#rotating it like michael wave

[jonny-b-meowborn]

chat I did it again

[vidapon]

doodles of my favourite series ash bc it's real comfort character hours..!!

[muzzlemouths]

OBSESSED with ur DFtR au!!! I'm such a sucker for the camp horror situations (Friday 13th, the quarry, ect, ect.)

The way you write the relationships in the group is so frustratingly spot on (have a feeling sun can relate to the poor treatment the reader gets)

Anyways, expect some fan art for this fanfic because it will be rotating in my mind for the next month

FRIDAY THE 13TH! THE QUARRY BELOVED!! I am also obsessed with campground horror (obviously) so this story is by and large just a whopping self indulgence fic lmaoo

and THANK YOU I'm so relieved to hear you think the group's behavior is realistic. I keep going back and forth between "This is too tropey" and "stereotypes and tropes are a fundamental piece of the horror/slasher genre" so it's nice to know I've accomplished a good middle ground there. (Sun absolutely relates to reader's situation. Surely this will have no dire consequences in the near future!)

[bravevolunteer]

giving in to the urges— like this for a movie mike based starter! ( mutuals only & pls specify if you're a multi )

[fighting-these-demons]

I feel like I remember a Poker Face amv for G Gundam that used to be on youtube but I can't find it.

Well. I guess I'll just rotate it in my mind. The slowed version of course.

[peachyvhy]

!! mildly suggestive content, michael myers x fem!reader

my first time ever writing a drabble ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

michael sensed the unfamiliar vehicle come down the driveway long before it had appeared into view. the old thing sputtered and clanked, taking its sweet time to pull up to the front of the dilapidated house.

he watched from the windows as a feminine figure stepped out of the backseat and closed the car door, waving goodbye to the driver as they sped off, most likely spooked after witnessing such a house in the middle of the countryside. he tilted his head at the good natured wave that stiffly came down and heard an annoyed huff.

his dark eyes followed your frame as you stepped up the stairs to the front door, and as quickly and quietly as he could, he retreated back into the shadows of the house. the door creaked open after a few seconds of a key wrangling in the lock, the evening sun pouring in, and in his view came your heels, followed by your entirety.

a gulp was caught in his throat as he was able to observe your frame in a better light than this morning. your frantic muttering and careless sprays of perfume had indicated the rush you were in to head into the town—meaning that he had no say in the fact that your outfit had stirred something in his chest, and in his trousers. this was an issue he has yet to address.

as you fully turned around from the door and patted away the dust from your black silk skirt, you looked up and allowed your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the house you shared with your peculiar suitor. you could never compromise with michael for more lighting in the house, but at least he allowed for candles to be lit where need be. you wouldn’t admit it, but it gave the house such a sleepy, yet sultry, vibe on certain nights.

you didn’t have much time to give your outfit a once-over this morning, but given the amount of stares and compliments from the ladies in town, you gave yourself a triumphant huff as you looked into the scuffed mirror that hung against the wall.

the cream wool off-the-shoulder top you wore complimented the pearls that decorated your neck—an expensive “gift�� that michael had left on your nightstand a few weeks prior. you had accepted it gracefully, but only wore it after scrubbing the pearls clean. who knows what happened to the victim that these pearls belonged to, but that was water under the bridge.

it seemed as though your housemate has been rubbing off on you, in more ways than one.

feeling a pair of eyes on you, you orchestrated a way to bring michael out of his usual hiding spot to welcome you home properly. old slasher habits die hard it seems.

as you cleared your throat to hide the smile that tugged your lips, you brought a hand up to your shoulder and rotated your arm a few times—thoroughly selling the notion that you were very sore from a long day in town. from experience, you could always tell when michael was peeved from the way you overexerted your body. his eyes seemed to question if having such a huge man in your presence was futile, seeing as though you never let him assist you with your heavy work. what a hypocrite, like he hasn’t left you sore and in a worse state than before.

