’re better off. I mean…four months and she just moves onto the reserve Chaser after your injury? Fuck her.”

Lily’s quiet, nodding and agreeing with the pair of them. She could add to it…but it might be damning, so she doesn’t. It’s when Sam and Sirius leave to get a new round of drinks, levitating the empties away, that she gets pulled in.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“No I’m not.”

“Go on,” James prods, a bitter smile curling his lips. “I know you never really cared much for Amy.”

“It’s not that I didn’t—“ The liquor has been flowing too much tonight and those damn eyes of his are fully on her and she almost admits something. She clears her throat as a cover for her interruption. “I guess I just sensed it wasn’t right.”

He sighs, leaning back in chair. “It’s more of a bruise to my ego than anything “

“Oh, we can’t have that.” Her lips quirk up as she takes another sip of her drink, and with his head thrown back and attention off her, she allows herself to look at him. A pang of sadness wraps its way around her heart.

She was with Dirk by the time she realized what she wanted from James. And she had tried to push that down, truly. And when things eventually crumbled, James was…well, he was enjoying his newly minted stardom, and she couldn’t fault him for that.

Lily had told herself that she wasn’t waiting for him, but after three years of half-hearted relationships and a few one night stands, it was painfully obvious (hopefully only to her) that she was just…undoubtedly hung up on James Potter.

“I think I’m done with the whole…dating thing. For a while anyway.”

This pulls her out of her mind, his head snapping up and gaze meeting hers. She blinks. “Oh?”

“Haven’t really been quite successful, have I?”

“Four months is nothing to sneeze at,” she shrugs.

“I suppose. It’s longer than anything you’ve had.”

She offers him a soft, sad smile. It stings, but more for her unsaid feelings than for any of the men who had wandered in and out of her life.

James’ face pales as his brain catches up to his mouth. “Shit. Sorry. It’s the firewhiskey. I didn’t mean to be an arse.”

“You’re not wrong.” Downing the rest of her drink, Lily pushes the glass away only to have James grab her hand.

“Right or not, I shouldn’t have said that.” His thumb brushes against her skin, making her a little breathless, and his eyes almost implore her to hear him. “I’m sorry, Lil.” There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach, and she finds she has to look away.

“So no more dating, huh?”

“I think…” he trails, staring at somewhere near their hands, “I’ve just been attracting women who were attracted to my status, not to me, you know?”

“I mean, yeah.” James’ attention snaps to her quizzically. “Could you not…see that? Hanging over you when the press was around, anytime we were in public, but being more aloof in private? Using your name to get you into bars and clubs? And I know you made up this whole story about why you stopped bringing women by the manor—”

“Didn’t want to get mum and dad’s hopes up…” he mutters.

“It’s because of how greedily they looked at everything, and we both know it. Sirius and Remus, too,” she throws in for good measure.

“Merlin, was it that obvious?”

“Yes. Did you really not see it?”

“I mean, I must’ve. I’m—I know I’ve taken my fair share of bludgers to the head but I got seven N.E.W.T.s, I’m not a dumb bloke.”

“No one would ever call you dumb. Maybe oblivious sometimes, but not dumb.” She slides her hand out from under his with much mental protest, drumming her nails on the rim of her empty glass.

“But I don’t know…I guess I just thought I’d lean into the spotlight a bit. Maybe it’s what I thought came with the territory.” There’s a mix of sadness and bitterness in his voice. “But I guess that’s all gone to pot now, with the shoulder injury and all.”

“They’re keeping you on ‘til the end of the season though, right?”

“They’ve got to, it’s in my contract.”

“Well then you have time to figure things out,” Lily smiles. “You’ve got those seven N.E.W.T.s after all, and the family business. And the relationship thing…it’ll come. Your fame doesn’t matter; you’ll find someone who is mad about the real you. Don’t lose hope.”

“Don’t think I’m in danger of that with you around.” He flashes her a smile that’s equal parts warm and sarcastic, and fully makes her stomach flip. His eyes sweep her face for a moment before he drops his head back, face towards the ceiling with his eyes closed. “Of course you’re right. You’re always right.” He lets out a humorless laugh.

Unbidden, an image of a younger Lily flits into her mind, shouting by a lake.

“Not always.”

“Yes always. You’re not afraid to call me on my shit, Evans, and I love that about you. Even when it’s embarrassingly public.” He laughs quietly again, sliding a hand down his face, and Lily wonders how their minds immediately jumped to the same incident. “Merlin, d’you remember you once called me a toerag in front of half the bloody school before swearing off of me? I could never bring myself to be mad, though—you were right and I was being a little shit.”

“I didn’t”—she licks her lips nervously, battling a hysterical rise of laughter—“swear off of you.”

“Sure you did. Rather go out with the Giant Squid, wasn’t it?”

All the noise around them in the pub has died away. Now it’s only the two of them…and a high-pitched sort of ringing in Lily’s ears.

“That was me turning you down then. Not…forever.”

His head snaps up and their eyes meet—his nestled under a furrowed brow, swirling dark and molten, the brightness of the light honey flecks twinkling in the deep green. It’s as though the air around her has grown thinner, her lungs having to work twice as hard to breathe.

“What’re you—“

“Fucking finally!” Sirius exclaims, collapsing into his seat as Sam levitates a new tray of drinks—several shots and some tankards of butterbeer for winding down the night—onto the table.

“Bartender was making puppy eyes at a hen party and I thought this one here was going to lose his mind if it took another minute,” Sam laughs, pushing two shots over to Sirius.

Lily hears them, but doesn't really register anything. No, she and James are still caught in a magnetizing stare across the table, furrowed brow giving way to something shocked as understanding dawns. She wants to look away, wants to hide the blush of mortification that’s crawling up her neck at her clunky confession, but she can’t.

Three years of playing it mostly cool, down the drain.

But still, there’s something in those eyes that doesn’t let her heart crash and burn. There’s something there, accompanied by the subtle upward curve of his lips, that makes her stomach tremble with anticipation.

Hope.

#jily #jple #James potter #Lily evans #Kelsey writes

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twirlingsmilingwriting · 4 months

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Hunger Games Characters as Taylor Swift songs PART 2!!

I know these aren't popular like the fan fiction on my account but I love mixing my music and intrests so ima do a PART TWO

Johanna Mason

Mad Woman- Taylor Swift, Folklore

"Does a scorpion sting when fighting back? They strike to kill and you know I will"

Honestly, it's so hard to find just one lyric in this song that I felt like truly highlights her because the whole song is literally her. Especially the last verse. Like "'Cause you took everything from me, Watchin' you climb, Watchin' you climb Over people like me The master of spin Has a couple side flings Good wives always know She should be mad Should be scathing like me" THAT JUST FEELS SO MUCH LIKE HOW SHE VIEWS SNOW. He took everything from her and she was just sitting back ready to take him and the rest of the capital down with it. Also, I love her.

Katniss Everdeen

Eyes Open- Taylor Swift, Red

"In backyards, winning battles with our wooden swords. But now we've stepped into a cruel world. Where everybody stands and keeps score"

OKAY ADMITTEDLY THIS IS A SELL OUT BECAUSE THIS SONG WAS ON THE HUNGER GAMES OTHER SOUND TRACK BUT, it is quite literally her song. Side note but this song is so sad but sounds so happy. I love when Ms. Swift does songs like this. But yeah from the first verse describing how they were just kids then one day got thrown into the cruel and harsh world of the hunger games. Also the part talking about "they never thought you'd make it this far" makes so much sense because the girl from district 12 is always seen as the runt of the picks, the one who isn't supposed to win, BUT SHE DID!! Honestly, if yall can think of another song that fits her character please let me know. I have some honorable mentions

A Place in This World- Debut: honestly, I think this song really describes her thought process going into the hunger games. She was just trying to survive and keep her family safe. Even when she was thrown into being the head figure of the Revolution, she never wanted that position, she just got thrown into it. She was just walking along the path set for her. Even the line "maybe I'm just a girl on a mission but I'm ready to fly" makes sense to me because she IS the mocking jay.

Only Me When I'm With You- Debut: So Peniss coded (Peeta X Katniss)

I Know Places- 1989: Also Peniss coded

I Did Something Bad- Reputation: Killing president coin, pushing forth with the revolution,

Sujanus Plinth

Only The Young- Taylor Swift, Miss Americana

"You did all that you could do, the game was rigged, the ref got tricked, the wrong ones think they're right. You were outnumbered, this time"

Honestly, the whole thing reminds me of his reaction to the games. Also the whole song is about how only the young can change the future and Sujanus's character really showed that spirit. He was trying to make a change but unfortunately, he trusted the whole people and the odds were stacked against him.

Haymitch Abernathy

Champagne Problems- Taylor Swift, Evermore

""This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me"

He has em. Simple as that. (alcoholism)

Seriously though this song reminds me of him more so because of the concept of it. Champagne problems is a term used to describe issues that seem rather trivial, unimportant, and I feel like a lot people tend to disregard all the genuine things Haymitch had gone through. The story of the song also is about a marriage that never happened, it also has undertones of lost family and friends. As we know, Haymitch lost his girlfriend and family to the capital. He never got to marry her because she was taken from him.

Lucy Gray

My Tears Ricochet- Taylor Swift, Folklore

"And I still talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky. And when you can't sleep at night you hear my stolen lullabies"

LETS BE HONEST, SHE IS SO FOLK-EVERMORE CODED. I could dissect this song for ages explaining why it's the perfect example of what Lucy Gray would be saying indirectly to Snow. Firstly,

"Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day"

CUZ NO SHE DID NOT DESERVE WHAT SNOW PUT HER THROUGH. She loved him truly, deeply, but when it came down to it, she knew she could never trust him. Especially with the position he put her in. She could go anywhere she wants but not home after Snow made it seem like she killed the mayors daughter. And then the part

"I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And you're the hero flying around, saving face And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet"

She didn't go with grace. She left in a flash, deep with mystery. She has to hide for the rest of her life while he gets to be the proud hero and savior to Panem. The second half of the main chorus is so true to how Coryo was acting when they were in the forest in that last scene. He was quite literally cursing her name, wishing she'd stayed.

"You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me"

JEWELS? HER EARRING??? HELLOOOOOOOO and then the "as you bury me" HE DOESN'T KNOW IF SHE DEAD OR NOT BUT IF SHE IS, HE KILLED HER. HE BURRED HER AND TOOK HER EARRING.

"But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)"

She had such a hold on him, he still remembers her years later, haunted by her memory. the song constantly references the "Haunting". The "I still talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky" reminded me of the way the mocking jays carried her voice all around the sky. And the last line was so clearly connecting to 'The Hanging Tree' in my brain. Many years later, Katniss sang the same song she did to lead a rebellion against him. His life is haunted by her memories and cursed by it. He can't escape her anywhere.

The tears he made her spill simply ricocheted into bullets that hit him instead.

Effie Trinket

Bejeweled- Taylor Swift, Midnights

"Best believe I'm still bejeweled. When I walk in the room,I can still make the whole place shimmer"

MS. EFFIE TRINKET IS THE BADDEST BITCH BRO OMG I LOVEEEEE HER. STYLE ICON. Listen, no matter what happens to that woman, shes gonna shine. A diamonds gotta SHINE. She is always the most sparkly, eye catching person out there at ALL TIMES! Even without all the glitz and glamour she is still so iconic. She is ALWAYS bejeweled.

