#Keith specifically this time around

[metannoyuhhh]

Re-entering my klance phase dont @ me plz and ty 🥰

[klspacecadet]

it’s always so weird reading a fic or literally anything that takes place in ny and clearly isn’t written by someone who lives here. The tourist lenses are so obvious and tbh whenever nyc is even mentioned in a piece of writing I have to stop and cringe it’s so bad… Please don’t write your characters as tourists in new york I might have a heart attack and die of cringe

the one enstars movie was bad enough for me, I absolutely despise the romanticization of nyc it makes me want to shrivel up and die every time

it is not as nice here as you think it is it’s literally the same as dc, new haven, chicago, (boston too probably but I haven’t been there), etc.

and time square is WEIRD it’s like a tourist hellhole of bright lights and grown adults in character costumes I avoid it at all costs

[insectduck]

My niche Keith Kogane headcanon is that "Thief" by Imagine Dragons from the Smoke + Mirrors (Deluxe) album is HIS song, no if ands or buts, it just screams mullet emo 'delinquent' in the desert bonus with space motifs. If you told me it was written by the angsty fuck himself I'd totally believe you lmao

[watery-melon-baller]

the more research I do on fandom and shipping culture the more I realize it all comes back to fucking voltron. because of course it does.

[chiropteracupola]

it's ALISON!

[earmuffstar]

do you ever think about deleted ao3 fics that you cared about deeply and spent hours reading and re-reading and now they’re gone and you’ll never read them again or are you normal

[iloveboysinred]

That zuko smut you wrote was SO good!! is it okay if i request some nsfw hc ??? but from keith kogane, idk how to be specific lol!! Thank you sm 💗💗

Thank you anon youre my second ask ever i’m super excited !!!!! I’m glad you enjoyed it! You are so kind🥰 & Ofc you can !! I love me some Keith Kogane. Top tier boy in red

Masterlist

cw; sexually explicit content, 18+ MDNI! Nsfw under the GIF kinda long!

GIF BY @/kin-of-the-sheep

- Okay so in my head i feel like after you and all the paladins get launched into space and learn about Zarkon and the war and everything, you and Keith definitely didnt have time to really “get it on” if you know what i mean. Things were moving so fast and you all needed time to adjust.

- But after a few days of training and getting used to the fact that you’re literally in space the switch is back on for sure.

- Keith isnt a patient man. So I feel like he definitely enjoys quickies here and there around the castle. They’re never planned. Sometimes the way you train in hand to hand combat gets a little too touchy, sometimes the way you looked at him made his stomach turn and his dick jump. Keith just needs you in that exact moment, and the way ya’ll be fucking its a miracle nobody has walked in on you yet

-or maybe they just stay away on purpose 😭

- he likes to be rough during these, slapping your ass, squeezing your hips, shit even tugging on your hair. Everything is moving so fast he wants to get a feel of everything.

- but when you guys have real sex, its like night and day.

- You guys would come home from a mission, tired and scared for each other, every time you guys go out there you run the risk of being captured or worse. So immediately you and Keith embrace each other, heading to the showers to clean off.

- It starts innocent, Keith washing your back, washing your hair. He was savoring every caress, just wanting to be in your skin.

- but then he starts getting touchy feely, ghosting his fingers over your nipples, leaving soft nibbles on your neck. You feel him starting to get hard, his body pressed to yours as close as he can be.

- knowing thats on his mind, you decide to take it to his room.

- it takes you a minute to get there, because Keith kept stopping mid walk to press you against the wall and kiss you and feel you up over your towel. He gets needy fast. Like i said, he’s not a patient man.

- So, when you finally reach the intended destination, his movements are in haste, wanting to get you bare and open for him as soon as he can.

- His kisses are slow as his hands wander, holding you close to him as if he’s never going to get the chance again.

- he’s greedy with your body, eating you out messily. He wants every last drop of you, whole time relishing in the fact that you’re all his.

- every sound you make, every reaction to his touch is reserved for him. In a world where everything was taken from him, Keith wanted something to himself. Something he could take.

- So, he took and took. Orgasm after Orgasm until he was satisfied with the mess he’s made of you.

- But even then he’s not finished with you yet. He likes to watch you closely when he enters you. Eyes half lidded as the tightness of your heat squeezes around him, its utter bliss for the two of you, and he doesnt hold back.

- I dont care what anybody says, Keith is vocal during sex. He grunts and moans right above you, thrusting into you with a passion that shocks you. He loves to ask you how he makes you feel, if you like what he’s doing, ect. Despite having been in the same predicament many and i mean maaany times and knowing just how to set you off.

- “like that, baby?” “Fuck…tell me you like this dick” “take it baby, fuck!”

- Very into eye contact during sex. You guys will lock gazes often. You love to drown in his purple iris while he fucks you, getting almost lost in each other, the only thing you can think of is the stuttering of his hips as he nears his end. He’s everywhere at once, his scent, his body, his voice. All you see is Keith.

- ngl Keith folds you up into so many different positions. He just wants to be as deep and as close to you as he can. He’ll have your legs on his shoulder while he basically folds you in half, beating down into you with his forehead pressed against yours, grunting out curses as his hips rock into yours. He loves the way your face contorts with every thrust. He’ll reach between your legs, playing with you just to watch you squirm.

- He loves when you scratch up his back. It lets him know that he’s hitting it just right, boosting his ego as well as adding to his pleasure.

- he doesn’t really do pet names during sex. He’ll call you “baby,” “hun”, “beautiful” maybe even “my love” if he’s feeling sappy & he loves when you call him “baby”, “honey” or even just his name sounds good coming from your lips. But as far as daddy, sir, master?? He will roll his eyes at you so fast and look at you so crazy, it actually makes me laugh thinking about it.

- When he reaches his peak, he smashes his lips onto yours, his hips jerking into yours as he spills into you.

- But when you reach your peak he takes his time to coax you through it, riding it out with you, whispering encouragement and littering your skin with kisses as you come undone.

- after care is a must. Once you guys are all cleaned up you lovebirds will lay next to each other and lock gazes. Kissing and giggling like lovestruck puppies.

- But all that lovey dovey shit aside Keith is a freaaaaak

- Its the little things you do that really gets Keith’s blood pumping.

- like when the team found out he was half galra and Allura was being cold and standoffish to him, you didnt hesitate to rip her a new one about your man! I know thats right

- while you were bickering with her, Keith was just smug as shit, getting turned on by your protectiveness.

- soon as he got you alone he was beating your walls loose, biting you, sucking marks into your neck.

- when you get angry like that he’ll happily bottom and let you ride him. He absolutely loves when you take control and throw him around a little bit. He reaches up to play with your nipples and leave hickeys all over you as you rock yourself down on him, letting you essentially get yourself off on him any way you wanted.

