#mtl fanfic

[ask-but-beware-the-consequences]

I wanted to get these together, that are photos. (Totally not updated pictures for a fic I wrote lol. In the second one, Pickles wrote on Nathan's name because Nathan didn't want to or didn't know he kept the picture.)

That fic can be found here! Freshly posted:

New drawing is on the way too! Probably not today I have to go sword fighting.

First pic og

Second pic og

#mtl #metalocalypse #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #snakes n barrels #dethklok #mtl fanart #mtl fanfic

[viceroysimp]

pickles x fem!reader

the two of you meet in rehab; him being a metal drummer punished for drinking while operating a hovercraft and you being a recovering alcoholic and drug addict who recently relapsed.

in the short weeks you spent with him, you came to two realizations; he was more addicting than any drug, and you never wanted to quit this drug.

ao3 version here - first two chapters are rewritten on tumblr and the rest will be the same moving forward.

content warning: this story involves discussion of alcoholism, drug usage, and drug addiction. reader is a recovering addict.

chapter one - welcome to hell

As you stepped inside the cold and sterile rehabilitation center, you shivered a bit. Despite your arms being covered by your thick hoodie, you still felt the icy chill run down your spine. It was a sensation that felt all too familiar unfortunately.

You didn't want to be here. It was a moment of weakness that put you back right where you had started years ago. The sterile white walls, judging looks given by the nurses and aides, the ashen faces of the recovering drug and alcohol addicts, seeking out anything to help them through their withdrawals. Everything about this place screamed death and despair, and you had escaped it alive only to be thrown right back in.

You had just started a new job, moving out of your parents’ home and finally gaining the independence you had worked so hard for. From the outside looking in, everything was looking up. However, unbeknownst to those who knew you, you were severely stressed from the workload placed on you, coming home to an empty apartment since your roommate worked nights and away from the support system you had created back at home outside of your family. Week after week, the stress began to pile up and one night, after several years of being sober and carrying that sobriety coin in your wallet, you had a couple glasses of wine, justifying in your head that you deserved it after getting through the week.

It was only to loosen up.

Once your roommate stepped into your apartment the next morning to find you, not at work, but  knocked out with an empty bottle of wine by your side, it did not take her long to put two and two together. Out of concern, she encouraged you to call your support system and family. What harm would it be, right?

The reaction you got was a brutal blow to your ego. Your friends began to worry about you; their feelings being mixed as you had been on top of sobriety since your last program but ultimately agreeing to support you in getting back on track.  Your parents didn't trust you the moment that you admitted your mistake, immediately demanding you come home and that you weren't ready to take on the world yet.

Deciding to 'get your life together', you agreed to take medical leave from work and go to rehab to keep your parents from dragging you back home kicking and screaming. Your friends breathed a sigh of relief but your parents didn't let their guard down. They forced you to stay for the whole program to make sure you were put on the right path again and everything was alright with you.

An elderly woman, a nurse in the facility, saw you standing there, immediately recognizing you, and shook you gently by the shoulder. Snapping out of your thoughts, you looked back and smiled a bit at the familiar looking woman.

"Hey there, Cecilia. You miss me?" You chuckle bitterly, stuffing your hands in your pockets. The nurse's eyes looked down and she sighed, "I thought you were clean, kid. You were one of the lucky ones to escape this hell hole and now, you're back." Her tired eyes looked back up at you before her lips spread into a grin, "Well, at least I got someone sane to keep me company for a while. Follow me, they’re have been some changes since you were last here but at least we got better mattresses and food this time around.”

With a nod, you headed down the hall where you surveyed each room. Inside, irritated doctors and psychiatrists argued with uncooperative and stubborn alcoholics and drug addicts. You rolled your eyes, "Typical..." you mutter under your breath.

You silently stopped at a room, and Cecilia opened it. Setting your duffel bag down, you turned to the elderly woman and smiled tiredly, "Thank-"

Your sentence was cut off by a doctor rushing over to Cecilia and talking to her, ignoring your presence, "Pickles is wreaking havoc... again."

Cecilia shook her head and looked over at you, "Sorry, kid... duty calls. We got a new troublemaker on our hands for a few weeks while you're here. Be back soon." She quickly left you by yourself  to chase down the troublemaker.

You nodded and started unpacking your duffel bag. You remembered to pack some thick blankets and your own sheets as well as a few comforts from home - your favorite body wash, noise-canceling headphones, and a few snacks that you were surprised didn’t get confiscated considering they could have easily been edibles. As you were in the middle of unpacking, you hear a succession of loud knocks on your door. Assuming it’s Cecilia, you open the door with a hum, “You catch him, ‘Cilia?”

Instead, you were greeted by a handsome red-headed man.

You quickly surveyed his thin form, skullet red hair, pale skin and sharp green eyes. Unlike almost everyone here, including you, he looked alive. Rejuvenated. Like he was ready to get out of this hell hole now, kicking and screaming. It finally hits you who this was and before you can question what he’s doing here, his distinct North Midwestern accent cuts you off from your thoughts, "Hey.. um.. can I hide in here?"

You blinked and gave him a puzzled look, "Uhm.. may I ask why?"

Pickles had been running from  a few of the guards who had caught him pissing in a garbage can since the main bathroom was occupied by one of the other patients having a panic attack. Trying to find a place to escape, he wasn’t expecting to open the door to someone close to his age, especially someone as attractive as you. His face broke out into a grin and he put his hand out, "You must be new here.. I'm Pickles.." 

He expected a bigger reaction out of you considering his status but you simply blinked before chuckling and crossing your arms, "So you're the new troublemaker? The guy everyone's trying to hunt down?"

Pickles was surprised at how you addressed him but nodded with a smirk, "That would be me."

You smirked, "Pleasure to meet you, Pickles. I'm [Your Name].. and I'd be glad to let you hide out here till later but what's in it for me..?"

The drummer chuckled and his grin got wider, "I can't really give you anything while we're in this place. But I promise I'll make it up to you once we get out. Deal?" He put his hand out to seal your agreement.

You pondered for a minute, hearing the guards’ voice grow closer before shrugging, "Well, what have I got to lose? Deal."

Your hands met before clasping together and shaking.

'Well, at least there's someone sane and reliable in this hell hole..' he thought with a smirk as he stepped inside your room, the door shutting behind the two of you. 

#metalocalypse #mtl #pickles #pickles the drummer #pickles metalocalypse #pickles x reader #metalocalypse fanfic #mtl fanfic #reader insert

[chordsykat]

And now what we all came to see...

Naked Chicks!