“michael, my love?” you called out after a beat. “are you there?”

immediately after the words left your mouth, he of course trudged out into the hallway, given the huge puppy that he was. you had quickly concluded that michael became more mellow and obedient the further away samhain was, and given that it was the beginning of the summer, you found that the sweltering heat didn’t dispel his habit of sticking to your side.

michael stood before your shorter frame, just inches shy of your warmth but not too far that he couldn’t breathe in the intoxicating scent that lingered on your skin. the summer sweat had mingled with your perfume, a scent so sweet and heady—he had to wipe his hands on his trousers to prevent himself from doing anything you wouldn’t like.

he had you backed up against the dresser that was next to the front door.

he took in your smile as you looked up at him and let your hands fall to your sides, his own coming up to your chin to raise it up further. “sorry i took so long to come back, i was having trouble with the cab driver.” his hand stiffened and he tilted your face side to side, as if checking for any damage. you placed your hand on his arm, laughing at his antics.

“nothing happened to me, love. a few nasty comments wouldn’t do me over so easily,” you reassured him. from beyond his mask, you can tell he hasn’t eased. it was as though you can see his veins tick against his forehead. quickly, you changed the subject.

“i’m beat, i’m not going into town for the next month. you’d think that being the town coroner i wouldn’t have to be present at so many funerals in one day. who would want that?”

your words were met with a huff behind his mask, a particular huff that you categorized as him playfully agreeing with you. smiling harder, you brought your hand up to caress his masked cheek. “could you do me a favor, michael?”

he looked at you expectantly—you’re not the type to ask for things willy-nilly. the hand on his cheek left it’s warmth behind as he watched your hand lightly massage the junction between your neck and your shoulder. the sliver of skin that you allowed to be showcased did things to his gut that he fought vehemently to be pushed down. “if you could help me reach this part on my back, that would be lovely.”

his mouth dried as you turned around, your graceful fingers pulling back your loose hair over your shoulder, revealing the open back of your top. your fingers pressed into the lower part of your neck, releasing a sigh from your lips.

“it’s somewhere around here, would you be a dear and—“ your words had caught on your tongue as soon as his calloused fingers lightly dug into the knot that tormented you the entire day. a low keen emitted from your throat as you craned your neck to the side, finally finding relief after such a day.

his other hand found it’s place on your hip as you let another one of those delicious sounds slip from your lips. “you’re way too good at this michael,” you sucked in a breath as he pressed harder into your skin. “i should ask you to do this more often.”

as entranced as you were in the tender moment you thought was carefully orchestrated, michael had his own thoughts in disarray. it became harder to focus on the task at hand when your neck was bare to him, with only the dainty pearl necklace he had stolen found for you dangling so perfectly still.

his eyes took in your back that was hidden from view with your hair just moments ago. he was pleased that it was so well hidden—who knows what other people would have thought of you once they had the opportunity to peek.

his mind rambled on and on about you, a clever ruse to hide the fact that the straining in his trousers had gotten worse the longer he stood here and caressed your soft skin.

something needed to be done to relieve him of this tension, and he preferred your help over his own hands.

“michael?” the sound of his name dripping from your lips brought him back to reality. you had been calling him for awhile now. “is something the matter? if this is uncomfortable, i can—“ your words halted as his hand covered your mouth. gently, his hand made its way down to your throat, just above your necklace. the amount of pressure he used was comfortable enough for you to still breathe, but your heart sped up nonetheless.

he grunted into your neck and you stilled, puzzled by his actions, but not afraid. his hand on your hip was gripping with a little more force now, and you placed your hands on the dresser in front of you as you lightly arched into his touch. he stilled your movements as soon as your body met with his front, and you felt his mask give away on your neck as his breath fanned over your skin.

you waited with bated breath for him to continue what he had started, but contrary to your wishes and his actions, he only placed a light kiss on your exposed skin.

