#the rearrangements of his songs for it too are wildly good

[pynkhues]

Better Man was fantastic imo. I have generally given up on biopics as a genre but was surpised that they managed to make something very sincere with Better Man

Right? I’m shocked by how much I loved it, and actually think some of the musical sequences (Rock DJ and Come Undone in particular) were better done than any of the ones in Wicked, which is not something I was expecting at all. They aimed for a really complex tonal balance in telling his story in a way that incorporates this heightened fantasy of celebrity and music with this very grounded and at times crippling self-loathing and self-sabotaging, and it shouldn’t work, but somehow it really does? Like it’s funny, and painful, and whimsical, and extremely real in a way that makes you forget you’re watching him tell his story as a monkey instead of a man.

And y’know, it’s an Australian film about a British pop star, and I know they’re pretty worried about how it’s going to do in the US given Robbie was never big there, but I really hope it gets good word of mouth and people give it a shot. It doesn’t completely avoid the trappings of a bio pic, I don’t think, but it feels truly like they took a risk, and when it soars as a film, it really soars.

[bigfootsmom]

Slow dancing for the soft prompts?

“C’mon, up you get.”

Eddie’s voice cuts through the gentle hiss of rain against the windows and the soft staticky music leaking from the small radio perched next to the fridge. 

Buck lifts his head from where it had been resting on his folded arms, blearily searching the now dark kitchen for his husband. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pounding in his temples and his mouth feels like he swallowed sand. 

“Wha– what time is it?” Buck asks, throat clicking as he tries to rewet his mouth. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Buck twists in his kitchen chair to look at the clock hanging on the wall. It takes him a moment to read the small numbers, but when he does finally manage it he’s surprised to see how late it is. He had planned to already have dinner ready, but the remnants of half completed prep is strewn around the countertops. Halfway through preparing the food, Buck had to sit down at the kitchen table — the ache in his leg becoming too persistent to ignore.  

“It’s time for you to go to bed,” Eddie hums, smoothing a warm palm across Buck's shoulders. Buck leans into the contact, shifting toward Eddie’s warmth like a sunflower seeking the sun. 

“Mm— not tired,” Buck mumbles, tilting his head up for a kiss. 

Eddie complies with the request, easily planting one against Buck’s lips before asking, “oh really? Why were you sleeping on the table then?” 

Buck sags, knee and hip twinging as if to remind him why. “I was just resting.” 

Calloused fingers card through his probably wildly unkempt curls, and Buck finds him sinking more and more against the solid warmth of Eddie pressed against him. Just when he thinks he could actually nod off like this, Eddie breaks the silence. 

“Is your leg bothering you?” 

Biting his lip, Buck sighs as he spins his wedding band around his finger. The warm metal glints in the lowlight of the hall light filtering into the kitchen. There are more days than not that his leg ends up bothering him. But that’s to be expected when he had fallen through the floor of a burning warehouse and landed on his previously crushed leg. Today is just particularly bad. 

Buck had known it was coming, had woken up with the telltale stiffness in his joints. But he had ignored it, not bothering to do any of the stretches his PT had taught him, hoping to muscle through like he used to be able to do. He knows that was stupid of him. There’s a small curl of embarrassment settling in his belly, and he debates not telling Eddie. He doesn’t even have a good reason he can provide for why he didn’t do anything. Not one he can articulate at least. 

In the end, he decides he doesn’t like lying to Eddie, even by omission. “Yeah, it is.” 

“Did you do your stretches?” 

Buck’s silence is answer enough and Eddie nods to himself. “Okay, c’mere.” 

Eddie gets a big hand wrapped around Buck’s bicep and helps him stand from the kitchen chair. Buck goes willingly, letting Eddie pull him up and into his arms. 

At first, he thinks they’re just embracing, and he’s not complaining about it, soaking up all the heat radiating off of his husband. Then Eddie starts rearranging Buck’s arms, getting them loosely looped around his neck before Eddie’s palms slide to Buck’s waist, holding him gently. 

The music coming from the radio is low, too low for Buck to identify the song that’s playing. But he can hear enough to realize that Eddie is moving them in a slow shuffling rhythm around the kitchen that matches the staticky rhythm humming through tinny speakers. 

“Babe, what are you doing?” 

“Dancing— we’re dancing,” Eddie replies, swaying their bodies together as they rock side to side. 

Buck shoots Eddie an incredulous look, but he just leans forward and kisses it off Buck’s face. “We can do your stretches instead, if you would like?” 

With a laugh, Buck shakes his head fondly. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but continues to follow Eddie’s lead, letting himself be slowly spun around the kitchen. 

It helps. The ache doesn’t leave him entirely, but the stiffness slowly bleeds from his joints — the slow gentle movements of their “dancing” and the warmth of Eddie helping to ease the persistent discomfort. 

Gradually, Buck finds himself relaxing, allowing more of his weight to settle on his husband. Eddie accepts it gracefully, a pillar of strength against Buck. 

“There you go, baby,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a kiss to Buck’s temple. 

Tucking his head into the hollow of Eddie’s throat, Buck sighs out, “thank you.” 

“Always,” Eddie says as if it’s just that easy. 

Maybe it is. 

send me a soft prompt and I'll write a little something!

[lookninjas]

Happened upon another “Top 10 Terry Hall” songs list today, and got all excited like I always do, just to find that it was mostly songs from the Specials’ first two albums that he didn’t write and one that he didn’t even sing (on the album; he sang it live, but still), so fuck it.  Here’s my personal favorite top 10 non-Specials Terry Hall songs:

10,  Goodbye Sun Valley, the Colourfield

I’ve got the devil in me, not the devil I’d be in Sun Valley

You know, it’s a weird thing.  On an album vs. album basis, I’d argue that The Colour Field beats out the wildly inconsistent Deception, hands down.  But on a song by song basis, Deception just has those few songs that are so damn good.  This, for me, is one of the standouts, a playful music hall number replete with tinkling piano, jazzy clarinet and horns, accordion, and that ba-da-da chorus.  One of his better vocals, too.

9.  Suburban Cemetery, Terry Hall

They didn’t see the billboard that says ‘Stay away from my suburban heaven’

I’m not going to lie; there are moments on later Specials’ albums where I kind of miss Jerry Dammers’ poison pen.  Terry Hall wrote self-laceration like none other, but he sometimes pulled his punches a bit too much.  This particular nineties alt-pop confection, however, takes aim at mild-mannered middle-class bigotry and connects perfectly.  Sugary and scathing.

8.  Sugar Man, Silent Poets feat. Terry Hall

Some thought he would shine, others thought he would fade.

The thing is, there’s a reason so many dub/electronic/trip-hop artists wanted a Terry Hall feature back in the day.  It’s because it fucking works.  This gently melancholy track from Silent Poets, with its murmured spoken word verses and hypnotic chorus, is a perfect example of why.  The video somehow manages to capture the exact feelings of waiting at a bus stop, taking part in a performance art piece, and trying not to attract attention in a psychiatrist’s waiting room, which suits the song down to the ground.

7.  Life in General (Lewe in Algemeen), the Fun Boy Three

Run to where the money flows.  That’s life in general, I suppose

The Fun Boy Three is such a cohesive album that it’s difficult sometimes to pull out highlights.  This one marries a narrative of privilege, deprivation, and indifference to simple, chantlike vocals and dizzyingly complicated percussion, and the whole thing comes off perfectly. 

6.  Walk Into the Wind, Vegas

Before you taste another tear, my love, I know a place where rainbows end

Razzies, turn your location on.  I just want to talk.

Seriously, though, if it weren’t for the Showgirls connection, would anyone have anything bad to say about this song?  It’s a slice of saccharine nineties pop perfection that stands up there with the best of Savage Garden, and it’s got Siobhan Fahey.  There is nothing not to love about this song.  Unless you think it’s cool to hate.

(Sidenote:  U2 didn’t deserve the hate for “Hold Me Thrill Me Kiss Me Kill Me” either, and I stand by that.  Their nineties glam phase is probably the most interesting thing they ever did.  Like Tom Cruise playing Lestat.)

5.  Our Lips Are Sealed, the Fun Boy Three

Pay no mind to what they say.  No one listens anyway.

A breakout hit for the Go-Gos and a UK top ten for the Fun Boy Three, this one makes all the lists for a reason.  Nicky Holland’s rearrangement on this keeps the tempo up but gentles the mood way down, taming the staccato guitar line with swirls of cello.  June Miles-Kingston’s vocals float above Terry’s in a lovely duet.  An 80s classic.

4.  The Hour of Two Lights, Terry Hall and Mushtaq

All that stands between us is the hour of two lights.

Everyone take a moment to thank Damon Albarn for introducing Terry Hall to Mushtaq.  The resulting album was absolutely nothing that anyone had planned on, with guest artists pulled in from all over the world to put their piece in, but it’s a fascinating, complicated thing.  This song is a distinct highlight -- a tangoish line for the cello and bass, floating violas and violins, intricate percussion and Terry’s vocal line, hushed almost to ghostliness.  Thanks again, Damon.

3.  A Room Full of Nothing, Terry Hall

And whoever said it was meant to be easy? Someone who knew how to cope.

Fun Boy Three’s “Well Fancy That,” saw Terry wedding lyrical devastation to a disorienting circus-like 6/8 time.  “A Room Full of Nothing” starts with a similar premise, but ratchets up the aggression with heavier organ lines and just the right amount of distorted guitar.  The vocals are smooth, confident, and mature; the lyrics are bitter and bleak.  It shouldn’t go down as easily as it does, but Terry always did wear his misery well.

2.  I Drew a Lemon, Terry Hall

I drew a lemon; I punched that gift horse in the mouth.

Terry’s wit at its absolute wickedest.  Ridiculously quotable from beginning to end, this self-deprecating ode to a divorce in progress shuffles along like its hangdog narrator, finding the funny side of all the misery.  At least he’s still got that Christmas bonus from the CIA to look forward to.

1.  Monkey in Winter, the Colourfield

We never touched.  We never kissed.  We never loved, but we thought we did.

It’s the lyrics for me on this one, honestly.  Don’t get me wrong -- this is one of the songs on Deception where the heavily 80s production really works for me.  I like how the synths sound like they were stolen from David Bowie’s spaceship.  I don’t even mind the vocal distortion.  But it’s the lyrics.  I close my eyes and I start to count the lonesome people leaving town.  It came and went the way things come and go.  What the eyes don’t see, you know the heart won’t miss.  It’s a perfect sepia-toned memory of something that might’ve been beautiful, if it’d ever been at all.  Gorgeous, gorgeous song.

Bonus:  The Man at C&A, the Specials

I’m just saying, if we have to put a classic Specials cut on every list, “The Man at C&A” is right there.

[seiwas]

im back. hi selly belly ily how r u

im currently listening to this love by maroon 5

and I was just thinking abt pale blue (mays yk it) and OMGMGNGKDBGKDNFKDKD the brainrot is real?!!?!!!