#tbosas #the hunger games #taylor swift #song lyrics #lucy gray baird #katniss everdeen #sejanus plinth #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #johanna mason #thg series #thg

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doll-elvis · 11 months

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Why did Elvis not have full sex with a lot of women he dated

some of y’all’s questions never fail to make my mouth drop- but thank you for the ask!! 😃

I actually do think this is an interesting subject although a little awkward to discuss so I just wanna say a disclaimer:

I obviously didn’t know Elvis in real life, I’m not a psychologist, and only Elvis knows why he did the things he did, all we can do is speculate based on the sources that we have

so based on what I have read I think the reason he often preferred foreplay as opposed to penetrative s*x had to do with both his physical body and his religious/southern/conservative upbringing

According to Lamar Fike “He didn’t like penetration that much because he was uncircumcised, and sometimes intercourse tore his foreskin and he’d bleed”

Marty Lacker also commented “Elvis was a little ashamed of being uncircumcised. Maybe he thought it was old-fashioned or kind of country. He mentioned once that s*x was a little painful sometimes because the foreskin tore”

Elvis was born at home and Gladys and Vernon, like many parents, couldn’t afford to have the procedure done. For some reason there is a stigma against uncircumcised men in the U.S and I often see it being associated with uncleanliness (which is probably why Elvis showed Joyce Bova how he cleaned it, iykyk🤧) However for Elvis I think he also saw it as a mark of his impoverished upbringing like Marty Lacker suggested and reportedly Elvis referred to little Elvis as a “hillbilly pecker”

And in the later years I understand that the prescription medication often made Elvis impotent, also I’m sure he just suffered from general exhaustion considering how much performed

Lamar Fike said “Dr. Nick wasn’t giving Elvis testosterone just to make him more virile onstage. Shit, no. He gave it to him for impotence. You couldn’t dope up that much and get a hard-on if Elizabeth Taylor stuck her ass in your face”

Peggy Lipton who he briefly dated said: “A heavy making out and petting session ensued. The petting went on for a quite a while. And then we made love. Or tried to… he was virtually impotent because of the drugs”

However I think it’s untrue to say that Elvis never enjoyed intercourse. According to Barbara Leigh whenever her and Elvis hooked up they would often consummate twice in one night. Joyce Bova and Diana Goodman also gave some very descriptive and frequent stories of their s*x life with him in their books 👀 and of course there have been a lot more women who have said they went all the way with him

Sheila Ryan said “We did have a very active passionate romantic life. Sometimes more than I was ready for, prepared for. Sometimes I was tired and it was ‘no, no, no’. So, you know, I’m really surprised to hear that other women had a problem with the lack of intimacy and s*x”

(once again I wish I was Sheila Ryan in the 70s !!)

Anyways, as I said before I also think his religious and southern upbringing had a lot to do with how he viewed s*x

Joe Esposito said “Despite his s*xual escapades, Elvis had a disarming naïveté when it came to women and s*x. Deep down, he believed s*x and fatherhood were for marriage”

Elvis was raised in and believed in a culture where s*x was strictly for marriage and so he simply found other ways to please himself. I also think he occasionally felt religious guilt for acting out s*xually so that is why he sometimes tried to be fully abstinent, like that one time in the 60s he told Priscilla that he had to learn to control himself from lust

Y’all know when Lana Del Rey said in the national anthem monologue “I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him”?

That quote has always reminded me of Elvis😭!!

I think he was stuck between his love for women (plus the fact that so many were available to him) and his religious upbringing (believing that s*x and virginity were something sacred)

what do y’all think?

#thank you for the ask!!#never did I think I would use a Lana del rey song to explain why Elvis liked foreplay #just Elvis things #Elvis anecdotes #I wish someone had told Elvis how uncommon circumcision is in other countries 😭#he would have been thriving on a European tour #elvisaaronpresley #elvis #Elvis asks #elvis presley

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theblogtini · 5 months

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This will be a long ask lol, but I just wanted to say that I think a reason that I am over Harry and Meghan is because the entire country is over them. I mean, Omids book and naming the “rAcIsT rOyAlS” should be a huge deal, but outside of H&M tumblr and royal circles, no one cares! I haven’t seen many, if anyone at all talking about their claims against Catherine.

Enough time has passed after George Floyd and the Oprah interview, and the heightened emotions those events stirred, that people have moved past Harry and Meghan’s claims. And now people feel more comfortable calling out parts of their story that never made sense or added up; as well as feeling comfortable enough to say they are done with the whining. And they could not have picked a worse time for this “bombshell”, as we are grappling with what is happening in Gaza and our upcoming elections. Heck, even the entertainment industry and pop enthusiasts don’t care…they only care about the romance between Taylor Seift and Travis Kelce 😭

Like, at this point, I don’t even care about them getting their karma, I kind of feel like being absolutely irrelevant is almost punishment enough lol.

I think another contributing factor is Meghan and Harry themselves.

When it first came out, after nearly a year of silence, it was shocking! But now - after 3 years of continuous bitching, whining, lying, etc people are like "Oh you know what... that first bit... I don't think that was true. And all the stuff after that, definitely not true."

Harry and Meghan's biggest problem is that they didn't quit when they were ahead. They should have just done the Oprah interview and then shut their mouths. People would still be on their side.

But they just. kept. going.

And the more they talked, the more holes they put in their own story... and the more annoying they got.

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spade-riddles · 6 months

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Hi Spade;

I have been reviewing the 🎃 thread along with some other ideas, and here are my thoughts

-If we believe her Midnights album was her metaphorical transitioning from the closet/the idea of two personas of her (her public performance art and actual private life), starting with Lavender Haze speaks volumes. The album was still released when she and Joe were together and she was very private. She also hasn't finished acquiring her Master's back yet, which I believe is what she wants before considering fully coming out based on the Spades timeline and Lover release. Anyway....

I don't recall any songs previously talking about daughters or sons in law. She specifically references a daughter in law in Anti-Hero. This makes me think she is referencing a future daughter in law to a son that already exists (Karlie). Karlie also showed up to her last LA show, clearly intending to be seen in the general audience...what. weeks postpartum???? To someone she hasn't talked to in ages? Also.... Taylor was NOTABLY private during this time..to hide suspicion of her new family??? The rubies that 🎃 gave up?? Being recognized as a mother, being able to be public about her child? Very speculative but fascinating. It seems as though she did something drastic to protect them. "🎃's not a hero, but..." we all know Taylor as the type of person to fiercely protect those she loves. She describes herself as self conscious and terrified of her own shadow in AH, as 🎃 does in the Selfish Asshole narrative. But not when it comes to protecting the people she cares about. Her lover was ready to make the sacrifice, but 🎃 refused to let her as she had already been through enough (toxic relationship with Kushner?)

Connect this with the imagery of a safe home, literal buns in the oven from the 🎃 post-- (all shortly posted after Karlie's second pregnancy announcement); with the story of the person who essentially quit their job too soon (Joe) and threatening to out her (also possibly Joe). I've gotten the vibe ever since the relationship ended, before even discovering all of the 🎃 today that perhaps it was toxic and made her retreat into herself because she has been glowing post ending-of-Joe. If so, then spidey senses aligned. Perhaps it was toxic for them both to be in the situation, I don't know. Joe clearly never really spoke about her or referenced her in any of his public appearances. Maybe someone caught on.

It also makes the onset of Travis make more sense, especially because it started with him seeking her out and friendship bracelets ETC (seems like a savvy PR strategy..). Matty was damage control and it showed; but her relationship with Ice Spice has flourished and that is awesome.

I also come back to 🎃's comments in #4 and #5; with Travis (also similar behavior to 1989 TV, read some awesome theories on her using this as a similar time frame to prove a point about the media being ready to do it all over again). That we should roll these new ideas around in our head (Travis, 1989TV Prologue) but hang on to what feels right while the rest of her plan plays out and she is safe. My assumption is the full acquisition of her masters; my further assumption is that Scooter (the enemy, though could also have dual representation with Josh maybe?) has been threatening her with blackmail this entire time. Additionally, these later messages are timed around Halloween, the same time of her 1989 TV release (if you count Halloweekend).

It seems the end is for 🎃 to fully embrace herself; again, perhaps at the release of her last TV album - and end the dual version of herself, although this seems confusing for her. I imagine the pain 🎃 experiences with the doorknob is the fear people calling her a hypocrite all these years; to her losing a theoretical amount fans (would be catastrophic for her as we know in Miss Americana). But it sounds like the end reasoning is visibility is resolution.

Thanks for reading.

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vianwrites · 2 months

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So, I decided to continue with that previous Trimberly fanfic I did? And, this time it's on Kimberly's side of the story...so, yeah...ended up making it multi-chapter? Sort of? I'm not really sure how well I am doing with this, but I hope I am doing well.

Anyways, here's the second part/companion piece to Eyes Open (Trini's Version). The title of this one is Jump and Fall (Kimberly's Version)...and, yeah, pulling titles from Taylor Swift's discography because, why not? Will be postin this on AO3 and Wattpad as well. Anywho...this fic goes like this:

Kimberly Hart sat at her desk in her room, the soft vibrant hues of the cloudy afternoon sun basked her room with enough light that she didn’t need to open the lamp by her desk. She sat there for a reason, had been seated at her desk for much of the afternoon already. And, in all honesty, she should have been focusing on the opened textbooks in front of her, on the notebooks strewn haphazardly on her desk, on school assignments demanding her attention. But they ended up all fading to the background, like they were unimportant set pieces. Instead of diving into algebraic equations or historical dates, grammar and the proper use of punctuation, Kimberly found herself lost in a maze of thoughts and emotions as she tapped to a random rhythm with her pen.

It had been a whirlwind these past few months—months that felt like years. A whirlwind of emotions and events. It had been months since she made that brash and reckless action—some would call it a boneheaded move, a social suicide—that ended up destroying her reputation, getting her status as the ‘Queen Bee’ revoked and made her a pariah in school. That led her to a path she never dreamed would even be one possible to trudge on. It was so impossible and fantastical and something straight out of a comic book. It also led her to people—outcasts and misfits, like herself—that she would form a connection with. To people she would call her “family” and would call her theirs.

If she were to be honest, it felt like a lifetime ago. She felt as though the person she was then and the person she was now were from two different alternate universes. And, in the midst of all the drama, all the training and the struggles of trying to morph and the disappointment and frustration that came with failing to do so, witnessing a friend die and be revived, and almost dying herself in the process of defending their town...yeah, she would like to think that she had changed quite a bit. All the Rangers—Jason, Billy, Zack, and Trini—had.

But, in the midst of her thoughts of her journey as the Pink Ranger thus far, there was one thing that stood out to her as clear as daylight: the surprising bond she had forged with Trini Gomez, the Yellow Ranger. It was, if she was being honest, she had never thought Trini would be her closest in their friend group. After all, Trini wasn’t exactly easy to get along with. At least, not from the start.

The lonesome girl had been wary of her, and for good reasons. Still, they did end up getting along and now she considers Trini her best friend and knows the other girl thinks of her that way as well.

Suffice to say, it wasn’t the first time the Yellow Ranger wormed her way into the other girl’s thoughts.

Still, no matter how many times it has happened, it always managed to surprise her. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, so it wasn’t something she comes to expect at times or even sought after. But, regardless, it always had a way of creeping up to her. Sometimes it came slowly and insidiously. Other times it came like a freight train that comes barreling with such unstoppable speed and force. Regardless of how those thoughts invaded, they were always impossible to ignore. There was just something about Trini—her strong sense of individuality and fierce independence, rebelliousness to conforming to societal norms and social hierarchies, the confidence she seemed to carry that belied her years, and the juxtaposition she found with her hardened facade to her soft caring attitude.

She was captivated by the way Trini carried herself; captivated by the way her lips would quirk into a genuine smile—often a rare occasion to others, but one that had become somewhat of a norm recently whenever they have hung out together; captivated by the way Trini had been treating her as of late.

And yet behind that ruggedness that she showed and the lone wolf attitude she had initially portrayed, Kimberly found a multi-faceted girl that drew her in, like a moth to that proverbial flame.

