#i know she's not important but im just thinking

[ennabear]

Gentle/soft sevika… im starving, lord have mercy

^also im the important exam anon! I dont know how i did in that day since the results would take 2 more weeks minimum, but im pretty sure whether it turns out too good or too bad than usual its thanks to you, imma keep you updated! I also think i did good because replaying what you wrote in my brain was just a the best kind of rewards^

IMPORTANT EXAM ANON HAIII!!!! i’m sure you did good hehe idk who you are or what you’re going to school for but i believe that you’re very smart… BUT THANK YOU!!! i’m so honored heheheh 😭 here’s some soft sevika 🤎🤎

everyone always thinks that sevika is aggressive and scary, especially because she can be on occasion. but in reality, you’ve never really seen her that way.

all of sevika’s violence and crimes are done outside of the walls of your shared home, as far away from them as she can manage. most of her killings and fights are done in a dark alleyway in the middle of nowhere, or closer to topside, where although it’s risky to be so close to those stuck ups who’ve never witnessed a crime before, she always gets away with it.

and she never does it out of cold blood. she only lays her hands on someone if they’ve wronged her first.

to you, her hands are the softest thing in the world. well— hand, technically, because she only has one human hand left. but both of them, whether flesh or metal, treat you with the greatest care possible.

late at night, they can be found wrapped around you, either holding you to her chest in a tight snuggle or pinning you to the bed while she snores on top of you. sometimes her metal fingers will trace little shapes into your back, the pointy tips of them making you shiver as she slowly lulls you to sleep.

sometimes she forgoes her mech arm completely, you being the only person she feels comfortable enough to be vulnerable with. still, her human arm will cling to your hips or your waist as you move around the house. whether that means doing chores or washing yourselves up or taking a well deserved afternoon nap on the couch.

sometimes she’ll even cry in front of you if she feels safe enough— which of course she does around you. you’re the only person on the whole planet who knows about her past and the things that still do scare her. like losing you, for example.

her favorite thing in the world is crying with you, although it seems dark. but to her, it’s like she finally feels seen. whether you’re crying over the same thing or just being mutually sad together, she loves to comfort you and feel it back at the same time. neither of you can even stay sad for long, because the other is trying to cheer you up by making you laugh or crack a smile, and it always ends in two teary-eyed giggles bubbling through the room.

[thewertsearch]

PCG: REMEMBER WHAT? ?GG: something from my past ?GG: if i accepted her terms FGA: What Were Her Terms You Never Did Tell Me ?GG: yeah because you never told me yours!!! […] FGA: I Just Thought It Wasnt That Important Or Interesting […] FGA: Also FGA: What She Asked Me To Do Was Impossible

I’m not so sure it was.

One of my main takeaways from this Scratch sequence is that the Denizens are more clued-in on Homestuck's plot than almost anyone else in the game. Given this advanced knowledge, I really don't think Kanaya's Denizen would sabotage her session by locking the Final Frog behind an impossible task.

No, I think Kanaya was given an improbable task - and if I'm judging the Denizens' motivations correctly, then this task was critically important to the fate of her universe.

Perhaps Kanaya, as the universe’s primary custodian, was asked to ensure the trolls would treat their cosmic progeny responsibly, as opposed to, say, forming a Second Alternian Empire the moment they walked through that door. That’s absolutely something Kanaya might consider impossible – and, frankly, it would be hard to argue the point. She was on a team with fucking Eridan!

?GG: yeah she made me promise to do something that sounds impossible too ?GG: except…… ?GG: i actually agreed :o ?GG: i have no idea how im going to keep my side of the bargain, now that i think about it

And what would Echidna ask of Jade, in the same position? It's very difficult to say, and I can’t even be sure that these requests do concern the welfare of their respective universes. That’s just the best guess I have, based on my theory that the Denizens are Sburb's troubleshooters.

If they are, though, then I think Echidna would make a request involving Lord English, the bane of all universes. His deputy is taking a special interest in Jade's group of Players, so maybe Echidna knows a way that Jade can use that to her advantage, putting her team in a position where they can strike back against English in the future.

...the more I think about this, the more it feels like I'm in the right ballpark. If Echidna is ultimately aligned with Skaia, then Lord English should be one of her greatest enemies. If she could create a scenario where Sburb's champions can potentially take him out for good, then that would be one of her greatest priorities.

I might have my issues with Grandpa, but I’ve got to admit it’s very cute that he made Jade a set of pyjamas that match her Prospit outfit.

[gldnstrngs]

thoughts post merlin season finale rewatch for the anniversary:

(let me preface that ive never cried to the finale despite me watching it twice and rewatching arthurs death scene several times— i definitely got emotional but never cried)

1.) …so i cried… from the beginning of the episode… i just hated how gwen never got a proper goodbye from arthur and was aiding all of his men, wondering where he was and if he was okay😭 and then later on, when leon tells her that arthurs missing and she turns around and silently cries, but quickly recovers… that was SO heartbreaking. she just keeps going and cries to herself like she deserved so so so much better and i hate that she never got closure

2.) i know that merlin has really truly become emrys but im not sure if it was necessary for dragoon to be his Final Form. i didnt watch the first part so maybe i missed the importance of that, but i feel like the scene would’ve been so much better if merlin looked like himself and casted all those badass spells and everyone would see him

3.) WHEN ARTHUR WAKES UP TO MERLIN AND THE FIRST THING HE SAYS IS “merlin, where have you been?” IM NOT OKAY??? it wasnt “merlin, what are you doing here?” or “merlin, how did you get here?” it was merlin, where have you been? that whole time arthur was in battle all😭he😭wanted😭was😭merlin😭

and then the magic reveal. the goddamn magic reveal. that entire scene is so heartbreaking. tell me why i was so distraught when ive seen that scene more times than i can count. and he doesnt just say “i have magic, i used it to protect you” NO. he says i use it for you, only for you. THAT IS A CONFESSION. it’s such a subtle shift of words but it says SO MUCH.