“wh-what?” you questioned as soon as his fingers left your throat. those fingers found that spot on your lower neck once again and you sighed once more.

did he change his mind to instead cater to my needs? you thought to yourself, smiling softly when his hand on your hip traced light circles that eased your mind further. it was evident that you were beyond tired, but if he wanted, he could always have his way with you—since you never say otherwise. plus, you never had the chance to properly thank him for your new jewelry.

[headknight-oh]

Like unironically ironically love the Omegaverse. I’m getting back into haikyuu for the first time since college, and of course I’m gonna start with my beloved coach and teacher.

All this is to say, who the fuck is casting coach ukai as the alpha in this dynamic? Did y’all not watch the way they interact? You really think that Ittetsu Takeda is the omega??? In what world is that persistent, domineering fuck the shy blushing omega? In what world is Mr Keishin “blushes when he’s called a good coach” ukai the aggressive alpha?

Is it because ukai is bigger and a jock and takeda is a short academic? Like that’s probably it, but like their personalities are absolutely the opposite.

Anyway, I’m a bottom!Ukai truther, and ABSOLUTEY an omega!ukai truther. I am also in love with Takeda as much as I ever was. I want to rotate that little nerd in my head like a Michael wave

[catboymoments]

mmm… rotating your nextgen characters like macking cheese in the michael wave…

I do that too

[hikarry]

Another imagine? Right after the last one? Bet your tits! Whatever do you want? It's not my fault if I feel inspired when I'm depressed.

Aziraphale was looking down on Earth. He was vaguely aware of Uriel standing behind him, but he payed her no mind. By now he was used to having her around. Ever since he came back to Heaven and it was announced he was the new Supreme Archangel, she had become his shadow. Rare were the moments when he was actually alone.

Suddenly, there was a commotion down the corridor. Loud voices and groans and...hissing?

He stepped away from the Globe, looking over his shoulder towards Uriel. She was as impassive as always.

Right. She probably didn't know anything about it either.

A door was opened brutally, and the footsteps grew closer.

Aziraphale rotated towards the noise, spine straight, hands clasped behind his back. He waited patiently, certain that whatever it was was indeed coming his way.

What he saw was absolutely not what he expected.

When the doors of the room banged open, Aziraphale was greeted by the Metraton, Michael, Sandalphon and a small army of angels. And Crowley.

The demon was rudely tossed at his feet by two angels that were previously holding him up by the arms. His hands were on his back, restricted by silver handcuffs that decidedly felt holy. From where he stood, he could see the raw red skin where the handcuffs touched him.

He was on his knees, sitting back, his head hanging forwards while his back moved erractly up and down with each quick and difficult breath he took.

Aziraphale finally peeled his eyes off the demon in front of him, slowly running his eyes through the archangels and the Metraton.

"What's the meaning of this?"

"It's been 8 years, and we have made little to no progress towards our goal." The Metraton began, voice booming. "You've been distracted, never fully focused on the greater good and we decided it was time we took care of the problem by its root."

With his chin, he pointed towards Crowley and one of the angels took a couple of steps forward and abruptly grabbed the demon by his short auburn hair, pulling it violently backwards so he was looking up at Aziraphale. Crowley hissed with the movement. His eyes were closed, but Aziraphale could now see the few black scales on his skin, two fangs peeking through his lips. The angel pulled again, and Crowley snapped his eyes open, and their eyes met. There was no sign of any white, his eyes full blown yellow. The slith barely visible. He looked wild. And tired. Aziraphale stopped breathing for a moment before moving his gaze from Crowley back to the Metraton.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. In my opinion, our plans are going quite smoothly."

"You've played enough with us and our future, Supreme Archangel." It was Sandalphon's turn to talk, apparently. His smile was sickening. "It's time you take action."

Aziraphale quickly looked back down at Crowley, before snapping back to the archangel.

"Action?"

"It's your divine duty to neutralize this demon." The Metraton opened his arms, as if in demonstration.

Behind his back, Aziraphale's closed in fists, and, for a moment, the room fell into a heavy silence. The only noise was Crowley's still labored breathing.

