#about how beau's mom sucks too and I should probably have included her in that last scene

[princessamericachavez]

Fjorester in Episode 46

We had some wonderful character development, tension, pining... listen, guys, this was such a good episode and I don’t understand how anyone could think this was a step back for these two when in reality this was a much-needed switch in the dynamic. 

Like, okay, let’s review: 

Fjord: “Where’s Jester?” 

He’s already worried. 

Good start. Fjord’s not blind and you could tell that he noticed her being upset the night before, so having him of all people ask for her was such a good detail that warmed my heart. 

“How are you doing this morning, Jester?”

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“...yeah?”

HE’S SO WORRIED. LOOK AT THAT FACE. SOMEONE HOLD ME. 

“You wanna... go out and explore a bit?”

“...sure.”

She’s not giving him a lot to go on, being distant and he looks so confused and nervous and unsure on how to proceed. Even with everything they’ve been through, Jester being distant towards him is uncharted territory.

But, Fjord, bless him, doesn’t back off, he tries again. 

“A-Are you okay? I-I know the... the day’s escapade was a little much. A little close.”

“A lot. Yes. You disappeared, Fjord,” she says, and even in her soft voice, there’s a heaviness to the statement, the nucleus of the tension between them. And she smiles when she says it, but there’s an unusual seriousness in Jester as she says it, almost an accusation, saying a million things that she’s not voicing yet out loud.

Cue: Panic. 

“Yeah, well, you did... too. Every time I poped wherever I was I could see you PFT in and PFT out. And I kept wanting to, like, make sure we were getting the fuck out.”

It’s like he’s trying to scream: I never meant to leave you behind. But this dumb boy doesn’t know how to say it. He just needs her to know she wouldn’t. 

But Jester’s not talking about that. 

“Oh, that too. I was talking about the library.”

Think about it for a moment, though. Jester, who was so utterly broken-hearted over being left alone, is actually lingering over the moment he got sucked into a window when he left and she had no way to follow, when she didn’t know if he was alright. 

She’s more concerned about his impulsiveness putting him in danger than her own brush with near-death. 

And you can see Fjord’s surprise over it, too.

“Oh, yeah, well it was the darnest thing. I just touched it, you know? Didn’t know if it was rough or smooth...”

It’s harder to make excuses for his own impulsiveness though.

“I didn’t expect it to AHHHH none of that shit?”

And this is classic Fjord and Jester. He’s trying to make her laugh, to ease the air, because he knows it’s what Jester does, search for a way to be happy and it works... for an instant only.

“Maybe I won’t do that so much,” he offers, still trying to find a fix.

“Sometimes you just need to touch things,” she offers back, in understanding, but there’s the lingering sadness in her voice.

And as they keep talking about what happened the day before and they start describing the room, Fjord asks:

“Wait a minute, so when I disappeared you didn’t immediately try to come out and find me?”

NOW NOW NOW I’ve seen some people online giving Fjord grief over this line, calling it self-centered or dickish, but you gotta think in context. This is Fjord who didn’t expect any of them to come after him when he was taken by the Shepherds. Fjord who has grown very attached to the group, who did everything in his power —including sleeping with Avantika— to keep them safe, who is never sure why they even follow his lead into the ocean... Fjord who landed himself accidentally in front of a big blue dragon and tried to talk his way out of it, unsure of whether the others would show up and expressed his relief when they did. 

This line isn’t about Fjord believing he deserved an immediate rescue. 

This line is Fjord’s doubts and vulnerability coming out in a slightly abrasive way because it’s easier to be defensive than admit the idea hurts.

“I did. Beau did,” Jester points out.

And they did, truly. 

And this trio has been together from the start and they did run after him.

“Yeah, you know. It isn’t as if everybody left you,” Jester says, and you can feel the implicit like they did me. 

“You left... us.” 

That pause. 

That pause right before she says us kills me. 

Do you think she wanted to say me?

You left me.

And all he can offer back is “Yeah that’s true.”

And it’s so hard to see them act like this, to see the ice wall between them, the tension in every unspoken accusation. 

And Fjord can tell, he feels that cold between them and is still trying to fix it. 

Now, historically, what they do when the other is sad/upset is acts of service, try to offer help or attention that will cheer the other up. 

“Jester, can I make you a plate?”

Look at this dude. 

He’s trying. 

He can barely look her in the eye. 

And Jester blinks and pulls back and you can see the confusion written all over her face. 

(can you imagine how she would’ve reacted to an offer like this early on in the campaign???????)

“Um, no. I think I’m okay, Fjord. Thank you.”

Her voice sounds so tiny, so distant, too polite like she’s talking to a stranger. She’s not being rude or snapping at him, but there’s maybe even more sting to that kind of ice between them. 

“Okaycool... sh- should we bring Caleb some food?” He tries to recover quickly. 

He pulls away and retracts back as if he’d touched burning iron.

“Do you want us to go to this temple?”

Jester is clearly not happy with the idea, but this is important to Fjord, and she nods along and doesn’t question him. Because they are a team, right? And even if things feel wrong between them, Jester always wants to help him be happy. She loves him, after all, anger and all.

Nott: He’s being very nice today.

Jeter: Yes, I think he feels guilty.

Nott: I know he feels guilty. He asked you to, like, accompany him off the boat. He offerd to make a plate of food for you. He is being nice to me. Oh! Is he hitting on you?.”

Jester: No.

Nott: I think he’s hitting on you.

Jester: No, he’s not.

Nott: Are you sure?

Jester: ...yeah. 

