donnie, she/her, adultwelcome! i talk a lot and also sometimes write fics. i like lot of things, especially: sonic, tmnt, minecraft, percy jackson, miraculous, sanders sides, & more!enjoy! <3
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When Ao3 (Tumblr's wife) is down...

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good luc—- *mmph*
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The peoples princess
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Me: What the fuck. David Corenswet is Superman. The guy who built Star Wars Legos with my brother when they were 14. I knew he had an acting career, he did theater and commercials back then and he was in some Netflix stuff, but Superman?
Husband: congratulations, you are having the authentic experience of being Clark Kent's coworker
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#same
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Superman (2025) + Text posts
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i bet it feels so good if you're a little cat to put your head upside down like that
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JULANCE DAY 12: UNDERCOVER
These days, it feels like Lance is constantly pretending. To the team, he’s the same old Lance from before Keith’s stint in leadership. He cracks inappropriate jokes, welcomes any chance he can get in the spotlight. Any distraction.
It’s a thin veneer. In reality, he’s never felt more detached from the team. After Keith left, Lance began to notice some… changes in the newly-returned Shiro. Which, of course, would be reasonable. If not for the strange way he’d been acting.
Before, Lance never disagreed with Shiro. Ever. Shiro was a shining beacon of intellect and wisdom to rookie Lance, above all criticism. Now that he feels brave enough to enter leader discussions, though, he tries to give his two cents on strategy. He’s really become fond of sitting at the small table with Allura and Keith or swiping quickly over star charts while they listened to his ideas. For all his flaws as a leader, when Keith leaned forward and unblinkingly watched Lance, he really knew how to make him feel heard.
It doesn’t go that way with Shiro.
“Lance, why are you here?”
The simple utterance knocks a crack in his newly-forged armor. He clears his throat. “As red paladin, I usually helped out during pre-battle discussions with Allura and Keith.”
Allura nods, pleasantly gesturing for Lance to join them at the table. Reluctantly, the red paladin sits by her, keeping a careful eye on Shiro. “Lance has truly stepped up in your absence alongside Keith in a way we couldn’t have ever predicted. Keith and I trusted his counsel often, and usually that resulted in great success.”
“Wow. Thanks, Princess,” Lance replies honestly. Warmth blooms behind his ribs, relieved to have some support.
“Alright,” Shiro agrees, hands stiff on the table.
The meeting is a disaster. Shiro shares a plan that Lance really can’t get behind, with formations that place them inside civilian centers rather than at the edges of them. He listens thoughtfully as the older man explains his rationale: Galra troops have been known to invade from all angles, and according to Shiro, it’s simpler if they form a circle and let the Galra come to them at the center. Politely, Lance shares a gentle objection; he’s concerned that the civilians won’t all be able to evacuate in time, and that the formation will cause increased public damage.
“Soldier, I don’t recall asking for your approval.”
His words are sharp. They leave no room for doubt. And yet, Lance can’t help but pushing, confused at the strangeness of his words.
“I just think—“
“You’re not the person we turn to for thinking, are you?”
It’s colder than Lance has ever heard Shiro. Wrong. His gut twists, rejection stinging like a physical blow. Even Allura looks aghast.
“Sorry, Shiro.” He plasters on a respectful expression and slightly inclines his head.
He doesn’t return to leadership meetings after. Lance isn’t like Keith, stubborn and demanding in face of dismissal. Especially not from Shiro, the man from his posters, who made him believe in heroes.
Then comes The Voltron Show. In all his memory, Lance cannot remember hating a stage as much as he hates this one. Traveling across the galaxy, riding on their universe-saving fame while doing nothing for it, he feels like an utter joke. Because he is one. Loverboy Lance! Come see him spin and flirt and drink up attention like it’s ambrosia, powerful enough to save him until it burns him up from the inside out, makes him golden and rotten just for you! It’s all so fake that it makes him actually vomit, one night.
An alien had asked for his signature. Lance scribbled it with a paintbrush they handed him, but in reality, he was entirely not there. His hands tingled and his body and brain almost felt as if they were splitting apart, as though he’d watched the scene from above.
“Thank you so much for all you do!” the alien chirped.
What does he do? Lance doesn’t strategize, doesn’t even fire so much as a warning shot, lately. He’s just a face. A symbol, and a boring one at that.
He smiles, thanks them, and rushes back to his bathroom to grab at his toilet. At 17, Lance would have killed to have this much fame. Convinced that fame was an achievement, he sought it desperately, believing that being known meant he was worthy.
Now, a year later, he’s all too aware of how cheap fame can be. Fame means nothing after seeing blood and heartbreak and war. Being known by millions is worth so much less when the people who matter people aren’t looking.
