#''You fell into the step of a lion and think you can replicate what my paw does without effort.''

[bonefall]

So, your Clear Sky post is absolutely horrifying, but it was very needed, so thank you. What are your general thoughts on tackling his abuse for the AU? Like you've said, pretending he's a good guy is not the way to go, but are you planning on toning down *some* of the situations, just to give some of the cats a break? Clear Sky is a very realistic depiction of abusers, but that seems to come across even without victim number 25, yknow? I'm very curious about how you'd like to go about this.

My most recent big change was bringing Slash back into the fold, because I realized that it was actually a disservice to not address where DOTC's themes dip into Colonialism. It's a hard topic, and I'm still trying to work out the details, but I realized it was important.

With how BB!DOTC is such a MASSIVE overhaul, to properly address abuse and the ways it impacts you, ableism and its violence, and xenophobia broadly, a huge reworking of Slash belonged here too. He's one of the greatest examples of how badly WC demonizes non-Clanborn cats. I shouldn't dance around it.

That's what I need to do with Skystar.

MANY of his victims have happier endings than canon, though. Bumble is one of the most famous, bumped up into a major character and directly responsible for the formation of ThunderClan. Bright Storm is taking most of Gray Wing's roles. Birch and Alder are getting examined, with either a father who wants his kids back or Milkweed as the mate of Misty.

A lot of people will die because of him, even more will be hurt, but I see BB!DOTC as a story about victims and survivors.

Others might grab POVs here and there, but as a response to canon which I feel is Clear Sky's story told in many parts, I center this rewrite around Thunder Storm. The path of kindness he marches down, with love and with anger, and the people he helps.

So BB!Star Flower...

Previously I was playing her as ENTIRELY just manipulating Clear Sky. She was loyal to One Eye and trying to get at Skystar to bleed him dry for 8 lives to sacrifice; but connected to Thunderstar over recognizing him as a victim who deserves her idea of justice. So, she offers Thunderstar the final kill, so her father will be grateful to him and he'll get power AND the death of his abuser.

(When Thunderstar looks upon Skystar, pathetic and neutralized down to one life, he thinks about the collateral damage that will descend upon the forest if he accepts the deal. He decides that he has found the line between Justice and Justification. Of course he wants the power to make his enemies cower, protect his people, and eliminate Clear Sky so he never threatens them again; that's not the problem.

He can still do these things. He wouldn't NEED the power of a war god to do so.

But if One Eye returns, he will be endlessly hungry, ruthlessly dedicated to revenge, and set out to devour the whole forest. Everything would get worse, and even more people he loves would die. It's where his desire to destroy a monster would lead to him BECOMING one.)

Even on its face, it was previously missing an element. There's a step between "Starf decides to bring One Eye back" and "Starf offers Thunderstar the final kill" that was bare. This is the piece that was missing-- That she, herself, is trying to reach out to the only person who's ever really understood her.

But more importantly... I do feel this topic belongs here, in BB!DOTC. Abuse is a MAJOR theme. SKYSTAR is a monster already. He's harmed two wives in BB (Bright Storm and Falling Cry) and played toxic games with all three kits (Thunder Storm, Pale Sky, Tiger Sky).

And I'd avoid Star Flower being abused... why? Because it's uncomfortable to confront the pattern that Clear Sky displays? That in-canon, he tries to cut all his victims into the same ideal shape, from Storm to Thunder to Star Flower? ...it should be uncomfortable. Everything that I described in Clear Sky Is A Monster is rooted in the same desire for control, power, and punishment most abusive people share, he just happens to be a severe example.

Yes. That includes how he treats his child and romantic partners. The parallels that are drawn between Starf and Thunder are there because he wants power in the form of obedience. Starf replaces the son as a narrative award for his "growth" of not killing random people anymore for a while.

A cookie cutter is an effective tool because IT ONLY MAKES ONE SHAPE.

You know what's more uncomfortable? Reading canon!DOTC and seeing someone who hurt you reflected almost perfectly in the character the writers think did nothing wrong. Because of "good intentions" that were not there.

I will say though, just to be clear; I don't see a purpose in being more than PG-13 about serious topics for this project. I promise none of my intentions have changed. Nothing will be more graphic or gorey than canon WC-- just more intentional.

I'm keeping the sacrifice because it's dope. No one is taking this from me. Girl Moment: Killed her awful husband 8 times to count as 8 sacrifices and offered the last life to her buddy as a show of good will. How else do you make friends outside of high school

But I know now that Star Flower NEEDS to keep the canon fact she has very little agency, UNTIL that moment she snaps.

She's sacrificing one abuser to try and bring back a bigger, badder one, because in spite of everything, her father One Eye always made her feel safe. Even though he promised her off to Skystar, and expected her to be willing to die for him. She's followed every command, every order, past the death of his mortal vessel.

The first, and only, selfish choice she's ever made was in reaching out to Thunderstar to offer him the power of her father.

Thunderstar's Justice is a story about a Thunder Storm at the pinnacle of his arc, how the survivors of his Clan are settling into the new normal after the carnage of The First Battle, how Skystar's arrogance brings a violent god to the Forest... and the connection Thunderstar makes with the daughter of a monster.

#Kronk meme: ''Oh Yeah. It's all coming together'' #I'll be making the fragments in another post #Just because this one's getting really long #It works well as an explanation of my intentions #I think I had been making a mistake previously to conceive of BB!Starf as a femme fatale who seduced Sky #Again: I'm not perfect! As I analyze and re-read with a more critical eye. My art changes. #Tho I will admit I do like the idea of a Starf who is totally cognizant of how she can manipulate a villain #Into doing what she wants. I do love myself a powerful and scheming woman #It's that it didn't fit my story or my themes OR even the purpose of BB as a fixit that addresses canon #Better bones au #BB!DOTC #BB!Star Flower #BB!Skystar #BB!Thunder Storm #Also imo this philosophy will let me make BB!One Eye what I think he deserves and works best as #THE WORSE OF TWO EVILS #The Tyrant of Tyrants #And man.... the idea that Skystar becomes the Clan patron of war... #The God of Summer laughs at him. #''Outdone and reeling your wounded pride speaks the words your tender mouth can never say'' #''That you were outclassed and now you obsess over the bigger monster you aren't good enough to become'' #''You fell into the step of a lion and think you can replicate what my paw does without effort.'' #Cw abuse #Tw abuse #Abuse #Child abuse

[maybeimamuppet]

day 21: inviting friends over

day 21!! getting clooooooser oooh

another one where their ages don’t matter!! cady is 24 and janis is 25 but y’all do what you want :)

there’s a bit in this one that i just could not figure out how to write. so im just gonna say now, i know the punctuation in that scene is whack as all hell. just. smile through the pain.

anyway! enjoy.

—————

“Whatcha doing, Peanut?” Janis asks as she sweeps the living room.

“I found a box of my old stuff from Africa while I was cleaning up,” Cady replies, entering the room with a box. “I was looking through it and lost track of time, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Butterfly. Show me,” Janis hums. “If you want me to see.”

“I don’t have anything to hide, of course you can look,” Cady giggles. “Here.”

Janis sits on the ground by her wife and peeks into the box she has. It’s on the smaller side, clearly just full of the things most precious to Cady that she wanted to keep close during the move to America. A lot of photos, and a few other little trinkets.

“What’s this?”

“That’s one of the lions’ baby teeth. I think that one was from Clarke,” Cady says. “I was gonna make a little charm with it or something, but I didn’t have a lot of time to myself after we moved.”

“Hm,” Janis says, looking curiously at the tiny fang in her hand. “Lions have baby teeth?”

“Most mammals do,” Cady nods. “They’re just harder to keep track of. They get stuck in food and stuff a lot more than human baby teeth do.”

“That’s kinda freaky. How would a giraffe baby tooth work?” Janis asks. The mental images her brain is supplying are very funny. Cady laughs as well and shakes her head.

“I’m not sure. I never thought of that,” she says. “I guess they’d just have a long way down once they fell out.”

“I guess so,” Janis agrees with a chuckle. “What else is in this box of wonders?”

“I’m not sure, honestly,” Cady says. There’s a knock at the door. “Oops.”

She leaves Janis with the box and heads to get the door. Luckily for them, it’s just Damian and Aaron, who won’t judge if they aren’t totally prepared for company yet.

“Hi guys,” she greets. “You look cold.”

“They haven’t shoveled the parking lot yet and we both forgot to wear boots,” Aaron replies as he steps into their apartment. They both politely leave their snow-covered shoes on the mat so they don’t track water everywhere.

“Ah, that explains it. Do you guys wanna borrow some socks?” Cady asks in concern. The boys both look at their feet and back at Cady’s little ones.

“I don’t think any of your socks will fit us, Cads. But thanks for the offer. We’ll be fine, it’s nice and cozy in here,” Damian chuckles. “Where’s Janis?”

“She’s in the living room,” Cady says. “I found a box of some of my stuff from Africa, we’ve both been a little distracted.”

“Ooh,” Damian says as she leads them down the hall. Janis looks up when she hears them come in and smiles as she sees her wife and best friends. “Africa treasures?”

“Dame, come here,” Janis says happily. Damian sits on the ground next to her and coos as Janis holds out one of the pictures.

“What is it?” Cady asks anxiously.

“Baby Caddy!” Damian squeals. Cady smiles and rolls her eyes. She does have to admit, she was a very cute baby. “Your hair was so red, I can’t.”

“My mom says I threw wicked tantrums,” Cady agrees with a chuckle. Aaron sits on the couch behind Janis and Damian to see what they’re looking at. “It‘s gotten more brown as I’ve gotten older.”

“It’s still so pretty,” Damian sighs. “But I could never replicate it with dye. C’est la vie.”

“Your hair is good too,” Cady says, ruffling his curls as she passes by. Her friends and wife continue humming and hawing over the photos while Cady finishes sweeping, and then she joins them to explain the stories behind a few.

“What’s this one?” Janis chuckles, holding a very blurry picture of the Kenyan landscape that was clearly taken by someone pretty low to the ground.

“Oh god,” Cady giggles. “I didn’t speak until I was about six, so while I was still learning sign language my parents gave me a camera. To help get to know me before we could speak the same language. It was just a little cheap disposable thing and then I got to run around and take pictures of stuff I liked. I think I was about four when I took this.”

“Aww,” Janis coos. “That’s a cute idea.”

“Yeah,” Aaron nods. “Four year old you wasn’t a bad photographer.”

“Thanks,” Cady giggles. There’s another knock at the door. “You guys can keep looking.”

Cady stands and heads to let the Plastics in, giggling at their large coats and beanies.

“Hey, guys. You look cold, too,” she greets. The Plastics shuffle inside and take off all their snow gear as Cady shuts the door behind them.

“What’s everyone doing?” Karen asks.

“Oh, they’re looking at some of my old pictures from Africa,” Cady says. “And I think some of my baby pictures got mixed in.”

“Aww!” the Plastics all coo at the same time. Cady rolls her eyes again as they all rush over to see and join the little huddle around the couch.

“Your eyes were so big,” Gretchen says. “Cutie.”

“Thanks,” Cady chuckles. “This doesn’t seem fair, though, I want pictures of you guys, too.”

“Noooo,” Janis whines. “We don’t need to see baby Janis.”

“We always need to see baby Janis,” Cady replies. Janis groans and texts her mom for some. Everyone else follows suit with their own parents. Cady gives a quiet maniacal giggle as her plan comes to fruition.

She continues explaining all the photos in the box and a few other little trinkets while they wait for the responses to come in. Everyone seems rather shocked at the close-up picture of a lion’s roaring mouth, taken by a roughly six year old Cady. She just shrugs and moves along.

“Oh, my mom sent… a lot of my baby pictures,” Regina says as her phone vibrates. “Damn, mom.”

Cady is in the rough center of their group, so she holds Regina’s phone and scrolls through all the pictures her mother sent so everyone can see.

“You were so bald,” Janis teases.

“I was not bald! I was blonde!” Regina scoffs. “I had thin hair. Shut up.”

Everyone coos when they get to one of a roughly year-old Regina aggressively cuddling a small dog. The dog looks like she’s barely putting up with the affections and actively holding back from removing a few of the little fingers tugging on her fur.

“Is that Duchess?” Janis asks.

“I think so,” Regina says. “I get them all confused. They all looked the same.”

“Your mom definitely knows her favorite breed,” Janis agrees with a chuckle. Cady grins gently to herself as her wife reminisces with their friend.

“Cutie. Okay, who next?”

Damian’s phone pings then, and he shrugs. “Me, I guess.”

Janis makes grabby hands for it, eager to see some potential blackmail material of her best friend. Aaron also looks rather excited at the prospect of seeing his boyfriend as a wee one.

“Oh my god, Damian,” Cady coos when she sees the first one. “Look at you! You’re so squishy, oh my god!”

Damian chuckles and nods. “The outfit, though. My parents dressed me like that all the time and then were surprised when I turned out to be trans.”

“But you were so cute in your little overalls,” Cady hums. She swipes to the next one of him a little bit older and gasps excitedly when there’s a very small Janis next to him. “Oh my god!”

“Oh my god,” Janis groans.

“Aww,” the Plastics coo. Gretchen says, “Look at you two!”

“Look at Janis in a tutu,” Regina teases.

“Shut up, Gina!” Janis huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. “You wore them too.”

“Of course I did. We both did ballet. I just never tried to deny it,” Regina hums.

“Stop bickering, you were both precious,” Cady chides. She continues scrolling through Damian’s pictures until they reach the end and eagerly waits for the next person.

“That’s me,” Aaron says. “I don’t have very many, my parents were kind of focused on my siblings by the time I came around. But I have a few.”

Cady takes his phone so everyone can see and smiles as Damian squeals very loudly into her ear. “Look at that little chunk!”

“Hey!” Aaron says, thwacking his boyfriend on the back of the head. “That’s all muscle.”

“Uhhuh,” Damian chuckles. “And what were you doing with those muscles at six months old?”

“Crawling? I don’t fuckin’ know,” Aaron chuckles. He was right in that there’s not many pictures, only about four, but he was a very cute little one.

“Me next!” Karen says as her phone buzzes. She switches phones with Cady and gives Aaron’s back to him.

“Aww!” Regina squeals. “You were so little!”

Karen was, indeed, a very tiny baby. The bright pink princess dress she’s shown in is practically swallowing her, but she’s absolutely adorable. Gretchen and Regina seem to get a particular kick out of these photos.

“I guess I’m next,” Gretchen chuckles, since Janis’ mom hasn’t sent any through yet. Cady takes her phone and brings up pictures of little Gretchen. The first one is of a roughly three-year-old Regina, Janis, Gretchen and Karen all standing with their arms around each other in what looks to be their preschool classroom. All of them are in matching pink sundresses. Maybe this was the origin of their Wednesday tradition.

“We were cute,” Karen says.

“You still are cute,” Regina retaliates quietly, reaching down to swipe to the next photo. “Damn it, Gretchen, why are you so adorable?”

The next photo shows a very chubby little one with wide brown eyes and a little grin as she’s held by a relative. Gretchen laughs and says, “I can’t help it, I have good genes.”

Regina and Karen also relish in the opportunity to coo over their partner as a little one. As they’re scrolling, Janis’ phone finally pings its dreaded tone. The time it took means her mom must’ve gone for the good photo albums. Or just found a lot of material.

“Baby Janis, baby Janis,” Cady chants as Janis groans, tapping into her messages and passing over the phone. “Yes!”

Janis buries her face in her hands so she can’t see what they’re looking at, but she peeks out as Cady gasps.

“You were blonde?”

“Oh. Yeah, my mom said I went blonde for, like, six months when I was about two,” Janis replies, looking warily at the photo of her chubby-cheeked and shiny-eyed toddler self. “I think that was my daycare school picture.”

“You were so cute!” Cady squeals. “I just wanna pinch your little cheeks, oh my god.”

“I still have them, Cads,” Janis chuckles. “Calm down.”

“No!” Cady insists, swiping to the next one. She rests a hand over her heart when she sees an even smaller Janis in a baby swing, clearly in motion but smiling happily the whole way. “Shit.”

Janis eventually has to pry her phone out of her wife’s hands as she swipes back and forth between all her baby pictures. They double check that everyone has the correct phone back before moving on to the next activity.

“Y’all wanna play Cards Against Humanity?” Janis asks, looking at their board game shelf for something to do.

“Yes!” Damian cheers immediately. Janis chuckles and pulls the box down. Everyone sits in a sort of oval around the coffee table and takes their cards as Janis deals them out. “I wanna go first. Okay, um… ooh! ‘Coming to Broadway this season, blank: The Musical’.”

“Of course you’d get that one,” Janis laughs, looking through her cards. She’s the first one with a card down, slamming it facedown and sliding it closer. Damian waits for the other five before shuffling them and reading them out.

“Okay, here we go… ‘Coming to Broadway this season, Some guy.: The Musical.’ Thats just Dear Evan Hansen.” Damian says.

“Fighting words, Hubbard,” Regina scowls.

“Bring it, George,” Damian retaliates, poking his tongue out at her. “Okay, next… ‘Heteronormativity.: The Musical.’ Wicked. Guys, why did you put in stuff that’s already a musical? Come on.”

“Ooooh, the truth comes out,” Aaron laughs. Damian sighs and picks up the next card.

“‘Heartwarming orphans.: The Musical’, Annie;‘Murder.: The Musical’, Sweeney Todd; ‘An unwanted pregnancy.: The Musical’, Waitress, you guys!” he sighs. “Last one. Better be good. Um… ‘A bowl of mayonnaise and human teeth.: The Musical’. What the fuck?”

“Hey man, you wanted to play, you deal with the consequences,” Janis chuckles. “Which one wins?”

“Uh… the human teeth one, obviously. It’s the only one that hasn’t already been done.”

“I win!” Cady cheers, taking the black card. “My turn?”

“Sure,” Karen agrees. “Makes sense to me.”

“Okay, are we not gonna talk about that fucking card?” Regina insists. “When would that happen?”

“Fucked up dentist,” Cady shrugs. “Okay, next card is… ‘What’s that sound?’”

She grins as the cards come in, slammed on the table and slid close to her. Cady puts them in a little pile and shuffles them without looking so she can’t tell whose is whose.

“All in?” she asks.

“No, hold on,” Gretchen says. She puts down her card. “There.”

Cady gives them one last shuffle before looking through them. “‘What’s that sound?’ ‘Vehicular manslaughter.’, nice. ‘The screams… the terrible screams.’, that seems related to the last one. ‘Poor life choices.’; ‘The gays.’; ‘The entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir.’, ooh. Or… ‘The homosexual agenda.’. I like ‘Poor life choices’!”

“Yes!” Gretchen cheers. “I definitely didn’t think you’d pick that one.”

“Come on, man! You don’t like ‘The homosexual agenda.’?” Janis huffs.

“Or ‘The gays.’?” Damian pouts.

