Character Ask Meme
Lyney 14, 15 and 23
[Character Analysis Ask Meme]
Would Lyney be honest with you?
With his outgoing and fun personality, it oftentimes is easy to get caught within his flow. Lyney is the charming sort, after all, that one may very well forget that he is subject to the same struggles as the rest. Get to know him well enough, though, and you will quickly realize that this is not a fact he wishes others to know. More than a desire, he needs to be seen as someone in control, as someone without weakness. That’s his role as the big brother. And if that means lying, avoiding, and omitting the truth to accomplish it, then as an accomplished performer he will do as he must.
Does Lyney prefer to pursue or be pursued?
With a penchant for flair and dramatics, it’s clear to see Lyney prefers to pursue the people he’s interested in. Really, it’s one of the things he goes all out. With a trick up his sleeve, he won’t hesitate to dazzle you with flowers pulled from nowhere and fireworks from his tophat. He wants you to be enchanted. He wants you to be impressed! You are, aren’t you? You like it, don’t you? So focused on charming you that he often loses sight of much else. Fun fact, should you attempt to turn the tables, however, you can expect his mask of self-confidence to fall to reveal a rather flustered expression beneath.
Headcanons under the cut!
Headcanons
Self-focused - If there’s one thing that’s true about Lyney, it is that he is a very busy person. As a person with multiple masks and roles, his thoughts are often preoccupied with House missions, performances, new tricks, and things of the like. So, much to the dismay of others, it’s easy for things to become buried under the multitude of other tasks he needs to take care of. How often the simple things become forgotten—where he last left his wallet, tea time with his siblings, the sale on picture books at the bookstore. During those times, he really can’t help but appreciate his siblings and their ability to keep him on track. Really, he doesn’t know what he’d do without them!
Relationship-focused - It doesn’t hit you at first, but it doesn’t take you very long to notice how hard Lyney tries for your relationship. Normally this would be a good thing, but it is different with Lyney. Every day he tries to charm you. Every day he attempts to enchant you. You tell him he doesn’t need to try so hard, but that only seems to light a fire beneath him to do even more. You see it in his eyes. He needs to know you are still in awe of him, that you like him as much as he does you. And then it sinks in, doesn’t it? He doesn’t trust you. He doesn’t trust your feelings for him. You’re not sure if he ever will.
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i don't go here and CR SPOILERS but -
im living for Laudna, miss (literally has a head FULL of voices some of which aren't even evil dead women or her own repressed raunchiness recently reincarnated as a rat) also being implied to having always had (RE: "it's finally happened") at least ONE voice who looked at the friend she thinks is the most sensible in the group and still whispered-
"yes but what if he snaps one day and kidnaps Imogen?? Imogen is the best and most amazing i wouldn't surprised at anyone wanting to kidnap her, even Ashton"
XD
AND THE N THE MOMENT IMOGEN AND HIM TROT OFF WITHOUT HER NOTICING she just like (⓿A⓿) I KNEW IT !!!
<3 imogen thinks that's just the sweetest thing <3
seriously is there a higher compliment then believing, even just for a second, that your gf is soooooo great even Ashton Himself would crack under the pressure if given the chance to kidnap her? Laudna's riding that Imogen Is Just Irresistible Actually And Obviously Everyone Else Agrees With Me On That train right into panic sobbing station, where Imogen was waiting with a dopy smile and a reassuring hug
(imogen who's got some of the biggest mom abandonment and shunned by her own dad baggage loves her clingy undead girlfriend good for her good for her) b
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Ok I fell asleep for like an hour and woke up with massive Midwest emo ghouls au brainworm. Need to expel before sleep. There probably so many typos.
Mist - owner of local record shop. Makes all of the ladies who walk in the door feel like queens and makes condescending music bros shrivel.
Aurora - works at small cafe across the street. Amazing work ethic, short temper. Trying to find her place in the world as well as within a band that contains several very large personalities.
Mist comes in every day, wallet chain and massive key ring jangling in harmony with the brass bell hanging over the door. Orders a pour over every time, not because it tastes better. They really can’t tell the difference.
But because it takes longer. So they can admire Aurora’s deft hands stacking paper cups, refilling the sugar dispenser, smacking the side of the bean grinder to dislodge whatever’s stuck in there.
Aurora gives her a large. But she only charges her for a small. Slips her a cookie or a muffin cause it’s a funny shape, no one will buy it, it’s a day old (even though it tastes pretty damn fresh to Mist.)
