#mom pick me up lo is being obnoxious and yelling about music again

[the-teddy-bear-butch]

More random music rambling disguised as analysis incoming:

Doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine x Werewolf Robin/Monster Hunter Nancy

We’re just gonna delve right in <33

Nancy and Robin are stuck in a delicate push and pull dance. Nancy knows that Robin is a monster, and Robin knows the same of Nancy—for different reasons. They should, by all means, hate each other. Especially when Nancy Wheeler decides her next target is the feral werewolf in town—assumed to be one Robin Buckley. But then they meet.

Nancy is quick to realize that Robin is no average werewolf. She’s softer than expected, warmer, kinder, she has a certain charm. She’s not a vicious monster. She’s painfully human.

Robin finds out that Nancy is losing her humanity. She’s been hunting for years on a revenge path that’s been tearing her up for years, leaving an angry husk. She learns pretty early that she is not the monster.

But there’s a weird magnetism between them. Robin is infuriatingly smooth and Nancy is achingly beautiful. Nancy finds it harder and harder to picture sinking her blade into Robin’s heart—she’d rather cradle it in her hands and protect it. Robin knows this woman is death incarnate—her own death, matching steadily closer, but she can’t help but fall for this powerful woman.

Pull the plug in September

I don't want to die in June

I'd like to start planning my funeral

I've got work to do, hmm

Jokes about not wanting to die during Pride month aside—

After weeks of their back and forth, Robin begins to want Nancy to just get it over with. She’s not ready to die, not really. It becomes, “Are you going to kill me tomorrow?” and a promise of, “One more day, Robbie. One more day,” over and over, and it’s tearing her apart. Robin wants to get it over with, because this ache in her chest is killing her slowly, and she’d much prefer the silver dagger. She she agrees. “One more day, Nance.” And one more day after that. Maybe not June. Maybe September. Maybe October. Maybe—Maybe never?

She could only hope.

Pull the plug, make it painless

I don't want a violent end

Don't say that you'll always love me

'Cause you know I'd bleed myself dry for you

Over and over again

Again, Robin is beginning to wish this would just end, one way or another. She’s hurting, and she’s tired of it. She’s tired of sneaking around with Nancy, tired of waiting for the inevitable knife in the back. She doesn’t want to feel the pain anymore—is it so much to ask for an end to it? A painless death at the hands of Nancy Wheeler?

But Nancy swears she loves her, and it only hurts worse, because god if Robin isn’t willing to give every part of herself, to bleed out for this girl.

Doomsday is close at hand

I'll book the marching band

To play as you speak

I’ll feel like throwing up

You'll sit and stare like

A goddamn machine

Robin feels the end approaching. Whether that means another tally on Nancy’s belt, another dead monster, or Nancy leaving her with her broken heart, or maybe, just maybe a happy ending—but no. It’s doomsday. Doomsday is approaching, and one way or another, it’s going to kill her.

And when she tells Nancy she can’t do this anymore, Nancy is… Nancy is cold. Unfeeling. More machine than human. It’s because she’s shoving her own emotions down, of course—Robin knows Nancy, her inability to be vulnerable. She’s heard time and time again how Nancy can’t show emotion in the line of work—but god if it doesn’t hurt.

(insert obligatory marching band Robin joke)

I'd like to plan out my part in this

But you're such a narcissist

You'll probably do it next week

I don't get a choice in the matter

Why would I? It's only the death of me

Only the death of me

Robin can’t help but be bitter. It feels like Nancy is dragging it out, and it’s so fucking cruel. Robin doesn’t feel like she has a say in her own life, her own death anymore. Nancy holds her heart in her teeth, and one way or another, she’s going to crush it.

She’ll die at Nancy’s hands. Maybe by silver dagger or silver bullet—or maybe by the girl doing something so simple as leaving her alive.

If Nancy leaves her, after the way they’ve fallen for each other, she knows she won’t be the same. Hell, the Robin she was before Nancy is already dead.

