i’m trying to figure out why Damien had a cane or whatever that thing was.
was it just for him to be even more extra than he already is?? did he actually need it, did he have a limp or something? did he use it to whack people (the colonel) when they did something that they weren’t suppose to do? or is it some keepsake from something???
okay listen, lance? he had the biggest celebrity crush on shiro for the longest time and these are my hc’s about this:
i fully believe that mr. takashi shirogane was the “face” of the garrison, and that during his career he was roped into more than one recruitment video, with all the dramatic music and cinematic shots of pilots standing next to their fighter jets
someone: hey lance! your mans is on tv!
lance: [dropping whatever the hell he’s doing] press pause! press pause! i’m on my way!!!!
his siblings got into the habit of just shouting that even when the commercial wasn’t on because they liked recording his reaction time. the fastest he’s gotten there is six seconds (he was upstairs)
listen, lance isn’t naive. he knows that shiro is the best the garrison has to offer and he’s going into the cargo pilot program so he’s probably never going to see him, but still they’re in the same place:
lance: [at orientation] shiro…he walked through these halls, he ate in this lunchroom, i’m breathing blessed air
the one time lance almost gets caught sneaking out is because he couldn’t help peaking through the windows of the teacher’s lounge to see if maybe shiro was there
he was. and because shiro’s a legend he immediately picks up on the fact that he’s being stared at and then he catches lance’s eyes. lance just freezes, because shit…..but then shiro just sips his coffee and pointedly looks away because you know damn well he’s snuck out his fair share of times when he was a cadet
shiro: [in keith’s shack after being rescued] lance right?
lance: [internally: he knows my name? HE KNOWS MY NAME!]
later in the castle, after they’ve all gotten to know each other, after they’ve become a family:
hunk: hey lance do you remember when you liked shiro?
keith: wait what? you liked shiro [cue the face of disgust at the thought of anyone liking his brother]
lance: [defensively] i didn’t like him, it was just a stupid celebrity crush. i’m over it now
Pro tip to the That Guy who was using every Q&A period to ask a question but really it’s a comment but really it’s self-promotion: the only people in America who are allowed to open a question to a presenter with “I don’t know if you’re familiar with my work but” are Barack Obama and Beyonce.
I’m pretty sure Mei’s cinematic short made alot of us bawl our eyes out.
And then there’s this lil detail that I saw that I particularly liked but am not too sure on the accuracy of, and that is tea serving.
In SG, we usually serve either rice wine or tea as a sign of respect to our ancestors during Qing Ming/ Grave sweeping Day to remember our ancestors and loved ones ( by placing three small lil cups of tea/ rice wine at the gravestone). At the same time, tea serving or
is also a tradition that’s practiced during weddings where the newly weds serve tea to their relatives to acknowledge their new in-laws and new “brothers” and “sisters” and to pay respect to their current blood relatives. Now I’m half drunk out of my mind and it’s late at night and @pentacass is half egging me on and I cannot brain properly right now, and inferring off the photo of Mei and her co-workers; they obviously seem like a close knit group of friends to her.
I’m secretly half hoping/ imagining that those cups of tea she’s left for them is cause she’s acknowledged them as her brothers and sisters and served the tea to complete the tradition properly.
Or to put it simply, She considers them as family.
On second thought, now that I’m slightly more sober. Can you imagine the line interactions between Mei and Angela ingame? How Angela asks Mei about how she stays looking so young?
Mercy: Mei, you haven’t aged a day. What’s your secret? Mei: Cryostasis. But I’m not sure if I’d recommend it.
Can you imagine, how Mei must be hurting sooooo much inside, when Angela asks that question? Like she just nyooooms back in her head sifting and recalling memories of when she just came out of the chamber to prep tea and all that shit for her colleagues as if its just another regular day at work? I wonder now, does Angela know what really happened?
Malfoy looked up from his desk, quill poised over the parchment as his son hovered by the study door. Aware that he was frowning, Draco lifted his expression into something more neutral. He was vaguely aware of his own father always frowning whenever he’d tried to talk to him as a boy, and he didn’t want Scorpius to one day think the same about him.