- Be rough with him. Grab his hair, bite him, mark him up. He’s yours and he wants you to prove it.

- teasing Keith is a dangerous game. If you’re in public doing it especially. You’re basically asking him to break you down as soon as he gets you alone.

- sometimes it gets competitive, Keith doesnt back down and he’ll make sure you’re nothing short of a wreck by the end of the night. But you’re his perfect match. The both of you essentially going tit for tat all night. When he thrusts into you, you throw that ass back on him. When he presses heated kisses to your lips, you suck his tongue into your mouth and turn it into a make out.

- When he came back from being gone for two years with his mom, you guys fucked like animals.

- Seeing him shed his angsty teenager phase into his angsty grown ass man phase was making you feral.

- his hair had gotten longer, he was taller, and his body had become more muscular, but still lean.

- when you got him all to yourself after everyone greeted him and he delivered his news and all that, you guys were just straight up nasty.

- you had two years of no sex to make up for, after all.

- He fucked you in just about every position in the book. Doggy, missionary, cow girl, full nelson, all of it. He missed your gasps, your hushed whispers of his name as he brought you to your high. It was sentimental almost, the way his thrusts showed how much he missed you.

- and it was when you reached your peak that it really dawned on him that he could never stray too far from you. Your boy in red was wrapped around your finger, bound to you. He gazed at you in new astonishment, almost childlike wonder as you fluttered around him. Forcing his own orgasm to rack his body. He moaned, low and drawn out. Pressing his lips to yours like he always did when you reached your climax, rocking his hips gently into yours to draw it out as much as he could.

- hushed “i love yous” between the two of you as you basked in the glow of having your Keith back.

Hope you like this Anon 💕 thank you for your request/ask :> notes and reblogs are appreciated, comments, asks and submissions are welcomed !

[west-brooke]

This time of year is really busy for me as a uni student with finals and big projects, so things might be slowing down for a few weeks while I focus on school. But slowing down doesn’t mean stopping! I’ll still post when I have the bandwidth to make things hehe.

In the meantime, I figured I’d do a FAQ on Meet the Parents! These are questions or comments that I’ve received a few times around the AU and I figured I’d respond to them en masse.

Q: Is Donnie’s dad going to be mutated?

A: This is one of the most frequently asked questions I get lmao. The answer is eventually. And not in the way you probably think.

Q: Are Kelpie and Lord Knaw going to get together/date?

A: no.

Q: Who are the parent’s voice claims? (Or other voice/accent related comments and asks)

A: I’ll be making a voice claim video proper at some point in the future, but off of the top of my head, Kelpie is definitely Wendie Malick (i.e. Eda the Owl Lady), Lord Knaw is Keith David (i.e. Goliath from Gargoyles). I don’t have anyone specific in mind for Daisy yet, and Mr. Mustache doesn’t really talk lol.

Q: How strong is Donnie’s dad?

A: However strong is the funniest

And thank you to everyone who has sent kind words or expressed that they like my au in asks. I read all of them but I don’t generally reply to asks unless I feel I have something to add to them or it’s something like fanart, but I absolutely appreciate them! I’m glad y’all enjoy my art and story, and I have a lot of fun making it! And also thank you to everybody for 2000 followers! I’m going to make something special for the occasion when I have the time.

[voltronisanobsession]

Keith's Glowing Eyes Headcanons

I always liked the idea of Keith having like glowing yellow eyes in the dark because of his galra genes. I’ve seen a couple of posts and fan art of it and I just find it so SILLY💔💔 so I decided imma make my own headcanons of how life would be around the castle with his eyes

First of all, Keith forgets that his eyes tend to 'change' during the night time, specifically when it's dark

During the night when the lights are out, everyone usually stays in their rooms so they have no idea of Keith's little weird galra thing

So imagine Hunk's absolute fear when he decides to go to the kitchen for a late night snack when he sees two yellow eyes staring at him from the darkness of the room

Keith is literally so confused when Hunk starts yelling LMAO

"WHAT ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY KITCHEN?!"

Cue Hunk switching on the lights only to see Keith staring at him in shock

He turns them off and sees yellow eyes where he saw Keith, and then switches the lights back on to see him still staring at him

Hunk does this a few more times before stepping out of the room, deciding food was not worth him almost having a heart attack

Poor Keith had no idea what just happened, homie only wanted a cup of water

Another time this happens is when you spent the night cuddling with him and suddenly woke up

Groggily you wake him, moving to get up and hearing him shuffling awake, you turn around only to be met with yellow eyes looking at you

"OH MY GOSH!"

You're shoving yourself off the bed and stumbling onto the floor because what the HELL was that?!

"Are you ok??"

You watch as the yellow orbs move around and get closer to you

"Keith is that you?? What the hell!"

Cue this dude being confused again cuz he literally has no idea what you were talking about (my clueless man)

"What are you talking about?"

"Your EYES! They're yellow! Are they normally like that?"

It finally hit him on why you and Hunk both reacted the same way when looking at him

"Oh! That makes sense now. Yeah this is normal, my eyes have always been like this since I was little."

"Do you like uh, switch them on?"

"No."

Now that you and Hunk both know about Keith's glow in the dark eyes, you guys definitely share your stories on how you found out

Shiro walks by and hears your conversation and just jumps in too because he understands that jumpscare Keith unknowingly did too!

Pretty soon the others would have their own stories about finding Keith's yellow eyes in the dark

Lance on the other hand fully believes that a ghost is haunting the castle when he sees two glowing eyes in the hallways one night

I can imagine him screaming the whole way back to his room😭😭

I’m just gonna say that Keith can see better in the dark than normal people can😻

[thatbirdrestaurant]

darry x two-bit headcanons because i thought about them for one (1) second and that was enough time for them to completely override my mind.

two-bit calls darry “superman” because he thinks it’s funny but also because he had a crush on superman growing up.

darry keeps the fridge stocked with beer specifically for two-bit, but he isn’t willing to admit that to anyone.

whenever people come into the curtis house when they have nowhere to go, they sleep on the couch or sleep on the floor. two-bit makes himself right at home in darry’s bed.

darry only calls two-bit “keith” when they’re alone together and it’s the only time two-bit actually likes being called his real name.

have somehow not been caught by the gang despite two-bit not really bothering to hide it. they’ve walked out of rooms together with kiss-red lips, disheveled hair, and marks on their necks and have gotten away with it.

darry doesn’t smoke but he still carries around a lighter in case two-bit will need a light. it’s rarely used, but darry refuses to stop carrying it around.

two-bit lies on darry like he’s a weighted blanket. it weirdly helps darry’s sore muscles.

darry is a really good kisser and it always leaves two-bit a little weak in the knees.

two-bit has tried to convince darry to go blond more times than either of them can count. darry always tell him to eat rocks.

two-bit is constantly making dirty jokes about darry in front of the rest of the gang, and everyone just thinks he’s messing around, despite darry’s blushing.

whenever two-bit spends the night, they’ll shower together really early in the morning and make it look two-bit came over for breakfast.

darry once slammed two-bit against the wall and held him down with one hand while they were roughhousing, and it was singlehandedly the hottest thing two-bit has ever experienced.

two-bit will take a night on the couch cuddling with darry over the drive-in or messing with socs any day of the week.

darry is the most unromantic man to walk the earth, but it’s okay because two-bit is the second most unromantic man on earth. they express love through pissing each other off and casual touches.

darry comes home after a really rough shift, sees two-bit sitting on the couch watching tv, and just goes, "fuck, i love you." first time either of them had said it but it just felt right.

ponyboy was the first one in the gang to find out about them, and all three of them refuse to talk about the how and the why.