Hunk and Pidge don’t note his change in mood. It’s not their faults, really. Coran is running them all ragged with routine prep, and Hunk and Pidge have the extra awful task of coordinating special effects. They’re both practically dead on their feet whenever they cross paths with Lance.
Therefore, it’s no surprise that he gets closer with Allura. Who else does he have? Both of them are distantly moored without ports. Coran is far too distracted to notice her, and Lance… he’s missing some people, too. They discuss everything with each other. Lance missed having someone to confide in, but Allura is perfect for the job, kind and judgmental in an easy balance. Allura admits that she hates playing Keith, how she just wants to be herself. Lance has to agree— it’s incredibly awkward to witness her trying to play a part so obviously at odds with her and with Keith alike. She’s become a facsimile of herself. It’s a sentiment Lance can relate to, and he shares as much, relieved at her understanding.
Show after show after show. Faux grin after false flirtation after ostentatious lies. Lance plays his part and plays it well.
He wonders if Keith is making a difference with the Blade. Finally, he went somewhere Lance couldn’t chase him to. Bitterly, Lance wonders if that was the point, and tries to put him out of his mind entirely.
As far as anyone watching in the universe will know, Lance is doing wonderfully. He’s Loverboy Lance! Flashy. Dazzling. Shiny.
Unrecognizable.
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i love what the internet has done to the english language
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I am a huge fan of retiring to my quarters
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JULANCE DAY 10: BROADSWORD
SCHWING.
Lance pants heavily as he dodges, narrowly avoiding Keith’s knife as it sails over his hand. Now crouched low to the ground, he balances with his hands behind his back and kicks out at Keith’s knees.
Sparring with Keith has become something of a regular occurrence since his ascent to black paladin. While Shiro used to be the go-to hand-to-hand guy, Keith now lacks a decent sparring partner. Pidge, of course, chooses not to learn his techniques. Hunk, meanwhile, likes the comfort that distance affords him. Besides, if anyone did get close to him, Lance knows his strong-as-hell best friend could just pick them up and throw them like a frisbee.
He’s learned that fact from experience. Lance will never sneak up on Hunk while he’s cooking ever again.
Allura also prefers sparring with the gladiator and Coran over the other paladins. She claims that Alteans have a particular strength that might be unfair for the paladins to get subjected to. Which, probably fair.
So Lance had to step in and volunteer his poor, beautiful body to be beaten to a pulp by their glorious leader. Not that he entirely minds much. Sometimes, it’s really, really fun, learning forms from Keith and watching him in his element. They both sheath their bayards in their belts, grab training knives, and race to attack one another in a halfhearted attempt to get the advantage. Lance loves improving and impressing Keith, finally receiving awareness from his “rival” after all these years of relative insignificance. As a teacher, Keith’s orange-red fire dulls down into an encouraging hearth, illuminating the best parts of Lance as well as himself.
Also, his hands feel annoyingly good when they adjust his stance. And sometimes Lance gets to see his shirt ride up, while sweat traces the lines of Keith’s jaw and stomach, sticking his hair to his forehead in a way that makes Lance want to grab him and— objectively, it’s a nice view.
Objectively.
“Urgh,” Keith huffs, jumping up and once again bringing his knife down toward Lance. Luckily, Lance is starting to recognize his patterns— when Keith is going to slice his innards, he tenses his shoulders slightly. He’s already reacting, forearm deftly connecting with Keith’s elbow to push it away from his delicate brains. Then, he swipes up with his other hand, also holding a knife of its own.
“That was a good one,” Keith manages between his exerted breathing.
For a moment, Lance freezes, a smile blooming on his face. “Really?”
Keith levels him a flat look and knocks him on his ass, training knife pushed to the side of his neck. “And you just died.”
“Come on!” Lance groans, throwing his knife to the side. “That’s unfair!”
Keith rolls his eyes, and oh, his entire weight is over Lance, his head is hovering far too close to Lance’s face, and maybe Lance has a thing for knives, or maybe just Keith holding knives— wow his breath is warm and so are his legs— snap out of it—
“So, what, the enemy compliments you and you just stop fighting?” Keith raises an unimpressed eyebrow, withdrawing the knife to Lance’s acute relief. “That feels wrong.”
“Well, maybe the Galra soldier is being nice, Keith! Ever thought of that?” Lance shifts under Keith’s hold, and for a beat, Keith freezes, awkwardly looking at their position on the floor. Lance holds his breath, waiting for him to say something. Or do something. Instead, disappointingly, he rolls off of Lance entirely.
Well, it was nice while it lasted. Lance pushes himself up to sit upright by Keith, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Sheathing his knife, Keith continues.
“You’ll never get better at hand-to-hand and close combat if you keep acting like you’re fighting me instead of a Galra soldier,” he points out. Hair drips sweat into his eyes as he sits casually across from Lance, one leg bent upward and the other outstretched. He looks like a model, all stretched out under the harsh training lights.