SHE SOUNDS SO SAD, SO HEARTBROKEN, SO SURE THAT THERE IS NO WAY HE LIKES HER BACK. 

Travis: 

I SEE YOU. I SEE YOU TRYING TO HIDE THAT SMILE. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE MISTER. I KNOW.

I’m Liam. Liam is me. 

MOVING ON

Okay, so Fjord nearly pleads for the party to go to this temple, to see this through because he will otherwise live the rest of his life wondering what would’ve happened. 

And Jester, anger and distance and heartbreak aside, is still concerned over his wants and happiness:

“Plus, we still haven’t found out about Vandren.”

And you can see the effect immediately in how Fjord melts a little, opens up. 

“Right, but I- it could be fucking anywhere. I just wanna do this ‘cause we’re here. We can- we can worry about that later, it’s a wide wide world,” he says and there’s a particular softness in his voice that only comes when he’s talking to Jester. You can see he’s replying to her. Don’t worry about me. That will come. It’s fine.

Beau: So, we find the temple and then, what? I guess... go back to Nicodranas, first. 

Fjord: We might have to go through Port Damali, actually. Nicodranas is a little hot for us- but we could. We could let your mom know you’re okay. 

You can see the moment Fjord’s brain goes from ‘practical’ and trying to protect the party to ‘uh, Jester. Yep. That’s more important’.

LOOK AT THAT FACE!!!!

“I mean, I-I can message her. I’ve been messaging her.” 

She says but she looks so sad. 

And Fjord can’t take sad Jester.

So he goes SOFT

“Well, maybe see how you feel when we’re on our way back. We wouldn’t wanna go round the southern tip, that’s where the troops are heading. I feel like danger might be that way It might be best to go the way we came.”

LOOK AT THOSE PUPPY EYES.

And can I just say how I love that even when there’s tension and they are in the outs they still primarily care about each other’s happiness and want to help and this is both of them bringing up the other’s need to see their parental figure because they both know it’s important to each other, like, they are a team no matter what.

She brings up Vandren. 

He brings up Marion. 

They look after each other. Always.

“Okay.”

“So, maybe we get some supplies, something to buff us up a bit?”

“Some bees!”

“Some... bees, sure.”

At this point, this man would’ve gone head-on to a beehive if it meant Jester would forgive him. Whatever Jester wants she gets.

And then Fjord points out he wants to buy some healing potions and Jester shrugs it off and she says he has healers with them and Fjord —looking straight at her— says he’s had to use his potions in the party before. 

Because if the healers go down, if she goes down, if she had gone down during the dragon fight... without a potion he wouldn’t be able to help her.

Fjord is feeling so protective of her 

Which takes us to

“JESTER GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.”

Travis Willingham came after my whole life with that shout. 

He didn’t have to sound so desperate and worried. 

In the middle of a storm like the one in which he drowned, watching Jester from afar getting in the midst of a giant lightning ball, getting herself in danger, while he needs to keep the ship going and can’t do anything to help. 

But Jester doesn’t see this as worry, she sees it as anger directed towards her. 

“I didn’t know, I was trying to help!” She calls back. 

“Jester, what’s going on down there?!”

“Yasha fought a ball of lighting but everything is good, she’s good. We’re gonna get some tea, though. The mast looks like it maybe got burnt a little again.”

“Maybe see to the repairs first before you get your fucking tea!”

“Why don’t you stop being a dick?!”

Now, this is one of those exchanges that I’ve seen people talk about and complain about Fjord being rude, but listen the dude was stressed out, exhausted, in the middle of what’s probably a familiar storm, he had no idea what just happened and he just paid for this ship to get repaired. 

I think he’s got a right to be pissy. 

Plus, Jester’s reply is wonderful in that it gives us two things from her: 

a. Anger (only a taste of what, when released, will surely be “a sight to behold”)

b. Less distance between them.

You don’t call your crush a dick if you idolize them, but you also don’t act angry like this towards someone you’re trying to be cold to. This moment of banter between friends —because that’s what it is— almost feels like the air is a little clearer. 

I mean, the first 2 episodes Jester called The Traveler a dick a lot, too. You know, The Traveler? Her freaking deity? Her best friend? Her childhood crush???

To think this exchange would be somehow closing a door on the possibility of a relationship between these two would have to be based on misreading the way Jester interacts with people.

Overall, this episode gave us a very interesting shift in their dynamic. There’s a rift between them, sure, and it’s been building up steadily ever since they stepped into Avantika’s ship for the first time, and it will probably reach a breakage point as this arc comes to an end in January inside the temple.

I expect them to still stick by each other’s side and help each other as much as they can in there. Perhaps we’ll more of Fjord’s protective streak, hopefully, a callback to the first temple and the kiss between them, and most probably once Fjord gets the next sphere he will still find himself torn between the search for power and... everything else. 

With a timer on their shoulders to go back to the Empire now, though, things will probably smooth over once they are back on land. I’m hoping we’ll get some more Jester backstory if they go back to visit her mother, but it will likely not be that big, considering they have their sights set on checking on Beau’s family soon.

Things between them might not be the exact same upon their return, too much has happened and shifted, but I do believe even these disagreements are a way for the two of them to move forward and grow. It will help them see each other in a different light, getting to know each other’s faults and darkness, which will definitely bring them closer together in the end. 

At the very least, we got pining Fjord and distant Jester and that’s a fun new dynamic to explore. 

Can it be 2019 already???

