…Close Enough, Welcome Back Pidge From Voltron

love doesn’t transcend severance…

…but the ability to love does.

ho did you just doom my narrative?

As I was studying Jayce’s new design RELIGIOUSLY— I realized something…

He has a leg brace now. On his left leg… let’s take a closer look:

HE HAS A LEG BRACE ON THE OPPOSITE LEG VIKTOR HAS HIS.

… a leg brace Viktor no longer has— and no longer NEEDS.

Something, something one lost his humanity as the other regained it. That even apart they are connected, or whatever. Two sides of the same coin, their fates reflecting each other etc. etc.

I can’t explain it but— this man? This man became 50x hotter when his life fell apart.

(he got shot in the head)

this town ain’t big enough for two weird little guys; one of us has to get therapy

Do you ever think about when Rose got trapped in Pete’s World at the end of Doomsday, she might have waited for the rift to open again? That she would wait for Ten to come get her? And if someone tried to pry her away from the wall she wouldn’t let go. She would kick and scream and cry and eventually just sit in silence. For hours. That there must’ve been a moment, one single moment after hours of her waiting and hoping against all odds, that she knew he wasn’t coming to get her.

…And that the moment would’ve happened after five and a half hours.

so many people are dead and so many of them should’ve kissed and I’m more devastated over one of those facts than the other.

Hey, you? Yeah, you— you killed my father. So I’m gonna kill you. Prepare to die or whatever— sorry, what was that? Were we close? Fuck no. I hated that guy. In fact, I wanted to be the one that killed him. I’m only gonna kill you now because I have no where else to reap this seed of wretchedness he planted in my chest, so… Die.

…fine: I’ll give you to the count of three.

What if you died and came back wrong then I died and came back wrong and then we lived having come back wrong in a one-bedroom apartment with a dog

What’s love so much about Markgemma is that they’re just:

I know you and you know me, better than anyone else could, and at the same time I don’t know you. There are parts of you that are a mysterious, that I’ve forgotten or have tried to forget, or couldn’t possibly know— though not through any fault of

yours or even mine. But because it’s been such a long time, during which people and things beyond our control have made new parts of us in the absence of each other.

I love the parts of you I know; I can’t bear to look at those same parts. I can’t learn the new ones I haven’t gotten the chance to. I want the chance. I fear it.

Because what if some part of me doesn’t love some part of you… as much as this part of me does now?