“I do,” Cady giggles. “But I like ‘Poor life choices.’ better. Gretchen’s turn.”

Gretchen pulls a black card and reads, “‘Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s, blank.’”

She waits for all the white cards to be set down before she takes and shuffles them. She giggles as she quickly browses them before reading them to the group.

“‘Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s ‘A fuck-ton of almonds.’; ‘Dark and mysterious forces beyond our control.’; ‘The true meaning of Christmas.’; ‘The Russians.’ I bet that one was Janis.”

“Hey!” Janis says. “I mean, it was, but hey!”

“Just saying,” Gretchen giggles. “‘Completely unwarranted confidence.’ or ‘The American dream.’ I really like ‘A fuck-ton of almonds.’”

“Yay!” Cady says again.

“Man, what?” Aaron scoffs. “Should it be her turn again?”

“I don’t think we should repeat until everyone’s gone once,” Regina says. Everyone nods. “I’ll go.” she grabs a black card and says, “Oh, boy. ‘How did I lose my virginity?’”

“Haha, nice!” Janis cheers. She slams her card down on the table with previously mentioned unwarranted confidence. Regina eyes her warily as she forms her pile and waits for the others to come in.

“Okay. God, help,” she hums as she has them all. “‘How did I lose my virginity?’ ‘Grandma.’ Ew! ‘Finger painting.’ Kinky. ‘The milkman.’ Uh oh. ‘Genuine human connection.’ You wish.” She giggles a bit when she reads, “‘Switching to Geico.’ or… ‘Having sex for the first time.’ Okay, whose was that?”

“Me!” Karen says.

“Is she wrong, though?” Damian asks. Regina ponders for a second and shrugs.

“I liked the Geico one.”

“Yes!”

“The fuck, Caddy?” Janis yells. “Kicking ass and taking names, goddamn.”

“It’s a card game, Jayjay,” Cady giggles. “Your turn?”

“Fine,” Janis sighs. “‘Hey guys, welcome to Chili’s! Would you like to start the night off right with, blank?’”

“Hi, welcome to Chili’s,” everyone says in unison. Cady giggles as she puts her card down. Everyone follows suit and puts theirs down on top. Janis shuffles them and lays them in a row as she reads them out.

“‘Hey guys, welcome to Chili’s! Would you like to start the night off right with… ‘The only gay person in a hundred miles.’ Oof. ‘Spontaneous human combustion.’ Yikes. ‘Nachos for the table.’ That’s just boring, come on. ‘Leprosy.’ Jesus Christ. ‘A tiny horse.’ Aww. Or… ‘A whole thing of butter.’ Mood. I like the butter one.”

Everyone cries out in indignation as Cady coyly slides the black card towards her. “I’m sorry! It’s not my fault.”

Aaron eyes her suspiciously as he takes his turn. “‘TSA guidelines now prohibit, blank, on airplanes.”

Damian practically throws his card at his boyfriend. Aaron catches it and only just manages to avoid looking at it. Everyone gradually follows his lead, so Aaron takes them and sets them all out to read.

“‘Breaking out into song and dance.’ Yeah, D.”

“Hey! I don’t do it on planes!”

“Yeah, you do it enough in our apartment,” Aaron teases. Damian crosses his arms and looks away with a huff. “Anyway… ‘Laying an egg’, ‘The Rapture.’, I certainly hope so. ‘Still being a virgin.’, oh my god. ‘Flightless birds.’, poor guys. Or, ‘Peeing a little bit.’. I like the virgin one.”

Nobody moves for a long moment. Everyone eventually looks at Cady, who hunches into herself sheepishly. Aaron huffs and slides her card over.

“I’m the last one,” Karen says, taking a black card from the pile. “‘Arby’s: We have, blank.’”

Cady giggles and puts her card down first. Karen takes it and drums her fingers on the table while she waits for the rest of them.

“Okay,” she says when the last one is in. “‘Arby’s: We have… ‘Powerful thighs.’; ‘Wet dreams.’; ‘Fancy Feast.’; ‘These hoes.’; ‘The devil himself.’; or… ‘One titty hanging out.’ I like that one.”

“Cady!” Regina huffs. “This is rigged.”

“I’ll do all of the next black cards, that way I won’t win,” Cady offers.

“We can’t beat you anyway,” Aaron huffs. “But go ahead.”

“Okay,” Cady hums, putting all her cards back and pulling the next black card. “Oh, this one’s a double. ‘For my next trick, I will pull, blank, out of, blank.’”

Everyone is a bit more thoughtful about this one, trying to pick a good combination. Janis looks very hesitant when she rests her two down. “First one is on top.”

“Okay,” Cady says. She keeps them in that order as she takes the rest and shuffles the pairs so she can’t tell whose is whose. “‘For my next trick, I will pull… ‘Sexual tension.’ out of… ‘A Bop It.’ What’s a Bop It?”

“You don’t know Bop It?!” Damian says, aghast. “They’re the best!”

“I’ll buy one later, Cads,” Janis chuckles. “It’s… a toy kinda thing? It has a button and a few little lever things, one twists and one pulls. And a voice tells you which one to do and then it gets faster and faster.”

“Oh,” Cady says in confusion. Damian looks rather subdued now, knowing that his combination probably won’t win. “Okay. ‘I will pull ‘Girls.’ out of ‘The glass ceiling’. Nice. ‘A lifetime of sadness.’ out of ‘A really cool hat’. Okay. ‘The heart of a child.’ out of ‘A little boy who won’t shut the fuck up about dinosaurs’. Noooo!”

“I should have known you wouldn’t go for that,” Regina sighs.

“No!” Cady insists. “Let him talk about dinosaurs. Okay, anyway… “She starts giggling as she reads the next combination. “‘Spaghetti? Again?’ out of ‘Mike Pence’. Or… ‘German Chancellor Angela Merkel.’ out of… ‘A windmill full of corpses’. Oh god. I have to go with the spaghetti one.”

“Yes!” Janis cheers. Cady giggles and hands the card over.

“Next one?” she asks, preparing to pull the next one. Everyone nods and peeks at their hands to see what they have left. “Ooh, rather fitting. ‘Instead of coal, Santa now gives the bad children, blank.’”

Regina seems very confident as she slams her card on the coffee table. Cady raises an eyebrow with a startled chuckle and adds it to her pile.

“Okay… ‘Instead of coal, Santa now gives the bad children… ‘Alcoholism.’; ‘Flesh-eating bacteria.’; ‘Many bats.’; oh god, ‘The illusion of choice in a late-stage capitalist society.’; oh god, ‘50,000 volts straight to the nipples.’; are you guys okay? ‘Daddy issues’.”

“Mood,” Regina mutters.

“I like daddy issues,” Cady giggles. “I mean, um… oh, you guys know what I mean.”

“Haha! My real life strikes again,” Regina chuckles, sliding the black card over.

“Are you okay, Regina?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay,” Cady says in concern. “Last one?” Everyone nods. “Okay. Oh god. ‘Kids, I don’t need drugs to get high. I’m high on, blank’.”

She giggles as Karen puts one down immediately, then gets a look of regret on her face, takes it back to reassess, then puts the same one down with another nod. Everyone else follows suit. Cady picks them up and shuffles them.

“Okay… ‘Kids, I don’t need drugs to get high. I’m high on…’ ‘Adderall.’ That’s-that’s a drug.”

“That’s why it’s funny,” Karen says. Cady does chuckle.

“That isn’t bad. Okay, um… I’m high on, ‘Memes.’; ‘Bees?’”

“Allergies be like that,” Damian says.

“True,” Cady giggles. “‘A saxophone solo’.”

“A good sax solo also be like that sometimes.”

“Also true,” Cady agrees. “‘GoGurt.’; or… ‘Geese’. I like GoGurt!”

“Playing this game with someone as pure as Cady just doesn’t work,” Aaron laughs as he takes the card.

“But I won!”

“Somehow,” Janis chuckles. “Good job, baby. What now?”

“We have karaoke,” Cady offers. Janis groans.

“I’m not drunk enough for karaoke.”

“You’re drunk?”

“No,” Janis groans again. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“You don’t have to participate,” Cady offers as Damian goes to fetch the machine with a squeal.

“I mean I’m not drunk enough to listen to him belt our apartment down,” Janis chuckles. Cady hums pensively before scrambling off her lap and running to their bedroom. “No, come back.”

“Here,” Cady says, holding out her pair of noise cancelling headphones. “You can listen to your own thing.”

“What about you?” Janis hums, holding her wife as she plops back down into her lap. “I mean, thank you, but won’t you get overwhelmed?”

“I’ll just ask them to stop if I get overloaded,” Cady shrugs. “I’ll be fine. I’m comfortable here, and we haven’t done anything to overwhelm me.”

“Just wait,” Janis sighs, watching in concern as Damian enters in a Taylor Swift song. “This can only end badly.”

-

As it turns out, Janis is correct. Cady gets about four notifications of noise complaints in ten minutes as Regina and Damian scream, more so than sing, along to their beloved Taylor. Janis chuckles knowingly to herself as Cady desperately tries to shut them down and politely move them along to the next activity.

“What now?”

“We have Mario Kart?” Cady offers sheepishly. She winces at the loud chorus of ‘Yes!’ she’s greeted with, but giggles at the scattered series of much quieter apologies that follow it.

Janis helps her get the Wii set up again, since it had been removed to make space for the karaoke machine. Cady elects not to participate, since she’s rather skilled at Mario Kart and people are still reeling from her near clean sweep in Cards Against Humanity. She plops herself on Janis’ lap with a bag of pretzels and decides to just watch.

“Who is everybody?” Aaron asks at one point. They only have four controllers, so two of them have to rotate out.

“I’m Toadette,” Regina says.

“I’m Rosalina,” Damian says.

“Of course,” Aaron chuckles.

“I’m Yoshi,” Gretchen replies, holding up her controller.

“And I’m Bowser!” Karen says. “And I’m winning!”

“Genuine question, does anyone ever play as Mario?” Cady asks.

“No,” everyone choruses. Regina adds in a, “He’s just lame.”

“Right? Like, I know I didn’t grow up with him and stuff, but I’ve literally never met anyone who likes Mario,” Cady chuckles.

“Who do you usually go for, Cades?” Gretchen asks. “Karen! Get out of the way!”

“No!” Karen retaliates, physically leaning into Gretchen as their carts side-swipe each other. They both go crashing into Regina, who huffs at them from the ground but continues the race without missing a beat.

“I usually do baby Peach,” Cady replies, giggling at their antics. “I dunno why, I just like her voice and stuff.”

“She is cute,” Gretchen agrees with a chuckle, shoving herself back against Karen and allowing Regina to sit back upright.

Regina winds up winning that race, making a truly spectacular comeback after being nudged and accidentally crashing into a wall. She went the wrong way for a solid half of the race and didn’t notice, making her victory even more impressive.

She passes her controller to Aaron so he can have a turn, since she won. Damian tries to give his to Janis, but she shakes her head and gestures to the half-asleep Cady on her lap. Damian tilts his head in a sort of ‘aww’ gesture and continues playing. Janis squishes Cady a bit closer and continues watching the game go on.

-

Cady is violently jolted awake when Damian makes a particularly loud, dismayed squawk and starts practically shrieking at Aaron for daring to throw a shell at him.

“Guys,” Janis hushes, gently kissing Cady’s forehead as she makes a startled sound and looks around frantically.

“Sorry Cads,” Damian apologizes quietly. “We’ll call it quits for the night.”

“Thanks,” Cady yawns. “You guys can sleep over if you want.”

“Sounds good,” everyone shrugs, looking to their partners to confirm and nodding. Cady stretches and heads to get sleeping arrangements set up. Janis grabs everyone a blanket and a pillow from their linen closet and helps her.

Cady tucks everyone in, the Plastics in the guest room and Damian and Aaron in a cozy nest on the living room floor. Everyone gets a gentle peck on the forehead and some goodnight wishes. Everyone returns the goodnights and drifts off to sleep.

“This was fun,” Janis hums when she’s finally in her own bed and cuddled up with Cady, prepared to head to sleep themselves. Cady nods and nuzzles her nose into her hair.

“We need to have them over more.”

“Just maybe without the karaoke,” Janis chuckles. Cady laughs quietly and nods again.

“Definitely. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Janis murmurs into Cady’s chest. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, mpendwa.”

—————

thanks for reading!! hope you enjoyed and i’ll see you tomorrow!!

#cadnis #paint by numbers #space safari #cady heron x janis sarkisian #cady x janis #cady heron #janis sarkisian #damian hubbard #aaron samuels #regina george #gretchen wieners #karen smith #mean girls #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #mean girls on broadway #cadvent

[greenflamedwriter]

Shance Prompt

To all the Fanfics I’ll never write. But I don’t want to lose them so here they are.

Filler Episode [#0002]

Ship: Shance- Shiro/Lance

Voltron Au: Return to Earth and Shiro gets back with Adam and Lance is heartbroken of Kuro. Plot oriented.

They land on earth and everything is fine, until Lance see’s Shiro and Adam reunite and feels utterly destroyed. Then to top it off they have a row with the instructors and James is high and mighty and says that they should be in charge of Voltron since they are better candidates.

So Shiro agrees and says if they’re team can pilot the lions then build up to their standards and do better than Pidge, Hunk Keith and Lance and are prepared for the Galra then sure.

All of the team gets denied, except for the Red Lion- it lets James pilot it and Lance now realises how much of a spare part he’s been.

That he would amount to nothing but a cargo pilot. 

James is cocky as hell sure- but Lance doesn’t seem too upset like last time- he knew he piloted red because Keith stepped down that he was a fighter pilot because Keith left. 

Lance was only here because Keith had to step down, just because of Lance’s ego? No he was so over that.

So Lance turns to James shakes his hand (stopping the arguments as Pidge was yelling at James and was defensive) 

Lance tells him, congratulations, he’s sure the team will teach him the ropes and that they should hurry to perfect their team dynamic. He turns to Iverson and says he has background experience on the Galra and has loads of intel to teach the cadets. They need to be ready for war as the Galra will not hold back- so Iverson agrees for Lance to be their informat to teach the class everything he knows.

Well- Iverson doesn’t Agree persay, but tells Lance he expects a module of what he will teach the kids that have to approved by the lectueres, Lance agrees and admits to giving a tour of the Altean Castle and giving his presentation inside.

Shiro is pissed off and ready to fight for Lance to stay but Lance intervenes “Shiro this works out, we need a pilot from the Garrison to be here. By Military standards a former pilot and a few dropouts have no weight or loyalty, they want to make sure Voltron is on their side first.”

“Of course we are! We want to protect earth-”

“But not become dictators like Zarkon- think of this as the accords from Civil war, look it’ll work out once they see what you can do-” And the fact that the country will assume Voltron was some terroist weapon so YEAH they needed to show they had control of Voltron.

“What we can do- Lance you’re a part of this team too!” Lance smiled though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I know, which is why it’s better to be on the side lines, the Garrison know nothing about the Galra, Altean teach and the things they need to make them stronger, like Bulmarian crystals or Weblums that eat planets, they need to be prepared and they won’t understand a word Coran is saying and Allura is stuck with Voltron since she’s a new member. She and James can learn more together- this works out! I can help speed things along!”

“What about Shiro he can do all that stuff!” 

Pidge yelled and Lance shook his head even though Shiro nodded along with her.

“No- Shiro is the senior officer and would be working with Iverson and the other instructors and even Head of state- he’ll have his hands full trying to make sure the freakin army won’t use us as some sort of terrorist threat we can’t afford infighting with other continents when ACTUAL aliens might come out of nowhere and kill us- two pair of hands are better, guys...trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you really okay with this?”

Lance blinked surprised at the pure venom coming from Keith, Keith glaring right at him and his mouth slipped shut “I- of course, no use beating around the bush, I wasn’t meant to be a fighter pilot. I should accept my loses while I can.”

_____________________________

Iverson and other lectures start chewing Lance out and he snaps.

“To be perfectly candid, Sir. I’ve been to space and seen everything and have more experience with the Galra, the Alteans craft the materials needed such as Balmera and Weblum- Coran and I can teach you all there needs to know about what we are facing, I can give you my intel and what you do with it is up to you and your superiors.”

Iverson grit his teeth “Fine, Cadet. I will let the instructors know about the extra curriculum-”

“Oh these involves them too actually, how about I give you a tour of the Altean Castle- as science officors have to be in depth to replicate Altean technology since they’re much more advance and we need the extra fire power we can get- it would be easier since I can tell them whats what-”

“Fine, Mclain, do whatever you need. Sort out a trial Seminar and we’ll see if it’s appropriate for the cadets.”

Lance does everything, he helps out and ends up taking over, without warning he’s advanced from Cadet to Intruscter to [whatever the ranking system in the military is Idc] and ends up outranking Keith which is funny, he also gets better with the simulations and becomes a really good teacher, he and Iverson suddenly start getting along it’s scary- Lance avoids Shiro/Adam like the plague and just keeps busy.

Meanwhile James is not working well with the team and ends up crashing Voltron, the team have a comparison of when Lance left and knew the difference and were worried James was going to be a problem.

 Lance stays behind and becomes a teacher for the Garrison cadets and teachers them about the Weblum, Balmera and goes into detail. Students find out he died, and shit he shows his badass scar-

 and then the super dream team!

Romelle! Lance! Matt! Sam! and Shiro all work together to speed up the process to make Earth defendable, they work on the barrier and Lance only manages to get the remaining materials they can get while Shiro and Adam are working on the blueprints for the Atlas.

“Lance?”

Lance turns surprised to see Shiro looking flushed “I...We were thinking of a crew for the Altas.”

“Yeah…?”

Shiro held his gaze “I want you to be on my team, with Coran and the others.”

Lance almost dropped his data pad. “I - what?”

“Lance, you’re good- you would’ve been chosen by Voltron if-”

“But I wasn’t, it’s because I was there, when given the choice Red went to James, I’m just a spare…” Lance goes to walk away, Shiro grabbed his arm. “Are you saying I’m a spare? That I’m wasting my time on Atlas and should let someone like Iverson be in charge of it?”

“What? No! That’s not what I’m saying-”

“Lance maybe you outgrew Voltron, maybe both of us can be more than that, why can’t you see it when I say you’re a good pilot and a great sharpshooter-”

Lance eyes stung but Shiro was on a roll “I would be honoured to have you on my team, if you say no I hope it’ for the right reasons and not because you don’t think you’re good enough.” Shiro squeezed his shoulder “You are good Lance, I couldn’t ask for a finer pilot.”

Shiro left knowing that’s all he had to say, and Lance scrubbed at his face and hurried away, he had reports to deliver.

Lance gets along with Kinkade and James old team, James himself fumes that Lance was able to be flexiable to get along with both teas of Voltron and Mfe’s. Lance is also able to pilot the are fighter and breaks records. Lance is finally more comfortable in his own skin and ends up going to the shooting range with Kinkade, being so flexable makes James irritated.

