#absolute-trax

[punk-chicken-radio]

ax trax of the week

david bowie - absolute beginners

it's that time of year again where i'm about to see my family and then all my oldest friends for a skating party and i get all shmaltzy and love everyone and everything.

-ax

[pullhisteeth]

worry lines | eddie munson

requested here -`♡´- your ex turns up and Eddie gets jealous. idiots in love! 4.7k

cw !!! for a borderline abusive (ex-)boyfriend. 18+ please and thank you x

contains hurt/comfort, fluff, jealous!Eddie, fem!reader, conflict, shitty ex-boyfriend. everyone’s in their early 20s

-

He was cruel, Eddie knows that much. Cruel enough that it took weeks and lots of gentle handling to coax it out of you. 

You were a shell of yourself until you weren’t. Eddie doesn’t know the details, because who would he be to make you relive it if you didn’t want to? But he knows enough to sear a tar-black scorch mark in his gut, a branding, a fury reserved only for him.

And he’s perhaps a little oblivious to it, but Eddie’s patience never went unnoticed by you. The two of you might be like parallel lines - apparently doomed to just miss one another forever - but you’re still filled to the brim with giddy love for him. The fact he stuck around through it all only adds fuel to the fire. Something unruly burns behind your eyes every time you think about him.

“What about this one?”

You hold up a record and show him the front while you peer at the back. Eddie looks up from the stack he’s been flipping through for the past three minutes.

“Garbage,” he mutters, eyes back on his busy fingers. 

“What?!” you exclaim, mouth wide and attempting to hide a grin. You’re fighting him for fun, really; you’re already putting the record back where you found it. “It came out, like, a month ago! How’ve you heard it already?” 

“Gareth’s mom got it for him for his birthday,” he tells you without looking at you, side stepping only slightly to move onto the next box of albums. He’s close enough now that you could lean over and bump his shoulder with your own. You don’t.

You sigh, though it’s bright with amusement. You go back to your own shelf, eyeing up the scarce new releases stock that Trax only manages to update every few months.

“No shit,” you whisper, grabbing with greedy hands at the record you’ve spotted. You catch Eddie’s attention, his own hands stopping as he looks over. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere!”

He smiles, not because he likes the album - it’s The Cure, and they’re far too British, even for him - but because he likes your smile. Sometimes you make a face, with your mouth twisted to the right, because you’re holding it back. You told him once that you don’t like your smile very much, that it’s too wide, too toothy. He couldn’t disagree more, and when he catches you in these moments, the ones just before you realise you’re grinning and close your mouth, he cherishes it.

“You want it?” he asks, tone nothing but genuine.

“Fuck off, Eds,” you say anyway, still smiling. He’s lapping it up. “I can buy it myself now, don’t need your filthy drug money.”

He elbows you softly with an expression of faux offence. “Hey, y’didn’t mind my filthy money all those times it got you food at Benny’s.”

This makes you giggle, and Eddie is on cloud nine.

You tear your eyes away from the cover to meet his and he damn near keels over; it’s like a mallet on his temple, a slap across the cheek. He could look at your eyes forever and it’d never not hurt.

“Can I buy you one?” you ask him, adding “please?” when he gives you a look like he’s about to tell you no.

“Absolutely not,” he says, still grinning.

“But you’ve bought me so many!” You’re closer now, toe to toe with him, beaming back at him and gripping the record between clenched fingers. “I make my own money now. Consider it me payin’ you back, or at least starting to.”

“You don’t have to pay me back,” he mutters, “I like buyin’ you records. At least it meant you listened to somethin’ other than this shit.” He bumps the bottom of the cardboard sleeve with his fist.

“Hey,” you bite, pulling it out of his reach. “I like The Cure.”

“I know y’do, that’s the problem.”

You look at him for a beat, one so brief he only just gets a chance to take in your pensive face - adorable - before you scrunch your eyes and stick your tongue out at him.

“Suit yourself,” you say, turning on your heels and marching down the aisle, heading for the cash register.

He watches you cross the store, the way your walk shifts from comical to confident. This walk is familiar to him; it’s your I’m-nervous-because-I’m-in-public walk.

His eyes are still on you when you take your change from the girl behind the desk. He watches you pocket it, and catches your self-satisfied smile as you turn. And then he watches as it falters, and your face drains of colour, and he feels himself walking over to you before he has time to think about it.

You’re looking at the door, where the bell’s just chimed, and the bottom of your stomach’s fallen away. Heart in your throat, you stare blankly at the man who just walked in.

“Oh, hey,” he says, though he may as well be on the other side of the glass for the way he sounds so distant. He shakes snow off his hair and you feel the ghost of it between your fingers. “Fancy seein’ you here.”

You feel Eddie before you can muster up a response. He stands behind you, just close enough that, if you wanted to, you could reach behind and take his hand.

“Hey,” he says lowly, just by your ear, words for you alone. “Who’s this?”

There’s something simmering in his voice, something defensive. He knows.

“Uh, hi,” you squeak, fingers clutching the plastic bag you’re holding to keep them from shaking. “Hi- uh, Eds, this is, uh-”

“Tom,” the man says, sticking a gloved hand out to Eddie. You feel him shift slowly behind you; his eyes move between the back of your head and the man in front of you a few times before he returns the gesture.

He’s handsome, Eddie thinks. Better looking than he is, anyway. Cleaner, softer; none of the hard edges Eddie harbours that he doesn’t know you think are soft as anything.

“We used to go out,” you say quickly, before Tom tries to explain it himself and makes you feel smaller than you already do. You hope Eddie gets the hint.

He does. The burning in his gut flares and his hands clench into fists without him meaning them to.

“Eddie,” he states, sharp and blunt.

“We were just, uh- We’re headed out,” you say, and the way you’ve come over all nervous and quiet is almost enough to make Eddie’s heart split right down the middle. He hovers a hand over the small of your back and steps around you, around Tom, until you follow him.

“Well, see you around,” he says as the bell chimes again and Eddie damn near pulls you out into the snow.

The cold, damp flakes that land on your flushed cheeks are a sweet relief. So are Eddie’s hands, which wrap around yours to take the bag from you. He doesn’t miss how they shake.

“Fuck,” you breathe. The air escapes your lungs and doesn’t return for a second, long enough that you have to think to inhale. Eddie looks you over, desperate to pat you, fawn over you, kiss the snowflake off the bridge of your nose.

He opts for something safer. “You alright?”

