John, trying very hard to subtly communicate through chess how to kill the Hunger, while his self-grown eldritch cosmic horror glares down all around them. His last speech to Merle in the Stolen Century Arc was how he was a motivational speaker who convinced his universe to become said
eldritch cosmic horror so they could basically eat god.
Merle, seemingly oblivious to Johns desperate attempts at communicating without being subjected to a fate worse than death.
‘So John You haven’t really told me about what ya did before you were a world crushing avatar for a gigantic evil force. You know, what did ya do for a living?’
Now when we know that the Inquisitor is losing their arm no matter what at the end of Trespasser DLC, I really like to thing about different prosthesis for each one, based on the race, like:
Trevelyans having their forearm made of silverite lined with drakeskin leather, with family crests carved on the back of their hand. It looks like a ceremonial armor, decorated with ornaments in fashion of choice, but also full of hidden weapons.
Cadashes new arm is literally a weapon on a whole new level. It’s all bare gears and machinery, with detachable hand they can change for a blade or hammer, all made from steel and refined lyrium.
Adaars’ prosthesis are the simplest, but practical and elegant. Dragonbone core covered in layers of dragon hide painted black, branded with gold.
Lavellans is the most terrifying. It’s all twisted, living wood - be it ironbark, sylvanwood or dragonthorn, that’s personal preference. Matching the skin, it looks almost like naked muscles. Their hand can shaped with claws and even bloom once a year
Also, if they are mage, the Inquisitor’s arm can glow (especially Lavellans’ becasue tbh something has to keep that wood intact, right?)
Lance approached her one quiet day, when she was watching the universe through the observation deck. “Hey, Princess Allura?” He sounded quiet, wounded; in a regular situation, she would have been surprised, worried even, but these days it was more commonplace than she was comfortable with. The disappearance of Shiro had shaken everyone, and the further swapping of Paladins had further degraded the teams morale. Even the former Black Paladin’s reappearance hadn’t completely lifted the mood. She turned on the ball of her foot to face him and smiled gently. He looked tired, eyes locked on the floor and a miserable half-smile on his face. Even in the soft blue light of the staffs and galaxies outside the thick windows didn’t improve the situation, instead drawing dark shadows under his eyes and nose. “Lance? What’s wrong?”
He stalled, eyes wide. “Y'know what, actually it’s not that important,” he rambled, half-smile becoming wide and fake, “sorry for pestering you, Princess!” “Lance.” Allura raised an eyebrow. “You can tell me your problems, you know.” “I wouldn’t want to trouble you, it’s okay.” The smile was wider now, somewhat reaching his eyes. “I would like to think that we were close enough to share our troubles by now,” she offered with a gentle smile, walking over to where he was stood in the centre of the room, “are we not friends?” That seemed to shock him, causing a blush to grow on his cheeks and the smile to shrink gently. “Hey, we totally are friends,” he confirmed with a laugh, “blue bros, right?” “Well, if we’re friends, then you know that you can confide in me.”
His fingers went to the hem of his jacket, playing with loose threads and torn seams. “Would it ever be possible to go back to that alternative reality?”
That wasn’t what Allura had been expecting.
“How do you mean?” “Would we ever be able to go back?” He asked with a shrug, not greeting her gaze. “Well, I’m not sure why we would ever want to.” The thought of those heartless Alteans, who enslaved other races and nearly killed her Paladins, was nearly too much to bare. She huffed and folded her arms. “I doubt it would be possible without the comet anyway, and that’s unfortunately still owned by Lotor and his cronies,” she added, spitting the Galran Prince’s name like poison. “Oh, okay.” He shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself again. “Oh well, thanks Allura-” “Lance, wait.” She reached out for his arm, grabbing it before he turned away. “Why would you want to go back? That reality was in no way a good one.”