[nacsygen]

here’s a fun fact i haven’t shared that’s been going on for a LONG time: at my work, for our logins, we have to change our alphanumeric passwords every quarter.  after my first password, which i wasn’t thinking about beforehand so just used an old reliable of mine, i thought “hmm, well, this will be easier to remember if i have a system.  hey...17 has thirteen members, and i know their age order, bc that’s how i learned their names to begin with.  i can start with one based on seungcheol and go down the line, and if i get all the way to chan, well, i’ll know i’ve been at this job too fucking long.”

welp.  i’m on minghao now.

however, with the way life is going, it’s looking like seungkwan’s gonna be my last Password Boy...bc YA BOI IS MOVING TO ATLANTA

probably. most likely.  by early summer.

it occurs to me that while i often share anecdotes of the past, i don’t make many posts about my current circumstances.  considering this is a new account, with far fewer followers and mostly mutuals, i think i’ll be making more blog-style posts here now.

for those who are newer or just haven’t seen me mention it, i’m currently a scribe, a transcriptionist/editor, working out of an almost call-center-like office in a florida college town.  thankfully, having also done call center tech support work, the difference is we just process recordings.  (dealing with tech support was so stressful, i got fucking scabies at 23 and missed a month of work, but that’s a story for another day). being a scribe is a phenomenally boring and isolating job, for the most part, and one i am very good at.  it’s a very safe job for me, in a lot of ways.  it sucks and i hate it, as one can find with basically all scribes throughout history, but it also takes a very particular set of skillsets, ones i happen to have, that make it easy as fuck.  there’s good and bad. i set my own hours, within reason. there’s very little management meddling as long as i don’t fuck up. i can easily be a bit late and never have anyone talk to me about it as long as i get my hours done.  however, it’s physically painful to sit and type for hours and hours, and psychically damaging, i’m sure, to spend hours a day wishing i was doing something else, to be paid a pittance (but it’s still above minimum wage so i guess i should be grateful?) as a skilled and experienced laborer to type all day about other people’s money, regularly including people who make as much in a month as i do in a year.  on the other hand, my gods are some of the oldest and coolest (my favorites are seshat and nabu), and at this point, after almost 4,000 hours of doing this, i’d have to actively work to get fired.  it’s safe.  there’s no opportunity for advancement, there’s no sense of my time meaning something in the grand scheme of things, there is no meaning at all.  i am grease in the wheels of capitalism.  it robs me of the energy and prime writing hours to use my hands to put down my own words, not someone else’s.  but it’s safe.

my apartment’s getting sold out from under me in a few months, and i was initially panicking, thinking about how i could find new roommates, where i could live that would be easily accessible to my work without a car, even looking up info about the apartment complex next door to it - which, between work, home, and publix, would limit most my external world to about a square mile.

then i was at work earlier this week and realized...why am i having so much anxiety about being able to keep a job i fucking hate?

change is terrifying to me.  it’s part of my coping mechanisms with my untreated adhd, i’ve come to realize (with the help of  friends who have diagnosed adult adhd and are like no, yeah, you absolutely have it).  i have to keep a very regimented rhythm of life just to function at all, which took me way too far into my 20s to even figure out.  i need to wake up around the same time every day, get dressed to leave at the same time every day, make sure my wallet is in the outside pocket of my bag, my key is in the front pocket, i’ve got my publix bag rolled up in my purse (and now that it’s winter a hat and gloves just in case), and my umbrella (also just in case), and my tablet that was a gift from my beau (loaded up with pages to read offline while waiting for and on the bus), and a paper book or two (in case for some reason i can’t read on the tablet), and a snack for mid-shift so my stomach won’t spend all day hating me.  all of this i verify both before i leave my room and before i close the locked front door behind me, especially the wallet and key.  

if this sounds dreadfully mundane, please understand, i had to learn to make this a regimented routine, every step of which i need to consciously account for even while half asleep, or else i will forget something.  more than once this compulsive checking to make sure i have my wallet and my key a second time before locking the door has saved my entire day.  all that before even leaving the house.  i had to learn this on my own to quiet the constant racing anxiety that put me in the ER a couple years ago with an inability to even keep down food because i had no idea how to be a functioning independent person.  and so much of that is mentally tied to this apartment, to this job, bc at 26 years old a couple years ago, after over a decade of battling depression and adhd and finally getting treatment for the first, at least, i was finally equipped to and also forced to become an independent human being in a capitalist society.  and it was terrifying.  but routine is safe, now.  i do the same thing every day during the week, at the same times of day, and sleep in a bit on weekends and do nothing.  time passes and passes.  i invent games and new routines for the day, meaningful boxes to tick, just to establish meaning back into my life.

i’m getting too far off track.  sorry, it’s the adhd.

the point is, change is terrifying.  but my beau - sorry for the awkward term, but “beau” and “sweetheart” fit us better than bf and gf, especially considering gender and long-distance stuff - told me as soon as i told him the news about the apartment that i could always come to live with him. i dismissed it as last resort at first.  like, we’ve known each other for almost 10 years, more couple-y than ever the last two, and he visits me when he can.  we’ve never lived in the same city, but in a sense, we both were there to watch each other grew up, despite that we first started talking as friends when i was probably 19 or 20 and he was 31.  now i’m 28 and he’s 40.  he’s inspirational to me, because for a long time, he was living the kind of life i am now - working bullshit jobs that don’t mean anything, working and living to survive, scrounging meaning and joy in independent scholarship and pop culture.  but somewhere in his mid-30s, he changed the whole direction of his life to throw himself into a career in film production.  it takes an extraordinary amount of self-motivation, courage, fearlessness, energy, time, EVERYTHING to live the kind of life he does, living the freelance life, going from shoot to shoot all across the southeast, constantly on the hussle.  but he has a career.  he’s doing something amazing that he’s good at and he loves, and bc he’s about the most likable guy alive, he has contacts everywhere, through all levels of the industry. and he’s just about the most capable person i know.

