#I suck at writing lyrics

[scrunglert]

I wore a ring with a smile, for hours at a time Until a hobbit stole what was rightfully mine

He was kind of a bitch, so I'll beat his ass I'm a cocaine-junkie, blackhaired legolas

HUH?

[a-ramlethal-fan]

ngl i ran out of captions so uuuh have bridget and ram. i call it ramburi, please clap now.

[kittyscabin]

shows up to give you the coffinchain challenge

Please be more careful when you cross the road You’re a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

Stray cats.

Peter had always likened the apprentices to a group of stray cats, in his mind.

At first it was out of distaste. They were a nuisance; a band of drifters slinking around the alleyways, catching their quarries unaware. The quick, sharp jab of a hypodermic needle might as well have been the efficient killing bite that a cat might deliver to the throat of its prey. They worked in the shadows, occupying all of those lonely abandoned buildings and reworking them for a new, twisted purpose. 

Then, begrudgingly, he’d found himself wrapped up in Mark Hoffman. Chasing him, hunting him, hellbent on bringing him to justice, then on killing him, then on understanding him, then…

Well, Peter didn’t know what he was doing now. 

All he knew was that sitting in his apartment, in varying states of composure, were three of Jigsaw’s disciples. 

Dr. Gordon sat on his couch, eyes trained down as his hands worked on bandaging a fresh wound on the arm of his younger accomplice. Stanheight sat quietly and allowed for the medical attention with little fight. Hoffman himself sat on the floor, back leaned against the couch close to the other two. 

Peter remained standing, trying not to buckle at the absurdity of his situation. In true stray-animal nature, he had made the mistake of allowing Hoffman into his home once, twice, thrice, and now he’d come back with friends. 

‘Don’t feed the strays’, indeed. 

Accept that he did know the other two, at this point. The polite Dr. Gordon was well-spoken and direct; Peter had found him infuriating in the beginning. He was a hard man to interrogate and an even harder man to intimidate, as level and unflinching as he was. Unlike Peter, he never seemed to let his anger get the best of him, and he seemed to know that. Dr. Gordon was a man who always seemed very aware of how much more control he had in the conversation. It was enviable. 

Then there was Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Mouthful of a name. It was strange enough for Peter to wrap his head around the fact that the kid was alive, let alone working with Jigsaw. He was angry- had more rage in his scrawny little body than what felt possible. Stupid and impulsive, Peter had found him annoying. Just a petulant adolescent who had gotten himself into bigger trouble than he yet realized. 

They’ve come a long way since then. Both apprentices had grown on him, maybe because they reminded him of himself in their amalgamate qualities. The cold, callous bluntness of the doctor. The white-hot temper of the kid. The way he had never seen the former so gentle nor the latter so complacent until now, as they patched themselves together on his bloodied furniture. 

Peter had been reluctant to welcome them all inside. It was bad enough to shelter one serial killer, but now three? It reminded him that everything he’s been doing as of late is against what he once stood for. Fuck, it would solve a hell of a lot of his own problems if he didn't care. If he’d let them all rot, make them regret thinking that Peter would risk his own hide just because he's been friendly with them. Dr. Gordon and Stanheight had seemed to understand this too. Their expressions had been apprehensive, looking ready to flee like the animals they were. Peter wonders how long ago he would have given chase. 

Hoffman had spoken, then. 

“I didn’t-” His voice was shot and exhausted. “I didn’t know where else to go, Strahm.” 

And just like that, Peter took them in. Those words were all it took. Hoffman limped inside on a bad leg and described some sort of police-raid, premature. John Kramer and Amanda Young hadn’t even been there, so it had just been the trio, and they were forced to flee. Unable to go far on foot in their current state, Hoffman had brought his injured companions here. To Peter. 

Why did that make something strange stir within him? 

The three of them were soaked to the bone from the rain. Peter watched Hoffman sluggishly attempt to remain alert, but every so often his head would lull and come to rest against the soft thigh of Dr. Gordon. If the doctor noticed it, he didn't say a word as he continued to diligently work. He looked tired. Stanheight was putting on the best brave face he could manage, but Peter’s keen eyes caught his shoulders trembling, only eased when Gordon’s hand came to rest on one and rubbed gently. They all looked so tired. 

Unable to watch any longer, Peter finally broke the silence. 

“So why are you still doing this?” It took everything in him to not fidget idly as he spoke, brows furrowed at the three men. 