Nita and Caj are mine -- With thanks to @thatwritingho for Olive, @procrazedfan for Poppy, @plvtosun for Blanca, and @pan-flute-skeleton for Vivi as the centerpiece. Based on this lovely fic right here :3

#mtl oc #mtl #mtl fanfic #wlw #lgbtqia #blanca tennebris #poppy lindgren #olive axworthy #vivi skarsgård #baen-shee #my art

[squidklok]

How about the guys doing something nice for Charles post-AOTD now that they're making some sort of effort to be better people?

whoa first anon submission hi ,,,

also a VERY similar request to the one from @fathercharlesoffdensen !! so i kinda mushed it all together

scenario: dethklok does something nice for their former CFO for the holidays ^_^

notes: I MEANT TO GET THIS OUT BY CHRISTMAS LMFAO. also very charles-centered… sorryy

Following the defeat of Salacia and the Great Reuniting, life gradually worked towards a state of normalcy.

As normal as it got for the band and the people related to them, anyhow.

Mordhaus had new Klokateers who had freshly gone through training, eager to please. Worker deaths went down now that Dethklok actually tried to better the conditions.

Charles had been under the care of the Church since his fight with Vater Orlaag. They had to nurse their High Holy Priest back to health for the second time. He was still tending to his hand that was horribly mutilated from the battle. It was in a big splint that made sure it was to heal correctly. He also had a bruised rib or two, the injuries on his face were minor with the exception of a mild concussion.

He was in the same place he was in when he was brought back to life, a huge space resembling living quarters but with appropriate medical devices that showed his vitals and such.

It got lonely after a while, despite having access to anything he needed. Occasionally he would go on the internet with the technology the Church had, reading up on what Dethklok was now doing, exchanging e-mails and such.

He missed them, he really did. They were his entire life for a very long time; it only made sense. The band still gave Charles access to everything, just in case the situation called for it.

He’d forgotten it was Christmas. There wasn’t much festivity in his surroundings—He’d only realized when he noticed what the persistent sales ads were for.

Well. He’d spent many Christmases without family, that was okay with him. This one would just be a bit quieter. No holiday cocktail parties or brandy by a fireplace, no certain death metal band to disrupt the peaceful quiet.

He did sort of miss directing the decoration of Mordhaus in Toki’s favor, watching as the band bundled up in their ugly sweaters and destroyed gingerbread houses, chugging spiked eggnog.

He shut the laptop and put it off to the side, laying back in his home-hospital-bed. He reached over and grabbed his copy of The Great Gatsby, sighing as he settled back into the stiff mattress and maneuvered the book open with one hand.

Then before he could react, a robed member of the Church came in and stammered something—Interrupted by a string of curses and some pushing.

Dethklok came tumbling in, dressed somewhat decently in some funny-looking sweaters. No stains on their clothes, looking a bit more hygienic. Toki was wearing a Santa hat, and Nathan had a basket in his arms.

“Uh.” Charles put the book down and propped himself up, his eyes continuously scanning the band, surprised to see them. They visited from time to time, but usually with some prior heads-up. “Hello, you all. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hi.” The singer grunted, looking around before deciding to just put the basket on one of the bedside tables, knocking something off in the process. He mumbled an apology before a quiet, “Surprise.” The rest of the band greeted the former-CFO, trying not to be awkward despite missing him too.

“…Ah, merry Christmas.” Charles said afterwards, offering a hint of a smile.

They all scrambled—How could they have forgotten to open with that? “Merry Christmas,” The band replied altogether. Not in sync, no, but they all said it at some point.

“We got you a gift, for um… Yeah.” Pickles nodded towards the basket with a proud, lopsided smirk, full of random treats and trinkets that surrounded a framed picture of Charles and the band together. A very sweet gift, save for the Playboy magazines that Skwisgaar and Pickles had graciously added in.

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.” Charles nodded and steadied the basket, gingerly extracting one of the magazines and squinting at it, turning it over in his free hand.

“Oh, that one’sch good. Looked through it myschelf.” Murderface commented with a smug grin, rocking back and forth on his feet. Skwisgaar chimed in, “Ohs, ja. Very, uh, proscovatives…” The guitarist started giggling under his breath.

“…Huh.” Charles deadpanned, setting it back where it was and sort of dusting his fingers off on his blanket. He then cleared his throat. “Well, it’s nice to see you boys. You’re looking lively.”

That caused all of them to sheepishly giggle and scoff. They didn’t really believe that, they still felt out-of-it, but hearing Charles say it made it sweeter.

“It ams nice to sees yous, toos.” Toki’s voice was the most prominent among the five, seemingly less mumbly than the others.

They all palled around as best as they could, considering Charles wasn’t exactly needing to get out of bed. Just some small talk, bickering, the usual Dethklok company package. It ended up with the band wandering around his living area in curiosity, trying not to break things on accident.

“We never actually got to explore this place,” Pickles wonders aloud, referring to the huge volcano and cave that solely the Church used itself.

“Someone can give you a tour, if, uh, you’d like that.” Charles stated calmly, simply observing the band in content until now.

“Oh, awesome!”

“Shit, hell yeah.”

“Awesomes,”

Another member of the Church soon came in on Charles’ request, off to go take them for a tour around the huge location. They probably wouldn’t get the time to wrap back around to Charles. So they bid a goodbye, all of them taking turns.

“…See ya.” Nathan said gruffly, mustering a little wave. “Merry Christmas. And uh… Rest well.” Charles nodded accordingly in response.

“Hopes you likes the magazines.” Skwisgaar snickered a bit to himself before walking away, also waving before following Nathan out.

“Juscht wanted to schay bye. Um. Merry Christmasch. Schee ya.” Murderface stumbled with the words, unsure what exactly to say without sounding too cheesy. He shuffled out as well after his attempt.

“Good seein’ you again, dude. Call us if you need anything, alright? Take care of that hand.” Pickles gave Charles a squeeze on the shoulder, leisurely grinning over his own as he wandered off.

Toki was the only one left, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. “I misses yous,” He began, giving a friendly smile. Charles returned it, a mere tug at the corner of his lips. “Happy Christmas. It amment’s the sames without yous.” He grinned before going in for a hug but hesitating.

Charles hummed in allowance, then proceeded to open his free arm and wordlessly beckon him in. Toki took it happily.

“Hopes you likes your gifts. Sees ya!” The rhythm guitarist then let go of him, hurrying off and yelling for the others to wait up.

After it returned to silence in his room, Charles sat and pulled the basket into his lap with some effort. They gave him one of the Mordhaus snow globes, which were one of the only special few they manufactured. Some anise almond biscotti, a bag of good coffee, a bottle of nice champagne, a mug that had ‘Worlds Best High Holy Priest’ scribbled onto it, and the raunchy magazines.

This was one of the very few times that he’d received a gift collectively from the band. He was used to hearing “ta-da!” and being met with a hoarde of hookers in his office.

However, this may have been the best thing he’d ever gotten.

Charles set the snow globe carefully on his other bedside and opened his book again, a faint, almost giddy smirk on his face as he did so. He didn’t really spend the holiday alone after all.