Pull the plug, but be careful

I don't wanna die too soon

I think there's good in you somewhere

I'll hang on 'til the chaos is through

Despite the pain and the confusion Robin is suffering, she really is in love. Deeply, irrevocably in love with the angel of death, and so despite her want for an end—a small part of her can’t help but want it to draw out more. Every day she wakes up in Nancy’s arms, without that wretched knife in her back, it’s heaven. A small slice of heaven that’s all hers. She hands her heart to Nancy without question, knows the end is inevitable, she’s practically begging for it, but she asks Nancy to be careful.

And this horrible hope begins to burn, literally burn, an angry, all consuming wildfire in her chest that is burning her from the inside out, because she’s in love and Nancy is too, and they’ve both changed. Nancy seems to almost forget her warpath in favor of the stolen moments with Robin, and she’s beginning to see the errors she’s made. Nancy is learning that not all monsters are as they seem—and that she herself isn’t as innocent as she’d like to believe. I just think this line in particular could be either one of them singing to the other. Nancy knows Robin is more than her affliction—she’s a good person. And Robin knows that Nancy is more than a killer. Robin becomes more determined to see this through, to forge ahead through the chaos because maybe, just maybe there’s a light at the end of the tunnel—and not in the sense of heaven after death.

It doesn’t work out.

The death of me was so quiet

No friends and family allowed

Only my murderer, you

And the priest who told you to go to hell

Nancy knows she can’t be feeling this, can’t be getting lost in love with a werewolf. Nancy distances herself a little, focusing her attention back on the hunt for the feral werewolf. It stings. Robin avoids her in turn.

But then the hunt is over, the feral werewolf is dead, and Nancy tries to find Robin, to tell her she’s leaving—she can’t do this anymore—and they fight. Robin calls her out.

Remember this post?

Robin loses it. For the first time ever, she loses control of the wolf. It’s quieter than her normal shifts at first. Silent crying as her bones break and shift, as her form morphs into the ugly beast she knows Nancy hates, the monster she tries so hard to keep inside herself, forced out by the very girl who feared this would happen. She knows Nancy will kill her now, will sink her dagger into Robin’s fur covered chest and twist it until Robin bled out on the ground. It’s Nancy’s fault, really. Her murderer. Does that make Robin the priest? Maybe. Or maybe it’s Nancy’s guilt. Perhaps it’s both.

And the funny thing is I would've married you

If you'd have stuck around

I feel more free than I have in years

Six feet in the ground

It’s true. Robin is head over heels for Nancy fucking Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler, the priss. Nancy Wheeler, the monster killer. Nancy Wheeler, her own death in human form. She would have married her in an instant, but instead she knows that it won’t end that way. Not with a gold wedding band, but with a silver noose around her neck, choking those traces of desperate love from her.

And it’s freeing, really. Knowing her death is inevitable, that in moments, Nancy Wheeler will march through the door and plunge a dagger into her heart. She’ll finally be free of this goddamn ache in her chest—and really, maybe the dagger has been there all along, in the form of this torturous doomed romance.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Nancy opens the door—she heard the shift, of course—and she sees all 8 feet of Robin, her hooked claws and elongated fangs, the sharp golden eyes. She sees a monster, but… She sees Robin. Fucking Robin Buckley. She can’t do it.

She’ll step closer, put a hand out to the beast. Robin will growl at her, but she won’t care. She’ll caress the wolf’s nose, cup a hand against her face. The silver dagger will clatter to the ground as she stares into golden eyes that hold so much pain and love and anger and guilt will choke her.

She’ll cradle Robin’s broad head in gentle, bloodstained hands, and she’ll place a soft kiss on her forehead, and she’ll whisper “I’m sorry,” over and over until Robin comes back to her.

No killing blow is struck, but death happens. It isn’t the way Robin imagines it. It isn’t her life force bleeding out on the carpet, but the anger, the pain, it’s leaking out of her at the seems, rolling down her cheeks in bittersweet tears. A different body will hit the floor—that of the monster hunter, leaving behind the human girl she inhabited. Again Nancy will apologize and pull her in for a kiss.

And Robin will know this is the end—not her death, but Nancy Wheeler’s, and it was caused at her own bloody claws. But it was a death that needed to happen.

Doomsday is here, and it looks not like another mounted werewolf head, but like two broken girls embracing each other with acceptance.