THEN i started listening to corpse and hot demon bitches near u started playing. and oh my god the things I’d let sugu do to me. I DO HAVE A LIL CONCEPT IN MY BRAIN THO and it’s actually completely irrelevant to everything I’ve said before this BUT REGARDLESS. MEGUMI TIME

that was so chaotic..made no sense but it’s ok! incase u couldnt tell i think my brain got like……rearranged and put upside down. and that’s why it’s all skrunkled around in there ANYWAY

ive been trying to think abt the music all the jjk men would listen to, and megumi is puzzling me. because I can’t decide if he’d listen to like………….corpse, metal etc bc quiet emo boy = loud aggressive music ofc BUT WHAT IF HE LISTENS TO CLAIRO AND LUNAR VACATION AND JACK STAUBER. WHAT IF HE LIKES RLLY SOFT STUFF AND HES JS AN ANGY BABY ON THE OUTSIDE. i have to know. so I thought I’d share with u and see what ur opinion is on gumis music taste bc gumi brainrot 💔💔💔 ANYWAY i hope u have an amazing day ily be safe

— anonnie 💌

nonie 💌 hello!!! 🥹 lovely to have u back!! 🫶🏻

am doing good!!! spent the day w my bfs family hehe wbu!! how r u!!

omg the way music just brought u on a journey aksnsknx the last time i felt this was when i listened to lizzy mcalpines entire discography and ended up attaching each song to some hq/bnha/jjk boy 😭 w plot and everythING 😭

but!!! what is ur concept!!! i am curious!!!

and as for megumi omg . u know 🥹 i think gumi’s music taste is wildly diverse 🥹 but !!!! i do hc that he’s such a snob abt it 😭 will listen to metal and stuff like clairo, lunar vacation, etc., alt rnb, and indie stuff bUT !!! if it’s mainstream he won’t touch it . 🥲 (is that an ick? if it is, i think that’s his…)

stargazing by the neighbourhood always reminds me of him, along with pretty by col3trane & mahalia and!! omar apollo stuff too!! (those r personally the kinds of songs i think he could be listening to) but as a general rule of thumb . i think . gumi’s music taste is probably everything yuuji DOESN’T listen to 😭😭

this was so cute of u to ask nonie, i hope you have the best day too! ily 🫶🏻

[etherealino]

the things i do with you — l. minho

synopsis: minho wasn’t feeling the best, prompting him to call you. so you decided to do things with him.

genre: idolverse, fluff and also, soft!minho

warning(s): swearing, minho having a bad day, mentions of beating up (bcs of the movie reader was watching lmao)

wc: 1.2k

note:  for @missinghan​ we’ve been screaming about minho lately, so this is just perfect. ily, sweetheart, to more screaming withy you. 🥳  also im sorry i suck at titles, i hate it. i’m going through it. i miss the boy. and we’re given one week break from school yay. excuse the grammatical errors, i didn’t proofread.

with the loud ringing from your left, your body rose from the sheets as you looked at the side to see your phone wildly making the said sound. you groaned lightly, turning to your back as you picked your phone. you slid your thumb across the screen as you pressed the phone against your ear. “hello? good morning?” you mumble as you slowly close your eyes, the comforting sheets lulling you once again.

“it’s 1 am, baby.” you hear from the other side of the line, a light chuckle following. ah. so it was minho. you smile, lightly chuckling yourself. “did i wake you?” minho questions and you hum, shaking your head ‘no’. when minho doesn’t hear a thing, he calls, “baby?”

“huh? i mean, no.” you say, not wanting to feel him bad. you open your eyes, rubbing your eyes as you sit up on the bed.

“i take that as a yes.” minho says. “i’m sorry baby. you should go back to sleep.”

“no, no!” you said, panicking lightly not wanting him to end the call as well. “i’m awake, already. it’s fine, baby. how are you?” you ask minho and he only responds with a hum.

minho who was on the other side, looks up at the ceiling of the dorms, thinking of what is he supposed to say. he doesn’t usually pour his feelings out to you when he feels bad, he just hugs you until he feels better. there was just something about today that he felt the need to call you and hopefully, maybe tell you about his day.

“min?” you call gently. 

“can i come over tomorrow? later, rather.” minho asks and you hum.

“of course, baby. you don’t need to ask, you can come over anytime.” you answer and minho smiles lightly. “what are you doing right now?” you ask as you wait for him to answer.

“watching attack on titan.” minho answers as he stares at the tv screen, but not really hearing the sounds as he lowered the volume earlier so the other members won’t wake up.

you stand up from your bed, snuggling yourself on minho’s hoodie that you are wearing as you walk to your living room, opening the tv as you played a movie (captain america: the winter soldier, to be specific). 

“is there a reason why you called, min?” you ask.

“i know, i don’t usually vent my feelings out—”

“you can.” you cut him off. minho holds himself from speaking, knowing you still have something to say. “just because it’s not what you usually do, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to, you know?” you said and minho let his head fall on the head of the back rest of the couch. “...i know, lee know.” you mumble and minho laughs lightly. “tell me, go on.”

minho smiles, shaking his head. he really was lucky with you. “i just.. i couldn’t get anything right today. it was frustrating, i didn’t want to talk to anyone but i just.. i need  your comfort, y/n. i couldn’t even get the new song right. the choregraphy, i somehow keep on fucking it up. and...” minho cuts himself off with a light chuckle. “it’s not helping that i’m missing you—it’s only been a week since we last saw each other, but i don’t know. i’m really missing you.”

you chuckle lightly. “i miss you, too, darling.” you smile. “just.. take it slow, min. you’re amazing, you know? you just really need to rest for a bit. you’ve been overworking lately, i noticed. just take it slow. you’ll get it, better than just right. we have those moments, you know? that’s normal. so, don’t beat yourself up because of it, alright?”

“thank you, y/n. you’re amazing.” minho says and you smile.

“anytime, love.” you said. “i love you.”

“i love you more.” minho says and you could hear him lightly pouting.

“what are you doing now?” you ask.

“fixing this corner in the dorm. it’s kinda messy.” minho answers with a light chuckle. you look around your living room and see your unorganized bookshelf. guess, you can fix that as well. you stood up from the couch, turning the speaker mode in the call as you placed it on a table as you rearranged the books. “by the way,” minho says. “how was your day today?”

“alright.” you answered. “it was mom’s birthday, remember? i went to their house and everyone was there. they were looking for you. especially my niece. she wanted to call you but i stopped her, thinking we would catch you at a wrong time.”

minho lightly chuckles and smiles. “looks like you got competition, y/l/n.”

“i do.” you say with a laugh. “i’m just a lucky dame that you picked.”

minho smiles gently, humming lightly. “believe me, baby. i’m the one who’s lucky between the two of us.” minho says and you sigh, smiling at your phone.

“you’re... unusually sweet.” you say. “i mean, you are sweet but there’s still teasing. but  right now, non of that, huh.”

“you’ll get the original minho back tomorrow.” minho says with a light laugh and you laugh lightly.

“alright, then. what time will you come tomorrow?” you ask as you stack up the last book. you clapped your hands, removing the dust and taking a sanitizers to clean your hands.

“afternoon. i just want to cuddle with you.” minho admits. usually, he would say he’s going to do you a favor and cuddle with you but here he is right now. straightforward saying that he wants to cuddle you. you could get used to the minho. but your teasing minho was something else. either way, you love minho with all of your heart. “i’m gonna go eat something.”

you grabbed your phone, walking to the kitchen as you open your fridge and pull out a pint of ice cream. you pulled a spoon, uncapping the ice cream and started to eat. 

“baby?” minho calls.

“yeah, min?” you ask.

“are you.. doing what i’m doing?” minho asks.

you laugh lightly. “yes.” you answered, having a spoonful of ice cream. “i don’t know. i just thought that it’d be nice to do things with you even if you’re in another place.” you said with a laugh. “you know, like what we usually do just except you’re in the dorms, i’m in my unit.”

“yeah.” minho mumbles. “thank you, baby. that’s sweet.”

“i once saw mom did the same with dad when he had a trip and he felt kind of sad.” you said as you ate your ice cream. “that’s why i did the same. i hope it somehow lifted your spirits up.”

“that’s nice. spirits lifted the moment you fought your sleepiness just for me. i know how much you love to sleep.” minho says as he eats his own leftovers from dinner today.

“you’re an exception to everything.” you said with a smile, eyes locking on the tv screen as you watched bucky beating the best friend he forgot all about and steve letting bucky as he says the line that you love the most. “minho?”

“yeah, baby?”

then, you repeated the line: “i’m with you until the end of the line.”

minho smiles widely, completely forgetting about the shitty day he had. you are his love, his home, his safety haven, his everything at this point. minho could deal with the shitty days that were to come, knowing this won’t be the last one, but just as long as you’re there with him, he’s ready for what the universe is about to bring him, whether it be good or not. because he is with you until the end of the line, too.

[mechahero]

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

1. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚?

Lambda smells like vanilla most of the time! It’s sort of his main scent in between all the strawberry or tropical fruit body sprays he tries. Though if you’re close enoughLike smooth metal, usually. They’re warm and sometimes if he’s still healing, you can run your hands over them and feel scratches and indentsthe metal. to him, you can pick up the sharp smell of iron. (And it’s not from the metal from his body either.) He only uses enough for it to be pleasantly tolerable… except for the times he doesn’t and the overpowering smell of artificial vanilla is used to cover the sickly sweet smell of decomposition when his bi-monthly rotting begins.

2. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚’𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚?

Like smooth metal, usually. They’re warm and sometimes if he’s still healing, you can run your hands over them and feel scratches and indents in the metal.

3. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙮?

To put it simply: a lot. Cereal (or sometimes eggs) for breakfast and whatever he wants for lunch and dinner. In between, he’s constantly snacking due to his high metabolism.

4. 𝘿𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚?

He thinks he’s decent enough. Nothing too good to be a chart topping superstar but not bad enough to not sing songs and post them on the internet. He sounds way better than he gives himself credit for. Lambda’s capable of belting out songs and hitting high notes like nothing else. And I mean high notes. He could probably shatter a window if he went any higher. He’s also got this neat little trick of rearranging the internal mechanisms around his vocal cords so he can produce guttural growls, screams, and high notes he can’t quite reach with his normal voice.

5. 𝘿𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙨?

Oh yeah.

He’s incredibly hot headed and reacts on impulse instead of thinking things through. His tendency to snap back verbally or throw a punch whenever someone says anything slightly rude to him gets him in far more trouble than he’d like. His habit of speaking without thinking when he’s mad

He tends bite his lip or fiddle with things when he’s nervous. Bracelets, necklaces, hair, hoodie zippers. He’ll fidget around and try to make himself smaller depending how awkward he feels in the current situation.

6. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 / 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧?

Lambda most of the time is content to just go out in a hoodie, a t-shirt and jeans. That doesn’t mean he just has a closet full of hoodies though. He owns a ton of clothes in wildly varying styles as he’s still trying to find his niche or he just likes the clothes, though you won’t see much of his cuter clothes in public. On days when he’s confident enough, he’ll be dressed in flashier clothing. It’s just as common to see him in a leather jacket, big dangly earrings, spiked belts and bracelets, necklaces, and chokers. Basically? He looks like the early 2000s scene craze ate him up and spat him back out, as it’s that perfect blend of looking somewhat casual and going all out with clothing and makeup that he craves. 

And heels of course! He doesn’t have much in the way of shoes though, since his nails tend to tear up whatever shoes he might have unless they’re custom made, but he does have some decent pairs of high heels and boots.

He does wear more “masculine” appearing clothing in public but he doesn’t really shy away from blending “feminine” clothing and jewelry into his outfits. He is very much into being gender non-conforming in regards to his clothing, because if you’re a nigh-powerful death machine, who’s going to tell you not to wear heels and makeup? Nobody, that’s who!

Well nobody aside from himself anyway. The only thing stopping him from going ham with his clothing are his own nerves. (He does sort of worry about what other people think of the way he dresses or he believes he just wouldn’t look good in it.)

And on even rarer occasions, he’ll be confident enough to rock a skirt (with ripped tights or fishnets! That’s very important!). These instances are exceedingly rare though.

7. 𝙄𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚?  𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝?  𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙤?

Lambda is clingy, regardless of the kind of relationship he has with someone. Of course, he does behave differently depending if the relationship is platonic or romantic. Around friends, he’ll hang around them a lot. He’ll compliment them if they’re wearing something nice or they’re showing off the newest trinket they’ve got. He does have trouble being verbal about his (platonic) affection for them and he’s not physically affectionate with them, as he worries about coming off as too weird. So he’s content to give them his time and energy, and spend his time talking with his friends about whatever and he absolutely will have their back no matter what they do. Wanna take singing lessons? He’ll tell you to go for it! You’re gonna be great! You’re on a baseball team? Well, he’s not much of a sports guy but you’d bet he’ll be there in the stands cheering for you regardless of whether you win or lose.

It’s way different if he’s dating someone though. He’s super affectionate and touchy, often hugging his partner, holding their hand, cuddling. Pet names aren’t really a thing with him? Or at least, they’re something he needs to work up to without nerves getting in the way. He can’t flirt worth a hill of beans and his compliments often boil down to “you’re cute/handsome!” or him shooting them flustered looks.

Both friends and romantic partners are subjected to bad puns. Lambda loves him some bad puns and he loves tormenting people with bad puns. He also likes to give his friends and partners nicknames. That’s just something he does no matter who it is.

8. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙣?

He likes to be warm and cozy! He starts out curled up (as he believes that if someone were to come in and stab him to death, they probably couldn’t hit much if he was curled up)before he starts to toss and turn from one side to the other because he can’t stay in one position for more than a few minutes at a time.

He can’t sleep properly unless he’s holding something (or someone) or listening to something, like a video. He has stuffed animals on hand for this reason, one of them being his beloved cat plushie.

9. 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢?

