#hunk is done

[noobiestnoober]

How about some more Resident Evil shenanigans lol

You know that one video of interviewing animals with a tiny mic?

https://youtu.be/YOsVpoe5tzY?feature=shared

Imagine that but with Reader going around Raccoon City, interviewing random B.O.W.s with a tiny mic for fun

Ranging from Lickers, random zombies, Tyrants like Mr. X and Nemesis, G-Virus!William(any form), etc.

- @scratchingcatfics658

Wesker's Assistant Chronicles - OPERATION: INTERVIEW WITH A BIO-WEAPON (PART 4)

🎤 OPERATION: INTERVIEW WITH A BIO-WEAPON

“Wesker’s Assistant gets deployed with H.U.N.K. to interview Lickers, Tyrants, and trauma—with a tiny mic. What could go wrong?”

A/N: This unhinged one-shot was inspired by a brilliant anonymous request about interviewing B.O.W.s with a tiny mic—and I simply couldn’t resist. Instead of doing a standalone fic, I thought… why not unleash more chaos and fold it into the Wesker’s Assistant mini-series? The result? A deeply stressed H.U.N.K., a mic-wielding menace, and Nemesis showing up like a skincare-loving bodyguard. Thank you, anon. I had way too much fun with this. Hope you enjoy the carnage! 💉✨

🧠 Genres: crack, parody, horror comedy, found footage energy 📌 Featuring: H.U.N.K., Nemesis, Wesker (off-screen menace), and you 🎧 Keywords: chaotic assistant, tiny mic journalism, weaponized affection, emotional support mutant

Read the previous parts to discover more chaos:

Wesker’s Assistant Chronicles – Masterlist

A Wesker’s Assistant One-Shot Mini-Special

Classified Log – Subject: Umbrella Field Operation Location: Raccoon City Agent Assigned: H.U.N.K. Additional Personnel (Unapproved): Wesker’s Assistant

Wesker’s voice was crisp and cruel, but there was a glint of amusement buried under the disdain. “You disobeyed a direct order, HUNK.”

The man in black didn’t flinch. He stood motionless, arms behind his back, eyes unreadable behind his visor. His silence dared Wesker to continue.

“So I’m assigning you backup. Think of it as… a learning opportunity.”

HUNK’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. Still, he said nothing.

Wesker’s lips twitched, just slightly. “And by backup, I mean her.”

You waved from the back of the room, holding a sparkly pink notepad and a tiny USB mic. “Hi, I’ll be documenting the emotional depth of local B.O.W.s today. Technically, that’s not in the mission brief, but Wesker didn’t say I couldn’t. You know, for science.”

HUNK tilted his head half an inch. “You’re joking.”

Wesker wasn’t.

“And don’t lose her,” he added coolly. “I’ve got a bet going that she’ll outlive the Lickers.”

HUNK said nothing, but you were 90% sure that was his version of swearing internally.

Day One – 07:42 Hours

You were crouched behind a flipped ambulance, holding the tiny mic up like it was a sacred relic. “Excuse me, Mr. Licker, what does love mean to you?”

The Licker shrieked and pounced. A bullet cracked through the air. HUNK dragged you by the back of your vest like a misbehaving puppy.

“Target was hostile,” HUNK muttered, voice clipped, as he adjusted his grip on his weapon. A twitch of his gloved fingers was the only hint of the adrenaline spike he’d just ridden through.

“Yeah, but nonverbal,” you huffed, brushing glass off your sleeves. “I think we were getting somewhere. It twitched when I said ‘vulnerability.’”

HUNK didn’t respond. He just checked his gear. You noted he reloaded like it was an act of vengeance.

A second Licker hissed from a distance. You raised the mic again. “Sir, follow-up—do you feel misunderstood in a world that only sees your claws?”

Another shot rang out. You sighed. “Dramatic silence. I’ll allow it.”

You spent the rest of the day interviewing a rat. “Do you fear assimilation or celebrate mutation?” It squeaked and ran away. You nodded solemnly. “A true minimalist. Speaks volumes.”

Day Two – 15:19 Hours

Mr. X stood towering in a hallway like the world’s grumpiest bodyguard. You stood below him like an entertainment reporter at the Oscars.

“Sir,” you said with a dramatic flourish of your mic, “who’s your hat inspiration? Be honest—are you more of a bold accessory king or subtle fall layering enthusiast? Would you ever consider a scarf for fall?”

He blinked slowly. Then reached for you. HUNK’s boot collided with Mr. X’s ribs mid-grab. “Tyrant engaged. Extraction now.”

“Wait, I didn’t get his skincare routine—” you cried out, half-reach still extended toward Mr. X as you were yanked back like an unwilling correspondent mid-broadcast.

“You’re the extraction,” HUNK snapped, his grip firm and tone flat—though the barely concealed exasperation in his body language said he was regretting not just the mission, but every life choice that led to it.

“He has zero pores,” you muttered as you were yanked backward by your collar. “That’s not natural. I demand answers.”

You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see Mr. X pick up your mic and crush it in his hand like a soda can.

“My tiny mic!” you whimpered, hands outstretched like you'd just watched your firstborn get snapped in half. You dropped to your knees like a fallen soldier. “She was so young.”

“I brought backups,” HUNK said. You blinked. Did… did he plan ahead?

Later that evening, you crouched beside a cracked pillar, whispering into your mic, “This is ambient B.O.W. tension, take three. Very post-apocalyptic. Subtle dread.”

Suddenly, a guttural snarl echoed above. You looked up and saw a Hunter descending like a nightmare ballerina. You shrieked. Loudly. Your mic caught all of it in high fidelity.

HUNK blurred into motion, tackling the creature mid-air in a perfect arc. He slammed it to the ground with practiced ease and pinned it with one boot.

He turned his helmet your way, voice laced with dry fury. “Stop narrating your own death.”

Still breathless, you sat up, checking your recorder. “But it’s for the behind-the-scenes footage. The drama sells it.”