arthur immediately being in denial kills me. it was never a thought in his head that merlin would actually have magic because he associated it with evilness and cruelty. but then he finds out that merlin has always had magic and the way his eyes become so sad… the way his finger brushed his merlins chin right before realizing the truth… im so…

4.) i couldnt stop crying when the scene cut to gwen in the castle, staring out the window and feeling that arthur is alive. her eyes are so sad. i just can’t get over the fact that she never had the goodbye she deserved

5.) as much as i hate the way arthur reacted to merlin having magic, i do understand. he was literally just in battle, was mortally wounded, and found out that the only person he thought he could trust had been lying to him from the moment they met. i dont believe arthur actually thought merlin was dangerous— he’s prone being angry before being sad as a defense mechanism and that was only fueled by finding out that gaius was also lying to him. at that point, it must’ve felt like every person he’d ever known and trusted only ever lied to him. its so tragic I CANT.

BUT ALSO on the other side of that i actually cannot handle how utterly heartbroken merlin looks. his red rimmed eyes because he was crying all night😭 thinking that arthur would hate him forever…

5.) this entire scene bro…

“why did you never tell me?”

“…i wanted to, but…”

“…what?”

“you would’ve chopped my head off.”

“…not sure what i would’ve done.”

“and i didn’t want to put you in that position.”

“…that’s what worried you?”

“some men are born to… plow fields, some live to be great physicians, others… to be great kings. me… i was born to serve you, arthur. and i’m proud of that. and i wouldn’t change a thing.”

UMMMM SO I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS. i have rewatched this scene so. many. times. it is genuinely one of the most beautiful scenes ever written in cinema call me dramatic but im just speaking facts

arthur’s face when he realized that merlin really did care for him. the way he instantly lights up, despite being in pain. and his eyes… theyre glued to merlin. the whole time, he couldn’t look at him directly, but now he was. he was just scanning his face, memorizing all of merlin’s features AND MERLIN IS JUST STARING AT ARTHURS LIPS

also. ALSO. how have i seen this so many times and never. NEVER. caught onto the fact that gwen and arthur’s theme (which is originally titled the love theme) WAS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND. there was no mention of gwen at all in that scene. that was all merlin and arthur. this just confirms to me that this is the moment arthur fully realized and accepted that he was in love with merlin

6.) gwen deserved to know that merlin was a sorcerer FROM MERLIN. they were best friends. THEY WERE BEST FRIENDS!!! HE SHOULDVE BEEN THE ONE TO TELL HER!!! they deserved a scene where merlin comes back from avalon and he and gwen hug and cry.

7.) gwaine and percival should NOT have gone after morgana. i understand their rage but there was no way they were going to defeat her unless they had excalibur or something…

and gwaines death was so unnecessary. that was clearly for shock factor and i hated it. but i did get emotional when percy was able to free himself because he heard gwaine was being tortured… and then hes there when gwaine dies… their foreheads touching… (im not ok)

8.) it breaks my heart that morgana felt no guilt or remorse when she saw arthur, wounded and on the verge of dying. you can so clearly see that arthur feels that way when he sees morgana die, but there’s nothing on her end. i know it’s meant to show how far gone she is but it genuinely doesn’t feel right. i really do think she would’ve experienced some sort of internal conflict when seeing her own brother dying… like maybe she realized that none of this was worth it. it didnt feel as good as she thought it would

and when she’s stabbed by merlin😭 and he says he blames himself for what she’s become. people don’t recognize it enough how merlin feels so much guilt for the way he treated morgana. i just know he didn’t want to kill her, but he had no choice and he knew it was his fault…

9.) is there a reason why merlin didnt call for kilgharrah. i know kilgharrah said in the previous episode that he would finally be lying to rest for eternity, but i feel like this was an especially dire situation where he was needed😭 AND MERLIN SUMMONS HIM LATER ON!!!

or what about aithusa??? LIKE THEY DID NOT HAVE TO BE ON HORSES THE WHOLE TIME

(if anyone can explain the reasoning then lmk otherwise it was just a plot hole and that pisses me off bruh)

10.) arthur’s death did not need to happen, yet it was one of the best death scenes i’ve ever scene. it was just so raw and painful. “just… just hold me…” WHAT IF I DIE??!?!,,!!, he thanks merlin, he pats his head, he brushes his cheek, he tries to hold his hand like im fjwjdjsjjswhshshsj

also originally i was not fully convinced by the theory that the breath arthur took before saying “thank you” was “i love you.” i didnt want to be delusional but i actually do think he did say that he loves merlin. AND THAT CAN BE INTERPRETED AS ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC!!! i def see it as romantic but yes… im so Normal…

11.) “i’ve failed?” just. don’t talk to me.

12.) when merlin stands by the boat arthur is laid to rest in, trying to hold back his tears only to sob as he touches his forehead. the way he tries to gather himself. the way he struggles to say arthurs name and cast the spell. the way he watches arthur drift off, shaking. just. pls.

13.) gwen my baby girl. i cannot emphasize this enough. you deserved so much better. my heart broke when she played with arthurs royal seal and then when i saw the empty throne beside her. she had no time to prepare for this. she just lost the love of her life.

14.) it cuts to leon and then percival. and then i realize theyre the only two left in the round table. they both look so distraught. they lost everyone they ever loved.

