#was kinda mean to Murderface in this one but I've got some others I'm gonna work on tonight

[chewing-drywall]

How attractive I think the band are

*I am bisexual and mentally ill so take that as you will

Skiwsgaar- he's like a fine piece of art that I'd like to draw, he's beautiful objectively but speaking frankly I am FIVE FOOT NOTHING and his 6-foot-something tall ass would be LOOMING over me. Like I could not see him from any good angles if I was up close and that's the main reason. I mean hey he could help me get things from the top shelf I guess??(but yea also he probably has a multitude of stds that I don't really feel like potentially getting, same with any other member of the band I guess)

Toki- yea he's attractive, energetic personality, fucking shredded and likes cats and other crafty things (which is a plus for me). As a collector I like how decorated his room is. Either good or truly horrendous in the bedroom no inbetween. I however am not entirely into the facial hair, it's not something I could imagine on a real person existing. But yes he's hot he'd be an insane ass boyfriend though the baggage is INSANE

Nathan- I'd fuck him. I'd date him. I would be so good for him, please God I'd even get over my weird aversion to chips for him. He's like, not 100% my type, but he fits like 97% of it. He could throw me across the room, or so easily carry me it's got me giggling and kicking my feet. He's the guy I'd have a crush on in high school (more the ripped scary looking metalhead vibe than the football part). He's autistic and I'm autistic and unfortunately, we would probably clash on some ends but otherwise we would both use eachother as weighted blankets

Murderface- you know, I've seen some really fucking good fanart over time and honestly some of those art pieces I could get into. He's hot as a butch chick like ladyklok, and more alternative with some more piercings and hair maintenance and that'd really do it for me. I like his passion for his hobbies and his loyalty to his friends.

Magnus- freaknasty sex in like the back of a shitbox car or something. I don't think I would be sober but neither would he, not for anything long term but bro would give head like a champ and immediately ghost me afterwards which is expected

Charles- I TOOK HIM TO MY PENTHOUSE AND I FREAKED IT!!! you guys. I-, Like- let's be so honest he'd never be interested in me and I'm totally chill with that, however this is MY insane fantasy!!! And if I walked in a room with that man, locked it and came out three hours later one of us is gonna be pregnant and it's NOT! gonna be me

Pickles: (SORRY I FORGOT HIM GUYS CHARLES OVERTOOK ANY MENTAL FUNCTIONS)- his hair was one of the main reasons I didn't watch metalocalypse sooner, the goatee with the disconnected sideburns going up to smelly white people dread locks COMBOVER??? honey pick a struggle because good God. However. His confidence is attractive, any (good) fics I've read of him make him even more attractive considering his laid back personality (hiding buckets of anxiety me too twin), his sleeper build is definitely hot but I think his drug problem make him generally poor in bed considering he has whiskey dick and coordinations out the window, and has definitely vomited during sex before so that kinda doesn't work well. I mean sober though (hahaha when? I mean like 85% aware of his surroundings) he's probably a fantastic lay when he can lock in and concentrate. But yea he's pretty solidly attractive (ESPECIALLY the fanart of young pickles I want to tear into him like a chew toy)

Abigail- yea she's hot as fuck. Like you can't hate her her eyes are sooo pretty and she pulls of that pant suit too well. She would have me barking like a dog in a Walmart if she asked nicely enough. 100000/10

Knubbler-nah, not big into his personality or looks, also his eyes do freak me out slightly

[izzy-b-hands]

More Dethklok fic since ppl are reblogging prompt lists in good but ridiculous amounts lately and now I just can’t stop w/the fic 

Plot of this one is kind of random--just the boys fucking around and needing Charles to bail them out from something kinda dumb (and in turn hoping he’ll come party with them.) This is first draft (as are most of the fics I post on here, since they’re just kinda spur of the moment things) so hopefully it all flows okay!

“Do me a favor and don’t be mad, okay,” Pickles voice slurred through the speaker of Charles’s dethphone. 

“I can’t really promise that, Pickles. But I’m sure you didn’t do anything that bad,” he replied, not actually believing that for one second. He could hear the other boys in the background, all of them probably drunk beyond any safe limit. As long as the police didn’t have to get involved, Charles decided he would keep his good mood.

“Okay...okay...so...” Pickles mumbled. 

Charles could practically smell the alcohol through the speaker. “I’m working, Pickles. What is it?” 

“What? The fu--but it’s like three in the mornin’ you should be partyin’, or screwin’ sluts or whatever,” Pickles yelled, loud enough that the speaker crackled sharply. 

