#muschic

[toomanythoughts2]

Piggybacking a bit off of your Murderface Agere

When he’s Agere and watches the shows he’ll start mimicking the characters for a bit during and after he watches an episode. If he’s with Toki especially he’ll try to do the ‘thundercats ho!’ Or try to set up an elaborate prank like Hawkeye and BJ. Personally (since I’m the most familiar with tmnt, thundercats, and MASH) I think his favorite characters would be Leonardo and Raphael, Lion-O and Panthro, and BJ and Hawkeye. That being said I think from MASH he subconsciously leaned onto the Winchester himself and occasionally goes around saying “A Murderface would never do this” while doing exactly that <- (projecting). If we’re going with him watching these shows growing up he most definitely did it to seem more put together and classier at school. Like a defense to be alone. “A Murderfasche would never schtoop to schuch pompousch activitiesch” or “Muschic like this would never be worthy for repugnent earsch schuch asch yoursch” Very defensive very holier than thou but as we know very sensitive and at the core very heroic. Mr. Winchester often did heroic things simply because they were right, not because he wanted reward. I think Murderface took on that "Dont see me be genuinely good" act but because it was a show still wanted a bit of recognition. I’m loosing the plot a bit but im basing this a lot off of his one liners and his wants to be like a movie hero, so I think him projecting and favoring the leaders specifically would be huge, but drawing from characters like Charles Winchester III , Raphael and I think Tigra is more subconscious.

Also on the which MASH era was better debate he’d definitely enjoy both eras for different reasons so don’t ask him to choose. And for TMNT he’d prefer the 80s cartoon but has no issues with the live action movies with the puppets (maybe the bay movies but it depends on the day I’ve never watched them so I can’t say how well they hold up) Thundercats tried and true with the original version as well BUT he discovers the 2012 version at some point and enjoys the more modern retelling.

AAHHH! These are all really good! I'll admit, I've never actually watched any of these shows (I know, I'm lame ;P) but I absolutely see your vision with him favoring the leaders! That reminds me of all the times in the show he wants to be or take on the role that Nathan has. That's why I think he tries so hard to get writing credit or song credit because, hey, that's what Nathan does, and he's the leader, and he's cool. Except, they all know him, so they know he's full of shit. And that's where the regression happens again, where he wants to be this cool dude who does cool things, but he's only able to see it from a child-like mind. Ugh, you provided so much more context to my little HC, I LOVE IT!

Murderface being a cartoon connoisseur would be hilarious though, because it's just right up his alley of niche interests with a very heated community of loyal fans. He's on Chitter in heated threads with other fans, defending his stances, but also causing mayhem and discourse. Lol.

[writersmilex]

Dance Face.

William Murderface (and a little bit of Toki...) X (Fem)Reader.

Summary : Teaching Murderface how to dance.

_______________________________________

Dethklok has been invited to a fancy gala of sorts. And none of the members wanted to go.

"gah! Whys dos we always haves to gos to the borings *Riff*ings partys." Skwisgaar complains while fidgeting with his guitar.

"now, Skwisgaar. It's important that ah, Dethklok keeps a good image with all the social classes. Showing up at an event with the higher class with definitely increase your popularity along the higher class people." Charles explains.

(Y/n), who's standing next to Charles is skeptical.

" err. Charles, is it really such a good idea to let Dethklok go to a fancy party, I mean they'll just *Riff* things up." (Y/n) tries to keep the others from hearing but wasn't quiet enough and they heard anyway.

"yeeh. What (Y/n) says, we'll just *Riff* *Riff* up like always. S'what we do." Pickles pipes in.

Charles crosses his arms. "and that's why (Y/n) is coming with you to the event." he says.

"that's what i- wait, what!?" (Y/n) looks shocked.

Charles turns to (Y/n). "that right (Y/n). You're going with Dethklok to the gala. To keep them in line."