so when i had my realization, why am i so worried about keeping this job i hate, i realized swiftly on its heels that i was just terrified of change.  i wanted to keep things safe, even if it was a marginal existence - still, a safe one.  but change can also bring opportunity.  moving in with him wouldn’t just be an act of charity on his part, but helping the person he loves to make a meaningful change forward in life.  Atlanta is the capitol of the South.  i could get a job in publishing in atlanta.  i could get a job in the film industry in atlanta (fun fact: georgia is now the center of film production on the east coast.  he knows a ton of people that worked on stranger things!). i could write for a living in atlanta.  i could be a script doctor like Carrie Fisher, i could edit for a living for more than some finance office’s memoranda ephemera, i could have a life where i was able to create, and not just in my spare time and for fun.  i could live in atlanta, and not just survive. my beau, as mentioned, has contacts everywhere, and has already hooked me up with a couple writer-type-creators in the industry to mentor me.  i can do it.  i will do it.  even my mom said i’ll do better there than in the waypoint city i’m in now (and also helpfully reminded me she rents uhauls now as part of her own self-owned business).

tl;dr either in april or june, depending on what i can convince my current fairly indulgent landlord on, i’ll be moving to Atlanta and starting a whole new life.  my beau has a two-bedroom (thank god, bc if i’ve learned anything from long-term moved-in relationships is that i need my space, and he also agrees on that on his end) and his place is less than a mile away from a publix and also a main bus line and a MARTA station, so i could be easily independent as a non-driver (important not just from a relationship standpoint, but also bc realistically he’s only home about a week out of a month, cumulatively). also, he has a cat! a tabby boy named dalek! bc he’s a fucking nerd!

[onemuseleft]

Untitled Voltron fluff, 1/1, PG, Gen

Summary: It may or may not be Lance’s birthday back on Earth, but the paladins need a reason to celebrate.

@kurowrites wanted Voltron fluff, and it was Lance’s birthday last week, so the two combined in my head. 

“Huh,” Hunk said. “We've been here for what? Almost six months?”

Allura leaned forward. “I don't know how long a month is, but you've been here for approximately two hundred quintants."

"Yeah, that's about six months," Pidge said. "Why? Is that significant?"

"Well, if we've been here for six months, that means it's nearly the end of summer back on Earth."

Keith didn't look up from his book, the same battered collection of bound papers the Paladins had been passing back and forth amongst themselves for months. As Allura understood it, it was a fictional tale of a band of supernatural, blood-drinking creatures who masqueraded as human children in order to attend a primary education facility. Hunk had gotten very defensive about why he had been carrying it around in his pocket. "I'm not exactly sweating the back-to-school vibes, man."

"Of course you aren't, drop-out." Lance was lying on the opposite side of the couch with his head in Hunk's lap and his feet in Shiro's, both arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. He was still unusually pale, even after nearly ten hours in the healing tube, and his teammates were coddling him shamelessly.

"Technically we're all drop-outs," Pidge said.

"My mom is going to kill me," Hunk said. "Then she'll kill you," he added, poking Lance gently in one shoulder and ignoring his scowl. "Then she'll ground us both and your mom will just nod with that look she gets and it's not too late to surrender to the Galra, right?"

"If you surrender, I'll ground you," Shiro said.

"Man. Your 'Hunk I am disappointed in you' face is almost as good as my mom's." Hunk sighed. "I can't win for losing."

"We could still die in combat," Lance said without opening his eyes. His words were a little breathy and Allura thought he must be about to fall asleep. She debated whether it was worth trying to bundle him off to his own room before that happened, but neither Hunk nor Shiro seemed particularly alarmed at the prospect of being trapped there while he napped.

"If you die in combat, I'll still ground you," Shiro said. He gripped one of Lance's ankles and shook his leg gently. "Which means the next time you throw yourself headfirst at an exploding warship, you're on KP duty for a month."

Lance cracked one eyelid open just enough to give Shiro an exasperated glance. "It's not a suicide run if I don't die."

"Vote," Shiro said. "Everyone who thought that was a suicide run, raise your hand."

The entire team obediently put a hand up in the air, including Coran and Allura. Pidge raised both. "It was stupid, whatever it was," Keith said, one hand dutifully held up while the other held his book open in his lap.

Hunk rolled his eyes and held Lance down with a hand pressed against his forehead when he would have risen to the bait.

"You're outvoted," Shiro said. "KP duty. Don't pull a stunt like that again."

Lance groaned. "Unappreciated in my own time."

"Awww, we appreciate you." Coran leaned over the back of the couch to give Lance a toothy grin. "We appreciate how hard you'd be to replace if you got yourself blown to smithereens in combat. Blue Paladins don't grow on trees, you know."

"It took ten thousand years to find the five of you," Allura said. "We couldn't afford to wait that long again. You should all appreciate how essential you are to the resistance."

Shiro and Keith both straightened their spines and squared their shoulders, while Hunk ducked his head bashfully, and Pidge gave her a shy, proud smile. Lance turned his head against Hunk's thigh so he could look at her, his mouth carved in a reluctant smile. "I will admit," Lance said, "the lions seem to know what they were about when they picked this motley crew."