There was a brief period of silence before Lance reluctantly looked back up at her. “That Freedom fighter, Sven,” he explained with a sigh, “he took a shot for me, like, the dude straight up pushed me out of the way!” His hands flew out, waving as his voice began to raise. “If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been hit and taken by those gladiators, y'know?” His face fell again, letting his hands hang at his sides. “I don’t even know if he’s alive or not.” Allura stood and listened, remaining quiet for long after Lance finished speaking. “I wish there was something I could do,” she finally admitted, placing her other hand on his shoulder, “if it’s any consolation, his injuries didn’t appear fatal, and the other Slav seemed to have the situation under control.” He rubbed his arms below where Allura’s hands were placed. “I guess so,” he replied hesitantly, “but if we ever get that comet ship back, could we try?” “I don’t see why not,” she said with a small smile, increasing once she saw how Lance’s face almost instantly lit up, “I’m sure that Hunk or Pidge will still have the co-ordinates of the wormhole.”
The change was instantaneous; his grin became real and large, and he pumped the air with a ferocity that made Allura stumble back. “Thanks Princess!” “It’s nothing, really.” She waved her hand dismissively, and was about to turn back to the cosmic view when she noticed Lance’s hands fumble around in his pockets. “Lance, what’s-?” Looking over his shoulder, almost to check for anyone else in the room, he pulled a small device out of his shirt pocket; it looked similar to the portable holograms that Pidge had created, but a soft lime green instead of the orange she was used to. It also glowed with an unfamiliar sigil, Altean, yet unreadable. Allura passed it between her hands, testing the weight wearily, before handing it back to Lance who protectively cradled the device against his chest. “He gave me this, before I had to leave him with Slav,” he explained with a softer, more tender smile, “It might be some form of communication device.” Despite Lance’s excitement, Allura didn’t quite know how to feel. “It might be dangerous, Lance,” she answered back, taking a step towards the other paladin, “what if Lotor or the alternate Alteans were able to track the signal?” “Dude, chill.” His hands went into the air in surrender. “I doubt I’ll even be able to connect across realities. See?”
He tapped a finger against the front of the device, and the entire screen lit up.
“Lance? What have you done?” Allura looked down at the device in confusion. The lime green was covered by a box on neon blue, with a small grey keyboard at the bottom in unfamiliar letters. “Is this-” “English, yeah,” he confirmed, “I guess they speak it in that reality as well.” His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he shot her a secretive wink. “Should I try it?” “Lance, no-!” “Whoops,” he deadpanned, no hint of regret as he typed out a short message and a grey bubble appeared on the screen.
“Hey man, you okay?”
When Sven finally came round, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool; it was leaking out of his ears, his nose, and his mouth with each breath, and the world seemed to swim and swirl in darkness. “Sven? Sven, are you back with us?” That- that was Slav, standing beside the bed that he was on with all four pairs of arms folded. “I’m here, Slav, I’m-” A sharp pain suddenly shot through his chest, causing him to cry out and shoot upright. The cotton wool had tumbled out, but now each breath was ragged and increased the stabbing feeling. “Slav, what- what happened?” The alien scurried over to a side table, retrieving a test tube of a glowing painkiller and handing it over. “You were shot saving one of the Paladins from the alternate reality,” he explained, urging Sven to drink the liquid, “I was worried for a second that we existed in the seven-point-three percent of realities where you do not survive the blast.” Sven tipped his head back and drank the liquid; it was bitter over his tongue but the numbing effect was immediate. “Did him and his team get out okay?” “Indeed,” Slav said, still not facing him but continuing to move around the room, “him and his team managed to take the comet back to their reality and out of the hands of the Alteans.” He stopped near another desk, letting his arms fall to his side. “Although it would have been nice to exist in the sixty percent of realities where we take the comet back to the Guns of Gamora base.” Sven felt a sudden tightness in his chest, not one that usually came from the painkillers. “It’s a shame, he seemed like a nice person.” Slav’s head snapped around, grabbing a green holopad off the desk. “There is still a chance that we live in the seventy percent of realities where you and the blue paladin become close friends, or the twelve-point-five percent where you two are-” he cut himself off quickly, causing Sven to glance over in confusion. “Where we are what, Slav?” The alien shook his head. “It does not matter.” He then passed over the holopad, Sven taking it in his hands gently. “I did however give the paladin one of these, and if my calculations are correct, the connection should be strong enough to transcend the gap between realities.” “How is this possible?” The alien motioned to the shard of comet, suspended in liquid on the desk. “Consider this an experiment.”