15.) gaius :( he was waiting for merlin with his favorite meal :(

16.) bro the truck always jumpscares me omfg why is it so loud😭😭😭 then i get sad because merlin is old and walking alone and its the present and he’s still waiting for arthur :(

they should’ve had the show end with arthur saying “merlin” instead of kilgharrah saying it. that’s literally all we needed. it would’ve been so perfect but here we are…

final thoughts:

i love that this episode wasnt just the battle and action. the focus of it was merlin and arthur, navigating their feelings from the magic reveal and arthurs mortal wound. its so painful and heartbreaking but that just symbolizes the love they have for each other. this entire episode was filled with their gentle moments, softly speaking and touching each other. then arthur dies in merlin’s arms but i dont think he’d want to be anywhere else

also!!! colin and bradley’s acting in this episode… it was absolutely PHENOMENAL. they are already such great actors, but they really nailed it in the series finale. i can’t get over how they speak with their eyes the whole time. you can the love, fear, and acceptance they experienced throughout the whole episode. it was just so beautiful and i think that was what rlly made this ep

[bleep-bloop-boo]

4 7 11 16 27 29 5

AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASKKKK <3333

4. mythical creature you think/believe is real?

okay, obviously aliens they have found microorganisms on mars's frozen caps and there are possibilities of life on other stars (like kepler) so there is definitely life out there but also like... deep sea creatures?? we know so little so we could have humanoid mermaids we could have krakens and all too! like we already have octopi and giant squids, its not that hard to imagine that either currently or at some point we have krakens also possibly giant crabs like the one from moana i feel like thats a likely prehistoric animal 7. what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

TOUCH PAD TOUCH PAD TOUCH PAD WHATEVER ANIMAL IS THERE IN IT ESP ITS RAYS, I LOVE RAYS ALSO JELLY FISH AND SHARKIES AND FHBENWQKWEUDHFGBDNJSD FISHIES!!!

11. anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

im a very closeted kid so i had a lot of my phases very late (dolls in like 5th grade 6th grade, ect) so i still have a ton of my legos and dolls from my old phases but i am giving em away rlly casually so nothing in specific butttt, my parents are suprisingly sentimental?? they kept my baby blanket and like all my old gifts (WHICH ARE HORRID BY THE WAY?? WHO LET ME SCRIBBLE ON A MUG AND GIVE IT TO MY DAD??? GET THIS MAN AN OSCAR RIGHT NOW!! i have never given him a single good gift) and also really creepy but they saved all my baby teeth in a jar?? and then my brother found it and his friends started playing with it?????

OH WAIT i also have a treasure chest somewhere in my closet filled with goodies i deemed important! im pretty sure theres some toys i secretly opened, a bottle of glitter glue ive been saving for like 8 years cuz my mom told 7 y/o me she wouldnt buy one until next year and like some shopkins (i still have my hatchimals collection on display)

omg this is getting longgg sorry to everyone who doesnt want to see this lolol ill finish the rest under thiss

16. thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

ICKKY TOOTHPASTE THIS MAY OR MAY NOT AFFECT MY OPINIONS ON PEPPERMINT TOO disclaimer: the olive garden chocolates are the exception

27. what’s your favorite or go-to outfit? this green sweater i have that looks like its layered with my black jeans (they fit so well omgg) and then my green shoulder bag, some funky earrings, my rings i wear everyday and HEADPHONES my go-to is prolly just jeans and my winter hoodie (changes every year but its all youll see me in all winter) i also wear a lot of skirts-

29. preferred pasta noodle?

BUTTERFLY PASTA <333

5. favorite form of potato?

omg this is so hard- evil form

[strwberri-milk]

same anon who asked whether or not I can request for two characters from different fandoms. Since you’ve confirmed that I can, I’d like to request for Wriothesley + Sylus

This is something I suffer with personally, so that explains why I wanted to see what you think they’d do. Basically, reader has severe separation anxiety and abandonment issues. They think it’s just ‘clinginess’ at first but then they start realising how abnormal this ‘clinginess’ is when they have to leave reader to attend something important and reader desperately clinging onto them. They quickly realise what’s actually going on and it gets to a point where they’re scared of leaving reader alone at home because they’re worried she might end up hurting herself.

Sorry if I was too detailed. You can skip over the details and just write them with a GN or fem reader that has separation anxiety. Thank youu! 💕

i get this bc i also have bad abandonment issues but also i do reccoemend that you try to talk to people you're worried about leaving you more transparently and seeing if you can get some more security in your relationships/try to untrain yourself from the assumption that you'll be left because as im sure you know this constant dread is very exhausting but i promise you people arent going to abandon you that easily - i didnt want to go into details about reader hurting themseleves bc once things get to that point relationships can become toxic and im not a big fan of stuff like that at the moment!!

Sylus doesn't realise just how clingy you are until the twins and Mephisto report it to him when he goes on his business trip. You had a hard time letting him go but he thought that was you playing with him and being dramatic so he brushed it off. You're grown, and he knows that despite how needy you are you'd be fine by yourself. Or at least he thought you would be.

When he comes home you refuse to let him out of your sight, or if he does need to leave you're blowing up his phone. He doesn't mind showering you in attention but he's also worried for you, not wanting to make you feel as though he's going to randomly just leave you one day.

He spends his days subtly implying to you that he isn't leaving you that easily. He doesn't say anything to you about how he suspects you're having some problems with abandonment, simply deciding to make it so that you don't have to doubt his feelings for you. He never ends a conversation without reminding you how much he loves you, texts you whenever he's going to be running late, and makes an effort to reach out whenever he's thinking about you (which is pretty much all the time). Slowly but surely you gain confidence in him at the very least, making it a little easier for you to let him leave for longer periods of time.

