#background sheith

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Day 1: Fairytales and Myths

Tags: @loturaweek2024 Curses, fairy tale elements, Bearskin (the myth), political marriage but also for love sort of, magic, background Alfor/Melenor, background Keith/Shiro, betrothals, attempted kidnapping, rescue, Lotor’s generals are there

Read on AO3

***

“You are fortunate,” mused the angry and spiteful druid while Lotor snarled up at him, ensnared in glowing purple chains made of magic and aether, “that the same magic you came here to steal from me does not allow me to kill you outright.”

Lotor thought, not for the first time, that it would be significantly more Galra to just put a knife in his gut than rely on their magic for literally everything. But if they were so wrapped up in their world of spells and power that they forgot their own fangs and claws that they were born with, well, Lotor wouldn’t be the one to remind them. This druid in specific seemed particularly filled with his own hubris.

A pelt, some heavy, thick-furred thing thumped down on his shoulders, and he shifted minutely from the weight.

“I curse you,” the druid said, voice going echoey with magic. “You shall not bathe for seven decaphoebes, nor cut your hair nor claws, you shall not cease to wear this pelt, nor sleep under one roof for more than a single night, and no one may travel with you for more than three quintents. Should you break any of these bindings, this curse will kill you.”

“And if I succeed, for seven decaphoebes?” Lotor asked, still snarling, still bearing his (small, Altean) fangs.

The druid was quiet.

“You must include a win-condition, witch. I know your magic’s rules.” He would not have risked infiltrating this place if he did not have a contingency plan for if he was caught, after all.

The druid made a snarling, growling, impatient noise.

“If you should last all seven decaphoebes, then the magic you seek will be yours. Now get out!”

Another rush of magic and Lotor found himself at the mouth of the small cave that hid the entrance to the druid’s lair. He grit his teeth and stood, shaking as though to dislodge the remnants of the purple magic.

Seven years.

More than he’d bargained for, but less than he was willing to pay for his goals. He already grew his hair long, and he was not one to frequently stay in one place for too long. That was doable.

The claws and bathing situation would be the most intolerable, he did not doubt.

Seven years.

He could do this.

In the first year: he could do this. He was centuries old and, if theories on how he aged were to be considered correct, he would have centuries more. Seven years would be nothing. A drop in a bucket. He used it to prepare, especially the first few months, when he smelled more or less tolerable. Any time it rained he spent as much time as he could in the water, knowing that washing in a river or stream would count. Magic was always fickle, and always skewed in favor of the worst. While he could still passably show his face in civilization, he stockpiled supplies enough to last him seven years, or near enough to it he could supplement when the time came.

In the second year: he had to leave Daibazaal. His country of origin was hardly a home, and hadn’t been since he was young and innocent and still so painfully naive. But he did know it, and he knew that all the many flora that thirsted for his blood and fauna that would chew on his bones could smell him for miles in each direction. He knew it intellectually, and he knew it viscerally, blood steaming across the pelt he wore and sliding down the blade he wrested free from the fresh carcass of a beast that wished to eat him. Oh, how he wished for a bath.

In the third year: he couldn’t do this. He could not bear this. He was not even halfway through and his own stench and fatigue were driving him insane. Being so constantly exposed to the elements was killing him, though the pelt was so thick and heavy it kept him plenty warm. And he was lonely. In the third year, Narti finally found him, Kova hissing and prowling just outside the edges of Lotor’s reach, recognizing him but also not. She wanted to help him, as best she could, but he explained the curse to her, the druid putting no binding on his tongue at least. She then offered to go kill the druid for him, and he insisted that she not, not until the witch’s power was his. She stated she would stay with him, despite her nose being even sharper than Lotor’s, and he reminded her that it could be for no more than three quintents, or the magic would kill him (and he doubted it would be instant, or painless).

She left with the promise to tell the others, and to bring back supplies for him. Just to drop off and then leave again. She promised she wouldn’t stay.

In the third year: Ezor found him, always best at finding things, and with her she brought Zethrid and Acxa. It was the best three days of these miserable three years, even with his companions wrinkling their noses at his scent the whole time.

In the fourth year: he left the billowing wilds that existed between Daibazaal, harsh and dangerous but inhabitable, and into Altea, the lush and verdant valleys beneath the billowing wilds’ mountains. Not to say that Altea did not come with its own dangers, no, just that they were more like the mountain creatures, not quite so capable of killing a lone wanderer as Daibazaal’s would have been.

In the fourth year:

Allura tied up her hair and shifted her hands, magic tickling as it turned her palms into suction cups. She descended from her room as only wayward princesses could, and hopped down onto the vibrantly green grass of the lawn with a little thrill of success.

With the tensions between Daibazaal and Altea on the rise once again, and all citizens from both countries feeling like a resumed war was all but a forgone conclusion, her parents had been increasingly strict with her. On a certain level, she understood, she was a princess after all, it was her job to understand.

