#did not intend for this to actually rhyme

[theleafwing]

January stretches for miles

And the snow brings your smile

I wish I could see that version of you

But in this world that is not something I could do

It’s harsh and it bites

It claws and it fights

To keep us from being happy together.

Your feathers once were bright

Prettier than fireworks at night

I wish I could see that version of you

Your feathers were green, but now you’re just blue

This world lets you suffer

But you don’t ever buffer

And I just want to protect you.

“Don’t die”

“I’ll keep you safe, I never intended to lie”

Your will can’t be stopped

You won’t consider it even when your totem is popped

Please just listen to me

Let this go to be free

Don’t go somewhere I can’t keep you safe.

[prokopetz]

The Gremlin Game Designer's Creed

Rules are toys, and the process of rules-mediated play consists of smashing their faces together like little girls making their Barbies make out. Unless a rules module is explicitly intended to be enacted solo, it should present a generous surface area for other rules to bite into. The most elegantly self-contained piece of rules design is, collaboratively speaking, also the most useless.

The principal function of "player characters" as discrete collections of mechanical traits is to furnish each player with an assemblage of shiny things to show off to other players. Mechanical abstraction is well and good, but if you abstract away the act of curating one's collection of shinies, player engagement will suffer.

The GM, if present, is a fellow player. Ensure that they have their own toys and shinies to play with. The failure of a game to provide these is often a major contributor to why nobody wants to run it!

The most effective way of encouraging players to do what you want is to make a number go up. This applies to both to rewards and to misfortunes; a number counting up to disaster a much more visceral motivator than a number counting down to zero.

Crunch is good. The defining feature of tabletop roleplaying is that rules produce stories. The act of interpreting the outputs of the rules and the act of telling the game's story are the same activity. Be mindful of what kinds of stories your rules want to tell; you may find that their opinion on the matter differs from your own!

Actually assembling your game's rules is as much a process of discovery as it is of invention. In the course of designing and playtesting, you may find that your own game has rules that you didn't know about. Where did they come from? It is a mystery.

Randomised outcomes should be made mandatory with care and restraint; randomised outcomes should be made available with delirious abandon. As far as is practicable, players should always have the option of asking the dice what unhinged bullshit should happen next. Corollary: lookup tables are your friend.

Players don't need your permission to depart from the rules as written; granting it is arrogant. By the same token, however, it should never be unclear to players whether they're departing from the rules as written. Let the thought process behind what you're writing hang out for all the world to see; folks will be rummaging in the game's guts anyway, so give them easy access.

If your game has a default setting, explain it as little as possible, but always let the rules and presentation reflect it. Seeing an entry for "poorly made dwarf" in a table of player character backgrounds will fire a group's imagination more strongly in three words than a chapter stuffed with worldbuilding lore could in ten thousand.

You don't need to be good at naming things as long as you're good at puns. Wordplay, alliteration and rhyme may also serve in this capacity, as, in a pinch, may a well placed dick joke.

[deliur]

can I request a thanos x reader angst where the reader almost dies in mingle when she gets pushed out by another player, and Thanos thinks she’s dead but finds her after? (dating please!)

i’m sooo sorry, I didn’t see the dating part until after I wrote this and if I rewrite it just won’t be enjoyable.. but it’s kinda romantic???

I’ll run away with you.

Relationship: Thanos/F!Reader

Tags: Implied death, blood, drug usage, they r lowkey crushing on eachother hehe, they knew eachother before squid games.

No, I didn’t spell check this,,,

You and Thanos had gone into these games together, not knowingly though. Actually, you were familiar with him and Nam-Gyu. You worked in the club that Nam-Gyu promoted and Thanos frequently visited. You were just a simple drink runner, though. Just looking for tips. That’s how you met Thanos, becoming good friends after awhile. You had hung at his place after hours many times, and maybe things got a little more touchy than friends would typically get.. But you never spoke about it afterwards. Just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. But the average person knew friends didn’t look at each other the way he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. To your surprise, the club guests stopped tipping you when they noticed you being around Thanos too much.. It’s not like he could help you either, he was suffering his own debt as you fell into yours.

That’s how you ended up here, 5 minutes until the next game would start and you swallowed dryly, sitting on the edge of your bunk. Your back warm with anxiety. Thanos came, sitting by you as he was obviously drugged up. He grinned wide as an open palmed hand patted your back a little harder than intended. You gasped softly as the feeling caught your breath and knocked you out of your anxious trance. You looked over at him, facial expression softening slightly as your panic left just by a little. “We got this shit, man! We fuckin’ dominated in Red light, Green light AND Penta! Maybe more of these no brained losers will get wiped out this round and we’ll get our money. Get the fuck outta here, y’know?” He asked, being too enthusiastic. Too harsh. You brushed his hand off your back, shaking you head at him in annoyance. “I’m not even worried about money anymore.. I’m concerned for my life and yours.. You should be too. I’m sick of washing blood splatter off my face.” You said harshly as you glared at him. He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Whatever, I know deep down you’re just as harsh and Nam-Gyu and I.” He slurred slightly as he fidgeted with his necklace. Your eyes locked on it. “You’re only like this cause you’re fuckin’ high, Su-Bong.” You mentioned.

. . .

Sooner than later, you were ushered into a large room with the other players, like animals. Like sheep being pushed into the open to be devoured by wolves. You and Thanos stood alongside each other. You slowly looked over at him, only recognizing him as the high junkie you met at the club. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second as a twisting feeling arose in your chest. Your throat burned. You were scared.. So scared. And Thanos and Nam-Gyu were fucking high. They probably didn’t even know the gravity of the situation. The yellow platform you all stood on began to spin, playing a childhood nursery rhyme as it did so. Your breath picked up, breathing heavy as you prepared for the platform to stop.

“dung-geulge dung-geulge, dung-geulge dung-geulge, bing-geulbing-geul dol-agamyeo chum-eul chubsida, sonppyeog-eul chimyeonseo, nolaeleul buleumyeo, lallalalla jeulgeoubge chumchuja.” The nursery rhyme rang throughout the room. The song stopped. The platform stopped. You looked around frantically as the voice came over the room. “Six players!” The Ai voice chimed happily. It angered you. You looked at Nam-Gyu and Thanos with pleading eyes. Thanos grabbed your arm and pulled you with him, frantically looking around. You spotted Se-Mi and Min-Su, along with Gyeong-Su. You pointed at them. “THEM!!” You managed to get out of your throat in fear. Thanos yelled at them. “GET THE FUCK OVER HERE IF YOU WANNA LIVE!!!” He yelled as they noticed and trailed behind the group. Once you all made it in the room, Thanos looked down at you, clutching his bicep in fear as the gunshots sounded. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you twitched with each gunshot. His eyes softened slightly at your fear. The others weren’t paying attention to you two. “It’ll be okay. Hey, we’re gonna get out of here after this game.. I promise. Everything will be normal, we’ll go to the club.. Get drinks.. Do karaoke.. Just stay strong. Promise me you’ll stay alive?” He asked, seeming as if your fear sobered him just enough to feel empathy for you. You opened your eyes slowly, nodding. “I’ll live. Only if you live.” You said with a small grin as he plastered on a big smile. You held up your pinkie. He twisted his with yours. You were intertwined. You looked in his eyes for a moment, him staring back at yours. Like it was the last time you could see him. You knew he had a good soul.

The doors unlocked as you both snapped out of it, making your way back to the platform.

. . .

This was the last and final round now.. Your group had lost Gyeong-Su at this point. It was all too real.. But you just needed to survive this last round. One more round, and you would all vote X.

One more round, you would all be out.

One more round, you’d all be safe

One more round, you’d be laughing with Thanos again.

Just one

More

Round…

You were zoned out as the platform spun. Three players. Thanos and Nam-Gyu, assuming you were with them. Se-Mi and Min-Su took off to find someone as you were left. Fuck. You took off to find a different group, looking around frantically. You saw an open group, gasping as you began to run towards the door. Someone shoved you tp the floor as they sprinted past you and into the room, shutting the door. You were left on the floor, panicked. You were going to die. Thanos noticed you missing. “Where… Where the fuck is she?! Did she not follow us?? He said frantically as it then settled that there was only two of them.. He spotted you across the room before someone ran in him and Nam-Gyu’s room, shutting the door. Thanos tried to shove them out but Nam-Gyu grabbed him, shaking his head as the door locked. “It’s too late. Doors are locked. Shes gone.. I’m sorry man.” Thanos got out of his grasp as he saw a body identical to yours on the floor as the guards aimed the gun at the head. “DON’T SHOOT!! TAKE ME INSTEAD!” He yelled out of the small slot in the door, now completely sobered up. You had been pulled into a room with people last minute.. But he didn’t know that. He watched as the woman he thought was you got shot in the head, her blood splattering all the way to his door. He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms as he turned to the random that came into the room. “This is YOUR FUCKING FAULT.” He yelled at them, ready to strangle them as Nam-Gyu grabbed him. Thanos yelled out “I didn’t even get to fucking tell her!” Nam-Gyu looked at him oddly, letting go. Thanos’ breath shook as he looked at his shoes, slumping down with his back against the wall, head in his hands. “I was gonna tell her when we fuckin’ got out of here.. She’s the reason I came to these games.. Was gonna fix my debt.. Start a life with her. She made me want to continue to live. Now shes FUCKING GONE because of YOU.” He said harshly as he looked at the random player, who looked incredibly guilty. Thanos’ eyes were red, not from drugs, from stress and emotion.

The door unlocked, finally. Nam-Gyu helped Thanos up as his cheeks were stained with very few tears. He would wait until tonight to let it out. He chest burned with guilt. Why hadn’t he made sure you were behind them. This was his fault. He watched you get shot, and it was all his fault. Everyone walked back into the main room as he saw your head in the crowd. His face lit up for a second. “No.. that can’t be her.” He muttered before you came running to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you buried your face in his chest. He looked down at you before pulling you back. “Is that really you? You didn’t die..? But.. I saw you get shot-” he rambled before you cut him off by pressing your lips to his, not very softly before you pulled back and held his face in your hands, making him lean down and pressing your forehead to his. “I’m not dead. I promise. But please.. Vote X.. get out of here.. With me. Please.” You said, shakily as he nodded. He was caught off guard by your lips on his earlier.

Voting commenced as he looked over at you with confidence in his eyes. “I’ll run away with you. Start over.” He said as you gave him a soft smile with a nod.

Let’s hope voting works in your favor.

[hoiststowline]

loml

spinister x reader

Mostly in disbelief, Misfire moves his gaze between the side of your head and the mech at his front, expression distorted into one of mild disgust. "If you say 'that's so hot' one more time, I'm gonna slam my servo in the nearest door,"

A pout forms on your lips, unimpressed that he had interrupted your gawking session rather than encouraged such behavior. About three dozen feet ahead of the both of you, just out of earshot, Spinister stretches, splaying his servos wide so that you get a perfect view of his figure.

It's an almost unholy sight, watching the way his left hip juts out just a bit, presenting you the entire expanse of his back, for once, without the weapon that typically rests there. If he was facing you, though, then your godawful survey would be revealed, unable to hide from his unblinking crimson stare, likely asking you why your face looked like that.

"But-" You start, reluctantly tugging your gaze from such a sight, but unable to finish as he continues.

"And if you say 'but it is,' you need help. Seriously." Arms now crossed over his chest, he cocks one hip outward as if to display his vast disinterest in your choice of admirer.

With a sigh, your shoulders slump forward, fingers grasping the edge of the counter presently perched on. "I should never have told you. Let me be a mess in peace, Misfire,"

"You did no such thing, captain obvious." He laughs, now nudging you gingerly with an elbow. "It's kinda like this ship's best-kept secret. Everybody knows, except for that bolts for brains."

Spinister brings his arms back to his sides, standing just behind Krok as he mulls over coordinates that have no rhyme or reason, undecided as to where to land. "I don't know how dating works in your terms, but right now I am one hundred percent in a situationship."

"You're lucky if he even realizes you're in the room," A third joins your conversation, Crankcase sidling up to your left, addressing his datapad more than the two of you. "Give it a rest, y/n. It ain't worth the trouble you've gone to already."

“I didn’t think himbo would be your type.” Misfire jabs, loud enough that both Krok and Spinister turn to stare at the small party that had gathered. You jump, hopeful that nobody heard that other than the intended recipient.

“Shouldn’t you guys be doing literally anything else other than standing there?” Krok gravels, rolling his eyes as you wave at the medic sweetly, smiling so hard your cheeks began to hurt. “There’s a million things we have to do before taking off,”

Spinister waves back, mildly confused, but happy nonetheless.

“I’m working.” Crankcase shrugs, but when you peer over at the datapad, he’s playing solitaire.

“I just woke up from a nap.” Misfire answers, nonchalant as if he didn’t have a list of things needed to be completed. “And y/n’s been drooling over here for Primus knows how long—“

“Have not!” But it doesn’t help as your palm subconsciously reaches upward to swipe under your bottom lip, fearing he was telling the truth. “I did my responsibilities, thank you very much.”

“Drooling?” Spinister asks, helm tilting to the side. “Do you have a vitamin B12 deficiency?”

Krok pauses, looking up at Spinister with the most intense stare of ‘what the actual fuck did you just say?’, while Misfire erupts in a fit of laughter.

“No? I don’t think so.” You match his action, angling your head to one side. “How do you know what vitamin B12 is?”

It’s not an insane question, none of them had a single clue about organic health or nutrition, so it being Spinister that whips that diagnosis out of nowhere does raise some eyebrows. Though he is the resident medic, you typically took your own well being into consideration, not out of spite, more-so resourcefulness.

“I have been doing my own research.” He says, crossing the cockpit easily to now stand over you, bathed entirely in his shadow. “I was worried if something were to happen to you, nobody would know how to heal it.”

You pale as he takes a gentle, but firm hold of your jaw between a thumb and an index finger, bending forward to asses all while totally invading your personal space.