When Trini was with her, Kimberly couldn't shake the feeling of solace and peace she felt. It was like a warm embrace, a fluffy blanket of comforting presence in the midst the hectic chaos that their life had become. At the same time, there was always something lingering—like a spark just about ready to ignite—whenever they interacted, making her feel something akin to an adrenaline rush. Kimberly found herself seeking out Trini's gaze, drawn to the warmth and depth of her brown eyes, deep and soulful.

As the Pink Ranger sat there in her room, she couldn’t help but wonder why she felt that way about Trini. Why did she crave Trini's approval, seek out her company, cherish each interaction they had together? Why did she feel a sense of loss whenever Trini wasn't around. Like a piece of her was, not necessarily incomplete but, missing? It wasn’t like that with the other Rangers. And, to be honest, she doesn’t remember it being the same way with anybody else. Well, there was somebody else, but that was before he cheated on her and—

—And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit her.

This undeniable attraction she felt towards Trini was more than just admiration, more than just respect. It felt like it had morphed—pardon the pun—from something more than just friendship and a sense of camaraderie. It was now something deeper, more profound; something simple but yet oh so complicated. Something she had never felt before with another girl.

She had feelings for Trini. Feelings that went beyond platonic, more than just mere friendship.

The thought terrified her. Her mind couldn’t quite wrap itself around such an epiphany. She had never considered herself anything but straight. She had never entertained nor imagined the thought of being attracted to another girl, much more falling in love with one. But, as she sat there in her mess of a room it, strangely and jarringly, made undeniable sense to her, like puzzle pieces being put in quick succession into place.

It frightened her as much as it elated her. It made her heart skip a bit and thundered between her rib cage. Her chest constricting and breath hitching at the realization of her own desires; of acknowledging the possibility of her own queerness and sexuality and of the path her heart had suddenly decided to open up for her.

As she wrestled with these conflicting emotions, she caught glimpse of the photo she had tacked on the wall near her desk: the photo of the Power Rangers, taken as a group, during the celebratory campfire they had after Rita’s defeat. Her eyes gravitated and fixated themselves on Trini standing next to her in the photograph, grinning widely, skin glowing with the light of the campfire’s flames, and memories of her interactions with the shorter girl flooded her mind—from their first exchange and the chase that followed and every memory since.

But one memory stood out above all others: that night at the campfire.

In the midst of Zack’s suggestion to share about themselves—a proposition that irked Kimberly at that time despite what merits may be gained, what with not wanting to talk about the whole Amanda-thing and the shame that came with what she had done—in the hopes that they would trust each other more and be able to morph, Kimberly witnessed the strength and resilience beneath the tough exterior of one Trini Gomez. She saw the vulnerability and uncertainty hidden behind Trini’s bravado. After all, it takes quite a lot of courage to speak up about one’s insecurities the way the shorter girl had.

In that moment, Kimberly had felt a sense of awe and wonder at Trini, whom she initially thought was just someone with a lot of pent up rage and angst personified in such a small body. She felt something begin to form with the Yellow Ranger and with her desire to try and emulate such strength and get to know Trini further, get her to share more, to open up more.

That connection solidified itself and grew into actual friendship when Trini pulled her locker door out of its hinges after it had been vandalized and had offered her own locker for Kimberly to use. It was an act that she didn’t think she would be receiving from anyone. Certainly not something Trini would instigate without much egging. Granted, she didn’t know much about the girl at that time, but up until then Trini was pretty much aloof with her. They talked, yes, but she didn’t get a sense that the girl had any desire to be protective of her outside of their training until that moment. So, yes, that had come as a surprise. So much so that she distinctly remembered herself being at a loss for words.

And now, as Kimberly sat there in her room, her heart heavy and wrestling with longing and uncertainty, she couldn’t help but wonder what it now all meant for her. Did she really crave for something more? It did feel that way. Did she want to do something about it? More importantly, does Trini feel the same way? Does she want to risk what she had with Trini in favor of what they could have if the feeling was mutual? What would her parents say? What would everyone think? So many questions, one after the other, bubbled up to the forefront of her mind.

Any other day and those questions would have been ones she would be avoiding for weeks, pushing it to the back of her mind in favor of what little bit of normalcy was left in her life. After all, things were changing too fast, she wanted to slow down a bit. But now, there was nothing to occupy her mind with. It was simply fixated on the possibilities that lay before her...that was, if Trini did feel the same way.

And, she knew she was reckless. She knew it was, perhaps, her fatal flaw. Her recklessness was often tied to her emotional state—on what she was feeling at the moment and that energy being converted into some spontaneous action. It was that recklessness that often landed her into all sorts of messes in the past, and would no doubt continue to do so in the future. Especially when she does something without fully analyzing the consequence her actions would bring to herself or to others.

It was that sudden impulsiveness that had Kimberly reach for her phone, unlock it, and with trembling fingers type out and send a message to Trini without so much as second guessing what she was doing.

“Hey Trini, can we talk? It’s important.”

Yeah, if things went south, she could blame it on that. Or own up to it with the fact that one of the things she had learned with this whole ordeal with Rita was she shouldn’t take things for granted; that when the time to act came, she must be decisive about it, act on it. No regrets. Because you only live once, and once should be enough.

As recent as the revelation of her feelings for her best friend was, Kimberly felt it was time for her to come into terms with them, to explore them, to understand them and herself. And who better to do that with than Trini? She just hoped the other girl felt the same way.

As the three dots appeared on her messenger signifying Trini writing a message, Kimberly felt a rush of adrenaline course through her veins.

Yes, this was uncharted territory for her. She didn’t know where this would lead her. It was the same with becoming the Pink Ranger and, well, she’d like to think she handled that as well as it she could—maybe even better than she think she would, all things considered.

Yeah, positive thoughts and all that.

With that thought in mind, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, only opening them when her phone notified her of Trini’s reply.

“I’ll be there in a few,” it had said.

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jewishbarbies · 11 months

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Swifties are already shifting the blame to Joe for the way Taylor depicts their relationship because not only does there ALWAYS need to be a bad guy for them but the bad guy can never be Taylor. I’ve seen Joe being ridiculed for ‘not fighting hard enough for their relationship’ which is just insane when we simply look at Taylor’s behavior since the release of midnights. She quite literally made a whole song about how they didn’t need to be married to be any more or less in love then turns around and writes a song pouting about Joe supposedly not wanting to get married. Taylor has talked about this before that she falls in love too quickly but I don’t even think that’s the problem. Taylor is obsessed with a love that’s worth writing about, she wants good guys and bad guys and drama and pain. healthy long lasting love that requires some thought for the other person involved and emotional labor has never been exciting enough for her. moral of the story is: taylor could write a song entitled ‘joe was boring and i left him for a nazi’ and swifties would still be saying “joe wtf i can’t believe you did that to her ???”

that last line- 💀

the way they victim blame joe when taylor is very clear in her lyrics from the beginning that she’s toxic and needs to work on it, starting with shit back in reputation and lover, yet we’re supposed to believe that Joe was the toxic one now that it’s over? just because it ended? it makes no fucking sense istg.

#Asks #anonymoose #anti taylor swift #swifties dni

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artbyblastweave · 2 years

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Had a really, reeeeallly long post, which I’m gonna try to truncate here, in which I was thinking about the differences and similarities between how The Magnus Archives and Worm deal with ethics and personal agency.

In The Magnus Archives, There’s no ethical way to exist with supernatural power, there’s no ethical way to stop or impede those with supernatural power, and the only way to not get eaten alive by the pell-mell is to wash your hands of the whole thing and do your damnedest to pretend it isn’t going on just out of sight (ala Georgie and Melanie;) the ability to do that is, in itself, a fairly clear metaphor for economic privilege, and it ultimately doesn’t really work over the long haul. Everyone is fucked, everyone is without agency.

The catch is, though, that in the grand scheme of things the complete ethical cesspit presented by the fear entities doesn’t actually matter; for most of human history the “supernatural community” was tiny and self-regulating, in the sense that they were constantly killing each other off. Even the actual apocalypse that was instigated by the avatars was mostly undone within a couple of weeks by a loose-knit team of five. (with some lubrication by The Web, but still.) It simply never becomes a problem for the vast majority of people, the vast majority of the time. It’s like that post about how Rat Britain is under the floorboards and behind the walls, totally unnoticed by normal Britian. I consider it an unsatisfying but coherent ethical stance to say, “yes, monsters eating people is bad, but any action taken to highlight the problem, counter the problem or address the problem in any way is only going to make it worse, so no one should do anything.” Personally? It’s disastrous. Societally? Ultimately it turns out kinda okay.

Over in Worm, meanwhile, you’ve got the opposite situation; powers, while generally personally ruinous, can be successfully turned towards quite a few ethical ends. Parahumans often have some of their agency eroded, and powers select for people who are very likely to make bad decisions and hurt people, but it’s rarely a total, inorexable lock, and pulling yourself up out of the pit is, on an individual level, very possible. Many such sucess stories. Despite everything, you can help people. Even if you make bad choices, it’s very rare that you’ll only be presented with bad choices (which is indeed a big part of the point of Taylor’s storyline; there’s a lot of situations where she’s genuinely up against the wall, but many other situations where she just makes bad choices and behaves as though she was up against the wall.)

Societally, however, everyone is fucked. Powers are much more visible, much more impactful, much more common, and even if it’s metaphysically possible for parahumans to decide to behave ethically and be the bigger person, in a way that literally isn’t possible for Avatars, a combination of sheer numbers and actual material circumstances ensure that a ton of them can’t, don’t or won’t. Chevalier can be a noble hero who goes toe-to-toe with Kaiju in a self-sacrificial last stand that ultimately doesn’t matter. Precipice can deprogram himself from a white-supremacist cult but there’s fifty other, more powerful capes who can’t or don’t care to. Eidolon can save millions of lives every year without fixing the overall downward trajectory. Taylor can go toe-to-toe with Mannequin to stop him murdering civillians, Lisa can revitalize Brockton Bay’s economy through the portal network, and two years later it’s all burning to ground regardless.

This tension Worm has, where your ethical choices matter immediately but don’t necessarily matter in the long run, where things could be better if everyone with powers co-operated but instead everyone keeps defecting from the societal prisoners dilemma- It’s always made it a much more interesting sandbox to play around in for me than the TMA verse. In TMA you’re fucked, the point is that you’re fucked, it’s an emotional exploration of what it’s like to be that utterly fucked. That’s fine. That’s a worthy project. But in Worm, God, you can see the version of things where everything turns out all right. You can see the version of things where everyone is just a little kinder and a little smarter and a little better than they choose to be. You can work towards it by inches.

You’ll never get there, because an Endbringer will show up to trash your attempt to fix Global Warming, or Mannequin will sneak in to kill you for daring to cure cancer, or Siberian will murk the only effective idealist in the halls of power. But you can try, and it feels less laughable when you do so. Feels less like the setting is intrinsically going “ha, look at this idiot, thinking they have agency.”

People like to talk about TMA like the characters trying mattered, but Worm is the one that made me feel like it actually did.

#parahumans #worm #wildbow #not tagging this TMA because I do not have a death wish #thoughts #meta #worm thoughts #worm meta #analysis

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happi-tree · 7 months

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kiss me on the sidewalk (take away the pain)

Taylor’s dealt with enough of this tragic angst bullshit for a lifetime.

So when he hears a large thump behind him and whirls around to see Lincoln Li-Wilson collapsed on the cracked sidewalk and bleeding profusely with no healers in sight, Taylor doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, because this is not how things are supposed to go.

Or: Lincoln takes a hit for Taylor, and Taylor is left alone to hold his friend together until help arrives.

ao3

Hi, guys, new dndads fic! Wanted to get this one out before the episode drops and just barely made it in time. Enjoy some swiftli hurt/comfort!