The busy Indianapolis sidewalk doesn’t allow for too much fussing, and you’re quietly grateful for the bustling Saturday afternoon crowd pushing the two of you along and away from Trax.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, breathless again, trudging through stomped-over snow. “Just took me by surprise.”

“Yeah, no shit. When’d you last see him?”

“When I picked up my stuff from his place.”

“Shit.”

You walk aimlessly around the corner, until Eddie begins to lead the way. Wordlessly you follow him for six blocks, and think to yourself that maybe he’s getting you as far away as he can.

He knows a coffee place, apparently, one so much better than any of the ones around Trax that you know are just as good. He ushers you into the warmth and buys three pastries - one each and one to share - and you eat until you’re not thinking about Tom anymore.

-

Robin sidles into the booth beside you, the familiar shape of her slotting into your side without care. She nudges her hip into yours, a wordless signal for you to move around and make more space.

The six of you squeeze around the tiny table as Eddie and Steve place drinks down across it. Pints of beer, far too big glasses of wine and six sickly coloured shots decorate it and all of a sudden you’re counting to five and banging a tiny glass on the varnished wood.

It tastes of sour apple and coats your lips with a shiny, sugary lacquer. Eddie sits opposite you harbouring a fiery urge to lean over and kiss you clean.

You grin at him, missing the flicker of affection in his tipsy eyes, and lean into Robin, who takes a swig from one of the pint glasses.

“Rob!” Steve shouts, reaching over and grasping at the glass. “You asshole, that’s mine-”

“What���s yours is mine, dingus,” she slurs, her dopey smile met not by something frosty but by Steve’s own grin. The tenderness inside your stomach is just as sickly as the shot; you’re drunk on sugary liquor and an unbridled love for your friends.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The bickering stops as Eddie raises his glass from the table.

“A toast,” he says, “to the newly-weds.”

You grasp your own pint and raise it too, along with everyone else, as Nancy and Jonathan beam back at you. They’re the picture of happiness, her rosy cheeks blooming from joy and champagne, his smile so wide you’re scared he might split in two. Nancy’s so pretty in a simple, short dress, Mrs Wheeler’s pearls around her neck, and Jonathan looks so smart in his suit, fresh from the dry cleaners courtesy of Joyce. A long day of family celebrations ends here, in this bar on the east end of Indianapolis, four walls that have seen the six of you grow up and into yourselves.

Nancy and Jonathan thank everybody, and Steve disappears without a single one of you noticing, reappearing with a new round of shots. Robin takes your hand in hers and squeezes, which tells you that she’s putting off crying. You’ve already covered the shoulder of her new shirt in tears. Happy tears.

If some benevolent force happened to be looking down and caught a glimpse of your happy little table, they’d find that your mind and Eddie’s look very much alike right now. Dizzy daydreams of a future neither of you are confident in, that neither of you think the other would ever even dare to consider.

The distant call of your name pulls you up off Robin’s shoulder. You hear it again, and the voice it’s called in sends your blood running cold. Regardless it beckons you and you turn to look, seeing him approaching like a fucking stalking lion.

“Oh,” you breathe, “hi.”

His unwelcome hands spread over the back of the booth, his fingers brushing the back of your neck. You bristle.

He grins down at you and then looks up and around at everybody else. “Hey, guys. I guess these are your friends?”

All you can do is look up at him. Eddie can see you recoiling and his stomach churns.

“Oh, hi again,” Tom says, spotting Eddie. This is your nightmare situation, frankly, and you’re afraid of where Tom might take it.

“Hey, man,” Steve says. His words are lopsided because he’s three pints and four shots in and too giddy to recognise this for what it is.

“Steve, right?” Tom asks. His knuckles whiten as he grips harder.

“Mm-hm,” Steve hums, leaning just enough to the left that Eddie has to push him upright. In the brief moment he’s preoccupied with his untrustworthy friend, he doesn’t see the way Tom dips his head to meet yours, or the attempt at a kiss on the cheek that you dodge, or even the quick words whispered in your ear. He does see you flush, your face, already warmed by wine, becoming even brighter. Before he can ask what’s happening, Robin’s scooting out to let you stand, and Tom’s hand’s on your waist and you’re off to the bar together.

Nancy shifts uncomfortably beside Jonathan, her hands on the table. “Is that…”

“Yeah,�� Eddie says.

“Fuck,” Jonathan breathes.

“No way,” Robin barks, almost loud enough for Eddie to chastise her; you’re only twenty feet away.

Despite the stretch of time separating this moment from your last one with him, Tom’s hands haven’t become any less curious. They paw at you, never settling but instead trying each possessive spot he loved to frequent before you left him. Your waist was his favourite, but you’ve felt the unwelcome impression of his palm on each arm, your shoulder, the small of your back, and when he goes for your hip you twist just enough that he’s forced to drop it.

He’s telling you about his promotion. When you left, he’d been clamouring for it, doing everything he’d once confessed to hating: sucking up to his boss, shmoozing, working late. It pays well, apparently; well enough that he’s got his own place. It’s a five minute cab ride away. Want to come see it?

“Why would I want to do that?” you ask him, emboldened by the fiery rage his wandering hands are reigniting within you.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, cooing your name with a sincerity so false that you taste the saccharine flavour of it on your gums, “you’re not telling me you haven’t missed me, huh?”

“No,” you tell him honestly, “I haven’t.”

“What, you with that metalhead or something?”

“Eddie is just a friend”, you bite.

“Yeah, right,” Tom scoffs, slamming his glass on the bar. He’s leaning closer, crowding you, and there are too many people behind him and all of a sudden you’ve lost sight of your table. “Knew I was right to put a stop to that.”

“Fuck you, Tom,” you spit, trying desperately to wriggle free. “I want to get back to my friends now, please.”

“Had his fuckin’ hands all over you the other day,” he continues, ignoring you. “Bet he tried it on when we were together, didn’t he?”

“No, he- Fuck, Tom, will you please just let me out-”

Eddie catches glimpses of you between passing bodies. He sees the way Tom’s crowding you and how you’re squirming and, honestly, he wants to walk into the sea.

Tom was never introduced to your friends. It was mostly his own choice, but Eddie and Robin and everyone else saw it for what it was. You just managed to get out before he cut you off from them all completely.

Now, in the low light of the bar, he’s not so certain that you’re done with him. Sure, you seemed unnerved when you bumped into him at the record store, but he begins to wonder if maybe you’d just been caught off guard, and if you’d thought about him since then. Had you called him?

“Hey,” Robin mutters, leaning over the table to Eddie with her eyes on you, “I think- I don’t know, she looks annoyed.”