HUNK wiped gore from his visor and muttered something deeply judgmental into the comms.

Day Three – 23:04 Hours

You were pinned against a sewer wall while G-Virus-William stared you down with way too many eyes.

“Hi!” you chirped. “On a scale from 1 to ‘deep internal trauma,’ how would you rate your mutation?”

A tentacle shot forward. HUNK caught it mid-air and launched a flash grenade. “This isn’t an interview. It’s suicide.”

“And yet, somehow, I’m thriving,” you muttered, recording everything on your tiny mic.

“I swear to god if you try to rate his aesthetic—” HUNK growled, his voice nearly drowned out by another roar from William.

You didn’t even blink. With a flick of your wrist, you angled the mic toward the monstrosity and smiled brightly.

“Actually, I was going to ask if he regrets not moisturizing pre-transformation.” You gave a dramatic tilt of your head, like a talk show host pivoting into a deep question. “Because that forehead is doing a lot and none of it is exfoliated.”

Another tentacle slammed into the wall beside you. HUNK fired three precision shots and pulled you back just as acid splattered the cement.

“I am filing this under ‘survivor’s guilt journal entry #27,’” you said. “That’s a thing, right?”

“I’m requesting a transfer.” HUNK didn’t shout, didn’t growl—just muttered it with the numb exhaustion of a man who’d fought monsters, wars, and bureaucracy… but nothing like you. His visor tilted slightly upward as if appealing to a higher power that could make it stop.

As you were dragged to safety, you looked over your shoulder. “He didn’t even blink. That’s inner peace. Or rage. Maybe both.”

Day Four – 18:30 Hours

You found a lone zombie gnawing on a car bumper.

“Excuse me, sir, you’re on live audio,” you announced, stepping forward like a roving journalist with a death wish.

It moaned, lifting its head slowly, chunks of metal still wedged between its teeth.

“Do you have any thoughts on capitalism?” you asked with wide, journalistic sincerity, leaning forward like the zombie might have something meaningful to add. “Or perhaps the ethics of viral-based bioengineering?” You tilted your head, like this was the most natural small talk in the world between two intellectuals. The zombie groaned in response, tilting its jaw, which you interpreted as 'deep disapproval of corporate greed.'

It lunged with a guttural snarl. HUNK didn’t look up. His arm moved like muscle memory—one clean shot to the forehead. The body dropped.

“You’re asking philosophical questions to corpses,” he said dryly, voice edged with disbelief.

“And you’re expecting progress from bullets,” you replied, undeterred, wiping blood off your mic with a tissue printed with little skulls. “We all cope differently.”

“I’m asking the real questions,” you added, turning your mic back on with a click.

Later, you stood before a broken vending machine, one hand on your hip. “Mr. Machine, how does it feel to be the unsung hero in apocalyptic morale?”

The lights flickered once. Nothing dispensed.

“You’re losing it,” HUNK muttered behind you, voice muffled by sheer disbelief.

“I was never holding it,” you beamed, scribbling in your notepad: "Snack dispenser: emotionally unavailable."

Day Five – 13:45 Hours

You crouched beside the Cerberus, holding out a sparkly band-aid with a smile like you were offering candy to a toddler.

“Easy, buddy,” you cooed, crouching low and extending the band-aid like a peace offering. Your tone was soft, coaxing, like a kindergarten teacher talking to a tantrum-prone child. You gave a hopeful grin. “Let’s address those anger issues constructively—maybe with fewer teeth?”

It barked. Then bit your arm.

You screamed. “Rude!”

“Wow, so aggressive,” you muttered through clenched teeth, inspecting the bite. “We’ll circle back to trauma later. This feels unresolved.”

HUNK tasered the creature without hesitation. The Cerberus collapsed with a loud thud, still twitching. He turned and glared at you, his stance taut with disbelief. “You waved at it.”

“It wagged its tail!” you argued, holding up your now-bleeding forearm like evidence.

“That was bone displacement,” HUNK added flatly, eyeing your enthusiasm like it was a contagious disease. He didn’t even bother to look at the wound—his entire stance screamed “I told you so” without saying another word.

You huffed. “You say tomato, I say emotional wag.”

Day Six – 12:00 Hours

Wesker’s voice crackled through HUNK’s comms like static-soaked sarcasm.

“Sending additional reinforcement. Codename: Nemesis.”

HUNK froze.

“That’s not reinforcement. That’s escalation.” HUNK’s voice was tight, jaw grinding audibly through the comms as he stared into the middle distance.

You perked up instantly from where you were organizing gummy worm rations by emotional color spectrum—pink for betrayal, green for envy, blue for seasonal sadness. Your eyes lit up with manic delight. “Wait—Nemy’s coming?!” You scrambled upright, nearly knocking over your chart. “I need to find his loofah!”

Fifteen minutes later, Nemesis stomped into the ruined parking structure, dragging a rocket launcher and blinking affectionately. You waved. He blinked again. Then crouched down and pulled something out of a pouch. A mini scented candle. Lavender.

“He remembered!” you gasped, clutching your mic.

HUNK stood off to the side, arms crossed. “You have a history with this thing?”

“He’s emotionally complex,” you said proudly, lighting the candle. “Also, he likes cucumbers and pink bath bombs.”

Nemesis grunted. “STARS.”

You handed him a fresh mic with a glittery sticker on it. “Want to co-host?”

He accepted it gently between two claws. HUNK visibly aged ten years.

Two hours into the mission, Nemesis had carried you bridal-style across a collapsed fire escape, intercepted a Licker mid-air with one hand, and body-blocked a flaming truck for you.

HUNK, panting and covered in soot, stared at the two of you. His helmet slowly tilted upward, as though looking to the sky and asking whatever gods were out there, “Why me?”

“You were supposed to be bait,” he muttered, voice raspy with smoke and barely-contained despair.