[ciaomarie]

Waiting on my AO3 invite. Here's a one shot Sydcarmy story. Canon compliant. Post season 2. Please excuse the grammar/spelling mistakes. I need season 3 to get here quickly!

Title: Won't You Be My Neighbor

It was her break and for the 89th time in the last three days Sydney reassessed the apartments within 15 minutes walking distance from The Bear. As CDC she no longer wanted to depend on the train should there be some kind of accident, strike, or weather event. There were three that she could afford on her own and many more options if she were willing to become a roommate. She wasn't. If inspiration for a recipe struck her at 2am she wanted to get up and cook if she wanted. She loved the freedom of walking around naked after a shower, picking out her clothes or getting a snack. Most of all she missed turning up her music and dancing like an inflatable tube man in private.

She had sent a message to each leasing office to schedule an appointment next Monday and two of the three had confirmed a 10a and 11a showing. It had been more than 48 hours since she messaged the third so she called. The leasing agent informed her that the specific unit she wanted was no longer available, but they had a gorgeous 2 bedroom for $3800 a month if she was interested. "Okay, now that's just two options" Sydney muttered after getting off the phone.

"Hey mija, what you looking at?" Tina asked sitting down to eat lunch.

"Just apartments. I finally have the funds to move" Sydney answered with a sigh.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to be getting out on your own?"

"Oh, yeah for sure. It's just I'm really picky"

"Well, it doesn't have to be forever. Just make sure to read the reviews. You don't want roaches or bed bugs".

"Oh, I can't stand bugs! My dad still has to kill them for me, but I better get a fly swatter and spray now that I'll be on my own soon."

Break was over and Sydney stood up to resume her duties. First she needed to talk to Natalie about the upcoming private party. A celebrity had reserved the entire restaurant next Thursday evening. The names of all staff members on duty that night had to be submitted ahead of time with signed NDAs. It was all happening so fast and The Bear's debt was likely to be paid less than a year after opening. First there had been a Grio article about her being a rising black chef. That led to Keith Lee, the TikTok restaurant reviewer, raving about his to-go order that included the T-Bone and the Michael cannoli. It went viral and suddenly, they were booked for the next three months with a waiting list. She was working harder than ever, getting paid pretty well, and she deserved a place of her own.

After talking to Natalie, she found Carmy working on her prep.

"Hey, thanks! I can take over that now if you want"

"Actually….it's done. I wanted to take you somewhere for like 30 minutes" he said finishing up and cleaning the station.

Sydney folded her arms, her eyebrows raised high.

"Okay, where are we going?"

"I know you've been looking for a place and I think know the perfect apartment for you. Just a 10 minute walk from here. The landlord gave me the key so I could show you today" Carmy said trying to sound casual, but a deep pink flush rose in his cheeks.

"Why is he being weird?" Sydney thought but simply said "Okay, that's dope."

The Chicago air was soft and warm, the clean sunlight making everything look new. Summer afternoons like this made you forgive the brutal winters here. Carmy directed Sydney when to turn left and right, but refused to tell her where exactly they were going. Soon they were standing in front of his building.

The reason for his weirdness was now perfectly clear to Sydney and she felt so flattered that she had to avoid looking at Carmy when she said "So, there's an open unit in your building?"

"Uh, yeah. The people who lived just above me moved and I, uh, thought you might want to see it".

The apartment was on the fourth floor. Carmy unlocked the door and let Sydney go in first. The walls were freshly painted in "Cloud White" and the oak hardwood floors creaked comfortably under their feet. The layout was the same as Carmy's apartment with plenty of windows to let in natural light and a shockingly large kitchen for a 1 bedroom place in Chicago. As Sydney inspected the appliances and bathroom, she decided that if the rent was going to eat up even half of her check it was worth it. She had always admired Carmy's spacious apartment and with her sense of style she could make hers, a cozy bohemian oasis filled with plants, wall art, and actual furniture (eventually).

Carmy had let her roam around in silence for a few minutes, muttering and emitting tiny sounds of joy to herself. When she met him in the living room again, he said trying not to grin too widely, "If you like it, it's already yours."

"How? I know places like this are snatched up fast" Sydney said her eyes finally able to meet his again.

"The landlords, they're a couple, and their 20th wedding anniversary is coming up. They want reservations at The Bear." Carmy explained, desperately hoping to sound nonchalant about it.

"Oh, that's nice work, Carmy."

Then Sydney squealed and cried "This is just what I wanted!!" and she flung her arms around his shoulders in a wild hug. Carmy commanded his body not to shudder as he hugged her back. She was just wearing a t-shirt and without her usual layers of clothing he felt her delicate frame, her slim shoulder blades imprinting on his fingers.

In a moment Sydney pulled back shly and let her arms fall to her sides, her face burning. She made a mental note: Hugging Carmy. Not a safe activity for those who want to cook along side him using sharp objects or sleep peacefully at night dreaming innocent thoughts.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" Sydney said taking another step back and making another turn around the room.

Carmy nodded and concentrated on not melting into the floorboards.

"You're okay with this? We already spend 60+ hours together at the restaurant every week and now I'd be in your building! And literally living on top of you."

"Yeah, well, I want you to. You deserve everything you want, Syd."

"Then I'll take it! Just a warning though. If you hear someone belting out Kpop and an occasional thud, that's just my weekly one woman concert, which will be over no later than 10pm. I'm not being murdered."

Carm was no longer unable to contain the width of his smile. This girl is so cute, his body physically ached. How would he get through service tonight?

With a happy shake of his head, he replied, "Thank you, for the heads up!"

With that Sydney marched towards the door and exclaimed "Take me to your landlord!"

Carmy floated behind her.

Cue: Maxwell's "Whenever, Wherever, Whatever"

[herpsandbirds]

Do you have any cool facts about Missouri wildlife?