Being the main character is not all it’s cracked up to be, sometimes.

Sometimes, you grow up never knowing your dad, but it’s all super cool because he abandoned you erased your memories of him for the plot left to protect you. Just another reason why it makes sense that Taylor Swift is the chosen one.

Well, not the Chosen One, but Taylor and his friends chose this for themselves (since nobody else was getting shit done), and he kind of thinks that’s cooler.

Anyway. Taylor is the main character of this story (because fuck Normal, real life is anime if he has anything to say about it), and he has plenty of tragedy that enables him to back this theory up.

Taylor’s nearly died a handful of times - to the point where he’s literally had his head severed from his body. He’s watched his father get cut in half, and most recently, his mom lost nearly her whole arm since he let his arch-nemesis (Willy, that fucker) get too close.

The point is, Taylor’s seen enough jacked-up shit at this point, and he can just feel the way that they’re nearly through with their quest. All that’s left, really, is to put the Big Bad in his place (six feet under, of course) and then they can timeskip to where he and his friends are all older and happy and maybe some of them are dating or married or have kids and they all meet up for dinner and drinks once a month.

Taylor’s dealt with enough of this tragic angst bullshit for a lifetime.

Golden strands of magic arc like lightning from Link’s outstretched hand toward one of the two dozen or so Doodlerized assailants that Willy decided to sic on them, and Taylor keeps its phoenix-bright comet-tail in his peripheral vision.

Just looking at Link’s light directly is enough to blind Taylor, he’s found, sprinting forward with a silent casting of Zephyr Strike as the spell goes wide.

Heh. Looks like Taylor’s newfound foe is too disoriented to prepare themself.

With two quick flashes of his blade, another body drops to the ground.

Taylor quickly divests the corpse of its gun and wills his hands to stop shaking as he flicks the safety on and pockets the weapon, turning on his heel and running back for his friend.

“H-hey, you got ‘im,” Link says weakly as Taylor kneels down in front of him. “Good job.”

“Thanks. Fuck,” Taylor says, with feeling, as he wracks his brain for any information from the countless survivalist’s first aid books he’s read over the years and coming up short because there is so much blood. Because there is a veritable puddle of red blooming around Link, and his jersey is absolutely soaked in crimson, and this really, really doesn’t look good.

Link needs Normal. Sparrow. Some sort of healer. Right fucking now.

This is bad, this is so, so bad.

“Norm!” Taylor yells, really wishing that he had the Message spell or a goddamn cell phone right now. “We could really use some heals over here, man!”

No response, which is typical, seeing as how Normal and Scary appear to be entangled with fending off their own Doodlerized opponents, and the various father figures and Dood are similarly occupied. They’re also all on the far reaches of the mall parking lot, which is, you know, par for the course at this point.

Of course having a nice, regular time introducing Dood to the concept of the teenage mall hangout would go disastrously wrong. Because clearly it was getting too slice-of-life-y in here.

Of-fucking-course.

Link inhales sharply, and Taylor’s attention snaps back to him. Link’s trying to apply pressure to the wound, hands clasped over a spot on his side and desperately attempting to keep the blood inside his body where it belongs. Taylor feels a little nauseous when he realizes his friend’s long fingers are covered in the stuff, partially-coagulated bits of his own gore caking his fingernails, smeared across his knuckles, still leaking through his hands and adding to the dark pool beneath him. The air smells suffocatingly like warm metal.

Taylor slings his go bag off his shoulder, tears through its contents until he finds a wad of medical gauze (not nearly heavy-duty enough to be effective against this, Taylor really should’ve stocked up on better supplies ages ago when they started this saving-the-world shit, but at least it’s better than nothing), and leans over his friend. “Hey,” he says, voice sharp and clipped in a way Taylor himself hardly recognizes, “let me.”

He pries one of Link’s hands away just enough to fit the whole roll of white fabric, places his hand on top of it, unfolds it a little bit to cover as much of the bullet wound as he can. He presses down hard (perhaps a bit too hard, if the way Link grunts is any indication).

“Sorry,” Taylor mutters, because he is, because it’s all he feels like he’s been saying lately.

Sorry Willy fucked with your head, Scary. Sorry I didn’t protect you enough, Mom.

Sorry you’re bleeding out and it’s all my fault because I haven’t been fast enough, smart enough, vigilant enough, anything enough.

“You can move your hands out of the way now, I’ve got it,” Taylor says, attempting to dull the spike-sharpened edge of his voice into something soft and steady with minimal success.

One of Link’s sticky hands rests limply atop Taylor’s as the other falls to the side, and Taylor kind of wants to throw up.

The hand atop Taylor’s strokes gently across the back of his hand. It leaves a messy streak of red on his paler skin.

“Hey,” Link murmurs, “It’s gonna be okay, right? You’re gonna be okay.”

Taylor’s gaze lifts to Link’s face incredulously because in what world is this okay, and his friend’s eyes - he can’t tell if they’re misting with unshed tears or if they’re fogging over, but something is clouding those honey-syrup irises and neither of the options are good at all.

Taylor presses down a little harder, just to hear Link’s breath hitch again, just to watch the way his vision seems to clear for the briefest of moments.

“Link, stay with me, man,” he commands - though this voice feels too rough and wild and wobbly to carry any sort of authority. “Just stay with me, just hang on, just stay awake, please, I can’t -”

“I will,” Link replies, wheezing a little. “I’ll - ‘ll try my best. C-can I lay down, though?”

“Yeah, dude, of course,” Taylor murmurs, trying to gesture with his head rather than his hands before giving up and saying “Put your head on my lap, okay?”

Link complies, though not without a few awkward adjustments and grunts of pain, and Taylor tries to mentally steel himself for waiting until help arrives.

God. This was supposed to just be a chill day where they could all act their age for once, let their eyes adjust to the yellow-sun-daylight, not have to worry as much about the impending threat looming over their heads.

And now, his best friend is lying atop him, bleeding out, probably minutes away from dying, and Taylor can’t do anything about it.

It’s not fair, he thinks. This isn’t even the final battle, not even a mini-boss! This is just some monster-of-the-week type of shit and now Link is dying and Taylor feels like something’s deeply broken in him, too, spilling out and slipping through every crack and crevice, gross and ugly and terrifying and they’re not even eighteen yet, not even adults, and Link is so kind and brave and loyal and strong and steady and protective and stupidly, stupidly self-sacrificial, and -

Link’s breathing is far too shallow for Taylor’s liking, or maybe that’s just the sound of his own lungs rapidly filling and deflating in his ears as he tries to think of anything to say to keep his friend awake.

Taylor’s unmoored, unsteady, adrift without Link by his side, and god, why did he let himself get this attached if all people are ever going to do is leave him, and he doesn’t want Link to die, not when he’s made Taylor’s life better in every conceivable way, and -

Taylor jolts at the feeling of something grimy and sticky and slightly clammy against his cheek.

He looks down, and Link’s clearly trying to maintain focus through the pain as he wipes some moisture off his face with his thumb.

“Hey,” Link says, soft concern made jagged by the blood attempting to seep through the gauze, between the gaps in Taylor’s fingers.

“Hey,” Taylor repeats back, helplessly, blinking away hot tears as fast as he can because blinking means not looking at Link and, god, he hadn’t even realized he was crying until now. It comes out with a wheeze, like the syllable was punched out of him, and then with a gasp, and then another, and then another, and Taylor can feel his chest constricting and fuck, how is he supposed to be any use to his friend when he can’t even breathe right?

“No, no, no, Tay, don’t - ah - cry for me,” Link says, unsteadily and ragged and so unlike the Link Taylor knows, except it’s exactly like the Link he knows, because providing reassurance is, for some goddamn reason, a priority for him even when he’s bleeding out onto the concrete and asphalt.

Taylor shudders at Link’s touch and his chest heaves as he tries to force air into his lungs, leaning into the hand that still lingers at his cheek and hoping that the wordless (undeserved) gratitude comes across.

Link is cupping the side of his face insistently, fingers brushing gently beneath his eye, up his cheekbone, tucking stringy hair behind the shell of his ear, almost as if he’s trying to memorize as much as he can by feel, immortalize his bone structure and acne scars in his mind before its gears stop turning completely. The thought rips a hole through Taylor’s chest, causes his eyes to well up with moisture and for frustrated, shame-hot rivers to wind down his cheeks.

“You’re… really adorable when you’re all -ah - pouty and frustrated, y’know,” Link says, a hazy, dreamlike quality entering his tone, and oh, no, Taylor does not like what that implies. “Not l-like this, though, I don’t like seeing you cry like this.”

“Well, don’t get yourself hurt like this, asshole!” Taylor snaps back, because really, the nerve of this guy to be dying on him and then complaining about seeing him sad.

“I had to,” Link says, gravely, simply. “I saw that guy take aim at you, and it - ah - was, it was you or me. Easy choice,” He finishes, and he has the absolute audacity to smile the slightest bit, lips turning up at the corners weakly.

“You’re a healer!” Taylor yells, face blotchy with tears and frustration. “You could’ve just healed me! I would’ve been fine!”

Taylor, not for the first time in this adventure, wishes desperately that whatever powers are at play would have granted him some magic that was actually useful, healing and wonderful and holy like Normal’s or Link’s or, hell, even powerful and dark like Scary’s, instead of just cheap party tricks that help him run away and hide.

It’s not fair that Taylor can’t give Link what the other boy has given him many times over. It’s not fair that the world feels like it’s standing still, timed to Link’s uneven breaths, and it’s something that he can’t outrun, can’t make disappear.

“Oh,” Link breathes, “Ha - ah - got me there.”

Taylor presses his hands firmly against Link’s wound, because he has to be good for this one mundane thing, at the very least, has to be of some use, somehow, sets his jaw and grits his teeth against the shame burning white-hot with infernal hellfire behind his eyes.

“I,” Link croaks, “I didn’t really think about it, then, ah, I just. Moved.” There’s a sound that sounds like a frankly awful mix between a chuckle and a wince, and then he says “Guess you do crazy things when you’re in l-”

He trails off halfway through his sentence, eyes becoming blearily unfocused as he looks to the side.

“Link,” Taylor prompts, because whatever feverish statement Link had been about to make feels important, for some reason.

“Link,” Taylor says again, louder, and is met with no response.

“Hey, Link, Link, Lincoln, come on, this isn’t funny, listen to me, damnit!” Taylor can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, because Link can’t be dead, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He almost wants to shake him, but he can’t because that would mean taking pressure off the wound and that’s something that Taylor cannot risk when Link’s chest is (thankfully, blessedly) still rising and falling. But maybe not for much longer.

“I can’t lose you,” Taylor sobs, already past hysterical and bordering on flat-out manic. “Lincoln, please.”

“I - uh,” Link says, kind of unintelligibly, but it’s Link and he’s lucid enough to try to speak and Taylor’s crying even harder out of relief.

“S-orry,” Link manages, turning to look at him, “ah - kinda got lost in thought there. Y’were saying?”

“Fuck you, man,” Taylor hisses, emphatically. “I thought you died!”

“Sorry, just - can I kiss you?” Link asks suddenly, eyes wide.

“What the f- now?” Taylor blurts in response, because truly, where the fuck was this coming from?

Link makes a little laughing sound that turns into a wheeze that’s punctuated by more warm blood spurting against the gauze Taylor is pressing to his friend’s side.

“We’re married,” Link says as Taylor splutters, rapidly trying to get his mind to wrap around any of this. “It’s not that c-crazy, ah, of an ask.”

“It kind of is when you’re bleeding to death!” Taylor exclaims, his voice heightening to a near-hysterical pitch.

“You don't - ah - have you if you don’t want to,” Link says in a tone that is probably supposed to be reassuring but absolutely nothing about this situation is remotely close. “I just thought it - it might help. Distract. From the - uh, pain? And I… I kinda miss it.”

