cσωαя∂ιcє

❝--I am only as strong as that which I do not allow you to see. ♛Indie SNK OC♛

[merciless-soldier]

                                     I just wanted you to be proud of me.

[aseaofquotes]

Leah Stewart, The Myth of You and Me

[lifefibersync]

[lalaw5]

[-Love is a Miracle-]

[mortiuum-archive]

lalaw5:

Comfort zone painting/scribbling../cackles played around a ton with bg effects but…should have paid more attention to actual technique than simply getting this out of system;;;;; o<——< 

[aseaofquotes]

[mortiuum-archive]

aseaofquotes:

Tim Tharp, The Spectacular Now

[somedayyouwillsee-blog]

Visit Original Link

Most of what I remember Makes me sure I should have stopped you from walking Out the door

You could be happy I hope you are You made me happier Than I’d been by far

[enruines-blog]

    He discovers the inaudible courtesy of at least proper clothing, struggling to tug on a tossed aside sweater that had landed in an oddly neat little pile before his motions turn backward, his face flushed in the scratching warmth of fabric. Be it true enough that his lips hard parted to say something in a moot gesture of moving time along— but it’s quickly discarded under the weight of her sudden proclamation, his lips folding enough to blow off a scoff.

    “Yeah, well, probably because Leonhardt soaks up all the cold in the room. Like, pow." His hands slap together into one balled up fist. "All of it makes a little crystal around her heart and it just, uh. Smothers it, pppfow." His sound effects are yet to be rivaled by any brave soul making an attempt, half of which being stirred awake by his resourceful hisses anyway.

    With a piece of clothing snug around his neck his foot stomps forward, waving off the gentle vocal reminder whirring into his ear from his side. “Sorry." His elbow juts lightly into the girl’s back, motioning for her to walk forward. "Pay no attention to my fucking mom over there. And don’t thank me. It’s not like you want to do this either. Wait— what’s your name, even.”

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;      As much as she dislikes being touched, personal space something she needed copious amounts of, her anxiety limits her speech and thus she refrains from commenting on the elbow that taps against her spine, clasped hands only squeezing themselves a little tighter together as she begins to walk, cold air hitting her like a tidal wave when the two of them are set to begin their trek and the door is opened, hands snapping to her upper-arms to grip them tightly through the material of her sweater. She shouldn't be complaining--made within the inner wall for a high cost, it's probably warmer than what most of the others have to wear and with that thought in mind, her hands drop back to her sides, svelte digits curling lightly against her palm. 

    ❝...Estelle. Estelle Brandt; You're... Jean, yes? That's what your friend called you anyway.❞ The fair-skinned female glances at him over her shoulder, a clear accent when she speaks his name, as well as hers, and perhaps another time she would've cared but right now, she's far too tired and nerve-riddled to give it much attention. ❝Or, I suppose, that's what I thought he called you. I... could've heard wrong, however.❞

    It wouldn't be the first time she's misheard, though the young trainee supposes the consequences of this particular mis-hearing would not be as drastic as others.

[fauxlache]

             It [ h u r t s ] every day —

                             the absence of someone who was once there.

[enruines-blog]

    Drawing sticks was often categorized as fair-game until you found yourself pulling out the short end; he emphasizes a long, pitiful frown that hangs low on either side of his face, two middle fingers sprouting from their fists as he admits defeat and rolls out of a wool nest. “Seriously fuck you guys. My bed is nowhere near the door." A white lie. Only a few steps on the tips of his toes brings him to the doorway, arms crossed flush against his bare chest as icy eyes fall down on a gaze.

    “You didn’t wake me. Most of us are still awake— it’s not that late." The chilled temperature hits the tip of his nose as his lips barrel around a grunt, poking his head out to examine the lightness of the sky. "Sorta late. Only the giants dozed off." His thumb jerks backwards.

    “… which sucks for me, because they’d be my scapegoats in this situation. Whatever, okay, I’ll help. Let me just get something to wear to prevent pneumonia.” Two steps back inside and he hesitates on the pads of bare feet, his lips pinched with a mediocre shrug. “You can come in for a minute. We’re not scary." And then his hand waves, body skirting forward to pull some clothing around off messy sleeping quarters. "Or stay out there and freeze. It doesn’t matter to me.”

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;     There's a brief moment of hesitancy, considering the reprimand she'll get if she's caught within the boy's quarters, but the need for warmth easily over powers any fear of chastisement or punishment. Really, it isn't her fault; It's cold outside and she would rather be in her own bed. With a quick nod she steps within the threshold and while it isn't exponentially better, door closing softly behind her, it's something. Though, if she's honest, she's positive--

    ❝The girls' barracks are warmer than this.❞ She isn't complaining, nor bragging--her tone, dolce in nature and near inaudible, reflects only honesty and a bit of childlike wonderment, as though having settled a piece of curiosity that had been nagging at her mind for a while. She ignores the quiet whistles of those still awake--something, pertaining to this boy's ability to 'finally snag a girl'--opting instead to glance around the room. Jibes are best left alone, as she's learned, a quiet hum slipping through pursed brims of roseate coloration and slender digits lace behind her back, waiting with the utmost patience. A kind smile, though small, is returned to a freckled boy who waves at her and reminds her 'partner'--Jean, he calls him and she wonders if he's of French heritage--not to catch a cold out there.