“Dude has no idea what he’s doing,” Krok scoffs, and the irony of the double meaning slaps you coldly across the face.

“I’m fine,” You squeak, stiffening at how pitiful it sounded. “Thank you, but-I wasn’t drooling, and I don’t have a B12 deficiency.”

Spinister doesn’t seem to agree, grip faltering but relenting as you scramble away from his touch. “If you say so, y/n.”

“Now I’m going to take nap.” With a few unsteady steps, you clamber off your previous perch and stumble down the hallway, fingers prodding at the skin he just so casually touched.

“Were you trying to make her face that red?” Crankcase asks, once the door had closed back over. “Or was that unintentional. I can never figure it out with you.”

The medic looks between the three of them, and to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t understand. “What? What did I do?”

“A vitamin B12 deficiency? Really Spin?” Misfire croons, a common indifference piercing the air. “You could have done better, man. She literally sat here ogling at you and you just asked her if she wasn’t taking her vitamins.”

“Morons. You all are morons.” Krok has discussed this with you a hundred times over, and it all comes back to the same point, you didn’t have the nerve to say it to him. Misfire and Crankcase aiding and abetting was no help, and he’s pretty sure it makes the game they were playing null and void if they interfered as such.

“What part of your warped processor did you pull that scrap from?” Crankcase teases, still in a state of incredulity.

“Ha! That’s funny.” Nobody knows which part, but nobody cared to ask. “I just remembered it. I read it a few solar-cycles ago.”

That wasn’t the inquiry that needed to be solved, but in his mind, that was the first step toward finding the root of the problem. “Do you know what just happened?” Misfire ex-vents, failing to stifle his uncontrollable laughter. “You broke y/n, dude.”

It takes Spinister an embarrassing amount of time to find you, though you were not where he initially thought you would be. Not your room, and not even remotely close to the Medbay, he wanders aimlessly around until he reaches the very end of the small ship, finding a cargo area that was rarely used.

His footfalls alert that your hiding spot has been discovered, but ultimately unbothered you continue on with your coloring book as if it hadn't been. “Hi Spin,” You call, discarding a green crayon to look for a purple one.

“Hi. What are you doing?” He comes to crouch just shy of your art supplies, elbows resting on his thighs. “Seems like fun.”

“Coloring to ignore the pain.” You reply easily, looking up at him through thick lashes, pausing mid-action. “You’re welcome to join, if you’d like.”

“Oh.” He blinks thrice before continuing. “Yeah. I would.”

Ever so carefully, he lowers himself onto his stomach, matching your pose as you slide the book forward, it now sitting between the two of you as you resume your distracted coloring.

“Why are you in pain?” He asks, picking up a blue crayon before beginning to prudently color in the background of the picture. “Is it the vitamin B12 deficiency?”

You want to laugh, lips pursing together at the comically small crayon pinched between his forefinger and his thumb, nothing stopping the massive mech. “Where’s the vitamin stuff coming from? I don’t have a deficiency, Spin. M’okay.”

“I started reading organic medical journals. Found some on that market we were at.” He doesn’t look your way, gaze fixated downward on the paper. “Especially after you cut yourself and we didn’t have anything to patch it up with,”

While that was true, it was also a paper cut. You needed a band-aid, not a frantic group of Cybertronians freaking out that you were going to ‘offline’. They meant well, just as much in the dark as you were, but it didn’t stop the frustration from spreading like wildfire.

“That’s…actually really sweet of you.” Relenting, you set the crayon down to offer him your full attention, doing the same himself.

“If it’s not that bothering you, what is?” Spinister is still daunting, even lying down this way, but his intense stare means entirely no harm.

Your eyes flit just behind him, tempted to start running as fast at you possibly could. "Everything." You complain, dropping your head into your hands, defeated and unable to meet his optics anymore. "I'm not sick, but I'm definitely unwell."

Spinister hums, as if he understood, but he most definitely did not. "I hope you feel better soon."

When you pull back, you find that he's got his chin in one servo, holding its weight as the other slides across the metal floor, digits just shy of your arm. "Thanks," You murmur, soft smile pushing through the embarrassment.

Just as it couldn't possibly get any worse, he reaches over and kindly pats the top of your head, finger sliding down to tuck a ruffled lock of hair back behind your ear. Visibly shuddering as a chill runs the length of your spine, it takes immense willpower to not crumble under his gentle weight.

"What's this supposed to be?" He asks, now fixated on your half-colored page.

"A flower." You turn the book around, now presented the right way around. "This keeps me busy. It's fun."

"I can see why." He hums, pulling his servo back to scoop the crayon back up, continuing his erratic strokes. "We should do this more often."

And in a moment of blind confidence, you agree. "We should."

[a/n: this is also going on ao3// for everyone who gives haunt and that scrapped drabble so much love, this one is for you!!]

@signedaiko <3 !!

[intothedysphoria]

It was a joke. It had to be.

Billy had asked him, with a bouquet of flowers in one hand, on a date. Considering the last prolonged interaction they’d had, Steve had punched him in the face, laughing hysterically then slamming the door felt justified.

As happened every time Steve did something stupid, Sofia Harrington knocked gently on his door. She sat on the side of his bed, humming a nursery rhyme he hadn’t heard since they lived in Romania and asked him why he’d been so rude to that nice boy.

Steve suspected not many people had referred to Billy Hargrove as a “nice boy.” Loud, yes. Intimidating, also yes. Unbelievably attractive, absolutely. But nice? Those were the words of a woman who’d taken one look at “King Steve” and asked why her little boy was being deliberately cruel to fit in.

There were many reasons Steve had chosen to think that was some kind of a sick prank. He knew it wasn’t homophobia because he’d seen the bars Billy frequented but goyim were generally not actively seeking out a Jewish partner.

Sofia listened to this reasoning then held his hand and told him that things would work out how they were intended to. Feeling overly emotional and slightly embarrassed, Steve followed her down to observe Shabbat.

Steve idly wondered how Billy would take to Jewish culture, if he had accepted. There was nobody who didn’t know Billy’s faith, considering he would cross himself every time he stepped onto the basketball court and Steve’s only exposure to Catholicism was his great aunt in Texas.

The next time they talked, it wasn’t even a return to normally scheduled programming. It was worse.

Billy stared at him blankly, only making polite small talk for Max’s sake and with an obviously strained smile curling at his lips.

He looked upset, monumentally so and Steve started to realise that he’d slammed the door on someone he certainly wouldn’t mind dating because he’d unfairly branded him as an antisemite.

Spending the majority of Rosh Hashanah bemoaning the fact that he was a fucking idiot had his Bubbe telling him to take a walk and apologise. It was the beginning of a new year, the perfect time to make amends.

Steve didn’t exactly apologise in the traditional sense. Instead he sent an even more elaborate bouquet of flowers with an apology note attached to the ribbon. Roses because everyone loved roses.

Billy did not love roses. At least he didn’t love them in place of an actual apology. They were dumped on the foot of his door as an extra fuck you.

The second apology attempt didn’t go much better than the first. There was nothing left on Steve’s porch but Steve’s attempt to be “cool” about it was not gaining him any favours.

Instead, Billy stared at him like he had a fish on his head and slammed the door in his face.

Karma really was a bitch then.

He had to beg Max to arrange a time where Steve could apologise properly, which she accepted after Steve offered to pay for two separate shopping trips with El and Dustin.

They met on a bench near the woods outside of Hawkins. Billy grunted, clearly impatient to get it over with so Steve talked.

As Steve explained his experiences as one of only two Jewish students through his four years of high school, Steve felt Billy’s hand creeping over to his. The look he got was no longer angry or hurt, but understanding. Steve apologised for the fight in November too and they decided to do over.

Most of the date was talking in Steve’s room. Talking about the horrendously embarrassing things Steve did in middle school, talking about Billy’s family back in Ireland, talking about where they were going to college. Normal teenager stuff.

Steve felt his eyes start to well up when he heard about Neil and how nonchalant Billy was describing the abuse he’d endured. That would never happen to him again. Not on Steve’s watch.

They may have ended the night reaching second base on Steve’s plaid covered bed until his mom decided to knock on his door, demanding to meet the first boy Steve had brought over since Jonathan.

Even after that, Billy still wanted to go on a second date. That was a miracle in itself and proof enough to Steve that Billy was the best date he’d ever had.

*quick note that I am Jewish and Jewish people being wary around goyim is completely understandable, this is just a little ficlet for Rosh Hashana

[artbyblastweave]

I do like the ending to the TF2 comics, but it feels so evident that it was heading toward a different ending that I'm dying to hear theories on what it might have been. Penny for your thoughts?

So, this is kind of a difficult one to answer because the sheer amount of time over which the comics were produced means that "the original ending" could have changed way closer to the beginning of the project than the end. But, generally, I think the point at which you can sort of see the pivot towards the comics team realizing that they were going to have to resolve the story unaided was around issue 4 or 5.

I do believe them that something akin to the reveal about the Administrator was always the plan; it's simply too thematically aligned with the game as a whole. But I do think that the original plan probably tied into the space race, references to which have been threaded through TF2 since at least the pyromania update.

This is from the blog post for TF comics 3, which also featured discussion of the team's development of the now-shelved map Asteroid- A map set on some kind of moon base, released in a partially-completed state for testing and feedback purposes. The game mode consisted of hunting and destroying the enemies teams swarm of maintenance robots to charge a reactor to... do something. Speculations on what the lore underpinning this setup would be abounded; I recall people assuming for the sake of simplicity that Grey probably had something to do with the robots. No concrete lore ever materialized because the map dematerialized several years ago, but the effort on display indicates they were planning something with this.

Around this time, multiple assets were added to the game gesturing at some kind of conspiratorial project; The blue Mann co poster in particular has a space-related aesthetic.

Powerhouse, released in 2015, had a couple similar hint assets, again released at a point in the game's lifespan where the devs putting something in the game might actually hint at a future plan;

This is on top of on the existing lore about the Mann Co./TF Industries space program- Doomsday and the sabotaged Poopy Joe launch (later revealed to be the result of Helen swindling the U.S government out of their Australium for at-the-time unknown reasons,) all of which was still a comparatively recent addition to the lore when issue 3 and these posters came out. And, on top of all that, we have the climax of issue 4- the last cache of australium on earth being taken to space by Sniper's birth mother:

In the story as written the New Zealand excursion is pretty weird- it contributes to Sniper's characterization, but otherwise this amounts to an Australium cache introduced and lost in the span of the same issue; fundamentally an odd use of page space if they didn't intend to do something with this.

So, all things considered, the original plan would probably have involved an excursion to, and final showdown in, space. Either The Administrator or Grey Mann might have had a long term goal that was dependent on access to space, necessitating extensive australium access for reasons besides their life extenders; alternatively, they might have all just pursued Sniper's mom up there, the joke ultimately being that everyone wound up stranded in outer space in order to scrape a few more months of pointless life extension off the side of a rocket. The split difference might have been that Grey's grand evil plan involved space-born domination, which Helen wanted to prevent not on moral grounds, but because letting Grey succeed would ruin her plan to torture Zephaniah; this would rhyme with what happens in the story as written, where Grey really did have a conventional evil plan to kill everyone in Australia that got headed off mainly by accident than due to heroic intervention. RD_Asteroid would have released as the centerpiece of a tie-in update, a gameplay tie-in to the story arc.

Can't even begin to guess how Charles Darling and Oliva were supposed to play into all of this. They likely were, though; Charles has a connection to the tangled Mann Family web through Bette Darling, and the whole Saxton Mags resolution felt pinched as hell.

Standing disclaimer that a lot of this is from memory of being in the fandom as all of this was developing- there's likely stuff I've missed or forgotten.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Agatha All Along Finale Thoughts (spoilers)

Imo, the finale undermined the entire series. It was a show built on the strengths and foibles of women, middle-aged women at that, with Agatha at its heart. But then, in the final hour, it was revealed-- umm, actually, it was Teen all along. It all ties back to the Maximoffs, sorry.

It was completely unnecessary and renders all other characters moot. And disposable. Even the one woman who survived, Jen, was nothing more than a wordless snippet of her flying off-- no follow up, no through line, or even thoughts about her experience. And there was absolutely zero intention communicated in trying to reconnect with her.

And yes, yes, the lesbian kiss of death was literal this time. But the kill your gays trope bothers me less than what they did to Agatha. Or rather, what they DIDN'T do. See, basic storytelling requires a journey. Not just physical, but emotional too. Either from the characters or from the audience's understanding of the characters.

Throughou the series there were hints that Agatha could be changing-- but she ultimately reverts back to her initial characterization with nothing learned or developed within her character. And I wouldn't mind that Agatha starts and remains an unapologetic villain-- if the story had shed some light on the reasoning behind it. Desiring more power for the sake of power isn't enough anymore. What did she intend to do with that power? And there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, even as selfish as she is.

Also, why can't she face her son? It was a big confession, one that *suggests* guilt or remorse in how she's lived her life, but in the end even that didn't seem to amount to any significant change.

Overall, I think the show should cut the entire final episode. It was ultimately unnecessary, and in my opinion making Teen the source of The Road all along was a dumb choice, and turned the show from a fully formed stand alone series to nothing more than a launchpad for a future series all about Teen.

So. When I rewatch, I'll be excluding the official finale, and end my viewing where it should have ended-- with a kiss.

[spiribia]

A lot of character-gets-interrupted lines kind of taper off with the intent for someone else to cut in and you get the sense there wasn’t actually anything else written for them to say anyway but musical numbers have a fun possibility where due to rhyming couplets you can tell exactly what word the person intended to say before they were interrupted. it makes it feel like they actually did mean to continue the sentence organically (and you were anticipating more) if someone else didn’t butt in. Strangely effective medium for characters talking over each other

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 62)

Alexia Putellas x Character (22)

Masterlist (other parts here)

((**3.2k**))

Alexia POV

There was something about the way that Ridley took care of everything that Alexia was obsessed with. Her entire life she’d been the one doing that. She’d been the dominant one, the one who made the decisions, cleaned up after messes of players or amongst friends. It became her identity without her actually choosing that, and so that’s how people thought of her. Alexia Putellas, the Captain. Alexia Putellas, the problem solver. Alexia Putellas, la Reina.