#metalocalypse #mtl #charles foster offdensen #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #charles offdensen #william murderface #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #mtl fanfic #squidsaysshit #my writing

[thatwritingho]

Kloktober Day 17

Give someone a brand new look

Neighboring Jars

Summary: Pickles the Drummer and Olive Axworthy 80s AU! A backstage encounter between the Snakes N' Barrels front man and an off duty paramedic. Nothing is more romantic than getting puked on — except, perhaps, a pun-based pickup line. Warnings: -Mild overdose ('mild' because Pickles' tolerance is what it is) -Vomit

Read on AO3 Here

He felt like a god.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.

A king, perhaps? Yeah, that sounded better, more fitting. A self made king, but a little more. Like King Arthur, the last story he paid attention to in English class before skipping town. Destined for greatness, not born into it — just a lowly little squire boy until he plucked the sword from the stone, until he bought that Goldtop on the bus ride to L.A.

Now here he was, four years later and king of the fucking world with a mane of big, wild red hair for a crown, addressing his adoring populace who hung on his every word, who ripped each other apart to get closer to him.

Backstage, the drugs were exquisite, the liquor top shelf, the groupies like models in their skin-tight, barely-there clothes. And what kind of royalty didn't indulge in the riches of their kingdom? So he popped pills he didn't know the names of, drank anything handed to him, whispered utter filth into the ears of picture-perfect women before snorting lines off their picture-perfect tits, riding the high of the show as his bandmates did the same.

He went too hard, even for himself.

And then his back met the floor, the track lighting twinkling above his head nauseating as he convulsed, mouth foaming, his consciousness fuzzing.

And then a girl.

Cute, with a pretty round face and dark eyes and cascading curls dark and thick enough to block out the bright light as she hovered over him. Plush lips were forming words, though Pickles couldn't hear her over the static in his ears. He wished he could — her voice was probably way nicer than the fuzz. She rolled him to his side, slipped something soft under his head. Her small, warm hand gently took his gloved one as he spasmed. If his ears weren't ringing, he would have heard her ordering his shocked, intoxicated bandmates to get the medical staff, yelling at them for their second of frozen hesitance.

Vomit burned up his throat, and Pickles puked — all over her legs. Nice legs. Too bad he just ruined any chance of getting between them.

Damn.

Cute Girl had thick thighs he didn't see often on groupies, covered in black tights shot through with runs showing flashes of color inked beneath. Idly, he wondered if those were intentional, or if she had braved the crowd, gotten caught in the fray of rabid fans. The skirt of her black dress rode up high, providing him a good view as he lay there convulsing.

Was that a snake tattoo on her leg?

Double damn.

Cute Girl looked like she belonged at a show for The Cure, not Snakes N' Barrels. Black lace sleeves covered her arms, her dress slouching down tan shoulders to show off scrawling ink. A belt dripping in metal chains cinched her waist, her neck adorned the same with a black leather choker and layered silver necklaces. Large silver hoops dangled from her ears and on her wrists, with one thick silver o-ring hanging temptingly from her choker. Black liner ringed her eyes and flicked out in dramatic flares, the tips of her brows shaved to allow for pencil. Shadow darkened her lids, deep red stained her lips. Her hair was dark and wild and teased voluminous, falling in what he could tell were natural curls.

Lucky her, she doesn't have to perm.

He expected her to leave now that she was wearing his dinner of alcohol and pills, because why wouldn't she? But she didn't. Didn't even shift, didn’t even flinch, didn't even drop his hand. She just wiped his mouth with her lace sleeve. Her sleeve!

Holy shit.

Finally, his muscles began to calm, control returning to his body, the awful static in his ears ceased. Pickles closed his eyes as he limped to the floor, breathing labored, rasping out Inhaler. Pocket. which Cute Girl luckily acted quickly on. Pickles was even too exhausted to enjoy it as she pat down his tight jeans.

"Would sitting make it easier?"

He was right. Nice voice.

"Yeh."

Pickles expected to do half the work, but Cute Girl got behind him, hooking her arms under his and lifting him with shocking ease to a half sitting position in her lap. Wide green eyes blinked up at her from where his head rested on her chest, mind sluggish and cloudy as he regained his bearings.

Well, shit. No pillow would ever compare to the softness of this chick's tits under his head. He may as well hire her to sleep under him every night for the rest of his life, because after this, how could he ever truly rest on anything else again?

Fuck, she's even prettier up close, when his mind isn't half preoccupied with overdosing. Dark eyes so deep and rich they appeared black met his for but a brief moment, then she was shaking his inhaler and pressing it to his lips for him. Pickles breathed the cooling air as her gaze focused on his nose, lips moving just slightly.

Numbers? Oh, she's counting. Counting the seconds between his inhales? No.

Wait. Was she —

"Are yew countin' my freckles?"

A pretty flush heated her cheeks as she shot her eyes back to the inhaler in hand, pumping another breath into his mouth. And, damn, if that wasn't the cutest thing he'd seen all week. Hell, maybe all month. All year? Possibly, though Pickles' sense of time was fucked on the best of days, least of all now.

With a shaky exhale, he offered Cute Girl his best attempt at his signature crooked smile.

"What's yer name?"

Dark eyes met green, and she tucked back an errant curl that had fallen forward to tickle against his cheek.

"Olive."

"Yeh?" Pickles chuckled, running a weak hand over his face, brushing back hair stuck sweaty and sticky with Aquanet to his forehead, "Olive, huh? Well, damn, sahrry fer naht recognizing yah sooner."

She tilted her head in question, nose crunching, "Huh?"

Cute. Cute cute cute.

"Well yeh. We're neighbors, dood."

"We are?"

"A'course, babe. Heh," Pickles found it easier to grin this time, vaguely aware as Charles entered his field of vision with the on-site medical staff, "Yew know. On the shelves at da store. Our jars are right next ta each other."

"Our jars?"

"Yeh, babe! They keep us together," His grin grew as that cute, confused expression dropped into a flat deadpan with his next words, "Olives belahng with Pickles."

#finally starting the 80s AU!! #olive as an 80s goth woo #been talking (and thinking) about it forever #pickles the drummer #olive axworthy #momento mori #snakes n barrels #metalocalypse #metalocalypse oc #mtl oc #metalocalypse fanfic #mtl fanfic #kloktober #kloktober 2023 #kloktober2023

[fishklok]

Chapter 45 of What Were We? is on Ao3

I might stop doing the illustrations for future chapters to speed up updates.

#metalocalypse #magnus hammersmith #metalocalypse fanart #metalocalypse fanfiction #skwisgaar skwigelf #mtl fanfic #mtl fanart #preklok

[writingismetal]

Skwisgaar comforts you through a panic attack:

Request for my lovely friend! 🩷 So sorry it’s a bit shorter than I wanted, I will write more imagined after I’m better. I’m so sick rn.

Here you go!