Lance talks to James and is able to break through to him that being the best isn’t what matters in the grand scheme of things. So Lance talks about James trying to bond with Pidge and the others and that bonding with his fellow cadets is good for the team.

Lance ends up flying red to show James how it’s done.

Lance felt relaxed being back and could feel the content purr and smiled once he landed he walked out seeing James fuming face.

“I would kindly suggest you give me my lion back.” Lance smirked “She’s all yours.”

James took a step forward and yelped when the barrier swooshed down and he slammed into it, he fell back clutching his nose “What!?”

Lance smirked “I don’t think she’s ready to give me up as her pilot.”

Turns to see Shiro, Keith, Pidge and Hunk and Allura watching fondly.

Lance flushed “You guys were right and the lion- she was teaching me a lesson, I wanted to feel like I earned a spot at being her pilot. I wanted to work for it- but I didn’t, the Red Lion accepted me as I was it was me that felt inadequate.” 

“I guess you don’t need to be on the Atlas afterall, you’re still needed here I see.” Lance smirked “Hard to be in two places at Once...but it was thanks to you Shiro.”

Shiro flushed and ducked his head.

“Well if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

Feel free to adopt this fic if you want I guess...

#Shance #Shiro #Lance #Fanfic #What I needed when Voltron ended #Ugh if anyone wants to use this #Voltron #Voltron Legendary defender

[stone-man-warrior]

August 1, 2020: 2:12 pm:

Safari terror came last night in full force.

There were people on my roof again, waiting to strike me from above the front porch as I stepped outside.

I think there were three African Lions, and the Lions are fitted with Pixel Suit Camouflage Technology now, all you can see is part of the Lion’s head, it’s feet, and it’s tail. At night, the Lion appears as a bag blowing in the wind across the yard.

There was some kind of magic that was done by the people on the roof of the house. One of them, had fallen off of the roof, I went out to finish that one off, at that time the moon was low in the sky, and to the south, and partially hidden behind the tall trees, however, there was what appeared as another moon, above the ridge on the roof of the house, and was an exact replication of the view of the real moon that was to the south, and behind trees. The other moon image also appeared low in the sky, and behind trees.

Last night, there were what looked like two identical moons in the sky, the real one to the south, and a fake one presented somehow, above my roof, as viewed towards the southwest from my front walkway.

The assassin that fell, lost his head in the fight, with his own sword. The African Lion was only about twenty feet away at the time of the fight, and while I was looking at that fake moon after the fight.

The African Lion, took the body of the one that fell, and I only made it back into my house by a few steps ahead of the approaching Lion.

Later, at about 2:00 am, more assassins came, and filled the house with nitrous gas through my laundry dryer vent from outside.

The terror attacking is getting to be a consistent one, with wave, after wave, after wave of terror teams who are not swayed by the losses of their comrades.

Please send help.

The help needs to come from somewhere other than Oregon, and prepared for warfare tactics that have never been publicly explained, exposed, talked about, studied, or otherwise made known to anyone other than the terror army.

2:30 pm.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

If you're taking prompts... Can I ask for Hunk and a space chicken? 👀

i’ve been waiting my entire life for this prompt. thank you for enabling my Hunk + birds habit on top of my love for chickens ;_;

also timeline in this is all over the place so let’s call it canon divergent. ~2000 words, and i hope you like it

If there was one thing from Earth - beside his family - Hunk missed it was chicken eggs.

Sure, there were other foods and herbs and spices he couldn’t quite replicate with ingredients from alien plants - although he found capsaicin in the exoskeleton of a beetle-like insect thing and ground it to season curry for Shiro…not that he’d tell him that was the source - but he never found anything resembling a chicken egg.

The consistency would be all wrong, the yolk a strange color, too much cholesterol or too little protein, a shell even the Yellow Lion’s foot couldn’t crack (and Hunk really didn’t want to know what would hatch from an egg that tough)...

Hunk just wanted a quiznaking omelet.

“Are you sure these are edible?” Pidge held an oblong object that barely fit in the palm of her small hand up to the kitchen’s light. It seemed to reflect the lights overhead, with the darker spots of pigmentation absorbing.

Hunk carefully snatched it from her hand. It was soft and squishy, sort of like a water balloon, under his fingertips, and he guessed he’d have to puncture the...skin to get at the edible flesh.

And when he shone a light through it, a round core absorbed the rays, the flesh almost translucent.

Hunk set it beside the others in a large platter. “You and I have both scanned them,” he pointed out, “and they might be a little protein-rich for fruit, but they don’t contain anything toxic to humans.”

Pidge folded her arms on the counter and leaned towards the platter. “Seems a little...risky though,” she mused. “Remember that spotted fuzzy fruit you tried to fry like plantains?”

His shoulders sagged, renewed guilt making his heart sink, but he couldn’t help retorting, “It’s not my fault Lance ate half of them before I could warn him that too many would probably have side-effects.”

Pidge’s eyes narrowed. “He couldn’t walk further than five meters from a bathroom for almost a movement.”

“And I still feel bad about that!” he protested, his stomach twinging with a sympathetic nausea.

“Not as bad as he did,” she retorted. She prodded one of the water balloon fruits with a fingertip. “Where did you find these anyway?”

“Under a tree,” Hunk said. He rummaged through a drawer until his fingers closed around a small knife - something with a bit more point than a spork. “Kind of in a ring? And they definitely feel ripe.”

“Really?” When he turned to face Pidge, her eyebrow was raised. “Why do you think that alien fruit would follow the same rules as Earth fruit?”

“Because so far other rules have been pretty consistent.” Hunk clutched a balloon fruit in one hand and pressed the tip of the knife into its flexible skin, watching how it puckered under. Just a little more pressure... “I mean, it seems like photosynthesis is pretty universal, for one, and for another--”

He broke off when the knife’s point punctured the skin, a triumphant grin pushing at his lips when a viscous white fluid oozed out. He transferred the fruit to a pan on the stove and sliced open the rest of the skin.

The dark core was a deep yellow and definitely not hard enough to be a pit.

Hunk stared at the blob of clear white fluid with its soft yellow center. “Uh...quiznak.”

“Um, Hunk? Something’s happening with one of your so-called fruits.”

He spun around, the tension in Pidge’s voice making his heart race as he turned his attention to the remaining balloon fruit sitting in their platter.

One quivered in place, as if shaken by tremors that only affected it. Its skin rippled before something pointy poked it from the inside.

Hunk stumbled backwards away from the counter, raising the knife in his hands and wishing he had his bayard . “Oh God we’re in a horror movie!” he realized. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew--”

The fruit exploded.

Pidge gasped, arms raised to shield her face, while something wet hit Hunk’s forehead. His eyes pinched shut as a fluid trickled down towards them, and when he dared open them again his breath caught in his throat.

“I-I think I prefer this to Alien,” Pidge commented, eyes wide behind her glasses as she leaned over the platter and the tiny fuzzy chick cheeping in the center.

Pidge insisted on slipping the rest of the water balloon eggs underneath a lamp to incubate and see if they’d also “hatch”, but when the noisy baby that enjoyed pooping on Hunk’s palm proved the only survivor (or the only fertilized) of the clutch, he happily cooked the rest.

“Are those eggs I smell?” Lance wondered. He skipped across the kitchen from the doorway, a dreamy smile on his face as he loudly inhaled. “Poached?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Pidge said. She flashed a teasing smirk at Hunk.

He scowled and, rather than retorting, watched the eggs - that, now that he had the opportunity to cook and examine them, had an odd green sheen to their yolks - cooking in boiling water.

Lance peeked into the saucepan. “You have ham to go with those green eggs?”

“As soon as Hunk finds a green pig,” Pidge told him.

“Hey, Pidge, can you make yourself useful and check on Ramsay please?” Hunk cut in before she and Lance could get a little too into their teasing.

“Ramsay?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “You have an Egyptian pharaoh hiding in the pantry?”

“That’s Ramses,” Pidge corrected, although she obediently hopped off her stool and walked over to the bin in the corner with the lamp shining over it. “This is Ramsay.”

She scooped up the chick in all his fluffy, cheeping, magenta glory and wandered back towards them. The baby’s eyes slipped shut when she stroked its head, a soft smile on her face.

“Get him out of the kitchen before he poops on his siblings’ remains!” Hunk said, raising a spatula in alarm.

Pidge turned, shielding Ramsay from him and with her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “You’re the one who murdered them.”

“And we both agreed they were never alive!”

“Okay...” Lance glanced between the two of them. “This sounds like some weird science thing I don’t want to get in the middle of.”

“And how do you know Ramsay is male anyway?” Pidge wondered. She lifted the chick to eye level, squinting at his underside. “It’s a chick!”

“There are ways,” Hunk pointed out.

“I’m sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but do you know them?”

“Ooh, actually”--Lance raised his hand as he broke out into a broad grin--”if he’s anything like a baby chicken from Earth, I can sex him.”

“You can?” Pidge set Ramsay on her shoulder...just so she could cross her arms.

“Uh, sure?”

“He can milk a cow,” Hunk reminded her. “Why not say if a chick is going to be a rooster or a hen?”

“Huh.” Pidge passed Ramsay to Lance, who...

Well, Lance squealed like a little kid. “Aw, he’s so cute! Just like a chick from Earth!” He poked the tiny barely there tail and ran a finger down the chick’s back.

“So he’s a boy?” Hunk said.

“I didn’t even look yet!” Lance lifted the chick and... “Oh, Hunk, I think you gotta change his name to Rachel Ray or something.”

“Girl?”

“Yep.” Lance grinned and said, “But if it gets us more eggs...”

A gasp escaped him, excitement gripping. “Lance, you’re a genius!” Hunk clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You can tell that’s a girl,” Pidge said, her eyes wide and incredulous, “but it surprised you when I said I’m one?”

Hunk laughed when Lance only scowled.

Ramsay - name unchanged, despite Lance’s suggestion - ate anything.

She was a hen after Hunk’s own heart.

“Not a very good critic, is she?” Lance commented.

“She’s growing fast,” Allura said. She smiled, cooing over the chick sitting in her lap while the mice looked on with what Hunk guessed must be jealousy.

(He’d have to watch them around Ramsay.)

Predictably, the smile twisted into a disgusted grimace when the chick dropped one on her dress.

“I suppose pets do have their...drawbacks,” Allura mused with a frown.

Hunk scooped her back up and smiled sheepishly. “I’ll keep her confined.”

“And away from Keith’s wolf?” Lance said with a nod at the door.

“Keith’s wolf teleports,” Pidge piped up. “If he wants to eat unripened chicken for breakfast, doors won’t stop him.”

Hunk’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “I’ll...talk to Keith about that.”

Keith, however...

“You have time to raise a chick on top of being a Paladin?” Keith wondered.

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “I have time to cook for you guys, Lance has time to milk Kaltenecker, Pidge and he have time to play video games, you have time to train till you put too much strain on every muscle in your--”

“Fine, I get it,” Keith cut him off with a hand covering his face.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that Kosmo is not allowed anywhere near Ramsay,” Hunk said.

As if summoned by the sound of his name (which...well, he was something like a dog), Kosmo teleported into view in a burst of light. Hunk reflexively stepped away, cradling Ramsay between his hands, but when the cosmic wolf’s nose twitched in curiosity, he extended his arms.

He held his breath as Kosmo sniffed the obliviously cheeping chick. He stiffened when the wolf’s tongue flicked out.

Kosmo licked the chick’s downy feathered back.

“He likes her,” Keith said.

“Yeah b-but how?” Hunk said. “He’s about to give me a heart attack...”

Keith smiled but clicked his tongue. Kosmo spun around at attention, ears on end. “He won’t eat her if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh! Oh good.” The tension trickled out of Hunk’s shoulders, and as soon as Keith and Kosmo left he fell into a boneless relieved heap with Ramsay sitting on his stomach.

Ramsay grew to be the size of a chicken in only a few movements. But unlike a chicken from Earth, her down feathers gave way to scales.

“Well, birds on Earth descended from the dinosaurs,” Pidge said.

“She’s really ugly this way,” Lance said.

“Excuse you, she’s my child and she’s beautiful!” Hunk retorted, shooting a glare at him.

“But she looks like a chubby and flightless pterodactyl!” Lance gestured at where Ramsay foraged through the meadow alongside Kaltenecker.

The not-chicken - space chicken, they all, except for Allura and Coran, took to calling her - gathered scraps of grass into a heap, almost like...

“She’s building a nest,” Lance observed with a grin. “Aw, look who’s getting ready to lay eggs!”

“What, already?!” Hunk shot up with alarm, a sudden lump lodging in his throat. “I-I’m not ready to be a grandfather!”

“Relax!” Lance said, standing and patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll be here to support you, but only if I get to be the chicks’ godfather.”

“Uh, you guys are kind of forgetting something important,” Pidge said as she joined them.

“What?”

“Ramsay doesn’t have a mate to fertilize her eggs.”

Hunk exchanged a glance with Lance, then he looked at Pidge. “Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as embarrassment filled him. “I knew that.”

Hunk never had considered chickens a viable pet before, but Ramsay followed him everywhere. She trailed him through the Castle’s hallways, leaving poop he’d have to clean up later in her wake, and hopped into his lap when he sat down. Her eyes closed in contentment when he rubbed her vicious beak, and she perched for the “night” on his bed frame.

And if Allura, Pidge, Lance, and Keith could have pets, why couldn’t Hunk think of this strange space chicken that imprinted on him as one?

He’d see about Shiro adopting a cat later…once Ramsay learned to lay her eggs in a nest and not on the kitchen floor where a certain princess’s mice could steal them.

#hunk #garrison trio #kind of soft on the chicken care but #imagining a space chicken by the seat of my pants #this was fun!! #but i hope that ending isn't too lame ;_; #voltron #reem writes fic #reem writes gen #pidge #lance #hailqiqi

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of PORTIA with an FC change to TIFFANY MEIA. Admin Rosey: *chants with you* PANDORA PANDORA PANDORA PANDORA! So one thing I absolutely adore when getting applications is when the names of the characters are dissected. But at the end of it, you had tacked on something I found very interesting -- “Pandora will always be a gift given away.”  And with that you suckered me in so easily that I couldn’t help but love and adore the interpretation of Pandora that you presented on a silver platter. You made her charming, you made her someone I admire and adore. You added such humanity to her when I expected her to be a mechanical thing. Kay, I can’t wait for you to join the family and let Pandora bring her ambition to light! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Kay

Age | 24 soon to be 25 and I can hear the grim reaper calling my name.

Preferred Pronouns | She/her/hers

Activity Level | I’m currently in school and in another group, but with that being said I’m online practically every day. I can get on to plot every day and post a reply or two at least every other day!

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | Here is my current blog!

In Character

Character | Portia, Pandora Phan. If possible, I’d like to switch her FC to Tiffany Meia!

Pandora, origin: Greek, meaning “All-gift” Just as her namesake before her, Pandora will always be a gift to be given away.

Phan, origin: Vietnamese, meaning unknown

What drew you to this character? | Is it cliche to say the first line in her bio? Because the first line had me hooked right away. “The sense of wonderment that others had as children was lost on Pandora Phan.” She was never a girl that worried herself with fantasies, always looking at the reality of things and analyzing how and why things are. She didn’t concern herself with the fantasies and lies parents would tell their children, and instead wanted to know the truth, the bottom line of it all. To me, Pandora is this girl who might come off as soft and pretty to some, but she’s really a girl with hard edges and a razor blade tongue. Every word that comes out of her mouth is very deliberate, calculated to maximize the impact they’ll have.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

a. Mother, may I speak now? Pandora spent her formative years having her voice fall on her parent’s deaf ears. So while she doesn’t speak unless she truly wants to, she makes her voice heard above all others. She’s someone that will use her voice to get what wants when she wants and she doesn’t care who she has to step on to be heard. And with that, comes enemies even within her own affiliation. Are there members that want to see her fail? What will she do to prevent that from happening? Who does she think she is?

b. Did the pressure weed you out? Odin is an ever-present figure in her life and it bothers her that she doesn’t know why. He’s one of the few people that can truly match her word for word, cut for cut and it makes her worry. She wants to know why he’s putting up a front of helping her when they’re on opposite sides. Will she listen to his words? Will she actually believe them? What steps will she take to make sure she doesn’t toe the line and fall into his trap? Who exactly does Odin think she is? I’d love to answer all of these!

c. Do you sleep anymore? Obviously, being a captain for the Montagues is sometimes she takes pride in. Pandora is someone whose work ethic is feared above all else; she’s known for being a cold and calculating woman in the gang. But she wants more. She spends her nights figuring out ways to claw her way to the top so she can be the one laughing at the end of the day. Just what, or who, is Pandora willing to risk on her way to the top? Will she survive long enough to be the queen that takes the king?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | As the Tralfamadorians say, so it goes.

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona?  

Personal questions always rubbed Pandora the wrong way. Why people wanted to know such intimate things about others was lost on her. Some things were better left tucked away in the back of her heart. And yet, she found her lips parting before she realized what was happening. “Castelvecchio Bridge.” The faintest of smiles grace her lips as memories flood her mind. She remembers her childhood spent there, legs dangling over the edge. She remembers her teen years, smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much wine on a blanket by the water’s edge. She remembers her adulthood, escaping her parent’s meetings to catch a glimpse of the swans floating by. “There’s something beautiful about the water in the middle of a war, don’t you agree?”

What does your typical day look like?

“I wake up and I go to work.” A memory of blood strewn across a table flashes in her mind. How unfortunate that the last collection she went on ended with her getting dirty. That poor silk blouse is worthless to her now. But, she didn’t ascend to her position without getting some blood on her hands. She glances at the underside of her nails, checking for any residual blood she missed the first three times she had scrubbed them. “I enjoy the view from the office then I go home to my fiancé. I have a simple life, really.” She swallows the bile creeping up her throat. Pandora has tried everything in her power to make her life anything but simple. Her typical day is filled with cutting remarks and blades pressed to skin, with sweet nothings and knives pressed into others backs. The only view she enjoys is the sight of someone realizing just how dangerous she is.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Mistakes were never something Pandora took pride in. Sure, she looked at them as lessons, something that taught her how to properly do something in case the situation ever rose again. But, she hated the process. She would berate herself in private for doing something so foolish, so dumb, so immature. Pandora Phan the Captain was anything but those things. On the other hand, Pandora Phan the Child was not. “When I was at university I fell for an artist. I ignored everyone’s advice and she broke my heart. How naive I was at that age.” A wave of the hand shows that’s all she’s willing to say about it. She’s handing the interviewer a nugget of truth. A tiny kernel of the story without telling him the ending of it. A broken heart never did any girl any good, now did it?

