I saw you in Tondc before the missile hit. I know you, Clarke. Something was wrong. And then you and Lexa disappear and just happen to survive? Tell me you didn’t know it was coming. Octavia… You let all those people die. You were gonna let me die.
Jake saw Mike ‘die’, found out he was alive, also found out that Mike doesn’t recognize him and has basically been brainwashed, and now technically saw (if you’re dating him) his girl/boyfriend 'die’ when he was merely centimeters away from her/him.
You can see both Ed and Oswald trying to hold onto their anger and need for revenge. Ed when he says, “You’re ALIVE?” And Oswald when he makes a grab for Ed. But the anger fades so quickly from both of them, revealing so much sadness…and love.
Gendrya prompt: the realization of Feels (from either or both POVs)
“You told me once that you could be my family. I want that now, Arya. I love you.”
Is that what he was trying to tell her all along? Because if he was, then he had a shitty way of saying it. She had loved him, but after their time apart, he would never be able to love the person she was now. A faceless man. An assassin; Who would want that for their future? She couldn’t sew, she couldn’t cook properly, she couldn’t even dress like a lady. If he assumed it was to hide her identity years ago, it wasn’t a complete lie. From the start, Arya was never the type to be a lady.
Things were different now. He’d never accept her, not now; She should have felt some sort of feelings towards his statement, but the only sentiment she felt in that moment was anger. Throwing Needle carefully onto her bed, Arya turned to face the man now standing before her. There was a confidence to him that she liked very much, but hated at the same time.
“Where were these words when I told you I would be your family? Where was your confidence then?”
I just finished my rewatch of Eureka seveN after few years since last time. And I am a crying mess right now.
I remembered what I forgot through all those years. I was reblogging E7 related stuff on this blog for a long time now, but I didn’t feel anything. I was just mindlessly doing it out of habit.
But now I remember. How I felt as a 12 year old boy, who stumbled upon this show by pure coincidence. Ever since then I was mesmerised by it. I couldn’t wait till next episode. Nine pm, everyday. I remember the time when episode 50 aired.
How sad it was to see that my favorite show, my favorite characters, my favorite world was gone. It felt like leaving something behind. Something really important to me.
Back then I thought that if Renton’s 14, then I still have 2 years to become as cool as him. This memory is so vivid it feels like it was yesterday. When I was a child, I didn’t know where lies the limit of human imagination. Eureka seveN felt real to me. I wasn’t looking at this show as a cartoon made by people. For me it was a real world. It was an experience. A journey.
This anime taught me a lot of things, With every year I gained, I was learning different things from it. I’m still amazed that even after 8 years, I can see new things in this show. New things I can learn from. This show taught me about family. About friendship. About love. That not everything in life works out. That to get something, to make something real, I can’t wait for it to happen. I have to do it myself.
About 4 years ago I think I forgot why I even liked this show. I thought I remembered it well. Well, I was wrong. Without realizing it, I forgot why I am so attached to it. But while I forgot a lot of things, it let me feel like I was watching it for the first time. I felt like a kid again. It felt like definitive end for my childhood, even though I’m 20 years old already.
But I remember it now…
I finally remember why I fell in love with Eureka seveN in the first place.
When Robert wakes from his mental breakdown and Aaron is by his bedside, he’ll raise his large hands to touch Aaron’s face with a gentle fleeting careful caress as if to check it’s not a dream, and he’ll feel Aaron’s stubbly cheeks stretch into a grin.
I know we're all excited for the printshop scene and what happens next, but the reunion I'm truly looking forward to is the one between Jamie and Bree. I'm aware Roger and Brianna are not fan favorites but I LOVE the relationship both of them build with Jamie over time, he really becomes a father for both of them. Jamie deserves all the good things, and I can't wait for his family to be whole again. And I *really* hope the show will not neglect Fergus as Diana did in the books. I love them all!
There was no doubt in her mind, from the first glimpse. She was at once surprised and not surprised at all; he was not quite what she had imagined—he seemed smaller, only man-sized—but his face had the lines of her own; the long, straight nose and stubborn jaw, and the slanted cat-eyes, set in a frame of solid bone.
He moved toward her out of the maples’ shadow, and the sun struck his hair with a spray of copper sparks. Half consciously she raised a hand and pushed a strand of hair back from her face, seeing from the corner of her eye the matching gleam of thick red-gold.
“What d’ye want here, lassie?” he asked. Sharp, but not unkind. His voice was deeper than she had imagined; the Highland burr slight but distinct. “You,” she blurted. Her heart seemed to have wedged itself in her throat; she had trouble forcing any words past it.
He was close enough that she caught the faint whiff of his sweat and the fresh smell of sawn wood; there was a golden scatter of sawdust caught in the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt. His eyes narrowed with amusement as he looked her up and down, taking in her costume. One reddish eyebrow rose, and he shook his head.
“Sorry, lass,” he said, with a half-smile. “I’m a marrit man.”
He made to pass by, and she made a small incoherent sound, putting out a hand to stop him, but not quite daring to touch his sleeve. He stopped and looked at her more closely.
“No, I meant it; I’ve a wife at home, and home’s not far,” he said, evidently wishing to be courteous. “But—” He stopped, close enough now to take in the grubbiness of her clothes, the hole in the sleeve of her coat and the tattered ends of her stock.
“Och,” he said in a different tone, and reached for the small leather purse he wore tied at his waist. “Will ye be starved, then, lass? I’ve money, if you must eat.”
She could scarcely breathe. His eyes were dark blue, soft with kindness. Her eyes fixed on the open collar of his shirt, where the curly hairs showed, bleached gold against his sunburnt skin.