Wriothesley clocks it pretty quickly, noting how you can't handle it when he tries to go on patrols and with help from Sigewinne who points it out when he's trying to figure out what's wrong with you. Rather than taking a passive approach he "confronts" you head on, telling you what he thinks and asking if he's right. It takes you a second but you decide to nod, admitting that his assumption is indeed correct.

He takes the information in slowly, mind beginning to come up with ways he can try and help alleviate this burden you feel. He asks you what the best ways to assuage your doubt would be, what sorts of things he can do to make you feel less anxious when he's gone. He knows he could be better at communicating with you when he's off on longer jobs, trying to find some middle ground for the two of you to sit on so he can both get work done and keep you happy.

You aren't sure what to make of it at first, finding things a little overwhelming with how anxious you are. However, thanks to his consistency you can feel yourself relaxing, the fear of separation and abandonment no longer hanging over your head as heavily.

[firefly--bright]

sound//waves

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern a.u.

summary ; each sound has its own shape, something tangible for you to feel. jean's shapes are weightless but important, and you find the importance of your own shapes through him. warnings ; reader being self-conscious of her voice :') idk what the trope is here. pining idiots who don't realise they're both in the same boat. a/n ; hehe,,, this fic was a pretty long time coming i think? but its for @/samepictureofjeankirsteverday on instagrams celebration for hitting 1k days!! so congratulations!! its also inspired by her own fic, quietude on ao3 :) pls give it a read its SO CUTE and i loved it sm <333 congratulations again :33 ALSO i have never done karaoke before so im sorry for any,,, errors. i genuinely dont know how they work and ive watched only like 2 animes with a very vague karaoke scene </3 just pretend that every inaccuracy is For The Plot taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy

masterlist is in pinned post ✿ enter my taglist ✿ requests for headcanons are open! ✿ playlist to listen to while reading! (it has a couple karaoke songs wink wink) ✿

right tile art credits ; @ppushable on tumblr!

you'd always been conscious of how loud your voice could get. 

a little annoying, you thought, because whenever you got excited about something, your voice would jump through octaves, creating an exponential curve on a graph. when you were with friends who knew how to make you laugh, your throat would make a weird sound - stuck between a guffaw and a choke of self-conscious laughter - if it was particularly funny. and your voice was always stuck between the contrasting spaces of either being too loud or too quiet, never really being able to gauge what was required when. 

you'd rather listen than talk. your voice would work around the right people, your mouth having a mind of its own, spilling contents you didn't agree to, but you'd regret the sound of it later. secrets would lie, open, barren, self-aware, in a disgusting pile of weird decibels on your table, in the space between you and whoever had to bear witness to it. you always cringed at the sound of your own voice after hearing it back in video, wherever it was captured. 

you grew up quiet, never growing used to using your voice until you were a late teenager. not knowing the importance of words until they were said, until after the reactions were met. 

and then you met jean. loud, boisterous laughter filled the room as he shouted the rules of the game, clearly drunk, at a party you couldn't remember the importance of, and you were next to your equally as loud and agreeing friend who shouted cheers and another one, her other half, she had loudly exclaimed, her twin, really, and you could hear the resemblance in the way they both chanted a cheer of “jean! jean! jean! jean!” continuously as the guy wearing a button-up shirt that was now soaked with wine with a bottle of the liquid held a considerable height away from him, drinking with twitching lips and shut eyes. He stopped with a spluttering cough, unashamed still, a large, cocky grin plastered over his lips - plump and red with the tint of the wine. Then he let out a loud whoop and you wondered how he didnt feel the guilt of being loud weighing down on him. Maybe it was the alcohol, you assumed, taking a cautious, controlled sip of your own. Sasha and connie soon joined him, and along with their arm came yours, linked in between sasha’s tight grip.

Introductions were made, voices inclining louder to be heard over the music. “Sash told us about you,” jean shouted, a surprisingly inviting smile on his intimidating face, and you joked around, “yeah shes in love with me!” jean all but nodded with an approving smile, and the rest of the evening by pounding music that you could feel your heartbeat on, and you don't hear jean’s presence until about two weeks after it all.

He was quiet then. Suddenly his face went back to being intimidating, and his voice was heard through a groan the first time you heard it after the boisterous party. “Marc, can you please-”

Marco continues about his day, and then you add on with your unfamiliar voice shrinking under the sounds of the cafeteria that was quickly filling in with tangible shapes of voices. The rest of them have to lean in a little closer to you to listen, and your voice shakes against your chest at the bearable effort just to talk about your mundane and frankly low-grade joke about stagnant coffee that you couldnt even remember after you said it, but somehow made them laugh.

“Oh hey!” marco spoke from beside him after he spotted your head approaching them from a distance, his voice a happy, upbeat version of it’s usual quiet and important self. You waved to them with a smile, not uttering a word until you were at their table. With sasha beside you, you let her do the talking at first. Consonants loud, slight country accent clear as the day above you, she spoke about the “boooorrriinnggg” lecture she just had to attend, her back slumping against the seat. Your face rested consciously on your palm, an unintentional look shared between you and jean that said mostly nothing but quiet and secret amusement. His eyes were pretty, speaking a thousand, weighted words against his lids, all of which were heard clearly by you. Hes a stranger, really, nothing more than a name and a scruffy but pretty face, but that didnt stop the bounds of familiarity working their way through the shared space between you. Marco snorts from beside him, and pushes his remaining fries to the brunette. Sasha hums approvingly, comforting, the waves travelling to you safely. Undisturbed, just how youd prefer them to be, and her voice floats above your body, letting it settle there, with you looking at it’s gentle remnants.

“Ackerman’s classes are always a terror-shock,” jean spoke, now, directly to  you, eyes on yours, and you had to stop yourself from being consumed by the tidal waves of sound - his voice, low, warm, joking, natural as if your presence was just enough for him to find comfort in.  