He’d never been so thankful for Slav in his life
There was one message on the screen, the layout similar to the Chatrooms of Earth before it was taken by the Alteans, with an English keyboard and grey bubbles with text. Surprisingly, there was already one message on screen:
“Hey man, you okay?”
“Slav, is this from him?” He asked, gesturing to the screen. “I believe his name is Lance, as that is his name in thirty-three-point-three recurring percent of all realities,” Slav pointed out, “in others, he is either Jeremy, or-” A pointed glare from Sven quickly silenced the Bytor. “Sven? One last thing?” “What is it?” He didn’t look up from the holopad, but Slav carried on anyway. “Captain Akira and Commander Isamu want to know when you’ll be ready to return to the fight.” “Give me a day or so,” Sven replied, beginning to type out an answer.
“I am feeling much better now. Was your journey back to your reality safe?”
He didn’t even notice the door slide shut, and the white noise of silence echoed in his ears. His head hit the pillow, and all faded to black.
Lance had just finished training when he found the softly glowing holopad again. It scared him at first; the door slid open to reveal his room bathed in a soft green light, and he was stunned that such a small device could create so much light.
“I am feeling much better now. Was your journey back to your reality safe?”
Sven had replied. Across realities.
He nearly dived across the room to reply, smashing his foot against the bed in the process. Once he had hobbled onto the bed, he tapped his fingers against the screen in reply.
“We got home safe, but we lost the comet :( I’m sorry Sven.”
He was prepared for another day or so wait, and had set the device aside when the screen lit up again. “Did it get destroyed in the wormhole?” “Some evil bastards took it from us the moment we arrived on the other side. We were set up.” Typing the admission was almost as guilt-inducing as saying it out loud, particularly to the man who was prepared to sacrifice his life for it. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lance. It sounds as if your reality is dealing with similar things to ours.” Allura wasn’t expecting him on the bridge anytime soon, right? “Depends, what kind of stuff are you dealing with?” “The Alteans constantly try and take our liberated planets and resources, and we’re dealing with new stronghold attacks and breaches everyday. Sound familiar?” “Replace Alteans with Galrans and you’re there.”
A knock at the door started him, the holopad clattering against the floor. “Lance? Are you in here?” That was Hunk, ever attentive and caring. He couldn’t know about Sven, he’d probably report back to Allura, and Lance knew better an anyone how sceptical the princess was about outside communication. The holopad was secured under his pillow, and the door slid open for Hunk to walk in and plop onto the bed. “You okay, dude?” “Yeah man, of course I’m okay!” Hunk didn’t seem swayed, instead twisting his face in some form of sadness. “You seemed really out of it today in training, it is to do with the lion thing?” Lance wasn’t expecting that, pulling back in shock. “Dude, I’m over that, you know it.” “Just because you’re over it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” He looped an arm around Lance’s shoulders and pulled him into his side. “We’re buddies, remember?” “I couldn’t forget,” lance said with a chuckle, muffled by Hunk’s chest. There was a shuffle as Hunk moved to stand, shoving his hands in his pockets and moving towards the door. “Oh, and Allura was looking for you. Something about a holopad?”
