#it’s like tusk for theatre kids

[frida-kahl-of-the-rocky-horror]

Romeo and Juliet Sealed with a Kiss is the greatest adaptation of the Shakespeare play ever and I will DIE on this hill

[cryptid-on-a-string]

if your ocs are having a movie night, which movie does everyone want to watch? what movie do they end up watching?

anon thank you SO MUCH for asking about my ocs I literally was so happy when I saw this ask AAAAAA!!!!!

Solie- probably hasn’t seen that many movies at all yet, (since she came to life a matter of months ago) and is curious about film as an interesting storytelling medium. She is quite a visual learner and I could see her learning more about the world by seeing stuff in movies. She probably can't handle the horror ones, especially not if theyre gore-based, since she already gets vivisected by Vick on nearly a daily basis for scientific inquiry. She would probably enjoy movies about people having a good time, without a lot of suffering. Typically ones with lower stakes and lighter plot lines like The Little Mermaid or Sleepover.

Vick- into lots of horror movies mostly, with some sprinkles of other movies like dramas. Growing up, his parents were a little neglectful and let him get away with a lot, so he started watching very gorey movies earlier than most children. He knows that some of the others can't handle any of the super horrifying or graphic movies that he likes, so for a group night he won't push that too hard. Probably an enjoyer of Tusk, or the Saw franchise.

Mirenzeth- likes the mystery genre, or anything that requires complex thinking and analysis. She likes to use her brain at any chance she gets, and doesn't watch a lot of movies for purely entertainment, rather than an activity to keep her thinking. On very rare occasion, she may watch something lighter if she is feeling stressed or tired, (those are usually the types of movies that Solie likes, so they sometimes watch it together) she also can't stand medical inaccuracy in movies, or medical workers being misrepresented in the stories. She would enjoy stuff like Knives Out, or Get Out

Corv- before he donated his body to science, a lot of his time was spent depressed at home, so he had plenty of time to develop a taste in movies before he met the rest of the group. He would watch a lot of comedies, as a form of escapism. He's not very upfront about it, but he also likes musicals too (he wanted to join theatre in school but never did, and regretted that) so he loves hearing a good soundtrack as well. He is always open minded to new movies that other people want to check out as well. He would like Pitch Perfect, Little Shop of Horrors, and Chicago.

Deirdre- growing up, her parents werent around that often, so she was practically raised by her older brother, William. As a kid, most of her taste in film was the kinds of stuff he would watch, that she would eagerly join in on. He would show her drag race shows, occasionally some reality TV. When she got older and developed her own taste in movies, she typically liked the ones with characters rebelling against something, or taking control of their lives for once. I think I could see her enjoying multiple genres, but with that general theme. She would probably like Jennifer's Body, or Legally Blonde

Apple- when he was a kid, he didn't watch many movies because of his parents being strict and keeping him busy with the family reanimation business. Because of that, he sort of missed out on some of the "classics", that he occasionally tries to get in touch with as he grows up, especially after his parents kick him out. When he's around other people, he pretends to only like the really gritty, serious, and sad movies, but he actually likes a wide range of them, just not many of the modern ones. Stuff like Titanic, Carrie, and Dead Poets Society.

(Once again, thanks so much for asking, if anyone else has anything to ask/say about my ocs then please feel free, I will literally always be happy to talk about them :3)

[plantfeed]