Hunk snickered. "Oh my god, dude, can you imagine if it had been Carter Beauregard out there in the desert with us that night? Can you imagine forming Voltron with him?"

"Okay, one: I'd actually surrender to the Galra before I let Beau-be-wrong poke around in my head-hole," Lance said. Pidge made a gagging sound from her place on the floor and even Keith was nodding in agreement. "And two: it never would have happened because if he'd stayed assigned to our team, he'd have just gone to Pizza Shack for the team bonding night and we'd still be on earth. Which would probably be enslaved, or just flat-out destroyed after the Galra made off with Blue."

"See?" Pidge said. "My lack of team spirit saved all our lives. Suck it, pep squad."

"Don't lie to the team man," Hunk said. "We'd have never invited Beau-be-wrong to Pizza Shack."

"Who's Carter Beau-be-wrong?" Shiro asked.

Lance made a terribly rude sound and Hunk made a gesture as if he were attempting to snap a tree trunk in half with his bare hands. Even Keith looked up from his book long enough to roll his eyes.

"He was the comm spec originally assigned to work with Lance and Hunk." Pidge adjusted her glasses, an expression of angelic innocence gracing her features. "Somehow he got reassigned at the last minute and I got placed on the team."

"Somehow," Shiro said dryly.

Keith lowered his book. "Wait, so you deliberately picked those two?"

Lance's eyes narrowed into a glare and Hunk planted his hand back on the Blue Paladin's forehead to hold him in place. The look he shot Keith was not especially affectionate. "Thanks a lot, dude."

Keith flushed pink and fumbled with his book. "I didn't - that's not what I was-"

"I needed a team that wasn't going to be dangerous," Pidge said. "I had zero Garrison training, remember? And I was trying to hide my identity. Hunk and Lance both had a reputation for being pretty easy-going, and neither one of them was a hard-ass who'd come down on me for every little protocol slip-up I made."

"Like saluting with the wrong hand," Lance said.

"Oh shut up," Pidge said.

"It seems to me you made the right call," Shiro said. "We all ended up on the team we were meant to be on." He grinned and shook Lance's ankle again. "Even if it took a little work to get us there at the same time."

Pidge grinned. "We were a pretty good team even then. I mean, we crashed all the time but the blame was pretty evenly spread."

"Vomit," Lance said in a booming, puffed up voice, "is not an approved lubricant."

Hunk shuddered. "I still hear his voice in my dreams."

Lance hummed and rolled onto his side, one arm hooked under Hunk's knee. His eyes were drifting shut again, and he didn't react when Shiro patted one of his legs. "Give it another six months," he said, and his words were definitely slurring a little. "You'll forget all about him." He sighed a little, body going boneless. "You'll forget everyone."

There was a moment of silence as the humans all looked sad and tired. Allura bit her lip, not sure what to say. "Is there a significance to six months?"

Hunk shrugged. He rested one big hand on top of Lance's head, fingers petting his hair. Lance didn't stir in the slightest. "Not really? I mean, it's a long time, obviously, but mostly I just remembered it was going to be Lance’s birthday soon." He tilted his head to the side. "Or, well, maybe? It's within the vicinity of possibly being his birthday soon. I think we missed it, actually."

"I wish we'd known.” Shiro's voice was warm and when Allura glanced over he was smiling in a particularly fond way. “It would have been good to have a reason to celebrate."

Hunk shrugged. "It's hard to keep track of time, honestly. I don't know if Lance has even noticed - he hasn't said anything, anyway."

"Lance miss an opportunity to celebrate his own existence?" Keith asked. "He definitely didn't notice then."

"Yeah, or he misses his family and friends so much he didn't want to think about it." Pidge shrugged. "I know that's how I felt about it. With Dad and Matt gone, and my Mom on Earth alone... It felt wrong to make a big deal out of it."

"What's a birthday?" Coran asked. "I'm assuming no one needs me to break out my old child-birthing equipment?"

"No," Shiro and Pidge said in nearly identical tones. "No," Shiro added, "that is absolutely not necessary. What equipment would you even - you know what, don't tell me."

"Birthdays," Pidge said, "are the yearly anniversary of the day you were born. So, for example, I was born on April third. So April third is my birthday."

"We had a similar tradition on Altea," Allura said. "At certain milestones in our lives we would engage in meditation and contemplation of what we had achieved in our lives and to determine our path to the future."

"Hmm, yeah. We mostly ate cake and exchanged gifts."

"So how old are you guys now?" Shiro asked. "I assume you guys are mostly the same age as Keith?"

"Lance and I are eighteen? Ish?" Hunk said. "Depending on the exact translation of time here versus on Earth, but yeah. I turned eighteen before we left Earth. Safe bet Lance is close, if he isn’t already."

"Pidge Gunderson is also eighteen," Pidge said with a grin. "Katie Holt is sixteen, though."

They both turned to look at Keith, who shrugged. "I was already eighteen when I ran into you guys out in the desert. My next birthday's not till the winter."

"We should do something," Shiro said. "Eighteen's a big occasion. I know Hunk missed out, and I at least missed Keith's birthday last year."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I threw one hell of a party in my shack in the desert. All the cool kids were there."

"That explains why Lance wasn't invited," Hunk said in a heavy whisper. Pidge giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Are we really going to throw ourselves a birthday party?" Keith asked. "I mean... don't get me wrong, Shiro, but that's kind of pathetic."