Oh. It’d never occurred to Taylor that Link being previously married meant he’s technically kissed someone before. Kissed them often enough, enjoyed it often enough to long for it.

His stomach twists oddly at the concept.

Taylor’s never really… thought about what it would be like to kiss someone. Beyond the abstract, of course. He doesn’t even know if he’d like it.

But, as far as first kisses go, sharing it with his best friend sounds… almost nice, if it weren’t for this entire ordeal.

And if Link wants this - if it’ll help keep him here, keep him present, give him something to feel beyond the agony he’s surely suffering and keep his mind off the pain - well. Taylor would be a pretty shitty right hand man to deny him that.

“Okay,” Taylor says shakily.

“Really?” He can’t tear his eyes away from Link’s face - partly because of the strange dichotomy of awe and agony that paint his features, and partly because he’s afraid of looking down and seeing nothing but red.

“Yeah, if you think it’ll help,” Taylor hears himself respond. “If it’s what you need.”

“It is,” Link says simply.

If Taylor doesn’t look down at the blood staining them both, he can almost imagine the adrenaline pulsing through his veins is for an entirely different reason. He can imagine Link is in his lap because he wants to be there, and that the hand still resting on his cheek is a sign of affection and not just his best friend desperately clinging to his warmth for comfort, and that the way his eyes are glossed over are from desire and not from excruciating pain.

“Okay, I’ve, uh, never done this-“ Taylor starts to say, because of course stupid teenage nerves get the better of him when his closest friend is dying in his arms.

“I’m sure you’ll - ah - you’ll be great,” Link says, features softening briefly before screwing up in pain.

Okay. Taylor can do this. Link needs him.

“Just, uh, tap out if you lose too much air, ‘kay? Don’t wanna fuck up your breathing.”

“Mm,” Link hums, straining a bit to lean up toward him.

Taylor leans in the rest of the way.

Kissing Link is… well, it isn’t great. The angle is awkward so that Taylor can keep attempting to staunch the bleeding, and his lips are chapped and probably bitten raw from anxious habit, and Taylor can’t really do anything about either of those things. The kiss tastes salty with their sweat and Taylor’s tears and gritty with the grime from the ongoing combat, and Taylor can’t bring himself to close his eyes for fear of Link slipping away.

But he can feel the way Link’s smiling slightly against his mouth, so Taylor guesses he’s doing something right.

The hand that had previously rested on Taylor’s cheek comes around to cradle the nape of his neck, fingers gently tangling in battle-mussed black hair. The action has Taylor making a frankly embarrassing noise high in the back of his throat, and Link’s smile grows as he pulls him in impossibly closer. Taylor is pliant and trusting in his friend’s trembling grasp, letting Link guide them both because the boy beneath him clearly has more experience and Taylor frankly has no idea what he’s doing.

Taylor longs to reciprocate in every way he can, to rest a supporting hand between Link’s shoulder blades, to weave another in Link’s soft-looking curls, to make this kiss better for Link, because Link is good in a way that Taylor can never hope to be and he deserves all the love and affection and passion in the world.

As it is, though, Taylor has to be content with pressing his palms against blood-soaked gauze and hoping he can make this up to him if they get out of this mess.

He funnels every emotion he can into all of the points where their bodies connect, a swirling concoction of terror and adoration and desperation and loyalty and affection. And there’s more than a little confusion that seeps through, because Taylor hadn’t thought about kissing Link before, but at the present moment, with Link’s full lips moving tenderly against his, it’s suddenly all Taylor can think about. And maybe he’d like to do this again, under better circumstances, to pull Link in close and give back the attention and care and devotion he’s always given him. If Link wanted to, of course. And suddenly, Taylor finds himself hoping that Link would want to, because Link is lovely and protective and kind and awkward and endearing and so, so beautiful, and -

Oh.

Taylor’s always felt strongly for his best friend, but now, on the cracked curb of a mall parking lot with the sounds of battle fading to a dull roar around them - now, with Link’s blood on his hands and Link’s fingers in his hair and Link’s mouth against his own - Taylor thinks that maybe those feelings run far deeper than he previously thought.

There’s nothing Taylor can do about the thoughts raging like wildfires in his brain. He can’t run or hide from them if he tried - he can only hold this boy’s life in his hands and stay with him, hoping that he has the strength to do the same. Taylor tries his damndest to speak without words, every insistent press of lips a chorus of stay, I’m not leaving, don’t go where I can’t follow, I need you here, I want you here, stay awake, stay with me, don’t leave, I’m here, stay, stay, stay.

And maybe it’s selfish of Taylor, but it’s true. If he has one more thing ripped out from underneath him, he thinks it might break him.

Link pulls away, and Taylor lets him. His best friend’s breaths flutter against his skin in uneven pants, and Taylor’s heart beats frantically as he searches his face for any discomfort.

Taylor watches as Link’s eyes open, a soft smile pulling at his lips, and Taylor breathes out a sigh of relief. Link’s hands have migrated to latch around the back of Taylor’s neck and he leans into him, seeking out the comfort of Taylor’s warmth.

(Taylor’s muscles strain in protest and the near-constant ache in his body intensifies, but he doesn’t mind. Not when it might be the last chance he ever has for Link to lean against him like this.)

“Thanks,” Link says, and his voice is raspy and so, so small, and god, Taylor just wants to hold him close forever, to shield and guard him like Link has always done for him, to ensure nothing like this ever happens again.

Link’s eyes haven’t left his since the moment they broke apart, and while the fogginess in them is a bit worrisome, his dopey little smile is enough to soothe the worst of Taylor’s anxieties.

“I’ve - mm - I’ve wanted to do that. For a while. A long time,” Link murmurs haltingly, still looking at Taylor as if transfixed, as if Taylor’s the only thing that matters, and Taylor feels unanchored from reality.

Who gave his friend the right to look at him like he’s his personal salvation? Who gave him the absolute nerve to only bring this up as he’s actively dying? Was Link just going to hold this inside himself forever, and would Taylor never have known otherwise?

A spark of indignation alights in the hellfire of Taylor’s chest, and he looks down at his friend, watches as Link’s lazy smile fades.

Good.

“What the fuck?” Taylor exclaims, seething more than a little.

Link hisses a little, flinching, and Taylor quickly attempts to cool the demonic heat seeping through his skin.

“Why didn’t you ask before?” He says, trying to take a bit of the edge off his voice.

Link looks like he wants to say something, but he moves a little too much and the gauze at Link’s side blooms with even more red, so all that comes out is a small, pained noise.

“You know what?” Taylor says firmly. “It doesn’t matter, because you are so, so stupid.”

Link wheezes in protest, and Taylor shakes his head, furrowing his brows - let me finish.

“When -” Taylor starts, “not if, when - we get out of this, I’m going to kiss the shit out of you for as long as you want. I’m gonna make you forget your own goddamn name if that’s what you want. Got that?”

Link’s eyes are a little less clouded now, and he smiles so wide that his dimples show.

(Taylor decides that he’s going to kiss those later.)

“Mmmm. I’d like that,” Link says, voice soft and fond, and Taylor isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or cry.

Taylor’s body can’t seem to make up its mind either. Some strangled sort of sound rips itself out of his throat, scratching long claws into his windpipe on the way up, and he blinks away hot tears as fast as he can because even a moment with his vision obscured could be the moment Link falls unconscious and Taylor can’t have that happen. His breaths are loud and fast and there’s static and ringing in his ears and Link looks pained but ultimately concerned for him which is stupid, so, so stupid because Taylor is fine, he’s not the one with a bullet wound gushing blood, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.

“Hey,” A voice calls from above him, firm yet calm, between gasping breaths like its owner just ran from somewhere, and Taylor nearly leaps out of his skin, cursing himself for not being on guard enough to notice someone was coming, and -

Taylor looks up from Link for just enough to catch a glimpse of hazel eyes framed by heavy dark circles and smudged glasses, then snaps his gaze back down, shaking with some bizarre concoction of relief and adrenaline as he processes things.

They aren’t being attacked, it’s just Normal’s dad (Uncle? No, dad, he’s wearing glasses), Normal’s dad is a Druid, he can heal, someone heard Taylor when he called for help, Link’s going to be okay.

“Mister Oak-Swa- Swoa-” Taylor starts, but he can’t seem to get the words out with how much he’s shaking, mind and heart and mouth stuttering as he tries to get a fucking grip. “He’s hurt,” he finishes pathetically.

“I can see that,” Normal’s dad says, enunciating each word clearly, barely loud enough to be audible over the din of staticky noise that Taylor’s mind has become.

Taylor’s hands press a bit harder against Link’s side, and his friend makes a broken sound that might be a wheeze.

Taylor looks down at his hands, and god, they’re absolutely coated in gore, a red-brown smudge atop his knuckles from where Link had swiped his thumb across them, and the gauze is a horrible shade of maroon, and it’s damp and sticky with blood and it needs to be changed out but it’s all Taylor has, and the world starts to blur at the edges of his vision and it feels like he’s been running for ages with how his chest is heaving even though his legs ache from sitting in this position for so long, and it hurts to look at Link like this, and something twists in Taylor’s gut and everything feels too constricting and there’s so much blood and he can’t breathe and he’s useless and he’s terrified -

“Hey, Taylor,” Normal’s dad says slowly, gently. “Kid, can you look at me?”

Taylor hears the words and he knows what they mean but he just can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away because his best friend’s life is draining out between the cracks in his trembling fingers and Taylor has to keep watching, he has to, because he can barely feel his hands anymore and maybe if he doesn’t look they’ll fall to his sides and Link will die and it will be all Taylor’s fault, and-

“Taylor,” Normal’s dad says, louder, authoritative, and there’s a hand (dry, not sticky with blood) grasping his shoulder and the weight of it wrenches his gaze upward.

“Agh - sorry,” Taylor says, “Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

“No apologies,” Normal’s dad says, searching Taylor’s face for something, his expression softening, and something about the downturn of his mouth and the gleam of his eyes seems deeply sad and tired in a way Taylor can’t possibly hope to examine, not when the blood coating his hands and the tang of warm metal in the air makes him want to be sick.

“Listen,” Normal’s dad says, jaw setting and eyes going flinty again. “Nod when you’re listening.”

Taylor inclines his head shakily, everything too garbled within him to form any sensical words.

“You did a good thing, okay? You did so well. You used all the resources you had at your disposal. You kept Lincoln stable until I could make it here. It’s going to be okay now, and that’s because of you.”

“Y’did good, Tay,” Link mumbles beneath him. Taylor glances down and Link’s smiling weakly up at him, rubbing gently at the base of Taylor’s neck. “‘Ll’be alright.”

“Yes, you will,” Normal’s dad says affirmatively, and Taylor clings to it like a buoy in a vast, tumultuous ocean.

“Link,” the man says, “Normal’s healed you before, right?”

“Mhm,” Link says, eyes glassy and wide.

“Good. It’s gonna feel a little weird, probably, but you’ll be back on your feet as soon as it’s over. I’m going to touch your shoulder to heal you. Is that okay?”

Link nods, then winces a little.

“Taylor,” Normal’s dad says, “I want the wound to heal properly, so I need you to move your hands.”

“But-” Taylor starts to protest, and his stomach twists violently at the thought.

“I know,” he says, and he has that mournful look in his eyes again. “It’s scary, but I need you to trust me. Okay?”

“S’okay, Tay,” Link mutters. “You can hold my hands, if you want.”

Taylor would rather not tear his hands away from the bloody gauze and open the wound even further, but at the very least he needs to hold onto something.

“Okay,” Taylor hears himself say. Then, “Now?”

“Now,” Normal’s dad agrees, and there’s a horrible ripping sound as Taylor brings his hands away from Link’s side, the gauze glued to them with congealed blood.