Tonight wasn’t too different than usual. You were sitting alone on Skwisgaar’s bed, waiting for him to finish showering. The two of you were close friends, maybe a bit more, but no one needed to know that, at least not yet. As you waited, wrapped in his favorite fur blanket, you began to feel anxious. The feeling arose almost out of nowhere, but it wasn’t going away no matter how many deep breaths you took. Skwisgaar knew of your anxiety and frequent panic attacks and was surprisingly good at calming you down. He’d mentioned many times before that he had years of experience under his belt due to helping Toki through his panic attacks.

As you sat alone, your heart pounding in your ears and hands trembling, you heard the bathroom door open. Skwisgaar emerged freshly showered and smelling of expensive cologne and shampoo. He was only in his underwear, but for once it wasn’t sexual, he was just that comfortable around you. He smiled slightly when seeing you, towel drying his hair.

“Dids you misses me?” He teased, setting the towel aside. When no response came, he frowned, his usual sour expression taking place on his features.

“Dids I uh…does something wrongs?” Skwisgaar was always preoccupied with the fear he wasn’t good enough for you; he’d never been had much stability with his hook ups, but you were different, you weren’t just a one night stand. The ‘not relationship’ or whatever you guys had going on, meant far more to him than he’d ever admit.

You merely shook your head, trying to force some type of communication, but there was nothing.

The guitarist stood there in his underwear, arms crossed, skeptical. He was truly so beautiful and you were briefly frustrated that his first thought was that he’d disappointed you anytime something went awry.

“No-“ you finally managed, trying to take a deep breath but it was extremely difficult. “You did nothing wrong, babe.” You assured him, and he visibly looked relieved, tense muscles going from stiff to relaxed in seconds.

“Thens if I ams…eugh…nots de problems, then what?” He sat beside you awkwardly, unsure where to put his hands or how to approach the situation; he never wanted to make the wrong move or do anything to make you dislike him (which wasn’t possible).

“I…I think I’m having a panic attack- I…Fuck. I can’t breathe….”

Skwisgaar’s hardened features instantly softened, his eyes displaying pure empathy that most people thought he wasn’t capable of. You loved that about him, and already felt somewhat calmer, at least mentally.

Skwisgaar scooped you up in his arms, engulfing you in a warm embrace. As much as he always insisted he wasn’t a touchy person, he took every opportunity to express physical affection to you. Physical touch was his love language and it always made you feel better when he held you.

“Comes here…I gots you, ja? No needs to worries…”

Once in his arms, you broke down into his chest, tears of guilt soaking the blanket he’d wrapped you in. You never wanted to burden him, you knew he wasn’t upset with you, but each time you always apologized.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…I wanted to have a nice night with you and I ruined it…” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, anxiety getting the better of you, it always did lately.

Skwisgaar shushed you, kissing your cheek.

“It’s okej, min kärlek. It’s okej. You didn’t ruins anything, I promises.” He kissed you again, soft and sweet, holding you in his arms. He wasn’t the strongest guy around, but you always felt so safe in his arms. So protected.

“Are you sure?” You sniffed, glancing up with watery eyes, your make up smudged and running down your cheeks.

Skwisgaar pursed his lips, looking at you pitifully as he used his thumb to wipe away your tears.

“I ams more sures than I evers will be.”

Your heart was still racing and you still couldn’t slow your breathing, but you nodded, nuzzling your face against his bare chest. Everything was so fuzzy and you felt so shaky, even your teeth were chattering slightly, but you were so thankful for Skwisgaar helping you through this.

Skwisgaar held you tightly, smoothing down your messy hair. You eventually relaxed against him, yawning. Listening to beat of his heart was helping take focus off your ow. He seemed to notice the change in your demeanor, smiling at you fondly.

“What?” You asked, wiping the remains of your tears from your eyes.

“You ams so beautiful. You knows that?”

“My make up is ruined and I can’t breathe outta my nose from snot build up. But thank you.” You laughed, picking the pieces of dried mascara from your eye lashes. Your tears had cleared up and you began to feel a bit better, but you remained in Skwisgaar’s arms.

“Pfft. Doesn’t looks bads.”

“Then what’s it look like?”

“Heugh…uhhhh ahhh…coulds looks like you maybes just hads passionates sex?”

You scoffed at him, but you both laughed at his stupid joke like it was the best one you’d heard.

“Of course, that’s where your mind goes.” You teased him, not missing the smirk he tried to hide.

“Just says-ing it likes I sees it.”

~

The next hour passed with the two of you cuddling together and sharing a blanket, which Skwisgaar kept hogging to himself because he was cold but wouldn’t put any pajamas on. He was too stubborn for his own good sometimes. But so were you, and he had to physically force you to take your make up off before bed when you began to fall asleep in it.

“It’s fine, I’ll take it off tomorrow. I’m too tired.”

Had been your excuse. And when you wouldn’t budge or obey Skwisgaar’s commands, he huffed and got up. He returned from his bathroom with make up wipes and facial moisturizer.

“This ams ridiskulous! And you wonders why’s you eyes gets itchy. Does I has to does this every nights?!”

You let him clean you up and could only smile brightly as he used his talented fingers to scrub away at the eyeliner you refused to take off. He was huffing and scolding you in a loving way, like a concerned mother, and it was the sweetest thing. He was so gentle with you, even with his attitude. After he finished wiping your face, he squirted some of the moisturizer into his hands and began to lather it on your face, massaging it into your skin until it was soft and smooth.

“Woah. This stuff smells so good- and my face feels so nice!” You exclaimed once he’d finished completely.

He merely rolled his eyes at you, snuggling up behind you to spoon you.

“Almost likes I knows what I’s talking abouts, ja?”

“Oh whatever.” You laughed, closing your eyes when he turned off his lamp.

Skwisgaar nuzzled his chin against your neck, resting it on your shoulder lazily.

“Godnatt, lilla ett…” He whispered, pecking a kiss to your cheek.

You ended up passing out on his chest, legs tangled with his, his arms wrapped around you. You had fallen asleep first, panic attacks were draining and you always felt so exhausted afterwards. Skwisgaar didn’t mind, he was usually the last to fall asleep at night anyway. He stroked your cheek lightly as not to wake you, his chest felt tight from how much he adored you. Maybe some day he’d even tell you that he loves you. Skwisgaar hadn’t ever felt this way before and he didn’t want to lose you. Ever.

Hope you enjoyed!🖤🩷

#dethklok #skwisgaar skwigelf #creative writing #dethklok fan fiction #metalocalypse #imagines #mtl fanfic #mtl #reader insert #panic attack #anxiety #comfort #my writing

[dolly-macabre]

Obscura Macabre Face Claims Ahoy!

Gotta start it off with Dolly!