I'd love to share something with my Midwestern friends, and thank you for always updating this blog!

I don't know if i have any Missouri animal facts per se... but I can share some of the state symbols with everyone.

We moved around a lot when we first came to the U.S. and we lived briefly in Kansas City. I have great memories of going to the Ozarks at Christmas time (near Lake of the Ozarks). I specifically remember following woodpeckers and deer around the forest in the snow.

SOME MISSOURI STATE SYMBOLS:

STATE BIRD: Eastern Bluebird (Sialia sialis), family Turdidae, order Passeriformes, found across much of the central and Eastern U.S., SE Canada, and NW Mexico

Changes in land use lead to drastic declines in Eastern Bluebirds after the early 1900s. They have recovered in many places, due to "bluebird trails", reestablishing appropriate habitat and nest box campaigns for public and private property.

Find out more: NestWatch | Eastern Bluebird - NestWatch

Blue birds are in the thrush family, Turdidae, along with American Robins.

They eat mainly worms, insects, and other small invertebrates (but also take berries for part of the year).

Bluebirds are cavity nesters, nesting in tree holes usually, but will readily take to properly constructed and placed nest boxes.

Males (pictured) are brighter blue, and females are a more muted and faded blue or bluish gray.

photograph by Keith Kennedy

STATE AQUATIC ANIMAL: American Paddlefish (Polyodon spathula), family Polyodontidae, order Acipenseriformes, found in various parts of the Mississippi River basin

This species is the only member of this family that still exists. They are most closely related to sturgeons. This order, Acipenseriformes, is considered one of the most evolutionarily primitive groups of ray finned fishes.

They do not have scales, and their skeleton is mostly cartilaginous.

They are filter feeders. Their heads and rostrums are covered with thousands of sensory receptors, which help them locate zooplankton swarms.

They are considered "vulnerable" due to overfishing, habitat degradation and destruction, and pollution.

photograph via: US Fish & Wildlife Service

STATE ENDANGERED ANIMAL: Eastern Hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis), family Cryptobranchidae, eastern United States

The largest salamander in the Americas, it grows to a total maximum length of up to 40 cm (15.7 in). 

Though nationally it is considered to be just "vulnerable", in some states (like Missouri), it is "endangered".

photograph by Mark Tegges

STATE REPTILE: Three-toed Box Turtle (Terrapene triunguis), family Emydidae, found in the South-central and Southeastern U.S.

This specie shas been considered to be a subspecies of the Eastern Box Turtle, T. carolina (and still is by some herpetologists).

These turtles are terrestrial, but are not closely related to tortoises. They are in the same family as aquatic sliders, pond turtles, cooters, map turtles, and painted turtles.

photograph by Noppadol Paothong

STATE FISH: Channel Catfish (Ictalurus punctatus), family Ictaluridae, order Siluriformes, found in freshwater habitats in the eastern and southern US, southern Canada, and northern Mexico

They are widely caught, and have been introduced into waterways in other parts of North America and around the world. (In some places they are considered an invasive species).

photograph via: Missouri Dept. of Conservation

photograph by Brian.gratwicke 

[erithel]

I'm surprised you don't include Klance moments in that "fav moments" ask. 😆

Okay, first of all, thanks so much for your blog. Because of you, I start shipping Klance (and I love them). So....

- When did you start shipping Klance (what moment that made you ship them)?

- Can I ask your top favorite fics that you've written (feel free how much that you want to list)? Why they're special to you? Is there a specific inspiration when you wrote them?

- What are your top 5 fav Klance fics ever?

Sorry if you already answered the above questions before (newbie Klance shipper here, just starting last year).

That's fair lol

I'd say I picked my favorite moments based on ones that were truly satisfying, and while I thoroughly enjoyed many klance moments, since they never really paid off, they always left me a bit unsatisfied, so that's why I left them off the list.

To answer your questions:

I think I started shipping klance through stumbling across fanart before even watching the show. There was so much out there when I found it, and it all looked really interesting, and I realized "I want to know more about these two." So I kiiiindof went into the show with a super low-key ship. But if I could pinpoint it, it was probably the "I cradled you in my arms" line that made me go "oh I'm gonna be looking forward to all of their interactions from now on to see where this goes."

I had to check my ao3 to see if I'd even written 5 fics (I have). #1: "Broken Things" This one is special to me for the same reason I was inspired to write it: It was a very tough subject that I was so tired of seeing handled poorly in media. It became even more special when I started receiving comments from people who let me know they had been through similar things and they felt I handled the subject well. #2: "Gone" (a comic, but it still counts) I'm still counting this one even though the experience of posting it turned out to be one that almost made me want to quit before completing the comic. This was also a subject that I had seen handled very poorly, and I wrote it at a time when I had a new understanding of grief, and what it can do to a person. It was very important to me that Lance's side of things was taken seriously, and understood, and unfortunately it really wasn't. But that's kindof why I want to write stories in the first place - to get those thoughts out into the world so they might exist in someone's subconscious, even if they are not fully realized at the time. #3: "Stand Here on the Edge With Me" I started writing this because Chasing Stars was becoming too dark for me to write. I usually stick with angst and love it, but I was writing a really angsty scene where Keith was pining super hard while having their conversation on the lion at sunset and I just thought "wait a minute. What if he's totally fine for once?" and then this fic just kindof materialized. It also has one of my favorite last lines I've written, so that's something to look forward to. ;) #4: "Chasing Stars and Memories" I've always liked stories about traveling to different worlds, and the idea of Klance meeting themselves was always a fun idea to think about. But then I realized that I had never read a fic where only one of them was gender-swapped, and that made it so much more interesting for me, because the angst options just exploded with that one little change. This one's special to me because again, it deals with heavy themes and large emotions and I just adore writing those, and I hope I do them justice and convey the gravity of them. #5: "What If You're Someone I Just Want Around?" I'd always wanted to write a 5-and-1 fic, and I actually wrote this entire one around the third part ("Scared"). It was still pretty early on that I wrote that and I felt like I basically nailed Keith's and Lance's "voices" in that one based on their actual canon selves, so that was a nice little accomplishment at the time!

Basically, my inspiration comes from a lot of emotions, and also because there are specific subjects we see in movies/TV/books that I feel could be handled way better.

I've probably answered the top 5 fics before tbh. I don't know if I have a top 5, but here are 5 I love:

There Nestled Against His Pulse

You're Always Welcome Here

New

In This Moment, You Mean Everything

Terminal Velocity

(Some of these contain NSFW content btw)

There are, of course, many other fics I love, and as always I will recommend anything written by Iybms, Wittyy_Name, or Autumn_Ignited. Sadly, I haven't had the chance to read anything super recently, as I've been trying to read more published books (for pitching reasons), and have been a little disappointed so far unfortunately.