  “nah, it was my vape. lost mary one, too. those are proper spenny.”  they’re not — you could get a pack of five for twenty quid at the trafford centre — but he’s not been on home soil for a while. now that it’s slipped from his fingers, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, settles for putting them on his waist like the dad in a badly acted film who lingers in the doorway asking ‘what’s all this then’ as he surveys the scene.  “was saving it for when i get back to rochdale to swap it out for the holy mary in the crib and piss off mum, but looks like i probably won’t be going now. siobhan’s isolating.” his mouth almost betrays him and asks what jenny’s doing for christmas — if he should set an extra place mat at the table — but he holds his tongue with the last of his pride and stays silent. she looks fitter than he remembers. kind of glowy. “hi,” jude responds, a half smile perching on the corner of his lips like a kiss. “have you uh… been using a new moisturiser?” it feels stunted and weird, like attempting conversational french when he’s learned how to speak the language from a cd. i would like one ticket to the theatre, please. could you tell me the directions to the library? it never used to feel weird talking to jenny. it felt like he could say anything and she would understand him. like she knew him better than he knew himself.  “i’m staying with junior,” jude answers, flatly.  “was staying in tower hill for a bit but i kept walking back to the old apartment, so…” so he��d packed up all his shit and hauled it across town to avoid the daily pinch of heartache that accompanied stumbling upon their old front door. jude’s cheeks pinch red at the suggestion that their meeting here is to avoid her jumping his bones. he feels caught, an unwelcome pit sinking in his stomach, like his vape in the centre of the lake. “i mean, yeah, but like— it sounds bad when you put it like that. i’m just as bad. it’d be a mutual jumping. mutually assured discussion or something.” 

his palms itch watching her juggle that box (a box containing the collected works of their entire relationship, hoarded garbage and a handful of worldly possessions) back and forth between her hands when the river runs beneath their feet. “here, i can…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, just takes it in hands, giving it a shake like a snow globe to uncover the contents beneath. the tracksuit jacket he’d asked for’s not there. it’s only when jude shoves the box up onto his shoulder (john cusack with a boom box eat your heart out) that he notices the pop of red beneath her overcoat — she’s wearing it.  “is that my jacket?” jude asks, question slipping from his lips before he can stop it, hanging a lampshade on the tusks of the adidas elephant in the room. he can see the trademark signs of the cohen and sons waterworks, the pinch of her lips, her eyes screwed shut. he’s still not fucking immune to it, hands already reaching out to hug her and almost dropping the box on her head in the process. “sorry. shit.” jude takes a step back and sets the box down on the bridge beside his feet. when he closes the distance it’s to wrap her in his arms, chin resting on her head. has she changed her shampoo?  “god, this is a bit fucking bleak, isn’t it? feel like we’re zac and vanessa about to break into, fuckin’, whats it. gotta go my own way. you know that song they sing on the bridge?” if siobhan was here, she’d probably cry with pride. but she’s not. she’s over four thousand miles away with the rest of the family he left behind to move over here for jenny. a flash in the periphery of jude’s vision catches his attention just as something whisks past his leg, and when he draws back from his hug, he sees the frantic scampering of some shitbrain kid (probably not unlike jude at that age) bolting away with his box of stuff. “oi! that little fucking bastard’s got my shit! it’s christmas, you freak!” his reeboks are in that box, the t-shirts he’d had printed for leo’s stag (it’s bound to happen some day), the mug he made at that fucking awful pottery class he only attended to humour jenny, her stupid little hand-sculpted jude and jenny figurines.... jude’s already taking off at a sprint, stripping off his coat to make himself more streamline. no fucking way is that kid stealing his box of odds and ends. “get back here, you little cunt! i know your mum!”

"—was that your pen?" for an instant she almost believes in a higher power because the distraction could not have come at a more opportune time—post funeral procession through the park and having just ruefully accepted that she'd be approaching him with a face full of tears. watching his vape careen through the air just to disappear with a trail of bubbles is exactly what she needed, although her soft laughter is apologetic, all inverted eyebrows and cringing with eyes that linger too heavily so he'll know she's sorry. not just about the pen. "are you—um..." she shakes her head abruptly, "sorry— hi." he started with that, she was meant to start with that. greetings. pleasantries. that's how people begin their conversations. "i—um... i could've just brought this stuff over to your place. or— you know, wherever you're staying, i'm not really sure—" her gaze drops, then darts out over the water, jumpy and erratic. "or... you could've come over, you know. i'm not—" she heaves a sigh, frustrated at the way the words are coming out, clunky and stuttering. it's all wrong, not at all like she'd practiced. but it's so much worse here, out in public in some pre-determined neutral location so they can make the hand-off and be done with it. it feels cold and transactional, and there's a finality to it that hadn't been there before that makes her feel claustrophobic, though she couldn't possibly articulate how or why. "we wouldn't have to, like... i mean, it wouldn't have to go there. that's why were in this park, right? you were nervous i'd jump you, or something?"