Dahlia (Dolly) Birkett

Joan Jett

Jade Birkett (Dolly's Aunt)

Janis Joplin

Marion Birkett-Lane & David Birkett (Dolly's Parents)

Sharon Tate & Anthony Hopkins

Grace Lane (Dolly's Grandmother)

Angela Lansbury

Keeran Patel (Tomahawk Local/Styx Bar Owner)

Amrish Puri

Jess (Klokateer #6616)

Nathan Lane

Sydney Graves (Dolly's Ex)

Henry Rollins

#obscura macabre #mtl fanfic #face claim #my mtl #mtl oc #dahlia birkett #dolly macabre #jade birkett #marion birkett-lane #david birkett #grace lane #keeran patel #jess 6616 #sydney graves

[junkh3ad]

First chapter of my fic is live! let me know what ya think, critique welcomed, just be nice about it! :)

#🌧️ rainy talks #rainy writes! #metalocalypse #dethklok #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #mtl #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #william murderface #fanfic #mtl fanfic #original character #of fanfic!

[deada55]

A Menstrual Irregularity

for Winter Wonderklok 2023 Day 13: improvised snowman decoration

crossposting: none

synopsis: A school-aged Skwisgaar has been sent to go play in the snow.

cws: none!

__________________________________

He had two options: play outside or be silent. He picked playing outside, but got too bored of cross-country skiing and burnt time sitting in the unswept snow on the wooden deck. The centimeters of snow stacked on the railing became a round mother bird with a couple woody needles for feathered wings, The center of his mittens was perfect for shaping eggs, even if they were a little flat. Then, he remembered to make a nest.

They went to a couple different doctors, one for him, one for their teeth, one to make her face swell up or make her skin pinken, but every time they went to that one, his mother would send him away from her and sleep on her side in her bed alone. She disconnected the phone to have “peace” and wouldn’t eat for a day or two, but she’d drag herself up to open a can if he needed her help. At the end, she held him close, but not with the same ease they always held each other. She’d be dark for another day or two, then she’d be back to normal and they’d go out to another bank or hotel or a lounge for her to talk “business” with men with giant gold watches and silk ties.

He peeled off his wet mitten and it flipped inside-out halfway, making a bundle with a little thumb sticking out like a head. With another couple needles tucked into it like fledgeling wings, it made a fine chick for the nest. He slapped his hand into the pile of eggs, leaving only a compact, heart-shaped mound in its place.

#metalocalypse #skwisgaar skwigelf #serveta skwigelf #WinterWonderklok2023 #mtl fanfic #metalocalypse fanfic

[secret-tacos]

wake up babes my self indulgent post DSR murdertooth fic just dropped

#mtl #metalocalypse #murdertooth #mine #mtl fanfic

[viceroysimp]

better than drugs

pickles x fem!reader

the two of you meet in rehab; him being a metal drummer punished for drinking while operating a hovercraft and you being a recovering alcoholic and drug addict who recently relapsed.

in the short weeks you spent with him, you came to two realizations; he was more addicting than any drug, and you never wanted to quit this drug.

ao3 version here - first two chapters are rewritten on tumblr and the rest will be the same moving forward.

content warning: this story involves discussion of alcoholism, drug usage, and drug addiction. reader is a recovering addict.

chapter two

As you finished unpacking the rest of your duffel bag, Pickles watched you curiously from the stiff, metal chair in the corner of the room. You both had remained quiet for some time as you waited for the mob of guards and nurses that were hunting down Pickles to pass by your room, having him hide in the corner before signaling that the coast was clear.

“Sooo… what brings you here? Not gonna lie, you don’t seem like the type to be in this hell hole of dreary douchebags… Everyone seems like they’re off their rocker about to blow their brains out if they don’t get a hit,” Pickles asked, finally breaking the silence, leaning back against the chair lazily.

You chuckled dryly and turned your head to turn to the infamous drummer, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Before I tell you my whole life story, let me hear yours. What’s the drummer for a death metal band notorious for boozing it up doing in a rehabilitation center? Is this like some weird publicity stunt like the stupid Ricki Kixx sobriety thing?” 

The drummer snorted at the mention of that and shook his head, grinning at you, “Damn, I wish it was, then I’d be getting paid to be in this dump.” 

He shrugged, “Well, since you know I’m in Dethklok, you know about the whole hover drum incident shit?”

You nodded, “Yeah, saw it on the news. I heard you crashed into multiple planes.”

Pickles winced at the mention of it, his fingers mindlessly drumming a beat against the metal chairs. “So I was drunk when I was flying it. Caused a lot of damage or whatever. When do we not, ya know? But I guess it was too much this time and I’m being punished for it.” 

“Personally, I think the people who invented those were stupid not to make some auto-pilot function or at least realize you can’t fucking pilot a hover drum set when you’re wasted and save the fancy invention for another performance.” You rolled your eyes, switching out the stiff, low-quality bed sheets with your blankets.

The redhead slapped his forehead and began pacing the compact room, “Thank you! Stupid pricks kept putting the blame on me… told me they made the decision to send me to fucking rehab… told me I was in “denial” and “couldn’t handle my booze”” He threw his hands up in the air, using air quotes to emphasize his point.

Your eyebrows rose in amusement, and you continued to listen to him rant as you pulled out a tiny white box from a small compartment you had carved out  in your duffel bag.

“Like fuck those assholes! I can fucking handle my booze ten times better than those lightweights can! I’m Pickles, the drummer of Dethklok – I’m like known for being the drunk of the group!” He continued to rant before stopping as he heard a ‘click’ sound.

His gaze turned to you as you suddenly had a cigarette propped between your lips, trying to light it with your old, worn-out black lighter. 

“How the hell did you get those past the guards?” Pickles’ eyes widened, swiping the pack from you, “They practically strip searched me down, I couldn’t even hide anything in my boxers.”

“Hey, those are mine, you prick!” You stuttered out, quickly grabbing them back. Your eyes narrowed at him and you wagged the pack in his face, “I’ll let you have a smoke if you keep this a secret… and help me light this thing.” 

The red headed drummer grinned at your desperation and took the light from your hands. The gap between you and him became smaller as he got closer to you to light the cigarette dangling from your lips. His skinny, pale fingers skillfully flicked down the lighter, igniting a fire that matched the heat of your cheeks – a reaction to having the attractive musician close to you.

You took a puff, exhaling the smoke slowly. Your body felt warm and satisfied from the taste of smoke on your tongue. As you opened your eyes, you noticed a pair of piercing green orbs on you.

Pickles smiled in amusement, admiring how mellow you looked, “You needed that, didn’t cha?” You rolled your eyes, throwing the pack to Pickles, “I’m guessing you need it too if you were so willing to take up my offer.”

“Nah, I was fine honestly. Since I helped you light it though, how about you tell me how you got these past security?” Pickles shrugged, tossing the pack on the bed before taking a seat on it. 

Your eyebrows raised at Pickles’ willpower to resist the cigarettes and he chuckled at your reaction, “Doll, once you’ve had the hard stuff, the real good shit, a pack of cigarettes does nothing for you. Glad to see it satisfies you, though. Now, mind answering my question?”

You sighed, admitting defeat. You plopped down on the bed, the duffel bag putting a space between you and Pickles. Opening up the main compartment, you dug to the bottom to reveal a hidden compartment you had cut into the bottom. Inside contained a few packs of cigarettes, a back-up lighter, and a bottle of pills.