[damthosefandoms]

Jumbled

(ao3 link)

Summary:

RIP Sodapop Curtis, you would’ve loved having an IEP/504 Plan.

(AKA, Soda struggles in school his whole life, and doesn’t understand why, because it’s the 1950s and 60s and getting a diagnosis for a learning disability isn’t exactly on the table. Neither is the scaffolding and support he really needs.)

Sodapop Curtis was the type of kid who sat at the kitchen table for hours on end crying over math homework until his dad got home from work and struggled to explain it to him. All that effort, and then he’d always inevitably lose it somewhere between the kitchen table that night and his teacher’s hand the next morning and all that effort would be for nothing.

Soda was five years old when he started kindergarten, at the tail-end of the summer of ‘56. He remembers his mom comforting him the night before, when he cried because he was going to miss Ponyboy who wasn’t old enough for school yet and because Darry was going into fourth grade and would be on the other side of the school all day, and Soda would never get to see him. He remembers pouting because Keith Mathews, his and his brothers’ collective best friend from down the street was going into first grade after promising Soda last year that he’d get in a lot of trouble so he could stay and do kindergarten with him (he lied).

And then Soda was just plain miserable, sitting there on the bus sandwiched between Keith and a boy a little younger than Sodapop named Johnny Cade (who lives two doors down from the Mathews’ house and Soda never sees because his parents are mean and keep him inside all day), because Darry decided he was “too cool” to sit with his horse-crazy kid brother in favor of the big kids whose mommies don’t make them wash their hair when it’s dirty and greasy and walk around with those little black switch-combs and pretend they’re the coolest kids on planet earth, ‘cause one day those combs will swap out for blades and they will be.

Probably because they are, but Sodapop doesn’t know that yet—right now he doesn’t really know or care about grease or what side of town he lives on. He is six years old and the only thing on Soda’s radar right now is that Mama promised they’d save up for him to go to horseback riding camp next summer, and that’s his biggest dream. He wants to be a rodeo legend or win the Kentucky Derby or something. He hasn’t quite decided yet. He figures he has time to parse out the specifics—he just wants to ride a horse.

They get to school, and after a particularly pushy reminder that Mama told him at the bus stop this morning to make sure Soda gets to his classroom alright, Darry points his little brother toward the Kindergarten wing. Soda takes Johnny Cade’s hand in his because he found out on the bus that Johnny is going to have the same teacher as him, and they push through the hallway of their elementary school to find Mrs. Moran’s Room Four.

Soda very quickly learns that not every kid goes into kindergarten equally. Johnny is the smallest and the youngest kid in their grade, and Soda’s the second-youngest and it only takes a few weeks for Soda to think to himself that maybe that’s why he can’t read yet. He’ll be six soon, and that’s how old Evie is. Most of the kids who live on his side of town started kindergarten when they were six, he realizes. She sits next to Soda and she’s a good reader, but she’s one of the oldest kids in their grade and so of course she’s smarter than him. Then again, Sherri Valance, who is also in his class, isn’t going to be six until next spring—kind of like Johnny, and according to the birthday chart on the wall—he asked Mrs. Moran to read it to him one day when he couldn’t sleep during nap time and she very begrudgingly agreed, so he memorized everyone’s birthdays and how old they’d be turning because why not, right?—but Sodapop finds out that she went to preschool.

He didn’t go to preschool. He doesn’t know anyone who did. He remembers Mama talking to Dad about preschool for Ponyboy this year, but Dad said something about “expensive” and Soda stopped listening ‘cause they always get sad or angry when that word comes up.

Sherri Valance can read and she’s got pretty red hair and a backpack that’s not even a hand-me-down, and she went to preschool. So did all her friends in Room Three. Soda doesn’t know anybody in Room Three but he knows that the kids his friends know in there didn’t go to preschool. Timmy Shepard was in Room Three last year with Keith. He didn’t go to preschool either; heck, neither did Keith. But they can both read now, and they went to first grade, so Sodapop figures he didn’t miss out on too much.

Until it’s the end of the year and he still can’t read. Well, you don’t need to read to go to horse camp. Soda doesn’t nap a single time that year, either. He spends his precious kindergarten naptime not-reading the book Mrs. Moran gives him to keep him busy and picking at his cot when she snaps at him to be quiet. Mrs. Moran decided the day she read his first name off the attendance sheet that she didn’t like him, and Sodapop Curtis did not like her either.

First grade is so much better and yet so, so much worse.

Soda has a very hard time on his first day, because he misses his mom, and his dad, and Ponyboy, who begged to go to school too this year but he’s still too little at only four years old and Mama’s doing her best to get him reading now. Darry is in fifth grade and seems even farther away, and Soda doesn't have recess with Keith and Tim’s grade this year, and Johnny’s in Room Seven making new friends. Evie’s in Room Eight, and Soda’s trapped alone in Room Nine. Sherri’s still in his class. On the third day of school, Soda decides her hair reminds him of cherries. She laughs, and it sticks.

The best and brightest part of first grade is his teachers. He was put in Mrs. Larkin’s room, and she’s amazing; but when he gets there on the first day, there are two teachers in the room. Miss Luft, it’s explained, is a student teacher, which means she’s learning about first grade just like they are. She’s learning how to teach and they’re learning how to learn.

Sodapop still doesn’t even know the alphabet. He doesn’t know his sounds and he can’t keep his letters straight. Mrs. Larkin has him sit with Miss Luft when he tries to write a small moment story. She draws lines in marker on his paper for him to write each word on. Every line she has to make longer than the last because he can barely fit two letters on it, and he’s pretty sure she can’t read what he wrote any more than he can.

But Miss Luft always calls him capable. She has to explain to Sodapop once a week what that word means. He does his best to remember, but he has a lot of things to remember and it gets lost in the jumble somewhere.

He hears Mrs. Larkin and Miss Luft talking, sometimes. They hide their words behind stacks of paper and turned heads but he can hear them anyway.

Reversals. Attention span. Off the wall.

“And he’s low,” he hears Mrs. Larkin say one morning. “Mrs. Bolan’s got one that low too, but at least hers is quiet.”

He has no clue what any of it means. It’s all teacher talk, he isn’t supposed to get it, and he knows they aren’t trying to hurt his feelings, but hearing it makes him feel bad anyway because they don’t talk about other kids like they do him. They don’t get those sad looks on their faces about other kids, either.

“Does your brain get jumbled sometimes, Soda?” Miss Luft asks him one day when he’s sitting at his desk, eyes red and puffy from crying because he wasn’t allowed to go to gym class unless he finished his spelling worksheet. But he can’t. He’s been sitting here for forty-five minutes, ever since they got back from recess, and he can’t. Do. It. He tries to write his letters how his teachers have shown him but they just won’t appear in the place he wanted them to, like his pencil won’t obey him when he writes. He tries to start at the top line and somehow his pencil puts itself at the bottom.