"alright, fine. If I must. What about you Charles?" (Y/n) gestures to Charles. "I'll also be there for a short while, then I have to leave for something important." typical of Charles. (Y/n) just nods in understanding.

Murderface sits up straight on the couch.

"Doesch that mean that we have to lischten to (Y/n) there!?" He asks his manager. Charles nods.

Murderface doesn't say anything else, he just crosses him arms and pout like the child he is.

"(Y/n) ins a prettys dress, oh wowee!!" Toki exclaims, looking like he's imagining different scenarios in his head. Murderface looks at Toki with a look of disapproval.

"do we still have to wear suits and *Riff*." Nathan speaks up. Charles nods in response. "Yes... And (Y/n) must wear a dress."

(Y/n) scoffs, "What! but I hate dresses!" (Y/n) almost whines.

"I'm sorry (Y/n) but you'll have to dress up." Charles explains, his stoic expression slight easing up.

Upon hearing this, (Y/n) sighs in defeat. "alright fine, but remember that i'm doing it for you Charles!" (Y/n) glares and points at the manager to get her point across.

"That's good to hear (Y/n). Ah, the gala will happen in a week. so you have seven days from now to prepare."

~~~~

"Thisch isch *Riff*ing bull*Riff*!!" Murderface complains, still sitting on the pouting child. (Y/n) sitting in the exact same position. "Tell me about it." She huffs out, leaning back in her seat.

"If it'sch going to be the schame thing like high school dansches, I'm going to be really pissched!" Murderface growls out. (Y/n) slides further down in her seat, almost sliding off.

"Cans (Y/n) teach, Toki hows to dance toos?" (Y/n) and Murderface turn to see Toki standing at the other side of the living room. Murderface raises an eyebrow at his band-mate. (Y/n) smiles at Toki. "Sure! Why not!"

"I can't even dansche..." He mumbles quietly. The woman next to him squirms up to sit back up straight.

"wait... you mean slow dance, right?" (Y/n) raises an eyebrow at her friend. Murderface doesn't answer, her merely nods slowly.

(Y/n) leans over, resting her elbows in her knees, one hand cupping her chin as she thinks. She snaps her fingers as she comes up with an idea, catching Murderface's attention.

"Hey! I'll teach ya how to dance!" (Y/n) stands up from her seat and walking around, unable to stand still.

Murderface looks at her. "you?" the woman nods.

~~the next day~~

(Y/n), Toki and Murderface have gathered in the living-room of Mordhaus to practice dancing.

The two musicians are waiting as (Y/n) went to get music. Toki is swaying on his heels.

"what kinda trasch muschic it thisch?!" Murderface seems disgusted by (Y/n) music choice. (Y/n) chuckles. "this is music people dance too. You'll hear this type of at the gala." (Y/n) explains and turns to the to musicians.

"what-scha. got there, (Y/n)." Murderface asks as (Y/n) re-enters the living-room with a radio in her hands.

"Music to dance too." (Y/n) says and puts the radio on the coffee table. (Y/n) turns the radio on, the device starts to play slow music.

"who wants to go first?" (Y/n) smile is smug. holding her hand out for one of the two to take.

Toki grins and goes behind Murderface and pushes his band-mate forward. "Yous go firsts Murderface!"

Murderface stumbles forward, grabbing the first best thing to keep his balance, (Y/n)'s hand.

(Y/n) pulls Murderface up, grabbing his other hand to guide it to her waist. Murderface's face turns red as he sees the situation he's in now.

"relax, and take my lead. Make sure you don't stand on my toes." (Y/n) speaks slowly as she starts moving, Murderface following as best a he can.

Toki watches the two dance clumsily while cheering them on.

Murderface eases up after a moment and starts to get the hang of it.

"nows it's my turn." Toki pipes in.

"yeah, you got it man." (Y/n) smiles, she stops moving and let's go of Murderface. (Y/n) swiftly turns the music on pause. "It still needs some polishing though, we still have a week to practice."

Murderface doesn't answer vocally. He merely rubs the back of his head with a sheepish smile on his face.