On the other hand: she’d gone to the little brook with the little waterfall dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times, without any harm nor threat to her person. It was right next to the palace grounds, and she only ever managed to squeeze in an hour or two before her knights quit canoodling and came to find her anyway. She would be fine, just as she’d been fine every time before.

There was nowhere in all of Altea, in Allura’s opinion, that was a better place for magic than that little waterfall. Something about the place seemed almost to glow with magic, every drop of water and blade of grass and rustling leaf full to overflowing with rich mana. It drew her in, excited and comforted her, enthralled her and cleared her mind. Magic poured from her fingers like the water she lifted, guiding it to dance about her in a spiraling river floating suspended around her person, twirling slowly as she dragged the water about in lazy loops.

Even the sunlight here felt different, warm and yellow but not beating down on her, even in summer heat. It sparkled and twisted around her like the water did, slowly spinning and dancing across the shimmering surface, Allura’s skirts shallowly twirling around her calves, and she smiled and let her mind sink into the magic present here, imbuing everything.

It was that magic, present even in the twigs of a bush and the berries crushed underfoot, that alerted her that she was not alone.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t dare try to fight against near a dozen heavy boots. One moment she was smiling serenely, surrounded by glistening spirals of water, the next she was running so fast the water didn’t even have time to hit the ground before she burst through it. Shouts behind her, unmistakably Galra, and heavy footfall followed, but she didn’t dare look. She was fast.

But Galra were faster.

A giant, purple hand clamped over her mouth, a scream wrested from her too late and muffled by the flesh, and she hit the ground with a cry of pain, knees and palms skidding in the dirt.

“Grab her!”

She fought back, because of course she did. Princess trained in the art of diplomacy and regal bearing though she was, Allura was no weak fighter, and she was not one to cow in the face of unfair odds.

But they were unfair. She knocked two briefly unconscious, but she hadn’t brought her staff, not believing she’d need it, and these Galra were armored and armed, one opening a deep gash across the back of her leg, another finally getting his dagger pointed at her throat and compelling her to behave.

“You won’t kill me,” she spat, even as her preservation instincts forced her to obey.

“No. But you don’t need both eyes.”

She screamed a protest—she was submitting!—as he raised the dagger to plunge it into her eye, but then a dagger protruded from his own, sinking much deeper than just the eye. He toppled off her, dead, and the Galra turned on their new aggressor.

A beast, wilder than all imagining, lept from the foliage, its pelt hideous and bloodstained, matted with mud and dried viscera, its claws long as knives and yellow and flaking, silvery lengths of something dragging behind it as it fell upon its victims. The Galra shouted, united now against this beast, and Allura staggered to her feet, or tried to. The gash in her leg made fleeing nearly impossible, and she leaned against the tree as she watched the beast dispatch of the Galra, one by one by one, until there were none left alive to contest it.

Its yellow gaze fell upon her next, and she realized belatedly that she looked at no monster at all.

“You’re Altean!” she gasped, the man before her so deeply dirtied with various filth that she could not see even an inch of skin beneath the horrible mess, but his face was, poking out from the disgusting fur, unmistakably that of, well, a man. An Altean’s proud cheekbones and narrow jaw, eyes yellow as a Galra but silver hair (it was hair!) long and ripe with magic.

The man chuckled at her. “I suppose it only fair that you confused me for a beast.”

“Good sir, anyone would.” Sounds of armor—familiar, Altean—and rushed footfall came from the direction of the palace grounds. “Please, you are my savior, come into my home and be bathed and rewarded for your service.”

“I cannot bathe, princess,” he said, with every reverence of her subjects, “nor did I do this for a reward. I will leave.”

“You saved my life!” Allura insisted as Keith and Shiro burst into the clearing, swords drawn and lips flushed and kiss-bitten, confusion on their brows as they took stock of the dead Galra on the ground and the beast man their charge now argued with. “You would do me a great dishonor by not allowing me to repay you!”

The man seemed visibly to hesitate at that, and then acquiesced. “If for your honor only, princess. But I cannot remain.”

“At least stay the night,” she insisted, now half-frantic to have this strange man remain for any time at all, curiosity burning through her as fervently as the magic had only recently flowed.

“The night,” he agreed, bowing low, the mess of fur and hair and viscera and fresh blood shambling with his motion, “but no longer.”

The man spoke of precious little, despite Allura’s best attempts at interrogation. She learned not even his name. He would not allow any of her staff to bathe or groom him, though she noted that while his hair was dirty, it was remarkably untangled. He was certainly Altean, but his nails were more akin to claws. And of course, the yellow eyes.

At dinner, her parents hosted the man who’d saved their daughter’s life, because of course they did.

“Traditionally,” Queen Melenor remarked, though she was severe and stately in the way Allura knew she held herself when she discussed things she’d rather not, “the reward for saving a princess’s fool life from a band of murderous kidnappers would be that princess’s hand in marriage.”

Allura heard the man’s breath hitch, and for a brief moment, open want lined his filth-obscured features, before he shuttered again to something vaguely polite and unreadable.

“I could never ask for such a thing, being as I am.”