Finally, there’s a gap in the crowd, and he sees it too. The pinch of your brow, and the squirming that isn’t squirming. You’re scared.

He stands so quickly that his head spins. He sees Nancy in his peripheral vision standing too, though she’s penned in by Jonathan and Steve. Eddie’s heavy footsteps take too long, he’s too slow; Tom’s hand is around your arm and he’s leaving, taking you with him, willingly or not.

He follows the silhouette of Tom, dark against the brash streetlamp light coming in through the glass doors. He can see the top of your head and feels himself pulled to you like a fish on a line.

He catches up just as Tom pushes the door open and stumbles into the snow, blinded by the fluorescent bulb in the lamp above. You feel the inebriation seep out of you with every second spent in the cold, your bare arms covered in goosebumps.

“Tom, what the fuck?” you spit, finally separating yourself from him. You feel the burn left by his tough grip on your upper arm. He’s still close, close enough that he can take your head in one firm hand.

“Just wanted to see your pretty face,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, his breath too hot on your face, “couldn’t see you properly in-”

“Hey.”

You turn just as Tom does to find Eddie in the doorway. His fists are clenched again and so is his jaw; you know him well enough to see your own anger reflected back at you.

“You okay?” he asks, looking at you, tender as always and it does something to dampen the fiery rage you’re keeping at bay. You nod as Tom drops his hand and scoffs.

“See,” he spits, “loverboy won’t leave you the fuck alone.”

You take three steps back. Eddie comes closer.

“Go home,” he says to Tom as you reach out and take his fist into both hands. He relaxes, and you wind your fingers together. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Tom says, “you can’t be serious? Look at him, babe, he’s…”

“Can we go back in?” you whisper to Eddie, whose stern face is beginning to worry you. He says nothing but tugs on your hand and, to your relief, Tom seems to back away around the corner as you retreat indoors.

The door shuts and Eddie turns, but before he can say anything you throw your arms around him and push your face into his neck. He’s startled, but not so much that he can’t return it, his own arms around your back, the pressure a welcome thing.

“Hey,” he coos, “are you sure you’re okay?”

“Thank you,” you say, muffled by his shirt. “Thank you.”

He pulls back, too worried to care to hug you any longer. Instead he lets himself fuss over you, a tentative hand at your jaw as he looks you in the eye.

“I’m okay,” you finally say, sighing. “I hate him.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh. “I do too.”

“Thank you for not hitting him,” you murmur.

His fingers hover by your ear and just as you think he’s going to touch you, he lowers his hand.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I knew you’d hate that.”

He takes your hand again, a gesture which sends both of you independently loopy, and returns with you to the table, where Nancy nearly falls over Robin to get to you. As you reassure her and take your seat again, sandwiched between the two girls, Eddie takes a long swig of beer.

“Hey,” Steve slurs, leaning over to you. “Did y’know Eddie’s ears go red when he’s jealous?”

You look back at him with wide eyes as Eddie gives him a swift thwack to the arm, telling him to fuck off.

“It’s true!” Steve assures you. “I saw it with my own eyes! Like, five minutes ago, I-”

He’s stopped by more of Eddie’s playful hitting.

Quietly, just to you, Nancy says, “It’s true.”

You turn to look at her. She’s got that sparkle in her eye. It appears when she’s got a plan, or an idea, or knows something.

“For a minute, it looked like you were enjoying it,” she continues. “I bet he could’ve burned this place to the ground with how jealous he was getting.”

She nods to her left, where Eddie is dealing with a still restless Steve. He senses you looking and meets your eye, and the pretty pink blush that covers his cheeks is enough to make you look away.

-

The coffee machine pings just as the doorbell goes.

You jump, startled by both noises. Leaving the coffee to stew you pad through the apartment and open the door slowly, making sure to hide behind it to save the postman seeing you in your pyjama shorts.

When you pull it back, you’re surprised by the sight of your best friend, standing at your door in his own pyjamas.

“Morning,” he says, chuckling lowly.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you let him inside. “Did you- Did you walk here in that?”

“God no,” he says, “have you seen it out there?”

Truthfully, you haven’t dared pull the curtains back yet. “No,” you admit, locking the door again and wishing you’d had the sense even in your drunken stupor to put your good pyjamas on. You pat the front of the crinkled cotton at the top of your thighs, smoothing it down to no avail.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” you tell him as you step over to the living room window and pull back the blind to reveal what can only be described as a blizzard.

Eddie comes in behind you with two steaming mugs. “Slept on Steve’s fucking couch,” he says, laughing again. “Dimwit couldn’t get himself into bed and then the weather got too bad for me to get a cab home.”

Steve lives two floors above you, in an apartment much the same as your own. His couch is small. Eddie’s back must hurt.

“How is he?”

“Steve?”

“Hm.”

“He’ll be fine,” Eddie sighs, throwing himself onto your couch and kicking his feet up, socked toes just missing the side of your bare thigh. “Probably regrets the fourth round of shots, but at least he had fun.”

“Did you have fun?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, I mean- Of course.” He reaches over to pick up your coffee and leans over to pass it to you. “Didn’t you?”

You take it from him and sit back, sighing. “Yeah, yeah, just…”

Your throat is suddenly too thick to drink the coffee. You stare at it, the deep mahogany liquid pouring steam into the tepid room.

“How does he still manage to ruin everything?” you ask, the question more an abstract frustration than anything aimed directly at Eddie.

He stiffens on the other end of the couch. He knows you don’t mean Steve, that your mind is elsewhere, on the impatient hands that couldn’t keep themselves from pressing painfully into your arm or the coddling of his hot breath on your face out in the snow.

“Hey,” Eddie coos, softening when he notices your hands shaking. He takes the mug, his own hands gentle on you to save from startling you, and replaces it on the table. “Here, c’mere-”

You lean into him, pushing your face into the softness of Steve’s sweater that he’s wearing. You keep apologising - variations of I’m sorry spat out between quiet sobs - and he keeps telling you it’s okay. One hand holds your elbow while the other smooths up and down your back, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, and he exhales when he hears the smile in your words.

“Y���don’t have to thank me again,” he says. You lean back and the two of you sit as mirror images of one another, one knee up on the couch and the other foot on the floor. You wipe your eye with the back of your wrist. Eddie yearns to knock your hand away and do it himself, to clean you up and kiss you when he’s done. He keeps his hands to himself instead.

“I dunno what I’d have done,” you whisper, “I mean, I don’t think he’d have done anything, but I still don’t wanna think about it.”