It wasn’t a burden all the time. She did enjoy it sometimes, though she was so used to it that she didn’t realise just how incredibly relieving it felt to be the one looked after. With Ridley, she knew she always had a choice, and yet she still took away her burdens without even trying. She wasn’t worried about paparazzi, or what she was wearing, or about her knee. Everything took a backseat because the demeanour of the Australian was very much that of confidence and an all-encompassing awareness. For Alexia, tonight was about her taking some of that burden away from her by organising their dinner, reassuring her that she was there, and just being friends… who flirted. They both enjoyed and encouraged that, though.

Their car ride was silent, but not awkward. In fact, they both wore smiles on their faces that they couldn’t seem to rid themselves of. Alexia couldn’t help but stare at her as she drove. Ridley had that little smirk playing around her lips; her mind clearly somewhere it was happy. She wondered if she were thinking about her.

She watched her thumb absentmindedly stroking the steering wheel and wished it were doing that on her thigh instead. But tonight, they were friends. Alexia needed a friend... as much as she wanted Ridley to pull the car over and fuck her senseless in the back seat.

Another thing Alexia wasn't used to. Wanting to be submissive. She never had before, but that’s just another uniqueness she drew out of her.

On the contrary, the thought of Ridley under her was… enticing. She wondered what sounds she’d make as she came. Would she even want to be under her?

“Stop thinking about sex, Lex.” Ridley said in English, smiling at the rhyming.

Alexia’s eyes widened. “I… wasn’t.”

They stopped at a red light and Ridley turned to her and softly put her fingertips under her chin. “Don’t lie to me, la Reina.” She said it softly, though her eyes flashed. “Ever. Let’s both agree to never lie to each other.”

Alexia could feel herself turning into a submissive mess.

“Okay. I agree.”

Ridley didn’t remove her fingers until she was satisfied that she was telling the truth. “Good girl.”

Although those words made her wet, Alexia had a moment of strength as she slapped her hand.

“That’s not very ‘friends’ of you.”

Ridley smirked as she began to drive.

Alexia continued to tease, reminding herself who she was. La Reina. “But I guess, you’re usually touchy with your ‘friends’, aren’t you?”

“I deserved that.” The Australian laughed and then looked at her with that natural flirt of hers. “You don’t want to be my friend?”

They both knew it was just that, a tease. A rhetorical one at that. Up until that point, Ridley had seemed to almost be avoiding sex with her for fear of emotional proximity.

She answered anyways. “We both know how that went last time.”

Ridley nodded slowly. “One of my larger regrets.”

Alexia put her out of her misery. “But yes, I do want to be your friend. I’d like that.”

They were talking about actual friendship now, nothing else, and Ridley’s responding smile was everything to her.

“I’ll do that,” Ridley insisted. The waiter stepped aside as she pushed Alexia’s seat in and moved to sit opposite her.

He gave them their menus, read out the specials, and then left them.

“You look surprised..”

“I’ve never been here before,” she murmured as she looked around. “Lucy has good taste.”

Lucy had originally made the booking a while ago, intending on taking Blau when she planned on spending a night in London. Then the accident had happened and although they could have gone, Blau felt more comfortable at home until she could walk.

“Well she does eat a lot.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

There was something stress-free about talking in Spanish around people who most likely couldn’t understand them. They received a few looks and in an even amount as Alexia was well-known and Ridley was… Ridley.

“What are you thinking?”

“The chicken piccata. And you?”

“Beef Wellington.”

“Hm, that sounded nice.”

“Would you like to share?”

Alexia caught her eye. It was a genuine request. “I’d like that.”

The waiter came over at Ridley’s gesture and took their order and left.

“I have a request.”

“Shoot.”

“I want you to let me pay you back for the physio.”

“Ah. Request denied.”

“Ridley…”

“No.”

“Ridle-”

“Nada.”

“Rid-”

“Nope.”

“Lee!” She had no idea where it came from, but it certainly got her attention. Ridley tilted her head, her eyes wondrous. A few seconds of silence fell.

“Say it again,” she murmured, her eyes on her lips.

Alexia took a breath. “Lee.”

She saw her pupils dilate. Was she not used to nicknames? Riddles. Romeo.

“Lex and Lee, hm? And your accent makes it much cuter.”

She struggled to not respond to the flirting. “Let me pay you back please?”

“No.”

“You can pay for that, or you can pay for dinner, but you’re not doing both.”

“Watch me.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”

“It’s not a regular occurrence...”

“You’re annoying.”

“I think you mean ‘chivalrous’.”

Alexia was fighting a losing battle against a brick wall, but she could be sneaky as well. “Argh. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Don’t get lost now.”

She rolled her eyes and when she was out of sight, she bee-lined for the cashier and gave them her credit card for the table, insisting they use it for their meal. She left it there and headed to the bathroom so it wouldn’t be so obvious before going back to the table.

She tried to hide her smug smile when she returned, though it disappeared when she twisted her knee wrong as she went to sit.

Alexia sharply inhaled a breath as she all but fell into the seat Ridley was holding. She was down by her side immediately.

“Lex…” she worried. “Your knee?”

“I turned stupidly. It’s okay.”

Ridley’s hand went to her knee and started to feel around.

“Let me take your heels off.”

“They’re only small. And it’s a really nice restaurant.” Alexia murmured as she looked around, wondering if it looked to people like Ridley was proposing.

“Eyes on me.” Alexia’s eyes found Ridley’s immediately. “Don’t worry about anyone else. Let me take them off, please?”

Alexia nodded. Ridley was right.

She enjoyed the feel of her fingers along her ankles a little too much, not realising just how sensitive that part of her body was. Unfortunately, she was too quick for her to really enjoy it, though perhaps that was a good thing. She had already been surprised once in the bathroom by how wet she was from their car ride.

Ridley returned to her seat and patted her thigh.

“Really?”

She didn’t answer, just patted it again and held her eyes. Alexia lifted her leg and placed her ankle on her thigh under the table, Ridley holding it there with a hand gripping the lower part of her calf. Her hand slid further up then, slowly, sensually, and Ridley watched her expression carefully as she did so. Alexia forgot how to breath, how to speak, how to be a human. Her expression must have said all of the above, because Ridley smirked.

Her hand stopped at her knee and began to massage it exactly where she needed, her expert fingers kneading away the tension in her soreness and increasing the tension inside of her. She could have come right then and there.

They sat in that comfortable silence while her fingers worked her knee and all around. By the time she gave her leg back, the waiter was on his way over with the food.

They ate half of their plates each, and then switched as they said they would. They talked about what they missed in Spain, about Chiquito, about flying.

Their plates were cleared while they were still talking away, just enjoying the company of each other. They didn’t care that there was a hundred other people around them, nor that the sun had set, nor that outside it was now raining heavily, battering down onto the roof. They only had eyes for each other.

The waiter handed them a dessert menu, and again Alexia wasn’t sure if she should, and so they agreed to just share one between the two.

“Just one menu for her, please.” Ridley told him before smiling at her. “Your choice.”

Her choice. Of course it was. It always was with Ridley. She didn’t need long to decide.

“The éclair please…”

“With two plates please,” Ridley added, Alexia enjoying hearing her Australian accent in English. He nodded and left. “The éclair? Naughty.”

“You said you liked anything with custard…”

Ridley hadn’t seen the menu, so she didn’t know. She looked excited. “It’s filled with custard?!”

“Vanilla custard, yes.” Alexia felt like she’d done something right. She was proud of herself.

They returned easily to their talks, the conversation flowing easily. Watching Ridley’s excited face when the éclair came out was the highlight of her night.

She closed her eyes as she took that first bite, nodding in agreement with the dessert. Alexia couldn’t help but use that opportunity to take a little cream from the top and decorate her nose with it.

Her eyes opened mid roll. “Really? You’re lucky you look too stunning tonight to return the favour.”

Instead, she wiped it off with one finger and placed her elbow on the table, extending it towards her. It was a challenge to see what she would do in a room full of people.

And so Alexia did something she would never do in public. She took Ridley’s hand in between her own and made sure to keep her eyes as she sucked the cream from the tip of her finger. The excitedly surprised look that Ridley gave her as she watched was worth it.

“Mmn. Thank you.”

“You never fail to surprise me.”

They finished off the éclair and Ridley called for the check. Alexia hid her smirk as she bill came, though it disappeared quickly.

“The bill is paid. Here is your card, ma’am.” He extended a black card to Ridley. She thanked him as he left. Ridley winked at her and reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve another card. She held it up between her first two fingers.

“This is yours, I believe?”

Alexia’s eyes widened. “What? When?”

“When you were in the bathroom, of course. You’re far too predictable.” She said as she winked.

Alexia snatched the card and put it back in her wallet. She needed to get better. She needed to outplay Ridley.

“I’ll get you back for this.”

“You’ll try.” Ridley picked up her high heels with her cast hand and offered her other to the footballer. “Shall we?”

It was absolutely bucketing down outside.

“England weather,” Alexia grumbled.

“Happiness, remember?” Ridley gestured to her necklace. “Would you like me to bring the car right up here?”

“I don’t mind the rain actually… but the puddle…”

The car wasn’t far, it was just across the road, but a puddle that looked shin deep ran up the curb closest to them as the drain must have been blocked.

Alexia looked down to her bare feet and back, shivering at the cold.

“Come here.” Ridley took her jacket off and put it on Alexia. She would have fought it, but she knew better with Ridley, and she was already so cold. She pulled her into her chest and rubbed her back until she was a little warmer.

“Here’s my key.” She said as she gave it to Alexia and pointed to a button. “When we get close, push this button.”

“What? Why-”

She didn’t finish her sentence before she was lifted off the ground.

“Lee!”

Ridley smirked down at her, those gold flecks dancing in her eyes. “Chivalry is never dead around me.”

The rain hit them hard, but Ridley didn’t falter. She walked them over to the car, wading through the now knee deep water. Alexia pressed her face to her body to shield it from the rain, though she was already soaked and almost not wanting to admit that she was enjoying herself.

She pressed the button to open the doors when they were closer and Ridley placed her gently down in the passenger seat.

“Not so bad, hm?” She shook her wet hair near Alexia’s body like a dog which earnt her a slap.

They stumbled through the front door of Ridley’s penthouse late at night, both soaking wet and laughing. Chiquito took one look at their rain-soaked bodies and padded away.

“I’m never getting this dress off.”

At this point, the rain had moulded it to her body. Ridley chuckled. “Turn around.”

She helped her shrug her jacket off and then unzipped her dress slowly as Alexia offered her back to her. She wasn’t wearing a bra with it, just underwear. Ridley’s hands came up and gently pushed the dress off of her shoulders, following it all the way to the ground and waiting for her to step out, which she did. Alexia was suddenly almost naked, and freezing. Her arms came over her chest to hold some heat to her body and to cover those hard nipples from the cool air in the room.

Ridley laid the dress on the table and put her jacket back on Alexia, one arm at a time, pulling her close to keep her warm and rubbing her back.

“You need a warm shower, Lex.”

Alexia pressed her face into Ridley’s shoulder and spoke quietly. “Thank you for being my friend tonight. I know you had things to do… but I really needed that. Thank you for the happiness.”

She wasn’t used to being so open and vulnerable. It felt good.

“You’re welcome, Lex. Anytime.” She murmured against her hair. “And for what it’s worth, I would always prioritise you, because every moment with you is special. I’d happily sit and talk with you for hours and I’d feel nothing but happiness.” Her cheek leant on her head. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Tears pricked her eyes and Alexia’s entire being relaxed into her as the Australian continued slowly. “I just want to talk to you and hear about your day. I want to be in your presence. I want to see your smile and hear your voice. I don’t care if you’re happy or grumpy or tired. I… want to be around you on your good days, and your bad. I just…”

Ridley trailed off but it didn’t matter, the words were already spoken and finally, Alexia realised that Ridley cared for her as deeply as she did.

“Will you stay?” She whispered as she shivered.

Ridley’s grip tightened. “I can’t… you know I can’t.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t expect that…” She said, pulling her head back. She let her cheek graze along Ridley’s jaw as she leant back to look at her. “Stay… as a friend. Just… stay.”

“Alexia-” Ridley cut herself off, her expression looking anguished, like she was fighting herself.

“I want to use one of my favours. Stay the night… please.”

She’d made the difficult decision for her. “Are you sure?”

Alexia nodded. “Just friends. Stay…” She put her head to her neck and sighed into her. “I’m right here. Stay with me, Lee.”

“Okay.” She said so softly that she barely heard it.

“Okay?” Alexia lifted her head.

Ridley nodded, the decision clear in her eyes. “I’ll stay the night.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

“But I get to teach you how to defend yourself. And we’re going to watch a movie.”

Alexia returned Ridley’s happy smile with a smirk. “Deal.”

“Good. Go shower. Right now.”

Alexia unwillingly untangled herself from the warmth of Ridley and padded her way to the shower, unable to contain her pure joy that she was staying. She showered gratefully, savouring the warmth and found Ridley in the theatre room after she’d dressed into her comfortable sleeping clothes.

Ridley was flicking through channels, also now in track pants and a shirt for sleeping, with Chiquito curled up between the couch and her leg. She patted the couch next to her when she came in. Alexia wondered if she’d chosen the theatre room as a neutral place for them to be close to each other.

“Lucy’s taking me to the Arsenal game tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

Ridley pouted as she stared at the tv. “I have work from midday until late.”

Alexia was disappointed, but she tried to not show it. “Maybe after then.”

Ridley turned to look at her. “Maybe… is tonight and tomorrow morning’s self-defence session not enough Ridley for you?”