All eyes were on him quite suddenly, sharp as they regarded him. Three clever pairs of observant eyes that all screamed out ‘I know more than I’m letting on' to Peter. He held their gazes, muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” He scoffed, lip curling. “What’s the point of doing the old man's dirty work when he just lets things like this happen to you?” 

Silence.

Hoffman broke first. He laughed, eyes closing as he rested more fully against the couch. It was good-natured but ultimately dismissive. 

Dr. Gordon frowned at Peter, one brow quirked as if he had asked them something incredibly naive. Like he expected Peter to know already. 

Stanheight didn't react. Not outwardly, anyways. He only stared, something new and strange glittering in his eyes that Peter couldn't place.

“What,” Peter grit his teeth, an edge to his voice. Less of a question and more of a prompt. 

“Nothing, nothing. Apologies, Mr. Strahm.” Gordon sighed, turning his attention back to his handiwork. He appeared to nearly be done with the worst of Stanheight’s injuries now. “It’s just… not that simple.”

“Not exactly the kinda job you can put your two weeks in for.” Hoffman corroborated, a smirk tugging at his full lips. 

Peter felt his face burn hot, and he huffed in frustration. “You fucking- Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like it’s a stupid question. I’ll throw you back out onto the fucking curb.” He jabbed a finger at Hoffman in particular, who for his part did indeed shut his mouth. “You listening? Good. What I’m saying is that John Kramer is one demented old man. What is actually stopping you?” 

This time, the quiet was punctuated by Hoffman and Gordon exchanging an uncomfortable glance. After a moment, Hoffman shrugged and ran one hand through his damp, messy hair. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of, uh, checks ‘n balances.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically. Hoffman continued. 

“Information is power, etcetera. Kramer keeps basically everything on a need-to-know basis. Including, I dunno, who you’re workin’ with half the time. Hell,” He rolled his eyes, and lazily raised a hand behind his head to pat Gordon’s arm. The doctor made an annoyed noise in response, shifting away from him. “He only told me about these lovebirds when he needed help lookin’ after ‘em.” 

“I’m still mad about missing out on a trip to Mexico.” Stanheight quipped. His voice was softer than normal, but Peter supposed it was a good sign that he was speaking at all. He wasn’t used to the younger man being so quiet. 

Gordon straightened up a moment later, gently patting down the new bandages and brushing some of the hair from Stanheight’s face. “There you go.” He sighed. The warmth in his tone was so palpable that Peter had the distinct feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. Despite being in his own apartment, he somehow felt he was intruding. “Get comfortable, alright?” 

Peter watched as Stanheight pulled himself to his feet, stopping short just a little ways away from him with an awkward shuffle. Gordon patted his thigh and spoke his next words like they took all of his energy to say. 

“Your turn.” He didn’t even bother to look at Hoffman. The detective grinned anyways, wasting no time in clamoring up into Gordon’s personal space and slinging his leg across the man’s lap. Gordon shook his head disdainfully, but carefully began rolling back Hoffman’s torn pant leg anyways. 

Peter guessed he wasn’t the only one that Hoffman lived to irritate.

“Christ, Mark.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath, and Peter’s shoulders stiffened as he took a step forward to look. His stomach sank despite himself; from where he was standing Hoffman’s calf looked like a bloody mess. Peter’s a man who’s seen more gore in his line of work than anyone should hope to see in their lifetime, and yet here he is, staring in alarm. It was unlike him, and woefully he could only attribute his own uneasiness to the owner of the calf. 

As if he could read his mind, Hoffman looked up towards Peter. “Hey, it’s just-” He winced, hissing in pain as Gordon began to clean the wound. “It’s no big deal- no bullet inside. Just grazed me.” 

“You were shot?” Peter balked.

“Grazed,” Hoffman corrected. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a quick-rising frustration. Hoffman was impossible. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gordon’s voice was little more than a growl as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You took an unnecessary risk. Do you think I enjoy patching you back together? Honestly, if I didn't know any better I’d assume you were trying to get your sorry self killed.” 

Dr. Gordon’s tone left the detective bristling. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He scoffed. “Hell, I don’t bother you when you’re workin’ in the sickbay. Why don't you just- fuck!” 

Hoffman yelped at the unceremonious splash of disinfectant. Gordon gave him the sort of well-practiced fake smile that only a doctor could.

“My bad,” he murmured, unapologetic. 

Peter decided he’d seen enough. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, telling himself that he was just stepping aside to get ice in case the doctor needed some. He knew it wasn't the truth, though; he scolded himself quietly as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his graying hair. 

The truth was that he couldn't keep standing there, staring at Hoffman’s leg injury. 