“I don’t either,” Eddie agrees before he can stop himself.

You look at him. There are deepening shadows beneath his eyes that you’re sure the couch is to blame for, and his hair’s unruly, matted from what you can only imagine was an useless night’s sleep, but your favourite thing - the mellow brown of his eyes - is just as pretty as ever. So’s his skin, pale and imperfect where he’s inked the left side of his neck and you can see the very top of the scar that stretches over his collarbone. He broke it when you were both ten, and he still teases you about how quick you were to run from him when you saw the bone and the broken flesh. You’re desperate to know if it’d be warm under your fingertips, your lips, your tongue.

“Do your ears really get red when you’re jealous?” you ask him. You see him stiffen at the question, his eyes narrowing just so, as his hands flex over his knees.

“Steve’s an asshole,” Eddie says.

“I know-”

“But yeah,” he says, the corner of his mouth breaking loose into a smile, “He’s right. It’s stupid.”

You kick his foot with your own softly and laugh.

“Why were you jealous?”

“Oh, seriously?”

“Yes! Why were you jealous?!” you repeat, grinning.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, all dramatic and silly and you laugh until his restless hand lands on your knee instead of his own.

“I thought you were glad to see him,” he admits.

“I don’t know how you got that impression,” you say. You’re trying to ignore the soft rumbling in your chest, lest it take your breath away.

“Dunno,” he says, and suddenly he reminds you of sixteen-year-old Eddie, awkward and goofy, the boy you fell for.

“Well,” you say, “I’m very glad you came to my rescue.”

“I didn’t rescue you, you’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself,” he says, laughing. His knee knocks yours and his fingers spread until the tips of them are meeting the middle of your thigh.

“Still, it was a nice thing to do.”

He hums and you inhale as you place your hand on his. He looks up at you and the contact seems to provide some courage.

He says your name, and it’s softer than ever in the quiet of your living room. As far as the two of you are aware, there’s nothing beyond here; no blizzard, no hungover Steve two floors up, no shitty ex-boyfriends. Just you and Eddie and the string of starlight pulling you together.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks in a whisper, leaning in, already resting more weight on the hand on your thigh. Somehow, it feels like the most natural question in the world.

You nod. “Yeah, please.”

He closes the gap with his forehead to yours, tilting his head enough that his nose slots beside yours as he kisses you. You expected a peck, something nervous, but that’s impossible when there’s a decade of want behind it. He’s firm and certain as his hands finally take grateful handfuls of your hips, and your mouth burns as you kiss him back. He worries he’s being too handsy, especially after last night, but when you feel him retreating you take his larger hands in yours and keep them there.

This morning, as his tongue moves past yours, Eddie tastes like spearmint, coffee and tobacco. You miss the taste as soon as his lips paint tender kisses at the corner of your mouth and over the hill of your jaw, but you keen at the sensation anyway, arching into him.

“This okay?” he asks in a pant, pulling back and hiding a smile as he hears you whine.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You use shaky fingers to push curls back so you can see his face and, holding him in both hands, kiss the swell of his cheek followed by the other. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me,” he says, chuckling.

“What do we do now?” you ask him.

He looks back at you, feeling more whole than ever, and notices the creeping worry lines between your brows. Pushing against your hold, he leans forward and kisses you there. The satisfaction of feeling you relax is enough to keep him going for a thousand years.

“Well,” he whispers, and his breath isn’t too hot like Tom’s. It’s warm and friendly where it blooms over your closed eyes. “Go take care of Steve, probably.”

“Kiss me again?”

He does, wordlessly, softer than before, once on your mouth and another on your forehead. You wind your arms around his back, and with cheek resting on the top of your head, he says those fateful words into your hair: 

“Love you.”

You squeeze without thinking, smiling into his chest.

“Love you too.”

-

[rivetgoth]

Black Alternative Music Recs

Not being Black myself, I hesitate to make myself a spokesperson specifically for Black alt artists as I don’t want to be tokenizing or reductive and I’d rather, like, uplift the voices of Black alt people than just make my own lists, BUT, I keep seeing people in the comments of recent posts about Death Grips asking for recs for more Black alternative artists, and I do know a good amount, so as a really basic list I wanted to throw out a few artists I really like—

Light Asylum: Darkwave. Really incredible vocalist, and openly queer. “Dark Allies” is a huge goth club hit but all of her work is great. I’ve seen her live twice and her live concerts are incredible too. One of the bigger Black goth artists.

Ho99o9: Punk/Industrial Hip Hop. Another big one, they’re pretty well known at this point but if you DON’T know them you should. Huuuge variety in sound here, all of it is so fun and solid, absolutely amazing energy.

clipping.: Industrial/Experimental Hip Hop. Really fun and catchy, great lyrics, great mixing, great experimental electronic sound.

Void Palace: Industrial/EBM. Local LA-based act with an amazing industrial dance club sound and vibe. Seen them live and they bring such cool but crazy energy. Really really solid.

O. Children: Darkwave/Post Punk. Really classic gothic sound, amazing vocals, really underrated, theatrical, fun, and moody gothic rock.

Izzy Spears: Industrial/Experimental Hip Hop. Openly gay alternative hip hop artist with a heavy and super danceable beat. I saw him live and he sounded great and had awesome punky energy.

LUSTSICKPUPPY: Punk/Electro-Industrial. Has almost a hyperpop sound sometimes, super high BPM high energy danceable electronic music with a really crazy theatrical style to their performances (kicking myself for missing them last year!). ETA: LSP uses they/them pronouns, corrected now but apologies for missing that irt any older iterations of this post floating around.

Baby Storme: Darkwave/Ethereal Pop. I think she got a bit of popularity on TikTok recently? I don’t use TikTok so idk, but she’s great. Really well mixed, fun, super solid dreamy darkwave with a dancey pop sound intermixed.

Grizz: Darkwave Hip Hop. I JUST discovered this artist, he’s another LA local who just put out a new single that’s getting some attention and he’s really good. Super cool goth fusion sound with really great classic darkwave electronic backing. Check him out!

Cold Gawd: Shoegaze/Post-Hardcore. Iconically sells merch that says “ABOLISH WHITE SHOEGAZE.” Absolute powerhouse of sound; I saw them live and their music sounded torrential, like this intense, powerful storm.

Debby Friday: Dark Electronic/Experimental Hip Hop. Really really haunting and dreamy gothic sound. Collaborates with artists like Boy Harsher. Superbly mixed. Lots of variety in sound but very consistently strong.