Link winces, lifting his hands, palm-up, for Taylor to grab. Taylor takes them and squeezes tight, tries to force himself not to think too hard about Link’s shaking breaths or about how cold Link’s hands are even through the dirty gauze. Link screws his eyes shut as their friend’s father rests a grounding hand on his shoulder and inhales deeply, closing his own eyes in concentration.

When his eyes open, they glow a sickly green, iris and pupil and sclera overtaken by the color of luna moth wings. Mesmerizing luminescent magic siphons from beneath freckled skin, cloudy and moonlit as it writhes from the veins on the insides of his wrists, twisting and like the branches of a newly-grown vine, before meeting Link’s skin, seeping into it with a weak sage-silver glow. The open bullet wound at Link’s side becomes overgrown with green magic. Its faint shine spreads like moss over its surface, suturing it closed before fading away, leaving nothing but a slightly paler slash of Link’s skin in its wake.

“How do you feel?” Normal’s dad asks after blinking away the last motes of glowing green.

“Better,” Link says, letting go of one of Taylor’s hands to ghost curious fingers along his new scar. His eyes are bright and lively and not misted over in pain at all. “Feels a little weird to be on the other side of a Cure Wounds, I’ll be honest.”

Normal’s dad grimaces a little in understanding.

“Definitely beats actively dying, though! Thank you, Mister Oak-Swallows-Garcia.”

“Just Sparrow is fine, Boss.”

Taylor barely registers any of this, however, because his eyes are drawn to Link’s scar. It’s barely a pockmark, only a few shades lighter than his deep brown skin, and Link flinches a little against him when Taylor’s free hand brushes against it. It’s such a small mark, but it’s the difference between Link sitting against him, slouched over and tired but wonderfully, beautifully alive, and Link laying in his arms, limp and cold and dead.

Link carefully peels away the gauze still stuck to Taylor’s palm and slots their hands together. Slowly, he interlocks their fingers, runs his thumb along the side of his hand, and Taylor nearly cries at the gesture.

(Link’s hands are still cold, but that’s normal, Taylor has to remind himself. Link’s always had cold hands, and their hands are clammy and sticky still but it’s okay because Link is squeezing his hand, a silent reminder of I’m here, it’s okay, you can relax, and god, Taylor would be lost without him.)

There’s a shriek of loud static that Taylor is pretty sure isn’t just in his head, and Sparrow sighs.

“Sounds like Dood just spontaneously combusted someone again,” Link observes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, getting up from his crouch and adjusting his glasses. “I’m going to get back out there, see if we can finish this off without any other injuries happening.”

“We’ll come with you,” Link says. Taylor nods, attempting to reassemble his brain into something that can withstand the chaos of the parking lot-turned-battlefield, wanting to get his limbs under him correctly and wincing at the ache, and where the fuck did he leave his cane-

“No, you won’t. You two are out of combat for the rest of the fight. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re an ice cream shop employee,” Taylor mutters. His voice sounds… off, shaky. Is Taylor shaking?

“Field medic’s, then,” he corrects amiably. “You need to focus on recovering.”

“But I’m-”

Sparrow cuts Link off with a pointed look, allowing his eyes to slide over to Taylor before looking at Link again, and there’s something significant about it but Taylor’s brain feels too scrambled to parse any meaning from it.

“Oh,” Link says softly.

“Take care of each other,” Sparrow says, and something about it feels final. “I’ve gotta go make sure your other friends are holding up okay.”

Taylor watches as Sparrow leaves only in the most distant sense, focusing on clenching his hands against Link’s and feeling the sensation of his friend squeezing back.

“Taylor,” Link starts, and his gaze darts up from their clasped hands (still bloodstained, bits starting to flake off in pieces like peeled paint or grotesque confetti, warm against cold, alive alive, alive) to look at him. He looks so concerned - over him, again, Taylor realizes. “I’m alive. It’s okay. You saved me.”

He punctuates this with a light squeeze to both of Taylor’s hands, and combined with the warmth of his gaze (his eyes had been so horribly cloudy before, and Taylor had almost lost him) and his steady voice (he had been slurring his words, choking on them, near-delirious, and Taylor had almost lost him) and the slight, hopeful upturn of his lips (near-identical to the small, weak smile he wore as Taylor kissed him, and he almost lost him) something in Taylor shatters.

“C’mere,” Link says, sitting up a bit straighter and opening his arms, and Taylor all but launches himself into them, hands scrabbling to find purchase on Link’s shoulders, fisting in the grimy fabric of his athletic shirt as he presses his face into his friend’s chest.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay, you can let it out,” Link soothes, rubbing circles into the back of Taylor’s shirt with his thumbs, and it only makes Taylor cry harder.

You nearly died, Taylor thinks frantically, breaths coming as rapid as the frenzy of his thoughts. You nearly died and I couldn’t do anything about it and I was so useless and pathetic and terrified of losing you and -

“Oh, Taylor,” Link says in between Taylor’s sobs. “Tay, honey, you gotta breathe, okay? Breathe with me, just listen and try to copy me, alright?”

Taylor tries to nod, but with the strength of the tremors that are running through him, it probably doesn’t come across.

Link’s hand comes up to cup the back of Taylor’s head, guiding him to rest with an ear to his chest. Link’s lungs steadily expand and deflate, a consistent rising-falling pattern, and just below Taylor’s ear, his heartbeat pulses, strong and confident.

Taylor thinks about the way Link had barely been able to breathe properly through the pain and his vision blurs with tears again, the periphery growing dark, and Taylor’s breaths feel like they’re being punched out of him, leaving him floundering and weak and aching and miserable.

“Link,” Taylor gasps, wave after wave of sobs wracking his body.

His best friend holds him through it all, offering reassurances in between measured, exaggerated breaths.

“I’m okay,” he says. Breathe in. “We’re okay.” Breathe out. “You’re not gonna lose me.” In. “I’m not going anywhere.” Out. “You were so brave, I’m here, we’re gonna be okay.” In, out, in, out.

Fingers card gently through his hair as Link presses a gentle kiss to the top of Taylor’s head, and Taylor lets himself fall apart.

Taylor can’t tell how long he sits there in the circle of Link’s arms, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the way he breathes. He’s lost time before, but it scares him to think how much he might have missed, especially since they’re still technically on the fringes of an active battleground.

Eventually, though, his breaths even out and the last of his tears dry up, leaving his face a puffy, snotty, splotchy mess.

They sit quietly for a few moments, Link still combing gentle fingers through greasy hair with one hand and tracing meaningless shapes into the center of his back with the other, humming soothingly every now and then.

Taylor pulls away first, wiping below his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Got it all out?” Link asks, and Taylor finds no trace of pity in his voice or expression, only gentleness and concern, and it makes him want to cry again but from the dryness of his eyes Taylor knows there aren’t any tears left.

“Yeah,” Taylor sniffles pathetically, opting to hide his face in Link’s shoulder.

Before he can, though, Link carefully takes Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbing away mostly-dry tears. He leans in, brows drawn together as if he’s concentrating on something, and presses a soft kiss to the top of his nose bridge, just between his eyes. Gold and saffron bloom behind Taylor’s closed eyelids, and the stuffiness and congestion fades away a little.

“Better?” Link asks.

“If you almost die like that again, I’m revoking your kiss privileges,” He huffs in lieu of a response.

“Kiss privileges?” Link echoes, raising an eyebrow.

“Typical,” Taylor gripes with no real heat. “You really had the audacity to make me realize I want you as you’re fucking dying, and you aren’t even taking my threat seriously.”

Link’s eyes go comically wide. “You want me?”

Oh. “I said that out loud, didn’t I,” Taylor says.

“Yeah, you, uh, did,” Link replies. “I thought I had made that up. Like a fever dream, or something. Um, wow. Are… do you really..?”

Link looks so incredibly flustered, and it’s unbearably cute.

Fuck it, Taylor thinks, and he leans further into Link, bringing a hand to rest on his shoulder as he presses a chaste kiss to his friend’s lips.

Taylor backs away, sitting in Link’s lap as he looks up at him through his lashes. “Does that answer your question?”

“Uh, not really?” Link responds, earnest and awkward and sweet. And then a shy smile pulls at his lips. “Maybe,” he says quietly, “if you try that again, I might get it.”

Holy fuck, Taylor thinks, eyes drawn from the quirk of Link’s brows to the smirking curve of his mouth.

“Okay,” Taylor says, splaying a hand between Link’s shoulder blades the way he had wanted to earlier, running another hand through Link’s hair and dragging him down to seal their lips together again.

It feels much better to kiss his friend this way, finally able to hold him and treat him with the affection he deserves and be held in return. It’s unhurried, burnt-out adrenaline leaving him pliant and tired, and the sheer relief of it all has Taylor breaking the kiss to laugh hysterically, breathlessly against his lips. Of course it would take something this stupidly, horribly dramatic to get Taylor to realize what he almost lost.

Link softly laughs in response, and he rests their foreheads together as they attempt to control their giggling.

Taylor opens his eyes to see Link grinning with all his teeth, sunny and bright, his cheeks dimpling from the force of it, and Taylor ducks into his space quickly to place a tiny, fluttering kiss in each divot . Something warm and possessive makes its home in his chest, curling between his ribs, brighter than the solstice-hot flames of hell.

Mine, Taylor thinks, the word doing little to encapsulate everything he feels about the boy in front of him. I’m never letting anything take you away from me ever again.

He pulls away, and Link is looking at him like he’s personally placed the sun in the sky (well, they both helped with that, technically), like he’s someone worthy of being adored, and Taylor feels like he could collapse under the weight of his gaze.

He settles for falling wordlessly into Link’s arms again, and the breath is briefly knocked out of Link’s chest, but his arms come to circle around him, safe and protective and secure and wonderful. Taylor listens to the thrum of his best friend’s pulse with an ear to the side of his neck as Link rests his cheek atop his head, murmuring reassurances and praise in equal measure.

Taylor just barely hears footsteps approaching their spot on the curb of the sidewalk - he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all, wrung-out as he is, if not for the way Link tenses around him, holding him a little closer as his head lifts from atop his own.

“H-hey, um,” Scary calls - and Taylor knows it’s Scary, recognizes the timbre of her voice, but the pitch of sounds more uncertain than Taylor’s ever known - almost like she’s afraid to speak.

“It’s just us, Normal and Scary,” Norm’s reedy voice adds with that same unsure edge. “The fight’s over, you’re okay, man.”

Link relaxes a bit around Taylor in relief, and Taylor glances up to see him blinking sheepishly at their friends.

“No casualties?” Link asks. Taylor just hums, sinking further into his arms, too exhausted from the whirlwind of adrenaline and emotions to do anything other than listen.

“Not on our side,” Scary confirms. “Dood exploded some guys, though.”

“I exploded some guys!” Dood chirps happily.

“Are you guys sure you’re okay?” Normal prods, voice tinged with worry. “My dad told us what happened. I’m glad he could make it in time, but I think I have a little more juice left if something needs healing.”

“I’m good. Uh, physically, at least,” Link says. “Tay?” he prompts, giving Taylor a nudge.

“M’fine,” he responds without lifting his head from Link’s shoulder, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “Achy. Sleepy. M’fine.”

“Okay,” Norm says, and Taylor can hear the uncertain frown in his voice.

“We should get out of here before what’s left of the police finds us,” Scary says. “Ugh, this fucking sucks. This mall had a Hot Topic.” The I’m never coming here again goes unsaid, but Taylor, as tired as he is, finds himself nodding with the sentiment.

“I agree,” Link says, shifting a little around Taylor, and Taylor clings to him tighter, refusing to let go. “Hey, hey, I’m staying with you,” Link mutters to him.

The others blessedly don’t react when Link kisses the top of his head - or if they do, they don’t say anything.