"So throw it for Lance," Coran suggested. "His is the only one currently occurring. And he's asleep so he won't even be able to argue about it."

Four sets of Paladin eyes settled on their sleeping teammate.

Hunk grinned. "Oh, Lance loves surprise parties."

Pidge grinned. "Shiro, I will pay you every penny I have if you implement birthday spankings."

Shiro smiled at her. "One: You don't have any money. Two: That would be wildly inappropriate for a team leader. Three: Your birthday will come again, young lady. Do you really want to start that precedent?"

Pidge sighed in exasperation. "Kill joy."

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Allura said. "It sounds like a perfect reason to celebrate. We could all use something to cheer us up a little." It could be a good team bonding opportunity as well, but she held that part back. They all tended to roll her eyes when she said the b-word.

"I've got some recipes I've been meaning to whip up," Hunk said. "I could put out a real spread."

Pidge bounced on her knees. "Oh, and I've got something that would make a really good present."

Keith shrugged. "I could decorate?"

Shiro cleared his throat. “All right. If we want this to stay a surprise we should reconvene after we get Lance back to his room. Say, twenty minutes?”

Keith and Pidge disappeared with Coran, and Hunk coaxed Lance awake and dragged him off toward their rooms, one arm slung over his shoulders to steady him. Shiro watched them go with an expression Allura had seen on him a dozen times before when one had had a close call. If she'd ever had any doubt that he was the true leader of Voltron, that look had long since erased it. No one else would care for and protect the paladins as he would.

“Is there anything Coran and I should know?” She stood to stand by his side. “It sounds like the eighteenth birthday is a significant milestone in your culture?”

“It's mostly a legal milestone,” Shiro said. He had one hand on his hip and stretched his prosthetic arm behind him, rolling his shoulder. “EarthGov considers you legally an adult at eighteen.”

She had known they were young, so it didn't come as a great surprise to learn they were only just now coming into their adulthood. “Is there a ceremony? A traditional gift?”

Shiro hummed. “Not really? Different cultures celebrate differently, of course, and some families have their own traditions. Mostly it's like Pidge said. We eat some cake, sing a little song, and the birthday kid blows out some candles.”

“It sounds delightful. I'm looking forward to being able to participate in one of your cultural celebrations.” Allura shook her hair back from her face, nearly dislodging one of the mice as it scurried up her sleeve. She caught it in one palm and lifted it up to her shoulder.

“We’ll have to do the same for you and Coran when your birthdays roll around,” Shiro said. He was smiling easily, arms resting on the back of the couch, legs crossed. She quite liked the easy way his mouth curved up in these moments between battle, when it was just them, just their team. Shiro the Black Paladin was an extraordinary man, of course, but Allura thought privately that she liked this Shiro even better. He was a different man when the Galra were far away and his crew was safe.

“I don’t know that I know when my birthday is, to be honest.” Allura sat down opposite him and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “I know the year, of course, and it was in the winter. But we don’t place much importance on the exact day. As young children we’ll mark the end of the first season, the turn of a calendar year, starting our studies, reaching physical maturity and reaching independence, but those are quietly acknowledged within the family.” She shrugged. “Beyond that, it’s rare to mark regular anniversaries except for large milestones. My father did throw a gala for my tenth anniversary, and again for my fifteenth, but that was a bit extravagant,” she added quickly. “Most people would have a private family celebration, but the royalty often keeps traditions long after the rest of the population has lost interest.” She sighed. “And of course, the war was at its height, so the gala helped distract people and give them something to celebrate.”

“I’m trying to picture little ten-year-old Allura at a gala,” Shiro said. He was smiling widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way she liked. “You must have been cute.”

Allura laughed. “I’m told I was quite charming at that age, but not even the royal family would throw a gala for such a young child. No, if I recall correctly, that anniversary was marked mostly by a sledding expedition down the north slope of the palace gardens.” She smiled, the memory bringing back a swell of fondness. “Coran steered me straight through some ornamental hedges and we ended up hiding in the kitchens while my mother calmed the gardener. One of the cooks brought us spiced cider and finger foods and we all ate dinner sitting on the floor of my father’s study.” It struck her for at least the thousandth time that it was all gone - the palace, her father’s study, the indulgent cook and the elaborate ornamental hedges. Her mother’s sweet voice and her father’s kind eyes. Of all her memories, only Coran remained.

Her chest grew tight and she blinked back the heat from her eyes before she could turn this moment into something bittersweet. “That young, it’s rare to do anything elaborate.”

Shiro was watching her with dark, knowing eyes his mouth twisted with a sympathy she knew contained no trace of pity. “I thought you said for your tenth anniversary there was a gala?” he asked.

“Oh, well, yes. But that wasn’t my tenth year.” His brow furrowed a little and she shrugged. “Remember, we don’t really celebrate the years, just the landmarks, so if we were going to celebrate an age instead of an event, it would be a milestone anniversary.”

“Okay,” Shiro said slowly. “So your tenth anniversary was when you were…”

“One hundred years old,” she finished. “Very few people marked such anniversaries, but as I said, the royal family often kept to old traditions. So every ten years or so there would be a celebration of some sort or another. I believe you call that span of time a decapod?”

Shiro’s eyes crinkled a little more. “Something like that. So you’re more than a hundred and fifty years old?”

“Rather a bit more than that. Of course,” she added. “Why, how old did you think I was?”

Shiro flushed a little, skin turning delightfully pink across his cheeks and nose. It most certainly did not make Allura’s stomach go all fluttery. What a stupid biological reaction. “I had assumed you were about my age, I guess.”