It’s ironic, because it feels like not too long ago that Peter would have done anything to put a bullet in Hoffman. Now the thought makes him feel… queasy. And a bit confused. 

Peter found himself comparing the apprentices to strays again.

He couldn’t get the image of roadkill splattered on the side of the highway out of his head. 

From what he knew of John Kramer and his cult, the apprentices were expendable parts. It doesn't even sound like they can trust each other half the time. One wrong move or fatal mistake would be all it took. Peter wasn't even sure how long it would take him to know something had happened. 

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps so quiet that he knew exactly who they belonged to before turning around. Stanheight stood at the entryway of his bare-bones kitchen, watching him. He’s probably spent the least amount of time alone with him. 

“What is it?” Peter’s frown deepened.

The kid didn't answer immediately, instead coming to lean against the wall beside him. He was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Wanted to check on you, I guess.” He answered simply. 

“Check on me? In what way do I need checking on?” Raising a brow, Peter gestured towards the living room. “Look at you three, for fuck’s sake.” 

Stanheight held his hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, I just- I get it, alright?”

Peter didn't know what that meant. He stared down at the shorter man, scowl ever-present, silently prodding him to elaborate. Stanheight’s expression was… almost sympathetic, but his eyes had that same strange look from before: the one that Peter couldn't place. 

The kid was easy to underestimate, Peter knew it from his file and from his current involvement. He wasn't about to make that mistake with him. 

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Stanheight finally said. He was muttering now, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “One thing to know what they're doing and another to see them come back with blood and bits of their skin hanging off.”

Peter felt his stomach turn. “No,” he lied. “If Hoffman’s gonna be reckless and get himself killed then so be it.” 

“No matter what you or anyone else thinks, I’m not stupid.” Stanheight laughed dryly. “You don't gotta lie to me, okay? I’m on team Peter here.” 

“Are we forgetting that you’re one of ‘them’ too?” Peter steeled his gaze, unamused. 

Stanheight grimaced. “I mean- kind of. Not really.”

“‘Not really?’ What’s that mean?” 

“I- like- like I’m with them but I’m not one of them. Old Johnny-boy has never and will never give a shit about me. Not exactly in the running to be his heir or whatever the others think will happen.” Stanheight huffed, rolling his eyes as he explained. “Pretty sure he wouldn't even notice if I went missing if it weren't for the pictures ‘n schedules I go and get for him.”

Peter is quiet for a moment. 

“Why stick around?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

The kid just snorted in lieu of answering, and the two fell into silence once more for a couple of seconds. 

“Glad that Mark has you.” Stanheight suddenly murmured, thoughtful. 

“He does not ‘have me’.” 

“Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” 

Peter scoffed, looking elsewhere. “You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Stanheight laughed, “I’m not kidding, though. It always freaks me out how Mark gets when he’s like…” 

Raising a brow, Peter waited for him to sort out his thoughts. 

“Like, when he gets hurt, right? He just- just runs off. Or he’ll go and get hammered on the other side of town and when we find him he’s a mess.” 

At that, Peter’s shoulders went rigid. He was aware of Mark’s habits, his unhealthy coping mechanism. He hadn't thought about who else might know, how deeply it might run. He hadn't thought about how often Mark must be alone. 

When he looked back at Stanheight, he realized the kid was staring at him intently. There was concern in his expression, but also something fierce. 

“John’s really messed him up. Worse than he was before all of this.” His voice was low, almost cautious. “All of them. Lawrence, Mark, Mandy, none of them deserve this. You know that, right?”

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “I…” 

Straightening up again, Stanheight stepped closer to Peter. Before he could see it coming, a smaller hand took his own and held it, inspecting it. “I think Mark needs you.” He said, “maybe all of us do. So you gotta take care of yourself too.” 

Something confused seemed to bloom in his chest then, an uncertain warmth that he could feel rise up to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he couldn't decide on anything to say. 

“Just think about it, ‘kay?” Stanheight let go of his hand again and started to leave the kitchen, pausing for just a moment to look back at him. “Oh, one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. 

Stanheight gave him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. “Welcome to the family.” 

Then he was gone, Peter’s protest to that statement dying on his lips, and Peter was left to think on everything he said. 

Hoffman needing him. Hoffman hiding himself away in dark corners to nurse his wounds. Improperly set bones and too much bandage. 

Stray cats.

Peter’s family used to have cats. His sister’s cat had been an old, white, raggedy thing that she named Alfredo. When Alfredo passed away, he had hidden under the bed and refused to come out. Peter thinks he remembers reading somewhere that pets do that on purpose, so their humans don't have to see them die, but it's been years and his animal knowledge is limited. 