The confidence. She thought about biting back, but she was tired and knew what she wanted to actually say was what Ridley wanted to hear.

“I’ll never have enough Ridley. I’ll never tire of you. You make me smile and you make me laugh. You make me happy just being around you.” She rode that momentum and wrapped two of her arms around one of Ridley’s, cuddling it to her chest and pressing her body into her, resting her chin on her shoulder. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re a wonderful person.”

She caught those dark eyes that were looking at her and mulling over her words.

“Is this okay?” Alexia asked, speaking about the way their bodies were touching from their legs, up to where her arm was cuddled to Alexia’s body.

“Yeah,” she breathed. Her hand was in Alexia’s lap, and placed itself carefully on the inside of her thigh, her thumb stroking it like it had done to the steering wheel just hours earlier.

Alexia closed her eyes and felt her body twitching a little as she got closer to falling asleep, her body fighting her like it always did. The feeling of Ridley relaxing further just encouraged her own state of bliss, her body falling further into her. Ridley’s cheek found the top of her head and rested there gently.

She felt a blanket being lifted over her, and then her hand was back on the inside of her thigh, stroking with her thumb. Ridley.

She’d dreamt of this. Of falling asleep to the smell, the feel and the warmth of Ridley. Tonight, she’d get to live that dream.

But not this minute. Her phone buzzed and she was mad at herself for bringing it. She gave a little, frustrated noise and lifted it to have a look.

“Oh… oh joder.” She lifted the phone to show Ridley. “This is not good, right?”

She felt Ridley’s jaw clench as it rested on her head.

“No, that is definitely not good.”

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

A Long Rant About The Koffin Trio

Note: So, this is my first (really) long post about this fangame, and to be honest, I was debating whether or not to even publish it. I still decided to do it since not a lot of folks talk about ts!underswap, and I wanted to give my two cents regarding my three favorite characters.

More important note: If you think it's gonna trigger you to read about Harry/Larry and Harry/Larry/KK as a found family, better click off this post. Maybe it's my inner aroace speaking, but I personally don't see the romantic appeal at all. Good for you if you do! I'm not trying to invalidate anyone's opinion; diversity is great after all :)

For those of you who are still here, I will start off by saying this:

Harry and Larry depend on Count Koffin-K for so much. I'm tempted to say EVERYTHING.

He genuinely feels like their father figure. I mean, this sentient fedora gave them a job while they were both living lives that were... bad.

He isn't cruel when they do something stupid and instead just looks deadpan. Sure, Koffin-K's not a perfect boss; he yells at the two of them and insults them (dude really needs to work on his temper), but I found it sweet how both Harry and Larry felt safe enough to tell him the truth here, which to me counts for something (pun intended) ↓

He even pranks them sometimes ↓

Koffin may not be perfect (he's gotta keep up the "evil" persona) but at least he 1) tries to give Harry and Larry a hint that he cares for them (has them both secretly do his laundry without them telling each other) 2) actually admits that he cares for them both equally (in his own way) 3) attempts to solve their disagreement despite him not gaining anything out of it

How they met is also interesting to me.

Based on their backstory, Harry and Larry were clearly hesitant to work for Koffin, but when they actually started the job the next day, I imagine that their conversation went something like this (either during the first day or at some point early on in their career):

H: "Larry, he could be like the dad we never had and provide for us and we could have all da money that we never did, see?"

L: "Huhuhu, yeah! Don't forgets da food!"

...and that's how the parade float came to be. I think Koffin secretly appreciates they made it, even though he says how he wanted the thing "as far away as possible" right after saying this line ↓

He also makes this face later on at the festival when he sees the float again cause it reminds him that the three of them are a family despite Harry and Larry getting on his nerves half the time but I can't include the screenshot bc of the picture limit

Heck, the two even built their house outside the keep, which to me suggests that they don’t ever plan on leaving Koffin.

Harry does mention his mother, and we learn that he's into embroidery (both making me think he's a a 'mama's boy'; maybe she taught him how to embroider)...

...but even on the ts!us wiki, the only relationship dynamic the two have is with Koffin-K himself.

Weirdly enough, we only know that Harry has a mom, but not a dad

Even though he was definitely unaware of this, Koffin liked Harry and Larry FOR BEING THEMSELVES. This is really important to me.

He saw something in them that others did not, even if it was initally just "your names rhyme and you give me the 'goofy henchmen' vibe." He sees them both as useful for what he needs them for. It may not be much, but it's exactly what Koffin's looking for.

In other words:

THE WAY HARRY AND LARRY ARE IS ENOUGH FOR COUNT KOFFIN-K. I mean, why look at resumes of competent potential employees when you can hire two idiots who are just as goofy as you

Exactly why Harry and Larry are so loyal to Koffin-K is unknown, but based on my interpretation, it has to do with 1) them desperately needing a father figure/someone to rely on 2) Koffin giving Harry and Larry a home, food, money, and a job that also allows them to slack off and finally enjoy life, and 3) him making them feel needed. Maybe not appreciated, even though he subtly tried to, but definitely needed. Serving under him became their purpose.

In other words, I think they're so loyal because Koffin "chose" them, even if he did that subconsciously.

Harry got the chance to be more than just a janitor. Imo, he was hesitant to work for Koffin at first because he was afraid that he would lose the only sense of security he had. I think he lived with his mom at the time, considering his low-wage job This explains why he wants to be rich (to make up for all the things he couldn't afford).

It also explains why Larry loves food so much (he literally slept under a dumpster bag and if he was both homeless AND unemployed, it would mean that he had to either be a beggar or eat from the trash. Either way, eating good food was out of the question.

It's also possible that Larry had a janitor job just like Harry (but unlike him, nowhere to live). I say that he might have been a janitor, since Koffin mentions how they could both do better than mopping floors forever, but maybe it was just an assumption on Koffin's side.

Whatever the case, their lives sucked.

There was also this one moment I wanna talk about, where Larry called Koffin-K stupid, and Harry pretty much agreed. So I asked myself why they reacted this way.

Maybe because it was easier to convince themselves that they didn't care about their boss than deal with the fact that he (maybe) always saw them as nothing but 'lowly servants'.

Seriously, Harry said out loud what they both wanted most of all. And that something was for Koffin-K to value them. This was more important to them than money and food COMBINED, considering their entire arc was about learning that Koffin needed them both equally

Maybe they were worried about getting fired, but I honestly don't think Koffin ever wanted to do that to them, no matter how many times they messed up.

Maybe they didn't want to be honest and admit to Koffin that he's a total dumbass so they wouldn't get in trouble with him. I mean, they did want to gain his validation/appreciation/approval/love, so it makes sense that they would do anything to get and remain in his good books.

I think the third scenario is the most likely one, tbh.

Might be a nitpick, but notice how Harry and Larry are walking next to each other here, but Koffin-K's at the back, just sorta... isolated, like he's not their equal? This is why I'd rather see him as their father figure than an older brother. The way I look at it, the oldest sibling is usually in charge, yeah, but there's still a level of closeness and familiarity between the siblings, whereas Harry and Larry hardly know anything about Koffin-K, ESPECIALLY how lonely he really is. Koffin's the one who gave them a purpose, became their boss, and as a result, they began looking up to him. In contrast, the two spend 24/7 together, bicker, and are practically inseparable, like brothers

Larry also explains how Koffin-K doesn't like leaving his study, but clearly neither Harry nor Larry reflected on why that is and just assumed it's because Koffin's 'stupid.' This reaction kinda rubbed me the wrong way at first, but then I remembered both of these dudes are street rats who don't know any better.

Look, I know the Boogiemen were supposed to fit this common "goofy villain's sidekicks" trope, but both of them clearly grew up in poor conditions, have daddy issues (imo), and feel worthless/useless.

That's why they want Koffin-K's attention so badly.

They need a father figure to reassure them that they're useful, important, and loved.

All this makes them three-dimensional and relatable, just like most UT/DR/UTY characters. It feels like everyone in these games goes through some kind of deep arc, and I feel like this is supposed to be the Boogiemen's

Sure, Harry and Larry are funny at first glance, and they're great at being comic reliefs, but at their core, they are misguided guys who come from poverty/homelessness. I kinda wish the feisty four from uty had more going for them just so I could psychoanalyze them all

Even though it's probably been a few years since they joined Koffin, at least some part of Harry and Larry doesn't seem to believe that they can finally enjoy themselves, even if it means doing hooligan stuff and boring chores. That's why they're 'superficial' and goof off and will grab any opportunity to act childish and materialistic.

A typical case of age regression

What lies beyond the surface is incredibly sad to me.

Now, this is sort of like a bonus section bc I want to explain WHY exactly I see Harry & Larry as brothers, and WHY I think they see Koffin as a dad again, maybe it's bc I'm aroace and I see family relationships everywhere, but the stuff below REALLY REALLY reminds me of these types of dynamics:

They threw insults at each other and had a literal fistfight over which one of them Koffin appreciated/liked more

They cried HARD (of joy) when Koffin told them they're both equally useful and useless, so they no longer had to be at each other's throats. He also said how he recognized that they're passionate about being his lackeys, even if their teamwork needed, well, work

I think it's sweet how they built the float 'within their first days of henchmenry,' according to KK. They could have easily NOT included him, but had apparently warmed up to him pretty soon

Harry wanted to call Koffin to save them + I love how he's CERTAIN he'll do it

Both yelled for Koffin (reminds me of Axis calling out for Chujin for some reason)

Larry called Koffin Keep their home (could have easily said that they left it at the keep...reminds me of the times Starlo called The Wild East Clover's home I really need to stop with the uty parallels)

They cheered for him (and got hit in the face with books)

They get in trouble with him

They apparently copied two of his attacks these 3 are so similar except that Koffin is a more 'head in the clouds' kind of goofy while Harry & Larry are more grounded... but still goofy

And this line... "And quit arguing, you two!" sounded so parental, istg

I forgot to mention some stuff:

After Koffin tells everyone to go to the festival, Harry and Larry quickly look left and right, like they're wondering where he is and/or what to do now that he isn't there. Poor guys really are dependent on him and like to be in his presence

They talked about Koffin a LOT throughout this game. Their conversations are either about 1) Koffin and what they're gonna do to please him, 2) Them bickering, or 3) Some shenanigans they get themselves into. Larry even remembers how Koffin-K always says: "If you're slacking, put some hustle into it"

Koffin doesn't treat any other lackey the way he does Harry and Larry, and none of the other lackeys seek his admiration like the two do

Harry and Larry were both jealous af of Chara for getting all the attention (right after they got into Koffin's study Harry said "Now whaddya need us in here for, see?" and I immediately thought that he wanted to add "you have a new favorite child lacky now so why don't assign more chores TO THEM")

Like I'm not sure if they were meant to come across to us players as a family but for some reason that's how they came across to me since day 1

The actual reason why I see them in this light is not just bc I love found family (even tho I do. a lot), but bc I feel like it would give Harry & Larry more depth than a romance between any of them

[senka-mesecine]

Could you write for yandere Barnes finding a lost hiker-type in the woods? Maybe she was sweet to him and called him sir or she was so stubborn it grabbed his attention, whatever you want!!

Hiker in the Shed.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

(I'll be damned if this won't end up seeming like the plot of Deliverance (1972) so any similarities are intentional.)

---

He could already see the newspaper titles vividly in his mind;

Hiker lost on Appalachian trail.

Hiker presumed kidnapped.

Hiker's body never recovered.

And while it was all so abundantly easy to predict, what Barnes never counted on rotating back into the world that this new wave of hippies would be so braindead and hellbent on discovering themselves with any number of stupid shit and stupid activities like pot, strumming them guitars and hiking up mountains that half of them would end up in his neck of the woods, lookin' for God and the meaning of life or some shit, most of them the most loud, obnoxious, way-in-out-of-depth sons of bitches he's ever met and he's met quite a bit of those; perhaps why the presence of you in the middle of the forest came as such a pleasant surprise --- all quietude and focus, repacking your backpack set down on the grass, so immersed in what you were doing you never even noticed that he effectively walked in on you doing it and continued watching you well over ten minutes before he deliberately decided to make his presence known, choosing to step on a nearby twig and letting it crack in rehearsed mid-movement, making it seem like he was walking the entire time and not merely standing in place and observing, the cliff giving him a perfect vantage point and the upper ground need to get a spectacular view of you. Your back bend towards the ground, scurrying with the contents of your duffel.

-"Hello!?"-

You speak up, yelling, surprised and caught off guard, head swinging around desperately to assess the source of the sound you didn't know was tactically premeditated, your shoulders finally dropping once you catch his form looming from the nearby precipice, smoking. Your eyes shoot up, like a deer's. A woman alone in the mountains. And a beauty to boot. He allows his mouth to coil around his cigarette, lips pressing down on it so he'd avoid showing even the faintest shadow of a grin, deciding instead of keep his visage firm and stiff. -"Sir? Sorry, sir! I think I'm a little lost!"- You announce the obvious, standing up, dusting your knees off once the presence on the cliff proves to be human. A little lost? Just the right amount of lost, more like. Barnes chooses to say nothing, inhaling the tobacco smoke, feeling something hitch in his throat at the moniker of 'sir' and all the ways it tickled, letting you speak. It was oddly fun, actually, watching you try to make pleasantries and break the ice in the middle of nowhere with an absolute stranger. You wave to get his attention. Thinking he didn't hear or see you the first time.

Oh. He did. He's heard you forty five minutes ago from the other side of the valley.

Could almost smell you through the foliage.

Why he came down here in the first place.

-"Hello, there! Good day. You live here by any chance?"-

You ask, placing your arms on your hips inquisitively, shouting up.

-"Eyup."-

Is all he bothers saying, clipped and pleased.

Holding his cigarette between his index finger and his thumb.

Balancing it there lazily.

A hiker in his shed.

Now there was a thought.

Hiker in his bed.

Now there was another.

Well, he'll be damned, it even rhymed.