“How old are you?” she asked. She too had assumed they were somewhat of an age, but the way Shiro was acting she’d obviously misjudged.

“Twenty-three,” Shiro said.

“Oh, well that’s not so different as all that,” Allura said.

“Years,” Shiro said. “I’m twenty-three years old. Not decapods.”

Allura blinked at him. “You’re what?”

“Twenty-three years old.” Shiro’s smile shifted, became the tiny little curve of his lips that he wore when one of the paladins had done something foolish that didn’t warrant scolding.

“That’s- You’re-” Allura bit her lip. “But your years are significantly longer than Altean years, surely?”

“Not so much, actually.” Coran had returned from the kitchen at some point and stood leaning against the wall just inside the doorway. He twirled his mustache around one finger. “From what Number Five and I have discussed, I believe the standard Earth year to be approximately five-sixths the length of an Altean year.”

“But that makes you even younger!” Allura stared at Shiro, thoughts whirling in her head. “But that means… The paladins. They are eighteen years old?”

“More or less,” Shiro said. “Except Pidge, of course.”

“They’re children,” she said. “I have-” She sought out Coran’s gaze and found him watching her with a resigned sort of sympathy. Coran had known, she realized. Coran had known exactly how young the new paladins of Voltron were, had understood long before today what they had done. “Coran.”

“Now, Princess, they aren’t as young as all that,” Coran said gently. “Shiro is an adult by their reckoning, and the others as well, or very nearly so. They don’t live quite so long as we do, I’m afraid, so they cram all their childhood into just one or two decapheebs.”

“Yes,” she said, tongue strangely thick in her mouth. “Of course you’re right. Shiro, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“No apology is needed,” Shiro said. “And no offense was taken. I think this is just one of those cultural differences that pops up every now and then.”

Like how the paladins had found it so strange that the Alteans’ did not have a word that meant cousin, or the fact that she’d had to gently explain to Hunk that he was declaring his intentions to court Coran by bringing him breakfast in bed when he was sick, or the time that Shiro had threatened to rip off all four of the Miscketallian ambassador’s hands because Miscketallians had no concept of personal space.

But none of those had involved sending soldiers who hadn’t even seen their second anniversary off to war. On Altea she’d be imprisoned, tried for war crimes, stripped of her rank and titles.

But the paladins were not Alteans and this was hardly the first time she’d met members of a race that lived shorter lifespans than her own. The Olkari lived only a few decades and one of them had been a paladin of Voltron for more than thirty years, so this was hardly an unprecedented situation. It was only new to her, because she had never had to be the one to give the order before.

“Coran’s right, you know.” Shiro’s voice was calm and steady and Allura found herself clinging to it mentally as she tried to adjust her view of the world. “It’s not fair to hold us to your standards. Our species are very different in some ways. But just because an eighteen-year-old Altean would be a child, doesn’t make it true for a human.”

“You call them children all the time,” she said.

“Not where they can hear me,” he said. He grinned, quick and fond. “Well, not unless I’m trying to get them to behave.”

She shook her head. “I’ve been so hard on them.”

“And you’ll continue to be. You’re not a soft-touch, Allura. Not about Voltron, anyway. Or the war. And you shouldn’t be.” He leaned forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees. “This is a war against a madman who would gladly wipe out entire species to get what he wants. Right now the only people who can stop him happen to be very brave, very inexperienced and very young. And it’s hard to send them out there, believe me, I know. But they aren’t children anymore and we can’t take back the trust that we’ve placed on their shoulders. It wouldn’t be fair to them, or to the billions of people who suddenly have hope again now that Voltron’s back.”

She smiled, and it felt tight but honest. “I thought the inspirational speeches were my territory.”

His cheeks went a little pink again. “What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I apologize for my overreaction. I should not have assumed.” She exhaled heavily and smoother her hands over her skirt again. “I have the utmost faith in each of you, no matter your relative ages.”

Shiro grinned. “And I’ll remind them of that the next time you scold us for being unprofessional or weaker than an Altean toddler.”

“Well you are,” she said loftily, refusing to smile when he laughed. “Alright, enough of this. I’ve embarrassed myself quite enough, I think. Let’s get this party planned, shall we?”

****

It ended up taking three weeks to get the party planned to everyone’s (Hunk’s) satisfaction, though a ten-day long detour to help a Scaradosian mining colony deal with some pirates didn’t exactly speed things along. Lance still had no idea what they were planning and was growing increasingly baffled by the way conversation frequently came to an abrupt halt whenever he walked into a room. He was starting to sulk about it, and Allura was briefly concerned, but Shiro had explained the concept of a surprise party and sworn her to secrecy. He had made sure they did a better job of hiding their plans from Lance, though, which helped avoid additional sulking.

“We’re certain they’re adults on their world?” she asked Coran under her breath and he’d laughed so hard he had to pretend he was coughing to avoid Shiro’s glare.

Meanwhile Pidge was busy creating gifts - Shiro had made her promise nothing explosive, but Allura suspected there was quite a bit too much leeway left in there for someone as creative as their Pidge - and she had overheard Keith in an intense conversation with Shiro and Coran about what color balloons would be considered appropriate and whether they should match the lions. (“Black isn’t very festive,” Shiro said.)

Hunk had taken his responsibility as cake baker quite seriously and had spent days perfecting his secret recipe, though after he forced each of them to sample a dozen different versions of it, Allura wasn’t entirely sure it could be considered a secret any longer. Lance in particular found himself on the receiving end of Hunk’s culinary efforts, presented with various slices of cake and a glowering, flour-covered Hunk. If nothing else, it seemed to distract him from what the others were getting up to.