“Being as you are?” Allura said, sounding more accusatory than she’d meant. “A kind stranger who saved my life?”

“You have no proof of any kindness,” the man said, with a low chuckle that made her feel strange and hot.

“Only my life and well-being.”

“You speak as though you would wish to wed me.”

Allura’s mouth opened, then shut.

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps I would!” she said, drawing herself to full height while seated and glowering at the man, challenge in her tone.

“Allura,” her father scolded quietly, as he always did when her temper and stubbornness sent her headlong down paths her good sense would otherwise steer her clear from.

“...Allow me three years, then, princess,” the beast man said slowly, gaze never leaving hers. “I have matters I must attend, and am unable to remain here, nor take you with me. If, in three years, when I return, you still wish to wed me, we might discuss it then.”

Queen Melenor sighed, and Allura winced only briefly at the tone of her mother’s breath. Oh the lecture she’d receive once this man departed would be mighty. “You have more good sense than my daughter, it would seem. Please be made comfortable in our home, and if there is anything you wish for, merely ask it.”

“A grimoire, Your Majesty, if I may be bold enough to request it.”

“You’ve magic?” Allura asked, reaching out to touch the man’s face, where his Altean marks should be beneath the dirt, and rescinding her hand when he flinched from her.

“Call it a future investment.”

“Grimoires we have aplenty,” her father stated, “I’ll have one copied for you by the morrow.”

“My thanks.”

Allura, kept up late by her own desperately curious, gnawing thoughts, had to drag herself, bleary and miserable, from her bed to prevent from missing the stranger’s departure. She witnessed her father hand him a grimoire, and he bowed, first to the sovereign queen, then to the king, and then, lower, slower, with something like heat in his eyes, finally to the princess.

“Damn,” she mumbled when the stranger was gone, but comforted herself that at least, for the next three years, she’d have an easy dismissal of all talk of suitors.

In the fifth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a huntsman mistaking him for a beast.

In the sixth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a team of monster hunters, who he had to persuade with Narti’s coin to leave him be, paying higher than the village who’d hired them. He wandered elsewhere with faster purpose, after that, and committed himself to greater stealth. Narti was unbearably smug when next she delivered supplies, forcing more coin into the hands of a man who had no reliable use for it.

In the seventh year: Nearly killed again, by huntsmen and monster hunters both. But he was on his way out of Altea. On his way through the billowing wilds, climbing and descending that mountain. He’d memorized the grimoire, but kept hold of it, a baffling yet precious memory now tied to its cover and pages.

At the end of the seventh year: he returned to the small cave where he’d first found the druid. His time was up, or near enough to it, and the moment the magic was his he would take vengeance for the seven years of misery he’d suffered. There he found Narti, there he found Ezor, there he found Zethrid, there he found Acxa, still loyal to him after seven years of absence, and he counted such loyalty more precious than all the gold in all the world.

“First, we kill the druid,” he ordered, feeling the curse sizzle along his skin as it warped into a blessing. “Then I take a quiznacking bath.”

At the end of the third year of waiting:

Allura was forced by circumstance to put her curiosity for her betrothed-to-be on hold, as political upheaval shook the land.

Her father’s old ally finally declared war upon her mother’s country, and Altea raised its arms for bloodshed. But as they prepared their weapons and rallied their armies, another missive came: Emperor Zarkon was dead, long live the Emperor.

Lotor, former prince, son of Zarkon who Allura had never met, shame to his family line and whose mother was Altean, had bested his father in ritual combat, according to Galra custom and law, and had seized the throne. Altea continued to rally, not sure if the bastard son would hold the same temperament as his father, but the tension that had built between their lands hung now, most definitely confused in perplexed balance.

Then an official letter from the Emperor, validated by report after report from their scouts: Lotor was coming, not with an army, but with a diplomatic envoy, to speak to the royals of Altea face to face.

Her mother was stern and stately, poised and graceful and elegant, the sovereign of Altea, bearer of the Altean royal line, pride and jewel of their nation, its Queen.

Her father was tense and stiff, militant and grave, leader of their armies and father of the nation, sire of Altea’s heir and husband to their sovereign.

Allura wasn’t quite sure what she was. But she drew herself up, a shadow of her mother’s grace, stiffened her lip and brow, a mimic of her father’s gravity, and lifted her chin, a prideful stubbornness that was all hers.

Whatever the Emperor Lotor came here for, he would find it on Altea’s terms, or he would leave without it. Or, if it might make for a swifter path for peace, she would slaughter him in this very reception hall. She had her staff with her today.

The Galran procession arrived in waves, wargs and beastmasters first, towering Galra broad each as a mountain and bearing heavy shields second, four mismatched women each bearing the new royal crest and colors third, and in their center: Emperor Lotor.

He was the singularly most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Long, plaited, silver hair that nearly dragged the ground, Altean bones and Galran eyes, soft velvety purple fur so short it could pass for skin, pointed ears pierced with glinting gems in silver casings, and on his cheeks, two marks that glowed with powerful magic.