Dre Robinson: Industrial/Experimental Electronic. Longtime cEvin Key/Skinny Puppy collaborator. He was on stage with Skuppy during the recent live tour, doing sound and playing the maggot maracas (iykyk). He’s also been involved in a ton of cEvin’s solo work and accompanies him on stage for his live solo shows.

Charles Levi: Industrial/Industrial Rock. Wax Trax!/90s industrial icon, did work for My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult and Pigface. He’s recently had a bunch of serious health problems and has a GoFundMe up of you’d like to donate. He contributed to so much classic industrial rock, it’s crazy.

There’s a billion more. These are just some artists I genuinely really like personally who are Black, and I think all of them deserve a ton of support and recognition as contributors to the alternative scene. There’s so many amazing Black-fronted alternative bands and projects, and I’m just scratching the surface with artists I know and enjoy, Also considered listing some larger names like Yves Tumor and Tricky, but I feel they’re slightly more well known in the mainstream with ~1mil+ listeners on Spotify and I wanted to highlight some slightly more underground voices (to varying degrees—obviously some artists here are more well known than others).

Check them out!! Support Black alternative music!

[birkinist]

i have only been consuming jesse spencer media for the last few days. here is me, ranking from 1-16 every movie/show he has been in.

this does not include:

- any theatre he has ever made

- the script & queer fish (couldnt find them to watch)

- voice acting (will do a separate one for that thing)

16th:

blue heelers — lee cruickshank

minor role only. show wasn’t particularly interesting either and to be completely honest i don’t even recall seeing him once

15th:

skum rocks! — david lockhart

another minor role. also a documentary and those are not my favorite

14th:

tell-tale — lover

minor role pt. 3

13th:

time trax — young billy

felt like i was watching cp when this came on. plot is interesting but there is no good reason for having a 15 year old naked half of the time and a goofy voice.

12th:

winning london — lord james browning jr

i didn’t enjoy this solely because it’s based around chasing british boys 😭 not my type of movie

11th:

lorna doone — marwood

slight minor role but he does fine to be fair. doesn’t appear much neither is importantly and the show is boring to be honest

10th:

neighbours — bill kennedy

classic 👍

9th:

curse of the talisman — jeremy campbell

this was cute, even though it does not have great quality i liked jesses role in this

8th:

chicago fire; etc — matthew cassey

i absolutely despise this show but i gotta give it props for how much jesse appears in it

7th:

this girl is in trouble — nicholas feinstein

it was okay. i like his acting here mostly but the movie isn’t very great

6th:

uptown girls — neal fox

having him compared to morrissey is the funniest shit ever. props for this

5th:

stranded — fritz robinson

i would probably like this movie more if i didnt watch it in 360p

4th:

swimming upstream — tony figleton

really REALLY well produced movie and great acting from him. absolute banger sortof shit youd see winning an award

3rd:

flourish — eddie gator

absolute masterpiece, although i think people dont get it. having him be delirious and american will be hilarious forever

2nd:

death in holy orders — raphael arbuthnot

crazy queerbaiting between him and peter. literal religious yaoi. jesse so pretty and gay he acted out a role in which the character is described as pretty and appealing to men three different paragraphs (book).

1st:

house md — robert chase

cant complain about eight seasons straight of jesse. first media i watched from him too so it will always have a special place in my heart.

—

of course i could go into detail but i dont really think none of you wanna see me talk about that. besides movies i consumed an insane amount of interviews and info about him. call me the #1 jesse spencer fan (he would hate me)

[spielen-verrueckt]

Genuine question, is it ethical to use creative commons work from an artist who has a history of abuse or is a bad person?

I kept debeting this in my head and i can't for the life of me get an answer or a consensus.

I'm pretty vocal about being against lapfox trax/halley labs but I've used their work in the past for animations before i fully understood the allegations against them. But the use case for lapfox is so incredibly different from every other type of "problematic artist" discourse because of the fact that lapfox music is royalty-free and the artist has not directly benefitted from people using their music like with for example Rammstein or Mindless Self Indulgence. They directly benefit from streams and content ID systems whereas Emma (lapfox trax) encourages people to pirate their artwork and doesn't care if people use it aside from some basic critiria of not using it for propaganda or something. They also aren't in any content ID systems and thus won't make money from for example youtube copyright claims or streams. They don't even monetize their youtube channel.

Lapfox trax is one of the few artists that makes creative commons music in the rave genres, which is pretty hard to come across, let alone in good quality like Lapfox's music.

The thing is, even if they aren't benefiting from it monetarily, it's still uplifting their reputation and introducing their work to more people. The unintentional propaganda has led most people into thinking the allegations against them were nothing or were fake. I absolutely hate seeing furries still praise their music as if they weren't a disgusting person in real life. If i used their music for a project, I'm essentially giving them what they want.

I just don't know man.

[rrotcodfox]

possible eyestrain/flash warning

my little intro 😵😵😵😵

i hope im doing this right because im super new to tumblr and this intro is far from little…

╔═ஓ๑ ♱ ๑ஓ════╗

IM AYDEN 👽 im 16 and use he/him

really heavily into a lot of stuff right now specific things being we happy few, palworld, postal, undertale, warrior cats, eragon book series baldurs gate 3, and more i cant tbink of

lapfox trax and kmfdm are currently my biggest obsessions but i like other bands too

i would put this on the boundary list but i do NOT want any columbiner tcc freaks following me im tired of you morons giving kmfdm a bad rep.. you guys are exactly what kmfdm hates

i reclaim slurs and i do so frequently so probably dont interact if youre not good with that

fair warning i do have audhd and i am not great with people and i overshare on certain topics a lot, which can really be seen here because my intro is a mess

┊BOUNDAR/DNI LIST┊

typically i dont have any need to make a dni list because i just block people i dont like but considering the people on tumblr……… yeaaah!!

for starters, typical dni criteria, racists, bigots, homophobes, transphobes, etc

ABSOLUTELY FUCK OFF if youre apart of the tcc and/or little moronic columbine fanatic group i hate you and i wish you would all die, if youre a cat disliker/hater i will not elaborating on this, murderer sympathizers, furry haters im a furry myself i do not want to be friends with you

preferably dni if you are over 19, only talk politics, only talk about how your life sucks and nobody likes you, only talk drama

i am okay with joke flirting, sexual jokes, reclaiming slurs, offensive jokes (that is if you can say offensive jokes)