    Then it hits her, that she has yet to give any form of thanks for being allowed to come inside rather than freezing in the night air and quickly, she clears her throat, head tilting every so slightly, the result being several locks of fire-caressed locks falling free from behind her ear. ❝Thank you. For um... not making me wait outside. And assisting me. I promise to try not to keep you very long.❞

[treulos]

  ☓ ☓ | †

Too busy streets frequented with oblivious passerby would prove an oblivious placation between relaying of messages after breakfast. For Jean, mid-morning light though a filter of overcast was enough to have erstwhile tinted a mood to match it’s sepulchral tones that broke over the crooked teeth of devastated rooftops amid their ongoing repair. A subconscious scowl hardened the edges of and otherwise slack expression to express the uneasy coils in his stomach that tightened with the already anxious prediction of rain, thickening wisps of clouds. 

In his transfixed state he must have allowed himself to be absorbed into the view, veering from his path enough to allow collision into another soldier. Unsure if he or she was at fault he extended a hand to assist her with the scattered pages escaping under the shoes of children and cart wheels. 

                                 ”  Do I look hurt?” He wasn’t the one with his work splay across the street, shifting his weight. His tone was harsh despite his actions to aid her. Perhaps she’d woken him from a daydream, though he thought not to suppose it rude of him if she indeed be the one at fault, busying with herself with errands and being careless. Even so, was he not doing the same?

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;     In all honestly, Estelle is unsure of whether or not he's agitated with her. His physical motion suggests not, or at least, seems to suggest that he's willing to be polite about the situation, and yet his tone... says near the polar opposite. Hesitancy is displayed openly in the way her hand raises, pauses with a faint tremble, top teeth biting down upon her lip, before svelte fingers curl around his offered extremity, allowing him to assist her in getting to her feet. A heavy sigh follows, eyes downcast and trained on the papers fluttering around their feet and debating how annoyed she was with herself, and if it was truly worth attempting to collect the scattered parchment. 

    ❝No. I... suppose you don't.❞

    Nervous habit commands her fingers to reach up, running through tresses colored in the hues of dying embers as she tucks several long locks behind her ear. Her right foot raises slightly, knee bending as it's stretched several inches behind her to tap idly at the pavement with the toe of her boot, hands clasping in front of her in loose intertwinement. ❝Thank you, for assisting me up. I... Suppose I'll let you be on your way--apologies again, for being knocked into you.❞ Another sigh, softer than the last slips from behind roseate tiers as she crouches down, beginning to pick up the crumpled papers and dirt-stained books, likely going to get a reprimand later for their state. Ah well--one of those days, she supposes.

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;                        { enruines }

    Deep breath--inhale, exhale, teetering on her heels in front of a closed barrack door and mentally questioning whatever beings may or may not exist why it is that she is the one denied slumber, and why she cannot merely bring another girl along with her. Orders are orders, she supposes, despite their idiocy and she can't argue that the boys are stronger... Still. Estelle wishes that at the least, she were allowed to ask ones she knew. But apparently the youngest trainees were too comfortable this time of night, not used to sudden tasks, and it's stupid but she can't argue with Shadis. A balled fist raises to the door and--

    --Knock. She listens intently to the sound of shuffling feet and muffled swearing, possibly arguing over who will be the one to leave their warm beds and answer the door and she feels her body shrink back, instinct driven by evolutionary need to make one's self smaller when confronted, when the door is thrown open and a rather irate looking male scowls down at her. Her throat is cleared, focusing on maintaining eye contact. 

    ❝I'm... I'm sorry, for waking you. Shadis is asking that I grab one of you from your beds to assist me in moving some of the things in storage. Some of it's heavy, so... I cannot do it on my own. ...Pardon.❞ Another apology, for good measure. He scares her a bit.

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;                        { integered | reiiss } 

    ❝...--Ah.❞ The sound is expelled from faintly parted tiers, with them a visible puff of air that forms opaque clouds before dissipating into nothing. Of course he's gone and left her despite having partnered duty today, and as such she's made it her mission to find him, if not to chastise then to merely ensure she is no longer on her own. While Estelle has learned this town's landscape well, she dislikes being left to her own devices for long.

    ❝Excuse me,❞ she begins, approaching a young soldier that adorns the wings of freedom, an emblem that makes her stomach lurch yet outwardly she shows no reaction. Different branches, yes, but certainly that can at least answer a question for her. ❝Pardon, for disturbing you, but you haven't happened to have seen a boy about my age, Garrison emblem, only slighter taller and possibly getting beaten to the ground for an unsavory comment?❞ The best description of Adrian she can give, really--her 'delightful' partner with a rather dirty mouth.