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

The word engagement burns her tongue and she has to fight to keep it down. She never signed up for the arrangement her parents made between the two families - she never had a choice in the first place. Their engagement had been just another business transaction in the grand scheme of things, a handful of signatures that sealed their shared power for the future. But playing the pretty fiancée was getting old. Their engagement was beginning to bore her and felt more like a sentence than an agreement. Sharp nails tap the desk between the two, fighting for seconds to come up with a reasonable answer. “Does this interview count?” Her head tilts to one side, the corners of her lips turning upwards as she spoke. “I have other things that require my attention instead of sitting here playing this silly game with you.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Actual war was never something that interested her, but the benefits that came from it did. With every war came those who profited from it and Pandora was one of those. Because of their war, she was able to escape from a dull life to something more stimulating. She had a chance to be more than a little girl with chaos in her name. “The war went on for hundreds of years before me and will continue for hundreds of years after me.” It’s an answer devoid of any actual meaning, meant to distract the poor man sitting across from her. The interview might be required by her boss, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun with it. “Lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of their cubs, so my thoughts are nothing but wasted breath to my superiors.”  

Extras:

Right here is a mock blog for her, here is an insta edit for her, and I am a sucker for headcanons so here is a mile long list of them.

Drugs might not be one of her vices, but caffeine and cigarettes definitely are. More often than not she can be found with either a cup of coffee or a cigarette, or both, in her hands.

Panda is really good at card tricks. As a bored teenager, she learned various card tricks to fill her time with. Just picture a teen Panda running around Verona scamming people outside of bodegas because she knows how to slip a card between her fingers.

Her main weapon might be her words, but very few know about the pocket knife she carries on her at all times. It might be old fashioned, but she prefers her weapon to cut in a similar way to her words.

She’s a sucker for poetry, with her favorites being Charles Bukowski and Pablo Neruda. The way that they form their poems and prose is something that she was always interested in replicating.

Panda is in love with learning languages. She’s fluent in French, Italian, Japanese, Spanish and is learning German.

She has a degree in linguistics and classics!

She spent some time traveling as a form of rebellion but thanks to that, she found the Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany. After a trip to Munich to fill up on nothing besides beer and pretzels, she visited the castle on a whim and fell in love with it.

As someone who doesn’t speak often, she has a very expressive face. I picture her looking into the camera like Jim on The Office whenever something goes wrong.

She reads the New York Times every day and does the crossword in pen.

I didn’t make a playlist for her, but I listened to a lot of Citizen and Joji to really get a feel for her. ‘Slow Dancing In The Dark’ by Joji and ‘Roam The Room’ by Citizen are the two songs that really gave me Pandora vibes. I also wanted to thank you for letting me reserve Pandora! I wasn’t sure I was going to finish her app in time but here we are, submitting right before the deadline lmao.

#accepted #accepted: portia

[dreamworksworddump]

Pavlov’s dogs: Ch. 1

Part 2

Pidge’s head hurts.

She thinks she has a concussion, because each word her mind dances over hurts to conceptualize, and she can only make sense of what’s going on around her in pieces.

There’s Lance, five feet away, the back of his armor smoldering from his gunshot wound. The armor has melted and shattered all at once, and it’s broken pieces allow blood to rise up between them. There’s the dying echo of the ship’s intruder alarms, and the quiet, broken rasp of Lance’s breath. She can hear Shiro and Hunk call out to them over the comms occasionally, but their voices sound too far away and are too loud for her to make sense of. There’s her knee, swollen and bruised from her battle with the Galra commander, and the blood dripping down her nose and pooling in her hair.

In pieces, it makes sense, but put together, she has no idea what to make of it. She manages to pull herself up into a sitting position, and from there, she is able to see the rest of the room. Behind Lance, the commander lies dead, blood pooling around the remains of his jaw.

Pidge’s stomach lurches, and she looks back to Lance. His eyes are fluttering open, and a low moan escapes from his mouth, barely audible over the dying roar lingering in her ears.

“Lance?” Her mouth is dry; her tongue feels like cotton. Lance rolls over onto her back, and starts to cough. “Lance, are you okay?”

“M’ fine. Not dead yet.” There’s a wetnness to his voice that scares her. What if the wound’s pierced his lungs? What is no one gets there in time to help, and he dies? Pidge remembers reading over a survivors account of Galra torture methods, and they’d said that drowning in your own blood was one of the worst ways to go. “Pidge?”

“Stay there,” She orders, and forces herself move. Standing makes her head spin and brings back that nauseous feeling, so she has to crawl on her hands and knees over to him. She cannot hide the sigh of relief as she settles into stillness once more, and sets Lance’s head on the softness of her thighs. “Can you breathe? Can you feel your toes?”

“I don’t feel anything. Isn’t that bad? When you can’t feel anything, it means your body’s given up. The danger’s passed.” Lance coughs, and blood bubbles out of the side of his mouth, and drips into his hair. He raises an arm to wipe it away, not realizing until his hand meets his helmet that he can’t. “Ah, it’ll be fine. Shiro and Hunk started heading our way when you called in about the General. The castle’ll fix everything. S’magic.” He smiles at her, and his teeth are outlined in red.

“My head hurts.” Pidge says dumbly. She can’t think of anything else to say. She can’t remember how they got here or what led up to this very moment. Everything is a stupid, fuzzy blur before she’d woken up, and seen Lance, bleeding on the floor. “Don’t die.” Tears prick at her eyes, and her face hurts with the effort of not crying. “Stop bleeding and don’t die. There’s so much blood.”

“M’ fine. Love you, and the story never ends before the hero gets the girl.” Lance’s voice is just a low murmur, and when she holds his hand, he hardly squeezes back.

“Lance?” Pidge blinks and she knows she has a concussion, because quiznack, did he just say that he loves her?

Before she can ask him to repeat himself, or tell him that the blood loss is messing with his head, Shiro and Hunk appear in the doorway, one of those floating crates held between them.

“Oh my god. Lance!” Hunk’s voice rises in pitch like a balloon rising into the air as he sees his best friend.

“He’ll be fine. We just need to get him back to the castle.” Shiro says in that comforting leader voice of his, and together, he and Hunk lift Lance onto the makeshift gurney. Pidge stumbles onto her feet as Shiro rises, refusing to let go of Lance’s hand. The room spins around her, and she leans on the side of the crate until it still.

“You probably shouldn’t walk either. Seems like you’ve got a concussion.” Hunk would carry her in his arms if she asked, but she doesn’t. If Hunk has to carry her, then that means she’ll have to leave Lance.

“I’m fine.”

Hunk doesn’t look convinced, but they don’t have any time to waste arguing with Lance in such a bad condition. Shiro and Hunk start to move, walking as fast as they can without jostling Lance, or making her fall. After a while, Pidge is able to walk despite the constant dizziness, if she closes her eyes every so often. The layout of the ship, which she had known so well before the mission, goes by in an undecipherable blur, and suddenly, she’s sitting behind Hunk in his lion, holding Lance’s hand and trying her damned hardest to keep her eyes open.

She blinks and then they’re heading into the castle, and she has to wonder; is this from a concussion, or from shock?

Coran starts ordering everyone around as they start to pry off Lance’s armor. The heat of the laser fused some of it to his skin, and it’s a dangerous game they’re playing in trying to pry it off. Hunk’s hands move delicately over his best friend’s back, heating and cutting off what he can with a solder-gun, but even so, Lance moans in pain beneath him. Pidge leans against the wall beside the makeshift gurney, and just holds his hand. She refuses to pull away, even when his nails start to dig gouges in her hand.

Pidge isn’t sure how long she stands there.

She measures time by how many vials of painkillers Coran goes through, by the piling of debris on the table, by the size of the bloodstain on the blanket underneath him.

When they stop, Hunk has to pry Lance’s hand from hers. Crescent shaped cuts pattern the surface of her palm, though she hardly notices. She’s too busy watching as they strip Lance, and stuff him into a med-suit. Throughout it all, Lance is far, far too quiet, and much too limp.

After the door closes, the bustling, busy energy of the med-bay stills, and solemn silence falls over them. Pidge sniffs and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Blood smears on the white surface of her armor.

“Pidge? Are you okay?” Hunk wipes Lance’s blood off of his hands with the sheet, and takes a cautious step towards her, as if afraid that if he walks too fast, he might knock her over. The sight of him moving makes her lingering dizziness flare up again. “You’ve got a nose bleed. And there’s blood all in your hair.”

“M’fine.” Pidge mutters. She tries to walk past him, to read the scrolling readout of Lance’s pod, but after only a few steps, the edges of her vision tinge black, and she starts to sway.

“Catch her, quick!” Coran calls, and Shiro swoops in to save her. Her head lolls to the side, and the last thing she sees before succumbing to the blackness is Lance’s face, a smile lingering on his lips even in unconsciousness.

Pidge does not dream.

Consciousness comes to her abruptly. She is in blackness, and then she is not. Thoughts return to her mind in a rush, and at the forefront of it all, is a single word. No, Pidge realizes, not a word, but a name.

“Lance?” Her tongue is thick and heavy, and won’t move like she wants it to. She opens her eyes, and finds the stark whiteness of the med-bay glaring back at her. Coran stands alone in front of her, the only witness to her revival, and he smiles proudly at her, like he does whenever she tries her Altean out on him.

She takes a step forward, but the paralysis of the cryo-pod is slow to leave her; Her legs give out after only a single step. She falls forward, but Coran catches her, and sets her back on her feet before she hits the ground.

“Careful, number five. That was quite a head injury you had.” Coran cautions. There is something fond in his eyes, something that speaks of respect for what she’d done for Lance. “Steady now. It’ll take a moment to get your balance back.”

She stays slumped on Coran’s shoulder for a moment more, and waits for the buzz of her sleeping nerves to spread from her feet to her legs to her tongue. “Lance?”

“He’ll be fine. It was a bad one,” He glances over at Lance’s still resting form, then looks back to her. She squints and tries to gleam what she can from it’s monitor, but her written Altean skills are rudimentary, and it’s too far away for her to decipher. “But he’ll be fine.”

Pidge doesn’t want to leave him; she doesn’t want to take her eyes off of him. She’s got this horrible feeling in her gut, a stupid yearning feeling, like the two of them are opposite magnets.  “But-”

“He’ll be up and at it again in about a quintant.” Coran takes her gently by the arm and leads her out into the hall, towards the kitchen. “You do want to be there when he wakes up, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I do, but-”

“Then eat. You can come back to check on number two once you’ve gotten some food in your belly.” Coran says, and she knows that she’d beat. There’s no point in arguing with Coran when he’s really set his mind on something.

Pidge sighs, and stops dragging her heels. “Okay. Fine.”

Coran takes her to the kitchen, and tries to replicate Hunk’s special ‘Congrats-you’re-not-dead’ dish, with little success. As he slaves over the stove, scowling occasionally at his sizzling pan, Pidge thinks back on what Lance had said to her.

“‘M’ fine. Love you, and the story never ends before the hero gets the girl.”

If it had been any other time, if he had worded iit any other way, then maybe she would’ve taken it as a joke. But it hadn’t, and he didn’t. His voice had been deeper than it had any right to be, and his eyes, his stupid, sea-blue eyes had held some sort of feeling that she just couldn’t put a name to. It was the way he’d said it; ‘Love you’, like he’d said it to her a million times before, like he’d whispered it her every night before she fell asleep, that sticks with her. The way he’d said it… it was like he knew that she felt the same way.

“I give up, number five.” Coran dumps his latest batch into the recycler with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve lived in this castle for nearly a hundred years! And somehow, Hunk runs it’s kitchen better than I ever could. You’ll have to settle for food goo or one of my famous paladin dishes. I’d be happy to make you-”

Pidge’s stomach turns at the mere memory of the last time she’d tried ‘authentic Paladin cuisine’. She shakes her head so fast, her vision blurs. “Uh, no thanks, Coran. Wouldn’t want to waste your time. Food goo is fine.”

Coran looks slightly disappointed, but all in all, is rather used to the Paladins refusing his cooking. He grabs a plate, and fills it up with food goo. “Oh, it would’ve been no problem, but if you insist.” He sets it down in front of her, along with a spoon and a packet of juice. “Would you like some company while you eat? Shiro is busy with diplomatic talks, and Hunk and Allura are off on some mission of their own.”

“Oh?” Pidge asks, mouth full of food. “S’that why you were the only one there when I woke up?”

“Shiro would’ve joined me, if not for the Arcanians.” Coran narrows his eyes, and crosses his arms. Pidge wonders what they did to piss Coran off, of all people, but refrains from asking; she probably wouldn’t understand half of what he’d tell her anyways. “They just wouldn’t let him go.”

Pidge shoves another spoonful into her mouth. Her stomach feels like a bottomless pit, like it always does after she gets out of the pod. Although biology is more of Hunk’s kind of science than her own, she understands the basis of why they all come out starving. When the body is forced to heal so much, so fast, it burns up a bunch of calories, because it takes up a bunch of energy. She’s got some squish to her body; she always comes out a few pounds lighter and starving, nonetheless. She wonders how it feels for Lance, who is already as thin as a stick.

Oh god. Lance. He’d confessed to her just before Hunk and Shiro had come in. The comms were probably on. What if everyone knows about it? What if Hunk is just waiting to come back to tease them about it? She feels a twinge of guilt for joining in with Lance’s teasing about Shay. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t she?

“Uh, Coran?” Pidge sets her spoon down on the edge of her plate. “Did Hunk or Shiro mention anything to you about what happened before they got to us? My memory is still a little, uh, fuzzy, as memories can be after a traumatic head injury.” Did that sound natural? It totally did, didn’t it?

Coran leans back in his chair and twirls the edge of his moustache as he thinks. “No, I don’t believe so, number five. Everything was so frantic, I don’t think I even asked for their mission reports.”

Pidge can’t tell if she should be relieved or worried.

“Oh, and one more thing. Can you send me the blueprints for our armor fabrication machine? I want to see if I can add more protection to the back and stomach.” Pidge thinks, no, she knows that if she looks at the design, she’ll be able to prevent an injury like this from happening again.

That fond look returns to Coran’s eyes as he stands, and pushes his chair back into the table. “Of course, Pidge. I’ll do that right away.” He pauses by the door and smiles. The way his eyes crinkle remind her of her father, of how his eyes glisten whenever she impresses him, or makes him proud. “Oh, and don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone what Lance said to you.” He mimes zipping his lips. “Advisor’s honor.”

Pidge thumps her head on the table and groans.

As soon as Pidge finishes eating, she changes out of the med-suit into her usual clothes, and  heads down to Green’s Hangar to look over the blueprints. Her goal is simple: prevent Lance from getting any more scars.

All of them have scars now, even Allura. Most of them aren’t too bad, but each of them has one or two that’s impossible to ignore. Shiro has his facial scar. Pidge has one on her chest, just under her breasts from a shrapnel cut. Lance had one from the explosion he’d saved Coran from back on Arus, and will undoubtedly have a new one from his most recent wound. It doesn’t bother Pidge so much; after all, it’s not anywhere important, and she never really fretted over her appearance much anyways, but for Lance, every scar seems to haunts him.

They’d never talked about it, true, but she’s known Lance for nearly, what? Five years now? He’s her best friend; she knows.  

By the time the castle’s lights dim in simulation of night, she’s found fourteen areas for improvement. If she changes the material used to the hollowed version, it’ll absorb impact better. By adding quilite filament to it, heat’ll spread more evenly across its surface, preventing laserfire from burning through to his skin. If she-

“I’ll drag you out of here if I have to.” Shiro says, amusement audible in his tone. “Even gremlins like you need sleep every once in a while.”

“But Shiro, I haven’t even fabricated the prototype yet!”

“You’re not going anywhere for the next few days. What’s the rush?”

Pidge thinks of Lance, and of the scar on his back. What’ll it look like? Will it be dark, like ash? Pink, like meat left exposed? “There’s- I- I just want to get it done as soon as I can.”

Shiro holds up one finger. “You get an hour. And then I’ll drag you to your room if I have to.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.”

Shiro doesn’t have to bother. Not ten minutes after she sends the improved blueprint to the fabricator does she fall asleep in front of her computer, drool pooling onto the sleeve of her sweater.

Pidge doesn’t wake up until her alarm starts beeping at decibels loud enough to kill certain kinds of aliens. For a moment, she considers turning it off and heading back to sleep, but then she remembers: Lance is waking up today. She sits up abruptly, and wipes the drool from the corner of her mouth.

When did she even set the timer? She barely even remembers falling asleep. Oh, forget it. S’not important.

Pidge pushes her chair back, and stretches. A yawn escapes from her mouth, and she wonders if she’ll have enough time to catch a bite before he’s let out.

“Didn’t you hear your alarm, number five?” Coran calls out over the intercom. The sudden disruption startles her, and she jumps back from the desk, where the speaker sits. “You’ve only got five dobashes to get up here!”

Her mouth drops. “Five? Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

“Four doboshes.”

Pidge groans and breaks into a mad run for the elevator. As the door opens on the floor of the med-bay, Coran updates her on the time.

“Three doboshes.”

She runs as fast as she can towards it, nearly crashing into walls several times as she turns corners. As she approaches the med-bay door, Shiro turns the corner, and she nearly runs smack dab into him. She manages to catch herself just a moment before impact, with one leg jutted out in the air, and her arms raised in an awkward attempt to keep her balance. She freezes as the cryo-pod doors and Lance comes tumbling out, all long limbs and fluffy hair. She shrieks, and his eyes latch onto her.

Lance surveys her; her hair is fluffed up from sleep, and there’s a line of drool on her face. He starts laughing.

Pidge blushes and straightens up. Behind her, Shiro does his best to keep from cracking a smile.

Coran claps him on the back and grins. Lance’s smile falters, but only for a second, as Coran’s hand touches his back. “We’re glad to see that you’re all better, Lance! Unfortunately, Shiro and I have some repairs to attend to, so you’ll have to spend the day recuperating with just Pidge’s company. Hope you don’t mind.”

Pidge narrows her eyes. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Coran pats her head and grins. “Nothing, number five. Welp, better get back to it. Off we go, number one!”

Coran hooks his arm around Shiro’s and drags him into the hall, leaving the two of them alone.

“You mind eating with me? Being healed with magic always gets me super hungry.” Lance stretches his arms over his head, and starts to walk after them. “Mind sitting with me?”

Lance’s legs are like, twice as long as hers, so she has to jog to catch up with him. “Yeah, sure, no problem.”

Lance leads them into the kitchen, and fills up a plate with food goo. He hands it to her, fills up another, then slides into a chair and starts to eat. Pidge rubs furiously at the spit stain when she thinks Lance isn’t looking. He looks up at her as the mice climb into her lap, and then onto the table, and she hurries to pretend that she was doing something, anything else.

“Did you dream any, while you were in there?”

Lance holds his spoon like a cigarette, and watches as the mice gather around his plate to beg. “It’s fuzzy. Something about a party, and my mom. You were there too. I…” He trails off, suddenly bashful.

“I was there, and…” Pidge prompts.

Lance offers a spoonful of goo to the mice, and avoids her gaze. “I think I was introducing you to my mother, and you were my… my girlfriend.”