Before he could answer, the Metraton waved his hand and a violent pain took over his head, making him stagger backwards, both hands on each side of his face. His veins were lava hot. The sounds of his heart beating overtaking anything else. His mind felt like it was about to explode and implode at the same time. His lungs were sent into overdrive and he staggered back a few more steps, with his eyes closed. A hand was placed on his back, stopping him from moving.

When Aziraphale opened his eyes again, his vision was swimming. The borders of his gaze were unfocused and dark, white speckles flying around. He tried to focus on anyone, but the faces were all blurred. Out of his control, his hand swung down and he felt something heavy materialize on his hand, but he couldn't tell what it was.

Everything is alright, Aziraphale.

A voice that sounded weirdly like the Almighty flooded his head, and he felt his corporation start to tremble.

It has to be done.

What had to be done? He was so so confused. His head hurt so much. But this voice felt so warm. So comforting. Yet terrifying.

It is my wish.

What wish? What was She talking about?

Heavy breathing took over his senses, but it wasn't his own. It had too much underlying hissing to be his.

Crowley.

Crowley was here, in Heaven.

They wanted him to kill Crowley.

The Almighty wanted him to kill Crowley?

His heart banged against his ribcage, some feeling he hadn't felt in a while trying to fight the pain he was currently under.

Aziraphale tried to take another step back, away from Crowley, but the hand on his back stopped him and actually pushed him forward this time.

He hadn't noticed closing his eyes again, but now they were back open, and his gaze fixed itself on Crowley's face. He was still looking up at him, the angel still grabbing him by the hair. His breathing was still everything he could hear, echoing inside his head. His eyes still looked a mix of tired and wild, but now there was something else. Something else Aziraphale couldn't quite place.

No. Absolutely not. Out of the question. Ask him for anything but that. Hell, ask him to close all his eyes and stop spinning, and he will. But not this. Never this.

Someone was talking, but it sounded like they were underwater. Aziraphale couldn't understand a single word, but it made Crowley take his eyes away from him and look to the side, ever without moving his head, a snarl on his face. He tried to push to his feet, but the angel behind him stepped on his leg and forced him back down, twisting the strands in his hand.

"No." Aziraphale tried to say, but he wasn't sure the sound actually came out of his mouth. It must have because now Crowley's gaze was on him again. And so was Metraton's and everyone else's.

There was another spike of pain in his head that pushed him to drop to his knees. He heard Crowley's voice. It was clearly Crowley's voice. But he didn't understand what he was saying for as much as he forced himself to hear.

With his free hand on his head, with a vice grip on his own curls, he tried to regain control of himself, but it was like swimming against the tide. A very heavy and fast tide, at that.

With a groan, he pushed himself up to his feet once again, his legs almost failing below him.

Tell me you said no.

Crowley's voice.

You can't leave this bookshop.

Aziraphale took a sharp breath when he felt his heart ache. Was this what a heart attack felt like? He was in Heaven. He was an angel. He couldn't possibly have a heart attack, could he?

Stop.

The pain had to stop.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I understand a whole lot better than you do.

Right. Crowley. He was in Heaven. He had to take him away from here. Away from him. Back to Earth. To safety.

He pried his eyes open, but before he could focus on anything, his vision tilted sideways, going momentarily dark.

It's my wish.

No nightingales.

Both voices flooded him at the same time, making both his head and his heart soar with knife sharp pain.

His vision came back and he quickly looked around, taking as much as he could.

The Archangels and angels seemed considerably farther away than before. The Metraton, Crowley, and the angel holding him down remained in the same place.

Aziraphale!

It was a single word, but two different voices were saying it.

The Almighty and Crowley.

Crowley.

Aziraphale's gaze fell upon the demon again. He was still staring back up at him, but the wildness on his eyes was gone. Instead, he looked scared. Worried. It was hard to read or think with his heartbeat reverberating through his head like a church bell.

He tempted you.

The Almighty talked again in his mind.

Don't let yourself Fall, Aziraphale.

Fear ran through his heart.