She shivered, feeling less certain of her ability to slaughter him where he stood, should he pose threat. His magic was enough, indeed, to rival her own, and she was famed throughout Altea for her prowess, her own marks pink and luminous.

“My thanks for hosting on such short notice,” the emperor began, seeming perfectly at ease surrounded by distinctly uneasy Altean guardsmen.

“Our thanks for your peaceful arrival. Are we too optimistic in hoping it may bode for a peaceful future between our nations?” Queen Melenor of Altea answered, staring down at him with regal coolness from the dias they three stood on.

“Not at all,” he assured with a smile. “I am as hopeful for such as you are.” A sigh escaped the whole room, tension palpably leaving. Allura was not exempt, tension loosening from her shoulders.

“Though I would start by returning what was borrowed. I know you gave it to me as a gift, but I would return it as a show of good faith.”

That piqued Allura’s curiosity. As far as she knew, her parents had never met the then-prince Lotor any more than she had. But as the emperor of Daibazaal approached, Allura’s breath caught in her throat.

He extended, to Alfor, a grimoire. The same grimoire her father had given her intended three years ago.

“You!” she gasped, rushing forward and grabbing him by the wrist, making his generals tense but ignoring them, staring instead at his yellow eyes.

“Me,” he agreed with a smile, staring at her with that same reverence he’d held three years ago. “I hope my appearance is more agreeable to you, now, than it was then, as I have little desire to return to such a state.”

“More than,” she said with a wild grin. “Please, come in and be hosted by us, I would have my betrothed explain to me how I may find him in such different states as this!”

“Well,” she heard her father murmur to her mother as she beckoned their guests inside, “I suppose a wedding is one way to end all this.”

And so it would be.

But first, they went to dinner.

[beaulesbian]

Voltron: Legendary Defender S03E05 - The Journey

└ I am seven days out. Oxygen levels are low. And fuel is… gone. This will be my last entry.

/////

We found him.

[v-tired-queer]

AU where the Galra lay eggs and after the team finds out, Lance changes Keith's nickname from Mullet to Omelet

[insane-ohwhyfandoms]

for the wip game, can you tell me about the july bingo thing 👀

bingos don't count as events 😌 so i signed up to get a card for a bingo running for the month of july, @/julybreakbingo! im in love with my card, its got my favorites (bc i did a lot of cherrypicking for the prompts i was ok with receiving lol). they had options for larger cards but i decided to be realistic 😔 about the number of prompts i could feasibly do 😔

planning on doing squares 1 and 4 for merthur, 2 for stucky, 3 for sheith, and 5 for wangxian! thats all ive got at the moment bc i promised myself no starting it until i finish the three exchanges i'm signed up for 🫠🫠🫠

i will not start but i *am* looking....

[snarky-magpie]

Get to know me tag

thanks to @nyxunderwood and @ixekizumab for the tag!

ships i like: In no particular order (that being said, the Jegulus obsession has being going on the longest and most intensely): Jegulus, Prongsfoot, Drarry, Jeddy, Moonwater, PandaLily, SnowBaz, Sheith, Buddie First ever ship: Well, that's a tough one, and I have to do a real deep dive for this one, but I guess a very niche ship nobody will remember but Mordryn Oreyn/Ocato from Oblivion and then I suppose The Warden/Zevran Arainai from Dragon Age: Origins.

last song u heard: Where do you go to (my lovely) by Peter Sartsted

fave childhood book: The Last Unicorn by the inimitable P. S. Beagle and it remains my favorite

currently reading: Object Permanence by @nyxunderwood (amazing and very much recommended to all prongsfoot lovers) and Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins.

currently watching: Just finished Severance (incredible, what a ride), 1923, The Rookie, 9-1-1, Hacks, Reacher, Modern Family (always my comfort show I run on the background when cooking) and I intend to check out The White Lotus.

currently consuming: Coffee and apparently way too many TV shows

currently craving: Inner & world peace. Also, cheesecake, which is always a safe bet with me

pets: 3 ragdoll cats that own my heart: Ori & Buffy, and our latest addition, a 9-month-old kitten called Frodo

Low pressure tag: @cassiaratheslytherpuff, @arliedraws, @cursedwithwords, @forestdeath1, @ellenembee, @emlovessid, @mexicanpadfoot, @soleil-black, @heartsoncover, @onehundredflamingos

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 3

Propaganda Under Cut

Allura

Lots of people (myself included tbh) ship klance (Keith and Lance). In s8 the creators made Allura/Lance canon (but then they killed her off and left the ending ambiguous it was weird). Anyway the fandom treats her like she's the most terrible bitchy woman ever but all she wants to do is end the war and avenge her destroyed home planet. Yeah she wasn't always the nicest or always the best, but you could argue some other characters in the show aren't either and they aren't treated near as bad as allura. people really just hate her bc Lance liked her. I don't think allura/lance are good together, but I still liked her as a character and thought she was interesting and had a lot of growth during the show. she DEF is not evil like some people portray her as in fic or talk about her in captions on posts. I've seen people say that they HATE her and that she's the worst and I'm like ??? let her live (well sort of ig she is dead now). lots of fic writers use her as the villain which is so interesting to me bc the show literally has villains like use them. anyway allura so perfectly fits the bracket description she deserves better.