“I’m having a good time where I am Pickles, but thank you for the concern,” Charles said. He was, honestly. Maybe a research paper on trends in metal music wasn’t Dethklok’s idea of fun, but he was pleased with how much he’d written already. He’d have to publish under a pseudonym, of course, but several music journals had already been in contact with him. 

“Naw, naw, Charlie. You gotta come out, and then you can help us with the uh...well,” Pickles muttered.

“Help you with what?” Charles said, fully suspicious now. 

“Just a lil problem, is all. Look, I bet you even still got your tie on and everything. You do, don’t you?” Pickles asked. 

“I--” Charles looked down. He did still have his tie on, but Pickles didn’t need to know that. 

“You do! I knew it! C’mon, come out and have fun. Fer like an hour, just an hour, an help us with the thing,” Pickles said. 

He was stuck. It was time for one of the breaks he’d mandated for himself. And even if he had woken up with the worst hangover of his life the last time he’d gone out with the boys...it had been fun. An unusual kind of fun for him, but fun. The cursor on his screen flashed. 

“Okay. An hour, and I fix whatever mess there is,” Charles said. “But you buy my drinks.” 

He thought that would piss Pickles off enough to lose the invite. Instead, Pickles broke out into laughter. 

“I’ll buy you fucking coke and speed if you want. But Toki’s the one...well, y’know what? You’ll see when you get here,” Pickles said. 

The phone went silent for a moment, then buzzed with a text from Pickles--the address to the club they were at, somewhere seedy but with great drink specials according to its reviews online. It took barely any time at all to get there, thanks to a Klokateer and a helicopter.

That was a very good thing, he realized as soon as he walked into the club. The boys were drunk--very drunk. But what he had thought were the sounds of partying were actually the sounds of very bad attempts at comforting. 

Toki sat in the center of the booth they were at, Nathan and Pickles at his side, a panicked look on his face. 

“Hey, you still got an ear though. And if you don’t put a piercing in it, then the scar’ll be fucking brutal,” Nathan was saying as Charles approached. 

“Yeah, and besides, Charles is, he’s gonna help fix it,” Pickles slurred, awkwardly patting Toki’s back. 

“What exactly did we try to do here?” Charles asked with a sigh. Maybe this wouldn’t be as much fun as he’d been hoping. He’d even taken off his tie before he’d left. 

“We was goings to pierce my ears,” Toki murmured, lifting his head slowly. 

Charles could now see a needle--much too big to be used for a piercing--stuck in one of his ears. Toki was still sniffling, but the worst of it looked like it was over--the blood around the needle had dried. He’d have to make it worse again, of course, to pull the needle out. 

“We’ve talked about doing things like this while we’re drunk,” Charles scolded. 

“You tells us not to do thems. And I tolds them that, but they wouldn’t listen. Looks, they got blood all over my glass,” Skwisgaar said sourly, holding up a half-full cocktail glass with something pink in it. Blood covered one edge of the glass, and lingered in the leftover drink. 

Charles ignored Skwisgaar for the moment. One mini-emergency at a time. 

“Now, I’m not even going to ask where you found the needle,” Charles said. 

“On the ground,” Toki supplied. “Just layings there.” 

Charles made a mental note to have the medical team run the usual battery of tests on Toki when they got home. Hell, to be safe, run the whole band’s bloodwork again. Who knew what else they’d gotten into since they’d been out.

“Ah. Well, we can’t leave it in there, so,” Charles sighed, then ripped the needle out of Toki’s ear as quickly as he could. 

There were screams all around at that. 

“What the fuck, you just fucking--god, there’s blood everywhere again,” Nathan shouted. “Fucking brutal.” 

“Yeah, what if you ripped his fucking ear off?” Pickles asked, gingerly reaching out to pull aside Toki’s hair and inspect the damage. 

“Maybe his guitars playing would be betters; maybe he’d hear how bads he plays,” Skwisgaar muttered. “Ha, no it wouldn’ts.” 

Charles didn’t waste time sighing his frustration out. He grabbed Skwisgaar’s leftover blood-covered cocktail and downed it. 

That shut them up. 

“We are going home,” he said definitively. 

“But you said--” Pickles whined.

“We can still drink at home,” Charles added. 

Nothing from the boys, except Toki’s sniffling. 

“I’m not going to carry you all out to the helicopter,” he said.

“Fine, fine. Get up, c’mon,” Pickles muttered, pulling Toki to his feet. “Hey, you gotta figure out Murderface though. Like, he’s probably not dead. Probably. But I ain’t helpin’ to carry his fat ass outside.” 

Sure enough, Murderface was passed out behind the booth, covered in vomit and blood and other stains Charles wasn’t interested in distinguishing. 

“Here. You will probably be needings this,” Skwisgaar said as he handed over a half-full bottle of vodka. “I don’t envies you; he’s been pretty fucked up all night.”