Pidge stares at her plate and laughs nervously. The mice cross their arms and look at her expectantly. “Wow, um, that’s- that’s something.”

They fall into an uneasy silence. There’s the sense of anticipation, like the two of them are waiting for the water to finally spill over, and ruin everything.

“So,” Pidge drawls. “Wanna go play some video games? S’not like you can go training or anything.”

Lance grins, and Pidge’s heart thuds heavily in her chest. “I’ll have you know that Allura thinks it’s a form of dexterity training, so it technically counts.”

Pidge sticks her tongue out. “And Allura also thinks that milkshakes are made of cow-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Lance grabs her half eaten plate and his own, and tosses them into the recycler. “Don't. Don't say it.”

Pidge snickers, and starts for the kitchen door. “Point being, Allura doesn't have a great grasp of human culture.”

Lance had commandeered the game system not long after she’d figured out how to hook it up to the castle, so whenever she wants to play, she has to go to his room. She doesn't mind, not really, because Lance’s room is much cleaner than hers, and always smells inexplicably of spun sugar and citrus. Being in there today, has her feeling awkward and out of place. The question lingers in her mind, heavy and unspoken: Did Lance mean what he’d said?

Lance passes her the remote, and a game controller, and jabs a thumb at his bathroom. “Go ahead and set it up. I’m gonna go take a quick shower and change.”

Pidge nods. “Okay.”

She starts the long process of booting up the game system, and leans back against the frame of his bed.

They’ve been best friends for a long time, but she’s best friends with Hunk too. When did whatever she and Lance have evolve into feelings? Well for Pidge, it was a slow thing. She’d noticed that he was good-looking when she first met him, but hadn't really seen him like that until they became a part of Voltron. When did it start to hurt when he flirted with other girls? When had she become jealous of the princess, because Lance treated her like a girl? And more importantly, when did Lance start to see her as more than a friend?

Lance stands in the doorway of his bathroom, jeans slung low across his hips, and his hair dripping from the shower and into his collar. “Ready to get beat?”

She snorts. “You seem eager to lose.” Lance sits down beside her. He’s close enough for her to smell his shampoo.

“I’m the master of this game. You’ll be eating my dust.”

“Seems like you’re all talk. You wanna prove something, you gotta take action.”

Lance picks up a controller and picks his character. A bard. Figures. “There’s no need to prove anything if it’s obvious to everyone.”

The conversation shifts, and Pidge realizes that they're not talking about the game anymore.

“Well maybe it’s not obvious. Maybe it sounds like a joke, or a mistake. Maybe you do have something to prove.”

“Why? Cause I wasn't serious about the game before? Can't you take things at face value?”

Pidge hums and knocks Lance’s character into the way of the dragon’s flame, effectively killing him. The word ‘winner’ flashes on screen.

Lance pouts, and dangles the controller by the cord. His eyes, cobalt blue, such a pretty blue, train onto her curiously, as if she were the only thing worth looking at. “Best two out of three?” He pleads.

Pidge wants to kiss his stupid pouting face. She wants to tangle her fingers in his overgrown hair, wants to tug him down to her height and kiss him. She just barely stops herself from doing so. Her cheeks burn as she shakes her head. “I think you should get some rest. I’ve got… stuff to do.” She turns and is out the door before he can even muster a response.

Pidge ends up at her workbench, watching the fabricator apply layer after layer of molten material to the mold, and going over her previous actions with cautious scrutiny. She has nothing to do, and even if she did have a project to work on, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it. Everytime she tries to work, she thinks back on what she’d said, what she’d done, and then dies of embarrassment. With nothing else to do, she relives the day over and over again in her mind, and falls asleep watching paint dry on Lance’s armor.

@marifertrash, so sorry that I couldn’t write some fucking smut without all of this unneccesary plot. Stay tuned for chapter 2!

#voltron #vld #plance #pidge #lance #i tried to make this a one shot #but there's so much more plot that i intended #so here you go my dude #there's gonna be like six sex scenes later #cause i couldn't rush the fucking smut #why can't i write pwp? #@marifertrash

[samingtonwilson]

8 Fights You’ve Had - Jim Kirk

Summary: couples fight, some couples make up.

Warnings: language

A/N: anyway the great animal cracker debate of the twenty-third century is my favorite part of this

1

You stared at the door and waited the polite amount of time.

Well, the polite amount of time for you— which was just the thirty seconds after you’d finished knocking.

You entered the code you’d memorized months ago against the control pad you used to struggle with when your friendship with Jim was new, and the door slid open easily. With a sigh and a clearing of your throat, you entered the dim quarters and replicated a cup of coffee for yourself— after all, his replicator was the best one on board.

Piping pastel yellow mug in hand, you took long steps to his bed. “Wakey, wakey, sunshine! Lights at fifty-percent,” you added, laughing when Jim groaned loudly and pulled his plain white comforter over his head as the lighting increased.

You pulled gently on the few strands of blonde hair that managed to peek out from above the edge of the comforter. You then tugged on the covers a bit, exposing everything above his nose. Your fingers moved from his hair to his high cheekbone, sweeping your thumb across his skin only to move a little lower to pinch the fleshier part of his cheek with force.

He hissed loudly and slapped your hand away, sitting up immediately. He placed his hand against the flushed skin and grimaced at you. “What the hell? It’s a day off!”

You hummed, holding out the cup of coffee to him. “Your voice is sexy when you’ve just woken up. All that rasp, that depth.”

“My voice is always sexy,” he mumbled, taking the cup and smirking as he brought the mug to his lips. Once he swallowed and gave the coffee back, he sighed to lean back against his headboard. “You better have a good reason for waking me up on a day I planned to sleep through.”

You bit down on your bottom lip and pushed up the sleeves of the black t-shirt you wore. “I do. So Chekov and I spent the whole night researching this television series from, like, the early twenty-first century. It’s about these residents at this one hospital, and they all tend to sleep with one another more than work on patients, and it’s so absurd,” you laughed, rolling your eyes to yourself. “Pash and I spent the whole night watching episode, after episode, after episode and it’s strangely addictive and I’m weirdly invested—”

“Is that my shirt?”

You hummed questioningly, looking down at yourself. “Oh. Yeah, it is. Anyway, the doctors—”

“Do you not own any clothes of your own?” His eyebrows were together, his head tilted, his lips fallen into a frown. His volume had increased by the time he stated with a scoff of frustration, “You don’t even ask anymore.”

Your own eyebrows came together. “Jim, —”

“It’s not like we’re having sex, or dating, or something,” he continued, shaking his head. “You should ask.”

“Okay,” you said, your eyebrows now raised. “I’ll ask from now on. I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I won’t do it anymore.”

He sighed loudly. “No, I want you to wear my shirts,” he told you, his volume still just as high.

“Is your goal to confuse me?”

He sighed again. “I want you to wear them after you sleep here, after you spend the night with me. I want you to wake me up as annoyingly as you do and I want it every single morning. I want all of that. Do you—” he sighed heavily. “Starlight, do you not see it?”

“Well, don’t yell at me about it,” you replied softly. You waited a few seconds before setting the coffee down onto the floor and kneeling on the bed.

You shifted so you were knelt before him, moving your knees to be on either side of him so you could straddle his lap. You pressed your lips to his briefly tasting coffee on him and sighing at the feeling of finally in your veins.

As you broke the kiss and he leaned forward to follow your lips, you offered him a small smile and placed a hand on his chest, drumming your fingers against the thin t-shirt he wore. “Ask me out nicely, don’t fight with me about it, and I might say yes.”

2

You were drifting in and out of sleep for a while. The lights being at seventy-percent kept you from succumbing completely.

You didn’t call for them to dim, though. You didn’t make a sound. The action would have been too taxing. The volume you needed, the clear tone, the slowly enunciated words, it was all too much for your body to handle— especially after the ten hours in the medbay you spent patching up clumsy red shirts covered in steam burns.

You couldn’t bring yourself to eat, either. You’d gone through the day with a single apple and two large cups of coffee in your system, not finding time to eat anything else earlier and not finding the energy when you’d reached Jim’s quarters. You only collapsed upon the bed, sighing very heavily as you cuddled up against the far more plush mattress and much, much softer bedspread.

You heard the door slide open and wished you could sink into the bed further, maybe be swallowed by it whole as you heard Jim sigh loudly and throw his boots aside. Each sound rang in your ears and knocked around in your skull painfully.

He fell into the bed in a similar fashion to your collapsing two hours ago. But, instead of taking one of the spare pillows and snuggling it into his chest like you had, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled your back into his chest.

He hummed in contentment as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and pressed his lips there.

You sighed out and felt your body relax as his warmth spread through the uniform you didn’t bother taking off. “Can you call for the lights to be at zero?”

Unbeknownst to Jim, it’d taken all of your energy to say that simple sentence and he asked, “Can’t you?”

“I’m too tired,” you grumbled into your pillow.

He snorted. “It’s just a few words, starlight.”

“It’s not about how many words it is— it’s the volume,” the frustration in your voice was evident, your eyes opened a little more now, stinging at the harsh light. “Just do it.”

“I’m tired, too.”

“Fine, Jim.”

Though his arm stayed around you and his lips stayed close enough to your skin that you could feel his frown, neither of you called for the lights to turn down. Somehow, the two of you managed to sleep through it and threw a few cranky words at one another about the dangers of pettiness when you awoke.

3

You sat in the well-cushioned chair in Leonard’s office, your feet atop his large desk and crossed at the ankle. You narrowed your eyes, widened them, and narrowed them again. You tilted your head— left, right, down. You took a breath.

“You’re being excessive.”

You clicked your tongue, still focusing with the sharpest of gazes rather than looking at him as he sat across from you in a far flimsier chair. “I’m giving this the attention it deserves.”

Jim reached over and sifted through the remaining cookies in the bright red and yellow carton, his eyes zeroing in on the lion printed in the upper left corner. He shook his head, he was sticking to his guns. He knew animal crackers better than the best of them. “It’s a horse.”

You glanced at him rather than the cookie held between your index finger and thumb, sighing at the determination in his wide, childish electric blue irises. “It’s a giraffe, Jim.”

He clicked his tongue. “It’s a horse.”

“Your IQ level might say you’re a genius but that doesn’t mean you’re always right.”

“Sorry, all I caught from that sentence was that I’m always right,” he said with a wide grin, reaching over to brush your feet from the desk. When your feet landed on the floor with the clunk of your boots, he sighed and sat back in his seat. “It’s a horse.”

You nodded sarcastically and frowned just as dryly. “Oh, really? It’s a horse? Then why is its neck so long?”

“It’s not that long!” he shouted, shaking his head again. “Barely above average.”

“Yeah? And you know the average length of necks when it comes to animal crackers?” you snorted. “It’s also a zoo-themed box. What kind of zoo has horses?”

“Don’t be close-minded on what animals zoos have.”

“Don’t be rude and call this giraffe a horse just because her neck is a little bit shorter— that’s probably offensive, or something.”

“Oh, is it?”

The two of you barely acknowledged Leonard as he stepped through the door, only really noticing him when he took the cookie from your hand and popped it into his mouth. As he promptly chewed and swallowed, he sat down and raised his dark eyebrows at your incredulous expressions. “What?”

“You ate the cookie!” Jim yelled, his jaw clenched. “We were trying to figure out what animal it was.”

“Well, I’d figured it out already— it’s a giraffe.” You paused for a moment. “I mean, it was a giraffe.”

“It was a fuckin’ cookie,” Leonard stated, his Southern drawl warm in the drafty medbay. His tan skin was creased from exhaustion, from outrage at your toddler-like behavior— but his hazel eyes were alive. You knew he secretly loved it. “It was supposed to be eaten ‘n I ate it. Y’all are sittin’ here, arguin’ like fools. Move on, you giant babies. It was a hippo.”

As if perfectly in-sync with one another, you and Jim shouted, “No, it wasn’t!”

4

You were pacing in front of the bed, your fingers in your hair so you could pull on the ends when the frustration hit you even harder. There was a sheet wrapped around your body, your fist gripping the fabric to hold it above your otherwise bare chest.

When you almost tripped over the cotton for the third time, you sighed and stood still. You stared at Jim with wide, angry eyes and a deep frown. “I mean, is this what we are now? A fucking cliché?”

He sat with the comforter pooled below his waist, his back against the headboard so you had to actively distract yourself from gawking at his naked torso for too long. “Starlight, —”

“Like, you’re hogging the covers now? You’re pulling them onto your side? You’re hogging them like some, like some—”

“Cliché?” he guessed. He was fighting a smile as he watched you start to pace again.

“God! Hogging the goddamn covers, finishing my fucking sentences! Didn’t you make me coffee this morning?” you asked, your voice loud and outraged. “Oh my God,” you halted your steps and your palm met your forehead. “You told me I looked beautiful after sex even though I probably looked like I was just run through a prehistoric car wash. Jim!”

“What?” he asked, a laugh laced throughout. “What are you even angry about here?”

“You took the covers like a fucking cliché, you blue-eyed monster!”

“So are you mad at me taking the covers or about me being a cliché?”

“Jim!”

“Or is it about me finishing your sentences, or bringing you coffee, or calling you beautiful after sex? Which you are, by the way-- all the time.”

You groaned loud enough to have it echo off the walls. “Stop asking questions. I need to leave— sleep in Nyota’s quarters, or something.”

He couldn’t stop his smile as you walked towards the door. “At least put some clothes on first. I know how you feel about someone else knowing about our sex life.”

“I fucking hate you,” you called out as you switched course to the closet.

He hummed out a sigh. “And I love you.”

5

You sat atop the biobed in Exam Room 1, swinging your legs as you watched Leonard and Jim exchange a few choice words. You were leant against the wall behind you, your hands folded in your lap so you could pinch the blue fabric of your uniform.

You switched upon whom you focused based on which one of them spoke. It was like watching a tennis match— at least until you decided to intervene. “Not to ruffle any command gold feathers here, but I agree with Len.”

Leonard motioned towards you and widened his eyes at Jim. “There you go.”

Jim, with an agape mouth and incredulous sigh, shook his head. “Starlight, you’re not serious.”

You traced the darkness underlining his eyes, the more sullen nature of his cheeks, the borderline transparency of his skin, and the slouching of his posture. “I’m completely serious, Jim. You look six seconds from death— you need to sleep.”

“I’m the captain, this is my ship,” he pointed out with great emphasis. “I can’t just take a day to sleep when there are crewmembers injured because I flew us through a highly magnetized nebula and zapped the gravity.”

“It’s been three days,” you stated, shaking your head. “We’ve got less than twelve crewmembers left in observation, and that’s just a formality at this point. Everyone’s okay now— except you.”

“No bones are broken, I’m okay.”

You looked at Leonard for help and when he sighed with a flare of his nostrils, you clicked your tongue. “Jim, you haven’t slept for longer than two hours in three days.”

“I’m worried, I have every right to be worried!” he argued, his voice shaking the walls of medical waste bin bolted to the wall. “It’s my ship!”

“For fuck’s sake, we know it’s your ship!” you yelled back. “You can have Spock take over for a day!”

“Or, better yet, you could have Sulu take over for a day,” Leonard added, catching your eye as you peered at him questioningly. “He’s got a real fire in him.”

“You can’t take my side?” Jim asked after a few moments, pulling your attention from your fellow doctor. “Just this once?”

“I’m always on your side. No matter what,” you sighed out. “And, because I’m on your side, I think you need to get some rest. Sleep is just as important as anything else— especially when you’re the captain.”

When he opened his mouth to speak, you clicked your tongue once more. You spoke more forcefully now, “No. Get to our quarters, change out of that godforsaken uniform, and sleep. Hell, hibernate if you have to, okay? Leave.”

Leonard snorted once Jim had left, his arms crossed over his chest so the blue of his shirt rumpled at his chest. “Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just date you myself.”

“We’re not sexually attracted to each other and I happen to really like sex,” you shrugged.

6

You were avoiding him. You spent the day hauled up in your favorite exam room, only leaving to check on your lone patient. You didn’t dare venture to the mess hall, Leonard’s office, Scotty’s makeshift office, or anywhere else you could run into him.

Every time you saw or thought about him, images came flooding in. His hands on someone else, his lips on someone else, his eyes staring at someone else in the way he’d only reserved for you. It made something in your chest stutter, something in your blood boil. You wanted to break something.

You walked into your shared quarters cautiously so as to avoid his questioning gaze. You kept your eyes on the replicator, taking careful, counted steps towards it and immediately calling for a cup of coffee.

“Any special reason why I’m being iced out?”

You sighed and gritted your teeth at the sound of his voice. You didn’t reply.

“Did I do something?” he asked, nervous laughter in his words. “Because it sure seems like I’ve done something.”

You stayed silent, picking up the coffee and taking a very, very long sip. You didn’t care that it burned your tongue.

He laughed again, you could almost feel his voice shaking. He rose from the couch and made his way to where you stood. When he was close enough, he set his hand on your shoulder only to have you shrug him off.

He sighed. “Starlight, don’t freak me out like this.”

“It’s irrational.”

“That’s okay. Just tell me what it is. And look at me, maybe.”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes on your cup rather than meet the blue eyes you felt betrayed by. “I’m mad at you. You hurt me.”

“H-How? What’d I do?”

“How the hell could you look at someone else like that?” you asked, finally meeting his confused, but bright blue eyes. You couldn’t help your high volume. You thrust your mug into his hands. “I can’t believe you would kiss someone else, and touch someone else, and —”

“I didn’t do any of that!” he shouted back after several shocked moments of silence, watching you as you walked towards the bed. “I wouldn’t do anything like that to you!”

“Yeah, well, I had a dream that you did.”

He scoffed incredulously, his eyes wide and his mouth forming a scowl. “You’re mad at me over a dream?”

“I’m not mad at you! I just keep seeing it!”

“You’re yelling at me over something that isn’t real?”

You almost growled, unzipping your boots and tossing them aside. “I’m not yelling at you!”

“Then what do you call what you just did?”

“Passionate speaking!” you contradictorily yelled, reaching behind yourself to undo the zip of your uniform. 

You sighed after a beat of silence passed. “What if you get sick of me and it comes true? It’s bound to happen! We’ve been together for, like, two years now—”

“Year, ten months,” Jim corrected.

“See? I didn’t even know that!”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. He reached for you and wrapped his arm around your waist. When your chest was pressed against his, he sighed out. His eyes seemed to shine even in the dim lighting. “I’m not going to get sick of you. I am sick of how much coffee you drink, but never sick of you. Okay?” 

You sighed and nodded.

“Good. Now, take your dress off.”

“What?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Take your damn dress off and let me show you how not sick of you I am.”

7

Jim walked into his spacious shore leave quarters with a smile stretching his full lips. Having just come back from watching a football game with Leonard he truthfully didn’t give two shits about, he expected to be greeted with a smile and a kiss— not with the smell of melted cheese. But he wasn’t one to complain about that.

He entered the kitchen and inhaled deeply, standing beside you and bumping his hip against yours.