-"Do you think you could tell me which way back to the trail? I'm a little off track it seems."-

You explain, lifting up your arm at one point and raising it over your forehead at one point like a visor intended to shield your eyes from the fading sun, your hands doing most of the talking, like you were nervous, trying to cover it up being a tad bit over animated. All he does is wordlessly point --- out into the distance and your eyes follow the trail of his hand, vaguely, through the thick, blackened line of trees, your mouth agape, trying to gage the direction he was keeping intentionally indeterminate and unclear. -"What, that way? Alright, thanks."- You assess, politely but speedily, like you were already late to somewhere and off schedule, taking his word for the pathway like you wanted to scurry off as fast as possible and being too civil to show it too obviously, everything about your manner and airs reminding him of a newborn fawn walking across a frozen lake --- all fidgetiness and nerves. First impressions being first, you were sweet. Peach and honey sweet. Sweet but afraid. -"Thank you most kindly."- You say again, lifting up your rucksack's straps and slinging them over your shoulders, flashing him a brief smile. That is when he decides to speak. When you've already turned to leave, buying himself a moment. -"You've been done strayed straight into the wilderness. Head north-west and y'should be right back to where you ought to be."- He explains, standing on his precipice. Telling a bold faced lie. -"Across the creek and then straight on."- He adds --- you head out across the creek and you'd be walking around in circles on an oval cliff that stretched on for miles; too big for you to effectively notice you were goin' nowhere. You honestly buy that shit because you clearly didn't know any better, blind and crippled in the fog of war, lifting your hand up in an eager, warm goodbye and turn deeper towards the pine woods. -"Thank you! Please take care of yourself!"- You yell and that's when Barnes allows himself to chuckle, privately, so quietly even he could barely sense himself doing it, relishing it, watching your back disappear into the pine trees, nicotine smoke engulfing his vision.

Him? You were telling him to take care of himself?

Bless your heart.

The sky is low and overcast on the horizon and he smells rain.

---

Thing is, he lived by this belief that what you catch is yours to keep.

A creed that was well understood in the war; trophies were inherently the soldier's unofficial loot, be it an NVA buckle belt, weapon caches, scalps, flags, teeth, bones, fingers or gook ears. Barnes thought himself a man with a predilection for those and he's captured more than he can account for during four full years in-country --- so you stumbled into his territory. His mountain. His hill. His backyard. His particular neck of the woods. Pouring down from the devil's asscrack with the a shower, who was to have the guts to come tell him collecting you too wasn't his right? Vermucci's words come to mind, unbidden then, like an old, bygone ghost hovering in the wet, drenched foliage, along with all the figurative newspaper articles he's imagined when he's first spotted you. Ten years for killing an enlisted man. Ten years climbing the walls, man. He wasn't going to kill you and it sure wasn't illegal and against the law to offer someone shelter. In fact, it was a particularly homegrown gesture, if anything. Hospitality and all. It's just that you didn't have to know you weren't leaving it, is the whole thing. He could almost visualize it now, two or three years down the line the same group of hikers you came in here and got separated from with stumbling upon this very same patch of wilderness again and they spot you by the cliffside with him, barefoot and pregnant, all while they thought you were dead and gone, lost forever, eaten and consumed by the mountain.

Finding your tent is child's play then.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, practically in the middle of the clearing.

Flimsily erected, too small, slick and shiny with beating rainwater. No tactical cover.

You could be picked off like a lame, blind, deaf sitting duck.

You should've been lucky it was him and not a boar.

But you jump just the same.

-"You!"-

You're startled and nearly explode out of your own skin as he practically walks around the cover of your windswept dome, strolling in from its back and showing up at the slit of the canopy you were huddled in, your knees hugged against your chest in the tightly confined space you were tucked away in, your hood up, zipper up to your neck, wide eyes downcast and your body relatively dry, regardless, you look properly miserable after several hours outdoors have gone and done their toll; a red nose and a shivering mouth right at he center of you. A stray strand of soaked hair lining your forehead. Eyup. Figured so. You trailed around the wrong directions for so long that you got caught by a storm. He allows himself a tiny half-grin. Taunting. Only just a little. -"Out for a dip, ma'am?"- He inquires, his rifle's strap slung over one shoulder, not intending to hide he was armed, in fact, he wanted you to see it the same way he wanted you to see him. His woods, after all. You genuinely looked like a partially soaked beastie. To his most internal of surprises, a soaked beastie excited to see him of all people. What were you on? Were you high or sum' shit? Another pothead? A tourist? You recover from your fear-soaked disposition well enough to get on your feet, huffing and puffing in the process, all smiles, like the joy of seeing another living soul sent the blood down into your cheeks. Everything Barnes caught was Barnes's to keep. That was reality.

-"God, what a chance running into you again!"-

He catches the desire for you to reach out and grab his shoulder in gratitude and relief; maybe shake his hand quickly in a greeting, tap him on the forearm, introduce yourself and receive an introduction back --- anything --- a desire caught and interrupted halfway through completion even as the rain beat down on you once you undoubtedly realized that you didn't know if you should; Barnes finds you staring at his scar only briefly now that he was close enough to be face to face instead of being high up on a cliff and he measures the gesture, staring at you right back. You observed it but had enough reasoning not to come off like someone gawking. He tells as much. You avert your eyes. Barnes sure as hell doesn't avert his. You ramble, yelling out against the loudness of the cloudburst, crossing your arms around your torso protectively like a shield, genuinely maintaining pleasantries with an armed, scarred man out in the badlands during a squall. -"I really have the lousiest luck! Got lost and got caught by the rain! Can you believe this!?"- Sure could. He did this to you, in part. He stands there, leaning on one leg, legitimately letting you rant, taking it in, not minding how the rain pelted down on him not unlike a million fucking torrential needles during monsoon season. -"What is this weather, honestly!"- You chuckle, all friendly like, briefly gazing up at the sky, eyes squinting against the raindrops falling like bullets.

Your voice manifests in the form of a warm fog meeting the crisp air.

-"It came out of nowhere!"-

You add, shouting from under your tent, your gear behind you, obscured and dry.

Their owner sweet, polite and nervous; a beaut.

Yep.

Barnes saw everything he needed to see.

Just like that, he turns around to go back from whence he came from.

As suspected, you wail out again, not catching a hint.

-"Hey!"

You call out after him, worry lacing your tone.

Like the idea of being left here alone caused you undisputed distress.

If you were smart, you'd do as you're told.

-"Y'comin'?"-

He says abruptly, casually, in stride, once he finds you needed to be told to follow along. -"Where to!?"- You shout your inquiry, brows furrowed, genuinely confused, but already in movement before an answer was even given; he could hear the rustling of the tent wing, the crackling wet leaves underneath your bootheels and sashay of the rucksack promptly grabbed and thrown over your shoulders in a haste from behind him. -"Home."- Is all Barnes responds with, not stopping, keeping a straight direction through the mud and he understood you didn't realize then how prophetic those words would be.

Everything he catches, he keeps.

He digs his fingers into the red star adorned metal belt buckle under his jacket.

[cantcompetewhereudontcompare]

A complete deconstruction: Louis Tomlinson is a terrible songwriter. Part III

So, we arrived at the last part.

Part I was a deconstruction of this idea that Louis wrote "most 1D songs" and "all the bangers." In part II we talked about how little involvement he had in terms of instrumentation, vocal engineering, melodies, etc, of his own albums. How he got given several songs that were already written, and of the other ones, they mostly came together from a melody someone else wrote.

So what's left in terms of songwriting? The one thing he pats himself on the back for, the one thing Liam gave him (partial) credit for, and the one thing he and hic co-writers agree he actually does participate in (participate is a key word): LYRICS.

[Two of his songs get special treatment you can find that post here]

To be fair, we did a little detour so I could analyze Harry's lyrics first and show you what I value and what I'm critical of in terms of songwriting. Keep in mind, opinion about art is meant to be subjective. This is my taste and my opinions, and you can absolutely disagree.

Initially, I intended to do the same breakdown I did for Harry but for Louis. I also intended to do four songs, and do the different points for each of them.

I had to give up halfway through. I analyzed Kill My Mind and We Made It (and I might post that elsewhere so you can see it). I also intended to do Bigger Than Me and Saturdays, but frankly, I'm simply not going to.

Why? It's just BORING. I'm sorry but it's boring as fuck. I do these posts because they entertain me. I LOVE talking about art more than anything. I love poetry, I love this shit. But Louis' lyrics suck the fun out of it. And no, I'm not being dramatic.

I found myself wanting to compare him with better artists who tackled the topics he did in a more interesting, more compelling way, just so I could stop reading his and analyze interesting art instead. I had to stop myself from inserting Adele, Olivia Rodrigo, The Weeknd, Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, just to name a few.

I found myself irritated, rolling my eyes at my screen.

I had to take so many long breaks, to do literally anything else because the idea of having to analyze his lyrics for two more seconds pained me.

Here's the problem, and I'll break it down for you:

HE'S LAZY.

We're talking about an artist who:

Wears the same outfits and/or the same style of clothes over and over.

Doesn't seem to even brush his hair or do the most minimal effort to look better.

Takes zero care of himself, of his skin, of his hair, of his food intake and diet, of his health.

Doesn't even know his own lyrics.

Has had fourteen years to learn an instrument and to this day hasn't played one live for more than 15 seconds, despite calling himself a musician

Has regressed in terms of vocal capabilities. He could sing better at the beginning of his career with 1D than at the end. And he could sing better at the end of 1D than now.

Doesn't come up with his own melodies, or sometimes, even his own lyrics or concepts.

His idea of an image to project has been "Northern lad from Donny who smokes and curses and gives you the finger and Noel Gallagher and Arctic Monkeys and indie bands" for 8 years with literally zero nuance since then.

Even his photoshoots are lazy. All he does is smolder at the camera wearing some sort of sweatshirt and athletic pants.

His staging is ridiculous, three TVs showing his own zoomed in face in black and white.

He puts zero effort in his career, in his own person, in his own image. I'm 100% sure that I spent more time thinking about his lyrics in the past week than he ever did, and you can absolutely tell.

I tried looking at his rhyming schemes. I compared one song to another, I listened to them (it was painful) trying to find little assonances, and counting syllables to see if he mirrored anything, if he told any stories within them. ANYTHING.

I don't want to cherry pick the worst bits and present them here as a "see, he's bad!" I want my analysis to be fair.

But I simply can't put myself through that. Why?

I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to show you (a concept Louis has never heard of).

RHYMING SCHEMES, CADENCE

[Most times they're either A A B B or A B A B or some slight variation of that. I haven't found a single song where the cadence is thoughtful. To be fair, I'm taking the first verse of the first five songs off each album.]

Album 1, song 1, verse 1:

You're a nightmare on the dance floor And you hate me, and I want more You're a total distraction While I'm waiting for your reaction, why?

A A B B

Album 1, song 2, verse 1

On our way to Twenty Seven Got a place on the other side of London Doing better, doing better And I know you left a part of you In New York under your bed in a box But you're doing better, doing better

???

Album 1, song 4, verse 1 (skipping song 3 because he didn't write it)

Oh my, I remember those nights Meet you at your uni', cheap drinks, drink ’em all night Staying out 'til sunrise Share a single bed and tell each other what we dream about Things we'd never say to someone else out loud We were only kids, just tryna work it out Wonder what they'd think if they could see us now, yeah

A A A B B B B

Album 1, song 5, verse 1

I've been looking back a lot lately Me and you is all I've ever known It’s hard to think you could ever hate me But everything's feeling different now

A B A B

Album 1, song 6, verse 1

Nothing wakes you up like wakin' up alone And all that's left of us is a cupboard full of clothes The day you walked away and took the higher ground Was the day that I became the man that I am now

A A B B

Album 2, song 1, verse 1

Tell you I'm on my way Nothing could make me late Said I had a plan for us Time, it came and changed it all We had to disappear ’Cause nothing gets through here Through that circle 'round my heart Where the best of me should start

A A B C D D E E

This is just a variation of A A B B C C, it's just that two sentences don't rhyme, for seemingly no artistic reason.

Album 2, song 2, verse 1

When you don't want coffee in the morning I know I'm in a hole It's hard enough to get you sober Got no chance if I'm hungover I ain't even woken up yet Not nearly vertical All I know is I'm in trouble 'Cause the atmosphere's so cold, so

A B C C D E E E

Basically, just A A B B B, with some sentences not rhyming.

I will commend the last syllable of "vertical" rhyming with "cold" and the first sentence of "trouble" as well. But the fact that the only reason he added "vertical" was to make that rhyme, because it adds nothing to the song "I ain't even woken up yet" already conveyed the same thought, kinda ruins it for me. IDK

Album 2, song 3, verse 1

I didn't read the signs Walkin' different lines I know I took a left Tryna make it right

A A B A

I'll give him that "left" could be done for artistic reasons, like, the only sentence that doesn't rhyme and it's him talking about making a mistake. I don't know that he's capable of being this thoughtful, or that he could even come up with it. But let's pretend. This is also poorly executed and I'll expand later.

Album 2, song 4, verse 1

You give and give until it's gone away Just tell yourself you've got another day You've lived that life, you just don't see it yet I see how hard you've worked to be yourself

A A B B

Album 2, song 5, verse 1

Good and bad and right and wrong Are stories made up when we're young to scare us Love and hate are in-between Depends on your reality to see them

A A B B

---

EFFECTIVITY AND COMFORTABILITY OF THE RHYMES + NONSENSICAL AND NARRATIVE ELEMENTS

[I combined all of it together because I started doing just the rhymes and then I just got distracted by his nonsense. So have it all together. Also, I'm doing nearly every song and the ones I skip, I explain why.]

Kill My Mind

You're a nightmare on the dance floor

Cliché

And you hate me, and I want more

'Nother cliché.

You're a total distraction While I'm waiting for your reaction, why?

Distraction from what? Reaction to what? You just wanted to rhyme these words didn't you? Cause they look similar? Cause this makes no sense in context.

