#but also with matty its like either designer or he got it at a thrift store for a dollar

[allylikethecat]

loved the 2 updates this week especially ATKH when George finally asks Matty on a date. Hope that in Ducklings everyone who needs to know will find out soon why Matty has been so out of it and George hears the sonogram. As for the picture u shared with Matty’s beautiful black shirt shredded yeah he said he was sad about it because that was an Yves St Laurent shirt and those are$$$$. Have a great weekend and thx again for sharing your writing with us.

Ahhh thank you so much for reading!! I'm so happy to hear that you enjoyed both of this weeks updates!

I was so excited about the All the King's Horses update - because things are happening the slow burn is finally starting to reallllly catch on fire! Feelings were admitted to! I'm so excited for the date chapter you don't even KNOW.

Ducklings Fictional!Matty is really, truly going through it, unfortunately he hasn't actually hit rock bottom yet but don't worry, it's coming! I hope everyone likes Tuesday's chapter... ~things~ are going to happen lol

OMG that shirt was YSL?! I would have cried. I have a few YSL pieces and am obsessed with them - I've loved what Anthony Vaccarello has done since he took over as creative director.

I hope you are having a WONDERFUL Friday and that you also have the very best weekend!! Thank you so much again for reading and sending this ask!

❤️Ally

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Matthew Kincaid Species: Vampire Occupation: Artist and supernatural snitch Age: 66 Years Old Played By: Gray Face Claim: Luke Arnold

“I don’t live with anything, man. Technically.”

The nice thing about looking up from the dirt is that you’ve got a lot of room to dream real fuckin’ big in. Matty made the most of it. And he had to, because he spent a lot of time on the ground as a kid - kicked there by every playground shithead in every town his military parents dragged him through. The Kincaids moved around the whole motherfucking United States, and West Germany, besides; for him, they said. Matty didn’t see it that way. His parents were what they were because the money was good, good enough to buy them a nice house, a nice car, a nice life. Good enough to put him through school, which would be a good, good thing, because he was smart, wasn’t he?

When he applied himself, maybe. If he just knocked it off with all his bullshit about being an artist and started focusing on a real career, they would always say, a real life. Instead of sneaking out to the bars of West Berlin and Hamburg and Frankfurt and El Paso and Columbus and Oklahoma City and so on. Instead of splattering paint all over his new shirts and piercing his own ears just “to try it.” Instead of wasting hours closed off in his newest bedroom, singing along to cranked tapes of the Stones, Zeppelin, and the Scorpions. Trying to get it right. Trying to sound like someone else, so he could be someone else, somewhere else, doing something else. Maybe, then, he’d fit. Maybe.

Then Matty found out that, actually, he could have all that by sounding like himself - because he sounded pretty fucking amazing, when he let that big voice out. It took until his first year of college, at a school he’d picked because his parents made him and it was as far away from them as he could get. What a feeling, singing along with everyone else at some freshman party, pissed faceless on tequila… and the room going dead quiet around you, just to listen. After years of being shit on by his mom and dad and teachers and classmates for daring to step into drama club and actually practicing for band, for doing art projects “wrong,” for bringing German rock records and other “stupid crap” to school, for wearing his hair too long and his pants too tight and so on, and so on, and so on, Matty was stunned.

And it wasn’t a fluke. He’d thought it must be, but no. From covers, he started improvising, and people liked that too. Liked it more, even. Open mic Fridays at the campus bar became the best fucking night of the week. So he found more, scattered throughout the city. Soon, Matty was entirely hooked. On the freedom, on the confidence. On being seen and heard and loved like that. He’d never known anything like it. And now that he had, he couldn’t imagine life without it.