I hate to acknowledge my time in this fandom but I hate the way the fandom treated her more. Allura was treated like shit no matter what side of the Great Ship War you were on because she was always a threat to the biggest ships (klance and sheith). At best she got put into Background Lesbian or Consolation Prize Shallura (Space Mom-zoned) (She was not a motherly figure btw. She was just Black). At worst she was violently demonized for being ~racist~ (kinda not cool with the alien race that blew up her planet for a few episodes), complete with misogynistic language hurled at her (she got called a bitch sooo much). Allura was a good and cool character and the show did her dirty but the fandom was somehow worse.

i apologise for speaking the dark magicks, but amidst the voltron fandoms many, many transgressions, there were a particular subset of people who just hated this girl. the infamous klance wars of the 2010s kept this perfectly fine childrens cartoon character in the sights of shippers everywhere, and she (and her voice actress im sure) were subjected to years of petty squabble blown up to global perportions. ive seen hate, ive seen rants, ive seen fanfics that made her homophobic. girls been through the ringer, and even though voltron was never the show its fandom wanted it to be, i believe allura deserved better

Every Supernatural Woman

Supernatural is so mean to women and committed to queerbaiting but it still gives Sam and Dean lovers to kill. The writers kill and villainize them and the fans get the few that remain

wincest and destiel shippers cannot handle the idea of their blorbos having a Woman THREATENING their SHIPS god FORBID

It literally used to be a running joke that if a female character got introduced you knew she was going to die soon because fans would react so negatively to her "stealing" one of the boys away from the big ship, whether it be destiel or wincest

[userautumn]

What does the term getting voltron'ed mean? I have seen a couple of people use it. I tried googling it and I cant find anything on it, other a bunch of stuff that just describes the Voltron show in general.

Oh man. I have never wanted a shot of alcohol before answering a message so badly in my entire life.

[cracks knuckles]

Okay. Here we go.

Voltron: Legendary Defender was a Netflix show that ran for eight seasons from 2016-2018. There were six main characters (Shiro, Keith, Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Alura) and from those characters came a lot of ships. The three most popular were Sheith (Shiro/Keith), Klance (Keith/Lance) and Alurance (Alura/Lance). What you have to understand was that Voltron was a massive fandom, for good reason! The first six seasons were absolutely fantastic. But that just means that, naturally, there was a ship war, and an UGLY one too. like. As ugly as you think our ship war has gotten? This one was ten times worse and each "side" had reasons to believe their ship was beloved and favored by the showrunners.

So, Season 8, the final season, comes around and everyone's asking the big question. You know, the only question that matters when you've got such a massive following and such a nasty ship war: who's going to be endgame?

Well.

The answer was...

Nobody!

We all got fucked :)

Keith and Lance? Not endgame. Shiro and Keith? Not endgame. Alurance? You guessed it! Not endgame! Alura died, Keith ditched the Paladins, and Shiro married a background character they introduced in Season 7.

It was bad.

It's still SO. BAD.

All those years of infighting, bullying, doxxing, and god knows what else, and you know who was happy with the ending? Absolutely fucking nobody!

So when I say that I think we're going to get Voltron'd, what I mean is that I think we're going to get to the end of the series and absolutely NONE of us are going to be happy with who ends up with who. Maybe Eddie dies. Maybe Buck marries someone he meets in the final season. Maybe it was all a fucking dream while Bobby burns in the apartment fire. Who knows!

What I do know is that I do not trust this show to give me, well... anything... except a fun time on Thursday evenings. Willing and happy to be wrong. Would LOVE to be wrong. But I don't think I am.

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Day 7: Clear Day Fair

Tags: @loturaweek2024 Clear Day, festival/carnival/fairgrounds, background Shiro/Keith, background Hunk/Shay, background Matt/N-7, food and carnival prizes, flirting

Read on AO3

“It’s hard to believe that just four decaphoebes ago, we were all at war,” Allura said, sliding her hand into the crook of Lotor’s elbow and resting her head daintily against his shoulder. No use getting too cozy: they’d resume walking soon. But for the moment she held onto her betrothed, (the talsean chain he’d gifted her burning a hole in her pocket, not quite yet ready to tell the others, and Altean engagements started out private, anyway) and enjoyed the sight of people walking about, smiling, laughing, eating, playing carnival games and riding contraptions.

“It is,” he breathed. Harder to believe for him, than her, some small piece of him, she knew, believing that he would never quite get this far, his father’s empire an endless and unkillable thing.

They stood together in companionable silence a long, long moment. The breeze rustled at the hem of her dress, a scandalous little thing that went down only to her knees, fluffy and ruffled, and left her collarbone and shoulders bare. He’d dressed nice for today, too, still anxious about setting aside his armor, but today was a day of celebration and joy. He was wearing an old Altean tunic Coran had found somewhere in the castleship’s storage, his arms as bare as hers were, and she enjoyed the sight and feel of his unarmored biceps quite nicely.