You patted Nemesis’s arm with affection and placed a party hat delicately atop his head, the elastic struggling to stretch under his mutated chin. “He’s my emotional support weapon,” you declared, as if that explained everything.

Nemesis gave a low rumble, the kind of sound that could collapse drywall—but this one somehow sounded pleased.

HUNK’s arms dropped to his sides, as if the sheer absurdity had sapped the last of his will to fight. “You’re both banned from field operations.”

You blinked innocently. “Wesker doesn’t have that authority.”

“He made the authority,” HUNK replied, with the bitterness of a man who once believed rules could still protect him from madness.

Final Log – 04:01 Hours

You and HUNK sat in silence, bloodied, burnt, and absolutely done. He stared ahead—posture rigid, visor dark, as if reliving every explosion, scream, and unsolicited interview question from the past six days. You sat next to him on a broken crate, legs swinging idly, sipping juice from a Capri Sun like a child on a field trip.

You side-eyed him. "You know, you could’ve let me die."

“I tried,” HUNK replied, his voice tired and gravel-worn, like the statement cost him something personal.

“I know. I appreciate the consistency,” you said with a nod, as if he’d handed you a bouquet instead of a confession of attempted negligence.

“…You’re out of mic batteries,” he added after a beat, already bracing for the answer.

“I have more in my sock,” you replied cheerfully, pulling a triple-pack of color-coded backup mics from your boot like it was a clown car.

He didn’t even flinch. He just sighed. Loudly. Visibly. Existentially.

“I named your rifle,” you said softly, as if confessing a deep, emotional truth. You looked at him with all the sincerity of someone unveiling a masterpiece, eyes wide with pride and a hint of chaos.

HUNK finally turned his head toward you with slow, aching deliberation. “What.”

“Baby Boomstick.”

There was a beat of silence so heavy it could've been listed as a combat hazard.

“You’re insane,” HUNK muttered, almost admiringly, like one might describe a wild animal that knows how to open jars.

“Emotionally enriched,” you corrected, sipping your Capri Sun with serene finality.

He stared into the abyss. The abyss stared back. You offered it a sticker.

Post-Mission Debrief

Wesker reviewed the footage: Lickers shrieking. Mr. X walking away in visible confusion. William growling into a mic. Zombies moaning under poorly timed interview attempts. Nemesis lighting scented candles. HUNK exhausted. You giggling.

He threw the tablet across the room. “She’s still alive.”

Moments later, another report pinged in. Wesker squinted at the monitor, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even open the file—just sighed like a man who had lost a chess match to a pigeon.

“I should’ve sent her to Antarctica.”

“Subject attempted to interview T-078 Tyrant with the phrase: ‘You strike me as a misunderstood romantic. Thoughts?’”

Wesker groaned into his hands. “She’s still alive and spreading quotes.”

(Interview rating: 10/10. Would annoy again.)

Read Part 5 >>> HERE <<<

[sunburstsandmoonshadows]

ok but i've heard that WAX STAN 3: THE THREEQUEL: THIS TIME IT'S IMPERSONAL is the best out of the franchise

[mikoworks]

Curly mood

[heynhay]

merry Christmas klancers 🎅

[surreal-duck]

some business to take care of

[squeakyleftsneaker]

Some Style, Shit Substance: A Very Voltron Postmortem

A tale of squandered potential, and the necessity of multiple drafts.

For the past 3 weeks and change, I have been consumed by watching and taking copious notes on the 2016-18 reboot of Voltron, Voltron: Legendary Defender. This has been a truly baffling journey for me, I won't lie. Having some familiarity with older incarnations of Voltron I went in with a few expectations. That said, fairly immediately upon seeing the first episode, I realized it wouldn't be appropriate to view this show through that lens. Instead, I decided to take it for what it is.

In retrospect I kind of wish I hadn't. Because maybe I would have some residual fondness still for the original shenanigans. But still.

In the spirit of fairness, of experiencing a reboot through new eyes, and because I do not have the time to do an exhaustive and detailed rewatch of all other incarnations of Voltron for this purpose, I will, however, still be taking this show in isolation. I think that's only fair, and I won't be summarizing the show in any detail here either because, well, I'm worried about the length of this as is already. I will be going into this show from the granular to the very broadest of strokes, so obviously spoiler warning for all of this goes without saying.

The myriad issues with this reboot have somewhat ruined my life. I have been consumed by What If thanks to this show. I am haunted by this show. I wish I could tell you it was bad in a boring way. And it is at times. But it is also bad in several very interesting ways to me and so I cannot let this go. I am a dog with a bone. Or just boo boo the fool. I took all those notes and I want to do something with them. Dear reader, I have written so many words about this show without any order and the lack of order and cohesion rocks me to my core. So enough preamble, let's get into it.

It is very important to me to note that some of these characters lack last names.

Something like this seems a rather small quibble to open on. After all, the fandom assigned them some last names anyway, why should we be bothered by Hunk, Lance, and Keith never getting last names? And I think you'd be right to question the methods to my madness, this is a very small place to start, but I think it's a very illustrative place to open this show up.

Three out of the five characters from Earth that are at least nominally the protagonists of this show lack something so biographically simple as a last name. To me, in another context, an oversight I could forgive, I suppose. But you have to wonder, when Hunk and Lance's families are shown, when Lance's sister becomes a named and somewhat central character later in the show, why wouldn't you slip it in?

This is such a no brainer. When you're giving side characters who will only briefly appear, such as the MFE pilots Ryan Kinkade, Ina Leifsdottir, Nadia Rizavi, and James Griffin, full names, to not do so for your protagonists is just an odd oversight.

There's character details that simply don't make sense from moment to moment to moment. But the main thing that bugs me is that the characters, simply put, don't speak to each other. Whenever we see them during downtime, they're apart from each other. We're not watching a plucky group of upstart humans whisked into space with an alien princess to become friends and save the universe. We're watching a main cast with a level of civility comparable to coworkers in different divisions of a big corporation. These guys do not know each other.