“Come in, come in. Shut the door, you’ll let the heat out.”
The Greengrass estate was a crumbling ruin compared to Malfoy Manner, with only half the library and none of the artifacts Draco had spent the last few years archiving and putting safely away behind spelled glass. But for now it was home, chilly stone walls and all.
“Did you want something?”
“Yes.” Scorpius replied, pausing to tug at the hem of his dark shirt. There’s still a bruise under his eye, faded to be sure, but the mere presence of it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. When he’d seen Severus Potter crawling out of the rubble, face covered in blood and no sign of his own son, he’d known terror like no other.
And Draco Malfoy was intimately familiar with the machinations of terror. He’d been hugged by it once.
“Well,” he prompted, setting aside his work entirely and giving his full attention to his son. “What is it?”
“I want my friends to come visit.”
Draco blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Your…friends?”
“Albus Potter and Rosie Granger-Weasley. I would like them to come stay.”
Draco blinked again. Later he’d laugh—somewhat despairingly into a decanter of fire brandy—at the absurdity of the notion that his boy, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, was best friends with a Potter and the hybrid off-spring of a Granger Weasley, but the threat of impeding hysterics was quelled under the defiant gaze of his son, narrow chin lifting at some unspoken challenge.
“I see. For how long?”
“A…a week…maybe two…They’re going to France for the Quiditch Cup Primaries…” he glanced down and Draco spied the curled up parchment hidden up his sleeve. “So it wouldn’t be for long.”
Draco glanced at his desk, to the fireplace, then back to his son. “I don’t…”
I want my friends…friends…how often had Astoria lamented his lack of playmates as a child, how often had she fretted that Scorpius’ only interaction had been with adults—or books, or enchanting his own toys for someone to play with. And how quickly had Scorpius’ face crumpled at the utterance of two simple syllables.
“…know if two weeks would be wise, given your mother’s health. She’s still recovering from the move. But I shall discuss it with her, and see what can be done.”
Scorpius stilled, the beaming smile on his face reigned in to something calmer, even now, not wanting to get his hopes up too much. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, we will be good.”
Draco snorted at that, remembering the last time a Malfoy, a Potter and a Granger and a Weasley had been together at their age. “Somehow I doubt it. Go on off you go, go see what your mother is up to. She’s enjoying having you home.”
“And I am enjoying being here,” Scorpius replied, in that curiously courteous and stiff way of speaking he’d always had, even as an infant learning his words. “I am happy to be here, with you, and mother.”
“I’m…very glad to hear it.” Draco replied, unsure what else he was supposed to say to such an open admission said so politely like one was discussing the weather. “Now go on, off you go, I need to finish this manuscript before I lose the thought.”
“You’ll talk to mother though, wont you?” Scorpius pressed from his space by the door. “You’ll ask…”
“Yes, yes.” Draco waved a hand, “I’ll ask if the Potter spawn can come stay with us. Just for a little bit. To say thank you for…everything.”
Reassured, Scorpius left, closing the door behind himself with a firm click.
Draco waited several more moments, counting to a hundred before opening up the top desk of his drawer and pulling out his correspondence folder, flipping through them until he found the appropriate manila envelope, writing the address of the Ministry Neatly to the front.
Clearing his throat politely, he composed himself, then tapped it to life with his wand.
“Hello Potter,” he spat with a vicious familiar glee, unable to keep from laughing, “I’m not sure which one of us is going to be more surprised by this turn of events, but I swear to gods if you break my son’s heart by saying no, I will personally send you a red Howler on the hour every hour till the day one of us dies. Now, about dates, the last week in June works well for us…”
Quirks are inherited genetically and typically manifest in children by the age of four, at the latest. Children will either manifest one of their parent’s Quirks or if the two are compatible, a new composite Quirk formed by the fusion of the two.
You know the ones that tie the whole group together and get everyone talking but when they’re not there it’s more or less awkward and no one talks because you don’t know each other well enough to actually initiate a conversation with that person so you all just sit there and just…stagnate until the glue friend comes back to bring back peace and familiarity.