PLEASE INTERACT BG3 fans, cat lovers, NORMAL kmfdm fans, we happy few fans, people who like the prodigy, people who arent rude just to be a dick, postal fans

┊ stamps! i love stamps ┊

treating my intro like a myspace account

tumblr let me use more than 10 photos

[cgtg]

as a fellow music enthusiast do u have opinions on the undertale soundtrack (which is ur favorite song...) i also often think about the differences between the undertale megalovania & the homestuck megalovania. fascinating things. both awesome. anyways i think its safe 2 assume napstablook is up there as a character youd really like from undertale, if not ur fave theyre Up There

u woulge be right about me enjoying napstablook hehehe but not my fav character

my fav trax are

another medium (extremely stimmy 4 me. one of them songs that made me realise how much i love percussion. im a big big fan of songz that have a kind of clockwork-esque beat to them. if i can imagine gears rotating to a song its probably 1 of my fav songs)

bergentruckung/asgore (the weird desperation 2 this one as it goes on always struck me. absolute insane moment the first time i heard this)

amalgam (i luv mother's ost & this one is extremely mother-esque)

dummy! (just goes)

metal crusher (i love music that sounds kinda pissed off that ur listening to it? the amount going on in this 1 is so fun & hectic.)

your best nightmare.

i luv the amnt of variety in it while still being rlly cohesive & having this exact same kinda charm throughout, its like this awesome amalgamation of everywhere toby fox had been with his music up til that point. i think that soundtrack scrapes every human emotion under da fucking sun

its scary that its almost @ a point of being nostalgic 2 me

in my opinion the homestuck version of megalovania is better just bc of the guitar haha. mashups that put em 2gether r peeeeaaak.

i used 2 have another medium as my alarm tone & its such a good song that even doing THAT sumhow didnt ruin it 4 me lmao.

[omegaremix]

Killing Joke / Pig @ Irving Plaza, N.Y.C; September 12, 2018.

When was the last time I visited Irving Plaza? Ten years ago, when Ministry supposedly had their “farewell” tour. That show opened my eyes up to Meshuggah who turned the entire place insane and a forgettable opening act not worth mentioning. Now, we’re the gatherers as Killing Joke puts us. Next year celebrates 40 years as a band and are currently performing the Laugh At Your Peril Tour through the Americas and Europe. They stand as one of the few acts in existence that have played together for this long and never slowed down or lost power. The miserable humid weather of light drizzle and grey skies could never dampen the audience down for what unfolded.

I assumed it would be only Killing Joke’s time to shine. I had no idea there was an opening act. Here’s a lead singer who comes on stage dressed in an odd get-up, all black head-to-toe. He’s also wearing a silver leather jacket with super-long tassels hanging down from his arms, a flat pilot’s hat, sunglasses, bondage over his privates, and thick black boots. I had zero idea who the opening act was until he shouted “we are Pig!” Really? It’s Raymond Watts himself. What a surprise. Watts / Pig has been a classic and go-to industrial staple during the Wax Trax era. It’s great to hear he’s still performing without a hitch. With his time in KMFDM, “Juke Joint Jezebel” was not an option but a necessity. He performed another big hit in ”Secret Skin” and also preached everything about (sin, sex, and) salvation. He’s wearing the priest’s collar, after all. One good thing about Watts / Pig was his presence: direct, communicative and in many times pointing to his fans (salvation, people); moving, gyrating, and swinging to the tune of his industrial sound and his affinity for stage, orchestra, and cabaret. This is one industrial artist I’m familiar with and still should’ve been more into by now, even despite having one of his titles in Sinsation for some time.

Killing Joke took the stage with a wonderful welcome from the New York City crowd. The entirely original gang of bassist Martin “Youth” Glover, guitarist Geordie Walker, drummer Paul Ferguson, and lead singer Jaz Coleman were very happy to see us as well. They reformed as the original unit before the Absolute Dissent-era so the 40th anniversary is a milestone meant to be. All throughout the night they culled songs, switching from almost every album demonstrating their versatility in punk, dub, industrial, and metal while always staying close to their politically and socially charged message.

They kicked off the 95 minute set with one of their key hits “Love Like Blood” and jumped 25 years into “European Super State”. They went back to the classics with “Eighties”, another familiar one for us gatherers, then forward again with newer songs with “New Cold War” from Pylon. But you can’t make it an anniversary show without going back to where it all started: their 1980 full-length debut which they played five songs from. “Requiem” and a harder live version of “Wardance” were absolutely included. It wasn’t until “Butcher” where the audience furiously broke out in mosh pits. Three cuts from their self-titled 2003 record kept the energy going all throughout, first with the rugged “Asteroid” and also included “Loose Cannon” and “The Death And Resurrection Show”. An hour and 14 songs later, Killing Joke re-treated backstage but came out for a five-song encore that sealed the extended deal.

For an outfit that started and regrouped again in 40 years, they look modest and much healthier than most bands that went that long. Starting with the 1980 self-titled debut to Pylon, Killing Joke’s sound has gotten stronger and more powerful by each record. What truly made their arrival a sweet one was not only in their songs but in themselves as a unit. Witness them in person and you see how gracious they are to perform for their fans. No attitudes, no egos, no pretentiousness. All smiles. You know they were all happy to be there and were extremely appreciative. They show their thanks through great shows, retrospective deluxe sets, and being personable because they know their supporters helped them carry on for all this time.

And then there’s Jaz, whose scraggly looks show his frightened and mesmerized on-stage presence for all to see. That’s Mr. Coleman for you. He’s also jovial, too. His stories of how he once was an unhealthy alcoholic mess that became “Loose Cannon” to Youth’s time dee-jaying industrial clubs in a grittier more dangerous New York City garnered guaranteed laughs from all of us. Most importantly, he also championed personal freedom for all. It’s that integral message from their socio-political themes that’s most essential in these states’ uncertain and tumultuous times. Those messages are what the fans identify with and it’s why they love them so much.

It was one of the busiest shows I seen. Almost not a single square foot of standing room spared and neither were the VIP sections or all sides of the upper balcony. The energy was loud and constant in-between songs and (again) Killing Joke was in great spirits. The grey misty weather would make all of us miserable. Killing Joke’s presence was so great that it lifted all of us out of it.

[kkoiishii]

holy fuck intro time

hello y’all!! im nathan/kkoiishii!!

i use they/them and im non binary!!

im also aroace!!

i like touhou (kkhta)/ danganronpa/lapfox trax/movieunleashers (starters)/ pokemon/ taiko no tatsujin/ bfdi/ and hfjone!!

i draw sometimes and ill probably post it on here

i listen to skrillex/ deadmau5/ mailpup/ lapfox trax/ rio romeo/ laufey/ goreshit/ machine girl/ the weeknd/ vylet pony/ and caravan palace!!

i absolutely love cds

take care!