Think I'm joking? Try to think of them hanging out. Just hanging out in the background of a shot, spending time together, chatting, anything, really. Or even better, when one character is missing, what happens?

Well you get your first real taste of the utter lack of bonding just two seasons and a bit of change in. Shiro dies, and not one character has a real moment that we saw on-screen to reminisce about with him. Not one. Keith goes away to the Blade of Marmalade and no one really says they miss him, nothing really changes in the team dynamic. Allura dies at the end of the show and we see the characters reminiscing and, well, you guessed it! It's not personal!

These people are not even friends, let alone a found family.

These people are strangers to each other, and to us! We don't know what they like to do, beyond Hunk being of course made to Love Food to the point where the show almost forgets that he's supposed to be a mechanic until they need someone to argue with Pidge.

I couldn't tell you what Shiro likes to do. I couldn't tell you much about Lance's background beyond "He has a big family. He's future-Cuban." I can't tell you anything about Hunk beyond "He's scared, he likes food, and he's a cheap tool for mean-spirited physical comedy for the writers." Pidge is Smart and Always Right. We know about Keith's backstory because he and Shiro share that much as a central focal point for the show until the show forgets about it (and put a pin in that, dear reader, we'll get there).

And lest I be accused of being a relentless hater, I'm being hard on it here because the show itself has a really great example of an interpersonal relationship done right. At least for most of it. From the outset of the first episode we know Keith and Shiro are friends from before all of this. We see them interacting in the background, we see how they interact with each other is different to how they interact with the other characters!

Moreover, the way their relationship evolves throughout the show has bearing on the actual story being told! Shiro's willingness to blow through an alliance with the Blade of Marmora for Keith, Keith's no-holds-barred determination to save Shiro, the way the story has them evolve from a more imbalanced relationship to ultimately becoming equals when they fall together at the cloning facility. It matters for the story that these two are the way they are, and the plot changes their relationship to each other.

And then the show threw all the goodwill from that away in the final two seasons where they effectively do not speak. So we don't even get to see any ultimate culmination of what that all meant for six seasons. And even worse, there's no other paladins that interact with each other. So here we are, by the time we reach season seven, none of the paladins talk to each other anymore.

It's why the romances in the show feel so cheap. There's no consistent characterization, there's just a bullet point or two for what each character Does. In terms of character, we have no character.

This makes a plausible romance for any of these characters really fucking difficult to write. They just don't talk to each other! We see them in meetings, I guess, where we as viewers are getting valuable exposition about the plot that has happened offscreen (and I will get to that, but we're starting on a foundational level), but nothing really outside of it.

The romances in this show are, frankly, messy. Lance will do a total 180 in scenes whenever they need him to, going from a bit goofy to wildly insecure to someone speaking like he's been pulled out of a fourth-rate self published poetry collection, just so they can have Allura seem attracted to him.

Unfortunately it also just makes him deeply, deeply boring.

Allura is flattened down for the plot. She simply must fall for Lotor, and instead of doing so in a believable fashion, her rougher edges are softened away off-screen. Her trust is not earned, it is instead simply placed in Lotor by the writers. Lotor, a character who we simply never have reason to trust because there is no effort to make him trustworthy. They'll show us his childhood, and yes, this could make him sympathetic, but at no point could a viewer truly believe he wouldn't betray the paladins.

As much as he used Allura in the narrative, the writers used her more. Flattened out, shrunk down, and ultimately, I think the worst part is that she wasn't the only one.

A collection of odd and counterproductive choices are made here.

There's any number of decisions made in this plot that are, overall, baffling. For me the most obvious choice would be having Allura pilot the red one once Shiro dies. They establish Allura to being a more instinctive pilot than the others, they establish that she and Keith have a lot in common– and they're both emotionally driven. They establish that it was her father's lion.

And then they have her pilot the blue lion. The blue lion which was kept on earth and is being piloted by the everyman character. The blue lion which is supposed to be an emotional foundation. But Allura doesn't necessarily fill that role in the team! She pushes back against Keith's leadership, rightfully, she fulfills a narrative role that is to push the team, she's impulsive, she's taking actions that are more aligned with how the show itself describes the red lion and Lance is, within the limited degree to which they remember to keep him consistent, in a much more supportive role to the team still.

We're splitting the most human (to us) character from the most human lion! The one with the connection to Earth! Our point of entry into space in the exact same way Lance is our point of entry into this world! We're putting Allura in a role that's not aligned with what she actually does! Why?

It could be an interesting subversion of the trope if they did something with it but they just don't. At no point is that interrogated. You'll see this keep coming up over and over again. And I remain firmly convinced that had this show had more time in development, someone would've come up with this very solution. Time and time again, you see moments that could've been more impactful had she been in the red lion due to her personal connection to it.

There's other odd instances where characters are put at odds with what we know of them. One interesting one for me was making Keith a massive hypocrite and doing nothing with it. Keith who screws everything over to go get Shiro tells Pidge off for going scorched earth for her loved ones. Why? Will they address this tension? Nope!

At the same time they position him as the one who needs to open up and stop fighting with Lance in spite of the fact that to him, Lance is effectively a stranger and Lance is the one who instigates every time. The show also seemingly forgets about this antagonism when convenient but will bring it back every now and then for cheap comedy.

It's fine to have shifting dynamics! But we don't see them shift at all! One moment it's one thing the next it's the other and we still don't feel like these characters are anything other than strangers to each other.

Shiro tells the paladins to spend time with their loved ones before the Atlas launches in season 8. Keith is completely alone. Shiro is completely alone. Lance and Allura go on a date to meet his family where Lance speaks to her in a way that is entirely unlike anything you could reasonably believe. Allura is softened down to an insecure and uncomfortable girl in need of comfort. They took the dynamic between them of Allura being confident and Lance being flirtatious but ultimately insecure and made it so that Lance is a generic romance man and Allura is just so unsure and meek that she needs him.