It depends. Lambda’s usually pretty quiet unless he’s with friends or if he’s pissed off. He’s way louder with friends, not to the point where you can hear him from another room, but he’s pretty loud. (Vocal regulation? He doesn’t know her.) You’ll be able to hear about what he’s talking about from just how loud he is.

It’s far different when he’s angry. If you can hear him from across the hallway or from another room, then he’s really pissed.

Tagged by: @moonglittering​ (ty!)

Tagging:  u lol

[kyotakumrau]

2021.06.11 sukekiyo 奇行少女・kikou syoujo -jet black ceremony- at Nakano SUNPLAZA

SE destrudo intro

01 aftermath

02 focus

03 celeste

04 グニャ結論。そして血眼。・gunya ketsuron

05 襞謳・hidauta

06 死霊のアリアナ・Ariana

07 嬲り・naburi

08 接触・sesshoku

09 首吊り遊具・kubitsuri

10 白濁・hakudaku

~ventilation break・windchime~

.

~session~

11 夢見ドロ・yumemidoro

12 愛した心臓・aishita shizo

13 Valentina

14 濡羽色・nurebairo

15 鵠・kugui

16 anima

~anima piano session~

17 ただ、まだ、私。・tada, mada, watashi.

report under the cut↓

I arrived at the venue early to make sure I can get the demo tape times two (but they actually had a good number of the cassette tapes, it was other items like the long sleeve tee that got sold out, the tee by ~75th person?).

I arrived at my seat a bit before 6 (start was 6:30), this time I was on the right side of the audience around 10th row. I really liked how the side rows were angled towards the stage, the view was very good and chairs were comfortable😆

There was the usual curtain/seethrough screen in front of the stage, but no back screen. They had usual sukekiyo setting for the members' equipment placement, utA on the left, Mika's drums back left, surrounded by plexiglass screen to block the sound between drums and Kyo's stand. Takumi's kingdom was back right, with all his keyboards and guitars. And then Yuchi front right, with his bass, upright bass and chaos pad etc.

After the announcement with the performance rules, the theater buzzer sounded and they slowly walked on the stage, starting with Yuchi, Takumi, Mika, utA and then Kyo.

Yuchi came on the stage wearing a black coat/jacket but he took it off later on, he had a white shirt with a small black print, fitted black pants and platforms.

Takumi had a ponytail and a jacket.

Mika, I could see him the least, his hair is quite short now, wore black shirt?

utA had a colorful jacket a bit like sukajan? floaty black pants and some silver chains. His hair is between chin and shoulder length now.

Kyo wore I think the same outfit as in January, long, oversized black coat, white shirt, black shorts, pink (red?) tabi boots. Gold accessories like rings, chain and pearl earrings. All MADARA except for the boots.

Takumi was so right in his message on twitter - the feeling like a flashlight of their 7 years of playing - when they started with destrudo/aftermath/focus/celeste I felt like I was suddenly back in 2014~15! But there were some rearranged bits, different guitars, different drum sound here and there etc. And the stage was so bright compared to their early years😂 but it still really brought me back.

The front screen was showing lyrics and various visuals, commenting that Mika is a genius is mandatory each time♡

During Celeste Kyo started to dance a bit and opening his coat more, which continued even more into Gunya Ketsuron, dancing and moving with the lyrics.

Yuchi is always so interesting to watch, drumming the chaos pad or playing wildly on his bass. He's rarely standing still!

For Shiryo no Ariana Kyo turned to his stand and sang while using effectors there, his face was projected on the front screen in black and white, but not real time feed all the time, there was a really nice looping effect used.

I love love love Naburi's madness🖤 every each time I want to start dancing, be it on the train, on the street or at sukekiyo's seated concert. The latter the only one when in the end I endure sitting still...mostly.

Video for sesshoku changed, but the marching sound stayed very strong. A big DOPE appeared on the front screen several times. Kyo had his arm up as in a salute.

And more dancing (on the stage and in my heart) during Kubitsuri Yuugu. Kyo also pointed at the audience when singing.

And hakudaku next! Woah!

it felt like Kyo sang that last 愛してる instead of the usual おやすみ when soon after he turned softly and walked off the stage, followed by the rest of the band.

Not sure how other people felt then, but for a brief moment I froze in panic - I knew it's too early to finish the show, so why were they leaving???

But then the message appeared on the screen

'We will be taking about 5min break to ventilate the venue. The buzzer will sound when the show will be about to restart'.

And I love how the band utilized the ventilation break to create two different parts of the show, I felt the mood following the break was quite different. During the break we could hear soft wind chimes.

Then they came back and started with a session. Holy moly, that session!! Kyo was using the PIPE  (a mouth controlled synthesizer), I loved the bass there! Kyo also used the mic at his stand from about halfway through.

夢見ドロ is such a soft song, not a heartbreaking one like some suke songs can be, but softly vulnerable. 'There's no sin in love, please love this me, please love the free/unrestricted me.'

And then the live premiere of 愛した心臓・aishita shinzo (heart that loved). It's a soft sensual song with retro pop elements. 'one finger, two fingers, tongue. One love, two bodies. [cute my babe] Don't let me sleep'. Kyo was singing dancing softly as the lyrics appeared on the screen. '男も愛せる貴方を愛してる罪。愛彩'

Valentina meant more dancing from Kyo, the video on the screen was the retro racing game (if I'm not mixing it up). Nurebairo connected so well with the lyrics, it all was creating a story of longing, grasping. Kugui after was so beautiful, I think it's been a while we got to hear it live🖤

anima was followed by the session of piano and singing, it's something they usually do but you're never quite ready for. Very raw, each time. 'the broken heart, memories become pain, falling into a night hoping you love me'..

tada, mada, watashi at the end was amazing until the last note. The end credits were shown on the left side of the screen. Kyo finished with his hand stretched out then just softly turned and walked off the stage, we could hear his careful footsteps.

We started clapping, the piano version of Zephyr was played then. utA put his fist few times on his heart looking at the audience before leaving. Yuchi put his hands together in thanks. Takumi waved and nodded when leaving. Mika stood up at his set and waved his arms.

When leaving the venue we received picture tickets 🖤

[rainbowtransform]

Neither Of Us Will Be Missed

OKAY! Chpater Two is here, up and running! Thank you for reading, thanks for listening, thanks for reblogging and liking! :D

He climbs the trees and the leaves rustle as he settles. The trees are one of the most important parts of hiding from Hunters, and even though Dream’s Hunters usually know his tricks and could try to cut him off, these one don’t seem to. Cat jumps onto the tree and slips off, falling on his feet.

Shame, come Dream’s thought, unbidden. If Cat broke his leg, then he’d be out of the running for the Jump at least. They’d have to leave him behind. Then again, Flame came after Dream with a broken wrist a couple Jumps ago. There’s no way to judge when they’d leave behind a teammate, or when a teammate will let themselves be left behind. 

But if Dream keeps jumping in the trees and if he shakes enough leaves, they’ll think that he can’t be silent in the trees.

(Hide, right now. Dream, hide, hide, hide)

He manages to look through his inventory again, and he rips another loaf of bread and chucks it overhead. The Hunters’ eyes snap toward where the bread dropped and Dream holds his breath. They end up going that way, and Dream sneaks toward the right. 

The first time they’d Jumped was when Dream was killed the First Time. He’d been sent right into a grassy plain, empty except for a sleeping Hunter next to him. Dream had nothing with him, no food, no supplies, nothing. The Hunter looked the same way, but Dream didn’t stick around long enough to exanime it.

Dream had set off running. A sleeping Hunter wouldn’t be sleeping for long, and even though it took the Hunter a long time (maybe three months? Maybe two? Dream couldn’t remember) to Hunt and Kill him, Dream won’t let it happen a second time.

(He survives this one for almost a year. He sees how desperate the Hunter gets and how reckless he gets as well. Dream watches as the Hunter steps into lava for the upteempth time, trying to get to him, seething silently.

Dream called him ‘Flame’ afterward.)

--------------------------------------------------------

He ends up by a river and he looks through his inventory again, searching for a water bottle or something to fill up. There’s nothing and Dream clicks his tongue. That’s not good. But it isn’t the first time he hasn’t had anything.

Why do you have Netherite? Only Hunters get it.

Dream shrugs it off. Hunters are usually the only ones who get Netherite, but then again, ever since they’ve entered the Jump, they’ve always been set back to the beginning. Dream swims across the river, all the while wondering why the Jump suddenly wants them all to have Netherite.

It’s weird, Dream decides. But the Jumps are all weird and Dream’s nothing if he doesn’t take it in stride. When Dream makes it to the other side, he climbs out, shivering. The air’s cool, and Dream takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air. Winter, Dream thinks.

It’s almost winter. 

The Jumps always start in Spring.

The Jumps… always start in spring.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Is he really not ours?”

“Yes! See the mask? Ours is more chipped, plus there’s no scar on his hand. See?” And here his hand’s yanked forward, and flipped this way and that, and he’s annoyed.

“Can he break it?”

“Break what?”

“The curse? The Reset?” 

“What the fuck is that?”

“Every time Mask kills a dragon, it resets him. Or every time we kill him.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “So what or why are you looking for this ‘mask’?”

“He helped a traitor escape.” Bad says. “Emperor Schlatt deemed him an accomplice and sent us to get him.”

“But if we knew what he was, we wouldn’t have even taken the job.” George claims, setting down a piece of bread into Dream-who-isn’t-Dream’s hands. 

“What is he?” He asks, tearing the bread into little pieces and eating it like that. 

“He’s a Marked.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Dream falters when he comes to a huge hole in the ground and things are built on stilts. There’s a bunch of houses, but Dream sees balconies and second stories. 

If he gets caught, he can jump from one place to the other; and the roof’s always a good option as well. He’s debating it when someone’s hand sits itself on his shoulder.

He grabs the hand and throws the person over his shoulder and slams him into the ground. A man with green and white hat and green clothing stares up at him.

“Hey,” Philza Minecraft, the World’s first Hardcore-born child says. “Whatcha doing here, mate?”

--------------------------------------------------------

Dream read and heard all about Philza back when he was younger. His mother would sit him down and read him stories about how Philza used to build big things in his world, and how he’d fought two dragons! 

She even told him about how all Hardcore-born children were sent to live in a normal world until they were old enough to realize that once you die in Hardcore, you’re dead. (By that point, many of the children never wanted to return to their Home Worlds), and Hardcore Worlds began to die out.

Philza Minecraft was born and hidden from people who searched for children to send away. How his parents didn’t want their child to be sent away from them, and how so they hide him deep underground. (The older generation had wings that they, apparently, grew themselves. Philza’s parents figured out how)

Hardcore is a hard place to raise children, but it’s even harder to raise a child privately. But at the same time, Hardcore is where wings are grown and minds are sharpened. Philza’s mind was as sharp as can be when his wings were just starting to form on his back. 

“He loved to fly, just like someone else I know,” Dream’s mother would tell him, holding Dream close to her chest as she rocked him. “And he wouldn’t stop flying, not even when his parents begged and pleaded.”

“What happened to him?” Dream asked fuzzily.

His mother hummed. “He didn’t die,” she said. “But some say his wings got clipped and he no longer could fly. Instead, he decided to settle down and adopt three children. Technoblade,”

“A rival,” Dream sleepy calls him, and Puffy laughs so hard, he almost gets up. 

“Technoblade, a rival and so called ‘Blood God,’” she agreed. “Wilbur Soot, self-proclaimed musician and lyric lover. And TommyInnIt, a child who had seen too much in the tiniest amount of time.”

Dream laughs a bit. “He’s a kid?”

“A teenager by now,” Puffy tells him. “You really like listening to these myths huh?”

“They aren’t myths,” Dream says. “They’re real, aren’t they?”

Puffy chuckles. “Of course, duckling,” she said. “As long as you believe in them, then I’m sure they’re just as real as I am to you. Right?”

“It’s a belief thing, right Mom?” Dream asks. Puffy ruffles his hair and begins rocking him and humming a song he hasn’t heard in a long time. Dream falls asleep to his mother’s humming and thinking about a family of four.

(And somewhere else, a hand grabs a teenager’s and helps him climb out of a ditch. A man with wings big enough to keep four boys underneath them blinks. “I’ll see if I can scout out a place,” he says.

“I’ll come with,” a piglin hybrid tells him. 

“Okay, son. Tommy, Wilbur. You two stay here, and make sure we’ve got something to eat when we get back, okay?”