You clicked your tongue and pressed the back of the green spatula to the sandwich on the pan. You only sighed. You needed it to take less time.

He didn’t seem deterred by your resistance to his company. “What kind of cheese did you use?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Whichever one was in the fridge.”

He could have sighed at your monotone voice. “Did you use butter on both sides? It turns out better if you use it on both—”

You gritted your teeth and slammed the spatula down, hearing the items in the drawer below clank and shift. You felt a burning in your eyes and a pinching in your throat. “Honestly, why don’t you just do it?”

He watched with his mouth agape as you pushed past him and slammed the door to the bedroom. He took a breath and turned a knob to switch the stove off. He removed the sandwich so it was set on a plate and placed the pan into the sink. Stray water droplets sizzled against the hot pan and he listened to it as he walked down a narrow hall to the bedroom, plate in hand.

He knocked on the door twice. Though you told him to go away, something about your voice made him open the door. His chest tightened at the sight of you sitting on the bed, your knees at your chest and your forehead placed atop them. He heard your shaky breath and sniffles, sitting before you with a deep breath. 

“I won’t push you,” he said as he tore the sandwich in half and took an audible bite of the crispy bread. “But,” his voice was thick with his full mouth, “you should eat this. It’s good.”

You shook your head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Well, half is still yours.” His fingers encircled your ankles, he jostled them a little. “If you tell me who did this, I can kill them. I’m a captain of Starfleet, so I have access to weapons you wouldn’t even believe exist.”

You laughed despite yourself, placing your chin on your knees instead. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Jim wiped the tears from your skin and tilted his head with a small smile. “Tell me who I’m killing.”

“I don’t need you going to prison for killing a family that basically disowns me each time they see me. S’not fair for me to lose you, too.”

He sighed and tucking your loose strands of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “I love you. You know that, right? More than anything.”

You nodded. Your eyes were unable to wave from the dilation of his pupils, the glassiness of his own eyes. “I really don’t deserve you.”

He frowned. “I think that’s a matter of opinion. Stop arguing and eat-- or I’ll finish it all myself.”

8

Knowing your tendency to forget numbers, Leonard thought it was remarkable you didn’t lose count. You knew it down to the hour.

You could hear the hissing of the door as it slid shut behind Jim, the groaning of the couch as he flipped three times, the deafening scrubbing of a toothbrush as you stood beside one another in a bathroom too small, taking turns spitting into a sink too shallow— it all replayed in your head, over and over. It replayed in your head like clockwork, alerting you that another hour had passed.

One hundred eighteen repetitions were too many repetitions, but you did nothing about it. You simply averted your gaze when he stepped through the medbay doors, simply occupied yourself with something so uninteresting in comparison to the ever-changing blue of his eyes, simply told yourself you could handle another repetition if it meant you’d be giving Jim the space he needed, giving him the space he deserved.

You’d apologized. You told him you wouldn’t do it again— you wouldn’t give yourself the chance to do it again. After all, arguing about burnt popcorn and not speaking for nearly five days felt excessive.

But there was something deeper there, you just knew it. It lied in the absurd and petty nature of this popcorn argument, it lied in the unnecessary nature of his sudden possessiveness, it lied in the near constant remarks he would pass each time you expressed uncertainty for your future. You just couldn’t see what it was.

However, you did take it too far this time. What started off as a simple argument about popcorn ended with your voice cracking as you yelled about his arrogance, about his confidence that really came from dumb luck. You told him his judgement was flawed and selfish, that he really just chased glory.

Obviously, you regretted the words as soon as you said them. You were frustrated, and had been for some time because of the uncertain cause of all your sudden fights, but that was no justification. You knew that.  

The walk to your quarters seemed to stretch on for eons. You avoided eye contact with any and all crewmembers that passed you, you even waved off a conversation with Uhura, who looked at you with nothing other than concern.

You cleared your throat as you entered the code you’d memorized years ago, watching the door slide open as if in slow motion. You threw your PADD aside the moment you stepped into the room, tossing your communicator in the same direction.

Jim glanced at you and paid you no other attention.

“Jim?” you called, your voice as small as you felt. “Have you— I’ve given you enough space, right?”

When he doesn’t reply, you across the room and kneel before the couch he was seated on. You took his hand and wiggled it around, finally catching sight of the blue eyes that grounded you even in space. “Because I’m really tired. And I want to talk to you. And I want to kiss you, and I want to know that we’re okay. It’s been five days.”

He kept his eyes on you but did nothing more.

You sighed. “I’m sorry about what I said. There’s no excuse for it. You do scare me sometimes when you do things I don’t understand, but I know you have your reasons. I don’t— I just don’t understand how this all blossomed from burnt popcorn. I don’t like fighting with you and I don’t know why we’re fighting so much.”

You set your other hand on his knee. You had to blink rapidly, uncertainty taking up your mindspace even when his pupils dilated in that special way that made your stomach flip. “Tell me what I should do. Whatever you want, we’ll do. I’ll try not to overreact again, I’ll move out, I’ll shut up. We just— Fuck, I just need my friend.”

He looked at you plainly, simply. He took a breath and nodded once. “Marry me.”

Sandpaper in your throat, you asked, “What?”

“Marry me.”

He took another breath, deep enough to reach every point of his lungs, before continuing, “I don’t want you to move out, or shut up, or change anything. I’ve been irritated at you for not reading my mind when I should’ve just told you what I want.”

His voice was almost as soft as his gaze, his touch just as gentle as he set his hand against your cheek and moved his thumb across your skin. The blue of his eyes was clear— clear than it’d been in a while. “I want commitments, I want rings. I want part of my future,” he clicked his tongue, “I want part of our future to be certain.”

You opened your mouth, but there was no sound. So Jim nodded upwards, giving you the smile that could make you agree to anything if he’d just asked. “Please marry me.”

#i hope this is as good as i think it is #and i don't even think it's that great i just hope it's not horrible #fun things #jim #jim kirk #jim kirk imagine #kirk imagine #kirk x reader #jim kirk x reader #star trek #star trek imagine #captain kirk #captain kirk imagine #captain kirk x reader #imagine kirk #imagine jim kirk #imagine getting a good night's sleep #peace out

[dope-voltron-headcanons]

Can I request a Keith x female reader where she used to have really good eyesight, but got into an accident and she's now blind, and needs help to even get around?

You loved him, everything about him. The way he looked at you, like you meant everything to him. The way his eyes sparkled after a particularly rewarding training session. The determination he showed during battle, a smirk on his face as took down enemy after enemy. You would always catch yourself watching him from afar, the way he moved seeming to entrance you in every way

Just watching him was enough to make you happy, seeing how he interacts with the world. It all came to an end though when you were paired for a mission. You and Keith had to sneak onto a Galra ship, meet with Pidge to steal some information about their future plans, and get out as fast as you could. Infiltrating the ship was the easy part, but getting out unnoticed proved to be much more difficult. You were right behind Keith as you fled from a group of soldiers, so close to his lion you could practically taste it. That’s when everything turned from hopeful to devastating. An explosion went off right beside you, throwing you to the ground with a violent force that caused you to black out.

Days later you woke up from the cryopod, smelling the fresh air inside the Castle of Lions. You heard the voices of your friends surround you, different arms enveloping you in different embraces, each one thankful you were alright. They tried to talk about the mission, or at least get some kind of reaction out of you, but you didn’t respond. You were instead staring off in the distance, reaching up to touch your eye and feeling if it was open. Your finger made contact with a glassy surface, one you knew very well from the daily use of contacts. Yes, your eye was open, but why couldn’t you see?

“I think I need to go back in,” you said, to the shock of your teammates.

“What? No that’s impossible, you should be all healed now,” Allura’s voice rang out from your left, concern laced in her tone.

You turned towards her direction, feeling tears well up in your eyes, “Allura I can’t see. I can’t see anything, it’s all black! I need to go back in!”

You heard her gasp, the clicking of her shoes indicating she was walking towards you. Her scent appeared in front of you as her hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you closer to her. She placed her hand on your chin, forcing you to look up at her, “Oh no… (y/n), your eyes. If the cryopod couldn’t fix this before, it won’t be able to now… I’m so sorry.”

You felt a tear run down your cheek, a sob getting caught in your throat. What did she mean she was sorry? You were going to get your sight back, you needed to get your sight back. You needed to see Keith, at least one last time. All the curves and angles of his face, the smile he gave you when you did something stupid, the way he furrowed his brow when he was concentrating. You needed to see it all, but instead you were stuck in this lasting darkness you couldn’t escape.

“What!?” Keith snapped from your right, “What do you mean it can’t fix it? There’s gotta be something we can do, she can’t be blind forever!”

You felt Allura’s comforting presence leave you, “Keith, if the cryopod didn’t fix it, nothing can. Trust me, she’s one of our best fighters. If I could fix it I would in a heartbeat.”

“This is all your fault! If you didn’t make her go on this stupid mission with us she wouldn’t have been hurt!”

A silence fell over the room, his loud footsteps echoing towards the door. You reached out, hoping to catch his sleeve to stop him, but missed completely. Even so, his steps came to a halt in front of you. Taking a shaky breath, you wiped the tears on your cheeks with the back of your sleeve, “Keith this isn’t her fault, it’s not anyone’s but the Galra who threw the bomb. So please, don’t blame her for something that can’t be fixed. I’ll… I’ll be fine. I’ll learn to deal with it, to fight with it. I know you’re scared babe- trust me, I am too -but it will all work itself out.”

“(y/n), you can’t see a thing!”

“I can handle it. I’ll get used to it, learn to adapt,” you reached for his arm, latching yours around it, “Now, could you please lead me to my room. I… I think I need to be alone right now.”

From that day forward he was always by your side, helping you find your way around the castle and any new planet you came across. For the first month or so you just felt like a burden, unable to help and unable to defend yourself, but as time inched forward you found yourself getting more and more independant. Hunk had fashioned you a cane you found quite useful, and in no time you had memorized the castle’s layout.

After two months you began training once again, this time learning to use your other senses to your advantage. You listened to footsteps, payed attention to the various different scents in the air, and went with your intuition as you fought. It was a rocky road at first, getting thrown around like a potato sack nearly every day, but you kept going. Keith couldn’t help but admire your determination.

Finally, you were deemed fit enough to rejoin the fight, and the next time you boarded a Galra ship all hell broke loose. Your attacks were stronger than ever, fueled by a fury no other could replicate. They were going to pay for what they did to your eyes. They were going to pay for stealing your happiness away.

#voltron #Voltron legendary defender #voltron x reader #voltron fanfic #keith #keith kogane #keith x reader #vld keith #vld keith x reader

[artnerd1123]

Not My Fight

Chapter One --------------------

Y’all asked, so y’all shall receive ;3c Happy reading yo Chapters list can be found here

-------------------------

The sounds of swords clashing rang out in a small courtyard; the metal glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Two opponents faced off together. One large, and one small.

“Give it all you've got! Don't just block my attacks, counter them!” The larger one yelled. With a cry, the smaller one tried for a stab at the larger one’s middle, but was too slow. Their sword fell to the ground with a clatter as the larger leveled theirs with its neck.

“You'll never be a knight if you don't learn to attack, Avery,” huffed his teacher.

Avery bit back a smart remark, instead saying “I'll try harder next fight. Just give me more time, Peter.”

Peter just rolled his eyes.

Peter was the older of the two, and a lion to boot. He had a regal looking mane, and it was a deep maroon in color. His fur was golden and shimmered slightly under the sun. His large muscled form was enough to silence most who were thinking of fighting him hand to hand.

“You've said that every time. You never improve. Maybe if you spent more time training with your weapon instead of your magic, you'd be better,” he snarled. Avery took a step back. Peter wasn't someone you wanted to make angry while he had a sword in his paws. “Get back to training. I'll expect better results tomorrow,” Peter growled. Then he left the training courtyard, ears back and tail twitching.

“Magic is easier to control,” Avery mumbled after his teacher left. He picked up his sword. “Why can't I be a knight with magic…?” He got into his fighting stance and brandished his sword at an imaginary enemy. Might as well do some training, he thought.

Avery was a young silver goat and lion hybrid. He had the long tufted tail, paws, and the retractable claws of a lion, but otherwise he looked like a goat. His paw ends, tips of his ears, and tip of his tail were black. This was due to his hybrid status as well. His father was a black lion and his mother was a silver goat. His mother told him that his coloring made him look unique. He thought he looked a little odd, and not in a good way. Though he was proud of his short horns. All goats, and goat hybrids with horns, began to grow them around age 10. He was 15 and a half.

After a little while of attempting to go through some fighting moves, Avery set his sword down. He didn't like the weapon. It felt dangerous and unwieldy in his paws.

His magic, however…

He took in a deep breath, then exhaled it slowly. Small purple flames erupted in the centers of his paws. Their heat was comforting. He smiled, slowly circling his paws around one another. The flames grew as they came together until he was holding two medium sized fireballs. He shifted his stance, eyeing a target at the far side of the training yard. He drew back his paw and threw one fireball, then the other. Both seared through the air to hit perfect bullseyes. He stomped his foot on a small panel nearby, and more targets popped up. This time, they were moving. He grinned. Myrick, his magic advisor, had made them faster. Myrick knew how much Avery liked a challenge. Racing back and forth, jumping to reach the high targets, he barely missed the center of any of the targets.

Many people said he could've been a deer with talent like that.

But that was not what Avery wanted. Magic wasn’t his real passion. He may have been slightly better than others with his magic, but he wanted to be a knight. His parents had been knights, as had their parents, and their parents, and so on. The thought of protecting a noble or even the royals made him almost glow with pride and excitement. The only problem was that knights primarily used weapons, not magic.

Avery sighed, extinguishing his paws and stamping on the panel again. The targets slowed to a stop, then lowered back below the flagstones. He picked up his sword from where he’d put it down. Looking it over, he sighed. What use was a knight that couldn't properly use a sword?

-----

An hour or so later, Avery left the training yard. He’d practiced his stances and fought off a few invisible foes, but he knew it was no good trying to practice while he was in a bad mood. He walked through the long halls of the castle quietly. Some servants, mostly bugs, scuttled about. They bowed slightly when he passed, and he nodded and smiled in turn. It wasn't long before he’d reached the magic corridor. He wanted to thank Myrick for fixing the magic targets in the training yard.

As he pushed open the door to the room, a huge wave of papers came flurrying out. In the ensuing panic of the magic specialists’ he was nearly trampled. From the frantic ramblings of the specialists, he gathered that someone had accidentally broken open a jar that had contained air magic. More specifically, a wind spell.

He squeezed past the group of distressed magicians into the room. It was usually an untidy place, with stacks of scrolls, books, jars, and ink pots everywhere. Now it looked even worse. The wind spell had blown half of the room into a chaotic pile of paper and ink. Avery shook his head and looked around. A small deer with large ears, short antlers, and thick glasses was kneeling down by a shattered jar. It's fur was rumpled, as if it had gotten caught in a blast of wind full on.

“Hey Myrick. Bad day?” Avery asked, tilting his head. The small deer, Myrick, looked up and sighed, ears drooping.

“I was j-just trying t-to organize the j-jars…” he mumbled, pushing up his glasses with his slender hoof.

“Ah… well at least it was while you were trying to help. They can't yell at you for that,”Avery replied. “Here, why don't I help you with that?”

He kneeled down and helped Myrick pick up the glass shards. There was a scrap of paper stuck under one of the larger pieces of glass. Avery picked it up gingerly, wondering what it could be a part of. Myrick gave a small gasp and took it from him.

“Oh my- this is- aaah thank you A-Avery!” Myrick exclaimed, “this is the p-paper the spell was c-cast from! S-someone can replicate i-it now!” Avery grinned, and gave Myrick a pat on the back.

“That’s great Myrick! Maybe you can try and replicate it too,” he chuckled.

“M-maybe… my magic m-might be air magic!” Myrick stammered hopefully, “maybe th-this will help me u-unlock it!” With that, the little deer rushed from the room, chattering excitedly. Avery shook his head, still smiling. He was glad he was able to help his friend.

Myrick still hadn’t discovered what his magic was. Monsters usually found out when they were young, about five or so, but very delayed cases were possible. However, it was highly unusual for deer, especially a 14-year-old like Myrick. Despite his best efforts, no magic would come from his hooves. But he was a hard worker. Avery knew he’d find it eventually.

At least he can use his magic once he discovers it, Avery griped.

He shook his head to dispel the resentful thoughts. Slipping out of the door and squeezing past the magicians, he continued his walk towards the castle exit. There was another monster he wanted to see. But this one didn't live in the main castle.

The main town in the kingdom of Eitilte was small but homely. Everyone knew everyone else. The appearances of the ramshackle shops and houses were enough to lift most’s spirits, as well as the cheery chatter that wound through the air.

It was busy, as usual, and monsters moved quickly through the streets. But there was something off about the whole scene. Avery stood hesitantly at the main walkway. The difference came to him after a moment of listening.

It was quiet. The town was barely ever quiet. Everyone seemed tense and suspicious.

Avery wondered what he had missed.

Quickly, he made it to a small bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread drew him in as much as his want to get out of the strange silence in the streets. The warmth of the inside instantly put him at ease.

There were small shelves lined up against the walls, with the center of the main room left open. On these shelves were the goods that monsters came to buy. The fresh loaves of bread, small pastries, and salted pretzels created a mouth-watering smell. Avery felt himself start to lean towards the nearest shelves and shook himself out of it. As good as the food looked, he had someone to see.

“Can ah help you?” A soft lilting voice called from behind the counter. Avery turned and smiled upon seeing the owner.

“Hello Krystal.”

“Oh! Howdy Avery! Sorry, ah didn' recognize ya at first,” Krystal said. She hopped over the counter and landed by him. She was a rabbit, about his height and age, with fluffy purple and brown fur.

They had first met years ago when Avery had been sent in by his parents to pick up some bread. he’d gotten confused and krystal was sent over to help him. They eventually forgot all about the bread he was to be purchasing and got lost in conversation. They’d been good friends since that day, and went out to walk the town streets or fool around in the woods that surrounded the town as often as they could.

Krystal smoothed out her apron before speaking again.

“Whut brings ya here today…?” She asked in a low whisper.

“I just wanted to go say hi since I hadn't seen you in awhile,” Avery responded hesitantly, “is something wrong…?”

“Haven't ya heard?” Krystal asked, shooting him a surprised glance, “there’s been a whole heckova lot of thievin recently. Shops ‘n bakeries are bein’ robbed left an’ raht. You castle folk must not hear anythin about the town, all cooped up like a bunch a squizzers in a squrrow.”

Avery’s mouth dropped open slightly. The past few weeks had been so full of training and swords and official business concerning a royal ball that he hadn’t had much contact with the town. He shook his head.

“No, I hadn't heard anything about this,” he mumbled.

“It's alraht,” Krystal said soothingly, “yer workin’ hard like the rest of us… Just… Maybe try an’ stay more in the loop, ok?”