she frees up one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, then the other one, awkwardly shuffling the box back and forth. "sorry— i, um... sorry. anyway," the word comes out forcefully, like it might clear her head. "these were just, you know, some odds and ends. shoes i found under the bed and, uh... there was a tshirt that, um..." her eyes pinch shut, brows knitting together like she's trying to think of a word, "it was mixed in with my stuff." a few t-shirts actually, but she's been giving them up slowly, a white knuckled grip on each until he comes around to collect. they don't smell like him anymore. "and—" she makes to continue but her voice cracks and the words won't come out for a moment, so she smiles, eyes rolling as if acknowledging her own weakness might lighten the mood. "sorry. and uh... yeah, just a few things... jaffa cakes were always more your thing and we still had one left..." her lips pinch over to one side, tightly so they won't wobble. "it might be kind of crushed now, but i couldn't throw it away. you can if you want. i'm sure it's like, really stale and stuff."

[shadow-sovereign]

1)Hello. It's Lullaby again. As for time traveling Shadows, I imagined that the Gates appeared quite a bit earlier than in Canon. Would be funny to see Igris and Bellion act like papa wolves, Beru as the odd anty butler, Tusk as a goofy but caring uncle figure, Tank as a huge teddy bear/bed, and Iron as a bit dumb and funny cousin. Of course seeing as their king is still quite young, they endeavor to keep his parents safe, cause every baby needs their family first

2) cause every baby needs their family first and maybe they all forgot how to care for a baby, as in how much of what a child needs to stay both healthy and happy. Good thing their baby king and his family are quite open minded.

[This is part 2. Find part 1 here]

From the epilogue, we do see that it’s canon that the shadows are pretty devoted babysitters. I imagine they’d be quite happy taking care of their baby king and his little sister.

Igris and Bellion would have some good bedtime stories to tell, I’m sure, though they might have to modify them to be kid friendly. The two of them would have seen quite the interesting things under Ashborn’s rule, visiting other planets.

Beru would be eager to play games with them. He’s definitely a theatre kid with his love of historical dramas. Iron acts like a big kid too. And Jin-Ah was the one who introduced Beru to historical dramas, so I can imagine her as one of those kids who likes to play make believe. Like play acting different stories.

I don’t know what stories they’d play act, but something with Jin-Ah as a princes and Jin-Woo as a king, probably. Beru would definitely find that kind of roleplay fun.

And Tank would be the biggest teddy bear. They certainly wouldn’t need any other pets with him around. Though he might have some competition on his hands if Jin-Woo gets a look at those dragons. His parents, of course, would be less thrilled at their kids wanting to go flying on top of a giant fire-breathing monster. Once Il-Hwan awakens, though, he’ll probably agree to some supervised flights. (With Beru acting as the ‘lifeguard’ in case anyone falls off.)

I see their lives being very enriched, if chaotic. Less tragedy as the summons keep Jin-Woo’s family safe. And as Jin-Woo grows up, he’ll start gaining more of the powers he had in that future, until he’s at his full strength by the time the Monarchs show up. He’ll have had plenty of time to explore what he can do, too, so he’ll be ready to take them on.

And just, happy endings all around.

[goodvibesprompttime]

DSMP AU :D

Gods abandon children all the time. 