Over the next couple of weeks, Sven learnt so much about Lance that he’d felt like he’d known the paladin for most of his life. He’d learnt that Lance was Cuban, and was the youngest child of a large family, along with the knowledge of every member of their Voltron, the extent of his Spanish-speaking capacities, and detailed recounts of many notable moments from his life in general. All in all, Lance was shaping up to be an incredibly interesting individual. “Lieutenant Commander Sven, focus!” Right, the command conference. “I apologise Akira, could you repeat yourself?” He asked with a cock of his head, feigning as much sincerity as he could. In response, Akira leant tiredly on the table, sighing before glaring at Sven across the table. “You’re distracted today Sven, what’s up?” On his left, Isamu gave a low chuckle. “He’s busy thinking about his boyfriend from the alternate reality that he sacrificed his life for.” Sven rolled his eyes. “Leave me alone Isamu, you know that isn’t true. “Well there’s gotta’ be a reason you’re addicted to mine and Slav’s experimental communicator,” Hiroshi piped up on his right, lazily resting his head in his hands. A cough from the head of the table broke them from their argument, belonging to a somewhat irritated Akira. “Whatever the problem is, Sven,” he said slowly, “you’re given this afternoon to sort it out. Dismissed.” “But, Chief-” Akira chuckled gently. “The Guns of Gamora can survive without you for a day. Go get rested, Holgersson.”
He had no choice but to leave the room, and fell into his bed the moment he was back in his dorm. It was true, he had been distracted recently, but he didn’t think it had gotten in the way of his duties. If Lance was messing him up this badly, then maybe it would be for the best to hand the holopad back to Slav, tell him it was a success that he wanted no part of. But what would Lance think?
He didn’t have time to dwell on the matter before a buzz announced the arrival of a new message. This one was different; a picture, indicating Lance had discovered how to use the camera function, of a young man looking strangely sheepish, with a scarily familiar face if it weren’t for the shock of white hair and nasty looking scar across the bridge of his nose. “I forgot to say, we found our leader again!!!! :D” Looking at the picture of who Sven assumed was the infamous Shiro, he saw why the other team got confused when they first saw him. “You were right, we do look similar. You’re forgiven for assuming we were the same person.” “Yeah but we should’ve been able to tell, since he doesn’t have a cute accent like you do.” What cute accent?- oh. Oh. Oh no.
He was not allowing Isamu to be right, warm feeling in his chest be damned. “What do you mean, ‘cute accent’?” Now he’d really put his foot in it, but Lance’s response seemed carefree as ever. “Well, you’re Scandinavian, right? Your accent was really nice, like, dude, ever considered doing audiobooks?” The room had suddenly become incredibly warm. He wasn’t blushing, no way. Lieutenant Commander Sven Holgersson wasn’t going to be won over by a cute paladin from an alternate reality who seemed to be flirting with him over text.
Except for the fact he totally was, and oh god, he had exactly no idea how to deal with this.
“I can’t say as I have, no room for a cushy career with the Guns of Gamora I’m afraid.” “On that topic, is that run by renegade Alteans? Because we have group called the Blade of Marmora that’s run by renegade Galrans.”
The conversation tumbled on from there, and once Lance finally wished him good night, the ship lights had clicked off and his clock told him it was the equivalent of the early morning. Maybe he’d ask for tomorrow morning off as well
The first time Sven called him was the middle of the night what he assumed was a few weeks after the comet incident. Lance was amazed he had talked to him this long, really; he was a freedom fighter, constantly telling Lance about how busy he was and how much stress he was under from being a rather high-up member of their rebellion, yet somehow, was always there in Lance’s downtime for a grounding conversation.
When he left his room, the castle lights were still low, giving him very little light to navigate the hallways with. It reminded him of his dream that night, one that had woken him up screaming in a cold sweat, but, now that he only was meandering through the castle wrapped in a blanket and clutching the holopad like a lifeline, he couldn’t remember for the life of him what it was about. Eventually, he reached the top common room, and sunk into one of the chairs that lined the room; he found this place on accident, but the plush chairs and soft lighting meant it was his favourite place to go for late night strolls. He sent out a quick, short reply to Sven, then closed his eyes. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he could at least try and get some rest.
A soft buzz forced his eyes to snap open again, and he picked up the holopad. “Lance, what are you doing awake? I though this was in your usual night-cycle?” “Yeah, it is. Can’t sleep. Nightmare.” He hoped he didn’t come off as rude. Sven’s concern was touching, causing him to smile tenderly without even realising. His crush hadn’t quite gone away, if he was being honest, although flirting with someone over text was significantly harder than trying to face-to-face. “Can you see a red circle near the top of the screen?” “I see it.” “Press it.” Press the red button, huh?