Avery nodded, then huffed, his tail flicking uneasily.

“Has your bakery been hit?”

“Nope,” Krystal replied proudly, “my family and ah’ve been puttin empty buckets an’ bowls by the windows an’ doors during the naiht. We take turns watching the store front during the day too. Ain’t no thievin’ varmints takin our stuff.” She seemed to swell with pride and determination.

“Well at least that’s something… does anyone have any idea who’s doing it?” He queried.

“Naw. Besides the usual rats n monkeys, we don't know. They claim they're innocent, an they ain’t got no money, so we gotta take em at their word,” she huffed, foot tapping in irritation. “Ah jus don' know who would do this kind of thing. It's making erybody seem all untrustworthy.”

“No kidding,” Avery retorted, “it’s way too quiet outside. I got too many suspicious glances for my liking…”

Looking around, he was still amazed that Krystal’s bakery remained unrobbed. The food was delicious and always warm. Then there was the fact that the family of bunnies had a little more gold than the average monster family. Avery just hoped they could outlast the thieving streak.

“Ya probly have to go now, don't ya?” asked krystal, shaking him out of his worried thoughts.

“Oh, yeah…” he sighed, mumbling, “not that I want to go…”

“Is that gosh darn lion giving ya trouble again?!” Krystal demanded, her ears swiveling back in anger.

“He’s my teacher. He’s supposed to give me trouble,” Avery grumbled, “it wouldn't be so bad if I could just use my magic during sword training.”

Krystal raised and eyebrow and tapped her foot, looking him over. Avery caught himself staring at her and glanced away.

“What? Why are you staring?” He inquired.

“The only one stopping yeh from usin yer magic is yerself, ya silly goat,” she replied with a giggle. “Ya need ta stop tryin ta do erythin the traditional way. It's alraht to branch out,” she said softly, putting a paw on his arm. He twitched a little at her touch. A soft warm feeling welled up inside him. He wasn't sure what it was about. Pushing the warmth in his chest away, he smiled over at her.

“Thanks Kry, but try telling that to Peter,” he snorted, “he and everyone else in the castle is bent on preserving old traditions. Trying to get him to change his mind is like arguing with a fuzzy wall.” They both stared at each other for a minute, the mental image of a fuzzy wall occupying them, before erupting into laughter. It was quite some time before they both managed to quit, as when they glanced at each other they simply began laughing again.

Finally, they both managed to stop the giggles.

“Well, I gotta go Kry. I'll write you letters every day in case I don't get to visit!” He explained, tail swishing behind him eagerly.

“That sounds mighty nice Avery,” she smiled, “Ah'll look forward to em. See ya around!”

“See ya!” He called, then left the store. A soft purr rose in his throat. He allowed it, and a small smile, to make themselves known. He loved spending time with Krystal, but there was just barely any time at all these days.

Between training, studying, and all the formalities of castle life, he felt there was never enough time.

#nmfstory #nmf #not my fight #chapter 1 #my story #avery #krystal #myrick #peter #artnerd1123

[tokyoteddywolf]

A Blue CatAstrophe Ch.7

AHAHAHAHA I LIVE!!!! Thanks to all the nice people who encouraged me during my little writers block/motivation slump period! Have a chapter with plenty of Shance and Pidge being a geek! :)

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6

Shiro was internally screaming. Very loudly. His head was actually ringing at this point, with Black laughing like crazy in the back of his mind. He was currently pacing his room, face redder than Keith's Lion. Lance was Azul. Lance was a cat. The very same cat that had calmed him from a nightmare and slept in his bed on his chest. Black very kindly told him that he should calm himself before he overheated and fainted. He kept pacing, half sure there were marks from his shoes on the ground from the rate at which he was going, back and forth in an oval. He stopped pacing and hid his face in his hands with a groan.

He was not handling this crush well at all. At first, during the whole Balmera incident, he'd just been worried over a teammate, but then he'd felt something flutter in his heart when Lance had come out of that coma to shoot Sendak. And then it slowly evolved from there into a full blown crush with every laugh, every smile, and though he'd tried to push it down, it never worked, and eventually he'd wanted to start pulling a Keith and punch every alien Lance flirted with in the face out of pure impulse and spite. Which was why he hadn't wanted Lance on Kolkar at the alliance meeting, because he didn't know if he could handle seeing Lance flirt with another alien again. He didn't think he'd be able to stop himelf from bitch-slapping someone with his activated arm if he saw one more damn sentient being actually flirting back with the gorgeous Blue Paladin.

He smacked his head into the wall at his own thoughts. With a sigh, he decided to go work off some of these emotions at the training deck, then go check on Pidge. He rubbed his forehead, and headed out.

Pidge dashed about the room, setting up testing areas and hooking up wires to Green, her laptop running a hundred codes a minute as she processed the pollen, and Lance was exhausted just watching her. So, he settled for sprawling lazily across the warm keyboard of the laptop and purred at the heat spreading through his fur, and fell into a sort of half-asleep state, ears pricked and listening to Pidge babble to herself in Science mumbo-jumbo.

“Okay Lance! I need you to step into this scanner real quick.” Pidge explained, motioning to one of the weird metal boxes that were open at both ends, and was hooked up to the computer. Lance grumbled and got up from his napping spot, moving towards the box and stepping through, moving slowly as Pidge instructed him. Pidge hummed and sent the results to Coran, who was using a tablet to communicate with the youngest Paladin from down on Kolkar, and began flipping through a microscope with the pollen on a slide. Lance stood nearby, ready to shove Pidge aside in she accidentally breathed it in. Wait, hold on a minute. Lance jumped down, padded over to where she'd left her packet of surgical masks with Green, and started nudging it towards his tiny teammate.

Pidge looked up, and grinned. “Oh yeah! Thanks Lance. I almost forgot to put one of those on. Good thing Coran worked it out when I told him I needed something like this. The replication part of the ship is fascinating! I'll have to see how that works later...” She said cheerfully, then slid on a mask over her mouth and nose, testing her breathing for a minute before nodding and going back to the slide, Lance staying close by on the little table.

“Hmm… yeah, looks like this was made to specifically alter genetic structures into it's most primitive form, and I guess the most primitive form on Kolkar is some sort of feline-esque creature.” Pidge muttered, stepping back from the microscope and beginning to pace back and forth in front of Lance, who was now lying on the table, tail twitching idly as he watched her move back and forth.

“But, thanks to Blue and her Quintessence, plus you not being from Kolkar, it just edited you into a cat by tearing apart your current- at the time, at least- cellular structure and rebuilt it from scratch… Lance, dude, holy shit. How are you even alive?!?” Pidge yelped, turning to her fluffy companion and scooping him up, shaking him in astonishment. Lance hissed, disliking the sudden movement. His ears pricked up when he heard the door slide open and Shiro walked in.

Pidge whirled on him, trapping Lance in her arms and leaving his hind legs and tail to dangle free, the cat himself looking very uncomfortable by this. “Shiro! Man, you won't believe this! Lance shouldn't even be alive! The pollen doesn't just change your DNA, it completely strips it down and rebuilds everything from scratch!!! His entire cellular structure was rearranged in less than an hour 'cuz he got covered in so much pollen! Blue's Quintessence merely made the change happen faster because he couldn't feel it, which I guess was Blue's primary objective when she did it, but it also kept him alive! If a normal human went through that, they'd be dead!” Pidge trilled, as Shiro steadily got paler and paler at the news.

“Uh… lucky Lance, I guess?” The Black Paliadin asked, somehow keeping the shudder out of his voice. Pidge let Lance go and turned back to her computer, quickly typing out notes. Lance grumbled at her and trotted over to where Shiro had slid against the wall to sit down and process the information. He jumped into Shiro's lap and mewed questioningly, worried at Shiro's pale face and shaky breaths. He was immediately cradled in two arms, and a face was buried into his fur, again. They really had a thing for his fur, didn't they?

“So I pretty much almost got you killed.” The words that were muttered into his back had his ears flicking back to make sure he had heard correctly. “I am so sorry, Lance. This is all my fault… I made you feel bad enough that you ran off and got caught up in all of this… I should have tried to be more considerate of your feelings and listened and been more encouraging… maybe then you'd still be human and not...” The leader of Voltron let out a shaky breath. Lance mewed and wriggled until he could nuzzle Shiro's face, purring up a storm and trying to convey that it wasn't his fault.

Blue rumbled in agreement, though she did also add that he should have included Lance in more missions than he did. Overprotective much? He huffed at her for that. There was no way in Hell, Heaven or high water that Shiro felt the same as Lance. Nope. Nu-uh. No way. Blue laughed, saying that he was certainly funny if he believed that. Lance lashed his tail and told her to hush, grumbling under his mental breath.

Suddenly, Coran burst into the room, half dragging Allura and a vial of purple shimmery liquid. “We've figured it out! Pidge! I need some help with this, but I believe that if we create a batch of this that's diluted for human use, we can cure Lance! If we manage to figure that out, then Allura can use her ability of Quintessence manipulation and reverse the change!” The excited Altean trilled loudly, Allura nodding in agreement as she pulled out of her Advisor's grasp. Pidge looked up and nodded excitedly. “Perfect! I was just running calculations on what exactly would be needed to dull down any pain felt during the reversal process.” She chirped, pushing up her glasses and grinning. She looked over at Shiro, who was looking much better now. “Shiro, hold onto Lance for a minute while we set everything up?” She asked, smiling at the nod the Black Paladin gave her in response.

Both man and cat watched in fascination as Pidge and Coran talked biology and schematics for diluting the antidote, as apparently that plant, called Felisiviny, had turned plenty of unwary Kolkarians into a cat like creature called a devecias, which were like a cross between a lynx and a tiger and a German Shepherd with scarlet macaw feathers along its ears and tail, along the jaw fringe too. Then, Shiro and Lance were dragged to the med pods, where Coran programed one to the proper dilution percentage, fed in half the vial, and pulled Lance from a reluctant Shiro's arms and started up the med pod.

Allura got ready, as the antidote had to be breathed in, and Lance was set at the bottom of the pod. He looked up, mewing in concern. “We'll see you soon, buddy. Don't be afraid. Allura will fix you right up, okay?” Shiro soothed, giving Lance one last head rub before standing back and letting the pod seal shut. Lance yowled and put his paws up on the glass, panicking as purple mist flooded the chamber.

“Allura, now! For as long as you can, just picture Lance as his normal human self.” Coran instructed, as Allura glowed with the golden light of Quintessence. She held out her hands, and focused on Lance. Pidge secretly hit the mute button on the pod, because she knew this was gonna hurt, and she didn't want to be haunted by Lance's screams. Shiro tapped his metal fingers against his arm, worried and pale again.

It was a mere 12 hours before Allura gave out, her powers still relatively new. She panted and slumped to the ground, wheezing and exhausted. “I- I have done what I could, but manipulating two similar streams of Quintessence that are deeply entertwined is harder than it first seems.” She explained, as Coran helped her to her feet. Keith and Hunk had wandered down during this, and everyone waited with baited breath (and Hunk with an extra pair of boxers for Lance) as the pod opened up and spilled purple mist.

Shiro was the first one forward as a human shape fell out of the pod and into his arms, Hunk right next to him and draping a blanket over the shaking form that was clutching onto Shiro like a lifeline. Shiro inhaled sharply as a soft, fluffy shorthaired chocolate colored tail with lighter brown stripes brushed against his leg, and pointy cat ears flicked up and heard the noise he made. Lance, human yet with cat ears and a tail, who stopped shaking and went limp, unconscious. Shiro really hoped he wasn't blushing right now, because if it wasn't the cutest thing he'd ever seen in his life then he might as well shoot himself out into space this very second.

“Oh dear. Perhaps I did not untangle the knot of energy as well as I thought I did.” Allura murmured from the back. The shocked silence was broken by Pidge and Hunk's twin cooing noises and Keith's “Holy quiznak, what the hell-”. Shiro really wished the universe would give him a break here.

Black laughed.

// *RISES FROM THE ASHES OF WRITERS BLOCK LIKE A PROUD AND BLOODSTAINED WARRIOR* I LIVE~! Also I come bearing Shance and cat eared Lance :) So uh, how is Lance gonna react to all of this? I dunno, you'll have to wait and see ;)

#I WRITE AGAIN! #writer block free! #Cat AU #shance #cat!Lance #pidge is a nerd/geek #voltron #enjoy!!!

[jameshateseverything-blog]

Your Childhood (Actually) Sucks

I’m always worried when I say this; but Final Fantasy 7 is the most overrated game of all time. That, however, isn’t the point. How good it is is less important than how good people remember it being. Because the way people remember things is more important than the way things actually are.

  I spend a great deal of time thinking about being thirteen. Probably more than I should, to the point it borders on an addiction. My best friend and his newfound girlfriend decided Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together” would be “their song.” I had placed second at the district chess tournament being held at my school. And I had been playing Final Fantasy 10 for the first time. It was not the first game in the series I had played, that goes to 7. What it was, however, was the first game in the series I have ever experienced.

  When I initially set out to write this essay I wanted to merely make an argument as to why Final Fantasy 7 isn’t good (or at least not as good as everyone seems to tell me it is). I had planned out several points as to why other entries in the series trumped it. Namely in the storytelling and gameplay departments. I decided to give 7 another playthrough, however. After spending some time with the game, which I concede holds up better than most Playstation 1 titles, I have come to realize something; maybe Final Fantasy 7 is not just the most overrated game of all time. Maybe, just maybe, the entire series is one of the most overrated gaming franchises ever. For those of you (which I assume is most) that have never played 7, 10, or any Final Fantasy, I am going to do my best to cover the story of those two specific games. I chose 7 and 10 because (a) the original argument was based on 7 and (b) though I wouldn’t say 10 is the best, I would say it is my personal favorite.

  Our story opens up with edgy ex-corporate mercenary Cloud Strife working alongside terrorist movement AVALANCHE to take down a Mako reactor. Mako being the life force of the planet and what is used to run all machinery. It is essentially crude oil that has the latent ability to grant certain people magical powers, like shooting fireballs or summoning ancient gods. But Shinra faces the problem that Mako energy is beginning to run low and their only hope is to find an ancient promised land. A promised land that is rumored to have Mako flowing endlessly beneath it. The dilemma, only an extinct race of people, the Cetra, know how to find this fossil fuel Mecca.

 As the game progresses you assemble a team of unlikely heroes including emo boy Cloud. A revenge-fuelled Barrett who has a gun for a hand and a deep-seated hatred for Shinra’s use of technology. The last remaining Cetra, Aeirith. There’s also a pseudo-vampire, a talking lion wolf, and a marshmallow plush controlled by a cat. Shinra has their eyes set on Aerith, they manage to capture her, and so begins the quest for renewable energy. Cloud and crew go to rescue her and this is when the true villain is introduced. Pretty boy and fan favorite Sephiroth is a one-winged semi-clone of a deity that fell from the sky as a meteor thousands of years prior. Sephiroth is one blatant metaphor for a Christian guilt complex. Sephiroth (who is also the god Jenova) wants to summon another meteor to destroy the planet so he can absorb all the Mako and become one with it. When Cloud and friends try to stop him, he manages to mind control Cloud. Then Convinces Cloud that he’s a clone of Sephiroth with the memories of some guy named Zack planted in him. Cloud has a mental breakdown, becomes catatonic, falls into the planet’s lifestream with his childhood friend, and sorts out his existential crisis like some bad acid trip. After he spends 10 minutes getting his shit together, the gang flies into the crater where Jenova initially crash landed Lord Xenu style. They do battle with Sephiroth, who is also Jenova, who is also the ancient entity known as Meteor. They kill him with the help of a deceased Aerith, and the world returns to its beautiful dystopian self. Minus the evil conglomerate monopoly of Mako Shinra once had. Convoluted enough for you? I didn’t even touch on the movie, four spin-off games (two on cell phone), or the racing of giant chickens to learn to summon King Arthur’s henchmen.

 Let us compare 7’s convoluted mess of a story to 10’s. Final Fantasy 10 follows Tidus, a young man with an Oedipus complex. One night, during a game of underwater space soccer [read: Blitzball], Tidus is interrupted by a colossal parasitic winged slug destroying the city of Zannarkand. Tidus and a friend of his father try to fight the creature but are ultimately defeated and Tidus wakes up in a completely different world. In this new world, a few things overlap. Space Soccer is larger than the super bowl, the city Zannarkand still exists though it is in ruins, and the giant slug unironically named Sin. Sin is the driving force for the game’s narrative. The creature is an evil that reincarnates itself and is allegedly a manifestation of what happens when man uses technology rather than prayer. So I guess Sin is just another Christian guilt complex villain.

 Throughout the story Tidus befriends an unlikely group of heroes including a subpar Blitzball player who has a deep-seated hatred (bordering on racist) for the machine using Al-Bhed. There is a summoner on a pilgrimage to sacrifice herself to stop Sin for another couple dozen years. A biped lion wolf, and a few other JRPG tropes.

 As the story progress you find out that Tidus’ father helped on the previous summoner’s pilgrimage and became Sin. Tidus finds out he isn’t real, and that if they defeat Sin he will fade into a literal dream. Tidus spends 10 minutes sorting out this existential crisis. There is some whistling. The party goes inside of Sin. Father, son, and not-so-holy ghost all die. The world falls back into its primitive state now liberated and free to use their technology as they please.

 The games are pretty damn similar when reduced to the lowest common denominator. I have time and time again praised 10 while putting down 7. And if you have played both of them you would be quick to see how they are inherently different. But this is how I remember those games. And how I imagine many others remember them to some degree, minus a few scenes left out for brevity.

 I was 13 and sitting in the back of my step-father’s Lincoln Navigator. There was a PS2 set up to the small screen and I was playing Final Fantasy 10; nearing the end. My step-dad just bought a “new car” scented car freshener. To this day I associate that smell with my favorite game of all time. This phenomenon, my addiction, to me is one of the most fascinating tricks the mind plays on us. Nostalgia, coming from the greek words nostos and algos translating to “homecoming pain.” There was a time it was used by the Swiss military where they thought the only treatment for the condition was to send the mercenaries home. Now we see there is something universal about “the better days.”

 After discussing the concept of nostalgia with a handful of people I have noticed people tend to fall into two different camps. Some, myself included, look at nostalgia with joyous sorrow. As though there are memories, emotions, and sensations that can never be duplicated. Think back to a favorite Christmas or birthday present, remember how you felt? Even though I believe that feeling itself can be replicated, the way you remember that feeling is encapsulated in that moment and forever gone. In this first camp, there is a fear that if we don’t cling to those memories we may lose a piece of our identity with them. The second camp tends to view nostalgia pejoratively. Longing being some type of weakness. Even if there were  “good ol’ days” you can’t ever get them back so why waste time trying? Now whether either of these mentalities is objectively more correct than the other, impossible to say. I’m more just fascinated that everybody feels homecoming pain. I did notice, however, that people more invested into games (video or sport) tend to sit in the former camp with myself. I think that is where Final Fantasy, especially 7, begins to fall apart. Am I using Nostalgia to say that Final Fantasy 7 is bad, even subjectively? No, not really. Instead I’m calling into question why it is important. Not important for gaming, but important to the gamers who believe it is the high bar for the series, or even games in general.

