#SING DAMN YOU

[teedeekay]

Here's the amazingly drawn out sing-a-long version of "I Hope That I Get Old Before I Die" that They subjected their audience to in the late eighties. It included big cue cards with the lyrics, as shown above. The photo is from a different 1988 show, but you get the idea.

The recording, which I believe was a radio broadcast is five minutes of unbridled chaos as the Johns force the crowd to sing the refrain over and over and over again, all the while taunting them for doing a bad job. It's just the best. 🙌

[a-a-lost-munchkin]

I Can’t Help But Wonder

Odysseus, who just violently and mercilessly murdered 108 or so men, who claims in the next song that he’s no longer a kind or gentle man, actively listens to Telemachus and kindly and gently responds to everything his son’s expressed.

Telemachus asks, “Am I like you? Am I strong like you? Will you embrace me? Will you love and accept me as yours?” He says, “I’ve felt so alone.”

And Odysseus claims him in a heartbeat, answering, “My son. My boy. My sweetest joy I’ve ever known. I embraced you twenty years ago. I’d do the impossible for you. I’d die for you.” He says, “Seeing the men here today, I can only wonder what you’ve been through for twenty years. My son, you’re already strong. You’re my own. You’re not alone. I’m home.”

And then they fucking embrace.

[scramratz]

I hate being autistic. Why am I mad this lady is playing guitar in the coffee shop

[crocuta1]

Something about names...

TL;DR agent 3 and 8 make up their own goofy names to make up for their increasingly apparent lack thereof.

(This comic takes place a couple of months after OE. I like to think that they became fast friends after the events of the dlc because they quickly realized they're the only ones who truly understood each other.)

[nouverx]

Posting those wips in case I never finish them ~

[misternibbs]

HI SORRY FOR NOT POSTING I'M NOT PICKING UP MY DIGITAL PEN FOR SOME REASON. loss of motivation unfortunately

anyways uhh wasn't going to post this on main but I kinda like them + we need more tiny man band content WHERE IS IT. I SEE ENCORE AND SCRAPYARD AND THEM BEING GAY AS BALLS ON TWITTER BUT WHERE'S MY TINY BAND. smh /lh

anyways this is going to be the most 2010s TV show cast ever cause I can't write for shit and community ruined me. probably the cringest I've ever been on main look away please

already posted some of this on the alt I know but FUCK YOU /silly

uhh meet The Tiny Man Band? under cut

------

oh btw they're gonna have shit names just as a reminder sotryyyy womp womp I can't name for shit this entire thing is going to be paper doodles and absolutely bad just. eugh

first off

bass (left) and uke (right)!! they're pretty chill with each other, best friends! bass does annoy uke to hell n fuckin back though but yeah they're silly. you know the dynamic straight laced guy with sillier guy shawn and gus core. uke tries to keeps bass on track while bass makes sure uke ain't too serious yanno? they're my favourite btw

next !

keys! he looks like he could kill a man any second and he decimates his keyboard cause he keeps slamming his foot on it but yeah. he's pretty chill though! funny silly guy just a bit intimidating. try on a smile for once in your life, jesus mate

okay we got beat next!

he's kinda in his own world just jamming n stuff usually. he hangs around keys and is the most like. classically trained of them? i think that's the word but yeah he actually handles a lot of the writing n works with voice a lot

oh speaking of voice

bitch. also goes by CJ because it's a chonny jash au he's legally obligated to do as such. he's really close with uke, constantly checking up on him n shit. he usually handles more of the business side of things with uke and yeah I don't have too many thoughts on him unfortunately. he doesn't get much sleep

ANYWAYS here's some misc. stuff

voice is up late one night uke tries to get him to come to bed. shit dialogue i drew this cause I was really bored okay?

oh uke's eyes are different? yeah he's normally stylized like a cartoon character with the glasses moving like eyes/eyebrows, as shown below

only when he takes them off is when he gets actual human eyes YEP IT'S THAT TROPE I TOLD YOU THIS IS VERY 2010s TV SHOW

he's so silly. i lobe him

here's him and uke talkin about stuff I think he's talking about voice or something man idk they're just. yeah. chillin

damn this is the only other photo I can post son of a fuck anyways these are the hands for all of them. bass and voice are right handed, uke and keys are left handed, while beat is ambidextrous.

all of them have the same polish on both hands, except for keys who has inverse colours on each hand

also the lighter colour on bass and keys' nails is white, however the lighter colour on beat's nails just shows that it isn't painted he doesn't. he doesn't paint his nails except for his thumbs for some reason MAN IDK

but yeah this is the end you can stop reading now I don't gaf if you like or repost I just wanted to show silly tiny man band stuff :3

digital stuff soon maybe hopefully ehh don't count on it. thanks for reading all of this btw it does mean a lot to me :-)

[possiblyawesometmblr]

a next to normal au for the morningstar family would go so hard

bear with me a moment i need to get this out of my system

isla/diana: setting aside the fact that i think caissie levy could actually play isla for real and absolutely KILL it. diana quite literally gets her brain wrecked in an attempt to remove memories that her husband thinks are bad for her in this musical so. yknow. the parallel writes itself.