He turned to her, gently dislodging her from his shoulder, and smiled, just a little bit of fang poking out. “Shall we join in?”

She smiled back, warm and with a little happy twitch to her ears. “I think we shall.”

What to do, what to do though? They were surrounded by so many options, it was a little hard to choose.

Shiro and Keith were at the arcade, racing against one another on a level so high they had a small gaggle of children surrounding the mock pilot chairs, their one token stretching much further than the arcademaster might like. That was well and good for them, but Allura had spent quite enough time piloting the Blue Lion these last few decaphoebes, and Lotor agreed that such activities were more work than pleasure in his mind.

Hunk and Shay were on a slow moving ride, cozied up and cuddling in the lovebird-shaped railcar while they were serenaded by wacky mascots and bright colors. They traded back and forth gentle knocks of their foreheads, Shay guiding Hunk through the motion, and embarrassingly public kisses, Hunk showing Shay how. The cuddling definitely seemed pleasant, but the loud music and very public shows of affection weren’t exactly what the two royals would count as a nice (or romantic, in terms of the mascots) time.

Matt and N-7 were wandering the displays, children’s 4-H projects and adolescents’ experiments and community members’ quilts and crochet and knit works and artistry and sculptures and technological wonders and photography and baked goods and insect collections and mushroom displays and favored livestock all out on display, discussing what looked to be some sort of mechanical puzzle or contraption. That looked fun, also, but felt a bit underwhelming when they were at a fair. Maybe later, Lotor and Allura agreed they wanted to do something a little more fun first.

They began to wander, perusing their options, when Allura stopped him with a sharp tug on his hand. “Oh Lotor, look at that!” she said, pointing at a cute plush toy with giant marble eyes and soft fuzzy fur.

“Would you like it?” Lotor asked, cocking his head at the thing like he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“That’s a tier three prize right there,” said the carnie, leaned back on their chair, “gotta get thirty points; you a good shot?”

“I am,” Lotor said confidently, walking up to the stall and paying for the game. Allura fluttered a bit to have him so willingly indulging her, and also to see him lift the mock gun with those pretty pretty arms of his.

His first shot went wildly off-mark. “Hm. The balance is off,” he murmured to himself, and corrected. The second was just shy of the center of his target, earning him two points instead of five.

Every shot that followed hit the dead center of their marks, and the carnie whistled, impressed. Allura could feel herself grinning, and extended her hands with a giggle as the carnie handed the stuffed animal to Lotor, who then promptly turned and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, hugging the toy to her chest.

“Of course,” he said, looking quite pleased with himself, and a little flushed beside. She raised her eyebrows, then ducked her chin into the soft fuzz of her gift.

“And does my paramour enjoy providing me with gifts?” she asked, sweet and cheeky and looking up at him from under her eyelashes, shoulders drawn close to her ears.

At “provide” she actually witnessed his pupils dilate, and he licked his lips briefly before returning, “Only if my dearest enjoys receiving them.”

Giggling, she took his hand in hers again, now having discovered how they would spend their time. She pulled him to the next game with a prize she liked—not far indeed, as there was an abundance of plushies, shining trinkets, cheap plastic jewelry of absolutely no value, and kitschy souvenirs that caught her eye.

The ring toss went fine from the first throw, winning her a long-limbed plush that had magnets sewn in its hands so it could hang around her neck, he had to try twice at the game where he filled a thin tube with water but successfully perched a little plastic tiara on top of her head, making her giggle at having two, he tossed balls into baskets and flicked marbles precise distances, looking more and more smugly pleased with himself each time he handed her whatever it was that she had pointed at. They were burning through their tokens rather quickly, but eh, they could always purchase more, and Allura was certainly not going to stop him from piling her high with stuffed toys and assorted knick-knacks.

He struggled the most at stalls run by Unalu, surprising Allura not at all, but although she insisted that she didn’t need the prize that had drawn her eye, he insisted on victory before they left. It was sweet, and deeply charming, and as Allura’s arms grew more and more full of the prizes he’d won her she found herself gigglier and gigglier.

“Voltron plushies, toss a ring, win a plush,” another Unalu hawked at passerby, and this time Lotor was the one to stop them.

“A… purple lion?” he asked, one eyebrow as arched as she’d ever seen it. “That does not exist.”

Allura bent to observe the lineup closer, the five colors she was used to, yes, but also a pink, white, and purple lion propped up at the end of the line, many more clustered on the wall of the back of the stand.

She looked up at him, just a motion of her eyes, face still close to the purple offender.

“I do want it though,” she said through the fluff of three different plush toys.

Lotor hesitated, then blushed, then looked away. “Well. If the lady wants.”

“Then the lady shall receive! Very good, sir, ten tokens to play!” the Unalu prompted, and tried to hand Lotor a set of rings much smaller than the ones scattered about the display.

“These are not correct,” Lotor said, derisive and with the low tone that made her shiver.