[fauxlache]

␛ ϡ

␛: ANGER HEADCANON.

    Estelle is easy to frustrate or annoy, though real anger is hard to come by. It takes a lot of push and shove to infuriate her and there are two possible reactions once she's been pushed that far. If what you've said is true, and therefore her anger is a defense and coupled with sadness, she just gets quiet. Very quiet, very harsh with her tongue and will pinpoint your own weaknesses to throw back at you in with the coldest of tones. If you're wrong in whatever you are doing that has managed to piss her off and it really isn't at all her fault and you are merely pushing boundaries by being an asshole, she's going to blow up. Yelling, screaming, pushing on occasion, etc. She was taught to be composed growing up, however, so both of these are rare.

    She will, however, grumble and gripe to herself when no one is around about whatever has pushed her buttons that day.

ϡ: MENTAL HEALTH HEADCANON.

    Estelle's mental health is in... difficult, to use a single word to describe it. She is stable, in the sense that she can interact with others and think and perceive things and go about her day as a normal human being, but she is also paranoid, to an extent, and anxiety-ridden though due to her up-bringing she hides these parts of her until she's alone, which has ultimately made them worse.

    She also suffers from PTSD and insomnia, caused by the events at Trost and as such is very jumpy at sudden, loud noises and earthquakes can have her on the ground in hysteria depending on their strength.

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;                        { jinrui--saikyo }

    Silent, gaze refusing to waver from the eyes of whom she is locked with, hands clasped delicately in front of her, she stands straight and takes a deep but quiet breath before speaking. ❝Captain Levi, sir.❞

    He's intimidating, even with his short stature, and it is with strength of will that she stops herself from swallowing harshly before continuing her speech. ❝I've been instructed, along with a handful of others, to assist you and your soldiers with anything within the walls for as long as we are needed. General Pixis' orders, though I believe you are free to refuse them.❞ What they could possibly need with six or seven soldiers not even reaching the rank of Sergeant, she has no idea. But refusing orders is a death wish, and thus she relays the information as calmly as possible.

[fearcomeswithimagination-deacti]

Headcanons

[fauxlache]

Send ✚ for a HEALTH headcanon. Send ♕ for a CHILDHOOD headcanon. Send ✿ for a HAPPINESS headcanon. Send ␛ for an ANGER headcanon. Send ♆ for a BODY headcanon. Send ϡ for a MENTAL STATE headcanon. Send ღ for a LOVE/SEXUALITY headcanon. Send † for a RELIGION headcanon. Send ✄ for a PET PEEVE headcanon. Send ☂ for a FOOD headcanon.

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;                        { treulos }

    A solider does not equate to a courier in the eyes of the young female, and yet here she is, the less than pleased escort to a stack of books retrieved for her Sergeant upon his 'request'. It was far more an order, a way to get her out of his hair, but Estelle had refrained from pointing this out--irritable was a good word to describe him, and the last thing she needed was an armful of books and a black blossom over her eye. ❝I don't even think he can read--Shit...!❞

    The grumble is cut off with a loud swear as a child rushes past her, pushing Estelle's hip as he sprints from whomever is 'it' in a game of tag, throwing her off balance and effectively knocking her into a stranger. Paper and bindings fall to the ground, along with her own body and she regrets not taking up Adrian's offer to assist her. ❝...Oww... I--I'm sorry.❞ She swallows thickly, irises resembling the waves of unknown oceans swiveling in their sockets to fell their gaze upon the man she had been forcibly pushed into. A soldier, though she can't make out his emblem from this angle upon the ground. ❝I didn't--you're not hurt, are you?❞ 

[fauxlache]

        ♔—▐✕✕;                        { monochromaticinfection | curodiluo }

    Her bones ache with the curse of fatigue, the Garrison soldier taking slow, deliberate steps through the crowded streets, wondering with idle, cloudy thought how it was that more people flocked to the streets during the cold months, rather than opt to stay within their cozy homes. Though, she figures it out mere seconds after the inquiry rises to the forefront of her mind; this was not Sina, and these people did not have time to spare. With a sigh, shoulders giving themselves slack, she rotates on her heal in a graceful motion to fall back against the siding of an empty home, arms crossing delicately over a clothed breast. 

    ❝What a slow day.❞ The words are spoken to herself, near inaudible as her eyes scan the scene before her. So often has she been here that most people can be pinpointed, not by name but by recognition of a face or attire, and yet--there's a shift. Well cared for a person appears, clothes lacking frays or dirt and confusion pulls her lips downward to a small frown. ❝Hey,❞ she calls out, though it's really their call to ignore her or not, ❝you aren't from this town, are you?❞ Not that it matters, but she's bored and doesn't appear to be interrupting anything they're doing.