Lance tapped it lightly, and the screen completely changed. It was dark, but he could make out a face, and hair, and- “Sven!” On the screen, Sven laughed gently and pulled a hand through messy hair. “Good evening, Lance,” he greeted, “or should I say good morning? It’s pretty early, even for you.” The lilt in his voice was stronger than Lance remembered it, and he sunk into the chair further with a soft smile. “Eh, you know how it gets with nightmares and the such.” Sven nodded. “I understand, I get particularly bad ones myself.” “But isn’t it night for you as well?” “I have only just gotten to bed,” Sven replied with a shrug, moving a hand under his pillow, “I am much too awake to try and sleep at the moment, so your call is very helpful to both of us.” Lance gasped in mock offence. “My call? You were the one who told me to do it!” “Oh no, you foiled my plan to see your pretty face again! Whatever shall I do now?” Sven laughed again, louder this time, and Lance was pleasantly happy that the low light didn’t give away how much he was blushing. “Yeah? Well, aliens have summoned Voltron just for a chance to see this face, so you better up your game, you, uh, moose.” “A moose? That is a new one.” Sven was taunting him now, and the smirk on his face showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. “Well, you get moose in Norway, right?” Lance floundered, shrugging noncommittally, but Sven’s loud, tinkling laugher on the line was more than worth it. “Do you mean the Elg or actual Moose?” “There’s a difference?” “The Elg is your American moose, but our moose are very different to that,” he explained, but then paused for a second, a slightly more solemn look cast on his face, “I would love to take you one day and show you.” “I’d like that as well, y'know?” A smile returned to Sven’s face, increasing Lance’s in return. “If there is a ‘next time’ to your visit, I shall take you.” “Well, we’re working on getting the comet-ship back,” Lance replied eagerly, “and the Princess said that I could visit you once it’s in our hands.” “I shall begin to prepare now,” Sven said, shuffling onto his side and changing the angle of the camera, “I have a lot I’d like to show you.”
Lance thought, that maybe if he lay on his side as well, it almost be like sleeping next to him. He decided not to act on that thought.
A yawn suddenly ripped from his throat. “Oops, sounds like someone is getting tired now.” “Shut up, Sven, you can’t talk,” Lance slurred in reply. “But at least I’m willing to admit it.” Lance huffed and settled back into the cushions of the chair. “Why are you always right?” Sven chuckled, before turning back to the camera. “Go and get some sleep sharpshooter, you’ll thank me for it in the morning.”
He was asleep before he could even end the call.
“Sweet dreams, my Lance.”
“Lance, cover me!” “On it!” The ricochet of sniper fire echoed around the Galra post, and his gun smoked as shots smashed into the sentries preventing Keith access. He sent a thumbs-up, and drew his bayard once again, and Lance knew it was time to move on. The comet-ship was in sights now, having docked there a Varga ago for Lotor to attend some important meeting with other Galran commanders. Lance, Keith, and Pidge were supposed to be sneakily commandeering it whilst Allura and Hunk circled overhead, distracting Lotor’s generals. Everything had gone tits up, however, when Pidge’s taser had accidentally tripped a security wire and drones flooded the room. “Lance, get them off me, I’m close!” He sniped a few robots off Pidge, and ran towards the giant ship. He was a few steps away from the cockpit when-
There was a sharp pain in his leg, and grey dots jumped in his eyesight. As he fell to the floor, a single shot rang out from the gun. Several locks of platinum hair fell to the ground, bathed in a small pool of blood that had been growing there. Wait, that was his blood. Nice.
His vision focused enough to see Keith’s black sword cut the air in front of him, and for Lotor to stumble back, flipping the grip of his own rapier to parry Keith’s offence. The sniper felt heavy in his hands, and it clattered to the floor. It made a nice noise, Lance noticed, compared to the clash of alien metal in front of him.
The last thing he remembered was green armour looping around his shoulders and dragging him into an unfamiliar cockpit, and he woke up later to the more familiar cold feeling of falling out of a cryopod into Hunk’s arms and straight into bed. The holopad was there on his bedside, ever present and glowing dimly.