“Got it, Dad.” Tommy says before grabbing Wilbur’s arm and beginning to tug it.)

--------------------------------------------------------

“Is it true?” Dream blurts out, and Philza looks back at him when they’re safely in his home.

“Is what true?” Philza asked, hands on his hips.

“That you were the first Hardcore child in millions of years,” Dream gestures wildly to the wings tucked tight against Philza’s spine.

“Uh, no?” Philza said. “Who told you that?”

“My… my mom,” Dream mumbled and Philza laughs. 

“Moms say a lot of things,” he says before checking out the window again. “Techno told me you might be coming.”

And Dream stops breathing.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Marked are people with magical ability,” Sapnap says, roasting a rabbit over the fire he’d made. “They can do basically anything if they really set their minds to it. Philza Minecraft’s a Marked ‘cause he can fly, you know? Technoblade is because he can Shapeshift; so’s TommyInnIt who can make anyone attached to him like a sort of family thing? And Wilbur Soot can use his Words to destroy someone from the inside out.”

“Dream’s pretty powerful,” Ant says, pinning up some laundry to dry. “He created the End Realm, you know? It wasn’t anything until he’d somehow did something and made it occupied with dragons, eggs, and those Endermen things. We think he started the Jumps too.”

“If we kill him permanently,” Bad says. “Then the Jump will stop, and we’ll all start going back to normal.”

“How long have you been trapped here?”

Bad takes a deep breath, and so does George. Ant and Sapnap don’t even glance up before George says, in a low, low voice “We’ve been doing this for twenty years.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“Breathe,” Philza says, slapping him on the back. “I won’t turn you in. You’re acting weird, but that’s just normal.”

“I don’t think I belong here,” Dream blurts out. Philza stops and turns to look at him. 

“What do you mean?” He asks.

And Dream spills everything. This is Philza Minecraft. He’d know what to do, if anything. (He even talks about how the Jumps work, and how it’s whenever he died or when the dragon dies, but never when the Hunters die, and Philza’s eyes light up.)

He takes a moment, and looks carefully at Dream, and then rearranges his wings (which look burned out, with holes in them and Dream can’t help but think: that shouldn’t be there.)

He looks away for a moment, thinking back to his childhood memory of big fluffy wings that can wrap kids around in them, powerful enough to fly so high in the sky while holding onto his children, and then Philza’s unfurling his wings.

And they look perfect. And Phil looks over at him, and something clicks in his head.

“Oh, mate,” Philza tells him. “You’re the reason the Jumps started.”

Dream’s silent. His hands shake, and he says, in a completely emotionless voice: “What?”

--------------------------------------------------------

@theseventhreincarnation [;)]

[gureishi]

Happy birthday @this-mess-of-a-song!!! 

Hope you have a day today that’s as wonderful as you are ♡

The pairing for this fic is Song X Everybody hehehehe~ Oh and uhh the Saeran here is GE Saeran but also no I don’t know what route this is set after annnnd that is all I have to say (lol) I really really hope you enjoy and I’m sending you lots of love and hugs <3 <3 <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You give the café door a gentle push and it makes a pleasant jingling sound—but it does not budge.

That’s strange, you think. But everything is strange today: it’s strange that Jaehee asked you to come by in the middle of the day. It’s strange that the shop is locked. It’s strange that you haven’t heard a single word from any of them all day long—especially considering what day it is.

You give the door another curious shove. No: it’s definitely locked. You try and peek through the little window, but the glass is foggy and you can’t see much of anything at all. You’re starting to feel a little bit annoyed.

“Hello?” you call. Oh, and as soon as you speak there’s a sound from inside: a sort of shuffling—soft voices—chairs scraping against the floor. 

Oh, you think, your heart racing. Are they…?

The door opens.

You are expecting to see Jaehee, and so you’re surprised when Yoosung is the one at the door. He beams when he sees you and reaches eagerly for your hand.

“Hi,” he chirps. He leans toward you, head tilted, eyelashes fluttering: oh, this is his please kiss me face, you think. You bury a hand in his soft hair—a beautiful mess as always—and press your lips to his. He practically vibrates.

When you pull back, he looks dazed—and for a moment, he just gazes at you. He has stars in his eyes, you think. He squeezes your hand and you smile into his beautiful face.

There is is a sound somewhere behind him; the lights are dim and you can’t quite see. Yoosung startles out of his reverie—stepping aside, still holding your hand. “I forgot,” he murmurs, giggling. “There’s also…”

Oh.

You scan the room and, for a second, you forget to breathe. The tables have been rearranged, and the lights are low. Seated all around the room—at the tables, and on the tables, and behind the coffee bar—is everyone.

Your skin feels hot. You can’t remember the last time you saw them all together like this; you find yourself counting, looking from one to the next to the next—they really are all here.

“Yoosung, stop monopolizing him,” drawls a sweet voice from the corner. You turn, and Zen is loping toward you, tossing his hair over his shoulder with characteristic grace. Yoosung pouts, and Zen wraps his long arms around you. His sweet scent makes your head spin.

“You look good,” you tell him, because he does; you can feel his chest rumble as he laughs.

“I always look good,” he says, drawing back so he can see you. His intense gaze sweeps up and down your body, and you suddenly feel very exposed. “You look perfect today, darling,” he sings. You smile.

Zen is leaning closer to whisper something in your ear when the general chatter in the background gets louder. You hear the word hypocrite, and you can’t help but laugh. Your attention is in high demand today, it seems.

Jaehee comes around from behind the coffee bar and slips an arm around your waist, pulling you into the room.

“Has anyone,” she murmurs quietly, so only you can hear, “even said happy birthday yet, sweetheart?”

You laugh, pausing to wrap both arms around her waist. She’s still got her pristine little apron on, even though she’s clearly closed the cafe early—and she looks almost painfully adorable.

“There’s been kind of a lot going on in the last few minutes,” you tell her. She shakes her head and you tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

“But you’re the most important thing of all,” she insists. There’s a stubborn look in her eyes.

“You didn’t need to shut down the cafe for me, though!” you say. She smiles your favorite smile: it makes you think of the wind in your hair and the sound of ice cubes in a cool drink.

“I attempted to pay her for the lost time.” Ah, a deep voice behind you: you turn and Jumin is slowly unfurling himself from his chair, his dark eyes glittering. “But she would not allow it.”

Jaehee says something in response, but he isn’t listening. He’s holding out his arms for you with a sort of sparkling determination on his face.

You go to him and he envelops you. His lips brush your forehead; his breath is warm against your skin.

“I consider myself to be a very patient man,” he murmurs. “But my patience was running out.”

“You were very patient,” you tell him, and he squeezes you a little tighter. It’s easy to overwhelm him with praise, you’ve found—easier than you would’ve imagined. He’s spent his whole life being praised—but praise from you seems to mean something else entirely.

“You flatter me, my little prince,” he whispers. Your heart skips a beat.

“How do you do that?” you ask. He draws back, and there’s a puzzled expression in his eyes. He doesn’t know, you think—he has absolutely no idea how mesmerizing he is.

“Do what?” he acts. It’s a genuine question, which makes you laugh. 

“Tell you later,” you whisper into his ear. You’re pretty sure he shivers.

At Jumin’s side is Jihyun—sitting quietly, waiting for you with a placid smile. You turn to him and he takes both of your hands.

“Happy birthday, my beloved,” he says. And his voice is so soft—especially amidst the chatter that’s growing louder all around you. Jaehee is back at the coffee bar, checking something in the oven; there is loud laughter coming from a corner. You lean over Jihyun to hear him better and he runs his finger across your palm. It’s somehow not ticklish, when he does it. His touch is like warm spring rain on your skin.

“How,” you ask, bending to kiss his cheek (he flushes), “did you manage to all be in one place at one time?”

Jihyun tilts his head to the side, thoughtful.

“You,” he says at last. You’re finding it hard to catch your breath. It’s almost too much, all of this at once; your legs feel weak.

Jihyun is still seated, and over his head, you can see three figures in the very back corner. You smile, because of course that’s where they are.

“Go,” he murmurs, sensing where you’re looking. “Say hello to everyone. I’m not going anywhere.” You squeeze his hands and slip between the tables, making a beeline for the corner.

Saeran meets you halfway.

He’s standing almost as soon as he sees you looking—and he comes to you on quick, quiet feet, with flushed cheeks and a tender smile.

“Were you surprised?” he murmurs. You cup his cheek with one hand and he leans into it; he is, you think, practically purring.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you say. He hums, and you close the distance between you, pressing your body into his. He is gazing at you with immeasurable love in his eyes—he always looks like this, you think: like he wants to dissolve into you.

So you kiss him. You feel him melt; his arms wrap easily around you—and he is cloud-soft, star-bright.

He murmurs a word into your lips that tastes like love. You pull back and his clear eyes are sparkling.

“It’s all a lot, isn’t it?” he whispers. You see the way he’s looking at you: like he alone notices that your legs are weak. It is a lot. But his cool hands on your skin are soothing and his smile gives you strength.

“I’m good,” you tell him. You are.

Behind him—perched on the edge of a table, somehow looking perfectly at home and wildly out of place all at once—Vanderwood raises a hand in greeting.

“Come here,” they say.

Grinning, you throw yourself into their arms.

Automatically, their rough hands fall to your waist. They make a tiny sound—a low chuckle—and toss their head as if to say I was expecting that.

But you can feel the way their heart is racing, and that is a dead giveaway. They don’t know quite what to do with you, you think (and the thought makes you proud).

“Come here often?” you ask, and they roll their eyes, hands drifting to your hips.

“What do you think?”

“Hard to say.” You move closer; their grip on you tightens.

“Don’t get carried away,” they mutter.

You shrug. “You’re the biggest surprise of all,” you tell them—and they laugh, fingers hooked through your belt loops.

“I think I can handle one day with this group,” they say. You tangle a hand in their hair.

“You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

They raise their eyebrows.

“Don’t push it.”

You give them a fleeting kiss as you pull away—and you don’t miss the way their cheeks color.

Off to the side, curled into a chair with his arms and legs draped every which way, is Saeyoung. He raises his eyebrows, grinning mischievously.

“Saving the best for last?” he trills.

“Who said that?” You linger, hands on your hips, as if you don’t plan on going to him at all.

He growls—his hand shoots out—and in a heartbeat he’s pulled you to him. His face is just a hair’s breadth from yours and there’s a glittering look in his eyes (as if he’s saying you’re all mine, now).

You lift a hand, running your thumb over his bottom lip, and he grins.

“Everyone’s watching us,” he says.

“And?”

His eyes widen, and a devilish grin spreads across his face.

He kisses you deeply—and you’ve been kissed so much already today that your lips feel almost swollen, but you curl your hands into his hair and let him take your breath away. He pulls back—too quickly—and you whine.

“I wish you could see the look on your face right now,” he says. You look into his molten, dizzy eyes.

“Same goes for you.”

Saeyoung spins you around, wrapping an arm around your waist. From this vantage point, you can see the whole room and everyone in it: they’re chatting with one another, and laughing, and sampling coffees—but you know why they’re all here.

They’re here for you.

“You’ve got us,” Saeyoung whispers in your ear. “All of us.”

You don’t doubt it for a second. 

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 13

hey y'all. happy update. sorry i've been so quiet like... literally everywhere. it's been, a lot lately, as you can imagine. i'm doing my best on my end and i hope you are too. i'm coming back to things. slowly.

if you like, come give me a follow over on twitter where i’m more active, or on twitch where i’ve started streaming. (username is omnistruck for both, but i was afraid that linking would nix the post from the tags ;;)

hang in there.

29 July, La Tortue. You in?

Luka has been, quite frankly, working his ass off like he never has before.

Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. He remembers at least sort of working this hard to study for the bac, even if by most standards he nearly passed by the skin of his teeth. And he remembers at least sort of working this hard to find a paying job once he could actually have a job. But those ventures were for other people. To make a school district look good. To put food on the table even when he did n’t much feel like eating himself. This… he might even say this is the first time he’s worked so hard for himself, taken every bull he could find by the horns and steered it toward this club Bubbles has been hyping up, instead of figuring out where the things he loved decided to take him.

…Okay, and maybe he’s been doing some of this with Marinette in mind. But it isn’t entirely because of her, and he’d be dead and buried before he’d admit that Juleka’s right about this.