“This isn’t my first rodeo.” You joked, covering up the hidden compartment once again. “Also, the pills are my anxiety medication… the guards would’ve taken it away and the doctor would’ve put me on a prescription of something that would make me like a zombie like all the fucks out there.” You gesture your head towards the door, “I need this stuff to function day to day. So don’t get any funny ideas about stealing them.”

Pickles put up his hands in defense, “I won’t… as long as you teach me some of the tricks you know, cowgirl.” He smirks, winking at you.

The droning sound of the dinner bell echoed throughout the rooms in the rehabilitation facility, cutting you off. You reached back into your duffel bag to grab a pack of cigarettes and headed towards the door, which Pickles looked at you as if you were insane for taking your stash out into the open.

“Don’t question me, just follow my lead.” You grin, shoving the pack into your oversized hoodie. 

Pickles smirks in amusement as he follows behind you, shoving his hands in his pockets. As the two of you make your way down the hallway, other patients come out of their room, helping you blend into the crowd of people. Surprisingly, the guards don’t bat an eye as you and Pickles pass by, more preoccupied with another rowdy patient.

You file into the cafeteria, breathing a sigh of relief as almost all the staff was the same since your last stint in rehab. Otherwise, your plan would not have worked and you would have looked like an ass in front of Pickles. Seeing the red-headed drummer head towards the line, you pull him back by the neckline of his black tank, causing him to grunt in response.

“Dude, what the hell?” Pickles muttered, glancing back at you. You shake your head in response, jerking it in the direction of the guards posted nearby the food, “Too many guards, they usually dip and keep watch at the door after most of the patients get their food. Then we go and get ours.”

Pickles’ pierced eyebrow raised in confusion, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s the same shit cafeteria food whether we get it now or later, isn’t it?”  

“That’s where the cigs come into the equation. Nothing like some good ol’ fashioned bribery right?” You grin, watching as the line slowly dwindles down to one or two people. The guards take leave, leaving the only staff left being a few nurses and case workers who are mindlessly scrolling through their phones and the cafeteria workers.

Grabbing a tray, you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one can see you before pulling out the pack. You beckon for Pickles to join you, sliding down the line as you mindlessly put food on your plate without a care. Pickles watches you, his green eyes following your every move before you stop in front of a particular worker.

“Hey, not sure if you remember me but are you still doing trades? I’ll give you the whole pack if you can get both of us a decent meal.” You grin, waving the pack of cigarettes just for him to see. He glances over you, making sure the coast is clear once final time before snagging the pack of cigarettes and walking away.

“What the hell? You just gave those up to him?” Pickles muttered under his breath and you rolled your eyes in response, “Dude, have a little patience. Being sober is definitely making you antsy,” The server returned with two plates full of much better quality food that looked like it came from a restaurant. He swapped your plates, scraping the slop back into the buffet style trays before grinning up at you, “Pleasure doing business with you again. This better be your last stint here, sweetheart.”

“Can’t make any promises.” You wave your hand dismissively before winking at Pickles, sauntering off to a table in the far corner so no one questions why your food looks way better than theirs. Pickles glances down at the plate and back to you in surprise before trailing behind you, following your every move as you show him the ropes.

“Enjoy not eating slop for at least one night. I can’t do this all the time since my supply is limited but it makes staying here a little less miserable.” You say as you take a bite of the warm food. Pickles slides into the seat across from you, staring at you inquisitively, “So mind explaining to me what just happened back there?”

“That’s Dante. He smokes like a pack an hour but the facility limits the workers to only bringing in one pack. They search them, just like us, to make sure they don’t have any drugs on them.” You wave your fork in the air casually as you explain, “So my second time, I snuck in some cigarettes and Dante caught me with them. Instead of ratting me out, he offered to bum some off me in exchange for better food during meal time. Sometimes it was a whole catered meal like this since that’s what the doctors eat, sometimes I’d ask him to pick up something I’m craving.” 

“How many times have you been here? Ye weren’t kidding when you said this wasn’t your first rodeo?” Pickles grinned, savoring the actually edible food as he was grateful he ended up opening your door earlier today. “This is my third - my first time was in high school, second was in college.” You say  with a nonchalant shrug though it leaves a bitter taste on your tongue to admit that you were back here, eyes carefully assessing his reaction.

“Third, huh? You must’ve been the life of the party back then. Would’ve loved to chug a handle with ya.” Pickles snickered in a light hearted fashion, not having any judgments of your stints. He saw you as a fellow connoisseur of the finer things in life just like him - booze and drugs. You visibly relaxed at his response, the tension in your shoulders releasing. You rolled your eyes playfully, tapping your water bottle against his, “Guess we’ll have to stick to chugging water while we’re here. Cheers to surviving this hell hole. Hope it’s your last time.”  

Pickles takes your cue, holding up his water bottle and tapping it against yours before taking  a sip, “Dude, that was totally lame. Can’t believing I’m fucking cheersing water.”

“Could be worse. You could be crawling out of your skin like those guys since they’re in the early stages of detoxing from what I can tell. You seem like you’re actually doing fine for the most part.” You hum, glancing over your shoulder. Pickles looks past your frame, assessing a table full of patients who are glancing around anxiously, picking at their food and fidgeting around. He smirks, shrugging his shoulders, “What can I say? This isn’t as hard as they make it out to be.”

“Says the guy who has been starting fights and raising hell since he got here.” You snort, crossing your arms after finishing most of your meal. “So what week are we on in group? Because if it's Step 2, I’m gonna blow my brains out.”

Pickles shrugs noncommittally, “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been paying attention much. Most of the time I’m just trying to be on my best behavior so I don’t get tased by the staff.” You chuckle at his response, stuffing your hands deeper into your hoodie, “Well, I’ll guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

“So what’s your poison? Alcohol, weed, cocaine, ecstasy, methamphetamines?” Pickles asks out of curiosity, trying to guess himself. He’s tried it all but his main drug of choice, as the counselors called it, was alcohol. It was the one he reached for in most situations - to feel good, to destress, to numb. You chuckle at the question, the answer rolling off your tongue with ease as you’ve been asked this question several times in your life - each time you entered rehab, each AA and NA meeting you attended.

 “I got hooked on Adderall in my teens. I was an overachiever, would use it to stay up late studying for tests. Smoked some weed as well, that’s what the parents caught me with. They found Adderall later on.” You hummed, recounting the times where all you would stress about was school and academics due to your parents’ high expectations. “Then I went off to college, got into my dream school, and my parents bragged about that for a looong time. I was a goody-two shoes in high school so I started partying, drinking, doing cocaine in the bathroom, acid and molly when I would go to concerts. The usual. I skipped classes, was pretty much high all day. My parents found out and shipped me back here.” 

