My english lyrics for Triage woo! (They're written out under the cut, I just wanted to share my lil chart lol)
Though I'm too indecisive to officially label this as my favorite song, it's had the strongest emotional impact on me by far. It holds a special place in my heart, I definitely wanted to write lyrics for it first! I'll leave all my rambling process commentary in the tags, but I was so happy with how it came out!!
All of those cards of promise thrown down carelessly,
This must be retribution for all I've taken endlessly.
If that were the case, it should have been fate for me to die.
That's the truth, given my crime, so why--?
No, I can't take it, to this cruel joke I'll submit. You
don't know, you can't know, but I'm ready to admit:
Killing for them, extracting for them, won't change the fact they're dead.
I need someone to tag me as RED.
It makes me sick (sick), it's too unpleasant. Sick (sick)
Is this punishment? What do you mean I'm INNOCENT?
I see, the world is cruel and leaves you on your own.
(I can't die) to atone. (I can't love) alone.
I can't be saved (saved), you've nothing to give. Saved (saved)
But what if I lived? Why else would you choose to forgive?
I see, there's lives to save so let's be sensible.
Right now, you need me, (I can be) indispensable.
Tilt to and fro, I know the scales should land on GUILTY for me.
Tilt fro and to, it's INNOCENT that they choose.
They cry (x4) out in pain, I can hear them. There's no one else, to guard their health,
My mission is offering help.
All of those cards of promise thrown down carelessly,
This must be retribution for all I've taken endlessly.
So if that's the case, then it must be fate to make amends,
Extract that fang before we meet the end.
It makes me sick (sick), it's too unpleasant. Sick (sick)
Is this punishment? What do you mean I'm INNOCENT?
I see, the world is cruel, but what I've realized is
(Now I want) to be INNOCENT. (Now I want) to live.
It makes me sick (sick), This wasn't my plan, hostages at my command.
Their future resting in my hands
I see, there's lives to save so let's be sensible.
Right now, please save me, (I will be) indispensable.
Maybe this was meant to be -- oh -- or maybe neither of us can know
There's lives to save so let's be sensible.
Right now, please save me, (I will be) indispensable.
---
I mentioned earlier that I always get annoyed with myself when people post translyrics and I can't figure out the rhythm they were going for, so here's a recording of me singing, but I'm bad at it! It's just for fun! Like a rough draft for music! Because the only thing worse than people hearing my voice is people thinking I can't count syllables!
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I think one thing I will say about the finale was that the most problematic aspect of the concept of the show was how it feels like they had to use the Fionna and Cake plot to Trojan horse a resolution to a swathe of loose ends Simon and Betty's arcs had. They pulled it off even better than I ever wanted to let myself hope for for the most part but I would say my main issue if anything was how cramped the finale felt when I think they could have left a lot more up to season 2 speculations (especially with the resolutions for the alt universes, they didn't really feel necessary when they basically just had to egg Scarab).
I feel I liked the understated melancholies of seeing Simon recontextualized and kinda infantilized in that temporary form hosting his mind, and some people have said the Casper and Nova thing felt hamfisted but I thought the vibes were too cute to care that it wasn't particularly "efficient" as far as metaphors go, but that does slow down the pace which probably crunched the ending a little harder :'). But it also worked in further showing the sad side-effect of the crown on Simon's relationships, including that of stunting his ability to have ever matured in his understandings of love and his relationship with Betty. I also think their last scene in the memory worked because it was Simon reconsidering how he viewed their relationship for the first time, even if his attempt to do for Betty what she did for him would have just been an inversion of their original flaw, the scene rests on them understanding it's unchangeable anyway, so that decision doesn't matter so much and it's not something for Simon to dwell on.