The devil in my brain

CLICHEEEEE

Whispering my name

Why is he whispering your name if he's already inside your brain? Wouldn't he be whispering something more interesting? Like, idk "do crime"? Or, given the theme of this song "do drugs"?

I can hear it sayin', "Ah, ah, ah"

The fuck does "Ah, ah, ah" mean? It doesn't make sense in the context of the song either.

Kept me living From the last time From a prison of a past life On a mission just to feel like When you kissed me for the last time, why?

I put the whole verse in just to be 100% fair. The last two sentences make sense by themselves, but the first three are nonsensical. He clearly just wanted to rhyme prison and mission, which don't even form a perfect rhyme (different consonants).

And ya won't let go of your hold on me And I don't know what I'd do without you now

Not criticism, but commentary, and I'm being completely serious. This is quite worrisome to write in a song that's seemingly about substance abuse. Just saying.

[I'm skipping DLIBYH because it's getting special treatment. He didn't write Two Of Us.]

We Made It

'Cause we made it Underestimated And always underrated

Underestimated and underrated mean the same fucking thing. This isn't an essay — you don't need to hit a specific word count. What's the fucking need to just pad these songs?

Now we’re saying goodbye Waving to the hard times Yeah, it's gonna be alright

Just unnecessarily splitting a single thought into two "We're waving the hard times goodbye."

If any of this was actually poetic instead of at the level of eighth grade lit class, when Ms. Smith tries to get her students into poetry and asks them to submit their own attempts, I wouldn't say anything.

It's just bad, juvenile. It's beginner levels. This man has been "writing" songs for over a decade, and he gets paid handsomely to do so.

I measure things by average pop song. He's significantly worse than that.

Like the first time Met you at your doorstep Remember how it tasted Looking into your eyes Baby, you were still high Never coming down with your hand in mine

And how did the doorstep taste, Louis?

Too Young

I've been looking back a lot lately Me and you is all I've ever known It’s hard to think you could ever hate me But everything's feeling different now

Verb tenses are kicking his fucking ass. It WAS hard to believe she'd ever hate you. In the past. It's not hard to believe now. Because she hates you now. And you are writing the song now.

["Me and you is all I've ever known" is a rampant cliché, but I'll overlook it]

Also how awkward is the wording "everything's feeling different now"? Everything feels different now?

Let me give it a whirl...

I've been looking back a lot lately Me and you is all I've ever known Would've never believed you could hate me But all the love you had for me seems to be gone

It's certainly not a masterpiece. I'm working with the constrictions of his metrics, melodies, rhymes, corny ass themes, and... I'm not a professional songwriter. Also, I'm not getting paid to do this. But at least this not only rhymes and fits the metric, but also... MAKES GRAMMATICAL SENSE.

Walls

Nothing wakes you up like wakin' up alone

Nothing makes you hurt like hurtin' who you love

Nothing makes you run, like running out of time

See? I can do it too.

It's giving, I'm 14 and this is deep.

Sorry, I know I'm verging on bitch eating crackers territory, but godddd this is so cornyyy

But these high walls, they came up short Now I stand taller than them all These high walls never broke my soul And I, I watched them all come fallin' down I watched them all come fallin' down for you, for you

The whole song is corny, which, whatever, it's a pop song. Pop songs are often corny. It's fine. Now, can I ask a question?

Why would walls break one's soul?

I would leave it as a funny quip, and be done with it, but I'll explain the problem with his simile/metaphor.

First of all, where did the walls come from? This is the first verse:

Nothing wakes you up like wakin' up alone And all that's left of us is a cupboard full of clothes The day you walked away and took the higher ground Was the day that I became the man that I am now

The chorus about the walls comes right after. Did she erect (hehe) Walls around herself when she left? Cause there's no other explanation as to where the walls came from. If the song was about him overcoming those walls and getting back with her, that'd be something that makes sense. Slightly overdone, but it'd make sense.

Well, it's not. The bridge seals it (we'll get that in a second). He's saying that because he overcame those walls, he became a better person. So did she erect (hehe) walls around... him?

Huh, little bit kidnappy. But let's roll with it. So he's using the metaphor of her, I guess building a wall around him, for some fuckass reason. A physical wall that he physically overpowers because he becomes taller and it's too short for him.

So how can a physical wall break your soul? The metaphor here would be switching from physical to spiritual. A metaphor that already doesn't make a ton of sense, now makes even less so.

The bridge, though....

So this one is a thank you for what you did to me

What did she do to you? You haven't said. All you mention is her leaving after you hurt her. Doesn't seem like she did much of anything TO you. It seems like YOU did this. Or are you actually claiming that she trapped you inside short-ish walls? If this song is attempting to be sincere and not sarcastic (I think it's sincere?) then wouldn't it be better to say "for what you did FOR me"?

Why is it that "thank you"s are so often bittersweet?

Are they? Since when?? Says who??

I just hope I see you one day, and you say to me, "Oh, oh"

You want her to say "oh, oh"? The fuck does that mean? After this comes the chorus, so he's the one talking about overcoming walls again. She doesn't say anything other than "oh, oh". Whatever the fuck that means.

[I just have to laugh because the rhymes, cadence, and rhyming scheme of this are piss poor, the melody is interpolated from three different Oasis songs (Acquiesce, Stop Crying Your Heart Out, and Cast No Shadow,) and the music video is directly lifted from a fourth, different Oasis music video for the song Live Forever. Add to that that the lyrics are completely nonsensical and you have the "Louis is a great songwriter and artist" bingo.

NO HE'S NOT.]

Habit

You're the shiver that I can't shake

You give me the time and the space I was out of control And I'm sorry I let you down I guess that I know what I already knew I was better with you And I miss you now

Not going to criticize this because it's just your run of the mill pop song, but I can't help it, this whole song is giving

Always You

I went to so many places Looking for you in their faces

He's INCAPABLE of show don't tell, isn't he?

By show don't tell I mean:

Woke up the girl who looked just like you I almost said your name

Show me that you see her face in someone else. Don't tell me.

Arctic Monkeys has a whole song about this:

I thought I saw you in the Battleship But it was only a look-a-like She was nothing but a vision trick Under the warning light She was close, close enough to be your ghost But my chances turned to toast When I asked her if I could call her your name

I'm not specifically talking about this lyric in particular when I say "show don't tell", btw. It's just that that's his vibe so much of the time and it irritates me. I'm not saying he never "shows". I'm obviously being hyperbolic, and I'm not saying you ALWAYS have to show instead of tell, either. I just think he misses a ton of opportunities to be a little more poetic that would very much elevate his lyrics.

Seeing your ex's face on someone else is a commonly used trope, which can become corny and cliché or poetic depending on how you communicate it. He chose corny and cliché.

Fearless

This is a lyrically sound song. No notes. I don't necessarily agree with his view of things — I think he has a very narrow view of what succeeding in life can be, but it's a well-written song. Lyrically, sonically it's BORINNNNG.

Perfect Now

If you are a fan of his and you're reading this... first of all, wow, that should count as masochism. Second of all, I hope you remember when I was very nice just now. Because I'm about to be a bitch.

You say to me your jeans don't fit

You don't feel pretty and it's hard to miss

'Cause everybody's lookin' at you now, my, oh my

I guess some queens don't need a crown

Listen, I'm no stranger to men writing weird ass lyrics about women. Harry did write "Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short" after all (at least he tried to redeem himself with "but I think that's what I like about it"). But JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Not only is the jeans bit a weird ass fucking thing for a man to write that about a woman in the 2020s (to be frank, it was weird when Ed Sheeran wrote it in Little Things in 2012, so imagine now), but also, how cringe was it for him to still be doing that at almost 30?

Don't even get me started with the "Some queens don't need a crown" shit. That would've been corny and overdone if Elvis had sung it in the 50s.

Also

You never stop given half the chance

Cliché

Even when your tears are fallin' down Still, somehow, you're perfect now

Keep your head up, love, keep your head up

Cliché

You make me feel like being someone good to you

....? What? So it's up to her to... make you... feel... like being good to her? Is that not your default setting?

Every insecurity, like a neon sign, as bright as day If you knew what you were to me You would never try to hide away

No, yeah, I'm sure all her deep rooted problems with insecurity, which likely stem from patriarchy and the impossible standard women have to fulfill, would magically be solved if she understood that you like, REALLY fancy her. You're the center of the fucking universe, after all!

Throw this entire song in the trash. Burn it. Then bury the ashes. Jesus fuck, he's such a fucking asshole.

Defenceless

I come runnin' to you like a moth into a flame

This is the first sentence, y'all..

We're sleepin' on our problems like we'll solve them in our dreams We wake up early morning and they're still under the sheets

He probably thought this was so deep. Hell, his fans probably think this is deep too.

Obviously, the point is that you're not going to solve your problems if you sleep on them (double meaning because "sleeping on" something means ignoring it). My point is that it's the type of analogy your Uber driver makes at 3 AM when he picks you up after a night out with friends, and that's the only context in which this analogy sounds thoughtful in any way.

The main problem I have with this brand of lyric of his is that he takes it seriously and so do his fans. Nobody thinks "You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky" is Nietzsche or treats it at such. Perhaps it touches you personally and that's valid, but it's just a cool song, at the end of the day.

Never been so defenceless (Oh) Never been so defenceless (Ooh) You just keep on buildin' up your fences (Oh) But I've never been so defenceless (Ooh)

Tell me he didn't just rhyme "defenceless" with "fences"...

I've been holding my tongue but it's so fucking obvious that his first instinct is to rhyme words that visually look like they might rhyme. That's the level we're working with.

[He didn't write Only The Brave so we're skipping it too.]

The Greatest

Time, it came and changed it all

[Noun] [comma] it [did thing]

Abolish that sentence structure unless you're willing to make it interesting.

Also this is a cliché.

’Cause nothing gets through here Through that circle 'round my heart Where the best of me should start

The fuck does this mean?

It's you and me until the еnd

Cliché

Your face reminded me Of a love you cannot hide

It SHOWED you, not reminded you.

Writing a song "for your fans" is corny as fuck.

[Written All Over Your Face will get special treatment, so we're skipping it.]

Bigger Than Me

When somebody told me I would change

Who told you you would change? People in general? If it's people in general why not just say that? If it was a specific person why are you being vague?

I used to hide behind a smile When somebody told me I would change I was afraid, I don't know why

Something about the "I don't know why" rhyme is so fucking juvenile, but I can't put my finger on why.

'Cause so does the world outside, I've realised

Sorry, not a commentary on how good or bad the lyrics are, but is he saying "I was afraid of changing but I don't know why since the world changes too"?

His emotional intelligence is sub-zero isn't it?

I know I took a left Tryna make it right

Even hen he's trying to do wordplay he just smacks you in the face with it.

I'm not exactly a fan of Taylor Swift's, but Louis' fans often compare him to her, and...

The woman has many, many flaws as an artist (to be fair, all artists do), but when she wants to, she can write a mean lyric, and Louis CANNOT.

Everybody moved on, I stayed there. Dust collected on my pinned-up hair. They expected me to find somewhere, some perspective, but I sat and stared right where you left me. You left me no, oh. You left me no choice but to stay here forever.

THAT is wordplay.

Right and left but not meaning right and left in the directional sense

"I'm where you left me" meaning, in the physical place you dropped something

"You left me" meaning, you abandoned something, ended a relationship

"You left me no choice", meaning, I had no other option

Even a poppy Sabrina Carpenter song has more thought put into it:

We were goin' right, then you took a left Left me with a lot of shit to second-guess

She starts it off as lazy as Louis but she actually adds it a little something something.

When I say his music is worse than the average pop song...

I've woken up from my sleep

Cliché

[Blanket statements about me pointing out clichés. They're not necessarily bad. To some degree, they're unavoidable, especially with a large body of work. Unless I really go in on it, I'm just pointing out when he uses them to keep track of it. Like I said, having clichés, commonplaces, common tropes, etc, is normal. What's not normal is how often he does it]

All of these voices, all of these choices I don't hear them anymore

You don't hear the choices?

[Blanket statement about me pointing out small nonsensical elements. Pop songs tend to say some shit here and there. The problem is the frequency of his nonsense, and sometimes the levels of it. The lack of better elements is also a problem.]

'Cause, yeah, I mighta changed But everybody does

Do they? Oh wow.

Now I realise that the world outside Is bigger than me

Is it? Oh wow.

He made an entire song about realizing that the world is bigger than him.

This is what the song is supposed to be about:

As the lead single from Louis Tomlinson’s sophomore studio album, Faith in the Future, “Bigger Than Me” finds itself as an anthemic pop/rock song, on which Tomlinson sings about letting go of self-doubt, personal growth and shutting down the negative voices.

Lucky Again

If you believe that guy is Superman They're selling tickets at the cinema

Is he trying to say, like, "I have a bridge to sell you"? Cause nobody says it this way. I checked.

I'm so confused.

Whatever gets you through the darkest night

Cllché

Just find the light out in the madness, hold tight

Cllché

'Cause I'm a hard man to lose

Does this mean that it's bad to lose him? Or that he's hard to lose as in, he's got an airtag on him? A third thing I can't think of?

The rest of the verse doesn't help with context:

But I figured it out, then made my way back To a life I would choose We werе lucky once, I could be lucky again

Beforе the world, it got so serious

[Noun] [comma] it [did thing]

Before the time, it got away from us

This combination is lethal.

[Noun] [comma] it [did thing] + an incredibly overused idiom

Face The Music

Good and bad and right and wrong Are stories made up when we're young to scare us

No they're not???

Love and hate are in-between Depends on your reality to see them

Is this purposefully idiotic or am I just not getting it? Love and hate are not in-between. He's just saying things atp.

I just wanna stay in the moment the rest of my life

Cliché. A good excuse as any to listen to this awesome song:

I don't wanna face the music, but I still wanna dance with you

This is a cliché ("face the music") but the lyric is cute (and I'm not being facetious).

