sf-niners

Mitch jokingly says to me a lot, “Thank god I’m a good singer, because I’m good at nothing else.” I know he’s just joking, but sometimes, I get the feeling that he actually believes that…and it destroys me. He is easily one of the most loyal, honest, handsome, beautiful, unique, hilarious, & talented people I have ever met. Truly special.
—  Scott Hoying // 🍓 coffee table book
Armin Headcanons

In honor of @mcl-pauly​​ bc it doesn’t look like we’ll be going to Armin’s house, also because I felt like it so-

  • Owns a PS3 (this is probably canon tbh)
  • Can’t stand when his controller is sticky, or anything sticky in general
  • Doesn’t like sleeping for too long since he wants to keep up with his game forums
  • Sleeps with multiple pillows
  • Gets night sweats, the boy just gets too hot
  • Actually has good hygiene
  • Doesn’t like combing his hair since it takes too long to do,,
  • Can somewhat cook, like grill cheese is his freaking specialty
  • ALWAYS kicks off his blanket in his sleep
  • will wear shorts and long sleeves in the winter bc he just doesn’t care
  • Has grafitti like writing, sloppy(ish) but pretty cool
  • He gets pouty jealous, acts like a child
  • Likes being tall since he doesn’t have to go on his tippy toes
  • Loves hats, doesn’t have to think about his hair that much
  • Loves hugs from behind
  • Sucks at lying to people
  • Loves when he gets to lay on the couch, with Candy in his arms, while playing video games
  • Will not take a nap, at all - he has to be awake

That’s it!

Lysander Headcanons

…Should I just become a headcanon blog or-//shot

  • Probably tried to dye his hair black for Rosalya but failed. He liked the end result though-
  • Likes playing with Candy’s hair
  • Likes to doodle some pictures of Candy in his notepad
  • Sleep with multiple pillows and just the fluffiest blanket
  • CAN’T STAND gossip, he just CAN'T 
  • Washes his hands often, he just likes keeping them clean
  • Doesn’t understand memes? but he makes an effort to
  • Is very good at making come backs at the right moment.
  • Is very honest, he will straight up admit he’s jealous.
  • Just wants peace
  • Doesn’t like the concept of fighting? He thinks it’s violent and doesn’t want any part of it
  • Takes a long time getting dressed for school tbh
  • Got one. Single. Stain. On his coat and he was very close to making an actual angry face
  • Doesn’t like the nickname ‘Lys-baby’ doesn’t like ‘babe’ either.
  • Doesn’t like texting, he’d rather hear Candy’s voice
  • Has probably space out multiple times thinking about Candy
  • Is very good with animals
  • Hates animal abuse (or any kind, but especially) and NEVER talks about it
  • Loves fluffy animals.
  • Likes holding Candy in his arms
  • Likes cherry suckers
  • Smells heavenly
  • Can’t utter a single word of a dirty joke, he jusT CAN’T
  • He can’t choose one favorite thing about Candy, but if he had to - her smile.
Six electric dances

1. The dance of the lights across the darkened globe. Neon lights and lanterns and headlights and torchlights and the green seaglow of squid-fishing lights far out at sea, the weaving of candles though power cuts, the smoky glow of signal-fires, the flash of nuclear blastlights and the flicker of embers, campfires and carriage-lights, footlights and fireworks. Back and around and again through time, each time a variation on that same set of steps, swinging around the globe behind the sunlit side which dances itself with smoke and clouds.

2. The dance of the robots on the comet, in their city of rock and wire and bakelite that comes alive only once in a thousand years, as the comet swings past the sun and their great trees of solar panels unfurl in greeting. That city is always dancing or asleep, because nobody thought to program the robots not to dance. Each time past the sun it spools up. The mining machines come out, in a great whirling roar of celebration. A thousand tonnes of platinum and palladium and ruthenium and rhodium and rhenium are launched into space. Eventually the danced-out metals will splash down in the acid oceans of a long-dead planet, but by then the robots will be asleep once more.

3. The dance of the lightning with the lighthouse, out in the far North where there is rarely anyone to see. So far the lighthouse has always won these encounters, and it is rewarded in turn by a solemn serenade of tanker foghorns. And so far it has always provided the still centre for the lightning to trip around. But there are many more and different dances to come.

4. The dance of the sharks and the cables. In fact I think if they could the sharks would knit with the cables, those poor maddened, fascinated things: feeling electricity like an umpteenth sense, but the electricity of dead things. However the cables are not for moving and one does not mess with the cable-plough. So the sharks dance. They describe fantastic knots. They dance with teeth and topology. And that other world that travels through the cables goes on, oblivious.

5. The mechanical ceilidh, the one that they say in the stories of the far future has travelled around the world ten thousand times and back. You see, there was a time when much of humankind was very old, and the machines helped us to walk, and to run, and to climb mountains. And of course we longed to dance, too, and we had the tools to make that happen. It was a brief interlude in our history, although it happened over and over; the time between when we walked with machines and when we walked with our own reconstructed legs and when it all fell to dust again. Once we did not need them anymore, the machines sat in circles on the hills like rusty trees, swivelling their solar panels around to follow the sun. Why not let them dance, empty though they were? And once we had let them dance, how could we have known how hard it would be to catch them and get them to stop?

6. The dance that is going on in your head even now, the dance of electric thoughts through tiny spaces and small slices of time, simulating this and everything else in its own weave through the rest of your quotidian daythoughts; each time a different variation, and all amazing.