I also feel I liked the scene a lot in spite of how scarce it felt in the finale was because of what was most conspicuously unaddressed, which was just the sheer logistical impossibility of any different choices they made having possibly been any "better." It sticks out because Betty says they could have made better choices, which kinda seems to situate their relationship in a vacuum as if there wasn't a very high likelihood had they done anything different at that crossroads, they would have just been literally nuked into orbit regardless. Sure, it seems like enough time had passed for them to have worked out their relationship better at least and then died, but that kinda seems better by an arbitrarily less tragic amount, and really it seems the least tragic possibilities ever were either that they conceive their relationship more healthily, Simon finds the crown and protects Betty from exploding somehow and also doesn't warp her to the future, and they live some terrible survival life but at least they get a chance to live something kinda fulfilling and Betty probably would have taken care of Ice King decently for the remainder of her life once Simon was gone while also having a better understanding of what had happened to him. The only other hand would be that she also was still warped to the future he finds the crown but Simon had not enabled her self-sacrificial tendencies and so she becomes less undividedly obsessed with saving him and instead integrates into Ooo more properly and also accepts what had become of him (I find it hard to think she would have just let him die either way though lmao).
That all said, they had been around a long time to have reflected over everything. I think it is a bit of an issue that they don't really allude to that, but I find it easy to believe that they did recognize how thwarted a happy ending would ever be for them by all angles of their reality, yet they still had that tender ache of that simple and small tragedy just between them two that still exists within the torrent of catastrophe that engulfed them and the breadth of their fate. So much horror in their lives but they reconnect and find themselves primarily concerned with that last regret of not having been able to make the ideal relationship they quite thought they had.
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"Don't hold back. I want you to scream my name" - briarrett 👀
Thanks for the ask! Wrote out a quick 1.5k and feel bad it took so long. Hope it's up to your standards!
When summer starts to rear its head and the spring rains give way to the dreary summer sky that perpetually hangs over all of England, Briar unfailingly brings out Barrett’s favorite sundress. It’s a cute little thing: white and lacy with a repeating floral pattern that shifts when the fairy moves in just such a way that every little tear and puncture from moments of overexcitement can be hidden with a quick stitch repair before being returned to the rotation—years old but still bright in color in a way reminiscent of a wedding dress and bouquet, tinted by nostalgia and preserved by delicate hands. Every time she wears it, the werewolf takes it as his personal invitation to step up behind her and slip his hands under the skirt, starting where the dress ends at her thighs and stroking up in offer while he presses his lips to her ear and rumbles possessively from deep in his chest where his heart races. For me?
“Who else?” Briar replies, chuckling to herself at the way her mate’s breath tickles the untamable flyaway strands at the side of her head. She sets the paring knife she was holding down on the cutting board with the strawberries she’d been preparing. He always seemed to gravitate to her in the kitchen—hip-height countertops helped.
“Well I thought you were going out with your girls today,” Barrett offers in return, stopping his ascent at the tops of her thighs while the drool pools in his mouth. Her skin under his is warm; her heartbeat picks up slightly in her chest. Just a bit more of that honey sweet scent that defined her wraps a bit further around his head and he ducks his nose into the crook of her neck to inhale it, nuzzling aside one of her two golden braids. Köstlich. [Delectable.]
“When have the boys gone to have a sleepover at Oma and Opa’s so I can go out with my friends?” The fairy quirks an eyebrow and leans back into her lover’s embrace. “You’re more than capable.”
“I am.” The werewolf’s voice drops deeper, temptation wrapped in rough velvet.
“I just thought you’d like to celebrate the season like you always have.”
“You spoil me, lapine.” [Bunny.] He presses a kiss into her skin, then, trailing gentle kisses out to the mate mark on her shoulder exposed by the wide sweetheart neckline while he rubs his thumbs in circles on her thighs. The little fairy in his arms, perfectly fit to his hands, presses further back into him—she’s too short to press her rear to his groin, but he’s already hardening against her lower back, above her pillowy ass, and he groans low appreciation into her skin. Je t'aime. [I love you.]
“I love you, too,” she returns, popping half a strawberry into her mouth for a quick bite. The werewolf at her back huffs, hands sliding further up and leaving sparks in their wake to rest on her hips. In the blink of an eye he’s got her flipped around and seated up on the counter, crowding into her space with a devilish smile on his lips and lust in his bright red eyes.
“A snack?” he asks, “At a time like this?” His eyes, pupils wide, flick down to the speck of juice at the corner of her lips.