~~~~

Murderface watches as Toki dances with (Y/n). Toki seems to be a bit better at it than Murderface is. He glares as Toki twirls (Y/n) around. It didn't feel right to him. He thinks that he should be standing there instead of Toki.

~~Day of the gala~~

After the dance is done, the three agree to practice dancing for a few more days before the gala begins.

Besides that now Murderface knows how to dance with a partner, he liked that he gets to spend time with (Y/n).

(Y/n)... Dethklok's mom friend, and Murderface's biggest crush ever.

But Toki is in the way. Murderface fears that (Y/n) likes Toki more that him...

He never acted out on his feelings, in fear that he might scare her away like all the others.

"I gots us dates." Skwisgaar exclaims as he enters the room, a few neatly dressed women following right behind him, all giggling among each other.

"oh, I ams so exited." Toki smiles.

Murderface grumbles and messes with the bow-tie nervously. "as speciallys nows i cans dances. Maybes i cans dances withs (Y/n) agains." oh right, (Y/n) is also going.

"you can dance Toki?" Pickles asks. Toki nods, "(Y/n) gaves me ands Murderface lessons." He replies.

Pickles looks amused, along with Nathan. "really? Damn, wish i had lessons from (Y/n). I can't dance for *Riff*." Nathan grumbles.

"Glad to see that, you're all here and ready." Charles says to the group. A klokateer opens the door of the limo to let the group of people.

"Everybody ready!" another voice joins in. (Y/n) polity pushes past one of the other woman to show herself.

(Y/n) is dressed in a fancy but simply looking party dress. Her hair neatly done.  

Murderface's mouth falls open at the sight. He wants to say something but couldn't find his voice.

"wowee! (Y/n), you looks amazings!" Toki compliments, his band-mates all nod in agreement.

(Y/n) blushes. "No time to lose. Come on!" (Y/n) leads the group outside toward the limousine to the gala.

~~At the gala~~

Murderface didn't feel comfortable here at all. The people are too stuck-up, the snacks they serve are disgusting. The music is awful and the drinks don't help.

Pickles is already black out drunk at the minibar. Nathan and Toki are dancing with their dates, Skwisgaar is nowhere to bee seen, probably away with more than one girl.

He's been waiting for this moment the whole week!

Murderface sighs. He's done with this gala already. He tried ask a few girls to dance, but they all turned him down.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his arm. "Hey Will." He turns and sees (Y/n) standing next to him.

"you wanna dance? You look so lonely here." (Y/n) asks, looking like she had a few small drinks.

Murderface lights up.

_______________________________________

Here's some Murderface for ya. Can't leave him out can i?

Thanks for reading.

- Missalot.

[atmilliways]

On the 10th day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 22 - Metalocalypse but it's a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie

He’s a big city notary, only in town to clean out his deceased grandparents’ condo.

He’s a small-town metalhead pot dealer/part time taxi service with no one to hang out with for the holidays.

Is it fate, or is it Christmas?

Chapter one of a Murderface/Pickles, what-if-Dethklok-never-happened AU. I went heavy on Pickles' accent for this and I refuse to apologize for my crimes.

~

Deck The Halls With Ughs & F*ck Yous

When you boiled it down to the bare essentials, the first half of the letter basically said, “Merry Christmas, your grandparents are dead.” 

Which, William felt, was kind of nice of the lawyer writing to him. He hadn’t liked his grandparents particularly much, for all that they’d raised him ever since the unfortunate murder-suicide that had claimed his parents. Everything he’d accomplished in life had been in spite of them. They’d wanted him to be a hubcap salesman like his grandfather; he’d gotten his notary license and done just fine. They’d wanted him to stay in the same kind of podunk towns they always lived in; he’d gone to the big city and landed a steady career notarizing deeds and titles for a huge real estate company. All they’d done was yell at him to make sure was still alive for seventeen years. Anyone could have done that. 