You laugh along with him and your voice - a hungry animal of itself - involuntarily, becomes more itself than you’ve ever found it to be. Which is a shock, but then sasha rests her head on your shoulder, asking you, “when’s your next class?” her voice vibrating on your shoulder, travelling through your bones. Your voice - the hungry animal - or whatever it gently became, replies with a, “in a couple minutes.” 

“What block?” jean asks, and marco checks his phone for his own calendar. 

You hum even if you don't have to think, “block-b. Just a bit of a walk.”

“I have class the same way. I can walk you,” he says, casually, picking his back up from the ground beside him, his knee knocking into yours for a moment. He doesn't apologize. You get up next, picking up the remnants of the trash left on your table and follow him.

His voice is a constant after that. Surprisingly, his voice becomes something you reach out to, the tendrils of waves asking you to stay a bit longer, to shed your coat, to give him your bag to hold. Gentle commands that all but fuel your hungry voice, lungs soaking into whatever has become of his laughter mixed with yours. 

“Karaoke night!” sasha shouts, entering the apartment with no remorse of her voice being louder than the howling dogs at night. You exchange a natural, knowing glance with jean who stands next to you in the kitchen, handing you a spoon. Connie follows her in, and his presence is just as loud, the shape being a little sharp against your palm, just enough to remind you that this is your friend. His bag flops against the table and he groans with each joint that moves in him. 

“Im going to sing the best songs-” he starts, but jean is quick to cut his voice off, as usual, “-you’re going to sing CPR by Cuppcake you crazy bastard, im going to hit you-” “im not going to sing that! I have taste and dignity and-” “-you have a will to make us suffer.” jean states, and the two of them go back and forth while you hand marco’s cup to him in the living room. “Thanks,” he says, whispered among the background, his lips pursed with an attempt of hiding his laughter. 

You smile back at him, but your laugh isnt hidden. You turn around, hands on your hips, exclaiming, “okay! Karaoke night in three hours. Then we go to mitras’ and eat something good.”

Sasha agreed with a mouthful of food and a muffled voice, and you reeled from the fact that you could project your own voice into the apartment with such force. You’ve always been loud, and your mouth always ended up working by itself, spilling contents you didn't agree to be spilt, and you grew quiet again with the consciousness of it all. You never knew how to strike the right balance between quiet and loud.

But then you met jean, who was looking at you, his mouth drawn between half smirk and half amusement, brows raised only slightly, enough to keep you questioning.

“What?” you asked him. Cornered him, really, and your voice was meant to be sharp but ended up being soft around it’s edges, a happy smile accompanying it, and jean’s smirk widened, just by a bit. He shrugged. “Nuffin,” he said, voice half-hidden and half-proud under the food he was chewing. 

Chips. Barbeque, the ones you bought especially for him, the one sasha was hoarding. You narrowed your eyes at him in faux suspicion, but let it go only a bit after, turning your back to him as his voice travels to you without hinderance. “Sash, stop eating th3e damn-” “i’ll do whatever i want to!” she says, turning her back on him as well, facing the marble countertop of the kitchen with jean’s - now her - bag of chips, crinkling under her fingers as she dug through them, feeding one to you.

Karaoke was set. Three hours timing, as you said - a little too loud, unconscious of it being that way - and your shoes squeak over the floor. There had been a significant wait, but connie’s rambling had done you good. “For once,” jean said, voice barely heard over the sound of all the other occupied rooms, “he’s useful.” “that’s not what you said last night.” connie says, but his voice is octaves higher than jean’s and impossible to ignore. You open the door to the room with a smile, and marco groans. “Guys, keep it in your pants for one night.” “im not the one-!” jean starts, but sasha clamps his mouth shut with her hand. “If you're not going to sing, i don't want to hear your stupid, neighing voice complaining,” she said, a murderous tilt in the sound, something you didn't want to mess with.

Sasha in a bad mood wasn't sasha at all - a learned fact that had been taught very unfortunately to you - and you tried your best to get her moods up with whatever means necessary, hopping next to the big screen and detangling the wire of the microphone as marco scrolled through the song options, humming under his breath. A round of lemon sodas was immediately ordered, and jean left a seat for you in the corner of the couch facing the screen, an unsaid determination to get you to sit closer to him. Connie slung his arm around marco’s shoulders and, like the demon on the former’s shoulder, guided him to choose Copacabana by barry manillow.

“Wanna duet, beautiful?” he asked you, hand flat open for you to hand him the mic. You raised your brows with a smile, “you cant handle me, springer.” even if in reality, it was you who couldnt handle him, his voice ten times louder and unashamed than yours, something you admired.

“sash! Connie’s challenging you!” you say instead, smile poisoning your sentence, making it irregular. “hey! I never said-” he starts, but sasha bounces off her seat to your voice, hugging your arm, taking up the challenge and squinting at connie with vitriol. “You're on, baldie.”

Connie’s not a competitive person. He’d never cared about grades, about being first in class, about races, in board games - it was all just that to him. A game, something to have fun about; an admirable trait if went unpaired with the rest of his jokes. But he liked doing things out of spite - a revenge that flowed so deep that he had to do something drastic. 

Even before the music turned on, before their cue, they'd started their serenading, making marco wince with an adoring smile as he grabbed sasha’s outstretched, inviting hand.

You made your way back to jean, as you always found yourself doing, licking your lips against the cold of the AC blasting in the room, the floors shaking under the weight of your beating heart to the thumps of the song, rhythmic and out of tune. Marco sang well, you knew this, but his voice got lost under the competitiveness of sasha and connie, shouting over each other and clambering over the lyrics as they ran away from the screen, still getting the words wrong. 