“Did anyone find Taylor’s cane anywhere, or?” Link asks, then sighs at the silent answer.

“Okay, we’ll find that later,” he says, then, to Taylor, “I’m gonna pick you up now, okay?”

Taylor nods, arranging his arms sluggishly to lock around Link’s neck and his his legs shakily straddle Link’s stomach.

“Okay, up we go,” Link mutters, and gets to his feet a little unsteady, helped up by someone (Norm, Taylor guesses) while his other arm supports Taylor’s legs.

“Thanks,” Taylor mumbles.

“Thank you,” Link responds, though to Normal or to Taylor, he isn’t sure. Probably to both of them. “That really took a lot out of you, huh?” he asks quietly.

Taylor hums an affirmative.

“Well, it’s okay now. You got me, and I’m not going anywhere, ‘kay?”

Another hum. “Mmkay.”

“It’s okay if you wanna fall asleep on me,” Link says, ever the angel, back from the dead and whole and strong and lovely, and Taylor nods against his shoulder, puffy eyelids already closed, sniffling once. “You can rest now, I’ll watch over you.”

Taylor doesn’t want to sleep, not really, not when he just got Link back and could just as easily lose him again, but the soothing vibrations of his voice from where Taylor’s head rests against his neck and the secure arms around him and the steady cadence of his strides ease enough of his anxieties that he feels himself starting to slip into unconsciousness regardless.

After he wakes and they’re all safe, Taylor will ask Sparrow or maybe Normal about learning Cure Wounds (it’s a spell that Rangers can cast, after all), and Taylor and Link will have a long talk about what all of this means for them, and Taylor will finally make good on his promise of kissing Link until he can’t remember anything else.

For now, though, Taylor smiles weakly as Link ducks to press another kiss into his hair and drops into slumber in his friend’s protective hold.

#sorry if there are 500 billion mistakes in this bc i didn't go through the tumblr ver with a super fine toothed comb haha 😅#freddie wong if you reclass taylor today i will be so unaffected by it (<- lying. lying BADLY)#anyway ummmm this is the longest oneshot i've written in a WHILE so. hope y'all enjoy!!!#dndads #fic #swiftli #blood #happi scribbles

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3pirouette · 4 months

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Fic: Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home (1/1)

Title: Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: Set during CA: TFA

Rating: Teen and Up (mild references to sexual activity)

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Word Count: 2914

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: for @behindthelabels for Steggymas! Steve can’t get her eyes right… or the story of how he managed to have a picture of Peggy in his compass.

AN: So, I started writing a COMPLETELY different story for @behindthelabels, only to find out that I was basing it on something she hadn’t seen. So, I scrubbed it for the time being (though it’s likely to be posted soon, and dedicated to her as a “gift I know you won’t like but sorry, there’s no receipt so you can’t take it back”) and in the meantime, I cooked up this based on an ask she answered. I hope she enjoys it! Thanks @steggyfanevents for another great year!

Title taken from Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran

~*~

He couldn’t get the eyes right.

It didn’t matter how many times he tried to draw her, he couldn’t get the eyes right.

Not that he could actually see what he was doing in the dark tent in the middle of the night as sleep evaded him. Drawing her was at least something he could do, an activity to fill the time and his idle hands as he waited for his next assignment.

The curve of her cheek he managed after a few tries. Her nose took two or three attempts to get the line down. After about two months of sketching at every opportunity he had a passable likeness that he felt confident in. Her lips…

Her lips he got right on the first try. He couldn't imagine not knowing what they looked like, their bright red velvet likeness burned into his memory forever.

But her eyes, Peggy’s eyes, evaded him.

He couldn’t quite nail down the sparkle in them, never managed to figure out how to make them stoic yet mischievous at the same time. He could, and frequently did, get lost in those eyes whenever she was around. He would try to memorize the curve of her eyelid and the length of her lashes, made guesses about how many millimeters wide her pupils were and tried to get the shade as close as he could with his nubbin of a pencil, but still.

Still.

He couldn’t get the eyes right.

It didn’t make sense to him that he had a notebook full of images of her and not a single one seemed real, not a single one seemed to capture who she was and the power that radiated from her. It didn’t make sense when he could see her in his dreams every night, as crisp and real as if she were standing before him, a smile on her bright lips and a twinkle in her eyes, but her eyes still evaded him in sketches.

His drawings were all he had out on the lines. It was the one thing he kept with him: his little notebook and the last inch of a pencil went in his pack wherever he went. He made himself notes about missions and plans he should write, but the majority of the pages were filled with drawings. Sometimes it was the monsters of battles on them, being purged from his psyche the only way he could: through the pencil.

But usually, mostly, it was Peggy.

He didn’t have any right to miss her, not really. They were both too important, too integral to the war to have time alone or time away from battle. She was busy saving the world through undercover missions and breaking codes in back rooms while he led the charge out in the open.

There would be time for them when this was all over.

Or so they told themselves.

Stolen moments were all they had, little minutes and hours here and there when they happened to both be in the same place at the same time. They didn’t make promises about tomorrow: there were no promises to make in war. They only mused about when they’d next cross paths or how long their next assignment was scheduled to be.

And those muses were short, clipped words between stolen caresses in closets or as they were making out between mission briefings in abandoned offices.

Steve wanted to be valiant: he wanted to take her on long, romantic walks and ask her family for permission to have her hand. But war was hell. They were all exhausted and just a little bit traumatized, all broken and a little bit hopeless. Falling into her, feeling her soft, porcelain skin and kissing her warm, red lips, was like a balm. It didn’t last long, but it gave him fire to keep going, gave him a reason to haul his ass back to camp when he just wanted to lay down in the mud, gave him a reason to wake up another day and fight when he constantly seemed outnumbered and outmanned.

Some nights, all he could do was focus on getting back to her so he could let his fingers trail over the curve of her hip, so he could feel the weight of her in his arms and her breath puffing against his cheek one more time, as he made his way through mud and snow, as he sat in freezing cold tents and hid in bushes behind enemy lines.

He didn’t have much to hold on to. No family at home, no one waiting for him.

They didn’t send letters, there was no way for them to write anything meaningful that wouldn’t get read or censored before it got to the other.

He just had her, just Peggy, and their wartime romance that felt so fragile it could break like glass any day.

There were so many things that threatened it.

They were clearly going against regulations. Most who could find someone did, it wasn’t a secret. Even though he hardly thought Colonel Phillips was one to report them, if someone made an official complaint, he’d have to follow through.

Either one of them could get killed any day. It was a harsh truth, but one they both knew deep down. Every goodbye was hard because they knew it very well could be their last. Men didn’t come back every day, spies were caught behind enemy lines regularly. Either one of them could be on the next list of casualties, so they kissed and touched and loved as long and as hard as they could with the little time they had.

Steve tried not to think about Peggy finding someone else, but he had a hard time believing sometimes that she truly loved him. Not for anything she did, really, but for the fact that he still saw himself as a different person, still saw himself as someone that was looked over and dismissed. He constantly worked to prove himself, in the field and to her.

He wanted to deserve her.

How could he do that if he couldn’t get her damn eyes right?

~*~

“You’re going to stare a hole right through me, you know.”

“Huh?” Steve’s eyes widened, realizing he’d been caught.

Peggy leaned up, kissing him before wiping at the red rim of her lipstick around his lips with her thumb. She pulled the sheet tighter around her, her sweat-slicked skin chilling now that they’d slaked their needs for the time being. “Have I something on my face?”

He shook his head, pushing up to sitting and running a hand across his chin, but didn’t answer.

Peggy slipped from the bed and wrapped her robe around her nude form, retreating to the small dressing table in the hotel room. It was serendipity: they were in the same city at the same time, her mission not starting for a few days and his just ending. The hotel room was a compromise, the quickest way to hopefully not get caught, to spend a quiet moment in the middle of the maelstrom. She started pulling the pins from her mussed hair, looking over her shoulder at him. “Well?”

He was embarrassed, caught, and didn’t know how to broach it without sounding like a fool. He kept his eyes down, shrugging his shoulders. “I can’t get the eyes right.”

She stilled, hands still pulling a pin from her hair, as only her eyebrow moved, lifting high. “The eyes?”

“Your eyes,” he sighed. He pulled his shorts on and moved to the side of the room, rummaging through his pack and pulling out his small notebook. There was a tear in the corner and half the pages were dogeared, so it bounced to an open page when he put it on the table in front of her, leaning back against the wall. He shrugged again before crossing his arms. “Can’t seem to get them right.”

Peggy was stunned, abandoning the half-done job of her pins as she started flipping carefully through the pages. In between his neat notes about troop movements and mission details were sketches. Some were half done, some were shaded and lined and damn near perfect.

Almost all of them were of her.

Her jaw dropped as she flipped through the pages. “Steve…” His name passed breathlessly through her lips, she was so taken with picture after picture of herself.

“I know.” He shook his head, hiding his face from his in his palm. His words were muffled in his hand. “It’s stupid, I know.”

She set the book down, looking up at him. “Stupid?”

He just waved his hand at the book. “I guess that, other fellas, well, they get to carry pictures, you know? They get to have letters and day passes and-“

“And we have this.” Peggy easily finished the sentence for him, standing in front of him and taking the notebook with her. She opened the page to her favorite likeness, a profile shaded best he could in pencil, her hair detailed in a sharp victory roll. “But why would you think this is stupid?”

He didn't have the words to express his embarrassment, his insecurity, so he just shrugged again, pink running hot over his chest and up into his cheeks.

“This,” she held up the picture, “is not stupid. Far from it, in fact.” Peggy shook her head and put the notebook down, letting her hands rest on his folded forearms. “Do you know what I do?”

He laughed nervously. “No.”

“When I’m on a mission or undercover, I collect the papers.” She leaned back, letting her hands move over his forearms. “I can’t draw, so I collect the papers. The ones that have your picture in them. Easy enough to explain away keeping an old paper or two in your flat to use about the place.” She smiled, just a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips as she holds his gaze. “I can’t have your picture in my purse or a ring on my finger or-“

“You want that?” He interrupted, once again surprised. Her confused hum spurred him to elaborate. He lifted her hand in his, running his thumb over her fingers. “A ring?”

Her half smile bloomed into something wider, something sparkling that he’d only captured on paper rarely. “Eventually.” She took his hand and threaded her fingers in his, reaching for his other, swinging them with a little mischief in her eyes. “Though if you thought we could get away with an elopement without the War Department finding out, I’ll start getting my shoes on.”

His lips crashed into her almost before she could finish getting the last words out. “Silly brute,” Peggy playfully admonished, pushing away from his embrace to sit back at the table and resume pulling her pins out. “As if I wouldn’t marry you after going through all this time and again just for five minutes of peace.”

His laugh was genuine as he stepped behind her, helping her probing fingers pull out the pins that had long since moved and snagged, pushed out of place by his passionate embraces and the friction against the sheets. “I guess I just always hoped. We never really talk about it.”

She took his hand in hers, kissed the back of it over her shoulder, her smile dropping just a little in the mirror across from them. “No, you’re right, but with all the things that could go wrong…”

He ran his hand over her cheek as her words faded, the weight of the world outside their little hotel room creeping in just enough. “With all the things that can go wrong, it’s nice to know that I have someone who wants to see me on the other end of it.”

Peggy turned, holding his hand tight in both of hers, her eyes finding his, warm and sincere. “Always, Steve. I will always be waiting for you to come back to me.”

He leaned down, kissing her gently. “Same, Peg. Every mission you go on, I’ll be waiting.”

“Good,” she took a deep breath, pushing away the emotions she was far too anxious to not feel while she was in this room. If she got to thinking about leaving in a few hours, it would ruin the time they had left. “Now, let’s get these pins out, shall we?” She turned back, looking up at him in the reflection in the mirror. “I have not had my fill of you, but if we leave them in my hair will be matted beyond recognition and not only will I be dress coded, there will be no question as to where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing.”