It was the second half of the letter that was the problem. Apparently they’d had no money to leave him, just all the crap in a condo that needed to be emptied out by the end of the year so the next owners could move in. If he didn’t, there would be a ridiculously large fine due of some truly idiotic wording in the lease they’d signed. 

A quick check online told him it would be cheaper to just fly out to this . . . Tomahawk, Wisconsin, throw all the shit in a dumpster, and be done with it. He had a couple weeks of vacation time coming up anyway, with Christmas and New Years, and no particular plans. Why not go? Maybe it would be . . . cathartic or something. 

William sighed and reached to grab a credit card from his wallet. So much for a quiet Christmas to himself, holed up in his  blissfully undecorated apartment with takeout from one of the best sushi places in the entire city. 

~

Tomahawk was pretty much what he expected. Once he made it out of the four-gate airport with a baggage claim so slow that it might have been faster to  walk  instead of fly, it turned out there wasn’t even a taxi queue. He had to go back inside and call one himself. And it wasn’t so much a taxi service as something called “Pickles Cab” scratched in above the payphone.

As long as it had wheels and knew how to find the address, he didn’t much care. The dispatch guy had seemed kinda stoned on the phone, but hey, William figured, that just meant he might be able to find some to buy in the area. 

The car was easy to spot because it was the only non-white thing moving in the snow-caked parking lot. William eyed the shitty old Vista Cruiser in shades of drab green, rust, and beat-to-shit wood paneling skeptically as it pulled up to the loading zone curb at an angle that was, frankly, terrible. The driver put it in park and popped out the driver’s side door with the engine still running, spewing thick steam out of the tailpipe in the frigid air. 

“Hey dood, welcome to Wiscahnsin,” the guy called, waving. “Abandon hope all ye to enter here, heh.” He smirked. William recognized his voice as the person he’d talked to on the phone.

“Uh . . . hi,” William replied awkwardly, hefting his two suitcases, 

“Trunks open. Lemme get it fer ya.” The driver hurried around to the back of the car and opened it for William to toss the suitcases in. He had a shock of red hair trying to escape from his black beanie in all directions, and park-job aside seemed slightly less stoned in person than he sounded. “Wanna sit up front? It’s warmer up here, I’ve had the heat blastin’ all the way here . . . uh, just let me clear some shit out first.”

‘Some shit’ seemed to be a lot of empty bottles and cans and snack wrappers, but William waited patiently because it’s not like this place had any actual taxis he could call instead. When he did climb in and buckle his seatbelt, at least it was warm, as promised, even if it did smell like pot and stale beer. 

The driver popped back in, stripped the glove off one hand, and rubbed at his nose above a vivid red goatee before grabbing the wheel, “Okey, here we go. I’m Pickles, what’s yer name?”

“William Murderfasche,” William replied. What kind of a name was Pickles? But . . . it did explain the name of the ‘cab’ company. 

“Murderface, that’s a fuckin’ cool name. Mind if I just call ya that?”

“. . . Sure.”

“Cool. So dood, Murderface, where to?”

William gave him the address. The car pulled away from the airport with a jerk and he stared out the window at passing snow banks and white-shrouded trees, starting to sink into all his misgivings about the decision to come out here. There was a certain smell that developed anywhere his grandparents inhabited for long enough that he hadn’t realized until moving out on his own kept him in a near-constant state of upset stomach. 

“Hope ya don’t mind there ain’t no radio,” Pickles told him companionably, not appearing to mind when William didn’t react. “Tape deck’s broken too. . . . I’m tryin’ ta save up the money to fix it by givin’ people rides and shit. And doin’ some other stuff too, but don’t tell the cops, heh. All the local stations are pretty much shit anywey, all they’re playin’ right now is fuckin’ Christmas songs.”

“Hm,” William agreed. 

“What kinda music you listen to?”