 A few hundred words ago I drew attention to the similarities between 10 and 7. And I would like to narrow that down to just the two protagonists; Cloud and Tidus. At face value these characters are different. Tidus is a young, naive, hot-headed sports star trying to live up to a father he resents. Cloud is a battle-hardened soldier whose idol turned out to be a monster. We are supposed to identify as these two. Our perspective is limited to theirs. Both are detached from a larger picture that they inevitably find themselves the center of. So even if Cloud and Tidus are different from one another, their general arcs manage to remain the same. This is why people (myself included) find these games to be important in their lives. Both of their lives are lies. One is a fleeting dream of the gods and the other a blonde husk with a brunette’s memories. Neither character has any reason to exist.

 Usually, if you listen, when people talk about their favorite music, movies, games it often is something from their childhood. You favorite Final Fantasy is most likely the first one you played. If it isn’t, your favorite was probably played around the ages of 13-16.  Even if you have never played these games I want you to take a moment to just stop. Take a nice long hit of that homecoming pain. Go back, try to remember being 9, or 13, or 16. Try to remember who you were as a person. Sorry if you were awkward, but that awkwardness is kind of the point. These transitional points in our lives, they are moments when we are developing responsibilities and learning who we are. Whether it is your first day home without the babysitter, or a first day of high school, those periods are when we can exist outside of our parents and act as yourself. I remember once breaking down in front of my parents proclaiming I did not know who I was. I didn’t belong. I had no reason to exist. I was the same as Cloud or Tidus.

 I suppose when I hate on Cloud as a character, or when others shun Tidus, what we are really doing is collectively hating how annoying and whiny younger versions of ourselves were. But it wasn’t always that way. Sure, we didn’t have to come to terms with being a clone. But maybe, like Tidus, we discover some aspect of our life is a lie. Santa isn’t real. We can’t all be astronauts. These tiresome characters are just us as tiresome teenagers. And it is hard not to look back and cling to that notion, a moment where we didn’t have to feel so alone. At that age it is nice to be understood.

 So do I hate Final Fantasy 7? No, of course not, I’m mostly enjoying my third playthrough. But the story doesn’t speak to me like it did when I was a kid. I’m not sure it is supposed to either. This idea that no Final Fantasy will ever capture the same magic as the old ones is toxic. It is only going to hurt the growth of the series in the future. Nothing revolutionary can come of trying to capture the old while moving on to the new. 7, 10, 13, these games aren’t terrible by any means. But they are the Donald Trump of gaming. Maybe we can’t make Final Fantasy great again. Maybe it never was that great.

#Final fantasy x #final fantasy vii #writing #personal #ffvii #ffx #final fantasy #nostalgia

[mkkusi1990]

The Spirit of Victory

Michael Kusi’s Sermon

The Spirit of Victory

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- He thinks I’m God Anecdote.

A young woman brings home her fiance to meet her parents. After dinner, her mother tells her father to find out about the young man. The father invites the fiance to his study for a drink.

He Thinks I’m God anecdote.

"So what are your plans?" the father asks the young man.

"I am in Theology school" he replies.

"A theologian? Hmmm," the father says. "Admirable, but what will you do to provide a nice house for my daughter to live in, as she's accustomed to?"

"I will study," the young man replies, "and God will provide for us." "And how will you buy her a beautiful engagement ring, such as she deserves?" asks the father.

"I will concentrate on my studies," the young man replies, "God will provide for us."

"And children?" asks the father. "How will you support children?" "Don't worry, sir, God will provide," replies the fiance. The conversation proceeds like this, and each time the father questions him, the young idealist insists that God will provide.

Later, the mother asks, "How did it go, honey?"

The father answers, "The bad news is, he has no job and no prospects, but the good news is he thinks I'm God!”

 -My Picture on the Wall in TOTS

I went to TOTS in the Bronx. I was wondering what had happened of the place since I left. I asked a friend about TOTS and she said, Your picture is up on the wall. You are an inspiration there. I was happy to hear that because I know that because of the blessing God has given to me, I can use it to bless other people. Our pictures are scattered all over the Earth and each one speaks of God’s good through that Rhema snapshot.

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-The Spirit of Kennedy.

When I was praying one time, this prophetess said I had the Spirit of Kennedy. In my dream I was transported to a time when they said that the President had died on national television. Everything came to a screeching halt. The nation repented as a result of one president getting shot. God told me that as a result of that prayer, God sent me. As a result of the revival, God sent us so that the revival can help us step into victory!

 Fight the War

God calls us to fight the War. The War is a War that began in heaven when God evicted Satan, that unrighteous tenant out of his face.  Home is where God’s eye is so he banished Satan and said, I never want to see you again. We are the apple of God’s eye, but Satan sought to be the worm that would ruin us.  He is the never-dying worm that Jesus talks about in the Gospels. Now Satan is trying to squat and trespass on Planet Earth, which God gave to us. There is no losing this war, because we do battle against the forces of wickedness that seek conflict in our heavenly climb from the caves to the cosmos. And when this war is over, when we win,  we will study war no more. Amen!

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Optimus Prime and the Autobots.

There is this movie named Transformers which is my favorite franchise. Apart from the Avengers of course. In Transformer 4 Optimus Prime is left at a critical point in his life. He was in The War of his own, Earth was being overrun by Galvatron and Optimus Prime had run out of options. One of his generals asked, But what of these humans? Can I squish the bald guy? Optimus replied grimly, They are in trouble. Another one said, I’m done being an underdog. Optimus knew what he had to do so he went to get the Dinobots. There was a long fight and at the end Optimus put his sword to the Dinobot’s neck and said, You defend my family, or die! We must defend each other in Christ, or die getting picked off by the hands of evil forces. We are done being underdogs because we were never called to be dogs who lick wounds! We are  called to be the head and righteous lions, on a purpose from above! We must be in the same company of those who share our value system.

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 The Devil tried to photobomb our picture, but he did not have access.

  Thesis- The testimony of Jesus says that The Government shall be on his shoulders, and He shall be born of a Virgin. In order to govern we must break out and break through. These are three testimonies  of Governance Breakthrough that is the Spirit of Prophecy: the testimony of bruising, the testimony of breath, and the testimony of breech birth. Anti-thesis- But without Christ it does not make the sense it does, because the Spirit of God is prophecy.

Synthesis- Revelation 19:10- Then I fell at his feet to worship him, but he said to me, "Don't do that! I am a fellow slave with you and your brothers who have the testimony about Jesus. Worship God, because the testimony about Jesus is the spirit of prophecy." 

A)  Anointing of Governance Breakthrough.

B)   The Testimony of Bruising

C)   The Testimony of Breath.

D)  The Testimony of Breech Birth.

 E)             The Testimony of God did not just use a snake he bruised it. God is not a snake charmer he is a conqueror. In Moses time the snake was lifted up to save, because the power was not in the snake but in God. But by Hezekiah’s time the snake had become an idol so it had to be broken.

Whatever is God must be broken and bruised and wounded to save. In the  Bible the bruising is an intentional wounding. Christ is our God, but he was broken, bruised and wounded for our iniquities. When it says that it shall bruise thy head it is talking about the crown of thorns. But in that crown was caked blood which spoke deliverance to the Most High. What the Devil thought mockery God called it his death sentence.

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The Bible says that He was bruised so he could bruise.

Anecdote- It was reciprocity, a trial where the Accuser who is the prosecutorial Devil met the Advocate in the defense attorney Jesus at the courts of the Most High. This was a bench trial because God sat in righteous judgment as The Judge. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. Every one of these points to the power of the blood, because each of these represents an entryway through which was blood spilled. The wounding of the transgression speaks to the spear in his side. The bruising of the iniquities symbolizes the thorny crown. The chastisement of our peace is the nails in his feet. God clothed us with the sandals of peace, and Jesus is the Prince of Peace, but what ties sandals together is nails. That nail was tying us, to him.

 F)   The Testimony of Breech Birth.

G)  People abroad have already replicated birth without a man. So it is not just the virgin birth.  A man-made Birth without Contractions is Frankenstein. Stomach Contractions without a birth is a stomach virus, probably caused the romaine lettuce that they recalled. Virgin Birth without a prophecy has no context, prophecy without a virgin birth loses its meaning. So you need the two together, both the virgin birth and the prophecy. This is the RHEMA and LOGOS word. LOGOS is the written word of God and RHEMA  is the spoken Word of God.  The prophecy is the Logos Word, and the virgin birth is the Rhema Word.

Anecdote- Some people say the Devil made me do it but it’s a special anointing to say God made me pregnant. Imagine if Maury got Mary to come on her show and the paternity test said God is the Father. But there is no more truth because God is our Father, and he is a good, good father.

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This Angel not wanted worship, but redirection, is proof of the divinity of God. He fell at his feet because he was awed. But the Angel pointed to the Most High and said I worship him too

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 Ooh it is a good thing Joseph thought of putting her out quietly. Think of the catastrophe, A lot of the Bible would be misunderstood because it pertained to Jesus. So we would be worshipping the three true Gods, and tripping over snakes. Isn’t that what the Fall is without Christ. A religion not similar at all to what we worship but one totally different. When God said Let us, it would be a separate God talking and a separate God listening. When God talks about man fighting with a snakes it would be like someone taking the Black Mamba nickname too literally.

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It would be polytheism mixed with someone who wanted to either shoot like Kobe, or was mad because he could not shut Kobe down in the NBA.  he ever had the chance.

 God did not just use a snake he bruised it. God is not a snake charmer he is a conqueror. In Moses time the snake was lifted up to save, because the power was not in the snake but in God. But by Hezekiah’s time the snake had become an idol so it had to be broken.

Whatever is God must be broken and bruised and wounded to save. In the  Bible the bruising is an intentional wounding. Christ is our God, but he was broken, bruised and wounded for our iniquities. When it says that it shall bruise thy head it is talking about the crown of thorns. But in that crown was caked blood which spoke deliverance to the Most High. What the Devil thought mockery God called it his death sentence.

 The Bible says that He was bruised so he could bruise. It was reciprocity, a trial where the Accuser who is the prosecutorial Devil met the Advocate in the defense attorney Jesus at the courts of the Most High. This was a bench trial because God sat in righteous judgment as The Judge. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. Every one of these points to the power of the blood, because each of these represents an entryway through which was blood spilled. The wounding of the transgression speaks to the spear in his side. The bruising of the iniquities symbolizes the thorny crown. The chastisement of our peace is the nails in his feet. God clothed us with the sandals of peace, and Jesus is the Prince of Peace, but what ties sandals together is nails. That nail was tying us, to him.

[nyflowerguy]

Interview with Ruth Davis of All for Love

I’m delighted today to feature an interview with London based florist, Ruth Davis of All for Love.

Could you tell us what prompted you to become a florist?

It was my childhood dream to become a florist. Growing up in the beautiful Lake District, I’ve always loved nature and its always just been there. I remember, as a child, coming back from dog walks with pocketfuls of conkers or pine cones I had collected along the way, or sticky handfuls of daffodils or colourful autumn leaves that I had picked. I would get home and make a messy collage with my loot, stick them all to my bedroom walls, or give them to my Mum in an egg cup.

For as long as I remember, I have been ‘creating’ things and forever have a thousand, often ridiculous, creative ideas in my head of pieces that one day, I would love to make. I paint portraits in oils, and sculpt people in clay, as well as throw my own ceramics – vases, mugs, and bowls on the pottery wheel.

Flowers presented themselves as the most magical medium to create art with. Their transience and temperance makes them special to work with and it’s also a very niche industry that is commercially viable as a profession too. Often, so many artistic pursuits have to remain a hobby, but floristry allows me to bring my love of drawing, sketching, ceramics, sculpture and design neatly into one beautiful craft.

Could you tell us how your floristry career has progressed?

I left school and went to Edinburgh University and actually have a Masters in English Literature…not that I use it very much now! I always joke that “I can write a very good email!” As soon as I finished my finals, I moved to London and started working for free as a florist’s assistant, conditioning and sweeping up leaves, which I loved! I also worked as a hotel receptionist at the time to cover London living costs, taking courses and working in the shop at the same time. It was exhausting but then all stages of my floristry journey have been full of lots of hard work…I think that’s the nature of the industry. I used to deliberately request the morning shift at the hotel, so I could watch the florists come in each morning and change the hotel contract flowers. I was fascinated and always took so many photos and watched them with awe. I still have the photos somewhere…

I quickly fell in love with Wedding and Event Floristry and was delighted when I was appointed as an Events Manager at a leading London florist. I definitely learnt so much in that role and my eyes were opened to using flowers in a totally different way, with endless possibilities, each one bigger and more beautiful than the next. I remember the freelancers would laugh at me taking so many photos of each job as it went out, and I would always say that each new job was “my favourite” and “the most beautiful thing I had ever seen”. The freelancers I met there have become some of my lifelong best friends and I love the positive, creative network there is in the London floristry scene.

The dream was always to have my own floristry business one day and in 2014, aged 25, and slightly earlier than I expected, I took the big step and launched ‘All for Love’, which was definitely the most terrifying thing I have ever done! Looking back, I don’t think I would have the courage to do so now. When I think just how scary the beginning really was, I wonder how on earth I ever did it!

When did you start your business and where are you based?

I started the company on March 22nd 2014! It all began in a B&Q car park, working out of the back of my van and using the flat trolleys as a workbench at 4am before the store opened. In the early days, I worked from anywhere I could… my kitchen tabletop when flatmates were out, my friend’s back garden, laybys, pavements, even my bedroom! Funding premises in London is so tricky when you start up with nothing and it was an expense we couldn’t afford at the beginning, despite being kind of essential! Eventually, I took on a small unit and within a year had taken over three. This January, we moved into our first, fit for purpose large studio/warehouse, which is an absolute dream. And for the first time our creativity is not restricted or limited by space, which is a great feeling!

What kind of floristry services do you offer?

All for Love specialises in styling premium events and product launches for both corporate and private clients, which includes a wide portfolio of global beauty brands including Clive Christian, Neom, Louboutin Beauty, L’Occitane, Eau Thermale Avène, The Sanctuary, Elizabeth Arden, Unilever, Benefit, Nars, Simple, Shiseido, Gillette and Revlon, to name a few. We’ve almost become the go-to florist for beauty brands, which is super exciting. This work is always very creative as there are huge Design, Marketing and PR teams involved in bringing a new product to market and it’s down to us on the day to bring all their plans and designs to life, often in the most ‘instagrammable’ way possible! 

This year, we are also honoured to be the exclusive floristry partner of Hearst Live, dressing all events for Red, Elle, Esquire, Cosmo & Harper’s Bazaar magazines. Earlier this year, we were crowned the ‘UK’s Best Wedding Florist’ in the UK Wedding Awards – something that’s still hard to believe! We’re also proud to be the in-house, contracted florist at now three , five star luxury hotels in the city – The Hilton Bankside , The LaLit London and Conrad St. James Hotels. We enjoy being creative in these spaces on a daily basis and see them both as a fab opportunity to showcase our work to the public. 

We’re also proud to be listed as the preferred floristry suppliers at the super cool Landing 42, the beautiful English Heritage site, Chiswick House, and most recently being appointed to the wonderful Royal Museums Greenwich Group. Again, an achievement that’s hard to believe. I always thought this sort of thing would remain a pipe dream…but it’s all happening! I was thrilled to work with Links of London on their Chelsea in Bloom 2016 window last year and coming Runners Up in The People’s Champion Award was a great achievement for our young company.

This year we had the honour of working with Cadogan Estates creating the show pieces for Chelsea in Bloom’s Floral Safari theme, bringing life-size animals such as an elephant, lions, rhino and zebras to the streets of Chelsea – it was a great achievement. It’s been a real pleasure working with so many like-minded clients, suppliers and venues over the past three years and I thank each and every one of them for their constant trust in me and their support and encouragement for All for Love. 

Where do you get inspiration for your floral designs?

I would say almost all of my inspiration comes directly from nature itself. Nature’s beauty is so accomplished. It is the absolute best source of inspiration for creating installations – no matter how big or small. If you stay true to the twists and turns, dips, curves and groupings of nature, your designs will never be too far wrong to the eye. It’s a case of replicating its patterns and its beauty and bringing a man-made piece to life with the same energy it would have if it had grown itself naturally. Growing up in the Lake District National Park, I have always been exposed to the beauty of the outdoors – mountains, forests, beaches, fells, fields, meadows, caves, gardens – absorbing every element that surrounded me and bringing it to London in my floristry designs. For example, if I’m designing a wedding arch, I want it to look like it has grown out of the church walls and has been there for years, not piped on artificially. This rule goes for everything we make I would say.

How would you describe your style?

I would say my style is romantic, relaxed and always seasonal. Always full, lush and emulating nature. We try to always make sure our flowers are the talk of an event. We’re dedicated to creating an atmosphere with them that goes way beyond just placing arrangements on a table. We set the mood of the party and transform the feel of the place with our designs.

What are your plans for the remainder of 2017?

I’m really excited about the remainder of 2017 and the wonderful opportunities in the pipeline, which are I’m afraid are top secret at the moment. In line with our 3rd birthday, we have had a little brand refresh and gone gold – a great way to celebrate and take the brand forward. I did our first logo on Word with no budget. So we thought it might be time to treat ourselves to a little face lift and we’re loving our new look. 

We’re also in the process of launching a new, charitable arm to the business called ‘Loved Again’, more details of which we can share with everyone soon. It’s something we’re all very excited about. Our first event for this was for the London Marathon, working with the Royal Charity, Heads Together. Our charity is all about aiding Mental Health sufferers so this is the perfect, inaugural partnership! 

This year, I now have full-time employees with me, which again is hard to believe! Together with my fantastic team and wonderful existing client, venue and supplier relationships I plan to continue to grow the business, expanding our portfolio and creating more breathtakingly beautiful flowers.

We’ve been very fortunate to have a number of international weddings this summer in Sardinia and Portugal, so planning for weddings abroad for our 2018 brides will definitely be a highlight!

What is your favourite flower?

Our company’s name, ‘All for Love’ comes from my favourite flower, the super large-headed, most beautiful, bright pink rose…and the sentiment seemed fitting for a florist too! It also sums up why I got into floristry and why I continue to do it!

Thank you so much to Ruth and her colleague Tamara for all their help in compiling this interview. If you’d like to see more of Ruth’s stunning floral creations, head to the All for Love website. And social media wise, you can find Ruth on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.

(Images : Heledd Roberts – 1, 2-6, 11  | Amy O’Boyle, Wookie Photography – 7-10, 12-21, 24-25,  | M J Photography – 22-23)

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