He wasn't Falling. Crowley would never let him Fall. He would never do anything to make him Fall.

Crowley was his best friend.

He is the Serpent of Eden.

He's Crowley.

He is the Original Tempter.

He's Crowley. Just Crowley. He had always just been Crowley. Wild, impulsive, ridiculous, caring Crowley. But just Crowley.

He's a demon.

I lied.

The Almighty's voice morphs into Crowley's. But it was all inside his head. He was looking at Crowley. His lips were parted, but only to help his breathing. He wasn't talking.

He's a demon. He lies.

He himself had told him that many centuries ago.

No nightingales.

That was a lie. There was nightingales. There had always been. Aziraphale was just a coward.

A sob climbs up his throat, but refuses to come out.

A warm sensation took his right hand as the Metraton said something he couldn't quite understand because of the whole underwater sensation. The angel holding Crowley finally let go and joined the other angels.

"Get out of here." Aziraphale heard himself say, almost begging.

Crowley got up to his feet, swaying for a moment before finding his balance once again. His mouth moved at the same time as the Metraton's, but Aziraphale heard neither.

The demon turned around, fangs bared, keeping himself between Aziraphale and the Metraton.

"Get out of here." Aziraphale repeated, and Crowley swung around, facing him once again.

Suddenly, the demon was just a few feet away from him and oh. That scent. He hadn't felt it in a long time, but it was unforgettable. Cinnamon and the earth after a storm. A forest fire and sandalwood.

Aziraphale's head throbbed again and his eyes rolled back on his sockets involuntary, pulling a whine out of his throat.

He's a demon.

He's a demon.

He's the enemy, Aziraphale.

Enemy. Demon.

He's evil.

Evil.

Life will never take its course while he is breathing. The Earth will never be avenged while he stands.

"Aziraphale."

Crowley's voice pulled him back to the present like the snap of an elastic.

He's a threat.

Shut up.

And threats must be neutralized.

Shut up.

He tempted the humans. He tempted you.

"Angel?" Crowley's voice was so soft. When was the last time he had heard it that soft? That vulnerable?

The demon Crowley wasn't soft. Or vulnerable. He was the Serpent of Eden. The Enemy. And he was standing right in front of him. Yellow on the blue. Or was it purple?

You're my soldier, Aziraphale.

Aziraphale could see something like a purple tint on Crowley's face.

Purple.

He was the Supreme Archangel of all Heaven.

He was the Almighty's soldier.

The angel lifted his hand, the flaming sword now between them. He could almost see the flames licking at Crowley's neck.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley swallowed, ever without taking his gaze away from the Archangel's. And then he smiled.

His outstretched hand wavered, the sword with it.

"It's your duty, Aziraphale." The Metraton's voice boomed once again, and his vision tilted one more time.

Out of his control, he felt his body moving forward, the tip of his sword touching something sturdy. Trying to think was like moving through molasses, and he couldn't see anything. Something cold fell from his eyes. His whole body was trembling, fighting against whatever was taking charge at the moment because it was not him. It couldn't possibly be him.

Crowley is the Serpent of Eden.

I am the Supreme Archangel.

"Aziraphale."

Something pushed back against the sword.

I am the Almighty's soldier.

Nothing lasts forever.

"Angel, please... Just look at me." Crowley sounded so defeated. So wrong.

Aziraphale wouldn't stand for that. Not again.

His vision came back as the sword clanged to the floor. His arm was still outstretched, shaking between them.

His heartbeat took control of all his senses once again, and time now seemed to be running through molasses itself.

You're the Supreme Archangel.

The Almighty's voice sounded wrong too. Now that he took a moment to notice, it barely sounded like the Almighty at all.

Yes, I am.

Aziraphale waved his hand and the Archangels and the angels were tossed against the wall in a violent gust of wind.

"Aziraphale!" The Metraton was walking closer, quite clearly upset. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the handcuffs fell off Crowley's wrists before he closed the space between them and grabbed the demon by the jacket, pushing him to stand behind him. With another wave of his hand, another sudden gust of wind came to life, but the Metraton snapped his fingers, and it died down. The sword materialized on his hand once more while his wings appeared from the pocket dimension onto his back, covering Crowley.