“Hm. Uh, what? Oh, schorry. Moschtly metal, I guessch.” He shrugged, shaking himself out of the funk he’d been about to sink into. Usually he would prefer to just be left to his own thoughts, but right now the chit chat was actually a welcome distraction. “It’sch good background muschic for conschentrating on not thinking.”

“Hey dood, me too!” In his enthusiasm, Pickles gunned the engine and sent the car into a brief skid on the wintery road, but corrected it with an ease that spoke to lots of practice. “There’s naht much of a metal scene here, fuckin’ sucks. What else am I supposed to get fucked up to, huh? People jest don’t get that. Is it any better where you live?”

William, braced for impact as he now was and would probably remain for the rest of the ride, shrugged again. “I don’t know. I moschtly keep to myschelf, but there are plenty of schtoresch that have deschent schtuff, if you’re willing to schort through all the other crap.”

“Well, cool. Hey if you wanna hang out at all while yer here, I got a pretty good collection on vinyl. Y’know, if you don’t have family shit to do. I’m avoiding mine due to sort of a . . . landlord tenant dispute. They won’t let me put a lock on the house-door to my basement-room, so I’ve got it barricaded and stopped payin’ rent, and now Mahm won’t let me eat anything she cooks. But it’s cool, I’ve gaht an exterior door so I can still get in’n out.”

It took a moment to digest all that, but William noted the invitation with the tentative optimism of a guy who’d moved a lot as a kid but never quite gotten the hang of making friends as a survival method. 

But he was only planning to be in town for a few days, get the condo cleaned out ASAP, and go home, never to return. Not a lot of point in making friends. 

“Thanksch, but I probably won’t have time.” He wasn’t looking directly at Pickles, but he saw the driver’s smile drop a few watts out of the corner of his eye. Feeling bad for the guy, he quickly added, “Schoundsch like you’ve got a pretty good schet-up, though.”

“Eh . . . it’s alright.”

The conversation petered out after that, and William had no idea how to get it going again. He’d always been shit at this sort of thing. Looking back, it was probably a miracle that he’d stuck through high school long enough to graduate, having alienated, avoided, or accidentally insulted enough of his peers that virtually no one on campus had ever willingly spoken to him. The only social group he’d ever successfully infiltrated was the lunchtime stoners that hung out in the park across the street, and that was because they’d mostly just sat around passing joints, trying to blow smoke rings, and napping before having to face sixth period. 

Eventually Pickles put his turn signal on and announced, "Here we go, Christmas Mountain Avenue. Sheesh, that's a little on the nose, huh?"

Privately William agreed, but awkwardly swallowed the chuckle before it could make itself heard. As they pulled up in front of the building, he peered out the window at the gray, shitty condo building and felt his lip curl. Fuck, there was a fridge in there full of rotting food and cans of condensed milk that he was going to have to deal with somewhere in there, he just knew it. 

“Is this where yer staying?” Pickles asked dubiously. 

“No,” William said with a shudder. “Thisch isch juscht the . . . family schit I’m here to deal with. My grandparentsch died and I have to clean out their plache by the end of the month.”

“Ooh.” Scratching thoughtfully at his goatee, he leaned forward to get a better look at the building. “. . . You know, the nearest motel is a ten minute walk and it’s gettin’ dark soon. Yer gonna want a ride, prahbably.”

William blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Pickles made a show of looking thoughtful. “So . . . want any help? I gaht reeeeal reasonable rates.”

“Well. . . .”

“And I’ve gaht weed, too,” he added. 

“Done,” William said immediately. 

Well. At least the ordeal would probably be over with sooner this way, and also a lot less horrible with something to blunt the edges (and cover the Smell).

[shutterdre]

Micolony . . . . . . #shutterdre #rsf19 #muschic #festivale #digitalart #psytrantic #deepdreame (at Melbourne, Victoria, Australia) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bu3wAXnngCi/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1pu62eyq9ghje