But what’s so bad about having a reason to work so hard? What’s wrong with calling the band together to practice when they’d been so lax about performances before? And what’s so bad about having a face to focus on in his imaginary audience whenever he closes his eyes? Or about having their setlist running like ticker tape in his head whenever he has a quiet moment in between deliveries? Or about splitting his attention between his messages to Bubbles and the tireless search for that perfect shade of blue music in the middle of the night?

Isn’t this what drives art? A color, a smile, a touch of the hand? Doesn’t this stuff launch ships and pen poetry? Isn’t it the little things, the things that are inconsequential to almost everyone else, that makes a painting into a masterpiece, or a song into a symphony?

Juleka says it once at the end of practice. Mostly with a jerk of her thumb and the hollow drawl of, “Get a load of this guy.”

Luka barely hears it, mostly because he’s crossed the room to study a heap of sheet music and rearrange it for what feels like the third time this hour. But he has enough spare energy, between writing and erasing and rewriting, to raise a middle finger behind him.

“Oh, come on,” Rose laughs, stepping back from the microphone; in seconds, he can feel her looming over him, studying with him. He doesn’t mind it, or how she rests her chin on his head, simply because they’ve known each other so long. “You just wanna get it right for our big break, right?”

Luka’s gotten a lot of things right; it’s easy to do when he keeps the bar for “right” on the ground nine times out of ten. He doesn’t want to get it right. He wants to get it perfect. And, as it turns out, the tenth time is the most finicky son of a bitch he’s ever dealt with. Which is saying something, when he’s been at the mercy of hungry customers more times than he can count.

“We’ll get it,” Rose encourages him with a friendly kiss to the top of his head. Her voice sounds tired. Maybe even worn. “But it’s not gonna go anywhere if you leave it alone for a while. I promise. Come on, let’s give it a rest.”

After a moment, he sighs, rights his papers, and rests his forehead on the keyboard he’s had to use as a makeshift desk. It makes the most distressing mix of notes in protest, but he hardly winces; it’s not like he’s ever been able to play it properly, anyway. “Fine,” he relents. “I’ll make you some tea and meet you upstairs.”

A shift in the air tells him neither Rose nor Juleka believes him. In the end, Juleka says, “Fine,” and Rose unravels from him, and their footsteps fade up the stairs.

With a sigh, Luka lifts his head from the piano, sure that the keys must have left some kind of mark, and finds Ivan still there, seated half-uncomfortably behind the drum set and twirling one of the sticks in his fingers.

“Juleka gave me The Look,” is all Ivan says, but it’s enough of an explanation. They’ve all been on the business end of The Look before. Even Rose, and maybe Luka more than most. He can see it in his head from the words alone.

“I get it, I get it,” Luka says, and he sets to work putting the kettle on and fishing out a couple of teabags and mismatched mugs from the cupboard. “You want a soda? Last one before we go grocery shopping—”

Ivan shakes his head. “You have it.”

Luka tosses him a water bottle instead, impressed by how he downs half of it in one go, dismissing his apology when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The kettle’s still going. They’ve got time to kill.

“She… kinda has a point,” Ivan mumbles after more than a beat of silence, like he’s uncertain about being too honest. Luka’s always thought he had nothing to worry about—Ivan’s much more tender than first glances would have others believe, and maybe tiptoes more than he should to fight those first glances. But he’s also had more than his fair share of overthinking the right words to say when music doesn’t suffice, and of regretting the words no matter how he ends up stringing them together, so he can’t really blame him.

Luka decides to bite. “What d’you mean?”

“I dunno,” Ivan says, which usually means that he does know but is looking for the right way to cushion his words. “It does kinda feel like you’ve gone into turbo mode about this whole gig. But like, Luka-Couffaine-Style Turbo Mode.”

“Is that better or worse than the average?”

“Well… it’s definitely different. It’s like you tune everything out and go… I guess, somewhere inside yourself that the rest of us can’t see.” Ivan shrugs. “I guess maybe she’s worried that it’s so nice in there that you won’t come back out.”

Luka smiles grimly at the stovetop. “You’re not gonna tell me there’s no I in ‘band,’ are you?”

Ivan laughs and takes another swig. “Nah, that sounds like something a guidance counselor would say. More like… it’s okay to come out sometimes.”

Luka bites his tongue and resists the urge to joke that he already does it every time he meets someone new. Instead, he busies himself with turning off the kettle and making the tea. “Hey, uh… you don’t mind if I ask you something weird i do you?”

“I’m already scared,” Ivan jokes, “but go ahead.”

Luka pauses, tea bag in hand. “How did… you and Mylène get together?”

When he turns, it’s hard to say just how Ivan’s expression’s shifted, but he knows it has. Reminiscing, maybe? Or is that... cringing? Or—for better or worse—understanding? “I, uh, wrote her a song. It… didn’t exactly go well.”

“What d’you mean, it didn’t go well? You’re dating, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but. “Ivan shrugs. “It’s not like we just magically came together or anything. There were hiccups, I guess. You know?”

Luka knew hiccups better than the back of his hand. “So… what happened?”

Ivan tells him everything. How he liked Mylène and how sometimes it felt like everyone knew it but her. Or how maybe she knew after all, but didn’t want to, now maybe she even pretended she didn’t to let him down easy. How he buzzed from head to toe just sitting next to her in class but barely talked to her because he didn’t feel like he had the right to. The nights he stayed up thinking about it, wildly swinging back and forth between what if she doesn’t? and but God, what if she does? How he was teased and goaded by his classmates into finally gathering up the courage to confess to her, and humiliating them both with that stupid, loud song. And how, at the end of the day, all she needed to do was read the lyrics.

“It didn’t have to be perfect,” Ivan tells him. “It just had to be good.”

Luka smiles to himself at the end of it all, and feels his stomach turn, and wonders in the silence if all Marinette needs to do is hear the notes.

“Is it?” Ivan asks. “A girl? The one you’ve been posting about?”

Luka doesn’t say anything. He only takes the tray of drinks, and gives a little shrug, and nods toward the stairs. He gets the feeling Ivan would know without words anyway.

Cause I’m in. In fact, I’ve never been more “in” in my life.

[davemaney]

Concert review: Charley Crockett makes magic when Sam & Dave meet Ernest & Forrest

Charley Crockett played Rochester NY for the first time ever last night, bringing a wild burbling mix of American roots music forms to an enthusiastic crowd of about 350 twenty-somethings and a few old folks.

He and his Blue Drifters band were playing their first show after a self-imposed two-week COVID shutdown of their national tour, which found the group looking a little stiff and sounding a little rusty out of the gate.

Even so, Crockett proved to be a flat-out revelation. He’s like anti-venin for the formulaic data-driven music era we find ourselves living in -- a delightful mashup of Ernest Tubb, Louis Armstrong, Sam & Dave, George Jones, Hank Williams and Dwight Yoakam with a smiling sprinkle of Forrest Gump to wrap up the package.

Crockett and Co. opened the show with the spaghetti western-esque “Run Horse Run,” which proved to be the first of a remarkable 27 songs they performed. Crockett’s syncopated vocal phrasing is always addictive and unpredictable, and his thrift shop cowboy vibe onstage feels far more hipster than bro-country.

The repertoire over the evening ranged from a few James Hand songs, including the sweetly sad “Midnight Run” and the wonderful honky tonk “In the Corner, At the Table, by the Jukebox,” to the Memphis soul sound of “I Won’t Cry.”

Crockett’s autobiographical tribute to his hometown in Texas’ Rio Grande Valley, “The Valley”, was perhaps the show’s emotional highlight. “This song means an awful lot to me,” Crockett said in his introduction, “and I hope it’ll mean a lot to you too.” The simple first-person narrative winds sadly through the hardship and loss of his dysfunctional childhood before offering a gentle and universal benediction:

“Now you know my story/I bet you got one like it too/May your curse become a blessing/There ain't nothing else to do”.

His band, led by wildly talented multi-instrumentalist Kullen Fox (who plays the trumpet with one hand while playing his Hammond B3 organ with the other!) got tighter and more enthusiastic as the show went on.

The crowd remained in rapt attention through the entire 100-minute show and for the encore, Crockett and the Drifters rearranged themselves around a single old time bluegrass-style microphone to sing and the hill-and-holler “Hello Maybelle “ before finishing, appropriately, with the traveling song “’Round this World.”

Crockett and his band are crowd pleasers and entertainers. Unlike many modern artists, it’s not hard to imagine him being good performing a Hee Haw comedy skit with a revivified Roy Clark and Buck Owens -- and that’s meant entirely as a great compliment. Crockett’s personal charisma, fascinating persona and obvious talent feel like they’re capable of propelling him to significant stardom.

[parkerspicedlatte]

Sicko (Part 1/2) Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Dom is a snuggly puppy. 

Content: Fluff

Pairings: Dom+Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: IDK naked people???

"Love, why are you still sleeping?"

You felt something wet drag down from your cheek to your lips. There was no need for you to open your eyes to know that the wet somethings were actually Dom's own lips. Infact, you were  sure that it would be nearly impossible to open your eyes due to the blinding lights you knew would be clear to greet you and amplify your headache. 

The bed dipped a bit on either side of your body seconds before it started rocking back and forth lightly.

"Baaabe," you groaned. The rocking stopped. The subtle pounding in the front of your head continued, it matched the pattern of a horseshoe hitting concrete whilst in a gallop.

Something lightly brushed against your nose, like a feather being run over your face. You brought a hand up to brush it away but nothing was there. The hand dropped beside your head on the pillow. Then you felt it again, a light flutter across your nose. Once, twice, thrice. Your eyes opened hesitantly to guard against the daylight you'd anticipated but relaxed when something moved to block it. The something giggled above you. Your eyes revealed a mop of dark stringy hair falling over a pair of bright green eyes.

Dom shook his head ever so slightly causing his hair to brush against your nose again. You smelled minty breath when he leaned in to kiss your nose while giggling before moving onto your cheeks. Both of his knees were on either side of your hips leaving his fists to support his weight from either side of your pillow.

"Mornin' love," he mumbled into the side of your neck he'd buried his head into.

"Morning, how long have you been up?" Dom was still dressed for bed but you knew that he hadn't just rolled over to wake you up judging from how energetic he was. That and the fact that nobody wakes up with minty breath.

"'bout an hour, maybe half-" Dom smiled at you. "You were sleeping pretty hard and I didn't want to wake you. Are you feeling better at all?"

You'd gone to bed earlier with the beginning of your current headache and an impregnable urge to sleep for days. Unfortunately your symptoms had only magnified themselves and brought their friends. Now you had a sore throat, a stuffed head, and some major chills on top of the headache and fatigue.

You shook your head to answer Dom’s question with a saddened  ‘no.’

“I think I’ve got a cold.” You pointed at your throat and pouted pathetically.

Dom looked at your half wakened pouty face and found himself pouting as well. He didn’t like to see you not smiling. He watched as you rolled over onto your side and nuzzled into his right forearm. He shifted his own body to lie on the bed properly in front of you so that he could pull your body into his chest. Once he was satisfied with the way you were tangled in his own body, he positioned the blankets so they made a faux cocoon around you. Dom brought his left hand up to run it through your loose hair, brushing stray pieces from your face.

You watched him for a few seconds as he did this but were not able to keep your eyes open. On a good day you would have been made sleepy by someone playing with your hair but in your condition, you didn’t stand a chance.

Dom pressed sweet kisses to your head as he watched you fall asleep again. He made a mental list in his head of the things he’d need for you.

Soup 

Medicine 

Immune Boosters

Once he was sure you were asleep (once more), he cautiously slipped out of bed but not before he rearranged the covers and his pillow to seem like there was still a body beside you. He didn’t want you waking up looking for him. He knew if you were half asleep you’d accept the pillow as his body. 

He put a note on top of your phone on the side table.

Went too the store, be back in 20

You smiled at the bright pink sticky note on your phone, The misspelled word on top of the fact that the note was pink just made it totally him.

You pushed back the covers looking like a drunk trying to swim and stumbled out of bed. You didn’t even notice or care about the pink socks littering the floor or the jumpers thrown over the chair in the corner of the room. The only thing on your mind was your mission to find something to dull your headache and a bucket of water to wash it down with.

When Dom came home he placed the bags on the kitchen counter and took off towards your shared bedroom to look for you. He heard the shower running two doors down from the masterbedrom. The bathroom door was not only unlocked, but left halfway open. The trail of clothes started a few feet from your bed to the bathroom, an article of clothing every yard or so. Dominic frowned, that was definitely not your style. In fact you would have not been pleased if he’d done that. He knocked on the door as he stepped into the room.