With all due disrespect, I'm rolling my eyes.

Speaking of eyerolls we simply need to address the Curtis in the room. Who is he? I don't know! You don't either! We know nothing about this cardboard cutout Shiro marries. I wonder what the divorce rates are in this universe.

I'm sorry, I know this is mean, but I feel rather insulted by the show. They spend a rather considerable amount of time getting Shiro to a point where he seems to be an equal to the paladins rather than forced to be their leader, and then he just doesn't speak to them for the final two seasons.

We spend all this time altering the power dynamic for nothing. We introduce the idea that Shiro had difficulties with a relationship, he felt grounded, he felt the need to push past his limits because others were imposing them on him. I'm not asking for Adam to get back together with him in the end, I think that sort of thing would've been unrealistic– it ended messily and before extremely traumatic events for both of them. That's a soup of bad idea right there. But closure for the two of them wouldn't have been a bad idea.

Well. It wouldn't have been a bad idea for Adam to live full stop. If only they hadn't killed him then maybe they wouldn't feel the need to rush a Happy Gay Wedding for the end credits. Shiro's character arc isn't fulfilled by romance! The show tells us he wanted to be free of expectations placed on him, the show strips him of all meaningful connections he might have, and as he finally gets to a place where both of those things can be fulfilled they shunt him off to the side.

But I guess we get two men kissing on screen? I really don't think I have anything kind to say about the show thinking that that's a substitute for a meaningful queer relationship. But with how they wrote seasons 7 and 8, there was simply nothing else they could have done without major changes.

I really think this show could've used several major changes.

It's just not shaped right, I'm afraid.

In the very first season of the show we get multiple multi-episode story arcs. This is a lot. They're very plot heavy episodes. This means the bulk of the first season is not spent establishing the characters, making them interact and setting the tone and overarching themes of the story through episodic plots.

I cannot overstate how difficult this makes setting up the remainder of the show. We enter season two with fuzzily defined characters, with a plot that is already in motion but not well established, and an utter lack of conventions set by the world.

No wonder there's a slew of exposition in the show. There's so much exposition I complained about it nearly every episode. This is bad for our immersion a lot of the time! Very early in the show we're told about the Balmeras and every detail about them. I cannot even begin to express how impactful that information would've been had it come from interaction.

The show spends a lot of time telling. Which, I thought the point of a show is, well, to show.

This bleeds over from the characters, where we're told they're friends but I struggle to see how they could possibly be when we never see them together. We spend so much time in the Castle of Lions, and I frankly couldn't tell you a personal thing about it! They have to give up the damn castle and we as viewers feel almost nothing because it's just not something we interact with beyond being on the bridge for an exposition dump briefing before an episode. It just robs us of the opportunity to connect.

We spend so much time with side characters in the final seasons of the show the main characters get lost. Because they have the exact same degree of development and depth as the side characters. We fundamentally do not know anything here.

There is a world where this show is shaped right– the first season is getting to know characters. Spend that time on episodic and self-contained adventures! Then give us the big tonal swing for the season 1 finale. Season 2 can stay somewhat similar, I think it really hit a good note there, just cut down on the exposition and definitely let us come to the realization of how Zarkon is tracking them rather than just telling us. Build it up like a horror movie. Give us the big sense of loss when they lose Shiro because we've spent time seeing him interact with other paladins! Then they can relate to Keith.

GIVE ALLURA THE RED LION for fucks sake it's an easy fix! Have Lance work through his feelings of insecurity with reference to Keith without having to step into his shoes! Have Keith come to the realization on his own that once they find Shiro, he'd need to step down.

For fucks sake the clone needs to feel insidious. Don't TELL us he's a clone from the start! Have him interact in ways that are slightly off. Have the characters actually notice, have them miss Keith or even just think about him every now and then when he runs off. Start building trust between Allura and Lance, make us trust Lotor before showing us what he's up to (and maybe explore the idea that Voltron is allying with the heir to the Galra throne). Address the character moments.

Seasons 7 and 8 are beyond rushed. I am fully on board for them doing a hero's cycle return to Earth, but my god they lack structure in both of these seasons. Focus. Focus on your main characters, focus on both the ways in which the Earth has changed but they have too. Let us see more of Lance's family and the ways they relate to him have changed! Let Hunk not be a cheap joke please! Maybe let Keith NoLastName and James Griffin work it out on the remix.

Give Shiro something to do please. Shiro and Keith in the final two seasons are friendless and Shiro gets to do fuckall. Keith is pretty damn useless in the show's finale too. Give them something to do! And please, please, please, remember your ensemble cast needs to interact.

What are we doing here, Bob?

The overarching plot of this show is a bit muddled. Ultimately you can, if you try your best, piece together the semblance of a plot as needed– there is a universal threat from the corruption brought in by the cosmic rift, and it must be fixed.

But that's kind of weird, isn't it? It negates the damages done by Zarkon's empire. It even negates Lotor's colonial impulses. It takes away from the Earth, it takes away from Sendak.

And it takes away from all of that not because it exists, but because it removes the source of their wrongs from their own choices. It removes agency. It cuts down our antagonists! Our antagonists are no longer persons, instead our principal antagonist is. A magical blob of evil from the space between dimensions. A primordial evil. One that robs everything that's come before it of intention.

The pacing is all over the place, not aided by the extensive amounts of exposition in every episode. It's not an unfixable show, but in the ways that the season structures are all off, so too is the thematic undertone of the show.

The show's ultimate conclusion brings us to leave one of the main characters behind, because what does Shiro even do right now. Keith is ultimately pretty useless, and really all of the paladins lack agency, even Allura, because they're following the whims of a magical evil space blob. Great. That's a great way to conclude.

And the show looks at Allura, at the first incarnation where she's not represented as white, at this woman who has lost everything and come out fighting on the other end, at this woman who they made fall for a colonizer, and decides that the best thing she could possibly do for the universe is die.