Close your eyes and count to ten If you're standin' on the edge of fallin' Open up and looking down Everything that matters is forgotten

Huh?

Chicago

They say bitter ends turn sweet in time

Who says that? This is the first time I ever hear these words put together this way.

You always made me feel much bеtter And I'll always be grateful for that

So many of his lyrics sound like he's texting (derogatory)

All This Time

I'm tryna find the words to say for ages

Cliché

It's not how you spend the time, it's if you waste it

Coooooorny ass cliché

And I keep on building mountains hoping that they'll turn to gold

Well that's fucking stupid. Why would mountains turn to gold? Where did you even get that they'd do that?

Also how are you BUILDING mountains? Who the fuck BUILDS mountains? Do you know what mountains are? And what "building" means?

It's the way we see ourselves through walls of trees

You guys, what the hell is he banging on about? What does this MEAN?

I keep looking up the things he writes just to see if I'm missing some context or some popular British saying. I'm not British! British people are weird! But no. It's just that he's writing nonsense.

Writing nonsense is FINE if that's your stylistic choice. I LOOOOVE Oasis and they write some of the most nonsensical garbage you could ever imagine, but

1- The music fucking slaps

2- It's not meant to be read as diaristic or biographical. It's also not meant to be read as a straightforward story or whatever. It's meant to be flowery and a little esoteric.

Louis went on and on about honest lyrics, and how little he liked metaphors, and how he didn't like exactly the type of lyric Oasis tends to write (all while claiming that Oasis wrote the type of lyrics he does like, because he's fucking stupid — I made a whole post about that).

It doesn't even feel like he's trying to be metaphorical and weird or flowery here anyway? It just feels like he's stupid and says stupid shit that doesn't make sense, all the while actively trying to make sense.

Also, Oasis' nonsense is more poetic, but it has it's own worldbuilding and logic. It's not outright dumb like "building mountains," so there's that.

Out Of My System

Take anything you can carry And leave everythin' else behind

Cliché

I am only half of what I think I can be

Are ya? Then why don't you try to better yourself? Cause that's my main issue with your entire existence. I personally think you're way too much for how little talent and hard work you put into things.

Gotta get it off of my chest

Cliché

I've lived a lot of my life already But I gotta get through the rest

Am I being too bitch eating crackers? Yes, Louis, you have to get through the rest. That is how life works.

Demons, I'm takin' all of my demons Putting them where I won't see them 'Cause I just wanna feel alive

This is such a confusing metaphor. What do you mean by taking? Taking them off? Taking them with you? What do you mean "putting them where I won't see them?" Like, what does it mean in the context of this metaphor? What do your demons have to do with feeling alive?

Having demons is a commonplace about struggling with stuff (it can be mental health, family issues, personality issues, a number of different things). It doesn't typically have anything to do with "feeling alive" or not.

I'm not saying these lyrics are necessarily invalid? I just think he could've taken a little longer to develop this metaphor more and make it click better and easier. I'm having trouble interpreting what he's trying to say here, and I don't think it's lack of trying or being pedantic. I think I'm being pretty fair, and in all.

[He didn't write Headline so I'm skipping it.]

Saturdays

I'm not supposed to be Feelin' dirty cheap on Silver Street At quarter to three

Why not? I mean, the feeling dirty cheap I get. Yeah, you're not supposed to feel that way. That's sad. I'm sorry that happened, bro.

But why aren't you supposed to be on Silver Street at a quarter-to-three? For the record, Silver Street is a street in Doncaster that's lined with a bunch of clubs. If you're ver gonna be on Silver Street, it's likely to be at a quarter-to-three. And I see nothing wrong with going clubbing once in a while.

Is he trying to say that he's not supposed to feel dirty cheap on Silver Street because he's out clubbing? But then why add the time? Would it be okay to feel dirty cheap when out clubbing if it was a little earlier?

I am being pedantic now, btw. Why? Because there are ways to write this that make it clear that the problem is with how he feels while being out with friends. Incredible songwriters, such as what Louis and his fans claim he is, would do that. Not just use the first combination of words that rhymes and fits the metric.

Hidden across my face In the crowd, I'm countin' up the days

What's hidden across his face? He never clarifies. Something is hidden. A feeling? A scar? A mole? A crowd can't hide across your face, and these sentences come right after the ones I just quoted, and are followed by:

In a haze I'm gazin' at the floor Somebody's got your trainers on The ones that you wore When you walked out the door

Still on the last two sentences: maybe he's trying to convey that him feeling dirty cheap is hidden across his face? If he's trying to do that, he failed.

The new bits I added now are alright. "In a haze I'm gazing at the floor, somebody's got your trainers on" is pretty good, actually. I personally would've said "the ones you had on when you walked out the door," instead of "the ones that you wore when you walked out the door." It just feels more sentence like. Because of the melody of this song, he tends to pause between sentences, so the way he wrote it feels like he's saying "somebody's got your trainers on, the ones that you wore." Which would be very redundant. What he's saying is that someone's wearing the exact shoes she wore when she left him.

Like I said, he suffers from chronic Not Taking The Time To Edit And Perfect His Lyrics. That's what I'm trying to point out here.

The feeling he's trying to convey is actually interesting and relatable, and the lyrics aren't necessarily BAD. They just aren't that good and can lend to confusion, especially given the cadence of the song. It wouldn't take a lot of work to make these lyrics be excellent and elevate the song, but alas...

Nobody stays the same No matter how much you want it Some things change

Cliché. And annoying at that.

Through my cigarette A shadow of you sticks me to the carpet Try to ignore it

??

Somethin' about the way The light catches the mirror in my brain It gives me shade

What?

Silver Tongues

Gettin' high on the amber wave

This is presumably about beer. You get drunk on beer, not high, Louis. If he's trying to wordplay like he's high (as in, physically) on the "wave" then he needs to find a way to close the metaphor. He could've said "getting under the amber wave." When you're drunk, you're under the influence.

Going deep for the ones who do the same

He could've continued the metaphor with this if he had used "under" instead of "high." You're under, and you get deeper. If you're high, you're not deep, because high means up. Yes, I am being bitchy. Thank you for noticing. I'm fed up.

Not to mention this sentence is confusing. What does "going deep" even mean in this context?

Air Maxes and silver tongues Settle in for another heavy one

Another heavy one what...? It's not clear in context.

You said love was a pretty lie And I choked when your smoke got in my eye Bad logic and empty cans

I can't decide if he's being clever or dumb. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt that he's saying "bad logic" because you can't choke from getting smoke in your eye, but he's said so much dumb nonsensical shit in his lyrics that I don't know.

Let's give him this one. This, that one sentence from Face The Music, and Fearless are the only lyrics of his that I find good so far.

I know nobody understands Me like you do

Cliché (tolerable)

You know, when I'm with you, I'm so much happier

Cliché (also tolerable)

You smile at me and say, "It's time to go" But I don't feel like goin' home

Cliché (tolerable)

You and me until the end

Cliché (alright cut it out)

Wakin' up to start again

Cliché (....)

There's nowhere else that I would rather be

Cliché, verging on intolerable with how many there are in a row.

Also excuse to put another huge and much better song

She Is Beauty We Are Word Class

Conversation is currency

Okay, interesting! Where is this going?

Shapes become a language

Uh... letters are technically shapes, and letters form words in multiple languages?

Square eyes and sunglasses

Is this a Keep Driving type of song? I can get behind those, but I'm not following right now.

Finding faces in the trees Fabricated fairytales Bring a new world to life Sit down, sit down in the space and time

I'm so confused.

She is beauty And we are world-class (Oh) Forever We let the feeling last

That's the chorus. Small tangent.

In Keep Driving, the first verse lists things that seem random until you hit the chorus.

A small concern with how the engine sounds. We held darkness in withheld clouds. I would ask "Should we just keep driving?"

Essentially, the engine sounds like it's about to break, and the darkness in the clouds show that there's a storm coming, but he stubbornly asks if they should keep going regardless. The part about darkness and clouds seems to indicate "a storm coming" isn't just literally coming in the real world, but also in the relationship.

The analogy is, driving in a car that's about to break, but not doing anything about it, and finding yourself stuck in the middle of a storm because you didn't act when you should've, and comparing that to a relationship.

Anyway, it seems that whoever he's talking to is as stubborn as he is, because he continues to list things in the second verse, particularly "pancakes for two" and "I will always love you."

The singing (the way he sings) gets a little more intense in the bridge. And the things he lists get more unhinged. It starts off listing things that makes it sound like a road trip ("passports in footwells"), which makes the parallel meaning of the song take even more form and makes the other things he listed in the verses make more sense (sunglasses, cameras, breakfast items, etc).

Continuing with the bridge, there are little things that allude to the summer of 2020, "tea with cyborgs" is most likely a reference to doing zoom calls with your loved ones during quarantine, and "Riot America" to the Black Lives Matter movement, which hit its peak in May-June 2020. "Life hacks going viral in the bathroom" is a literal thing that happened during quarantine, particularly on TikTok.

There's allusions to sex ("choke her with a sea view" and "side boob") and to substances ("puff pass" "edibles" "cocaine" "wine glass").

Then "tootache", "bad move", "just act normal" show us that something is going wrong. Following the theme of the song, he ends the bridge with "it's all good, hey you" and then the outro just says "should we just keep driving", signaling that, despite the fact that there's clearly issues, they'll continue to ignore them, and closing the metaphor fully.

I think Keep Driving is a brilliant song, perfectly executed. And if Louis were writing something like that, I'd commend him. Music and poetry within it gives you so many possibilities. Not everything has to be narrative-driven.

The problem that I have is that I just cannot make sense of this song at all.

This is the second verse:

Escape the inevitable Fade into light Soak up the empathy 'Cause I’m with you tonight

I'm sorry, but what is he talking about? There doesn't seem to be a thread that connects any of this.

Are we one or are we two? Are we me or are we you? Have we been all this before? Do you see what I see?

Is it a stream of consciousness type of thing? Cause I can get behind those too, but typically, the songs are, you know, better.

Like, I'm not gonna analyze this song super closely if that's what it's meant to be doing because I respect a stream of consciousness 100%, but I will judge the fact that the song is ass. If you're gonna do stream of consciousness you have to write a banger song.

This is one of my favorite songs by Oasis:

For those who might be reading this long ass essay out of curiosity and aren't familiar with Louis' song, well, I don't recommend it, but you can find it here.

Common People

I came from a good home A house full of terrace dreams That was enough for me You know, you had to see it to believe

"Gotta see it to believe" implies something unbelievable, weird. What is so unbelievable about a good home?

All the late nights, good times

Cliché

No deep pockets, but big hearts

Cliché

This song is pointless and boring.

Angels Fly

Nothin' really matters Nothin' really hurts We can talk about it It'll only make it worse

Jesus Christ, who pissed in your cereal? Not commentary on the quality of the lyrics, but my god.

If every star is an eye in the sky You'll see angels fy

Put the pain behind you now You don't need it anymore

BOOOOOO. Cliché

Holding On To Heartache

You said I wear it like a crown

Cliché

You should be starin' at the sky The birds just passin' by, love

This song is apparently about how much he misses being in 1D, which...

These two sentences I'm quoting do absolutely nothing to further the narrative and I'm not sure what the point of including them was other than not actually having to think and make an effor to come up with something relevant.

I can still hear a clock that's tickin'

Cliché

You know the party's over When you're standin' in an empty space alone

Not commentary on the quality of the lyrics, but yes, he's literally this meme (derogatory):

And time can always heal you If you let it make its way into your bones

Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated? Time can always heal you if you let it. End of. Why does time have to get into your bones? What kind of weird ass, unnecessary metaphor even is this? Just not wanting to think of a better, more compelling way to word things and sticking with the first sentence that fits the metric.

Nothing's ever easy

Plenty of things are easy. This adds nothing to the song or its meaning. You're just saying things.

[Writing this song three years after his admitted BFF said that he would've died if he had stayed in the band feels pretty fucking selfish. He's allowed to feel however he feels, but there was no need to externalize it constantly, especially knowing how much Liam was struggling...]

That's The Way Love Goes

Cool, simple song lyrically speaking. Nothing amazing and there are a couple of clichéd sayings, but it's fine! Lyrically one of his best alongside Fearless. It's a little boring musically speaking (better than Fearless, though), nothing to write home about, it could be better if he wasn't the one singing it. His voice really does ruin everything.

Change

This song is cliché o'clock:

Time of our lives

it's easy to see

We were just gettin' by

If you need, you can call on me

I'll be the friend you need

'Cause everything's changed outside, but I feel the same inside

The kids are alright

When we gonna realise we don't get another life?

I know it'll be alright

We've still got the rest of our lives

'Cause we're all the same inside

If he was trying to do a song full of idioms that'd be so cool. Like Better Than Words in 1D. But he's not trying to do that. There are a bunch of sentences here that aren't idioms. He's just fucking lazy.

The theme of the song is so boring too. Nothing's changed, I mean, some things changed, which I hate, but also I miss it, and I'm from Doncaster did you know?

----

Okay, I was gonna do High In California, but it's just a song about smoking weed, and I refuse to analyze that lyrically. I was also gonna do Miss You, Back To You, Just Like You, and Copy of a Copy of a Copy... I'm not going to. I'm bored and annoyed and I wanna be done with this.

You can find the analysis I mentioned of Written All Over Your Face and Don't Let It Break Your Heart IN THIS LINK.

---

FINAL THOUGHTS:

I think I have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that Louis is a lazy songwriter who doesn't put too much thought into his lyrics, which are the only part where he has any actual participation (going from what he and his collaborators have said about the process so far and the liner notes in his albums).

You can feel like the lyrics touch you or you feel represented by them or whatever, that's absolutely fine. I'm not judging that. What I'm judging is how apt of a songwriter he is technically speaking. I can't judge vibes. Vibes are personal.

Technically speaking, he's terrible. Like, downright one of the worst I've ever had the displeasure of listening to.