“Love?”

“In here,” you answered from behind the shower curtain.

Dom bent to pick up the discarded clothes on the floor and put them on the dirty laundry hamper.

“D’you need anything?”

“No.”

He peeled back the shower curtain and chuckled to himself at the sight. You were sitting on the floor of the tub under the hot water, letting it flow over you. Your head rested on your knees that were pulled up to your chest and held by your arms. 

“What’re you doing love?”

“Letting the steam help with my headache.”

Dom thought for a second. “If you had shut the bathroom door you’d probably have more steam in here you know.”

“Probably,” you sighed. Dom dropped the curtain back into place. You could hear fumbling then metal clicking against the counter top. The shower curtain opened again but this time from behind you. You felt the water deflect momentarily as Dom stepped in and sat down, letting his legs move in on either side of your body. He moved his body close to you, leaning in so that his chest was pressed against your back. His wet arms snaked around your torso, his fingers spread and carefully traced every inch of skin that they could reach as he did so.

Ever so slightly he rocked your bodies side to side, both of you wordlessly enjoying the feeling of each other’s skin. Dom hummed softly into the space between your shoulder blades then he quietly transitioned his humming to singing lowly.

 I’m okay in the day, I’m staying busy

Tied up enough so I don’t have to wonder, where is he?

Got so sick of crying, so just lately

When I catch myself I do a 180

 By then he was completely drenched. The water that ran from his head, trickled down your back and over your shoulders to meet back with his clasped arms. His humming, the warm water, and the slow constant movement of your bodies began to make you drift off again. Dom noticed this and chuckled against your skin.

“Love, I’ve got to get up,” he murmured, lips ghosting your neck. “Come on baby.”

Your boyfriend carefully slid away from your body with a kiss on your cheek.

Slowly but surely you straightened your back and stretched out your arms and shoulders, a satisfying ‘pop’ followed by multiple cracking sound echoed through the room.

The warm, therapeutic shower water trickled to a stop suddenly.

“Hey,” you whined.

Dom smirked at your behaviour and ran his fingers through your soaked hair to squeez the excess water out. “Come on love,” he cupped your cheek, “-’bout time to get out.” He held out a hand for you and helped you to stand so you wouldn’t slip when you accepted it.

He was already dried off and was wearing a pair of  wildly patterned sweatpants. A towel was held open between between the length of his outstretched arms. You felt like a child at bath time but didn’t argue with Dom. If he wanted to baby you, you’d let him for the time being. Your boyfriend tenderly wrapped your naked body in the clean smelling towel then proceed to carry you in his arms to the bedroom.

“I can walk you know.”

“Shhh love,” Dom kissed the tip of your nose then set you down on the bed.

A/N: 10 PTS to whoever can tell me what song he was singing without looking it up. Who wants a P2. Might just leave this as is but I kind of want to do a second part. I’ve got a few fics on the go but they’re for other fandoms so let me know so that I have an idea what to focus on now. 

A big thank you to @roseycal​ for saving my ass and helping me tear this apart and put it back together properly! You are my Queen! <3

Also tagging @interstellarrambles​ cause they asked me to lol

[sheewolf85]

New Fic: My Monsters Are Real

“Call a doctor, say a prayer Choose a god you think is fair 'Cause my monsters are real, and they're trained how to kill” --Monsters; Shinedown

Kidnapping Edge and Slim’s significant other was a bad idea. You tried to tell them that. They didn’t listen.

Tags: Badass Reader, Polyamory, Kidnapping, but not of a kid, reader is taken, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, tough skellies being soft for their sweeties, gender neutral reader

Notes: Music is one of my biggest inspirations for fic. A song can spark and idea and I'm hopeless to do anything else until that idea is written. This is one such example. The song is "Monsters" by Shinedown. The song isn't exactly...this, but this is where my brain took me, because there's something so delicious about our boys protecting and avenging their lovers.

Read on AO3

Or read here!

The room was dark, shadows playing along the dimly lit walls as the three men in the room paced in front of you, gesturing wildly, angrily as they shouted at each other. They blamed each other for their situation, for all the little mistakes they’d made along the way. If the bearded one had just been a little more proactive, if the tall one had been faster in sending the letter, if the redhead had planned better from the beginning, if, if, if.

But the real truth of the matter was that they’d fucked themselves over the moment they chose you.

Their plan had probably been simple enough. They had enough decency to want to leave kids out of it, so they planned to kidnap the partner of the rich monsters on the hill for a ransom. Easy, right?

Well. No. Not considering who the monsters were. None of them were bound to cave to a little threat, and the men probably would have gotten off easy if they’d taken something with an actual monetary value attached like Slim’s sport car or Edge’s custom motorcycle, both worth millions.

You had known from the moment you woke up three days ago that you wouldn’t get out of this unscathed, but you would, eventually, get out. Your monsters had made that promise when you’d taken your vows. They couldn’t promise to protect you from any and all harm; that would have been irrational. You were married to some of the most influential monsters this side of the void; there were bound to be a few people who had it out for you.

You shifted a little in the metal folding chair you sat on, wincing as your shoulders cried out in pain. Your wrists were bound behind you, your feet tied to the chair with scratchy rope that had already left a rash on your ankles. You were going to enjoy a nice, long bubble bath when you got home, that was for damn sure. Hopefully one with bookend skeletons gently massaging all your sore spots.

“The answer’s pretty clear then, isn’t it?” the bearded one shouted at the others, turning to point at you with a dirty finger. “Just fucking kill ‘em. Get it over with. We ain’t gettin’ the money, I can fucking guarantee that, so just cut our fucking losses, cut their throat, and leave their body on their front lawn. Teach them a fucking lesson.”

You really tried not to snort at that. They could never understand the absurdity of that idea.

All three men turned to look at you. The tall one stalked forward, a mean scowl on his face.

“What’s so funny, bitch?” he sneered.

You licked your bloodied lips and lifted your chin. You’d already tried to explain to them how badly they’d fucked up, how much better off they’d be if they just released you, but none of them would hear it. They were all so convinced they knew what to expect from your monsters.

You maintained eye contact as you spoke, one of the first things that had pissed them all off. You were supposed to be a scared, meek little human who would cry in a corner if they so much as looked at you. How wrong they were. Your monsters had taught you better.

“You can do whatever you want to me, it really doesn’t matter.” Your voice was hoarse, little more than a scratchy whisper after no more than five sips of water each day. “They’ll get revenge for what you do to me. You have to know that. You have to see that it’s going to be so much worse for you if you kill me.”

The tall one lunged forward and slapped you across the face hard enough to send the chair rocking back precariously on two back legs before settling back upright. You felt the warmth of fresh blood as it trickled down your cheek.

A glint of something off in a dark corner caught your attention, and you only let yourself look that way as you spat out the chunk of lip he’d made you bite off. You didn’t let any emotion show on your face, but inside you were already sighing in relief. That tiny spark of burnt orange was your salvation. The subtler crimson glow in the other corner only meant double safety.

You smiled, never minding the pain in your mouth as you laughed out loud.

“I think you broke ‘em,” the bearded one said.

“Me?” you spat, sitting up as straight as you could. “You honestly thought you could break me? You have no fucking idea who my monsters are, that much is painfully obvious. Trust me when I say they’re going to find all the ways to break you, every bone, every spirit, every fucking molecule. You’ll be wishing they’d just have mercy and kill you.”

“You stupid fucking--”

Before he could finish his sentence, the redhead screamed out in pain and fell to the ground. The other two jumped back, horrified to see a glowing rusty bone sticking out from the back of his knee. Still writhing, he began shouting at the others to help him as they started to scramble away.

Oh, but they were so far beyond help. You couldn’t help but laugh again as Edge corralled them all. Slim appeared beside you, worry in his eye lights as he sliced easily through the ropes binding you.

“are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, gently cupping your bruised face. His eye lights were so small they were barely visible, his anger so palpable you nearly shrank away from it. But this was Slim and that anger was not for you.

“I don’t know if ‘okay’ is the word I’d use right now, but I will be. I knew you’d come for me.”

He only nodded as he silently assessed your visible injuries. “‘course we did. ‘m just sorry we took so long.”

You would have waved his concern away if he wasn’t holding both of your hands in his, his fingers trembling as he ever so gently ran a finger over your chipped and cracked fingernails.

“Slim.” Edge stepped up to the two of you, his features simultaneously softening in his affection for you and yet tensing in his rage at seeing your state more clearly. “Take them to the cellar, please,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let me get them home.”

Slim clenched his jaw, his internal war visible on his face. He so wanted to stay by your side, but the idea of being alone with your captors was all too appealing.

You smiled as best as you could and gently squeezed his fingers. “Go on, Slim. I’m not in any shape to shortcut right now. Just...leave some for Edge, will you?” You added the last part with a nod of your head toward the three men wrapped in a glowing crimson rope, and if their agonized expressions were anything to go by, you’d say Edge had packed a little too much intent into it.

Slim huffed but nodded. He lifted your hand only half way, leaning down to meet it halfway and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it, careful to avoid the scrapes there. He stood up then and shook himself to loosen up a bit before going to grab two of them by the chins, forcing them to crane their necks too far to look at him.

“y’all fucked up, you know that?” he asked in a tone far too loose for how angry you knew he was. “but hey, it’s okay. it’s all good. know what my role was underground? i was the one who taught people lessons. they did bad shit, i taught them how to not do that anymore. so i’m thinkin’ maybe i ought to teach y’all some lessons. lesson one, anatomy. how many bones are in the human skeleton? two hundred and six. lesson two, how many bones can i break before you die? now that’s a good question. not sure i know that answer yet. let’s find out.”

As Slim spoke, Edge began tenderly gathering you into his arms. You kept your winces and groans to yourself. He knew you were in pain; he didn’t need to fear that he was making it worse.

“You need to breathe, Love,” Edge said softly. “Don’t worry about making noises. You can cry out if you need.”

You shook your head stubbornly; you wouldn’t do that to him.

He only smirked at you and rearranged his hold on you before taking you out to the car. On the way, you looked behind him in time to see Slim disappear with your three captors.

Ex-captors. It was finally over.

Edge settled you gently into the passenger seat of Slim’s Bentley, leaning over you to buckle you in before hurrying around to the driver’s seat.

Once home, Edge carefully carried you inside and set you on the couch. You melted into the familiar comfort of it as Edge went around getting things ready for him and Slim to care for you and your injuries.

Sitting alone on the couch, the silence of the room seemed to get louder with each beat of your heart. You had survived, as you’d hoped you would. You hadn’t let yourself get scared, not once, because you trusted your monsters to come save you. But now, in the safety of home with your monsters there to comfort you, all that fear finally bubbled to the surface without your permission.

Your stomach felt hollow and your chest ached with too much pressure. Your chin wobbled as tears gathered in your eyes. Why did you have to be weak? You’d been so strong for so long, why did you have to be weak now when your monsters would see it?

A soft noise caught your attention, and you looked over to see Edge place a try with some tea down on the coffee table. He hurried to your side, concern on his features as he gently touched your cheek.

“Love? What hurts the most? What can I do?”

You shook your head. “It’s not pain,” you managed to whimper. Yes, you were in pain, but none of it was causing this sudden rush of so much fear you weren’t sure how to contain it. “Edge...why am I scared?”

Instead of the confusion or unbearable hurt you’d been expecting, his features softened into an understanding you were sure was worse. He pulled you into him as gently as he could and wrapped his arms around you, holding you to him securely.

“You were so strong, Love, so brave, just as we taught you. You’re safe here, and you know it. You need to let these emotions feel themselves out. You were scared, but you didn’t let yourself experience it. I know, because I know you. It’s okay to let yourself be scared now.”

You nodded into his chest and ignored the sharp sting of scabs scraping against his shirt.

He held you as you cried, let you weep and wail into him as your body shook from the force of it. Slim appeared at some point, didn’t say a thing, only sat on your other side and wrapped his arms around you and Edge, encasing you in a cocoon of comfort.

You were going to be okay. Your monsters would make sure of it.

[write-place-write-time]

Keeping It

[ Can be read as a sequel companion to “Lost It” and “Found It”, or as a standalone ]

“Silent night, holy night….”

Molly sang softly to the curly-haired head of her boyfriend where it was settled over her heart, her fingers sifting through the strands soothingly. The Christmas tree was tall and willowy, sitting in the corner by Sherlock’s favorite window. Its soft twinkling lights cast warmly over the mound of presents (most of which were labeled “To: Rosie”) and spilled over the floor to meet the blazing glow of the fireplace.