Eventually she stops making excuses when she slides the brown paper bag across the counter, cause she’s too busy burying her blush when Mist reaches for it and grazes the top of her hand with their calloused finger tops, conditioned by steel core and round wire.
Aurora finds herself wanting to take a walk outside on her break. No longer content to put her headphones on and take a nap on top of a few sacks of coffee beans. Because Zeph frowns on that just a little.
She finds herself strolling past the window of the record shop, watching Mist prop up new releases against the window. At first they wave, but then y hey beckon.
The crisp chill in the air is a plausible excuse as to why the apples of Auroras cheeks are still so persistently red.
Mist asks if Aurora has a record player. And she does of course. “Have you listened to this?” Mist asks, plucking a record from beneath the counter.
Aurora hesitated, and admits, “No, I haven’t.” Aurora admonishes the fact that she hasn’t been in this world for very long at all and she’s a little bit intimidated by the seemingly vast and endless array for artists and genres.
“Take it for a spin. Let me know what you think.” Mist pushes the record across the gouged counter where various employees in the past 3 decades have carved their initials and perhaps some unsavory phrases.
“Oh, well, I don’t - we’ll - this is embarrassing. But I’m on sort of a tight budget.” The admission forms a hairline crack in her heart, and she isn’t sure why. Maybe Aurora simply does not want to refuse anything Mist has to offer.
“Don’t worry about that, you can bring it back later.” Sensing the hesitation in Aurora as her hand hovers over the record, they push it into her hand with a wink.
It’s so warm in there, Aurora can’t blame the chill and so she buried her face in her scarf and says “thanks, I’ve gotta get back. But, thank you. I’m so - I’ll - excited to listen.” She cringes inwardly and her feet stumble although not as much as her words as she heads for the exit.
She finished the rest of her shift, looking at her backpack with x-ray vision, as if she can see the record inside with Mist’s fingerprints all over it along with whatever she felt when she listened to it.
She kneels on the floor as in front of her stereo as soon as she gets home. Shoes and coat, scarf, lunch bag, all abandoned behind her like a trail of breadcrumbs.
GLORIA, G-L-O-R-I-A.
Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine
Meltin' in a pot of thieves
Wild card up my sleeve
Thick heart of stone
My sins my own
They belong to me, me
People say "beware!"
But I don't care
The words are just
Rules and regulations to me, me
She’s vaguely aware of the dull throb in her knees and despite how loud she has the music cranked she’s kneeling on the floor practically pressing her ear to the speaker.
Her voice is loud and infectious, the words are irreverent and rebellious. She’s already hooked. And she flips the vinyl over 4 times before the gnawing in her stomach forces her to trudge to the kitchen and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Normally a creature of habit, and a neat one at that, the plate doesn’t make it to the sink and the knife sticks to the counter, laden with jam, and there are crumbs on the floor. She doesn’t care.
She tries to go bed early because she has the opening shift. But that contralto voice is ringing in her mind and her feet are dancing under the covers.
She crawls to work and his through the motions, but she finds she’s less tired than expected. Still high on the energy of what she considers truly powerful. It’s like a talisman, no one can fuck with her today. She can’t help but occasionally run her fingers over the record, safely stowed under the counter to return to its owner.
When Mist arrives, they grins like a shark once they hears what’s playing over the shop’s speakers.
Counting the time, then you came to my room
And you whispered to me and we took the big plunge
And oh you were so good, oh, you were so fine
And I gotta tell the world that I make her mine, make her mine
Make her mine, make her mine, make her mine, make her mine
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
Aurora can’t even be bothered to feel shame as she shouts the newly memorized lyrics at the top of her lungs while preparing Mist’s pour over.
“So I guess you liked it?”
“You could say that.” Aurora is surprised that she can manage to say something remotely intelligible. She pulls the record out from under the register to slide back over the counter.
“No, keep it for now. But come by later. I think I have something else you’d like.”
Aurora is inclined to believe them. She takes the record back and in exchange slides over a brown craft paper bag. It feels heavier than usual.
When Mist dumps their belongings on the counter and flicks on the lights, they open it and sees it contains two cookies. And they are not deformed in the slightest.
Aurora comes in on her lunch, on a breeze that smells like roasted coffee and sandalwood. And she returns, with another record under her arm.
Zeph cannot find it within himself to chide her for being late. Nor will he for the days and weeks to come. When her 30 minute lunch break turns into 40 minutes. 45 minutes. 55 minutes.
Because an education in feminist proto-punk cannot be rushed. Nor can her deep dive into the riot grrl movement. Nor can love, Zeph knows that better than anyone.
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