For a moment, Charles contemplated downing the whole bottle and dragging Murderface out by his hair. That could be fun (for him at least, not Murderface.) Then he got a better idea. 

He poured the bottle out over Murderface’s face and the numerous new scratches and scrapes on it, and watched the magic. He didn’t even have to drag him out--Murderface screamed, straggled to his feet, and dashed for the door like the club was on fire. 

“I’m sorry, this wasn’t, this was supposed to be...I need more booze,” Pickles said as Charles climbed into the helicopter.

“That sounds like a very good idea,” Charles admitted as he buckled in. 

Pickles looked shocked. “You still...you’re gonna party with us. Even though--” 

“Even though you stabbed Toki in the ear and left Murderface to die in a club? Yes,” he replied, having to shout as the helicopter rose and its engines screamed.

“Well, Nathan said he knew how to do the piercing, with ice from one of our drinks and that needle, and Murderface...I don’t know how he got there and I mean, he’s in here now,” Pickles said, as Murderface screamed in what sounded like a combination of confusion, fear, and pain. 

“Yes, yes he is,” Charles agreed as he strapped a parachute to Murderface just before he stumbled out of the open helicopter. Pickles peered with him out of the side as Murderface fell, then slowed with a press of the remote in Charles’s hand to open the parachute. 

“Those are new,” Pickles remarked. “That’s fucking cool--where are we though like--” 

“I’ll send someone to get him; he needs time to sleep that off anyway,” Charles said. 

“Okay, I guess you can sleep off angel dust and booze, sure. He still might die though,” Pickles mused. 

“...I will also send a medical team,” Charles added, wondering exactly how fucked up Murderface was down on the ground. He was an asshole at times, but he was still the bassist and he couldn’t play if he was permanently fucked up. 

“Just don’t send all the medical staff, cause we’re gonna need ‘em for us,” Pickles crowed, and the party atmosphere returned as the other boys cheered (even as a bit of Toki’s earlobe fell away from the rest of his ear to the floor.)

“And maybes we tries pierce your ears!” Toki cried. 

Charles prayed his face wasn’t flashing red as he thought of the more...creative piercings he had hidden for years--not just from the boys, but from anyone who might see him without his suit who might not be expecting to see anything like that on him. 

“Naw, let’s...god Toki, your ear is really fucked up. Just drinking for now,” Pickles said. 

Five hours and many bottles (too many bottles) later, Charles woke up. The floor of Mordhaus was cold, and his back hurt. Badly. 

“Hey, don’t roll over. Yer gonna fuck up the art from last night,” Pickles slurred, slumped on the couch nearby. When on earth they’d gotten inside, Charles couldn’t remember.

“The art?” he asked. 

“Yeah. We got some matchin’ tattoos,” Pickles said with a grin, pulling up his shirt to show a sore (but thankfully clean) tattoo--a circle made up of their signatures, with a skull in the middle. 

Charles struggled to his feet, and stumbled to the nearest full-length mirror (thank God Murderface and Skwisgaar had been vain enough to want them put up in every room, or he’d have no way to see the possible mistake now permanently affixed to his body.) 

“Did...did someone clean this for me?” he asked as he examined the frankly beautiful tattoo. The lines were clean and sharp, and the red ink looked nice on him. That it was exactly where a tramp stamp should go was...maybe not exactly where he’d have wanted it if he’d been sober, but there wasn’t much to do about it now. 

“Yeah, I did. Knew you’d get pissy if it got infected. Yer still gonna need help cleaning it though, since its so far down and all...and when’d you get your nipples pierced?” Pickles asked. 

Charles blushed as he realized his shirt was hanging open. “Well...could we save that for the next emergency slash party you guys create?” 

Pickles nodded and stood, crossing the room in a hungover stagger to stand beside him. “Sure. Probably gonna need to get you drunk to hear that story anyway. I dragged everybody else to bed, so I’m gonna go pass out. You’re going to bed too, right?” 

Charles thought about the work he needed to start for the day, and was about to respond when Pickles laughed and flicked at one of the rings hanging delicately from his nipple. 

“Feckin’ nipple rings. Never woulda thought--and yer gonna tell me now you gotta go work on spreadsheets or some shit, right? Look, I’m not...I’m not the person to look to for advice. But you just partied like a rock star for most of the night, so why not sleep like a rock star for the rest of the day?” Pickles offered. 

Before Charles could respond, Pickles had grabbed him and pushed him towards the hall to his room. He didn’t need anymore convincing than that. 

It had once again been an utter fiasco, but Pickles had been right--it was nice to, perhaps only every once and awhile for Charles, get fucked up and party at three in the morning.