You laugh, sitting down, stealing a chip from the bowl jean held in his lap as he flipped through the book of remarks strangers before you had written in the same room, their handwritings messy and intoxicated with the extensive - and expensive - cocktail menu, hearts littered under the praises of their time. 

“I wonder if they added it,” you said, almost shouting as he leaned in as well, head ducking near your mouth to hold your words in his heart. Impossibly close, his cologne masking the smell of the leathery couch and the stinge of cold air, and he lifts his head, a curious glint in his eye only enhanced by the rotating, artificial, lights that played their colours on the wall along with the trapped soundwaves. “Wanna check?” his lips upturned into a smirk, a pink light bouncing off his hair, then green, then a blue, the same colours in the same order projecting onto you and the adoring afflictions of his voice were not lost on you.

Jean chuckled, the sound hiding under the unbearable symphonies, pointing his finger at one of the notes. “Someone wrote-” you had to lean in close to hear him, afraid that you wouldn't catch the waves woven so delicately and carefully for you, that you'd miss them, somehow, “-that they are sad that… oh shit, thats connie.” the note, scrawled with a blue ballpoint pen, complained about how there was a lack of the sonic movie soundtrack on the machine. You laughed, your shoulders shaking under the now weightless time, a physical proof of your smile. Jean held it in his heart, woven carefully, as if it would slip away somehow.

 

Something to do. Together, like a secret, because really, how else would he say it if not like this? Like the shape carved itself just for you, smooth and soft. How else would he say something unimportant so close to you, his hand encircling your shoulders, arm resting on the back of the couch, voice the only thing you hear even if the loudness of the setting is all too present and all too distracting. Because that’s what this was, even with the distracting and present and loudness of the setting, he asks you, and his words form their own shape and fall into your lap, a gentle, warm question with round edges, easy to hold in your open palms that eagerly closed over it to not let it go.

Your heart beats to the thumps of the song. Your teeth ache with the sweetness of his voice as you nod with the same glint in your eye, and the unsaid but well-heard command is enough to get him standing up and walking to the machine, checking and flipping over the songs that offered themselves, his white shirt tinted against the moody lighting, the old bracelet you made him hanging over his wrist with a poorly tied knot that somehow withstood the test of time and weather and temperatures of his warm body. His hand scratched the back of his neck, and the present song was almost coming to an end, not that you were paying attention to it, but it was hard to not remind yourself of the moment you were in when the moment included him, the same ground he stood on being the same ground your feet rested on, the same room his voice held and clung onto also being the same room your own voice was in, floating to his, something you found it doing a little too often.

Your name was spoken on the microphone, brightly, with a wide smile, something you hadn't been used to until you met sasha. Your eyes met hers, crinkled at the ends with a smile wider than her heart, as she pointed at you, “your turn! jean-boy, choose something!” met with another shared and important - because all of them were important - glance with jean, eyebrows raised, affection rippling over his features, and you relented, hopping up to the microphone as she handed it to you.

“Oh, but when i asked you to, you didn't sing? I see how it is," Connie said, teasing smile on his lips. Marco shook his head with a smile as you shrugged. “You dont pay the rent,” you said simply, and the opening to cant take my eyes off of you by frankie vallie clung to your clothes, spreading a wide and knowing smile over your face, glancing at jean again. Again.

Sasha watches. Seeing it play out - not rehearsed, a little clunky, your shoes creaking under your weight as you hop to the beat, looking at jean who, in turn, looks at you, and sasha watches. Your voice hums out the tune before you sing it, before the lyrics start rolling in, impatience staining your tongue because of excitement, and she watches. Connie gulps down his drink from the corner of the room and tries getting up, but marco pushes him back down with a gentle and forceful hand, “dont,” his voice says, lost again, and connie doesnt ask why. Sasha hands her microphone to jean, clunky and unrehearsed, and he takes it without reluctance because he could never refuse being near you. 

Your shoulders shake without effort or thinking, and the usual hesitance that comes to jean so easily, like habit, almost disappears, finding solace in god knows where but he’s just glad its not there right now, with you. Brilliant smile, voice usually small and a little uneasy now grows with the swell of the song and he cant help but not sing. His voice is nothing but background and really, all he’s doing is humming into the mic just as you were moments before, and he sees everything. Your voice makes it hard not to notice you, stark against the background of the four walled-room, head bopping to the beat. It's hard not to notice when something so tangible and breathing and beautiful is in front of him, singing, smiling towards him, looking at him like you do with your eyes all shiny and almost sparkling under the shitty lights, he thinks, how can someone make a karaoke room feel like a shrine? 

He's not poetic. He knows this - out of the two of you, you find more of the metaphors, the small but noteworthy variables with the phrases and words - but he’d turn into a poet just to make one of the songs you like to sing so much. Humming under your breath, kept there until future and important use while making coffee, lost lyrics that you couldn't remember building up at the back of your throat as your hand flew across the your computer’s keyboard but even then he’d choose your inexperienced and unpracticed voice over a well made concert. 

Your lips shine with the light, and he forgets how to breathe. His mic floats somewhere near his mouth, he’s sure of that much, but everything else is lost to him. Your voice becomes his guide, wavering a little at the higher pitches, careful of the lyrics. You mess up once, laugh it off, shrugging your shoulders, and your smile is etched onto the speakers, making their way across the room and into his ears and, god, he can feel it. The beat doesn't matter to him, his heart finds the way of your voice and beats to it. As soft, as careful, unhesitant and unrestrained until the three minutes and twenty-four seconds of the song are over. And all he did was blink.

You turn, handing the mic back to sasha, connie’s standing applause met with a wide, unbashful grin and a little bow, faux pride in your posture. 