“We stole the comet ship, so be prepared to show me Norway :) I’m on my way, Sven.”
As he slipped away into sleep, a set of co-ordinates appeared on the screen
“I can’t wait”
“Lance, are you sure it’s around here?”
They’d been flying through the empty space of the alternate reality for what felt like hours. Shiro, who had been suffering Cabin fever ever since the Black Lion had rejected him, volunteered to take him through the wormhole, and was finding it hard to locate the co-ordinates that Sven had sent. “So, what kind of ship are we looking for?” Lance thought for a moment. “I don’t know, it would probably be hidden. Kind of like the Blade of Marmora ships?” Shiro sighed and hunched over the console, tapping a screen detailing their flight path. “Wait, what’s that?”
Before them lay what looked like the wrecked remains of a silvery ship, debris from an explosion-shaped hole in the side floated in the Zero-G. The paint-job was blackened and burnt, and the few air locks that were still attached were mangled into unrecognisable shapes. “Lance, are you sure-?” “These were the co-ordinates. Sven wouldn’t lie.” Lance reached down for his buckles and activated the suits helmet. “I’m going in.” A hand wrapped around his arm, inhumanly strong. “Lance, don’t do this.” “Why not?” He struggled against Shiro’s hold. “I need to find him, I need to, I need to-” “Lance,” Shiro silenced him gently, “I’m sorry, I can’t let you go in there.”
Lance had never claimed to know what freezing, true cold like ice in his lungs, felt like. But this? This was pretty close.
“He, he was gonna’ show me Norway,” he blubbered, eyesight blurring as unwanted tears overflowed, “he was gonna’ show me the Elgs, and introduce me to him team - the Guns.” “Lance, breathe-” “Then I was gonna’ take him to Varadero and the beach, and, fuck Shiro, I told him about my parents-” “Please, Lance, you need to stop-” “He was- and I- I-” “Lance.” Strong arms pulled him back onto his seat, and in the chest of the former paladin. He felt all his energy bleed out, sobbing until Shiro’s shirt was a mess and he had nothing left to give. “I loved him, Shiro.” His breaths were ragged now, forceful and raw. “And I’m sure he loved me back.” “I’m sure he did, Lance,” Shiro assured. He was too good for Lance, too good for the team, “but we should be getting home.”
They flew back without another word, the only sound in the cockpit being Lance’s sniffs.
The holopad now lies at the bottom of a large pile of Lance’s clothes, forgotten to most, if not all. It rarely illuminates now, only if it accidentally brushes against a sensitive piece of clothing.
It is almost at the end of it’s battery when it lights up for one final time, with a message never to be read.
“I’m sorry, Lance. I love you.”
Thanks for reading guys! It’s also on my AO3 (Link in my bio!) if y’all prefer that
I didn’t attend the 2017 San Diego Comic Con. Actually, I have never attended a comic con before and I know very little about them other than what I have read and experienced through my cosplay son. So, you can say, that I lived the con through the many who posted pictures and wrote of their personal experiences on social media. Also included in that information is the multitude of professional photographs and celebrity interviews and a lot of articles written and published by other “news” organizations. Some of the later are pretty shady which is why I used the quotation marks - these often called “click bait”. So… I had a ton of sources from which I could gain the knowledge of a comic con and what part Outlander played in it all. And, unless you attended it yourself, this speaks of your experience too.
I am not interested in the con info unless it related to Outlander and especially, Sam and Cait. So, I started sifting through the maze of pictures; interviews; blogs; and articles, hoping to see a true picture of Sam and Cait’s time at comic con.
Well, it reminded me quickly, of googling a name on the Internet, and trying to decide what was true and what wasn’t. It became a huge endeavor and I had to soon, make a decision. I had to formulate in my own mind what was important, true, and believable. To do that, I stopped reading and looking.
I have been in this fandom now for about two years, not long, but long enough to know what speaks truly of Sam and Cait and those a part of the world of Outlander. And if you haven’t had enough yourself, here is what I came up with.