He tries to write the letters anyway, but they don’t look like he thinks they’re supposed to, and he doesn’t even know what that means because every time he looks at a b or d, or m or n or h, or—god forbid someone tells him to write the letter k. It just looks like a stick.

His numbers are just as bad. Someone’s always reminding him to put the one before the seven instead of the other way around, but he doesn’t remember writing seventy-one, he can’t even count that high!

“Jumbled?” He says in a shaky voice, still trying to calm down.

“Like mixed up. Like it’s hard to think ‘cause you got too much going on in there?” She taps his forehead and he half-heartedly giggles.

“Yeah, it gets real jumbled. All the time,” Soda says.

“I feel like that sometimes too,” Miss Luft says, and she sighs. “Like I can’t think at all some days. Like my brain shuts off without me tellin’ it to because there’s too much goin’ on and I can’t focus, and just answering one question gets overwhelming. It’s too much. But it’ll be okay, Soda, I know you got it in you. I believe in you, you hear? If I could do it, so can you.”

She doesn’t say much else, but Sodapop has never felt more seen. He cries and clings to her on her last day at their school, hating that she only got to stay for ten weeks. Mrs. Larkin is amazing and he loves being in her class, but the year just drags on and on, and towards the end of the year Soda can’t decide if school is getting harder or he’s getting dumber. Maybe it’s both.

He gets to go to horseback riding camp that summer, and he meets a kid named Dallas who he thinks was in Room Seven with Johnny. Dallas is mean. Soda finds out he’s a whole year older than him, which confuses him because Dallas is in his same grade at school.

“An’ how come I never seen you at recess or nothin’?” Soda says one day at lunch. He’s got a bologna sandwich, because his mom swears by cold cuts. Dally stole an apple out of their counselor’s lunch and doesn’t seem to have anything to eat otherwise.

“They don’t let me out much,” Dallas says. “S’what happens when you spend all your time in the principal’s office.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just feels good to get in trouble sometimes.”

Soda doesn’t get him, but he likes horses, and so they become friends anyway. He and Dally start getting into trouble together, and Soda kind of starts to feel like he belongs somewhere. It takes his mind off the upcoming school year, which is great, because whenever he thinks about school, he gets butterflies in his stomach.

Dallas is in Room Twelve with Johnny when they get to second grade. Usually Soda keeps track of what classes all his friends end up in, but this year, it doesn’t matter anymore. Because second grade changes everything.

Mrs. Foster is ancient. She taught Soda’s mom once upon a time, and she had Darry in her class a few years earlier. Soda thought she’d be a great teacher because Darry loved her, but Soda can’t bring himself to even pretend to like her. She asks him what his parents were on when they named him.

“On what?”

Mrs. Foster just rolls her eyes and tells him to take a seat in the back where he clearly belongs. She lets him know that she’ll be calling him by his middle name this year. At least “Patrick” is “dignified.” Whatever that means.

Later, Soda can’t keep his words from erupting out of his mouth like a volcano during morning meeting, and she sends him back to his seat with a glare.

Five minutes later Steve Randle gets sent back to his seat for shouting out, too. He sits next to Soda in the back. He’s hiding a little red toy car in his desk and they play together. Mrs. Foster doesn’t seem to notice or care. She doesn’t call on Soda a single time that year, even when he does know the answer.

She also doesn’t like that Sodapop writes with his left hand. By the time he gets to third grade, he flinches and corrects himself every time he goes to pick up his pencil. He hopes this’ll solve the problem, but it never does.

Soda struggles the whole year. Steve doesn’t, and when Soda asks when his birthday is—he always needs to know, he needs to be able to sing happy birthday to all of his friends—Steve tells him he was born in April, the same year as Soda. Soda tells him how he can’t find a single pattern proving why he’s dumb, ‘cause age doesn’t seem to matter. Sherri aka Cherry is younger than him but smarter. She went to preschool. Johnny’s younger too, but he didn’t. Steve’s older and smarter but he tells Soda that he didn’t do preschool either.

“I did kindergarten twice, though,” Steve tells him. “Well, the first couple weeks anyway. Mom and Dad wanted me to start school when I was five but then I had to not do the whole year ‘cause my mom got sick and we were too busy and then she died so I stayed home with Dad. I did kindergarten the next year when I was six. Now I got friends in third grade and in second grade.”

They agree that Soda’s going to be Steve’s best second-grade friend. They trade that little red car back and forth and Soda still can’t read very well but he’s better at it now—Mrs. Larkin worked extra hard with him after Miss Luft left to make sure he knew his letters and sounds.

Mrs. Foster doesn’t seem to care, because she pretends he doesn’t exist. It’s a miracle Sodapop gets to third grade.

But it doesn’t matter. School doesn’t matter. Over time Soda just starts to remind himself that he has Steve, and Steve is smart, he’ll help him. Soda will get through this. Sure, after third grade Johnny gets held back, and it’s only a matter of time until Sodapop has to repeat a grade too, but… but he’ll be okay. He will. Someday a switch will go off and his brain will work right and he’ll be able to do it. He hasn’t failed yet, that has to mean something, right?

He hasn’t failed yet but no one has noticed he struggles, not his teachers, not his friends, no one. Maybe Miss Luft, but he’ll never see her again. He hopes she still thinks he’s capable. He had written in the book their class made for her that his favorite thing about her was that she believed in him.

As he gets older, he wonders if she even remembers his name.

But then again, he spends every weeknight crying at the kitchen table, physically unable to get past the first question on his homework sheets. In fourth grade Mama starts clearing everything off the table to help him focus, but he picks at the crumbs left behind from last night’s dinner, peels up the dried finger-paint Pony splattered everywhere, sits and rocks back and forth with each tick of the clock.

And every day after about an hour of making up little songs and fiddling on his paper until it’s spotted with holes, he starts crying, because he can’t bring himself to do his homework. And then Pony’s in school, finishing his homework before him, and Pony is just as much of a daydreamer, so that kind of stings. Darry has seven different classes to do homework for, on top of football practice, but he gets all his work done before Soda’s even started. His mom tries to help but it makes him cry even harder, ‘cause she doesn’t get it, it’s not about the homework it’s about his brain. It’s about Soda’s brain not working like everyone thinks it should.

It’s about his big, dumb, broken brain.

Johnny can’t read either, but he can focus, he can control his emotions and not cry or scream or stomp his feet at every little sound or touch, or overreact to things that aren’t a big deal at all, he doesn’t start throwing throngs off his desk when he’s mad, and he always has a reason why he does things. Steve can’t control his mouth or pay attention, but he can read and always turns in his homework on time. Keith never does his homework ever but he’s practically a genius compared to Sodapop.