The kitchen only caught on fire once and if Lance and Keith started a snowball fight out of the fire retardant foam, well, at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves rather than using it as an excuse to fight. They inevitably teamed up against Shiro, who refused to fight back until Pidge ambushed him from behind and shoved an entire armful of the foam down the back of his pants, at which point he promptly annihilated all three of them, sparing only Hunk who was waving around a kitchen towel that was still slightly on fire and bemoaning the fact that his icing was indistinguishable from the foam.

“Leave it for Coran?” Pidge asked and Allura and Shiro had had to march all four of them back into the kitchen to clean up.

Beyond that, the party itself went off quite well, at least as far as Allura was able to judge. Keith’s decorations were colorful, though she couldn’t testify to their appropriateness (there were, at least, no black balloons, so it seemed he and Shiro had reached an agreement on that aspect). Hunk’s cake was the size of a small shuttlecraft and decorated with brightly colored frosting; set on the table around it were three wrapped packages that Pidge had produced, each one labeled with a name. Shiro had enlisted Coran’s help to have the holo display proclaim “Happy Birthday, Hunk, Keith and Lance!” (the order of the names had varied from one day to the next until Allura realized that whoever had tried Shiro’s patience the most recently was reassigned to third place, at which point she insisted it be in alphabetical order. Shiro had appeared sheepish, but unrepentant.)

Lance, dragged in by an enthusiastic Coran, took one look at the room and immediately went all soft-eyed and pink-cheeked. “You sneaky jerks,” he said, and his eyes were starting to get watery but his voice was pleased and he was smiling.

Pidge was jumping up and down on the couch chanting “presents!” over and over again. Hunk had Keith in a hug that looked a little bit like a headlock, but Keith seemed to be fine with it. Shiro clapped Lance on the back and drew him further into the room. “Alright, birthday boys. Let’s open some presents before Pidge ruins the couch.”

Lance got even more teary-eyed over the small music player Pidge had built for him, and Hunk practically vibrated with joy when presented with some sort of miniature gas torch that was somehow involved in food preparation.

“Humans have the strangest appetites,” Allura murmured to Coran, who nodded emphatically.

Shiro confiscated the portable grenade launcher Pidge had made for Keith. “What did I say about explosives? We had a deal.”

“The launcher doesn’t explode, Shiro,” Pidge said in the tones one would use with a  very small child. “I didn’t make him any grenades, he’ll have to go find those himself. In the locked cabinet at the back of my workshop, next to the Rover 3.4 prototype.”

She flashed Keith a thumbs up behind Shiro’s back that the black paladin clearly pretended not to notice, and all four paladins exchanged a conspiratorial glance. Allura sighed and made a mental note to find some extra training or chores for them the following day.

She leaned against Coran’s shoulder, just a bit, the way she used to when she was younger. “What would my father have done with them?”

“He’d trust the lions, I have no doubt of it at all.” Coran smiled down at her. “And he’d worry, and regret the sacrifice of youth, and work twice as hard to see peace in our lifetime.”

“Peace in their lifetime,” Allura said. She felt the pressure in her chest ease somewhat and if her throat was tight, her voice did not shake. “I will not accept otherwise. We will have peace in their lifetime even if I have to throttle Zarkon to death with my own two hands.”

“I’ve not the slightest doubt you will make it happen, Princess.” Coran nudged her with an elbow. “Now come on, I think it’s time to serenade them, and I’ve been rehearsing for quintants!”

“Oh, well, we can’t miss that,” Alllura said weakly.

Across the room Pidge was jumping on the couch again, and Keith and Lance were wrestling, each trying to shove the other’s face into the cake while Hunk stood over them and threatened them with a very large knife. Shiro was sitting on the couch, arms hooked over the back and legs stretched out in front of him, apparently unconcerned about Pidge flinging herself back and forth across him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Coran,” she said loud enough to cut through their nonsense. “But I thought this was an adulthood celebration, not a daycare.”

“Ah, Princess,” Coran said in a dramatic voice. “What could you expect? They are basically infants, after all.”

She caught Shiro’s eye for an instant, just to make sure, and he was smiling at her.

Then Pidge jumped off the couch and shoved a plateful of cake in Allura’s face.

“Food fight!” the green paladin bellowed and her teammates cheered as Coran dragged Allura down behind the couch.

On the far side of the room Shiro was snapping orders for cake cutting and setting up Lance and Keith to initiate a barrage while Pidge and Hunk sliced and plated. Lance and Keith were already bickering over who would score the most hits. Pidge and Hunk were betting on whether Allura or Coran would kick their butts first.

Coran gave her a wicked grin.

“No reason we have to sacrifice all of their youth,” Allura said cheerfully. “This is technically combat practice anyway, if you think about it.”

He huffed. “Well, let’s just hope they don’t remember the grenade launcher.”

From over the back of the couch they could hear Shiro’s exasperated shout. “Pidge, what did I just say about explosives?”

“If we retreat now we might live long enough to see our own birthdays,” Coran said.

“Nonsense.” Allura gave him her best conspiratorial smile. “If we can avoid getting sniped by Lance, I bet we can drop him headfirst into the cake. Keith might not even try to stop us once he realizes.”

“If we surrendered now I bet we could eat that cake.”

“Oh come now, Coran.” Allura reached up, snagged a piece of cake out of the air and pounced up to return fire. “Act your age!”