before this shit show is about to unfold, i just wanna say that i love louis very much. he is so brave and resilient and i appreciate him so much. i remain to be in awe of him and how he has been fighting through all this crap for several years and still manage to be so strong. i am proud of louis, always.
Lance: The name’s Lance? Keith: … Lance: We were in the same class at the garrison? Keith: Oh, really, are you…err.. Keith internally:don’t say single don’t say single don’t say single Keith: …an engineer?
(Headcanon that Keith did remember Lance but only as ‘that cute cargo pilot from Iverson’s class with the hair and the blue eyes’ and decided it was less embarrassing to just pretend he’d forgotten him entirely)
Hi there! How you all doing? As for myself I am doing REAL GOOD because look at this! A follow forever because I reached 200 followers while I was moving! I started this blog in january - very early january - and did I expect this? ABSOLUTELY NOT. I’m not talking about the number but about the people here. How is this community so kind is beyond me, because damn this is not like this everywhere. I met wonderful people (people that I can call friends!) and interacted with a lot of others and this is actually unexpected for me. Because, lmao, I’m a really shy and anxious and very awkward bean. But I’m so happy I made this blog! Regarding the date, it’s kind of a good year resolution that I actually kept and o boy will this blog carry on. Anyways! I’m really honored that this people dig my portrayal of The Son (Noctis, yes) and lemme say that you are all incredible in what you do. KISSES FOR ALL OF YOU.
So, here we go for the follow forever! (Under a read more bc ye. As always, I’m too lazy to bold mutuals, so heh)
“I need a shower,” Daisy groans out, rubbing her hands down
her face. She flops back on the seedy motel bed, eyes pointed toward the white,
popcorn ceiling in a withering stare. “Why do I even need a shower? We’re in
the fucking Matrix, none of this is real. Yet still, I smell. It’s completely
Jemma sits at the foot of the bed, inspecting the map they’ve
drawn on the wall (it’s not like it’ll matter, once they shut the framework
down. What’s a little destruction of private property in the grade scheme of
things?). Each of the team’s locations are marked with pushpins, along with
lists of all the information they’ve managed to gather on them. It’s not enough,
Jemma knows. They need more.
“You do smell a little.”
Jemma turns back to her, blinking innocently. “What? I said ‘a
“Whatever.” Daisy pushes off the bed, walks backwards toward
the bathroom. She raises an eyebrow at Fitz, who’s sitting on the other bed. “You
two gonna be okay without adult supervision for a little while?”
Jemma freezes. She and Fitz, this Fitz—Leo, he’s called
here, though she refuses to call him that, even in her head—haven’t been alone
together since they finally managed to convince him to come along. She knows
what Daisy’s implying, and Jemma wishes she wouldn’t. She’s more than a little
uncomfortable with the idea. This isn’t Fitz. Her Fitz. That’s what she tells
herself is the problem, anyway.
“Yeah- uh- yeah, we’ll be fine,” Fitz says when she doesn’t
speak, when it’s gotten just a little uncomfortable.
Daisy eyes them both, then holds up her hands, retreating to
Jemma doesn’t turn around to look at him. She knows what she’ll
see. He’ll be sitting there, looking so much like Fitz but so not, so, so out
of place in his posh suit and scarf. Looking like a person who would never set
foot in a motel of all places, which he’d voiced when they’d arrived. He’s
close, but he’s not Fitz. So she doesn’t look.
Plus, he might be looking back at her. She doesn’t know
exactly why, but that’s the last thing she wants.
So she just focuses on the work in front of her. Not that
she’ll figure out anything new just by staring at the same slips of paper they
have been for the last two days, but still. The effort matters.
He waits until the water is running in the shower before he
speaks. His presence alone is stifling, but his voice is something even more
“Why do you want me back?” he asks, and of all things it’s
not what she expected. It confuses her enough that she looks back at him. He’s
watching her carefully, thoughtfully, not really looking at her eyes but lower
on her face, and it’s so Fitz-like that she wants to cry.
“I- He- obviously
wasn’t very good to you. Why do you even want him back?”
Her eyebrows draw together, mouth popping open in confusion.
“Where are you getting that? Fitz is never anything but good to me.”