“And now?” Pickles asked, smiling in amusement as you recount the similar experiences to him - except for the good grades and overachieving. You paused for a second, thinking it over for some time before sighing, “Honestly, I don’t know. I drank for the first time after a stressful last few months. I definitely drank way more than I should have but I don’t think I have a poison now. Maybe it’s because other than that, I literally have been sober for the past 5 years. Maybe I’m just in denial.” 

Pickles noticed your mood shift to a more somber one and he hopes his next words are helpful in some type of way, “Well, one fuck up doesn’t mean all that hard work is gone, right? You’re only human.” You blink at what he says and end up letting out a laugh in response, “You know, I guess you aren’t wrong. Guess I’ve got a lot to learn from you too, newbie.”

The red-haired drummer can’t help but crack a genuine smile at the sight of your mood being lifted. The two of you finish your meals, stomachs satiated from the fulfilling dinner. As you’re about to pick up your tray, Pickles takes it for you, “I got clean up since you did me a favor hooking me up. You should get some rest. No offense, you’re starting to look like a zombie like the rest of these junkies.”

You rolled your eyes, flipping off the drummer as you got up from your seat, “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow in group, don’t get into too much trouble and please stop pissing in the trash cans. The hallways reek of urine.” Your nose crinkles at the memory of the stench. Pickles chuckles, “I’ll try not to. Sometimes the bathrooms get busy and I don’t wanna wait to take a leak. Hey, uh… thanks again.” 

“No problem, thanks for keeping things interesting. G’night!” You say with a grin, waving at the drummer who watches you disappear behind the doors. His gaze lingers to where you once sat in front of him before dumping any remaining food scraps into the trash and placing the tray and plate back. Pickles had any one goal in mind for his stay at the rehab - get the fuck out of here and be back in Dethklok. Something about you was electric, fascinating and you coming in today was a welcome distraction. He created another goal in his head as he walked back to his room - get to know you more. 

-

You headed to the communal showers after a few hours have passed, wanting some privacy and peace and quiet after the eventful day settling back into being in rehab. Towel, toiletries and clothes in hand, you place them down on the counter. Lowering the hood of your hoodie, you assess your reflection in the mirror. The dark circles beneath your eyes are more pronounced, the fatigue from working overtime and keeping up with deadline after deadline apparent. You looked drained of life, weighed down by the responsibilities of life. Your self-care had pretty much gone out the window, not taking care of your skin and appearance, settling for looking passable at work.

You let out a sigh, clapping your cheeks, “Alright, time to get your shit together. Once and for all.” You turn on the shower, letting the steam roll out from behind the curtain before undressing and stepping in. A satisfied sigh escapes your lips as the warmth of the water seems to relax the tension in your shoulders. As the water cascades down your body, you reflect on the day - particularly your fate encounter with the drummer of Dethklok.

In all your stays at rehab, you had never really connected with anyone in programming. Maybe it was just the cycle of people you ended up staying with, maybe it was the fact that you shut yourself off as much as possible, reluctant to share any more of you that wasn’t being exposed in group therapy, staying surface level when interacting with any other patients. Yet somehow things with Pickles seemed like they clicked. It was fascinating to you that despite being sober and probably struggling with cravings, irritability, the works, he still had a fire running through his veins.

You chuckled to yourself, getting preoccupied in your thoughts as your skin began to get pruny from how long you had just been standing in the shower. You quickly scrubbed your hair and body, wanting to get as clean as possible as a reset. Wrapping the towel around your body, you step out of the shower, feeling refreshed. Going through your skincare routine and brushing your teeth, you change into a fresh set of PJs. 

Just as you’re about to head out, you hear the door swing open. You blink in surprise as normally everyone is usually knocked out for the night, an hour passing since you started your shower. You glance over your shoulder as the figure rounds around the corner. You visibly relax at the sight of Pickles, toothbrush in hand and towel draped over his shoulder.

“Guess we think alike, it’s already a pain in the ass to share a bathroom with my fucking bandmates, now I gotta do it with 15  other dildos.” Pickles commented, his green eyes trailing up and down your figure. You looked visibly relaxed and refreshed, grinning to himself as he noted your pajama pants - black with cartoon skulls dotted across the fabric.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair then, I was just heading out. Have a good shower.” You say, walking past him. “Hey Y/N,” Pickles calls out your name.  You turn your head, eyebrow raising as the handsome drummer smirks, “Cute pajamas, by the way.”

Your eyes gaze down, your cheeks flushing as you realize he’s referring to your pants. You huff, your lips pouting as he gets a rise out of your flustered reaction, “Hey, they’re comfy, asshole! Hope I used up all the hot water and you have to take a cold shower!” You stomp out of the bathroom, causing Pickles to snicker.

"Well, at least I got some form of entertainment for the rest of my stay," Pickles comments to himself, actually excited for tomorrow to tease and mess with you so more.

#metalocalypse #mtl #pickles the drummer #pickles x reader #metalocalypse fanfic #rehabklok #mtl fanfic

[chordsykat]

Who do we have here? Why, it's Sizzlin' Stella Sizemore (later, Stella Murderface) from @pan-flute-skeleton's wonderful fic, "In Perpetuity." If you think you don't like Stella as a character, you might change your mind after reading this one, folks..! :D

#mtl #metalocalypse #dethklok #stella murderface #dethmoms #william murderface #dick knubbler #dickface #mtl fanfic #my art

[skwisdad]

totally normal father + daughter interaction

also bunny toki

twt

#metalocalypse #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #irma bjelland #mtl oc #metalocalypse fanart #metlocalypse #skwistok #bunny toki #mtl fankid #mtl fanfic #dethkids #metalocalypse oc #metalocalypse fankid #metalocalypse fanfic #metalocalypse skwisgaar #my art #they're so petty to each other #i'll write more about her soon

[thatwritingho]

Kloktober Day 1

Favorite Character or OTP

My favorite character is half of my OTP, so both!

Pairing: Relish! Which is Pickles the Drummer and Olive Axworthy, my OC. get it, because pickle and olive relish, hahaha

Rating: SFW, only mildly suggestive moments

Summary: Pickles makes a miscalculation when planning a date with Olive. Luckily, he thinks of a better plan, and so they ditch the fancy restaurant they both hated to relocate.

What a perfect night for a cemetery date.

.

It was beautiful.

Glittering crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, spotless white tablecloths, and a bouquet of fresh flowers in the center of their private, tucked away table with a gorgeous view of the city, shielded by a wall of live greenery.

It was beautiful.

And Olive looked absolutely miserable. 

Gorgeous, in a black velvet dress that slit up to her hip and gave her immaculate cleavage, showing off both her sleeve and thigh tattoo. Her wild curls were more tamed than usual, her makeup dark and stunning. Around her neck hung the anatomically correct heart pendant he gifted her. Silver glinted from each of her ear piercings, bracelets dangled from her wrists, rings covered her fingers, her nails shone black and pointed.

She was gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking… but still miserable, all the same. 