Steve kissed the top of her head, pulling another pin out and setting it on the table. “Yes, Ma’am.”

~*~

Luck was on Peggy’s side when Steve and the Commandos made their way into the small base the next day. She would be heading out soon, as would he, but even fifteen minutes would be enough time for what she had planned.

She passed him in the hallway, stepping in time with him only long enough to say hello to everyone and slip her hand into his pocket without him noticing.

Ten minutes later, she made a show of bumping into him in the hall, flustered and dropping her pile of papers.

The commandos helped her pick them up, and she smiled like the cat that got the cream as she walked away.

~*~

“Something wrong with Peg?” Dugan asked as they settled themselves in the back of the transport.

“Wrong?” Steve asked, settling his shield next to him so he could lean on the wall of the truck. “She looked okay to me.”

Dugan raised an eyebrow under the rim of his bowler. “Carter ran into you like a freight train on a mission. Have you ever known that woman to ever drop anything like a ditzy secretary before?”

Steve looked at his friend, realization slowly dawning. It was unlike Peggy to not know where she was in space and to be clumsy. He’d never seen her trip or barrel into anything unless it was on purpose. And boy, had he seen her do it on purpose to unsuspecting targets when she wanted to get her hands on something they had. “But why…”

Dugan shrugged, pulling his hat over his eyes. “Dunno, friend. Maybe check your pockets.”

Steve started patting himself down as the truck roared to life, bouncing him as it headed out to their destination. Everything was where it should be, everything was accounted for in the right pockets.

But it didn’t make sense.

Steve started pulling each thing out, looking over each little piece of equipment. Everything was as he’d put it in there, except his notebook.

On the very last page was a new entry in Peggy’s neat handwriting.

My darling, we have the rest of our lives for you to get the eyes right.

She didn’t sign it. She couldn’t. Not if they wanted to at least continue to pretend to follow the rules. But she did draw a little star symbol next to it. He looked over her words for far longer than he needed to commit them to memory, eyes following the sharp points of the star over and over. On nights to come he would look over them again and again, trying to remember her voice in his mind as he read them.

He slipped the notebook back in his pocket, closing his eyes and trying to get some sleep before boots had to be on the ground.

Something bothered him, though. It wouldn’t let him rest.

The star.

She’d never drawn a star before. They’d never talked about stars or night skies in any significant way. They definitely hadn’t spent time talking about stars last night as he moved in her, dragging his lips over her soft skin and pulling her thigh up over his hip, existing as one for as long as they could muster in the middle of the war.

No, the little eight pointed, stylized star wasn’t quite right. It had to mean something else.

Four long points, four short points…

He sat up and shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling his compass out.

He knew before he even opened it. It smelled just faintly of her perfume. He couldn’t hide his smile as he flicked it open to find her picture staring back at him. It was simple, surely an ID photo she managed to drag up from somewhere. He’d want to know why she had a copy at hand, especially one small enough to fit in his compass. She was full of surprises, though the more he thought about it he was sure it had more to do with the photostats or halftone prints she could get done from the records department on base.

For now, though, he decided it would be better to just focus on what he had in his hands and not the how. He had her image with him now, everywhere he went she was just a flick away in his pocket.

He could look at her face on those lonely, cold nights, and use it to help guide him when he felt like pulling out his pencil and trying his hand at her portrait again.

He’d get her eyes right.

And if he didn’t?

If he didn’t, she was always with him now.

#3P’s Fic #Behindthelabels #Stegyfanevents #Steggy Fic #steggy secret santa #steve x peggy

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merp-blerp · 11 months

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My updated opinions on Gaylor, from a lesbian Swiftie

Disclaimer: I will be linking to some Gaylor posts where I get my info; please do not attack anyone who made these post if you don’t agree with them. Just scroll away or click out of the post. And do the same with mine if you don’t agree with me. I don’t condone harassment of any kind to anyone who hasn’t done anything wrong.

So in this older reblog of mine, among others, I spoke out on my opinions on “Gaylor”, a sub-fanbase in the swiftie fandom based on the belief that Taylor Swift is a part of the LGBTQ+ community secretly, or half-secretly. However, my thoughts have evolved and I want to make my personal opinions clear. My feelings are always evolving and that’s okay. They may continue to change. This has been stuck in my drafts for months. I’ve always wanted to make this post since I began posting about Taylor so often around the pandemic, but for a while the time never felt quite right and more importantly my thoughts weren’t clear. Several events had made me want to make this post and I think I’m ready to finish and post this.

I’ve been a Taylor Swift fan since 2010, but I only began to consider myself a swiftie around 2018 because that’s when I started really looking into Taylor as a person. To me a swiftie is someone who not only occasionally listens to Tay’s most popular songs, but someone who is actively in the fandom and possibly knows some basic information on Taylor. At the very least, a swiftie knows more than what’s on the radio (doesn’t mean that you’re not a “real fan” if you’re not a swiftie by my definition of one). When I started to enter the fandom, trying to learn info on Tay, the first pieces of it I saw were the Kaylors, because I’m gay and my internet algorithm knew that all too well. I actually thought it was true at the time, in the sense that I didn’t know it was a theory and thought that it was just some info I didn’t know. I remember being confused on why I had never heard about Taylor’s girlfriend Karlie Kloss before. Once I leaned it was just a theory I somewhat distanced myself from that side of the fandom because I didn’t want to get too wrapped up in a conspiracy theory. I was literally in a class that was all about not doing that at the time.

I continued my journey to do my research and felt confident enough to call myself a swiftie by 2020. I started seeing what I now know were just fragments of how some typical swifties view Gaylors. Some seemed distant and unassociating (not really homophonic, though), so I felt subconsciously reassured to continue my semi distant nature towards them. When Kit Conner’s unfortunate outing happened I felt even more validated. I didn’t want to think Gaylors were bad, but I didn’t know what to really think of them and continued to stay distant. I’ve always respected respectful Gaylors. Eventually Jaylor/Toe broke up. I made a post about how this breakup affected me at the time. I am admittedly a very hopeless romantic. The general narrative of Jaylor/Toe was something I really connected to when it came to my wants for my own love life. So it effected me pretty greatly. But it did help open me to looking more into Gaylors. Maybe I was trying to get my hopeless romantic fix somewhere. But really I think I just felt free to do so while Taylor was publicly single; like I wasn’t “disrespecting” any relationship by doing so. I had already thought about looking into the Gaylors before, to the point where my paranoid anxiety disorder very very briefly wondered if I jinked Jaylor, so my Gaylor research wasn’t necessarily connected to the breakup. It just kicked it into full gear.

So, the idea of Kaylor to me. Pretty cute! It’d be a great story. And I think some theories are cool. There are some that don’t make sense to me, but there are some that are super interesting. I saw one that theorized that Taylor burning down the lover house was representative of her burning down this albums 1-10 era we’re closing in on so that the next era can begin with her entering a new phase in her career. Presumably in this theory, a phase where she’s out and gets to write songs about the people she wants to. I’ve seen the coincidences/Koincidences. All that sounds possible. I also get that Jaylor/Toe had inconsistencies in it’s assumed narrative, likely ‘cause you never know the full story of anything when it comes to celebs. I’ve heard the audio of Jack seemingly slipping up during that one interview. Yes, “Wonderland” could totally be about Dianna Agron. Yes, I want to take my future girlfriend to Big Sur now—what’s it to ya—it looks so cozy and sweet. Karlie and Taylor’s pasts are arguably more “parallel lines” than Taylor and Joe’s. I see the queer-coding and get that speculating Tay’s sexuality is arguably not invasive because that’s how queer people find each other in real life. We look for codes in other people. Hints they might give that they are queer. That’s a historical thing we do. She might queer-code a lot. I also see the evidence that Karlie didn’t betray Taylor (had no clue all this time the main source of evidence was Perez Hilton—the fuck? That’s not a good source). I also know that a lot of Taylor’s friends have referenced Gaylor lore very loudly, insinuating that Taylor doesn’t mind the theories. I’ve seen a lot. There is so much, and honestly, it’s fun to imagine all of this being right. I think it’s a possibility.

After all this research and contemplating, the only things I don’t care for in the fandom is the seemingly making fun of Taylor’s ex’s or beards that didn't do anything wrong to her. I don’t get what’s gained by calling Joe Alwyn rude names or censoring his name like it’s a curse word. I get and agree that bearding still happens and it’s super wrong, and you can hate what Joe might’ve represented in Taylor’s life if she’s gay and being closeted by managers or something similar to that. But why hate him or tease him personally? Especially since I’ve also seen some, typically half-hearted theories that Joe is also queer. Wouldn’t it be hypocritical to adore a closeted artist you admire, but personally hate her also queer closeted beard because… he gets in the way of a ship or narrative? Or because, by no fault of his own, Hollywood has a broken system that forces fake dating? Hate the industry, not him. Yes, he’s pretty aloof, to the point where when you tease him it feels like teasing a blank slate, but he is a human being with feelings. Maybe it’s the sensitive bullied kid in me, but it doesn’t seem light-hearted or no big deal to me. I’m not mad yet, just confused. Am I missing something or is sarcasm going over my head? Genuinely asking. This is really just a swiftie problem I think, as it happens in the general fandom too for similar reasons. I know this isn’t everyone in the fandom though.

I also don’t agree with the more… intense theories, such as Karlie’s son Levi (and her currently upcoming baby) isn’t real or not actually her’s. Or that she isn’t really Jewish and it’s all just a part of the bearding. That feels odd. Just… I feel uncomfortable touching that. Gaylors who believe these things seem to be in the minority though. I don't think being queer has much to do with being Jewish. Maybe she just wanted to convert and Josh also happened to be Jewish as well. And maybe Taylor could be like Levi’s stepmom-type figure and Josh is more like a sperm donor or something—I dunno…

If Taylor outright said that she was straight personally I wouldn’t label her as a queer-baiter because it’s not baiting to exist as you are. I think straight and/or cis people should feel comfortable with expressing things like gender-nonconformity or doing things like enjoying rainbows, and the fact that most don’t is rooted in that homophobia thing we’ve been trying to fight against since the 60s. And in my opinion real people can’t queerbait. But I get that this topic is a very nuanced one that can touch a nerve and you’re allowed to disagree with me.

I should also mention that all these opinions are exclusive to Gaylor. I’m not deep enough in other fandoms like the One Direction/Larry Stylinson or Fifth Harmony/Camren fandoms to really say anything on them specifically.

So am I a Gaylor now? I don’t know. Legitimately, do I get to call myself that? I do love, and always have loved, queer interpretations of Taylor’s music and other forms of media. I’m also confident in saying that I’m open to both Gaylor narratives and general narratives about Taylor being true. I can’t take either side as fully the truth while the other’s a lie, not because I’m shunning one of them, but because that just not how I work as a person. Nothing ever feels definitive to me unless it’s a fact in my face. I’m very factual. Not shunning Gaylors, this is just how I work. Would that count as a Gaylor? I truly don’t know.

So, Gaylors, I hope I was respectful enough to your community. If I said anything off, or anything that misrepresented your community, please kindly let me know and educate me. I’m still learning. I’m very sorry some of the swifties in this fandom are homophonic trash. I had no clue it was that bad till I saw what some people left behind in your post. Uncalled for. Taylor, queer or not, would not approve. Shade never made anybody less gay. If you’re a bigot what are you even doing in this fandom? Gaylors, just know you guys are safe with me.

Except me to now have a mix of general swiftie post and Gaylor post reblogged here (if I didn’t do that already—I might’ve without fully realizing). Thanks for reading and being respectful and kind!

🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

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