A rumbling sigh accompanied Molly’s sotto voce performance as Sherlock’s long legs shifted under the down comforter. Where she was sitting propped up by pillows and John’s old chair, he was sprawled, bare feet poking out from the end of the comforter-pillows-and-quilts nest they’d made on the floor after wrapping all of Rosie’s and their friends’ gifts. He settled against her, arms shifting around her waist as he enjoyed her singing and hair-stroking.

Molly ended the carol with a smooch to Sherlock’s forehead. “I know you just got comfortable, but I need the loo.”

He lifted his head to mock-glare at her. “Inconvenient.”

“My bladder?” she chuckled. “Yes, well, transport and all that.”

With a melodramatic groan, Sherlock rolled away, letting the pathologist escape their cocoon. He watched her in her over-sized tartan pyjama set -- last Christmas gift from her late father -- go to the bathroom and close the door before he scrambled to his own feet. He watched in the mirror and kept an ear out for her as he carefully lifted the Santa hat and reindeer antlers headband off of “Billy” the skull, and plucking the small wrapped box from atop it. Carefully, he replaced everything, settling back down in their Christmas Eve nest where Molly had sat.

Sherlock studied the small present: it was wrapped in an iridescent blue-green paper with silver trim (subconsciously matching the giver’s eyes), the size of the box and the care with which the wrapping was done indicated high-value gift within, likely an engagement ring. With a self-indulgent smirk, Sherlock mapped out his plan.

Molly would come out of the loo, all pink-faced and smiles, and return to be cuddled by her boyfriend. Sherlock would hold her tight, and murmur his deductions of the holiday (the frankly appalling romanticism, the snow outside the window, the silly traditions of what they were doing for this pagan celebration, etc) before sauntering into his best deduction yet -- that Sherlock Holmes wanted to be Molly Hooper’s husband.

He had the plan. He had the ring. He had the nerve. He just needed his pathologist.

Right on cue, there was the sound of water, the squeak of the door as it opened, and the shuffling of small bare feet. Secreting the present away in the pocket of his pyjama pants, Sherlock looked up to find he was off to a good start: Molly’s face was indeed smiley and pink. 

“Oooh, switched places?” she giggled, kneeling to join him. “Right, so you’re gonna sing my favorite Christmas song and stroke my hair?”

“You will not hear me sing ‘I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas’, I’m afraid,” he smiled at her. “Hair-stroking is however more than available.”

“Mmm, good,” she scrunched her nose as she leaned in to kiss him. What should have been a swift kiss of affection soon became a clinging, heated, low-laughter affair -- Sherlock pulled away reluctantly when the insistent digging of the gift box into his hip won out. Starry-eyed and well-snogged, Molly shifted to lean back against him, pulling the comforter over their legs.

They were content to just sit for a few moments, Sherlock holding her to him with one arm around her waist.

“Molly,” he murmured, deciding this was it.

“Sherlock.”

“You realize what we are engaging in is horrifically stereotypical of the romanticism that plagues this pagan celebration?”

Molly smiled, nodding. “Oh my, yes.”

“The Christ-child -- if he existed -- wasn’t even born in December. The star the shepherds and wise men followed would have been seen in that particular part of the night sky in spring--”

“Suddenly you know astronomy? It’s a pagan celebration miracle!” Molly giggled, pulling his hand from her waist and kissing its palm.

Sherlock couldn’t even roll his eyes at her jest; they’d come so far since Sherrinford in January, and her ease in taking the mick out of him only made his Yuletide decision more concrete.

“Tell me,” he said, switching gears, “when is the correct time to open Christmas gifts?”

“Christmas morning, at least in my family.”

“Mmm. We always did either stockings or one gift on Christmas Eve,” Sherlock mused, a faint memory distracting him off course. “I vaguely remember receiving my first violin… and Eurus smiling.”

Molly squeezed his arm and hand. “Good memory?”

He thought about it, seeing the small girlish smile as he unwrapped the gift she’d no doubt been a part of procuring for him. The glint in her crystalline blue eyes was so merry. The memory fizzled as he nodded. “Good memory.”

Molly smiled. “Well, we could do a gift each tonight? Revive an old tradition? Make a new memory?”

Not the plan but it works nicely, Sherlock thought. “All right then.”

Molly whirled around in his lap, straightening up, and grinning wildly. “Yay! Um, who should go first?”

Sherlock blinked at the sudden shock of enthusiasm, recovered, and smiled. “I can guarantee I have the more clever gift--”

“Wanna bet?” She smirked, determination and confidence in her dimples. “I hid yours from you for weeks!”

“I hid yours too, Dr. Hooper, so there.”

Molly turned her elfin nose up at him. “Well, Mr. Holmes, I’m not a consulting detective. You may be slipping in your abilities.”

Seeing his opportunity, he leaned in and let his voice growl. “Not at all, going by my most recent and most brilliant deduction, Molly.”

The air was heady between them, and Molly’s pink cheeks flushed darker in the firelight. “Oh!”

Sherlock kissed her briskly. “Enough stalling. I have your Christmas Eve present.”

He pulled it out of his pocket, rearranging the slightly bent silver ribbon. If his hands shook at all, neither mentioned it.

“And I have yours!” She held up a long slim gift, the wrapping paper a cheery gold. They switched parcels.

Sherlock held onto the gift from her, refusing to deduce it, and focused instead on Molly and that little box. She was admiring the wrapping paper, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Clever boy, matching your eyes,” she teased. “It looks too pretty to open.”

“I shan’t open mine until you open yours, so….”

“Oh, all right then.” With the precision found only in the hands of medical examiners and surgeons, Molly peeled back the paper to reveal the small velvet box.

Her breath caught, and Sherlock’s nerves got the best of him, the words tumbling out giddily.

“It-it occured to me recently that I am not exactly who I thought I was. I have been a pirate, a graduate chemist, an a-addict,” he stammered, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “I have been a fugitive, a prisoner, a dead man, a resurrected man, a consulting detective. I'm a newly realized middle child, a pain in the arse, a friend, a godfather, a boyfriend. I’ve been tortured, I’ve told horrible, hurtful lies, and nearly destroyed all that I have been, am, and could be.”

Molly’s eyes, shimmery with emotion, lifted to meet his. “But you didn’t destroy it. At all,” her voice shook.

“But for the grace of a God I am afraid might actually exist,” he smiled, “and the grace of my friends, family, and you, Molly.”

She shared his smile, a tear threatening to fall from her lashes. Sherlock set his own gift nearby, and took her hands and the unopened ring box in his.

“What I have been, I cannot change. What I am, I have realized, is more than I ever thought to be,” his voice grew softer. “Which then begs the question: what do I want to be?”

Together, they opened the box. The simple white-gold ring sparkled with the modest sapphire flanked by two yellow topaz gems. Simple, clean, and ultimately Molly.

Sherlock swallowed thickly. “Molly, I have deduced that I very much want to be your husband. Would you -- may I -- can I be your husband?”

Their eyes met, and Sherlock felt like he was hurtling off the roof of St. Bart's again -- the air was sucked from his lungs and impact was inevitable.

The tear on Molly’s eyelash did the fall for him as she blinked rapidly, head nodding fiercely as she croaked, “Yes. Yes, please.”

They laughed goofily at their nervous bumbling around the proposal and acceptance, hugging and kissing through tearful smiles. Sherlock slid the ring on her finger, happy that she liked it and that it was sized to perfection. He kissed the palm of her left hand, then kissed her lips and held her to him.

After a blissful, affirming moment, Molly pulled away. "Oh! Your gift!"

Sherlock chuckled as she searched the tangled quilts and comforter, finally finding the gold-wrapped present. She situated herself to sit practically in his lap, holding the rectangle in her hands.

"Sherlock."

"Molly."

"You have been many things. And you are many things." Molly's smile grew wobbly but she bit her bottom lip and handed him the gift.

Sherlock lifted a brow in confusion to her face, then proceeded to tear open the wrapping. He pulled a curious white and pink plastic stick out -- his breathing stopped as he turned it over to read the small screen on the stick.

Pregnant.

A numbing silence rang through his brain as he whispered the word. Molly shifted in his lap and he instinctively looked to her.

"I know you've just asked to be my h-husband," she stammered, "but would you also like to be a daddy?"

Sherlock laughed, shouting "Yes! Of course! Oh, can you imagine the brilliance of our progeny? How far along are you? Oh this explains your preference of sparkling cider to wine tonight! And I thought it was just holiday weight, but no! You're carrying our baby!"

Well, he did so in his head. In reality he was staring at Molly, mouth soft and slack, silently weeping. Molly, not a stranger to Sherlock's buffering, cleared her throat and touched her hand to his cheek, swiping a tear with her thumb.

The touch worked and Sherlock blinked back into the tangible universe.

"Baby?" he whispered.

"About eleven weeks now, yeah," she smiled. "I suspected a couple weeks ago. John confirmed it for me."

"John knows?" Sherlock chuckled. "Explains his smug attitude all week."

Molly kissed his cheek. "When I took this test, I panicked at first. Just for a second. Then I thought of you, how much I loved you, and decided that no matter what, I was keeping it."

His smile grew -- Molly was a modern woman and of course would be responsible. But to know that she’d still want his child….

“Forgive the hyperbole but I am the happiest man alive, Molly.”

They shared another smile, Molly falling into his arms. She took his hand in her newly be-ringed one and placed it low on her belly where a small solid bump was growing. Sherlock’s heart pounded, and he sank his free hand into Molly’s hair, stroking softly.

After a few moments, he began to sing softly to his fiancee and their unborn child.

“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas…”

[bittysvalentines]

Cafes and Triumvirates

From: @hargreeves-and-wine 

To: @omgtranspoindexter 

Summary: Love is a mosaic, if one takes the time to think about it. The way we feel for those who love is comprised of all the moments we share with them. In sickness and in health, for better and for worse. Over the course of a day, Chowder, Dex, and Nursey find themselves dwelling on moments that make them fall in love with their partners all over again. 

Rating: T

Content warning: One mention of offscreen (but legal) drinking.

Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoy this fic!

                                             Chowder - The Morning

Wiping down the windows was a chore normally despised by anyone who had ever worked in a restaurant. There were always the streaks that could never be properly cleaned away, no matter the angle at which you wiped them. Reaching up to get the top edges would often result in the cleaning liquid running down your arm. Hell, it only took a bug that was flying haphazardly for your hard work to be ruined.

Yet Chris regarded it as the second best part of doing the opening shift; the first, of course, being the pastries and cookies that were delivered first thing in the morning from Bittle’s Kitchen down the block. From their perch 15 inches off the ground, they were able to reach and clean the windows with ease. Each swipe of the squeegee helped reveal another slice of the daily lives of the other residents of Samwell Street. 

There was Lardo, putting the finishing touches on a large mural she had been commissioned to paint on the side of the Knight, O’Meara, and Wicks Law Office. Further down the way, they could see Ransom and Holster walking their troop of dogs and a cat (who, Chris had been told, was raised around dogs since birth before the men adopted her). Even from behind the glass and fairly heavy front door of the Samwell Stoop, they could hear Holster’s joyful voice bouncing off of the cobblestones of the street.

Only one sight, however, could bring a full on grin to Chris’ face at this hour of the morning. Just in front of the pane of glass, Dex was busy checking off the week’s supplies that had been brought in the delivery truck while Nursey was bringing down a large box of milkettes and creamers with one arm. The moment that Dex turned around to confirm something with the driver, Nursey snagged a butter tart from the platter the former was saving to give to said driver.

“Well, thanks again, Johnson,” Dex finished as he handed a paper back to the driver. “We actually saved you a little something for your- Nurse! What the hell?” 

Nursey shrugged as they offered out the other half of the tart. “Did you want one?” They, thankfully, had the good grace to swallow before speaking.

“You are simply unbelievable, stealing a gift of all things.” Despite his chiding, Dex indeed took the offered tart and popped into his mouth before giving Johnson the rest of the platter. “Now you better take this before my idiot partner gets their hands on more of them.”

As Johnson got into his truck and pulled away, Nursey hugged Dex from behind and pecked his cheek. “You know, you’re adorable when you blush,” they murmured, only causing Dex to turn an even darker shade of red.