Ponyboy brings home his first-ever spelling test and their mom sticks it on the fridge with a magnet.

That bright-red 100% is going to haunt Soda’s dreams.

Every night Dad gets home at 6:00 to find Soda still sitting at the table, eyes red and puffy, and tears staining his homework and the table. He chides him for the new mark Soda’s left in the table’s surface from digging the eraser-end of his pencil into it. Soda deflates, he didn’t mean to do that, it’s just—what else is he supposed to do? He’s not allowed to get up until his homework’s done.

Darrel Curtis Sr. is a loving father and a very easy-going guy, until he’s standing there over Soda’s shoulder holding his hand—his left hand, which Soda’s grateful for but also it feels so wrong after his experience in third grade—forcing him to write in the answers because he just doesn’t get that writing it is only part of the problem. His dad loves him, he’s gentle with his touch but every inch of Soda’s skin feels like it’s on fire when his dad makes him write.

It’s not his dad’s fault, but Darrel Sr. is only human, and he hates yelling at his kids, but he has to raise his voice to try to get Sodapop to hear him above his scream-crying because it’s the only way to help him learn.

Sometime when Soda’s in seventh grade, Ponyboy asks him what his problem is. Homework’s not that bad.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, Soda, but I just don’t think it’s worth crying over, you dig?”

Soda throws his pencil at his brother, slams his history book shut, and walks out the back door. Ponyboy watches in confusion. When their mom comes in to check on them, he tells her Sodapop’s overreacting again.

Dally, who had moved away after third grade to New York but came back just in time to start seventh grade with Soda, finds him at the Pershing Park playground sitting on the swings. It’s where Soda ends up when he’s hopelessly overwhelmed by homework, or when the thought of school looms over him like a cartoon anvil. Something about pumping his legs and willing the swing to take him higher and higher takes away the sick feeling that the idea of popcorn reading Shakespeare in his fifth period English class gives him. Dally asks him if he wants to find something better to do, and a few hours later they wind up back at the Curtis house with busted knuckles and the beginnings of black eyes and they pour grease into Soda’s hair and grin at each other.

When Sodapop is sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school, his father finds him sitting at that same kitchen table, staring down over an assignment that’s asking him to write a thousand-word essay and Soda turns to his dad wordlessly, his throat is closing up, and his dad tells him to breathe.

But he can’t. He can’t. He’s going to be sick, he might actually throw up. He feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest. One thousand words. Sodapop can’t even count that high. He can’t even read Dr. Seuss. He can’t do this anymore.

“Dad, I want to drop out.”

“Aw, Pepsi-Cola,” his dad says gently that night, brushing Soda’s hair back and then pulling him into a hug, “I know you do. I’ve been talkin’ to your mother about it. We got the paperwork from the school. But I think you should think about it a little longer, alright?”

Soda agrees to try and finish out the year. His dad gets it.

His dad spent ten years listening to Soda cry over homework. His dad never called him dumb. His mom did what she could. But the only person in all his years of school who Soda ever knew really believed in him was Miss Luft, and she never came back.

He thinks maybe if he had more teachers like her, who believed in him and gave him extra help and supported him along the way, if there was something—something that made it so they had to listen to him, had to help him, had to accept that it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t read right, couldn’t focus, couldn’t control his mood swings or emotions or his volcano of a mouth… maybe he could’ve done better. Maybe if Mrs. Foster had let him write with his left hand, he could’ve figured it out.

Soda hopes one day they figure out what makes kids like him tick. What makes them struggle. He hopes one day that their schools will decide to help.

A few months after he talks to his dad, Sodapop finds the signed paperwork in his dad’s desk drawer. His parents have just been buried, and Soda can’t stop crying at the drop of a pin. He’s been skipping all his classes, but none of his teachers seem to care. It’s fine. He’s dumb anyway, a lost cause. They’ll just keep passing him up to the next grade without batting an eye at the fact that he never gets higher than a D+, no matter how hard he tries.

Sodapop will always be that one student who slips through the cracks.

He looks over the form to drop out. He figures the school will take it, if he pitches it to them as a last-will kind of situation. He doesn’t even need to ask Darry to give the okay, because Dad signed it months ago, like he had already known the decision Sodapop would make.

And he did. It’s dated that same night Soda sat at the kitchen table feeling like the world was ending and like he was dying because of a goddamn required word count.

But he knows Miss Luft believes in him, and he knows what his dad wanted, so he finishes out the school year—passes Gym and Auto Shop, too.

Soda hopes he made them proud. And now, he’ll never have to worry about explaining the dried tears on his spelling homework ever again.

[karakurenai-no-raion]

MUD coining time! (Does it count as a MUD if I was a psychiatrist in-source? /silly)

This was coined by me (Hannibal Lecter), not Keith, despite this being his blog and NOT mine. :) I do not have my own blog at all. If I messed anything up in this post no I did not (/silly).

Anthropophagic Compulsion Disorder

ACD is a rare and severe trauma-based disorder characterized by an overwhelming compulsion to consume human flesh. This disorder stems from early childhood trauma involving the forced or coerced consumption of human meat, typically that of those close to them. Behaviours associated with ACD are known to worsen, without intervention, as the subject grows older. ACD is also known to first manifest its full symptoms around the ages of 15 to 18.

Key Characteristics:

Cannibalistic Compulsions: Individuals with ACD experience intense and recurrent urges to consume human flesh. These compulsions are frequently accompanied by an episodic and insatiable hunger, often to the point of physical pain that resembles starvation, specifically for human meat.

Intrusive Thoughts: Subjects tend to suffer from intrusive thoughts related to murder and cannibalism, which can be highly distressing and near impossible to control. One subject has been known to act upon these thoughts, but most never do.

Trauma Origin: The disorder usually stems from severe psychological trauma, particularly involving forced or coerced cannibalism during formative years. The disorder cannot be diagnosed, or even exist, without the traumatic origins.

Relationship Complications: Due to it's traumatic origins, ACD interferes with the subject's romantic interests. The one that they love tends to be a focus in their cannibalistic compulsions, be it wanting to share their meals with them.. or wanting to eat them. This typically only occurs in those that were forced to eat family members or those close to them, and is uncommon in those that only ate strangers as a child.

Resistibility and Therapy: While the urges and hunger can be resisted, doing so is extremely challenging without professional intervention. Effective management most likely requires extensive therapy, which may include cognitive-behavioral techniques, trauma-focused therapy, and possibly medication.

There is a diagnostic criteria beneath the cut because I am.. slightly obsessed.

It is what I have already stated but in a format vaguely similar to the DSM.. I also allowed an ai to do most of this part because it is. 20 to 3 in the morning for us. Though, rest assured, I went through and checked that everything was correct!