Peter wondered how hard it is to socialize a stray cat. To reintroduce it to domesticity. 

He stepped out of the kitchen, lingering at the entryway, and watched the apprentices from where he stood. Gordon seemed to have finished with Hoffman’s leg, speaking to him in a quieter tone than before. To his surprise, Hoffman looked like he was listening. Stanheight was on the couch with them now, leaning his head onto Gordon’s shoulder. 

Peter found that he wished he could freeze this moment with the three of them in it. The bubble of safety that was his living room felt far away from everything Jigsaw. Maybe they were always meant to be here, on soft furniture, and not crouching amongst rusted pipes and jagged metal. 

Tamed. Domesticated. 

He sighed through his nose and walked around the couch, three sets of clever eyes on him again as he caught their attention. Now that he was there, he could see that Dr. Gordon had just begun to wrap up Hoffman’s leg and he silently motioned to ask for the gauze, kneeling down between them.

Understanding the gesture, Gordon handed it over, smiling at Peter warmly enough to raise his body temperature by a degree. 

“Strahm-” Hoffman started, bewildered, but Peter simply began wrapping his leg neatly. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. “Let me help you, stupid.”

[foxybouquet]

Since 2024 went to shit, do you guys suppose we should tell Tobias to change the words to The Future Is A Foreign Land?

“With these words at hand,

The future is a foreign land,

So let us all survive in 2025…

(2025) We could grow old together

(2025) We could love one another

And have a reason to fight to stay alive,

Fight to stay aliiiiiiiIIIIIIVE

BUT-IF-IT-ALLLLL BURNS DOWWWWN”

[strawberrypeachgelato]

hey space cowboy

what’s the weather like where you are

did you make it further than mars

are you caught up in saturn’s barz

maybe i should give you a week

but one eventually turns to two

i try to spot the signs early now

maybe it’s everything you’re going through

i hope you know i miss you

sorry i attached so soon

i hope you got the messages i set to the moon

every single one was meant for you

the boy who doesn’t feel enough and the girl that feels too much

what are we to do

other than feel everything through

easier to say than i think to do

my space cowboy

i hope you’re safe where you are

for now i’ll keep wishing on this star

you’ll always live in my heart

- r

[yyshm]

hit 'em with the 3 am drool doodle when they least expect it

[slightly-nerdy-rambles]

Curious, what's the fic "It’s Real and It’s True and It’s Just Me and You" about? Title makes me think it's about Kim and Ron at prom/after prom

That's a good guess, but not really! (I do have plans for prom to figure into it, but that's only part of the fic.) It's actually a Soulmate AU, pretty much the only one I have planned because the soulmate sign or whatever it's called that I plan to use is one I find really ripe for shenanigans. It's... I think called a "Body Art" AU? The one where anything that's drawn or written on a person's skin also shows up on their soulmate's skin.

Basically, the idea is that Kim and Ron end up manifesting the soulmate connection thing early in their Junior year and freak out because they're still in the "the thought of us dating is weird/scary and I don't want to admit I like you like that" stage. I want to play with the concept a bit so that soulmates don't always get together romantically, just most of the time (and most people don't even have soulmates), so they kind of try to convince themselves and everyone else that it's just like, friendship-soulmates or something. And then they start using the artist bond thing creatively to do stuff like send discreet messages to each other on missions while also slowly realizing that oops maybe it is romantic after all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, I just think it's a fun concept! Thank you for the ask!

[saturnisfallingdown]

a guy i really respect said he'd start a band with me. hes barely heard me play guys i need to step my skills up ASAP

[bookworm-center]

Daily reminder that there's a song called "Your Stupid Face" by Kaden MacKay that sounds exactly like Jesper/Wesper if Six Of Crows was a musical.

WAIT WHAT IF I WROTE LYRICS FOR A SIX OF CROWS MUSICAL????? HOLY SHIT I'M GOING TO DO THAT!

... expect that here I guess?

[of-stars-and-moon]

Happy birthday Adam Parrish <3

[darethshirl]

Writing Pattern Tag Game

super late with this but better late than never! thank you for the tags @fadedsweater, @anneapocalypse, and @dragon--sage 🥰🥰 tagging back @roguelioness, @sarsaparillia, @korcariiwitch, @queenaeducan, @rosella-writes, @dreadfutures, @melisusthewee, @mel-0n-earth and anyone who sees this and wants to do it tbh!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 fics and see if there's a pattern!