The bold fairy just shrugs (he had interrupted her light breakfast, after all) and swipes her tongue out to clean the juice away. Content to do as he will, the overgrown giant leans over to press a kiss into her. He pulls her up to the edge of the counter where her legs spread and the skirt bunches up. The faintest notes of her arousal join the sweet aroma of strawberries and Briar in the air and the werewolf pulls back to survey her once more. She brings her arms up to wrap around his broad shoulders and one hand gravitates so she can tangle her fingers into the silver curls at the back of his neck.
“I’d hate to interrupt your meal,” he quips, sparing a hand to snatch another piece of strawberry, “maybe you’d like some cream to go with these.”
Before his lover can reply, he pushes the strawberry between her lips and leaves his fingers there for just long enough that she can caress the tips with her tongue. Both an invitation and gratitude in one quick gesture; he just leans in to kiss her again and get the taste on her lips. Barrett was not a man for strawberries, but he was a man for fruity kisses and bruised lips, observing the slight change in his lover’s demeanor with every piece of fruit until he’s straining against his pants and she’s soaking into him, panties forgone.
“You little minx,” he rumbles, “are you sure you’re not part succubus?”
“Would you like me to be?” Briar licks her lips and looks at him through half-lidded eyes, tightening her grip in his hair and pulling the werewolf in for another kiss, where he growls into her at the test against his patience.
Ja. [Yes.]
Soon enough they forget the remaining strawberries, hands roaming curves and bodies like every memorized surface is new again. Every shape and curve explored for the first time. Briar pants quietly and Barrett buries his head in her neck, mouthing at her skin and leaving love bites, teeth scraping against skin and bruises rising from the depths of her flesh to paint his path.
She sighs quietly, keeping a hold on his head as he kisses down her chest to the exposed tops of her full breasts before pulling back and leaning down to stick his head under her skirt, hand sliding down her side and along her thigh to pull it up over his shoulder. Faced with her cunt, he digs in, lapping voraciously as his tongue starts to lengthen and flatten and he takes up more of her, by far better than any fruit or meat or other food he could ever get his paws on. The fairy professes her thanks with the pillowy thighs quivering around his ears and the grip tightening in his hair.
“Don’t be shy,” he growls into her, “Don’t hold back. I want you to scream my name, love.”
“Barrett,” she breathes, and he takes that as a personal challenge, pulling back to look at her with his eyes dark and face deadly serious, pronounced jaw pushing at his lips with the tip of his nose blackened and glistening with her arousal. She stares back at him, green eyes wide and cheeks flushed red. He releases her for just long enough that he can fumble with his belt, opening it with a click that has her jolting.
Respire— [Take a breath—]
Barrett shoves his pants and boxers down with a hand and steps back into her space, rubbing the head of his cock against her for a moment before lining up with her hole. Then, a low growl of warning.
—und schreien. [—and scream.]
The werewolf sheathes himself to his knot, baring his teeth and breathing harshly as he reaches back to grip his mate’s ass, holding her close as she gasps—a far cry from the scream he’d wanted—and arches her back into him. She flutters around him, adapted muscles trying to grip for his knot, and he groans lowly with his head tipped back.
His claws poke through the thin fabric and prick against her skin as he starts to move, grinding against her to get used to the wet warmth wrapped around him before pulling back and bucking in. Briar whimpers for him, mewling when he sets a brutal pace right at the start. The werewolf grits his teeth, nose crumpling as he bites back the urge to shift and ruin the angle he has into her on the counter; he turns his head down and begins to nip at the skin of Briar’s neck as she gasps his name.
Like a machine, he repeats the motion over and over again, building it up until she’s panting and crying out for him, legs wrapped around his waist with her ankles locked at his back as she begs for more. “Barrett please—”
Always polite. He turns his attention over to her mate mark, pulling her out and snapping fully in as he sinks his canines into her. That gets him a proper scream that peters out into a low whine. “Barrett! Please—I’m going to—I’m—I—I’m—”
His knot pops into her and starts to swell as she clamps down on him in a way that makes him see stars. Mine.
Tied, he starts to rock into her until he finds his own end, pumping jet after jet of seed into her as his breath fans out over her shoulder and she catches her breath against him, thighs twitching.
“Yours,” she answers, curling around him as best she can. He grunts and squeezes her rear, probably bruised in the shape of his hold, and smiles into her skin as best he can. They’d be repeating this same song and dance until Opa pulled into the driveway to drop the kids off again.
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