"This is enough. Let him leave." The angel said, brandishing his sword towards the Metraton. "I will stay. I will follow the plans we were working on. But let him leave."

"Aziraphale-" Crowley talked, his hands resting on Aziraphale's hips, but he was cut by the Metraton.

"He is the enemy, Aziraphale! Not us! We are your family!" He was fuming. "You can't disobey the Almighty! It is her wish!"

"Is it?" Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow. "The Almighty hasn't talked to anyone in Millennia. Not to me. Certainly not to you. You have no idea what the Almighty truly wants, do you? No one does! Remember the Apocalypse? Everyone thought that was the Great Plan, and yet Earth is still here. I'm still here." The sword started flaming. "I advise you to let him leave."

"Aziraphale," Crowley's hands squeezed his hips, and the angel felt the demon's body leaning against his back. "You can't stay here."

"Crowley-"

"It has been 8 bloody years. With no notes. No news." His fingers dug into Aziraphale's flesh. "Come home." Aziraphale swallowed.

"You can't leave. You're the Supreme Archangel!"

It took a couple of moments for Aziraphale to regain his bearing. With Crowley's hands on him and feeling his warm breath on the back of his neck after all this time, it was almost as difficult to think as before. He shook himself, taking a deep breath, and finally answered:

"By title, yes. But did I ever really have the power?" The Metraton stopped moving. "I'm not as naive as you think I am. The only reason I accepted this position was to keep Crowley safe. And because of the Second Coming. But I didn't believe whatever lies you tried to lay on me these past years for a single second." He smiled. "I never had any chance, did I? I was never in command of anything at all. I was merely your puppet. You were just trying to keep me far away from Earth. From Crowley. Because you are afraid of what we can do together. Of us stopping the Second Coming."

The Metraton opened his mouth to talk, but Aziraphale, taking the chance, waved his hand, and the Metraton was tossed against the far wall. Quickly, he held Crowley by the arm and pulled him, running out of the room and through the corridors of Heaven in the direction of the lift.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley pulled on his hand. "Aziraphale, wait!" He did stop, looking around quickly to check if there were any angels around, but they were by themselves.

Aziraphale let go of his arm, turning to fully face him.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I'm afraid I rather made a mess of things." He took a deep breath, looking around once more, before continuing: "I've been trying to stop the Second Coming for the past 8 years, but, honestly, all I've been doing is stalling. They would start it sooner or later and I had no idea how to stop it other than to delay it." He looked up at Crowley. His eyes were still full yellow. "But I'm sure we can think of something. Together... That is, if you will have me. I'm aware we-"

"Aziraphale-"

"-didn't quite leave things-"

"Aziraphale-"

"-in the best of terms but-"

"Angel!" Aziraphale's mouth snapped close. With a sigh, Crowley closes the distance between them, placing his cold hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. "I missed you."

Just then the angel realized how truly tense he was, allowing his muscles to melt under Crowley's gaze. They stayed in silence staring at each other for a moment. Two. Until Aziraphale put his hands on each side of Crowley's face. The demon opened his mouth so say something but Aziraphale crashed his lips against his.

Crowley remained rigid for a while, not reciprocating and Aziraphale quickly started regretting it.

Right.

8 years had passed by.

8 years without seeing each other. Without news on his part.

He couldn't really expect Crowley's feelings to remain the same. Not after he rejected him the last time they saw each other. Not after the way Aziraphale had hurt him.

The angel was about to move away when Crowley's hands came up to the back of his head, and he pulled him closer, his mouth opening under his.

It's like Heaven itself went quiet around him. Around them.

Or so it did, for like 10 seconds, when they heard shouting from somewhere behind them. Both pulled away, looking behind Crowley to check if someone was coming, before Aziraphale held his hand again and off again they went, running towards the lift.