With a friendly tap on the window pane with his squeegee, Chris got the attention of both of his partners. They honestly didn’t mean to be a voyeur; in fact, they weren’t sure if they could be one since they were dating the two of them. Still, Chris figured they would appreciate being informed that they weren’t alone.

“Oh shit, Chowder!” Dex abruptly pulled away from Nursey and hurried inside the cafe with one hand behind his back. It was only when they climbed down from the stepstool that Chris saw what Dex was hiding. “You didn’t think we’d actually forget to save one for you, did you?”

The moment they’d taken a bite out of the butter tart, Chris was crushed in a tight hug between the two of them. Nursey’s aftershave and Dex’s cologne enveloped them in a feeling that could only be described as home.

                                              Dex - The Afternoon

“What do you mean you’re out of maple pecan pie?”

Will, who was using his break in the back room to be out of his binder for a while, could just hear the complaint. As he peeked outside to see what was going on, he could see a guy who stood at a height of about 6’4 at the counter, staring down Chowder. Just behind them, Derek was handing a girl her cup while watching the situation at the same time.

“Look, sir.” Chowder may have been slightly dwarfed by this man, but one didn’t become a goalie by showing their fear. “We only get so many pies delivered at the start of the day, so if we run out, we run out. Of course, I could go over to Bitty’s Kitchen, use my own money to get another pie, and let my partner here take over this massive lineup all by himself. Would that satisfy you, sir?” The conversations in the cafe had given way to silence as the patrons turned to watch.

The tall customer only folded his arms and doubled down. “I paid for a slice of pie, and I demand that I get what I paid for,” he huffed, doing his best to give Chowder something that resembled the evil eye.

Nursey feigned wiping his hands on his aprons, but Will could see that he was actually cracking his knuckles. “You haven’t paid for anything yet. My partner here has tried being civil, but it’s clear you’re not listening.” Even though they weren’t quite at the customer’s height, Nursey had a way of commanding attention when it was needed.

“Is it so wrong to expect a slice of pie with my coffee?”

“If you want pie, then go and get it yourself.”

“I demand to speak to the manager!”

“You already are, asshole.”

Though it was a crisp fall afternoon outside, there was clearly a gathering storm within these four walls. Will had fully emerged from the break room and was about to approach the counter when Chowder silently motioned for him to stay back. It was almost scary to see the perpetually chill Nursey standing with such contempt behind their eyes.

The tension in the air was finally broken when the customer stalked off, muttering something about “ungrateful millennials” as he pushed the door open. Then, Nursey relaxed their stance and turned to the crowd. “I can help someone over here!”

Before too long, Will was due to get back behind the counter. As Chowder passed him on the way to their own break, the two of them stopped to briefly hold hands. A similar blush coloured both of their cheeks when their eyes met.

“You were brave.” Will murmured, longing to wrap his partner in a hug.

Chowder shook his head, though they squeezed Dex’s hand back. “You’d have done the same.”

Once he was behind the counter, Nursey gave him a look as if to say “I’m okay, I’m alright.” Still, Will decided to give their hip a little bump since anything beyond that would probably be seen as unprofessional. While they were technically their own bosses, Will insisted that the three of them treat one another as coworkers as long as they were on the clock. They just happened to be coworkers who snuck in kisses when they had the chance.

                                             Nursey - The Night

It’s been said that the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach, but as far as Derek was concerned, the way to a person’s soul was through their taste in music. They had read a study once that said people’s moods and taste in music influence one another in a type of pseudo-dynamic equilibrium. Or something like that. Derek wasn’t a chemistry student for a reason. 

Chemistry journals didn’t, however, cover what to do when there was the slight catch of you and each of your partners having wildly different tastes in music.

In order to keep outright Armageddon from erupting, the three of them had hung up a calendar in their break room with a schedule for who gets to play music when. Chowder was assigned to Mondays and Thursdays, Dex had Tuesdays and Fridays, and Derek chose Wednesdays and Saturdays. “I guess God gets to pick the music on Sundays,” they joked since none of them would be there anyways.

This particular Saturday had been more stressful than usual with the confrontation earlier. On top of that, it was a deep clean day, so Derek, Dex, and Chowder had been up to their eyeballs in checklists of things that had to be refilled, wiped down, and rearranged. By the time they had finished, it was around eleven at night, a whole three hours after the Samwell Stoop normally closed. So the trio treated themselves to a cuddle pile on the couch in the breakroom.

“Nursey,” Dex whined softly, dragging out the Y. “Can you change your playlist to something less… intense? I’m getting flashbacks to that bootcamp I did back in college.” Although it probably wasn’t intentional, he let his head slump against Chowder’s shoulder, who leaned against him in turn.

With a quiet “Chyeah,” Derek pulled themselves away from his partners to grab his phone. It was probably a bad idea to have the aux cord right behind the counter, but they and Dex usually had the impulse control to not check it. Emphasis on usually. Chowder sometimes struggled a little bit more, but it was decided that it was better to be chewed out by a patron for checking their phone than to have the whole store subjected to an unexpected voice memo of Dex drunkenly singing along to “You’ve Got a Friend In Me.”

For the record, he had scored an 82 on their friend Whiskey’s karaoke machine that night.

So after much deliberation as to slow down the mood, the lively harmonies of the Jackson Five were switched out for the light crooning of Jason Mraz. Though they would take the secret to their grave, the playlist was actually the one that Derek had used for sleeping back in his college days. It was more lonesome than they had realized to truly be on their own in the world. So these songs were the ones they fell asleep to, hoping to have pleasant dreams instead of their usual fitful nights.

Nowadays, they used it for times that they needed to destress. Music wasn’t really a good idea in the bedroom anyways since it was noisy enough with three of them in the bed. Another secret that their would never dare disclose was how their found Chowder’s chainsaw-like snoring actually quite adorable.

“This slow enough for you?” they joked as they tucked the wires back into their little storage cup (one of the mugs that could no longer be used due to the broken handle). Yet, when Derek looked up from behind the counter, they were greeted by the sight of Dex and Chowder slowly swaying to the melody in one another’s arms. Their eyes were closed as they nestled into the crooks of their necks, and Chowder’s hand fumbled around for Dex’s before their fingers were intertwined.

Poetic enlightenment often eluded Derek when they needed it most, but this moment must have been something extraordinary. 

Sun and Moon

Forever in a cyclar chase

Yet neither is ever alone

For stars and clouds are one and the same

Keeping them company

In the wide open sky

While they had never gotten any complaints for their writing volume, it was the closing of Derek’s leather-bound notebook that got their partners’ attention. They broke their hand clasp and reached out towards them at the same time. “Derek,” Chowder murmured, their voice serious, yet gentle as it always was when they used their legal names.

Although they were a quarter inch taller than Dex (they do know how to use a measuring tape, thank you very much), Derek allowed himself to be enveloped in a tight hug between their two partners. “I love you… Will, Chris, both of you… I love you so much.”

Outside, the stars were indeed shining alongside the moon. Most people had either turned in for the night or had dimmed their lights and shut their curtains. Yet in the relative darkness, the Samwell Stoop was a glowing beacon, its yellow brilliance spilling out of the windows. If Derek still had their notebook out, he might have written about how metaphorical it all must have been to an outsider. But they didn’t need words right now; they had everything they could have needed right beside them.

[mechahero]

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

1. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚?

Despite the effort he puts into looking masculine, Lambda’s scent completely juxtaposes his appearance. He smells incredibly sweet. He often smells like vanilla or occasionally strawberries and tropical fruit scented spray, but sometimes he’ll change things up with a new body spray he wanted to try at the time. 

He doesn’t just smell like vanilla body spray. Lambda bakes a lot. Dude smells like a bakery. Some days he’ll come in smelling like whatever dessert he’s spent the night baking. (Which is usually cake.)

He goes heavy on the body spray sometimes. Most people would think he’d got a little too carried away when applying it but it’s done intentionally to cover up the sickly sweet smell of death when his bi-monthly rotting begins.

2. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚’𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚?

Like metal (obviously), smooth but hard and firm. But they’re surprisingly warm as well? His hands are never cold and you can run your thumb over the segments and joints that make up his hand. The tips of his nails are sharp so it’s best to watch yourself if you don’t want to get scratched by accident.

Sometimes you can feel indents in the metal and scratches from wounds that are still healing.

3. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙮?

To put it simply: a lot. In between breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he’s constantly snacking due to his high metabolism.

4. 𝘿𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚?

He does! He believes he has a decent singing voice but he sounds way better than he gives himself credit for. Lambda’s capable of belting out songs and hitting high notes like nothing else. And I mean high notes. He could probably shatter a window if he went any higher. He’s also got this neat little trick of rearranging the internal mechanisms around his vocal cords so he can produce guttural growls, screams, and high notes he can’t quite reach with his normal voice.

5. 𝘿𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙨?

Oh yeah.

He’s incredibly hot headed and reacts on impulse instead of thinking things through. His tendency to snap back verbally or throw a punch whenever someone says anything slightly rude to him gets him in far more trouble than he’d like. His habit of speaking without thinking when he’s mad

He tends bite his lip or fiddle with things when he’s nervous. Bracelets, necklaces, hair, hoodie zippers. He’ll fidget around and try to make himself smaller depending how awkward he feels in the current situation.

6. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 / 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧?

Lambda most of the time is content to just go out in a hoodie, a t-shirt and jeans. That doesn’t mean he just has a closet full of hoodies though. He owns a ton of clothes in wildly varying styles as he’s still trying to find his niche or he just likes the clothes, though you won’t see much of his cuter clothes in public. On days when he’s confident enough, he’ll be dressed in flashier clothing. It’s just as common to see him in a leather jacket, big dangly earrings, spiked belts and bracelets, necklaces, and chokers. And heels of course! He doesn’t have much in the way of shoes though, since his nails tend to tear up whatever shoes he might have unless they’re custom made, but he does have some decent pairs of high heels and boots.

He does wear more “masculine” appearing clothing in public but he doesn’t really shy away from blending “feminine” clothing and jewelry into his outfits. He is very much into being gender non-conforming in regards to his clothing, because if you’re a nigh-powerful death machine, who’s going to tell you not to wear heels and makeup? Nobody, that’s who!

Well nobody aside from himself anyway. The only thing stopping him from going ham with his clothing are his own nerves. (He does sort of worry about what other people think of the way he dresses or he believes he just wouldn’t look good in it.)

And on even rarer occasions, he’ll be confident enough to rock a skirt (with ripped tights or fishnets! That’s very important!). These instances are exceedingly rare though. 

7. 𝙄𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚?  𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝?  𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙤?

Lambda is clingy, regardless of the kind of relationship he has with someone. Of course, he does behave differently depending if the relationship is platonic or romantic. Around friends, he’ll hang around them a lot. He’ll compliment them if they’re wearing something nice or they’re showing off the newest trinket they’ve got. He does have trouble being verbal about his (platonic) affection for them and he’s not physically affectionate with them, as he worries about coming off as too weird. So he’s content to give them his time and energy, and spend his time talking with his friends about whatever and he absolutely will have their back no matter what they do. Wanna take singing lessons? He’ll tell you to go for it! You’re gonna be great! You’re on a baseball team? Well, he’s not much of a sports guy but you’d bet he’ll be there in the stands cheering for you regardless of whether you win or lose.

It’s way different if he’s dating someone though. He’s super affectionate and touchy, often hugging his partner, holding their hand, cuddling. Pet names aren’t really a thing with him? Or at least, they’re something he needs to work up to without nerves getting in the way. He can’t flirt worth a hill of beans and his compliments often boil down to “you’re cute/handsome!” or him shooting them flustered looks. 

Both friends and romantic partners are subjected to bad puns. Lambda loves him some bad puns and he loves tormenting people with bad puns. He also likes to give his friends and partners nicknames. That’s just something he does no matter who it is.

8. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙣?

He likes to be warm and cozy! He starts out curled up before he starts to toss and turn from one side to the other because he can’t stay in one position for more than a few minutes at a time.

He can’t sleep properly unless he’s holding something (or someone). He has stuffed animals on hand for this reason, one of them being his beloved cat plushie.

9. 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢?

It depends. Lambda’s usually pretty quiet unless he’s with friends or if he’s pissed off. He’s way louder with friends, not to the point where you can hear him from another room, but he’s pretty loud. (Vocal regulation? He doesn’t know her.) You’ll be able to hear about what he’s talking about from just how loud he is.

It’s far different when he’s angry. If you can hear him from across the hallway or from another room, then he’s really pissed.

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