Jean all but follows your footsteps only a little ways from sasha, as she chooses another song of her liking, and his eyes are on you, adjusting the sleeve of your shirt that had folded up. You look at him, lips moving under his gaze, sound travelling and only a little delayed because jean thinks about your lips for too long. “You have a good voice,” you remark, smiling, and he blinks. Thank god the place is only dimly lit because his face feels red, heart pumping dangerously close to his chest. 

“Yeah?” he asks, as if he needs confirmation. Really, he just wants to hear your voice again.

You hum. He leans in to hear it as if it's something more important. It is, to him, every molecule that's disturbed by your voice to reach to his ear is something that he needs to be accounted for. He’ll make a home there, he thinks, where your voice lives in between the atoms, the shape it makes mid-air, just for him to hear.

“HORSEBOY THIS ONES FOR YOU,” connie shouts in the already loud speaker, making jean wince, connie pointing his finger between jean’s brows, a scowl on the latter’s features. The starting notes of “my heart will go on” start playing, and jean groans, head tilting upwards, catching the way you laugh softly, and turning to you incredulously. 

“Y’know your bald head is shining like a disco ball right now?” he says in retaliation to the now belting-his-heart-out connie, his hand making a fist over his heart, eyes screwed shut, pinch between his eyebrows, knees bending at an almost-painful angle that will most surely make them hurt later, with marco doing the background vocals, eyes closed, and… was that a tear? 

“Jesus, and then? what did he say?” sasha’s voice loudly asked, uncaring for any sleeping neighbours that would surely be jolted awake by her, coercing you to tell her more about the terrible group project you had just gotten out of last week. “He said he’d just give the work to someone who owed him a favour.” you said with mild but mostly dissipated annoyance.

Marco winced from in front of you, legs crossing two steps at a time. Jean scowled, turning his face to yours from where he climbed beside marco, “what the fuck?” to which you could only shrug with pursed lips. Sasha’s arm was around your shoulders, her fingers tracing comfortable shapes on the cup of your shoulder. 

“Wait, who owed him a favour?” connie asked from behind you, two steps under yours. You spared him a glance and shrugged again, “no idea. And then, of course, he told me, last minute, that they couldn't do it and he didn't have the skills,” you put air quotations around the last word, clearing your throat for dramatic effect, “to complete it himself.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean-” “what a fucking dick,” “god, im so sorry,” jeans voice was the first one you heard, followed by sasha’s, and then marco’s. “I wish we could still guillotine people.” connie spoke up just after you crossed the last step, marco’s shoes squeaking to a halt before your door. You fished your keys out of your pocket, opening the door to its jingle.

“Guillotines are for rich people, dumbass,” jean said, rolling his shoulders back as if the sentence itself burdened him.

“of course you’d say that, you french fuck.” connie spoke, wiggling out of his coat the second he stepped through your door. Sasha went headfirst for the couch, collapsing into the cushions without any plan to remove her own coat. Her soft snores soon filled the apartment - a trait both her and jean shared. The two could fall asleep anywhere and anytime, state of their body be damned. Jean had told you, after a long nap, his voice a low hum, that he had insomnia as a kid. He didn't know how he grew out of it, but it ended up with him on the opposite side of the sleep spectrum - unable to wake up unless shaken very violently. He asked you to slap him awake once, and when you hesitated, connie stepped in with a loud smack to jean’s cheek.

Marco stretched out his arms while walking to sasha’s room. “Im taking her bed.” he says, a tired yawn stretching out at the end of his sentence. Connie groans, “where will i sleep?” he asks, looking at you with a smirk, “if only a beautiful girl with a pretty voice tells me i can use her room…oh, if only,” he sighs, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. 

“Yeah. if only, you bitchless moron.” jean says, and you shake your head with a smile. 

“Do you think women are bitches, jean?” connie asks, the hand on his forehead finding itself on his chest, gasping. sasha ‘s snores break through his sentence.

“No! I.. i love women. I mean, im not like, im not… like a slut or anything, but-” “sounds like something a slut would say. Fuckboy.” “I respect women!”

“Ladies, ladies. Stop fighting over me.” you say, walking towards your room without sparing either of them a glance, expecting jean to follow you. “Cuddle with marco, con, I know you want to.” 

Connie groans, again, a little too dramatically to be taken seriously in the first place. There’s no malice hidden in his voice, none of the usual complains you would've found, “fine. If you say so. See, jean? This is how you respect women.” 

“Youre only saying that because she’s pretty.” jean says. You try not to let it get in your head as you enter your room, your door creaking open. “Night, marco!” you whisper-yell across the hall, even though sasha’s eyes wouldn't open even a peek with any amount of sound. “Goodnight!” he whisper-yells back from across the hall, only a couple steps away from the door of your room. 

Jean and connie’s voices are still arguing about something, but you're too tired to make their words out, all of it becoming gibberish. You clear your throat - a sound that’s enough to get them to stop. “Goodnight.” 

“Hey, wait-” jean speaks, and connie snickers from behind him.

Your room is silent, save from the irregular sounds of the cars passing downstairs, gravel under their rubbery tires. Everythings been said and done; teeth brushed, face washed, pillows fluffed (by jean’s persistence). You collapsed onto bed, leaving enough room for jean to squish into, the sound of ruffling blankets and the plush, squishy pillow under your ear. He lays on his back for a moment, before facing his body towards you, the deliberate motion creating squeaks of spring from the mattress. Everything has its own sound. Jean’s hands tuck under his head, and you resist the urge to laugh at his position. He sees right through you.

“Whats so funny?” he asks, whispers, really. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the overwhelming silence, the inability of breaking the warmth that crosses across both of your bodies, sharing the same blanket.

“You look funny tucked in like that,” you say, imitating his hushed voice. Maybe it is too important, you think, to talk about things that are funny in the moment for no reason but to keep your heart steady against the faraway but present sound of his - just one of those sounds that didn't need to be heard to know it was there for you.