They only stopped when they were finally inside the damned lift and Crowley pushed the Earth button.

Both leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily.

"We have..." Crowley took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his lungs. "...to stop kissing in dire circumstances."

Aziraphale chuckled.

"Quite."

"You do realize you have a gigantic target on your back, right? The Metraton is not just going to drop it."

"We'll think of something...Crowley?"

"Hmm?"

Aziraphale reached out for his hand one more time.

"8 years ago, last time we saw each other-"

"Oh, I haven't forgiven you about that."

"...what?"

He smiled down at the angel.

"We will stop the Second Coming, but I'll be down right insufferable the whole time."

"Crowley!"

[transmechanicus]

Wrapping you in a blanket and rotating you on a lazy susan so you can feel like a burrito in a microwave aaaaand send

Where’s my radiation, don’t forget the radiation, don’t forget to michael my wave

[thislovintime]

On the set of Head, 1968.

“‘What stood out for me with Davy as an artist was his spontaneous stagecraft,’ Tork recalls. ‘He enjoyed himself on stage, for sure, gloried in his part. He was so alert as an entertainer and so relaxed that things would come to him out of the blue and he would just go with them. He could be incredibly funny. Micky and I were always breaking up on stage. [...] I’m so sorry he’s gone. I’m going to miss that wit and heart.’” - Billboard, March 1, 2012

“Genuine, reliable and huggable, Peter is a natural person — really gets off on talent — loves other musicians and can jam along with the best of ‘em. I saw him holding his own with Hendrix, Stills, Young. He encouraged me no end. Bought me my first guitar and my first drum kit. […] Never really got into fashions — he had his own. The first guy I ever met who wore different-colored socks. Wore his belt buckle on the side. Hated boots. Always had on sandals or moccasins. He used to walk with a swagger, swinging his arms with a confident air. He calmed hysteria, and lifted depression. ‘Dried banana, anybody? Piece of orange?’ — smiling, waving, running his hand through his hair. He knew all the crew by their first names. Kids crying at his feet he lifted and hugged like a father calming a child. Health food was just starting to catch on in the sixties and Peter was kind of a forerunner of that whole scene. I’m afraid that sort of image was a little thin for two other guys I could mention, but I understood — I really did. And I think he knew it. […] He’s the most musically talented of us all by a mile. His songs are real. ‘For Pete’s Sake’ — which replaced the Monkees Theme at the end of the some of the shows of the second season — is one of my all-time favorite songs by anybody. I’ve joked a lot about Peter giving everything away. But it was true. He was always giving his spare room to someone who needed it for the night — anyone. And he always seemed far away somewhere — in a different space. But I’m glad I know him. Of all the things he gave, he gave me lots of laughs — and food for thought.” - Davy Jones

“[Micky] and Mike and I have a very cordial relationship and share a lot of common topics. We go to lunch together when we’re all in town and have a good time. I love and respect each of these guys in their own way, although the real joys that I shared with Davy were special. At one point we had some good hard connections but as the years rolled on, those things faded away. But I am sorry to see Davy go. He was the one member in the group that I had the strongest human connection with. I still have two guys that I love and respect left from the band, but we share a different dynamic.” - Peter Tork, Review Mag, May 27, 2016

"I only now have, in the last couple of years, come to understand how smart and good-hearted Davy Jones could be. I did not have the skills to notice that, even though I was drawn to it without knowing exactly why. But I certainly did not have the first clue of how to encourage all of the good stuff from Davy that I loved. I wish I could have known how to do it - and he might still be with us, even.” - Las Vegas Weekly, September 14, 2016 (x)

“Well, I’ve never been really close with Michael [Nesmith] for some reason. You know, I have a lot of respect for him and admiration. But somehow we’ve never integrated. We’ve never been warm with each other. We worked together and did pretty well at it really.” - Peter Tork, Clevescene, March 13, 2017