This Black woman must die to fix the sins of her people, that corrupted the villains. You see, it's really the woman's fault. It was Eve that brought Adam the apple. The show at no point questions that. The show concludes, ultimately, that it is a good thing for a woman to die for this. That's a great note to end your story on, I guess.

The assortment of errors tells a story I cannot endorse

To do something worthy, in Voltron, is to sacrifice yourself. Lance does it. Keith does it. Shiro succeeds at it. The show's conclusion is that Allura can only save the universe through her death. Fatalistic, and I can only hope that theming was unintentional.

But there's another undercurrent that unsettles me in the show, with the status quo of the universe. It's the unquestioning belief that Lotor was doing something right at all. It's the unquestioned reality of hereditary monarchy. It's the unquestioning position of superweapons as a moral necessity.

Voltron is a weapon, made of smaller weapons. Voltron used to be the collection of the powerful. Though the show gestures at Zarkon considering there to be inferiors and superiors, it sure as hell does a fantastic job at reinforcing the notion. The Earth is governed by military authority. The Altean castle is weaponized. There is no Eden for Voltron, there is no peaceful before time. We learn the Alteans are supposedly diplomats and not warriors and yet there is a need for diplomacy as organized by a hereditary monarchy, and a desire to make a superweapon from an unknown material.

I keep emphasizing that Voltron is a superweapon because when Lotor ascends the throne and uses Voltron to his political aims, that should matter! There is an inherent tension with a superweapon being considered a symbol of peace. A tension exacerbated when it aligns itself with the heir to a colonial empire.

A colonial history that the show itself never questions. When the paladins help to fix a shield on a "labor planet" at no point do we think about what the phrase labor planet implies. In episodes where they're trying to rescue the aliens, very little time is spent actually getting to know the aliens. We have little time for sympathy for the colonized.

We see the Voltron show, pure pageantry at the service of ego, juxtaposed with real loss of life, from the Blades, from the rebels memorialized with the phrase "The path to freedom is won through sacrifice." And then there is nothing to indicate those two things are in tension.

We see Honerva corrupt her husband in something that could almost be a parody of Adam and Eve. He is, of course, narratively redeemed in the end in spite of killing countless people, in spite of effectively committing a genocide of the Alteans. Honerva must be fixed by another woman, a woman who can only do the greatest good for the universe by dying.

I am not inclined to be charitable about these decisions.

Does the show realize it's in tension? Does the show realize it is telling us as viewers that the powerful are sympathetic, that we normal people are to be sacrificed, that the military and weapons are an ultimate good, that good and bad are intrinsic to a person and not

I'm not going to shy away from the fact that it leaves a foul taste in my mouth.

Ultimately I don't think any of the more insidious parts were deliberate. We fall back on tropes, on the stereotype, on the language of a genre that has been largely determined by the society that formed it (psst just a hint for this kind of science fiction, that's a lot of white dudes), when we don't watch ourselves. And how can you keep a wary eye on plot, on structure, on the nuances of the politics of the world you're writing, when you're taking three years to put out eight seasons of this show. That's not enough time for a PhD in my field of study! Let alone a long-term science fiction show with a writing team, animation team, etc.

When you rush, you say things you don't intend to. We all are guilty of this. If you think you're not you're probably lying to yourself. This show was so rushed I'm not at all surprised it turned out the way it did.

I'm just disappointed.

For all its flaws this show displays technical proficiency in a lot of areas. The animation is beautiful, they consistently write and animate great fight scenes that make wonderful use of vivid and unique environments. I think that Keith and Shiro as an interpersonal dynamic for the first six seasons of the show is terrifically done in places. I think the fight between them at the cloning facility is probably the peak of the show in writing and animation. Spectacular, heart-wrenching, and serves to bring them to an equal playing field.

Some moments of the show are genuinely funny. The writers have a good grasp on humor when they're not doing mean-spirited physical comedy with Hunk. There's a lot to like about the potential of Voltron. The voice acting and performances are great! I think they got a really lovely cast together and they play off of each other well!

It's just impossible to write something of this scale in three years and have it work out. It's impossible because we need time and space away from our writing to think about what it needs changed. We need to take the time to explore other ideas.

I love science fiction. I will always love science fiction. And this show was made by people who are good at what they do. They just didn't have time.

El flojo trabaja doble. By not drafting over and over again, they made it almost impossible to salvage this show. Take more time, the work in the later seasons to bring about a fulfilling ending would've been achievable.

As it stands the show is a colossal wreck. A tale of a lot potential, a sea of good ideas, and a road to hell paved with good intentions.

[bayetea]

percy has always been so sweet and vulnerable with hazel in particular 🥺 I really love that about him

[stinky-ahh-gay]

uhhhh… HI THERE!

Been a while since i posted, opsie- BUT! I have here my dear Voltron (with a pepper of Klance) mixed with my latest hyperfix (The Magnus Archives is a podcast created by Rusty Qui-)

So uhm, enjoy! And i will disappear for the next decade (/hj)

i really should post more… i do draw but i always forget to post 😭

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

“You did what.”

Keith coughs. “We, uh, we got married.”

“Accidentally,” Lance pipes up, because he can see the Stress Muscle in Shiro’s eyebrow start to twitch, and doesn’t want him to start freaking out which will make Keith get defensive and put his foot in his mouth — he’s as bad as Lance, really — and then the whole thing will be more difficult to handle than it already is. “It’s a whole big thing.”

Shiro stares at them for several minutes, then sighs, sitting heavily onto the kitchen floor with his bowl of goo. He shovels a bite in his mouth, then reaches blindly for the intercom switch on the wall, slapping around until he finally manages to hit it.“Team,” he says tiredly as it crackles to life, “please make your way to the kitchen. Keith and Lance made something stupid again.” He drops his hand back down, returning his full attention to his goo, committing to pretending Keith and Lance aren’t in the room.

Which.