[thisisprettybroken]

Odd Genre Time: Warehouse Music

Have some LGBTQ+ history I ran into on a wiki dive. Warehouse or "House" music was invented by a gay Chicago DJ. Frankie Knuckles' mixes of Salsoul and early Electronic music from Europe were the beat of Chicago in 1984. He played at "The Warehouse", a predominantly black, gay dance club. Look this man up because he's a founding father for what we know DJing to be today. By 1985 the "Hot Mix Five" had a hit radio show that highlighted this new sound. These were now 5 DJs that also began making long, continuous mixes that brought all parts of the world into their arrangements. With a popular radio show further standardizing this futuristic sound, more DJs joined in until it was foolish to spin anything else. In the United States, this is the nucleus of what we now recognize as Dance Music in a modern club setting. Bedroom producers who liked this sound hit their local pawn shops for cheap synthesizers.* Some people working in the area's record stores at the time recall a whole section set aside for "Tracks Heard at the Warehouse." It was tempting and profitable to make demo tapes in your bedroom because if you got played at the Warehouse you might get a record deal... So emerged this sound of Chicago gay culture. House music is gay and intersectional, spread the word. If my video above and the history behind it sound like your speed, check out: ---------------------------------------------- Larry Heard - Imagine a neon-lit gay club with this on the speakers. It's so 80's. Warehouse is often described as "textural" and this track absolutely nails it in that regard: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1N9Wnqz8Rh8 Frankie Knuckles - He was handed a drum machine by a friend who said people are making their own tracks now. Given the chance now to make his own Trax, he chose this. A tune that makes you say "This isn't house music, this is just gay sex." The song's lyrics seem to imply there's a religion-play thing going on, it's VERY gay... Let's just say don't blast this on the work speakers. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EtEPT3DvdM PHUTURE - The story about "They didn't know how to use the TB-303s at all, and they still cranked out jams with it." is apparently true and it's about these guys. Self described "Outsiders" they wanted to try making some Warehouse music. A Dj finally gave them a spin at another huge club and found that it played better to crowds later in the night who are on more drugs or just plain drunker. The beginning of Acid House. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igNBeo3QSqc -- *None of the synthesizers they used are cheap anymore :(

[rubyfire777]

personal update 7.29.2023 💫💕🌟

good things that happened this week:

had a mellow belated birthday celebration with my mom and sister. we got sweet life and played mario kart!

had the most perfect nectarine for lunch on a sunny walk after work on monday

barbie movie date with my wife! i brought my secret hearts ken doll.

late lunch/early dinner date with my wife at a little local place she found recently. it was such a nice atmosphere and the breakfast biscuit sandwich i got was sooo good

i finally watched resident evil (2002), one of my favorite movies, with my best friend over discord, and he really liked it!

had a really good churro from a local mexican place

made it through a really hard day on thursday and was kind to myself when i needed it!

bowling night and dairy queen with friends! im no good at bowling, but i did way better than usual. i think im improving with practice!

new art experiences this week:

albums:

i've been trying to tell you (saint etienne, 2021)

angelfalse (sakuzyo, 2016)

arcaea sound collection: memories of light (v/a, 2019)

pioneer (she, 2006)

chiptek (she, 2008)

rve002 (tommy holohan, 2020)

dance trax vol 32 (estella boersma, 2021)

transient (gaelle, 2004)

paranoia aspect (sven k, 2016)

movies:

barbie (2023)

new work from me:

review of absolutely perfect specimen

review of barbie (2023)

tears of the kingdom first play diary (june 8th - 15th entries)

transcription and translation of all 13 sky tablets in tears of the kingdom

[goblin-iz-whack]

Goblin's StEx ocs!

Jay the ore jenny:

My self insert! A genderfluid Ore Jenny who hangs around Flat-Top and Dustin. ADHD in full swing, loves to talk and flap their hands. Gets crushes on a lot of men- They're a bit small for a freight truck and wear goggles due to poor eyesight. Just an excitable lad.

Striker the diesel engine:

A diesel who was born with no wheels and weak legs, needs crutches to walk around. He lives in a yard in Tennessee, married to Trax, the adoptive Dad of Greaseball. A bit of an older guy, the true Dilf. Very caring and kind, but will also wack you if you do something dumb.

Laddie the kiddy train:

The engine of a kiddy train in an abandoned zoo. None of his coaches are sentient, the only reason he's sentient is because he has a small motor. Has heelys instead of skates, uses a bell rather than a horn or whistle. He tries to be optimistic but it's really hard when nobody has visited him in ten years and they took all the animals...

The Pipes/Smokebox the steamer:

A Steam Train who's boiler burst, was left wandering the woods blind, mute, and half deaf because the pipes and the explosion just wrecked him. He's mainly seen as an urban legend that's told to trainlets to dissuade them from leaving the yard, but he's very much real. He wants to find someone to fix him, but everyone runs away when he's near.

Snowy the snow plow:

A huge snow plow that reverse hibernates (sleeps all year until snow falls). Very no nonsense and rough, though also motherly, the perfect blend for an old lady. Has ice skates instead of normal skates and carries a big snow shovel around. Poppa/Momma's sister, they argue a lot though. Famous for having all the muscle and a big chest, ultimate milf. Married to Firebox, he's her malewife, and the mother of Hotspur and Coldsnap.

Firebox the Steamer:

A small steam train who likes to joke and goof off. Mans honestly has like no life outside of his wife and kids- He absolutely adores his giant wife and would worship her if she asked (she does). He spends most days with their sons, mothering them-

Hostpur the Diesel:

The literal embodiment of a puppy. He's Goofy, excitable, and honestly not that smart. Even so, he is lovable and loyal, he has a lot of friends. He was born a steamer, but was converted into Diesel when he grew up. He is a hopeless romantic and has a crush on a Sleeping Car named Virgil.

Coldsnap the Snow Plow:

Basically the opposite of his brother. Small, quiet, and thinks before he does things. He's his Mama's Apprentice, and takes his future role very seriously. When he isn't hibernating, he's trying to keep up with Snowy while simultaneously keeping Hotspur from playfully tackling him.