Q: “I’m curious about the various reunions that happened over the years. Is it safe to say that you guys were never really friends?” Peter Tork: “Oh, I don’t know. I would say I was pretty good friends with Micky, and there was a lot of love between me and Davy. I have a lot of respect for Mike Nesmith and we’ve structured ways to work together. Things rotate. It’s like having a basketball team. You know, gosh, it’s like having a championship basketball team. They go on the road every so often and do tours, you know, just exhibition tours but fortunately your music skills don’t deteriorate as fast as your basketball skills do, but I wouldn’t know what else to compare it to. We had a chance to go out together and we took it, and we had a great time, and if we were not friends at all we would not have been able to do it. We played tours months and months long: ‘86, ‘87, ‘89, ‘91, ‘92, ‘96, ‘97, 2001, 2002 and 2011, so we couldn’t have been such enemies.” - Phawker, circa 2012; re-published 2019

And a throwback to Michael's 1972 Hit Parader comments about Peter in an older post.

[maskwoodsart]

Been rotating Modern Thedas in my head like it's in the Michael Wave so I thought I'd doodle up some outfits for my (Male) Canon PCs. I wanted to take into account their personalities, backgrounds and also the games' colour coding to design the outfits but honestly it looks and feels more like just what would be fun to put the guys in

Individuals under the cut, and as is tumblr tradition, click for better quality lol

[illwilled]

@evilstalks

the pores of the walls bleed evil. he smells the filth wafting off their bodies; the rot , that acetic succor . hears the cries of the helpless, the damned. worst of all, the endless rotation of staff & their wild, insistent gazes, expectant . he thinks he's going crazy again. father whispering in his ear, the sordid heat of his breath. fingers tremor, trigger-happy violence on the tips of his digits, the bloody cuticles where he scratched at the sharp tubing down his throat & the concrete edges of the walls. he pushes his fingers into his palm to ground himself ; into the spoon so it hurts . concentrate, do better. mechanically, he spoons slop into his mouth. tasteless.

a shuffle to his right . he cranes over his shoulder, squints. it's michael. he arrives slow to the table, but forms a silent, solitary figure, imposing in his own right. patients scoot over as he joins their crowd, like a pebble engulfed by a wave of dirty fire. unlike many of patients who opt to scream & cry, michael is a respite -- at the very least, someone for him to talk to. it feels like his mind is burning, crisping up without any other stimulation, apart from than that endless inkblot torture.

" michael. " he says, barely a greeting . he's not always well-grounded, but today feels better. is he really ? well. he's had pain to help him through the day. he looks at the newly accrued marks along skin, self-inflicted or by a guard, it's not always so easy to tell. pathetic, weak. he'd hold out longer, only if he wasn't such a cunt. yeah, eddie, you. fist clenches. he wishes desperately for something other than a spoon. no new thoughts yield. the flicker - shadow in the corner of his vision snickers. he looks at the table firmly, talks to take his mind off it.

" did they take you today ? they took me. they took me and shoved a tube down my throat. " spoon slams into the mess table. " i think its all getting worse. that i'm getting worse. are you getting worse? " he gives michael a once over, frowning. " you don't speak, so i can't really tell most of the time. " the spoon is in hand again, somehow. it hurts. his palm is scraped red & raw. did he do that ? he picks at the food. " do you know what i think ? they're not trying to help us at all. they want to torture & rape us until we all lose our minds. "

[inexplicifics]

question for u, o great and noble inex

in the broken lock verse, does pounce ever miss getting to go on monster hunts? or do they not bother swapping daemons when they’re not in a town, so she and gareth trade off?

ty for giving us so many fun thoughts to rotate in our brainpan michael waves <3

Pounce does miss it, a little, but when they're not in a town, Gareth stays with Milena and Pounce goes with Aiden, so Pounce isn't missing out more than maybe half the time.

I'm glad you liked the fic!

[zooophagous]

Slowly rotating her like a michael wave

[sodademon]

enstars ocs rotating like macking cheese in the michael wave.... in order theres toshiro (leader of their unit) with hideki and reiji !!