Fair.

“I resent that ‘again’,” Keith mutters petulantly. “We’ve been remarkably well-behaved lately.”

“No,” Shiro says, without a second of hesitation. He doesn’t bother arguing.

It doesn’t take the rest of the team long to get here — Hunk and Allura have appeared to have sprinted, drama loving bastards — and they join Shiro on the floor, turning expectant eyes to the Red and Black Paladins. After a look of deliberation, Keith and Lance sit down, too.

“Tell them what you just told me,” Shiro says, voice garbled through his food goo.

Here’s the thing.

Lance knows he should feel nervous. Or worried, or scared, or embarrassed, even, about getting literally magically bound to his self-proclaimed rival (once a rival always a rival) because he got brained by the jacket that he left unattended. It is, objectively, a sitcom-level ridiculous situation. He knows that he is going to be shamed, and possibly gently bullied.

However.

Keith’s hand still grips him tightly. Lance doubts the Black Paladin has noticed, but every so often he runs his thumb over his knuckles, and every time he does his lips twitch up in the slightest smile. Lance couldn’t feel anything but ludicrously happy if he tried.

Plus. He and Keith just, like, made out in the hallway a bunch. If Lance is being honest, his brain is still kind of fuzzy. He’s half focused on everyone else and half focused on replaying the feeling of Keith’s hands pressed to his cheeks, cupping his face, kissing him like he was drowning and Lance’s lungs were the only place he could get oxygen. He’s still kind of lightheaded, and keeps having to fight off giggles.

“We got married,” Lance says, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face.

As much as the team is used to their shit, that visibly shocks them. Coran squints at them and types something rapidly into his tablet. Pidge cusses and hands Allura a handful of GAC, which she pockets with a cackle. Hunk is the only outlier, the only one with a reaction Lance can’t place: he straightens up, looking between them with narrowed eyes, mouth flattened into a line.

“Explain yourselves.”

“It was an accident,” Keith assures, much like Lance did earlier. But instead of expressing is understanding, Hunk’s eyebrows only climb higher. Lance gets the same distinct feeling he gets when he knows he pressed the Wrong dialogue option in a video game.

“I hope you didn’t marry my best friend on accident, Kogane.”

Lance puts his head in his hands. He can physically feel the panic leeching from his husband’s (!!) body. He considers all the ways he can murder his best friend and make it look like an accident. He honestly doesn’t think he’s ever been this mortified in his life.

“No no no, I didn’t mean accident, well I guess I did —”

“Hunk,” Lance says through grit teeth. Hunk gives him a ‘what did I do’ look, stubborn set to his shoulders. Lance vows to take a seam ripper to his shirts.

“— like it was technically not a planned sequence of events, per se, if you want to look at things technically —”

Hunk continues to stare at Keith with his eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. Lance digs around in his pockets for something to chuck at his face.

“— if it went according to how I’d planned it in my head there would be more flowers involved, probably, and we’d be on Earth at least, but it kind of just happened, you know? It was so fast I swear I couldn’t have done anything —”

Lance tears his gaze away from Hunk and stares at his rambling mess of a husband. Any annoyance practically evaporates from his system as the implications of Keith’s words set in.

“You thought about marrying me?”

Keith flushes redder than he already is. “I’m not answering that.”

Lance barely manages to shove down the giddy laughter that bubbles up his throat. Keith, his crush, his rival, his husband, spent time daydreaming about marrying Lance. And kissing him, probably, and holding him and building a future with him. Keith maybe even got just as flustered as Lance did when they got too close, back off when sparing got a little too close, breathing heavy. The knowledge is exhilarating. Lance leans over, pressing his beaming smile to Keith’s lips. He softens immediately.

“I thought about marrying you, too.” He smirks. “Among other things.”

Keith’s gloved hand finds it’s way back up to his cheek, for the second time today, and the blood rushing in his ears downs out the sound of Pidge gagging.

“Gross. Can we force them to divorce? This is worse than the pining.”

“Physically impossible for me to divorce him,” Lance murmurs, distracted. “Since he technically owns me, now. Kind of.”

Keith makes a face. “I hate that a little.” He presses one last chaste kiss to Lance’s mouth before pulling away. It’s casual, and small, but the novelty of it is not lost on Lance.

He was not kissing Keith this morning, that was for certain.

It’s not until Lance manages to blink away his ga-ga eyes that he realizes that the rest of the team is looking at him in shocked confusion, and it clicks that his sentence would, sans context, be kind of horrifying to hear.

“Oh,” he blurts, without thinking, “I’m a Selkie.”

“You’re bad at this whole revelation thing,” Keith notices. “I think my Galra thing was somehow handled better.”

“Shut up.”

To his credit, Keith’s observation isn’t too far off. If anything everyone’s shock has only worsened, and it’s clear that Lance’s messy, half-explanations aren’t going to do much. The Alteans could probably do with some actual historical context, but for now, Lance thinks a demonstration is the wisest choice. And since he doesn’t have an ocean available to him, he decides to do the next best thing.

He slips his jacket carefully over his shoulders, spreading it out over his legs and gently running his fingertips over the rough canvas. Just as in his room, the fabric begins to blur, warp, change. He understands the change that is happening — it is his coat, after all; his own flesh — but he cannot find the words to describe it. There may not be. The coat simply changes in a way that is not comprehensible by non-Selkie eyes, as evidenced in the various strangled noises of bewilderment around him. Even Keith looks at the pelt in awe, unused to Earthen magic.

“How long have you been a seal person?” Pidge asks, hands twitching like she’s itching to touch.

“Two decades,” Lance says drily.

It doesn’t take long for the shock to melt away. That’s due in part to everyone’s curiosity, and the rest is because, as Lance suspected, their lives are just so goddamn weird — this Selkie thing just doesn’t even make top ten.

“So was that what the whole dramatic running out of the common room was about earlier?” Hunk clarifies.

