Biblically Accurate Oompa Loompa.

Biblically Accurate Oompa Loompa.

1971 Oompa Loompa learnt how to speak English by watching Coronation Street in the TV Room.

Also they're always flirting with Mrs. B.

CatCF Musical (re-write) - Memento Mori

there are two other asks in our inbox, and i promise we're not ignoring them, we just like doodle or fic replying to Factory Rejects asks.

WW&tCF (OC) - FR: Class War - 'Mr. Pratt'

Meet Mr. Cornelius Twat Pratt: teacher of the 'Class for Excellence' (it's just the upper set), Mr. Turkentine's long-standing rival, and avid John Lennon kinnie. also he's designed after matt berry.

There are two things that piss this man off more than anything: 1) That the Beatles split up (of which he is in a support group for) & 2) That Charlie Bucket, a member of Mr. Turkentine's class, won a Golden Ticket and the entire bloody Wonka factory.

Also, Mini-fic for the art:

Pratt stood at the front of his pristinely perfect classroom, nothing out of place but the slightly unkempt children sitting in front of him. His shorter-than-average bulky frame was far more apparent when measured up to the height of the blackboard, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for with a presence that took up more space than it had right to. "Good morning, Class. And Congratulations." His words had an odd cadence to them, almost like they weren't being pronounced correctly... "You are the chosen ones. Those deemed worthy enough for a chance to be the best. And if you're in my class, you Will be the best." His lips unfurled into a toothy, smug grin. "Why?" The mentor stretched out an arm, equipped- oddly- with a conductor's baton instead of the usual pointer or ruler. With a loud clack, Pratt slammed it against the blackboard, the words 'Win.' written gorgeously in cursive chalk. "Because you have one purpose in life: to Win."

Pratt lowered his baton, mouth forming an almost pout, eyebrow raised. "Failure is not on the curriculum. Perhaps for other classes- 7A, 7C, and damn well sure 7B" a slight growl slipped into tone for the last, but very quickly dissipated. "Never 7S."

In his white turtleneck and light blue-grey suit, he looked more like a fancy CEO giving a pep-talk than the teacher of a rather lower-tier comprehensive school. Pratt closed his eyes, and broke into an almost mocking tone. " 'How am I, a small weakly child, to raise to such ranks' you may sing out in desperation. Follow me, and you. will. find. your. answer." His grin dropped, a serious tone, and outstretched his arms, "So long as you are in this class, I am your God. Your Messiah. And if you fail me, you'll surmount to nothing. Understand?" As he looked out at the children he would teach for the forthcoming years, a chant of 'yes, sir' perfectly in tandem- likely out of intimidation, albeit- he could only feel power coursing through his body. Turkentine stood no chance.

We're still alive by the way,

turkenbill has consumed us also our turkentine introject from childhood woke up and there's been a lot of onboarding him into the system; it's a whole thing

also we need to do work because 1.4 of 'the Inner Worlds' is coming out on Friday and it is not finished