icarus/gabe: icarus morningstar you deserve to haunt the narrative and also be so, so angry at your dad. i've been thinking so much about the timeline icarixis made where no one remembers them includes them dying/disappearing at a very young age. and how gabe is kind of a shithead to natalie but also loves her in his own way. and that he spends a large chunk of the show screaming for his dad to finally look at him. and the very first "catch me, i'm falling" bit. and the entirety of i am the one (reprise) being an icarus and fable number. and the juxtaposition of "i'm your wish, your dream come true, and i am your darkest nightmare, too" for how different people are reacting to them returning. i just. gah. icarus morningstar and gabe goodman you are shaking hands

rae/natalie: hellooooooooooo neglected perfectionist second child who has developed some nuclear-grade bad coping mechanisms, how are YOU doing today? superboy and the invisible girl IS a baby rae song i will be taking no criticisms. also let's be real out of all of the bad coping mechanisms rae has canonically tried i don't think xanax cracks the top five worst

fable/dan: this father is trying to fix everything and doing it All wrong. crazy how convincing your wife to go through with electroshock therapy to get rid of memories you don't want to face didn't go well, huh? also on a nicer note, the line "can you tell me what it is you're afraid of? and can you tell me why i'm afraid it's me?" is so compelling as a fable line. and back to being mean, ha, your wife leaves you at the end of this. sucker.

caspian/henry: simping hardcore for rae. and also a stoner. this one's not as deep but i mean. if the shoe fits

i have absolutely no thoughts for dr. fine but there's a loose argument for dr. madden to be either soraza (memory energy) or find a spot for enderian through him. no au is perfect this is where this one stumbles /silly

anyway i've had jack wolfe's "i'm alive" on loop for a week and i have an entire animatic for "make up your mind/catch me i'm falling" sitting in my brain. you can watch this whole musical for free on pbs right now if you're american and i'm on my knees begging you to do so, have a nice night

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]

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[gearchronocle]

this OPENING man. THIS OPENING. GOES SO INCREDIBLY HARD. FOR NO REASON. it should be illegal to have a song this good in a funny haha silly little comedy anime. I'm going crazy why is it so good. kaidou why r u going so hard on the vocals for NO!! REASON !!!

the fact that it's kaidou singing keeps me up at night. you go lil chuuni boy. eat that up like a full course meal and leave no crumbs not even the plate

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

Imagine being Singed though, knowing Viktor? All you wanna do if find a cure for death (lmao right) and bring your daughter back to life, then one day this little boat enters the cave you keep your mutant salamander in, and a little boy with a cane finds it, offers to help because its dying and you’re like hell yeah an apprentice I’m good with kids.

Then this kid doesn’t get that the salamander ain’t a pet, it’s drugs/tester for drugs, and leaves angrily (bro thought you were chill) and you never see him again though you do hear things about him being a co-creator of literal magic technology and you’re probably like damn that’s cool.

Then about twenty years after you first met he comes back to your lab, looking sick af (literally) and is like I totally get why you were torturing that pink lizard, do you have a solution that will keep me from dying? And you’re like yep sure do, he’s some modified heroin-crack I made from the lizard for you, people are gonna hate you though. And he only is like “Jayce will understand” and you’re like fuck he’s repressed and gay, whatever

Then a few months (idk) later you find out he survived an explosion, got fused with the thing you wanted to see (👀) now the leader of a cult, has a hivemind, can heal people and see memories and thoughts, and he’s trying to reverse the process on your wolfman, once again forgets the lesson you tried teaching him (bro, the mutation must survive!) even though you just showed him that very private memory of your dead daughter. And refuses the wolfman blood.

So you’re like, fuck it, stops the process anyways on the wolfman, his ex boyfriend shoots him in the chest, he cocoons himself in a weird sphere, his boyfriend rejects him again, then he’s like fine whatever use the blood. Then he ascends to godhood, you use leftover parts to bring your daughter back to life, and later find out that while in the hivemind his on-again off-again boyfriend told him they were soulmates, and they blipped out of existence.

It’s like what if the kid you babysat one time came back when they were an adult with like, ten college degrees and a co-ceo of apple, bought your own brand of weed, and then half a year later became Jesus.

[ingravinoveritas]

It's times like these that I really wish Michael were American because he'd be leading us into fucking battle right now and by God, I would follow him...

[captain-renas]

Someone: *FUCKING DIES*

Singed: ....and i took that personally.

[andrew-dramaqueen-minyard]

Kevin “I am the one thing in life I can control, I am inimitable, i am an original, I'm not falling behind or running late, I'm not standing still, I am lying in wait” Day

[menlove]

every time i start doubting myself abt mclennon i remember the real life demo and soothe myself. they really were in gay love and fucked nasty about it didn't they. maybe would've been better if they hadn't but unfortunately,

[inmyheaddd]

u know its real when u can reveal the slightly odd hyperfixation to them in full confidence

[scribbledghost]

Hi Ghost! New follower to your page and I've become a huge fan of your writing! The poly and inhuman vessels are my absolute fav! If youre still taking requests, I would love to know what would happen if the reader had a random song(not a sleep token song) stuck in their head and how each of them would deal with it? Would they try to make it their own or be really annoyed?

This is SO funny omg. Especially considering I had the Day-O (Daylight come and me wan' go home) song stuck in my head ALL DAY yesterday lmao

III starts singing it out loud. Preferably off-key. He'll just follow you around too, randomly breaking into purposefully bad singing just to see how bad he can annoy you before you try to run him out of the house lmao.

IV, the sensible one of the group in this situation, starts searching for ways for you to listen to the full song. He read somewhere that if you listen through to the end, then the song won't be stuck in your head anymore. Barring that though, he's perfectly content to simply retreat from your brain and let you cycle through it on your own.

I think Vessel and II almost immediately just retreat into their own minds on this one, unless it happens to be a song they enjoy hearing. Vessel may even try and take inspiration from it to morph into a new song himself, though if it's something he's simply not a fan of, he'll just leave you to it. II on the other hand, will stay firmly out of it, other than to briefly yell at you and III when you inevitably start chasing the latter around the manor for singing so terribly at you.