1. Like I had already determined, Sam and Cait are embroiled in, what I see, as a no win situation. A shadow game of disguising what is true about their personal relationship overseen by at least two men who know nothing of what true love is all about. We will never know why this game is being played and who actually started it. What we do know and understand is that real love will not exist this way for long. I believe that S&C were blindsided with the return of a girl that could never be of interest to Sam (in comparison to the person that is Cait) and it greatly effected Cait this time (referenced by the pictures of Cait on the red carpet). This was “obvious”.
2. Already determined, Cait and Sam talk in innuendo and clue. Their responses in interviews and the consequent reactions of fellow cast members tell a very different story than what is being told. All you have to do is watch and you can see it. They were separated from sitting next to each other last weekend because the private bubble that being close creates, is contrary to the current narrative. Even in a large group, Sam and Cait can create an island of their own in which they are the only inhabitants. Every answer they gave on a personal nature was spiked with words and body language that was cryptic and told a different story. Body language alone does not lie. Especially when it comes to Mr. Heughan. He wears his heart on his sleeve and his facial expression cannot tell a lie. Look at the wringing of his hands, holding them in tight fists, his constant rubbing his ring finger. He doesn’t like the position he is in. And for the first time, the stoic and ever confident Cait, couldn’t pretend either.
3. There are a couple of interviewers who should not be allowed to interview the cast of Outlander anymore. They embarrass themselves, the cast, and play against the best thing about the show - it’s fans. I was mad about the letter and I tagged Sam a couple of times about it. I am hoping that he finally says enough. I was also smoked about showing the entire first episode at comic con. All I could think of was fans posting spoilers and I was mad. Come to find out, the fans were awesome about that - a certain interviewer was not. She needs to take a seat and give up this job.
4. My last thought is this dear ones. Take what you know and what you see and count on that. Remember that we know this couple through others who truly know them as people and that is what we should fall back on. We see them in their charity work and how important that involvement is to each of them. And most importantly, we see them together, and who they are in each other’s company. That is something that cannot be faked, no matter how good an actor you are. Their smiles reach their eyes and no other can do that for them. They are so comfortable with each other and when they are together, there’s no one else in the room. Be happy for that. When they are side by side, there is no question that these are two people who worship the other more than anything. You may see them next to others, but they really start living when together. Be your own eyes and ears, and yes, there will always be pictures that disturb and articles that say different, it’s inevitable. But we know, don’t we? They are the fairy tale.
-He has issues with being told what to do, obviously, and he can’t stand it when someone bosses him around.
-Would probably be a gigantic memer //who am I kidding, he probably is
-He’s very detail oriented/organized in places but an utter mess in others
-Likes to wear his hair down when he’s relaxing
-He has a hard time understanding what’s going on, so he tries his damn hardest to. //which is why sometimes he shows surprise to current events in game like. a minute after it happenrd
-Speaks his thoughts out loud, even when there’s no one there to listen //thus his very unnecessary explaining/dialogue in some parts of the game
-He doesn’t like being interrupted when he’s painting, because he tends to get into the Zone and it takes forever to get back into it
-He’s really hard on himself sometimes, despite his relaxed/chill front. It’s probably as a result from his grandpa’s hard training.
-He hates that he’s hard on himself and it turns into a loop of self-hatred that’s hard to pull out of
-He likes to wear his cape thingy like a serape sometimes, just because he likes the pressure and it makes him feel…nice I suppose
-His hair is uneven and choppy because he had to cut it himself after running away. He likes it that way, anyway
-He’s very picky food wise. //he nicks whatever ammy has that he likes after her pouch is full
-When his hair is let loose it reaches near the small of his back
-Tends to jiggle his foot or tap his fingers when he sits down
-Would NEVER admit it but. Singing is a side hobby of his. He’s pretty okay at it and Ammy likes it.
-Always liked dancing, but was a tad too embarrassed to ever get into it.
-His memory is…kind of a mess. He remembers specific details but forgets others
-He has a problem w/baths because he sees it as a waste of time when he could be doing other things