His sigh turns into a laugh. You're both laughing at nothing, soft puffs of air, carbon dioxide overlapping carbon dioxide. Sounds are science, right? This felt a lot like poetry. Maybe they all merge together, and Jean speaks up before you can think more about it, “do you think Connie is spooning Marco right now?” 

You laugh a little more. “Are you jealous?” “that we’re not…cuddling?” he asks, a little unsure, but with a small smile anyway. He's hesitating. You know him enough to know the way his voice - though soft and pliable right now, gaseous against your palms, shape unreadable - sounds when he's unsure. You shrug. “Are you?” you don't know if the whispering is making you bolder or if you're just tired. You’ve always been a little conscious of your voice, a little too in your head about needing to be soft, uncaring if your sentence goes unheard. It doesn't matter as long as youre peaceful, as long as your voice doesn't disrupt disrupt disrupt.

His cheeks go a little red. It's how you know you’ve got him. Your smile turns softer, a little more understanding. “I…okay,” he says. You're both not sure what he means by it, but you can't help but marking it as important, just as everything he’s said to you.

“Your voice is…really pretty, by the way.” jean states, eyes not meeting yours. His lips form a thin line after saying it, as if he’d been wanting to keep it a secret, as if the fact that it somehow got out was a fault. You don't have much to say to that, though, so the sentence lays there, between the space of the pillows, between the blankets. It’s weighed, careful but untamed, and it lingers there for a moment, soft and pliable and unconscious. 

“I mean… like everytime i hear your voice its… its nice. Not just when you're singing. I like that too.” he rambles, voice still a hush, words still soft and pliable - putty-like, shapeless but you catch them and you don't let them go, let them seep into your skin and against your bones and into your bloodstream. “When you pick up the phone, or when you're humming something. I know it's… i know you think it's not meant to be heard. But I hear you. And i… I like hearing you.” he says. He likes hearing you. He likes hearing you. The words don't have shape. They wave over you, not tidal, not forceful, but like the same warmth of the blanket that rests over your shoulders, crinkled at the edges, a little worn out as if he’s been saying it to himself before giving it to you. 

God, and youve always been conscious of your voice. So when you speak next, its a surprise to you when its not the same whisper he was speaking in, instead only a bit higher than it, enough to contain only bits of your voice, the carvings on the roof of your mouth and the back of your throat and behind your teeth have no use hiding, now, because your voice projects forward just enough. Just enough because he thinks your voice is pretty.

“I… i like yours.” you say. Your eyes slip a little shut, and you feel more than hear him shift towards you, his arm crossing over your waist. “Its beautiful. Peaceful. Even when you're…insulting eren.” you sigh into his chest. His breathing holds you just as his arms, and his warm chest stutters a bit as if he’s taking a deep breath, something that tickles the parts of your hair that are near his nose. Every sound has its feeling, every sound creates waves and its on you to make them twice more meaningful as they are despite the words they hold, and even as jean gives you wordless reactions to your senseless but meaningful words, they're all accounted for. They're all just as important, just as held as everything else he’s said because its him.

“Thank you. For speaking to me. For letting me hear you.” you say with finality, no room for argument. As if he’d argue you. His lips press to the top of your head, unmoving. His palm covers your ear, making the soft sounds of his breathing muffled, but his thumb traces shapes of his sound against your ear. 

It tickles a little, but you hear the movement clearly. 

Sound waves, importance given to them. By you and by him. 

✿

[asklesbianonceler]

Maybe this is old hat but I'm convinced we're supposed to read Gloam as having a dual meaning, not just literal sunset or as a color but as the symbolism of it. Dusk, nightfall, evening, what have you. The removal and fading of the sun and of gold. A hard foil to the age of gold Marika was ushering in. A gradual night falling over Marika's light

[julijbee]

girlbossing too close to the sun.

[meamiki]

mira !!! :]

[gunstellations]

itll be alright

[soup-child]

The fact that Adaine "i don't know if im asexual im 15" Abernant and Riz "why is everyone so horny im definately aroace" Gukgak both being in the same show is incredibly important to me

[moeblob]

North chanting into the comm link: kill kill homicide kill

[sieglinde-freud]

let it be known that i love prince inigo with my whole soul. however sometimes it is SO much fun to think about owain and his two most loyal-est knights you ever seen: worst guy in the world #1 and worst guy in the world #2. i love retainer inigo and severa so much. retainers who bully you and make fun of you and trash on you but they’d leave behind everyone and everything they ever knew to follow you and protect you in a whole new universe. they love you so much that they’d swear allegiance to total strangers but that loyalty pales in comparison to what they’d do for you. and they were all lovers!!!!!!!

[quietwingsinthesky]

i really do think the desire to paint ten as unambiguously The Worst™️ when it comes to his relationship with martha is out of this desire to uncomplicate their relationship. to decouple them as friends and people who profoundly impacted each other’s lives. it’s just an easier narrative to swallow: that ten was Awful to her and then martha kicked him to the curb when she realized she was too good for him. easier, maybe, then dealing with the troubles of unrequited affection don’t have to be anyone’s fault, or that ten shut martha out in a lot of ways but let her in in others that he wouldn’t let any other companion near, or that they were still friends, they still wanted to see each other and be around each other, even though it was messy and sometimes hurt. you know?

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[sidesteppostinghours]

ok. question.

ortega ended up hallucinating sidestep after they "died", but sidestep doesnt know about that. they know it got bad, but never the full extent of how their death affected them. so if your sidestep Did learn, if they found out ortega looked for them in every little piece they could, would that change anything for your sidesteps? would their relationship with ortega be any different?