“He looked at the boy with the knife to his throat, the boy whose black eyelashes feathered down against his cheekbones as he glanced away from Kit, and he felt something like a shock of recognition pass through him.
He thought, Howbeautiful.”
“Ty raised his head. Kit got a quick flash of the color of his eyes: true gray, that gray that was almost silver.”
“Ty smiled. It was a genuine, light-up-your-face-type smile, and it made Kit remember the first time he’d met Ty. Ty hadn’t been sitting on him then, but he had been holding a dagger to Kit’s throat. Kit had looked at him and forgotten the knife and thought, Beautiful.”
“Ty laughed. The salt air had tangled his arrow-straight black hair, and his eyes glowed like the moonlight on the water. Kit just stared, unable to think of anything else clever to say, as Ty gently placed the starfish back in its tide pool.”
“Ty climbed up onto the porch beside Kit and sat down. He smelled faintly of desert, sand and sage. Kit thought of the way he’d liked the sound of Ty’s voice: It was rare to hear someone get that kind of sincere pleasure out of simply sharing information.”
“Ty shook his head again. His black hair was sticking to his forehead. Kit frowned. He wanted to grab Ty and drag him out of the Market to somewhere it would be calm and quiet. He remembered Ty saying that he hated crowds, that the sheer noise and confusion was “like broken glass in my head.”
“Ty was leaning forward, his arms clasping his body tightly. Kit wanted to reach out, wanted to put his hands on Ty, wanted to tell him it would be all right, communicate it in a way that startled him.”
“He looked anxious, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. Kit wanted to go across the table and put his arms around Ty the way he had the night before, on the roof. He felt intensely protective of the other boy, in a way that was strange and unnerving. He’d cared about people before, mostly his father, but he’d never wanted to protect them. He wanted to kill anyone who would try to hurt Ty. It was a very peculiar feeling.”
“Ty smiled, and despite everything that was happening, it made Kit want to smile, too.”
“He knew he ought to feel exhausted, but there was something about Ty’s energy, the brightness and concentration of his focus, that worked on Kit like caffeine. It woke him up inside with a sense of promise, as if the moments in front of him suddenly held endless possibilities.”
“Your whole family would miss you,” said Kit, “and I would miss you.”
Pidge, running towards them from behind Matt:
Matt, whispering to Shiro sweetly:
Takashi, sweetie, if I turn around and see that you brought my little sister into the dangerous vastness of space and left my mom all alone without warning I will cause so much havoc and wreck so much shit it'll make Zarkon look like a saint
If you ever want to make yourself really depressed, just do an Until Dawn playthrough with Jess as the lone survivor. Not only is the child a complete wreck by the end of the game, but she has no idea what happened. Imagine her finally getting out of the mines, bleeding and concussed and probably with a broken rib or four, limping back to the lodge only to find the place is burning to the ground and all of her friends are dead.
Then the police show up and take her to the station and pummel her with questions, and all she can say is, “I don’t know…I don’t know.” She would probably even be the top suspect for a while, at least until the cops start to find bodies and realize a teenage girl who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet could physically never have done that.
Imagine her attending seven closed-casket funerals, people staring at her the whole time, whispering behind their hands. Imagine the survivor’s guilt, the sessions where a mild-faced therapist tries to convince her it wasn’t her fault. Imagine her staring blankly over the therapist’s shoulder and remembering the moment when she first dreamed up that prank, putting the note down on the table where Hannah would be sure to find it.
Imagine that while she was being dragged away through the snow, she tried to fight back against her unseen attacker. All of her flailing and scratching had no effect, but the police scrape under her fingernails for residual DNA anyway, just to make sure. It takes so long to hear back that she almost forgets about it, until weeks later, when the cops tell her that, somehow, the trace under her fingernails came back as a match to Hannah Washington.
Imagine that she sleeps with a lamp switched on for the rest of her life. It still doesn’t keep the nightmares away: dreams of being dragged through the snow, unable to see anything but bits of dark sky and spindly tree branches, Hannah’s laughter echoing all around.
I like the kinda girl that’ll give me a key to her place & tell me to be in her bed before she gets home or else & she actually means it. Someone who will put me in my place when I’m trying to be cheeky as fuck but nah she won’t let me get away with it. I need a girl who will talk me out of my angry self destructive decisions because she knows deep down I do what I do because I’m hurting & I don’t want to admit it. I need a girl who understands my loud mouth attitude is only a defensive layer of protection for the extremely soft & affectionate person she’s going to big spoon/little spoon to sleep that night.
Crying because I’m imagining the inevitable Brotzman family dinner where Todd and Amanda bring their respective partners over for a formal introduction.
Feat. Dirk Gently “I crawled through your sons window and got him electrocuted, did he ever tell you about the time he was a suspect in four separate murders, the reason he wasn’t returning your calls for a few months was because he was actually breaking me out of CIA custody, why yes I am wearing his band shirt” and Farah Black “our first date was drinking wine from plastic cups while being watched by a cultist inhabiting the body of an FBI agent, our second date was beating up a SWAT Team to save a girl and a corgi I enjoy listening to Amanda play the drums when she’s not busy vandalizing public property with her anarchist friends”.
With special guest appearances the Rowdy 3 (who would also like to attend the dinner but content themselves with throwing a brick through the window, if it worked on Amanda it’ll work on Amanda’s parents).