It wasn't uncommon for children to find each other, be it on the road, travelling to somewhere that even they didn’t know existed, or, perhaps if they were the lucky ones, in a school among the rest of humans, where their godly heritage goes to die. It was up to opinion if losing heritage was worth it. If not, the children left a means of shelter to follow the path of uncertainty, chaos, without education or any guarantee they would see the beauty of dawn, or her loving embrace.

Like all abandoned children, twelve year old Tommy was good at something. It may not have been dancing, or cooking, or baking, or sports, or… a lot of things. But, the blonde was good at something. He was good at counting steps, and he was good at breathing, and smiling, and he was really funny. Although, according to the other abandoned children, in the abandoned children villages, none of those were things to be proud of. Tommy hated coming across villages. In truth, calling them villages made the places sound nicer than they were. If you were lucky, you could come across a village that was really just a house. Most of the time, however, these villages were just a group of children in whatever shelter they could find - painted in brilliant roses of risk, with brushstrokes of broken glass, or the potential to be discovered and torn apart like useless paper, soaked in water. 

Following the train tracks, as Tommy had done since he left the certainty of a foster family, led the blonde to many villages. Some villages only had two or three people, some had ten, one even was in the thirties. Tommy knew to avoid the bigger villages as a child with no insight on his godly parent. He had no powers to rely on, much less any intimidation. He was a scrawny kid carrying a stick, a backpack full of things, with a bandana around his neck, and a bandaid on his nose. Lesson one of being an abandoned, Tommy discovered, was to avoid big villages with bigger kids, or risk being beaten with your own stick. Tommy was only lucky they gave him bruises.

Despite having life, rather literally, beat him down when he was already low, Tommy followed the tracks with an uncanny sense of optimism. He sang for himself when even the birds were too tired to listen. He told himself stories when the forest did not. He still cheered as excitement swelled in him when a train passed by, even more so when he checked the time and found that the train came later. He was moving somewhere, farther from where the train was coming from, but that meant he was heading where it was going too. Time was still moving, and so was Tommy. 

~

Meanwhile, in the passing train, there hid a pair of twins who lived on the run their entire lives. On the caboose, out of sight from the authoritarian eyes of adults, was Techno and Wilbur. One with pink hair, tusks, and pointed ears, the other a brunette and unnaturally human looking for being Techno’s twin. They were both fifteen, soon sixteen, with enough years of experience to know the natural law of being an abandoned child: Lesson one. Do not trust anybody.

While Wilbur was sitting near the caboose exit, knees tucked under his chin, Techno was studying a map of the city the train was heading to. The city was named Las Nevadas, and nicknamed “The City Who Never Sleeps”. Someone of human descent says it’s because of how busy the gambling city was. Anyone of godly descent knows it’s because Las Nevadas was a place untouchable by the gods, including the god of sleep himself. It was the perfect place for Techno and Wilbur.

Las Nevadas welcomed artists, of all kinds, and, they hoped, they would not be discovered as abandoned children long enough to be hired by someone. There were most certainly flaws in the plan, and the twins weren’t quite sure what they would say about Techno’s appearance, but they were clever enough to figure out something. It was fake, they could say. Techno loved the theatre, especially a character from a local play from their far away town that they definitely came from. So much so that he decided to dress like them everyday. 

“Techno…?”

“Yes, Wilbur?” 

“I’m hungry… Do we have anything left?” Techno set down the map and checked his bag. Staring at the rather empty contents, Techno took out the last sandwich he had made from their last stop. After giving that to Wilbur, Techno gave his twin an orange and his metal water bottle. “Thanks, Techno…”

“Eat slow,” Techno picked up his map. “We still have an hour until Las Nevadas…” 

“Okay…” 

~

The City Who Never Sleeps. It was always a facit of conflicting viewpoints coming together to drown in the losing game of gambling. It was giving individuals jobs to work themselves to death. It was an approximation of a monster that never slept, just continuously fed on the poor souls it, and its creators, lured in. It was infectious. A disease that allowed people to walk like the living dead, with local folklore painting it as so alluring the pride and joy casino, Los Amantes, first ever built, lured in gods. 