Gio the electric engine:

A young electric engine who failed as a racer. Gio was conceived in a test tube...but failed to impress his creators. He's a massive nerd and likes to play Sonic. He has a hard time grasping his electricity, often flaring and causing power outages. He has headgear that he has to wear most times, and he's green, so most don't think he's very attractive.

IQ the bay window caboose:

He grew up in a small flock of cabeese that had evolved to not have a voicebox. Eventually, growing tired of the silence, IQ fixed himself and learned to speak. He was kicked out of the flock, but he's fine by his own. He likes to sing terribly and play the accordion.

Nolan the Irish engine:

Hailing from Ireland, Nolan looks like a model engine: strong, handsome, a pretty coach by his side...but he's really unhappy. He's had to stifle his identity and personality in order to appease his yard. Cricket is in the process of breaking him out of all this,

Cricket the Australian engine:

From Australia, Cricket is just a happy guy. He likes wearing dad shirts and going to carnivals. Lately, he's been focusing all this optimism on helping Nolan with his trauma.

Toolbox the Therapy Truck:

Born a repair truck, Toolbox realized he wasn't all that inclined to help with actual repairing and welding and all that stuff. He settled for being Apollo Victoria's one and only therapist, much to the chagrin of his twin, Sprocket.

Sprocket the Repair Truck:

This guy is one word: Grumpy. He takes his job extremely seriously, which makes him a bit less sympathetic to certain things. Even so, this guy is basically like a toasted marshmallow: you gotta get past all the burnt parts to get to the soft middle. He's a secret romantic with a long distance partner, also likes romance novels and bubble baths with champagne.

Chug the Rescued Engine:

Once upon a time, authorities investigated a facility that bred trains and said authorities saw a million violations and shut the facility down. Out of that facility came Chug, traumatized and missing his babies. These days, he's doing a lot better. He lives with Toolbox and their dozen foster kids.

Tally the Ticketmaster:

Not a train, but a ticket machine. Tally sells tickets to human passengers, but he wants more in life. His feet are bolted to the ground, and he desperately wants to leave his post and have fun.

Bernadette the Business Class Car:

An older coach that is a reference/agent for most great racers. She raced with dozens of champions when she was younger and understands all there is about racing now. She has a new york accent, a big tooth gap, a 60s pin curl hairstyle, and loves to smoke and wear a lot of red lipstick.

[rivetgoth]

Finally got ahold of Murder, Inc.’s self-titled ‘92 album. Only full release they ever put out. I LOVE this album, it’s one of my absolute favorites and it is criminally underrated IMO. Such an industrial classic with this unmistakable 90s Wax Trax! sound and some of my all time favorite lyric work from Chris Connelly. I’d been meaning to buy it for ages (I am not consistent with physical media collection due to money lol) when I realized that it’s next to unfindable online nowadays.

[lopeirce]

FINALLY an adult version. Tired of those surveys made by high school kids? Here are 24 questions for Grown Ups!! Let’s have fun!!

1. What bill do you hate the most? Electric bill. Only because I can’t set up autopay so I forget about it constantly.

 2. When was the last time you had a romantic dinner? Idk. Like five years ago.

3. What do you really want to be? In a perfect world, I’d love to do something in social justice. I just want to help people and make the world a better place.

4. How many colleges did you attend?

Four lol. (3 community colleges and currently attending a university.)

5. Why did you choose the shirt you wore today? It was clean.

6. What do you drive? 2017 Chevy Trax. 7. First thought when the alarm goes off? If I’m waking up to an alarm, it’s usually TURN IT OFF OMG. 8. Last thought you have before you go to bed? Everything lol.

9. Do you miss being a child? Absolutely not.

10. What errand/chore do you despise the most? Dishes. I will gladly do anything else but dishes.

11. Up early or sleep in? Up early. If I sleep in too late, I feel like I wasted my entire day.

13. Favorite lunch meat? Salami.

14. What do you get every time at Walmart? I haven’t been to walmart in a minute but usually snacks. 15. Beach or Lake? Beach. Hands down.

16. Is marriage overrated? I don’t think so.

17. Ever crashed a vehicle? Nope. *knock on wood*

18. Strangest place you’ve ever brushed your teeth? In the woods while camping, I guess. 19. Name a place you’ve never been but want to go? Ireland.

20. Do you have a go-to person? Kind of.

21. Are you where you want to be in life right now? Not at all. But I’m working towards it.

22. Growing up what were your favorite cartoons? Rugrats, Doug, The Wild Thornberrys, Hey Arnold

23. What do you think has changed about you since you have gotten older? I’ve chilled out and I’m just better at accepting things.

[bringcal]

One (1) Person said Jack seems cool so I’m using this as an excuse to infodump about my OC because I love him dearly.

(REBLOGS WILL BE TURNED OFF, sorry yall)

Check out this piece I commissioned off Bugbaby 

Silly silly facts:

The symbol on his shirt is the symbol of his shitty one man “band”. The music he makes is highly experimental and I imagine resembles itself the most to Lapfox Trax Truxton’s Albums.

Full name “Jack Crosser” ... crosser is to resemble Cross hair, because his strife specibi is Riflekind and Telescopicfistkind. Telescopic fists are a toy where its basically a giant punching fist you can extend and punch people with. After alchemizing a bit he later makes a mix of the two combined with a poster to make The Breaksters Rifist ( I love the silly alchemized names as you can see )

He’s a Heir of time.

His outfit is inspired by The Matrix... which has to do with Heir of time to me

He actually didn’t always look like this. He grew up a very put together and orderly boy.  See the bottom for the original haircut.

He has snakebite piercings I just always forget to draw him with them.

His mother is a reference to military wives. His mother has connections to Jack Noir ;’3 His mother is also absolutely fucking nuts too if that wasn’t obvious.

His mothers name is Jill Crosser. Their names are a reference to the Jack and Jill Nursery rhyme.

 His mimicked scene kid looks and over the top internet-loving attitude in the start is a metaphor for something im too lazy to explain right now.

Adding onto that, he is lowkey a poser. Which is funny as fuck

His land is Land of Formation and Chambers (LOFAC). It’s filled with hot springs , statues and endless castle walls.

[lip-kwon]

"It's interesting to see the types that find themselves in here close to midnight." Lip was perched on the counter at Trax, swinging his feet back and forth as he eyed someone walking through the store with absolutely zero subtlety. "Like yourself," he turned, holding out an invisible microphone, "enlighten the people. What brings you out and about this late at night? Insomnia? Vampirism?" He gestured to a sale bin nearby, "A sudden need to own five pre-loved vinyl for five dollars?"