May 20, 2020
breakpointrising started following you
about fucking time !
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breakpointrising started following you
about fucking time !
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very important headcanons i promise
@firefightersoul said before asking: “This is very important, Lanque.” + @breakpointrising also asked: 🍍 - Does your muse like pineapple on pizza? If not, what’s the weirdest topping they like?
“ there’s a time and place for everything. pineapples belong in pina coladas and malibu sunsets, not so much pizza. not to say there aren’t any pizzas that couldn’t have pineapple, i just can’t do it if that pizza’s also gonna have cheese... i guess i’m ambivalent. my favorite toppings are probably spinach and goat cheese, but that’s not really all that crazy. ”
@breakpointrising sent:
it's the third party this month that they have both been at. the first two? lars spends a lot of time with his face shoved into his phone --- but tonight he seems to be up and about, actually mingling. their meeting is chance; the last one fleeting, but when their hands bump as they both reach for the same bottle he smiles, and his eyes seeming to light up behind pink shades. "oh. hey, lipstick." a nickname, one given last time as he made an exit. he lets lanque have dibs. "fate strikes again."
being such a prolific party goer renders lanque susceptible to plenty of... regulars, putting it lightly. he knows everyone and they know him, usually one to become a willing target to turn a night from innocent fun to a lustful romp at the drop of a hat. he can’t remember if he did such with lars, but the nickname did tell a certain story... that still didn’t come to mind. he just knows he’s seen him around a couple of times, familiar scenery glossed over with his signature smirk.
“ that’s one word for it, ” taking advantage of the new focus on him as he pops the cap off of the admittedly light for him bottle. that isn’t gonna stop him from taking a drink, “ did you sneak into this one too? ”
@breakpointrising cursed me with: "wow when they made you they really broke the fucking mold huh."
it’s hard to tell, considering his neutral expression is essentially a vicious snarl, but equius frowns in confusion. when he folds his arms over his chest, it’s more an effort to pull himself in than anything else. “D -- > That is not how hatching works.” his voice is blunt and heavy, as though lars had said something very stupid. “D -- > There are no molds involved in the birthing of a wiggler. You have made a mistake. Though there is no doubt that I would have broken one if it had been present, as I am ridic001ously STRONG.”
are you running out of time ? | @breakpointrising
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@breakpointrising, here.
“Don’t worry about it.” he’s taking inventory, hands shoved into his pockets and expression blank, but concealed eyes rife with concern. “She’s probably just playing with one of her various cats.” a moment of silence passes before dirk remembers how to socialise -- he jerks his head awkwardly towards roxy’s usual seat, tries not to get caught up in the way it shimmers with her afterglow. “What’s up.”
@breakpointrising said: “let them stare.”
every step still shakes like his body is housing an earthquake. there’s something tremulous working its way out of his mind and it’s using his skin as an escape route, raising goosebumps in its wake. mituna blushes a sickly yellow every time his knees buckle or his speech slurs, and he doubts he’ll stop soon, but time was never his thing. trusting lars is a little easier than trusting himself -- and so doom walks arm in arm with death, teeth gritted against a snarl. despite his demeanour, he hisses a soft snicker into lars’ ear. “5URE, TTHEY CAN ALL TTAKE A LOOK ATT MY CHOICE A55 WHILE TTHEY’RE ATT ITT.”
@breakpointrising said: "... is it fixable?" oh, she's in rough shape for sure; this isn't a motorcycle from earth c by any means. it's old. it's rusting. it's clogged. it needs one hell of an overhaul and he knows it --- but this is supposed to be **the** place to go when it comes to putting things back together. the smile he offers is gentle. hopeful. "it was my dad's. it's one of the only things i have from home --- from my actual home, i mean. i've just kinda lugged it around and then got told to take it here."
“Sure it’s fixable.” it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth because, well, it’s reassuring. dirk knows how daunting something can look when it appears to be ruined. he kind of wants to say that anything is, but that’s a little too self-indulgent. besides, this is a customer. the double meaning would be a wasted effort. “Dang, what model is this? It looks beat to hell.”
he approaches with a great deal of caution, pulling his glove back onto his hand with his teeth. there’s understanding in his eyes when he looks over the bike; dirk had taken more than most from home, rearranged it in his new living space for that sense of familiarity. when he takes inventory, calculating and efficient, there’s a certain coldness missing from the set of his jaw. “A’ight. It’s gonna be a little work, but I got this. No sweat.”