“Of course they are! They just look small in your strong, masculine—hands…”

Lotor loomed over the swindler, scowling impressively.

“You know, I think I did actually hand you the wrong set, here you are sir, enjoy!”

The carnie swapped the rings out for the actual size, and Lotor relaxed. Observed his targets. And made every single toss.

“Woo!” Allura cheered, jumping a little, her hands full.

“Ah. Well. Erm, according to the sign, which is in your line of sight so I wouldn’t ever tell you anything differently, nine successful throws is three small prizes or one large one. So if your lady here wants the purple one, you get two mor—”

“The pink one! The pink and blue ones!” Allura interjected excitedly, and the carnie handed them over.

“This one’s for you,” she said, setting the blue lion on his shoulder like a cat would perch. The pink and purple one she settled beneath her arm, almost immediately losing them in the mass of the other plush gifts.

“Ah—your—”

“My lion, the one that is real, and actually exists. Not these silly fakes,” she teased, smiling up at him.

“Ah,” he said, and oh, she did far too thoroughly enjoy her ability to render this man speechless. It was intoxicating, seeing her beautiful, eloquent Lotor reduced to a pleased smile half hidden by his hand, ears tinged with his blush.

The smell of funnel cake, made of ground tubers instead of grains, as she might have had on Altea, yet still unmistakable, wafted through the air.

“Oh! We must have one!” Allura insisted, dragging him away from the games and into the hall of food vendors, ciders and grilled skewers and breaded pockets of meat and air-puffed ground tubers that also should’ve been grains if this were Altea and sweets and cloudsugar lining them on either side, and Allura joined the first of the lines.

“It’s sweet!” Lotor remarked when they got theirs, a dusting of sugar falling on his chest as he bit into the fried delight.

“Of course!” Allura agreed joyfully.

“It’s good.”

“Do you not often enjoy sweets?”

Lotor snorted, taking another bite. “You might recall that standard Galran fare involves uniquely bland off-beige paste and little else.”

“Well, yes, and we Alteans have our exceedingly green goo, but surely you must eat regular food when you are planetside?”

Lotor gave her a look.

“Lotor. Only eat half of that. We are going to try everything in this aisle.”

He laughed at her sudden seriousness, but Allura was not anywhere even close to joking. He dutifully waited with her in every single line, trying out savory meats and spicy candies and more sweets and buttery tubers at her prompting, eating whatever they’d just purchased while they waited in the next line. They bumped into Pidge, Hunk, and Shay in one of the lines, chatting happily while Lotor gnawed on a well-sauced bone of meat, and Hunk reminded them to hydrate while they were here. When they finished with their final shop (a meat skewer place with crisped alliums and bell peppers that smelled divine) she decided to play another little ploy on her intended, and guided him away from the crowd.

“This is good, as well,” he praised, seeming to enjoy the meat dishes the most out of everything they’d tried.

“Good! Give me a bite,” she said, resettling all her many plush gifts in both hugging arms, so she could not reach out and take it. Instead, when he began to extend the skewer to her, she opened her mouth and leaned forward.

“Allura?” he choked, eyes blown so wide they were nearly all pupil.

For her part, she blinked her eyes as big as they would go and stared up at him innocently. “My hands are full,” she commented, high pitched and sweet, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Won’t you feed me a bite?”

Feeding one’s partner was not quite so scandalous as kissing them in public, but it wasn’t nothing, either. She opened her mouth again, doing her best impression of guileless but probably blushing, herself, and watched her fiance visibly struggle with his composure before feeding her a bite.

“Mm! It is good!” she agreed, smiling for an entirely different reason.

“You are a wicked, devilish woman.”

Allura giggled, grinning wide, and spun on the ball of her foot with a little flounce of her dress.

“That’s me! Now, whatever shall we do next?”

[aquaburst3]

Happy 5 year anniversary to one of the worst series finales that I ever had the misfortune of watching outside of GOT! 🥳

But seriously, it's weird thinking that it's been 5 years, especially since this series ate up my early 20s. Some things have changed drastically since then, including going through a pandemic and moving to a different part of the country. Others not so much. I'm over all a similar person as before. Just someone who's more mature and wiser. I'm still into similar shit, albeit in some different fandoms like getting into Twisted Wonderland. Knowing me, I'll still engage in fandoms until I die.

Looking back, the show is incredibly flawed and tanks after s2. The warning signs that the series would end on such a bad note were there like the terrible pacing, Lotor seeming like two characters shoved into the same body and Allura's bizarre reverse fantasy racism arc. I'm still mad about the choices the show made in regards to how certain character arcs ended like Lance becoming the Latino Farmer Trope who mourns his girlfriend of one week forever and Shiro marrying a background character. Which is ashamed, since the series has so much potential.

This fandom was also a shitshow like no other. I have some horror stories about the heyday of this fandom, including more personal ones like being put on a list for shipping sheith and just the time I was a mod on the Kallura Server.

Despite all that, I made some solid mutuals and friends in that fandom, and for that I'm grateful to be a part of it.