Lance nods. “Yeah. I didn’t…I got too comfortable. Left my pelt out, Keith tossed it at me, boom, it’s not longer mine. Luckily I was wrong about how dangerous that is, ‘cause I didn’t lose my free will or anything, but I am essentially married to Keith now. So.” He turns to his husband and grins. “I don’t think he minds.”

Ignoring Pidge’s mutter of “here we go again,” Keith smiles back, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t.”

“I’m sorry you weren’t comfortable before.”

Lance looks up at Shiro, startled by the seriousness in his voice. His tired look from earlier is gone, replaced with something narrow-eyed, serious.

“Huh?”

“You said you got too comfortable.” He gestures to Lance’s lap. “With your pelt. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell us.”

“And I’m sorry for threatening you, Keith,” Hunk adds. “Well, it was barely a threat, but still.”

Keith reaches over to pat his shoulder. “All good, man. It was understandable. Lance probably warrants some threatening on his behalf.”

Lance narrows his eyes. He’s sure that’s an insult, somehow.

“Hunk, do not scare my husband away with your foolishness —”

“I know you’re just saying that to have an excuse to say ‘my husband’, you whipped simp —”

“Fuck off, no one asked you —”

“Pardon my interruption,” Coran says, holding up a hand. “But what is a Selkie?”

Allura raises her hand as well. “I would also like to know!”

“If I’ll be honest, I’m not that familiar with the legend either,” Pidge admits.

Lance pauses for a moment, considering. He knows that explaining everything would take a long time, and he knows he doesn’t have the energy for that. It’s something you learn over time, anyway, over years of stories at the right time. He can simplify some information, though. Get the point across.

“I’m not human,” he starts carefully. “I’m also not alien, not not-human. It’s complicated.” He runs his hand over the soft fur of his coat. “My pelt is like…a physical manifestation of my soul, I think. My quintessence? I’m not entirely sure. But when I wear it, I become another form of mine. Kind of like your shapeshifting, maybe? I turn into a seal, but I’m still very much me. And it’s not like I’m a seal with a human brain, or whatever. I’m a seal, I’m a human, I’m a Selkie. I’m never not those three things.”

Pidge cocks her head. “So you’re a seal right now?”

“Yeah. I’m a Selkie, I have to be. Unless my pelt were to be truly lost, I guess. If someone set it on fire I wouldn’t be a Selkie anymore. I’d lose my soul.”

“Jesus,” Pidge shudders.

Keith looks determinedly at him. “I won’t let that happen.”

“No shit,” Lance says, raising an amused eyebrow. “That’s your job now, Mullet. The pelt is yours to guard. You took it, it’s your responsibility.”

Keith’s determined expression does not change. Lance is just a little endeared but it. As unconventional as this has been, Keith genuinely seems to be excited to be with him. And if Lance trusts his word — which he does — then Keith has wanted to be with Lance for a while. With his space family’s approval, and the certainty that he will have the same from his Earth family when he makes it home, the weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying finally drops from his shoulders.

“God, I can’t wait to human marry you.”

Shiro sighs. This time, it sounds significantly more amused. He gets to his feet, dusting off his hands. “I guess that falls to me, huh,” he says, waving them over. “C’mere.”

Keith and Lance scramble up, running over to where Shiro stands, at the head of the table. He holds two twist-ties in his head that he has formed into rudimentary rings.

“I feel contractually obligated to remind you about Adam’s stance in elopement,” he says, looking pointedly at Keith. “And Lance, I don’t know your mother personally, but your sister and I were colleagues. You are also going to get into leagues or trouble when we get home.”

Lance grins brightly. “I am going to get in leagues of trouble anyway!”

Keith nods. “I left Earth against Adam’s specific instructions. I’m toast no matter what, so I might as well do the best thing I will ever do in my life before then.”

Lance’s ears burn. He glances down at his sneakers, embarrassed and pleased all at once.

He’s the best thing that Keith will ever do in his life. God.

“Well, that answers my first question, then.” Shiro turns to Lance. “Since Keith obviously does, do you, Lance, wish to take Keith as your lawfully wedded husband, so long as you shall live?”

Lance grins. “I would love nothing more.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the five dollar certificate I got online, I pronounce you wed. Congratulations. You may kiss the groom.”

Neither of them wait for Shiro to finish his sentence, surging forward immediately, colliding in the middle like magnets. Lance feels the weight of his pelt on his shoulders and Keith’s hands on his face in equal measures. It feels like swimming free.

[pidges-lost-robot]

*Keith and Shiro are splitting off from the team*

*Lance catches Keith's arm*

Lance: Hey, uh, be safe

Keith:... We will

*Shiro and Keith head off*

Pidge cradling Hunk's face: Be safe...

Hunk dramatically: I'll be so safe

Lance: Will you guys stop?-

Hunk: I'll be safe... for you

Lance:.... I'm gonna kill you

Pidge, still dramatically: But how would that keep us safe?

[apamates]

RGU, ep. 23: Qualifications of a Duelist | Fool's Fate, ch. 18: Ice

[justaz]

wrjrithi gon the greind THE COICES THE VOSIBCE THE COICESSSS

haha ha haha what if i rewrote. all. of voltron.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

good lord. thinkin of curly n Johnny in these tryin times (just got another piercin n I KNOW both those boys had em. I just feel it.)

[sockdooe]

Every time I think about my AU the more I’m screaming about how much everything could’ve been SO GOOD

[foursidecity]

Ok.. OK we're cooking‼️‼️

[lyxanislive]

I love the way you draw shiro and allura!!!!!!! They’re adorable!!!! Shiro especially is my favorite :D!!! he looks so happy!!!!!!! And allura!!!!!!!

Thank You Sockdooe for your kind coments!!!!

The showrunners did every character so dirty - the least I can do is make sure Shiro's hair is floofy

I hope whatever Shallura landed (or lands) on your Birthday is a good one for you!

Here's some linework of an upcoming one!!!