“Are you—you’re Jamie Fraser, aren’t you?”
He glanced sharply at her face.
“I am,” he said. The wariness had returned to his face; his eyes narrowed against the sun. He glanced quickly behind him, toward the tavern, but nothing stirred in the open doorway. He took a step closer to her.
“Who asks?” he said softly. “Have you a message for me, lass?”
She felt an absurd desire to laugh welling up in her throat. Did she have a message?
“My name is Brianna,” she said. He frowned, uncertain, and something flickered in his eyes. He knew it! He’d heard the name and it meant something to him. She swallowed hard, feeling her cheeks blaze as though they’d been seared by a candle flame.
“I’m your daughter,” she said, her voice sounding choked to her own ears. “Brianna.”
He stood stock-still, not changing expression in the slightest. He had heard her, though; he went pale, and then a deep, painful red washed up his throat and into his face, sudden as a brushfire, matching her own vivid color.
She felt a deep flash of joy at the sight, a rush through her midsection that echoed that blaze of blood, recognition of their fair-skinned kinship. Did it trouble him to blush so strongly? she wondered suddenly. Had he schooled his face to immobility, as she had learned to do, to mask that telltale surge?
Her own face felt stiff, but she gave him a tentative smile.
He blinked, and his eyes moved at last from her face, slowly taking in her appearance, and—with what seemed to her a new and horrified awareness—her height.
“My God,” he croaked. “You’re huge.”
Her own blush had subsided, but now came back with a vengeance.
“And whose fault is that, do you think?” she snapped. She drew herself up straight and squared her shoulders, glaring. So close, at her full height, she could look him right in the eye, and did.
He jerked back, and his face did change then, mask shattering in surprise. Without it, he looked younger; underneath were shock, surprise, and a dawning expression of half-painful eagerness.
“Och, no, lassie!” he exclaimed. “I didna mean it that way, at all! It’s only—” He broke off, staring at her in fascination. His hand lifted, as though despite himself, and traced the air, outlining her cheek, her jaw and neck and shoulder, afraid to touch her directly.
“It’s true?” he whispered. “It is you, Brianna?” He spoke her name with a queer accent—Breeanah—and she shivered at the sound.
“It’s me,” she said, a little huskily. She made another attempt at a smile. “Can’t you tell?”
His mouth was wide and full-lipped, but not like hers; wider, a bolder shape, that seemed to hide a smile in the corners of it, even in repose. It was twitching now, not certain what to do.
“Aye,” he said. “Aye, I can.”
He did touch her then, his fingers drawing lightly down her face, brushing back the waves of ruddy hair from temple and ear, tracing the delicate line of her jaw. She shivered again, though his touch was noticeably warm; she could feel the heat of his palm against her cheek.
“I hadna thought of you as grown,” he said, letting his hand fall reluctantly away. “I saw the pictures, but still—I had ye in my mind somehow as a wee bairn always—as my babe. I never expected …” His voice trailed off as he stared at her, the eyes like her own, deep blue and thick-lashed, wide in fascination.
“Pictures,” she said, feeling breathless with happiness. “You’ve seen pictures of me? Mama found you, didn’t she? When you said you had a wife at home—”
“Claire,” he interrupted. The wide mouth had made its decision; it split into a smile that lit his eyes like the sun in the dancing tree leaves. He grabbed her arms, tight enough to startle her.
“You’ll not have seen her, then? Christ, she’ll be mad wi’ joy!” The thought of her mother was overwhelming. Her face cracked, and the tears she had been holding back for days spilled down her cheeks in a flood of relief, half choking her as she laughed and cried together.
“Here, lassie, dinna weep!” he exclaimed in alarm. He let go of her arm and snatched a large, crumpled handkerchief from his sleeve. He patted tentatively at her cheeks, looking worried.
“Dinna weep, a leannan, dinna be troubled,” he murmured. “It’s all right, m’annsachd; it’s all right.”
“I’m all right; everything’s all right. I’m just—happy,” she said. She took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “What does that mean—aleannan? And the other thing you said?”
“You’ll not have the Gaelic, then?” he asked, and shook his head. “No, of course she wouldna have been taught,” he murmured, as though to himself.
“I’ll learn,” she said firmly, giving her nose a last wipe. “A leannan?”
A slight smile reappeared on his face as he looked at her.
“It means ‘darling,’ ” he said softly. “M’ annsachd—my blessing.”
The words hung in the air between them, shimmering like the leaves. They stood still, both stricken suddenly with shyness by the endearment, unable to look away from each other, unable to find more words.
“Fa—” Brianna started to speak, then stopped, suddenly seized with doubt. What should she call him? Not Daddy. Frank Randall had been Daddy to her all her life; it would be a betrayal to use that name to another man—any other man. Jamie? No, she couldn’t possibly; rattled as he was by her appearance, he had still a formidable dignity that forbade such casual use. “Father” seemed remote and stern—and whatever Jamie Fraser might be, he wasn’t that; not to her.
He saw her hesitate and flush, and recognized her trouble.
“You can … call me Da,” he said. His voice was husky; he stopped and cleared his throat. “If—if ye want to, I mean,” he added diffidently.
“Da,” she said, and felt the smile bloom easily this time, unmarred by tears. “Da. Is that Gaelic?”
He smiled back, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly.
“No. It’s only … simple.”
And suddenly it was all simple. He held out his arms to her. She stepped into them and found that she had been wrong; he was as big as she’d imagined—and his arms were as strong about her as she had ever dared to hope.