Goblins were disgusting, wretched little creatures, but even Astarion had to admit they knew how to throw a party.

from i'm not beaten by this yet (you can't tell me to regret) (bloodweave, explicit, 3k words)

It was only after Astarion had finished the kill—after the gut-deep slash, the satisfying spurt of blood—that he realized he was being watched.

from tear it through my heart (again, again, again) (tavstarion, mature, 4k words)

The cemetery was a quiet, unassuming little place, hidden between a shabby building and a formerly-tall church wall that was swiftly falling into ruin.

from cradle me with grace (tavstarion, explicit, 3k words)

Baldur’s Gate buzzed with all the activity of a healthy city, lively and unchanging throughout the ages.

from so long to this wretched form (tavstarion, teen, 4k words)

The tower at Moonrise was both more imposing and more cramped than Astarion had imagined.

from take me under, take me home (tavstarion, teen, 6k words)

The moon shone high overhead, and Ketheric Thorm’s world was crumbling all around him.

from deus proditus (Ketheric study, general, 1k words)

The thing was, Astarion really had wanted her from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

from let me wrap my teeth around the world (tavstarion, explicit, 5k words)

In retrospect, John should have waited before bringing his friends back to life.

from like prometheus we are bound, our godforsaken lot (John/Mercy/Augustine, The Locked Tomb, general, 2k words)

It starts so abruptly that Cliff doesn’t even realize what’s happening.

from you know how to make me crawl (Cliff/David, Black Mirror, explicit, 1k words)

Despite everything, and despite what her future memories will tell her, Erica grew up relatively happy in the House of Slaughter.

from ain’t it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves (Erica study, Something Is Killing The Children, teen, 2k words)

so!! first of all I'm surprised I had to go deep enough that I ran out of bg3 fics lmao. I'd almost forgotten I'd written that black mirror fic!! and yet I didnt go far enough to reach a dragon age one 🥲 I really have left this fandom huh (for now! 😤🐺)

second of all, I'm surprised by how short some of these are! I definitely think of myself as more wordy, and I prefer my longer sentences when I look at this. I think the weakest are the bg3 ones in the middle where I have to establish which act we're in (and let me tell you I STRUGGLED with that Baldur's Gate city description, it was literally the last part I wrote in the fic and you can kinda tell i wanted to get things over with aksdh)

I do prefer the ones that are more character-centric (poor Ketheric, so dramatic lmao). I think if you're going in fandom-blind John's line is the most striking (he can bring people back from the dead???) even tho if you have the context it's not that impressive an opening 😂 And I super enjoyed writing astarion being a dick about goblins!

but I gotta say my favourite line is the "it was only after Astarion had finished the kill" etc etc from tear it through my heart 🥰🥰 in fact I liked that line so much I made it the summary! these are the kind of vibes I want to always achieve 👀 also, honestly, I should start in action/medias res more often! it seems like a fun style I've tragically underused so far

[spiritedhamlet]

One of my favourite pastimes is finding the most beautiful unreviewed annotations on genius lyrics. Offical notes that provide factual context on the artists are nice. But someone’s personal interpretation and emotional response to the words written purely out of love for the music? That’s where it’s at.

[strawberrypeachgelato]

i called the sex operator just to help me sleep better

but i dont wanna cum i wanna hold someone

i tried my very fucking best

just to get it off my chest

but my word play’s not the best

i can never find another stupid rhyme

and i try and i try but its never getting better

i wish the stormy weather would end

my mother says im losing it she says its all in my head

but most nights i feel im just better off dead

when everybody’s got someone to listen to them

here i am on my own again

when everybody’s got someone to help them through it

i guess i’ll smoke another bowl instead

when she picked up the phone

she asked if i’m alone

i said i’m always on my own

then she asked whats on my mind

and i asked her about the time

cause i’m about to confess all my crimes

she said i pay by the hour but if you’re feeling sour you should look for your support somewhere else

i said i’ve got no friends cos i burned that bridge again

and i haven’t asked for help ever since

- r

[darkacademiablues]

“Suck it and See, you never know”

- Arctic Monkeys

[pikslasrce]

and if my unremarkable ass decided to try her hand at following in her patron saint brian molkos footsteps what then. 1994 -> 2024 start a band. 1996 -> 2026 put out a debut album. david bowie hears demos and takes placebo on tour bc morrisey flaked out -> brian molko hears demos and takes _insert band name_ on tour. brian fucks that old man -> *i* fuck *that* old man. The rest would be history