Here's to more years of being into fandom and gaining some new friends and mutuals in that shithole of a fandom! 🥂

[casgirl]

sorry to continue the slew of asks about 2017 voltron shipping discourse but tbf to sheith haters it is revealed in s7 that shiro and keith first met when shiro came to keith's middle school as (an adult) military recruiter and then became his mentor. now i do consider that kind of a crazy background for a romantic relationship. their relationship is pretty clearly based off of that sort of dynamic which becomes brotherly over time. that said with voltron being such a......wishy washy show im not suprised people interpreted it otherwise

What all the various asks have been telling me is that the whiplash of “is sheith that bad” varies WILDLY from season to season. That’s kind of crazy.

[fadedsepiascribbles]

The first day she’d met him, Pidge had known that Lance McClain was going to find a way to screw up everything important to her. Even before he'd known she was a she, Lance had liked pretty much everything about Pidge Gunderson. And Hunk could only agree that ‘rolling dumpster fire’ was a pretty good description of what he saw happening with his two best friends.

A series of fics, from multiple perspectives, chronicling the budding relationship between two human disasters, and the lengths to which their friends go to minimize the carnage.

Hey, @kravenergeist , remember that fic I was supposed to write for you months ago? Well, it’s 12 plotted chapters now, so... You’re welcome?

[snow-albedo]

Meme redraws can be something so personal,,,

[iota-in-space]

Gosh the sheith post-it note thing really was just….someone curious about what the post it notes said and for funnies decided to try and decipher it. And it was “something something…. When you’re away.” And the double take and reconfirming it with other ppl and honestly the moment of disbelief when the first part was “It’s killing me when you’re away.” Also the unanimous and immediate way we all knew that he was surely talking about Shiro. That’s far to sheithy- too painful and like some minor background detail that wasn’t meant to be looked at. Ya’ll they really did that.

[sleepyandweepyandtired]

Ohmygosh! a tag in one of these things!! I'm so excited!

Last Song: Mon Amour by Annalisa. It's in my head a lot at the moment.

Favourite colour: Blue. Though nobody believes me because I wear so much purple. I love purple too but it's all the blues of the ocean.

Currently watching: Love between fairy and devil (ouch my heart), season 3 of only murders in the building, and I'm rewatching the good place again

Last Movie: Nimona. I'm reading the graphic novel to my kid at the moment and it put her in the mood for a rewatch

Currently Reading: The Left Handed Booksellers of London by Garth Nix. He's one of my favourite authors and I'm loving it so far. I'm also rereading svsss

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet.

Relationship Status: Married

Current Obsession: I'm torn between too many. There's the neverending background scum villain obsession (bingqiu live in my brain rent free), currently I'm also obsessively reading sheith fics after a friend sent me a bunch of recs and I discovered some great authors from that, I really want to learn to do some art but I'm struggling to get myself to actually do it, and I suddenly decided out of the blue (well it had been in the back of my mind for many years but still) that I actually do want to be a psychologist so now I'm trying to make that happen. And I'm also trying to get treatment for my ADHD because my brain is an exhausting place to live ^-^;

Last Thing I Googled: I use duck duck go on firefox actually (￣︶￣) OH! but I did use google to find a song by humming at it - it was FINIMONDO by MYSS KETA

Currently Working On: applications for psychology conversion masters at various unis

Tagging: @coiled-dragon, @touchmycoat, @gladiatordonut, @chicshinm, @sanguen and anyone else who fancies a go!

nine people you’d like to get to know better

Tagged by ✨ @wingedarrows

Last Song: Song for my lost ghost friends, by Spellcasting

Favourite colour: Always a tricky one. Gold? Amber? Deep reddish purple? Amethyst? Carmine red? Opalescent? Beetle/magpie blue-green-purple is definitely up there.

Currently watching: A Surprising Amount Of Things

Last Movie: Not sure. An Indiana Jones movie but I don’t remember the title

Currently Reading: Starter Villain by John Scalzi. A lovely thing about an inherited supervillain business, super intelligent spy-cats, and unionised dolphins among other things!

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet, definitely. Partial to savory otherwise, unfortunately weak to spice.

Relationship Status: Single Pringle baby! 🎉

Current Obsession: I Expect You To Die (video games) but like… specifically fan interpretations. Also my own characters on account of little scraps of affection thrown my way due to them

Last Thing I Googled: “libel”. ;)

Currently Working On: Procrastinating the Swedish project I shoulda finished already ✨ (as well as a variety of writings and bits and bobs of art that have yet to see the light of day)

Tagging: don’t feel it necessary to respond to this! @mantiswithlusciouslocks @cosmicandy525 @fourphoenixfeathers @lavalampstealer @flawnle @milkoftheflesh @wanderingstarghost and anyone else who wants to do it

[tasteslikekeys]

Last fanart had me realize: in this house we are PRO-file.

[artsy-alice]

the constant a sheith comic

this is my piece for the Across Realities Zine (@realitieszine)! i'm still very emo knowing this is the closing piece of the book. thank you, friends! it's been an absolute joy working with you on this project!