All who lived in Las Nevadas, from the richest sinner to the poorest saint, that one phrase that dictates all in the city. Those who haven’t learned it perished mercilessly, their souls ripped from their bodies and minds to be sold to the highest paying bidder.

Lesson one: the house always wins.

From between the buildings, continuously wandering through alleyways, there was a tall child, just reaching fifteen not too long ago. His eyes were a misty purple, his pointed ears tilted towards the ground. He was an obvious abandoned child. If one couldn’t tell from ears or normally red and green eyes, then his skin of black and white was the giveaway. Truthfully, it was uncharacteristic for him to be in public and, if there was no other choice, then he would be in disguise. To have him wander so dangerously close towards the busy streets was suicide. 

“Ranboo!” A hand grabbed the sleepwalker’s, yanking him away before he could get into trouble. Ranboo hissed, struggling, but his companion was much stronger than him - albeit shorter. “Come on, not again…” 

His companion went by Tubbo, an abandoned child left behind before he was known to have existed, then yet again when he was growing into his demigodly features as a small child. He kept his brown hair over his eyes, blocking anyone from seeing their yellow glow, and always kept his pants baggy to cover up his goat-like legs. Surviving through the streets, being a thief, getting an odd job once or twice, all led to him taking care of Ranboo and another abandoned child. Nights like these, where Ranboo was “sleepwalking”, Tubbo searched for him. Sometimes it took minutes, sometimes it took hours. Tubbo had trained himself to wake up an hour after falling asleep just for these occasions, but predicting everything was impossible.

“Hisssss,” Ranboo snapped at Tubbo, literally hissing and snapping his jaw.

Tubbo snapped his fingers at Ranboo. “Don’t get mouthy with me, mister!”

The sleepwalker went quiet, making tiny noises Tubbo couldn’t describe - or replicate, for that matter. Tubbo dragged Ranboo back to their makeshift home, made from the fifth floor of an abandoned office space that had yet to be torn down. It was a stuffy place and it was hard to transform into a decent enough space to live, for both themselves and baby Michael. It wasn’t an unwelcomed surprise, just one unexpected. Ranboo freaked out, but who left a baby crying behind a trash can to either starve or freeze or get eaten by raccoons. Tubbo wasn’t expecting a baby, and was thankful Ranboo had some semblance of childcare knowledge. Tubbo supposed there was some benefit from being raised in an orphanage.

Tubbo panicked when he heard Michael crying, the abandoned child swore the baby was asleep. Before Tubbo could react, Ranboo near sprinted past him to attend to the baby. Out of his sleepwalking phase, Ranboo picked up Michael and soothed him to sleep. Tubbo smiled a bit, relieved, and watched his platonic partner while leaning on the doorframe. 

Michael didn’t sleep easily, especially if he can’t feel Tubbo or Ranboo. It’s why Tubbo moved his makeshift crib into his and Ranboo’s, for lack of a better word, room. It was just a mattress with a sheet Ranboo stole from the orphanage when he escaped, a blanket Tubbo stole, and pillows they managed to save up for. It was comfortable, appearances being deceiving of course. Michael surely thought so, resting as Ranboo set the baby on one of the pillows. 

“... you should go back to sleep, bossman.” Tubbo mumbled, taking off his coat and letting it fall on the floor. “Under the blanket too, it’s too cold for that shit.”

Ranboo made a small noise, brushing some of Michael’s hair out of his face. Tubbo shook his head, sitting on the mattress.

“He’s fine…” Tubbo assured him. “And you’re fine! It’s not like you’ll sleepwalk again, you’ve never done that before.”

Ranboo, hesitantly, laid down, and Michael moved to cling to his face. Tubbo muffled his laugh, throwing the blanket over all three of them. 

“Night, bossman.” Ranboo mumbled a goodnight.

Nights in Hell can only stay cold and dark for so long.