The band erupted like a goddamn volcano, from there. Warhorse. They’d found each other at just the right time, in just the right place, and, fuck, man… the music they made was something else. People noticed. Fast. Matty spent his twenty-first birthday touring the country to sold out shows, and by his twenty-fifth, it had all gone global. They were legends, and he was thriving on it. And on the fiercely tight-knit family he’d found, in his bandmates. They weren’t gonna be like the rest, falling out and apart. No way. Not that there weren’t highs and lows, of various kinds. But they made it through, for love of the music. And they always would, despite all the drama, and the distractions, and… yeah, the drugs. Hey, they were rock stars. Par for the course.

But the course took a swerve nobody could’ve seen coming, and from there, everything crashed and burned. And the end, like the beginning, and the press, and the fans, was all about Matty.

It happened in New York. Some dingy bar, after a show, groupies, the usual. Until somebody fucking bit him. And - God, if only he’d been twice as hammered. Maybe he wouldn’t remember the rest. The blood and the cold and the dark. Then a bandmate’s hands on his face, rousing him to the worst ache he’d ever felt. A hunger. Something so furious and painful that he snapped like an animal, teeth, fangs, in his bassman’s neck. He drank until the haze sizzled off, long enough to taste it. To realize. To come to his senses, and run. And that was that. Warhorse, one of the most explosive bands of its age, never played another show. Just collapsed. That was shocking enough, but the disappearance of Matty Kincaid, specifically, became the stuff of conspiracy theories and urban legends. These days, the band is remembered largely as a mysterious musical tragedy. Which is a shame, because as any real classic rock fan can tell you, Warhorse - and that iconic frontman of theirs - were so much more.

Of course, Matty’s a whole other kind of more, these days. Or less, as he sees it. He’s entirely repulsed by what he’s been turned into, and never properly had the chance to grieve the life he’d had, the people he left behind, and hurt. He nearly killed one of his best friends in the world, somebody he loved. And he lost everything. It’s not even the money, the fame. It was the meaning. So, no, he’s not over it. And, to some extent, he holds that against every vampire he meets, and all the rest of them. Enough that he usually doesn’t suffer an attack of moral qualms when he points the local hunters towards some supernatural or other. Usually. And if he does? A bit of ash will probably fix that. Or the blue mushrooms. Daverin will do, if that’s all he can get. Nectar, as a last resort. Whatever it takes, to make sure he’s out of it more often than he isn’t. Why should Matty get remorseful, anyway? They’re all monsters.

Character Facts:

Personality: Passionate, creative, charming, affectionate, defensive, conflicted, fearful, self-loathing

Since he came to White Crest, for the sake of avoiding awkwardness, Matty’s been going by an alias - Matthew Kerrigan. No, it’s not especially inventive. Because he doesn’t trust himself to remember to answer to a different first name, and alliteration should help him keep the surname straight, right? 

Warhorse is about as substantial a piece of rock history as Styx, REO Speedwagon, Twisted Sister, or Quiet Riot. So, not one of the first names that pops to mind, but not too far down the list. They’re your thing if you like “dad music.” Though, all that’s old is new again, and a few of the band’s big tracks have made their way into blockbuster soundtracks lately. There’s usually a song of theirs on your average radio mix of standard summer tunes, and since the band’s gone official on Spotify, they’ve popped up on plenty of those “Essential 80s” and “Roadtrip Classics”-style playlists. One of those bands that you’ve definitely heard, even if you don’t really know them. 

Matty still looks almost exactly the same as he did when he was fronting Warhorse. Maybe he can’t help the fact that he literally hasn’t aged a day, but. He hasn’t got rid of the band hair, either, and that’s a choice. So are is the thrift store throwback style. Dude’s living in the past… 

Matty hasn’t touched music in… decades. But he can’t really stay away. He’s started drifting in and out of any live shows in town that seem interesting. It’s not the same. Nothing is. He’s been working up the solidity to head into For the Record, just to see if he can find a couple vinyls worth having. 

Though he spent most of his time with Warhorse at the front, singing, Matty is also very capable on the piano and guitar. The rest of his artistic side shone through in the work he did designing the band’s album covers and show sets - so, for some viewers, his art has seriously nostalgic vibes. Even if they’re not sure why...