An annoying voice that sounds like Hunk speaks in his head. Nah, dude. He’s nasty and sweaty. You’re just a loser.
Shut up, Brain Hunk. Keith is hot, and Lance is a loser. Two things can be true.
“Y’know, I don’t even understand why I’m doing this,” Lance protests. He glares at the training knife lying a few feet away from them. “I’m shit at this stuff.”
“So get better,” Keith shoots back instantly.
“But why?”
“Because we’re down on close-range fighting experience,” Keith explains, voice gaining an edge. “More Galra can get through our first line, now. And they can get to you.”
Lance frowns, still unsure. “On the off chance a Galra fighter does get to me, you’ll still be there! You save my ass all the time. It’s fine.”
Keith, suddenly, looks inexplicably mad, eyes narrowed to slits and arms rigid. “That’s not fair, Lance.”
“Besides,” Lance continues, not entirely aware of where he’s going. “I’m always fine in the end! I figure it out.”
“No,” Keith cuts him off sharply. “You can’t rely on me to protect you, or your luck, or whatever you want to call it. That’s not okay.”
Lance opens his mouth to speak again, but is cowed to silence as Keith raises a hand in a silencing motion.
“Lance, I can’t be worrying about you constantly while we fight anymore. There’s so much I already need to focus on while we’re on the ground. Civilians. Enemies. Our whole team. I need the assurance that you can hold your own.”
“So don’t worry about me,” Lance points out, thinking that he sounds reasonable, honestly. “Like I said, I’ll be fine! And if I’m not, just stick me in a pod!”
“I don’t want to have to do that!” Keith snaps, balling his fists. He leans into Lance’s space, leaving himself jagged and exposed. “You are th— my right hand, and without you in commission… I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t be in that position. So stop fucking around and train with me, okay?”
There’s a heavy, uncomfortable pause as Lance watches Keith regain his bearings. Already, he can tell sharing that much of his feelings had been difficult for the black paladin. Silently outstretching an arm, Lance places his hand on Keith’s knee.
“Fine,” he acquiesces. “I’ll do your stupid sparring.“
Keith meets his eyes, and Lance’s breath stutters at the haunted, tired look in Keith’s expression. It’s easy to forget, occasionally, the weight that Keith carries. It looks like five people, but also, an entire universe, an indescribable number of souls and families. Still, Lance knows that their five make up the toughest burden upon Keith, who is utterly alone without them. Who has already been left behind by Shiro, and likely, his parents. Though Lance doesn’t know the details.
Lance squeezes his knee one more time before removing his hand. “I promise. I’ll be better.”
“Thanks,” Keith mutters, hiding his face again by looking off to the side. He pulls himself to his feet, grabs the towel he’d brought, and walks out the door without further addressing Lance. That suits Lance fine; he needs time to think.
Subconsciously, he pulls out his bayard and stares absently at its red markings. He wonders what it must actually feel like to carry the responsibility of Voltron. As right hand, he’s gotten glimpses of it, peeks into the tribulations and trials that lie at the helm. However, he can’t imagine what it must be like for Keith. Lance knows what caring for a family entails. Keith is still figuring that out, trying to determine what boundaries to set, what rules to enforce, what tasks to delegate. Guilt strikes Lance as he realizes that he hasn’t been making it easier for him on the battlefield.
He wishes, briefly, that he could take some of Keith’s load. Hold it, if just for a second, while the other paladin gets his bearings.
Suddenly, his bayard flickers in his hands, almost quick enough to be unnoticeable. Lance blinks, but sure enough, it stays in its deactivated form under his fingertips. He shakes it, to no response.
Strange. Lance must be more exhausted than he thought from helping Coran sort library tablets last night. He almost could have sworn he saw an extended version of Keith’s red bayard sword. Shaking his head, Lance attaches the bayard back to his belt.
Man, he has to get Keith off his mind, or he’ll go crazy. Heaving himself to his feet, he grabs his water pouch and takes a swig from it, resolving to take a shower.
A sword?
Ridiculous. He’s nowhere near ready to fight on Keith’s level.
It would be fun, though.
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on the subject of allura: i know people were upset that she was called a princess when she was technically queen. but the way i see it was that she kept her title for the following reasons:
1. to honor her parents. taking on the title of queen would officialize her father's death. while she was able to let him go in s1, she clearly did not want to make bold statements about her place in the universe caused by his absence.
2. there can be no ceremony or coronation in the eyes of her people, since her people are gone. it would have felt inauthentic to allura to declare herself queen without the very people who give purpose to her crown.
3. to seem less threatening in the eyes of the public. a queen can be intimidating, but a princes: is charitable, diplomatic, and sociable. even though allura possessed the strength of a queen, she did know how to catch foreign officials off guard.
anyways i love my girl so bad. warrior princess allura!
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