With that, I bid you goodbye.

PS I have not proofread this monster of a post. I might do it in the future. I've had this written for a few days, and decided to post it on New Year's as a gift for those of you (all five of you! haha) who enjoy my content. Thank you

[thunderhel]

Fratt Week Day 1 - Blood

Pairing: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock Word Count: 2089 Rated T Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Not quite actually Fratt yet, More Frank just making some observations

I haven't actively participated in anything fandom or posted any writing in over a year so shout out to @frattweek for giving me the inspiration to actually do something. Even if that something is writing 2k in a day and posting it unedited because it's late and I'm already a day behind 😬

Read on AO3

Frank thought a lot of things about Red.

About The Devil. Daredevil. Murdock. Matt.

All stupid names in Frank’s opinion. Red suited him better.

The Devil was probably the stupidest of all. I didn’t pick it, Frank. Though Daredevil wasn’t much further behind. Again, I didn’t pick it. Murdock was so unfortunate he almost felt bad for little Red, having to deal with that on top of everything else life had heaped onto him. I genuinely can’t tell if you’re just trying to be rude or if you’re actually just racist. Matt was too human. I…Frank, I am human. You know that right?

Frank knew. He just liked, every now and again, to hear Red say it out loud. Maybe to remind Frank, but maybe also a little to make him remind himself.

They didn’t always fight together. They didn’t even frequently fight together, but sometimes things just lined up in a way that Frank refused to classify as either good or bad, and they ended up on the same trail.

It had been the same shit as always, just under a different name. Drug dealers this time. The real deal, not kids trying to be inconspicuous in the alleyways, but the main runners, meeting suppliers at what was supposed to be an empty warehouse. The drugs weren’t the reason Frank nor Red were really after them, but putting a stop to that felt like a bonus.

They’d split up shortly after they’d arrived, Red slipping in through an open window, high enough it hadn’t been considered a priority to guard, while Frank had taken the perimeter, eliminating any threats -with beanbag rounds, Red, don’t be a bitch about it- before they could notice anything was amiss inside.

The bored guards outside hadn’t been an issue, but the armed security just past the bay doors had given Frank a bit of a run for his halfhearted promise to try to use nonlethal force. The problem was, nonlethal was much more difficult and time consuming than simply painting the concrete with brain matter, which meant Frank was slightly behind schedule when he finally made it to the sounds of Red’s fight.

He had intended to be backup, and he didn’t intend on slouching the responsibility. Frank took up his position alongside a wall of half broken crates, the stock of his gun pressed hard to his shoulder just in case anyone seemed about to slip past Red’s defenses, but he doubted he would be needed. Not with the way Red was fighting tonight.

It’s something my dad used to say, Red had told him one night, speaking low and slightly detached, the way he always did whenever he shared something about himself. About his past. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to his sudden decision to share. Frank half wondered if he was just talking to himself when he did, forgetting Frank was even there. When he’d go dead eyed in the ring and just turn into a monster as he beat the shit out of the other guy. He called it ‘letting the Devil out’.

Frank had never met Red’s old man, and he knew exactly three facts about him. He was a boxer, Red had loved him more than anything in the world, and if his version of letting the devil out was anything even close to Red’s, he was a fucking force to be reckoned with.

Because Red didn’t act like that devil business was a metaphor. Red was a fucking demon when he fought.

For everything he’d done and everywhere he’d been, Frank knew he’d never seen anything move the way Red fought. He moved like he was created to fight, like everything else he could possibly do with his life was just tossed on at the end like a bonus if he ever got bored of the incredible way the universe had decided to put him together. Every move was coordinated, almost liquid in the way he ducked below punches and arched himself out of the way of kicks.

Everything about him was power and speed, moving in ways Frank knew he hadn’t been able to bend at even in his prime, before delivering hits hard enough that Frank could hear the other guy’s bones snap from across the room. A pipe flew clumsily past Red’s head and he dispatched of its thrower so quickly, Frank wasn’t even sure exactly what he did to get the guy to make that exclamation of pain before he was slumping to the ground in a spray of blood.

A few drops of it hit Red’s chest plate, but the marks were lost among the myriad of streaks already decorating it. The red and black of his stupid devil suit made it hard to tell what was clean and what was filthy with blood, but the entire picture came together to create something so unsettlingly otherworldly that it hardly mattered. Blood streaked across his mask and was running over his chin, either from a lost tooth or a broken nose, or maybe none of it was his at all.

The bandages on his hands were a darker red, the color so thick it looked like they’d been dyed and not just stained. Blood was flecked and splattered across his chest, the wet spots glowing against the matte red and black. It was running down his chin, dripping onto his neck in a way that reminded Frank of an animal after a hunt. If he had turned right then and had taken a bite out of one of the men on the ground, Frank couldn’t say he would have been too terribly surprised.

Red tilted his head in that unnatural way he had, assessing the last man lying prone at his feet, or maybe the room as a whole. His shoulders were still hunched, fists curled at his sides as he remained locked in fight mode, his body clearly uncertain how to proceed without something else in front of him to punch. His lips curled back in what might have been a grin or a snarl or maybe just an animal reaction to the adrenaline still coursing through him.

Frank, for all his flaws, was 100% human. There was no mutation, no alien DNA or secret government experiment gone wrong. Just normal government black ops shit that went sideways and a stupid jarhead they’d tried to make a patsy. Just a human man with a short fuse and the memory of his daughter’s limp weight in his hands and nothing left to lose.

Red was a different story.

This was why he couldn’t call Red Matt. Matt - Matthew- was a human name. A normal name for a normal man, and Frank for all of his eye rolling at Red’s choir boy bullshit, didn’t think he would ever fully be convinced that Red was human.

Frank could see it in the way he moved, the way he slipped when he stopped talking. When he stopped trying to force himself down into that tiny box whose walls were made of religion and society and legality. When he let the devil out and went out hunting for blood.

He’d never tell him, had to keep the thought down low, but Frank thought he understood why Red didn’t kill. Not because God told him it was wrong, and not because of the law or whatever other bullshit Red liked to tell whoever had to listen to him talk about it. No, Red didn’t kill because of that animal thing inside of him.

He didn’t kill, because Frank was almost positive Red might like the feeling a little too much.

Red didn’t kill, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

It had to have only been seconds, not more than a brief pause in the chaos of the night, but Frank felt time slow down for the first time in a while as he stared at Red’s form in the half light, his chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe through the fight he’d just finished.

In those brief seconds Frank thought of the leopard he’d once seen while on tour, dragging a carcass up a tree. Thought of the way its fur had shown in the sunlight and the blood had marred those distinctive spots. He thought of the sound his old man’s GTO had made when it started up, that deep vibration that echoed in his chest. He thought of the glint of moonlight on his Ka-Bar, the kick back of his gun against his muscle, of the look Maria gave him over her shoulder the first night they spent together.

The last one kicked him back into reality, and he cleared his throat, spitting the taste of copper out of his mouth before he lowered his gun. Red’s head jerked the other way, a dog picking up a scent, as Frank finally approached.

He could forgive himself for the mix up of his thoughts, blaming it easily on the adrenaline and the scent of blood in the air.

He thought of that leopard again, of the way its muscles had moved beneath its fur as it had dragged its prey up that tree. Of Red’s fist slamming into the jaw of an idiot who didn’t know when to get out of the way. With a silent prayer of an apology to Maria, he begged her to understand - it was hard to see a predator move the way they did and not think it was a thing of beauty.

Frank had meant to grab Red’s arm, try and jerk him out of whatever blood fueled stupor he’d lost himself in, but his hand landed instead on the side of Red’s face, thumb pushing hard against his jaw as it swept through the blood not yet dried against his stubble. If Frank still felt fear as strongly as he used to, he might have been worried about getting bit.

“Easy there, Alter Boy, they’re down for the count.”

Red exhaled low and long, and Frank watched the struggle happen. Watched as Red tried to fight back that inhuman part of himself to resemble something decent. He made a sound almost like a huff - like he knew he should be annoyed with Frank but was going through the motions just because he thought he should. He didn’t pull away from Frank’s hand.

The idea of Red, of this wild cat in the shape of a man, tucked into a suit and tie and handing over legal documents at the courthouse and calling a judge ‘your honor’ was almost a joke.

“Not for long,” Red finally managed, his voice low and thick. “We need to get going.” He titled his head in a way that if Frank wasn’t careful, he might have said seemed like he was pushing further into Frank’s touch.

Frank thought of the heavy weight of a knife in his hand and the smell of gunpowder. He tried not to think of Maria’s skin beneath his fingers as he dropped his hand to Red’s shoulder.

Red was still tense, still poised to pounce at the slightest provocation. There was a hum beneath his skin, stronger than blood but not quite animal enough to call a growl. It burned beneath Frank’s fingertips, under muscle and blood and bone and leather. He squeezed once before he let go, but knocked their shoulders together as he turned.

“Then let’s get fucking going.’

Red gave a sharp incline of his head instead of a nod. He leaned away and spat a spray of blood, some of it flecking across the face of another man on the ground. The blood was bright red, a superficial wound in Red’s mouth, nothing to distract Frank from the blood still humming too fast through his own veins.

With a swipe of the back of his sleeve, Red halfheartedly cleaned his mouth before straightening back up. When he turned back to Frank, the pull of his lips couldn’t have been anything other than a grin, wide and vicious and sliding straight through Frank’s chest.

“Let’s get fucking going,” he echoed back, voice low and too excited for the amount of blood still smeared across his pale skin. His footsteps were almost silent as he led the way back out.

Frank slung his gun back into position, finger on the trigger and stock his shoulder, focusing on the weight in his hands, and not the sound of echo of Maria’s soft sigh against his ear.

[mumblesplash]

i think it would help if you wrote the rhyming pattern out, yknow like stereotypical poem style! because i didnt see the rhymes at first at all, and i can see some of them now, but i still feel like i dont completely understand where all the rhymes are/how the lines flow

oh good idea! so yeah if i rearrange the script that way you get this:

[secret life] [(post-session six) the secret keeper’s lair] “for the record, my death at the button wasn’t fair” don’t pretend you didn’t know you failed your real task. no new reds survived. “i did exactly what you asked!” technically. you’ll notice we’ve not forced you to reroll. still, you failed to-* “what, you think i wanted mumbo dead?” worse, we think this game has gotten out of your control. how about next week we let the new girl try instead?

*if grian hadn’t interrupted, the line would’ve been ‘still, you failed to carry out your designated role’

(which does kinda bother me, because i don’t like rhyming homonyms (‘roll’ with ‘role’), but considering it’s a line that was cut off and does not actually appear i managed to convince myself to let it slide)

one of the main reasons i'm so interested in how easily people spotted the rhyming is because i didn't intend for it to be super easy. it's supposed to read like a (somewhat) natural back and forth conversation at first, and then make you go back and read the lines again once you notice.

i honestly wasn't expecting the amount of variation in how easily people seem to pick up on it? and i'm not sure why that's the case, either, it's really interesting

[lucky-clover-gazette]

“raphael sings his song” “he does an opera/ballad” he talks it. he sings like one note in the entire thing. korilla is the person singing. raphael rhythmically talks. he does a lin manuel miranda. he does a will shuester rap. he “sings” that thing like a tv actor who is being forced to partake in a musical episode. i point this out both bc it’s extremely funny that even his greatest accolade in the fans’ collective consciousness isn’t actually earned, which is very pathetic and appropriate, and because i want everyone to imagine a world in which he did actually sing the song. like in my mind he would have KILLED a patter song* like the major-general in pirates of penzance. a song like that wouldn’t have required too much vocal range, and it would have played to the actor’s strengths. the character uses language with so much complexity and skill in his spoken dialogue and written journal entries, to have his song lyrics be simple and 2010s-era disneylike is just so tragic to me :’(

*“The patter song is characterised by a moderately fast to very fast tempo with a rapid succession of rhythmic patterns in which each syllable of text corresponds to one note. It is a staple of comic opera… The lyric of a patter song generally features tongue-twisting rhyming text, with alliterative words and other consonant or vowel sounds that are intended to be entertaining to listen to at rapid speed. The song is often intended as a showpiece for a comic character, usually a bass or baritone. The singer should be capable of excellent enunciation while singing quickly to perform the song to maximum effect…. These are often songs telling how the character rose to an undeserved distinguished position, or they may contain a catalogue or list.” (Wikipedia)

[wanderingmind867]

My one complaint about the Etrigan comics Jack Kirby writes: not nearly enough rhyming. He abandons the rhyming after the first four or five issues, and it makes for a noticable dip in quality. The first two issues were genius. As much as I don't love Jack Kirby's faces, I loved the concept of this demon who worked for Merlin and defended Camelot; who's now living in Gotham City as human demonologist Jason Blood, seemingly unaware of his heritage (although possible aware he's immortal?). Jack Kirby really leaves Jason Blood with a super confusing backstory, but I like to think he knew nothing of Etrigan until issue one of the comic.

Anyways, issues one and two also featured Morgana le Fay, who was clearly intended to be the big villainess. But after the first two issues, we don't see her again until the book is about to be cancelled. And that leaves her story super unresolved. And as much as I like the generic supernatural stories of ghosts, magic and weird characters like Klarion the Witch Boy, I really don't think his storytelling is good enough to make me feel super compelled. I read it all, but I feel like the consistency and clarity of the details isn't there as much as I hoped it would be.

Etrigan really shines, but the supporting cast isn't that compelling. There's not enough magic spells and incantations for my liking, and the book just has room for improvement. It's still the best thing Jack Kirby did solo, though. I don't like OMAC or Kamandi, the New Gods are confusing and seem rather lacking in nuance, and his marvel stuff doesn't seem much better (Machine Man was a character I wanted to like, but he didn't actually seem to have any real angst over being a machine, so he ends up feeling super flat; and Devil Dinosaur is boring). It sort of seems like I prefer Jack Kirby when he's working with Stan Lee, and I think that's probably true.