As Olive finished the last bite of her dessert, Pickles gulped down the rest of his wine, bracing himself. 

"Everythin' okee, babe?"

Dark eyes flit up to meet green, and she shrugged. 

"Yeah. Everything's fine."

The raising of a single pierced brow was all it took, and she sighed, teething at her tongue ring.

"It's just. Y'know…." she gestured around with her eyes.

"What?"

“This place, it’s just…”

“Yeah?”

“...fancy.”

“Is dat a bad thing?”

Olive shrugged, “I mean, like, objectively, no.”

“Okee… And, uh, not objectively?”

“Subjectively?” sighing, she chewed at her lip, glancing around, “It’s just. Not really my thing.”

Pickles nodded, staring at her as he considered how to turn this date around. Where could they go now that she would like? Hell, where did she even like to go? It was too late for a museum or a bookstore, they were too dressed up to go break into some abandoned building or walk in a park. Where was he gonna take her, a fucking mausoleum?

Oh. 

Duh.

Grin curling up his lips, Pickles stood, carelessly tossing some cash from his wallet down onto the table, "Well what the hell're we doin' here, den? Let's get outta this place."

Smiling, Olive placed her hand in his offered one, standing to follow him to the limo. She snorted when Pickles insisted on opening the door for her, but thanked him anyway, waiting inside as he whispered something to the driver before joining her. The ride was largely uneventful, save for Pickles slipping down the straps of Olive's dress to snort a line or two or five off her tits. 

When it finally rolled to a stop, Olive pried her lips from Pickles', peering out the tinted windows as a large grin took over her face. As she turned back to him, dark eyes sparkling, face lit up in childish delight, and asked "Really?!" with more excitement in her voice than he had ever heard, Pickles felt his stomach flip, heat rushing to his face as his mouth went dry. 

"Y-yeah, dood."

Lips pressed to his cheek in a soft, sweet kiss, and Olive bumped the tip of her nose to his.

"Thank you."

Before he had a chance to respond, she gripped his hand and nearly drug him from the limo, but Pickles managed to grab the doorframe, stopping just in time.

"Whoah, dood, hang ahn! Jeezus, the skeletons aren't going anywhere!"

Pickles rummaged back inside, Olive pulling a face when he returned, a pierced brow raising in question.

"What?"

"Is there anything other than champagne?"

Pickles gave her an incredulous look. 

"...yew don't like champagne?"

"No."

"...okee. Well, there's a '78 Giacomo Conterno Monfortino or a '96 Domaine Leroy Romanée-Saint-Vivant Grand Cru in dere, too, if yah want one of those instead."

"I have no idea what that means."

Pickles grinned at her blank face, "Ones a barolo, ones a pinot noir."

"...I still don't know what that means. It's just wine. Whatever is fine, it all tastes the same, anyway."

The grin fell from his face at her words, replaced with an expression of shock, disbelief, and mild horror.

"Babe, yew… yew don't actually mean dat, right?"

Olive shrugged. 

"Yeah. I mean, aside from the color difference, it all just tastes like wine."

Shell shocked, Pickles swapped the bottle of champagne out for the ten-thousand dollar bottle of wine, the knowledge that it would be absolutely wasted on her beginning to set in. 

It just tastes like wine. 

Jesus Christ. 

He needed to take her to a wine tasting yesterday.

Shaking it off, Pickles slung his arm over Olive's shoulders as they walked through the gates of the cemetery, glancing around at the fog hanging low on the ground, the murder of crows cawing and pecking amongst the headstones nearby as they meandered along the path, the clack of Olive's heels loud in the chilled air. A gentle breeze sent her curls dancing, swaying and rustling the leaves left clinging on the skeletons of trees, an owl hooting somewhere off in the distance.

What a perfect night for a cemetery date. 

The moon shone bright behind the sparse, wispy clouds, lighting up her face, her happy, relaxed expression such a stark contrast to the one worn at dinner he could hardly reconcile the two.

"Wanna know somethin'?"

"Hm?"

Pickles leaned in close, whispering, "I fuckin' hate fancy restaurants, too."

Olive laughed, loud and sudden and so hard she snorted, slapping a hand over her mouth as Pickles laughed at her, the both continuing to giggle at each other as the conversation continued.

"Then why did we go!"

"I don't know, dood! A fancy dinner, dats, like, the date!"

"Yeah, but it sucks!"

"Yer tellin' me! Gahd, got all dressed up in dis stupid suit fer nothin'."

Pickles tugged at his already loosened tie as Olive laughed harder, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt

"Yew look hot as hell, though. 'least dere's dat."

Heat flushed to her face at the compliment, and she smiled, biting her lip as Pickles grinned his crooked grin at her.

"Oh, hey," Pickles grabbed her elbow, steering her to the side, "We're here."

Raising a brow as Pickles veered off path, Olive pauses to slip off her heels before following him barefoot amongst the graves, the ground cold and dew-damp on her feet. At the base of a tall, wide, old oak tree, Pickles plopped down in the grass, half-sitting half-laying against it's base.

Grinning up at her, he pat his lap in invitation, "Saved a seat jest fer yew, baby. Best one in da whole house."

Her deadpan made him laugh, and Olive rolled her eyes with a fond smile before dropping down. Freckled arms wrapped securely around her as she curled up in his lap, finger tips ghosting along her arm to raise goosebumps.

The two passed the bottle of wine back and forth, chatting here and there.

"Hey."

Lifting her head from his chest, Olive was met with lips on hers, tasting of wine and weed and cigarettes. His hand gently cupped her face, thumb caressing over her cheek as their lips met time and again, Pickles relishing the way Olive melted into him more and more with each press.

Parting his lips from her was no easy feat - it never was -  but Pickles managed, bumping their noses as his eyes sought Olive's in the moonlight. Their breaths puffed and mixed between them, curls scented of wine forming to dance on the crisp night air. 

Mouth curling into a crooked grin, Pickles kissed over to her ear and nipped, facial hair tickling with his next words, "Heh. Wanna go fuck ahn a grave?"

.

To be continued ;)

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!

If you'd like to read more of these two, check out Momento Mori, and Olive's Mtl OC Wiki page!!

#kloktober 2023 #kloktober #kloktober2023 #olive axworthy #pickles the drummer #metalocalypse #metalocalypse oc #mtl oc #metalocalypse fanfic #mtl fanfic #momento mori

[fishklok]

Title: Encore Chapter 34 Rating: E Relationship: Magnus/Charles Summary: “You need to relax. You’re sounding crazy.” Magnus expected to die. Instead, he’s given another chance. After the events of Doomstar Requiem, Magnus somehow finds himself reliving his past.

This is it. The final chapter of Encore has been posted.

Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this fic, and thank you to everyone who just started reading. I truly appreciate all of you <3

#metalocalypse #magnus hammersmith #satenik varoujan #mtl oc #mtl #magnus/charles #mtl fanfic #metalocalypse fanfiction #mtl fanfiction #encore