Diagnostic Criteria

A. Recurrent and intense urges to consume human flesh, as manifested by at least one of the following, occurring over a period of at least 6 months:

Persistent thoughts or fantasies about consuming human flesh.

Strong urges or desires to consume human flesh, leading to significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.

B. Intrusive thoughts centering around murder and cannibalism, experienced frequently and causing marked anxiety or distress.

C. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.

D. The behaviors are not better explained by another mental disorder, such as Schizophrenia, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, or a Paraphilic Disorder.

E. The disorder originates from severe psychological trauma, particularly involving forced cannibalism during childhood or formative years.

Associated Features Supporting Diagnosis:

Episodes of Insatiable Hunger: Individuals may experience periods where the urge to consume human flesh becomes nearly unbearable.

Compulsive Behaviors: Some individuals may engage in ritualistic behaviors related to their cannibalistic urges.

Trauma History: A history of severe psychological trauma of other kinds is also typically present, but not at all required for diagnosis.

Prevalence:

ACD is extremely rare and predominantly found in individuals with a history of severe childhood trauma related to cannibalism.

Development and Course:

The disorder usually begins in childhood or adolescence following a, or a series of, traumatic event(s). Without intervention ACD can persist into adulthood and lead to significant impairment on the subject's life, despite it being a disorder typically missed completely by those around the subject.

Functional Consequences:

ACD can lead to significant functional impairment, including difficulties in maintaining employment, relationships, and engaging in daily activities.

Differential Diagnosis:

Schizophrenia Spectrum and Other Psychotic Disorders: Unlike these disorders, ACD is specifically linked to trauma and involves clear, consistent cannibalistic compulsions. It is not a disorder that can be genetic, but the existence of other genetic disorders (within the family tree) can increase it's likelihood of occuring as a result of the subject's trauma.

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD): While OCD involves intrusive thoughts and compulsions, the specific nature of cannibalistic urges and behaviors is distinct in ACD. Some may consider ACD a subtype of OCD.

Paraphilic Disorders: ACD is differentiated by the primary focus on cannibalism as a result of trauma rather than sexual arousal. It can be comorbid with paraphilic disorders, but it is uncommon.

[mistkisbiggestfan]

heyyyy i just wanted t ask if you could post a part two to white lion i have reread it so many times its totally ok if you are taking a break to work on mental health or would prefer writting stuff you choose this just a silly little request (sorry i there is spelling mistakes my english isnt that good)

Pidge / Reader | White Lion - Complete rewrite - Part I

Rewrite of the fic I still have up on this blog!!

A/n: I'm back?? I think?

Words: 1221

With insomnia nothing’s real, you learn that early on, everything’s far enough to be impossible to reach. Stuck inside an endless loop, a sort of unbreakable cycle. Back then; you were not ready for failure of any kind.

As a White Paladin of Voltron your sole mission was to protect other paladins and people around you. That’s all the White Paladin was, a glorified version of a healing pod, and you hated it. Everyone neglected you, not as a friend of course, but as a valuable fighter and defender of the universe. A medic was what you were made out to be, a brute by nature and a pacifist by force, all you could do was save, even if you tried to charge into battle you were quickly pushed off – back to the sidelines. Allura told you before; each Lion has a unique bond to a specific, and only one, Paladin. Sealed by fate, with no choice, you stayed.

The only one treating you fairly was your lover, Pidge. Both young prodigies, top students of Garrison, with a heart of gold and a particularly sharp and witty comebacks. Made for each other it seemed. They actually appreciated the help they got from you during and out of battle, that was, to your dismay, cut short. As war with Galra raged on, everyone forgot about any other struggles disregarding the threat across the universe.

Soon, Pidge began to share the view about you with other paladins, bit by bit, you realized that now, not a single soul believed in you being anything else but support — You were young, skillful in this specific subject, and rather weak at first glance, but you were more than that, more than what they made you out to be.

Often, on different restless nights, you were left wondering certain things. ‘Am I just a waste to them? Keith already said that, do others agree with him? What does Pidge think?’ All loose questions tied neatly with a string of paranoia and a hint of anxiety building up.  And like that, the overthinking pursued. No one even noticed you staying out of conversations, blindly following orders, no one noticed because it was making everything so much easier. Hunk asked you at times; “Hey Y/N.. you seem quiet lately, everything alright?” But just a few words were enough to shoo him away. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m the White Paladin, remember?” You often said, but you never voiced the rest of this sentence you grew to mutter each day: “The one who is supposed to help.” And Hunk, begrudgingly, let go.

Keith outright believed you were too young and just a nuisance on the battlefield; you suspected he had something against you because you caught onto him and his feelings regarding Lance, as he, himself, wasn’t yet able to face those feelings. The thought that someone knew made him defensive. At least Lance was oblivious enough for this to not be too much of an awkward situation, from what all others knew, besides you it seemed, Lance and Keith hated each other. Or, at very least, strongly disliked each other's presence. At first, before you became a nuisance, your insomnia induced night walks roaming the Castle grounds were often guided by different team members, Shiro eased your mind by comforting, Hunk baked with you, Coran told stories of the White Paladins before you — not many, but still. Allura didn’t have to say a word, as you treasured her camaraderie dearly. Lance made a habit of beauty sleepovers, and even Keith offered you a sparring match from time to time, even though he still argued with others he disliked you greatly. At times like these, you often resided with Pidge. They had a bad habit of staying way up into the night to focus on their work, not from their insomnia, but from a severe case of workaholism.

You liked to walk into their room quietly, your own feet dragging you to their room as you hadn’t even registered. You walked all the way there, sitting down beside them as they worked away on their laptop. Without a word, passing out from exhaustion next to them, feeling safe enough to let go, even if it was only for an hour or two. Waking up tired, but not overwhelmingly lonely and disoriented, as their hand around yours grounded you like an anchor. But what times often do is change. Comfort made you weak enough to believe it’ll last forever, but with a heavy heart you realized — nothing does. Your life hit a rocky path, if it can still do that after getting dragged against your will into an intergalactic war with all hopes resting on you and other bunch of dysfunctional young adults, your insomnia got worse, getting pushed off to the sidelines too.

You were a Paladin, and with an actual bond with a Lion no less, so why were you stuck organizing missions with Allura as Coran talked your ear off? Was it stupid you were jealous of each successful mission, as they came back in glee and the thrill of winning yet another battle? Maybe. Did you still feel through it like an overwhelming blade stuck inside that twisted each time you realized you were just a backup plan? Yes. All you wanted was to prove yourself, you could be useful, really. But each time Shiro said that you’re enough, you felt as if the words hitting your ears were hollow. No one assisted your nightly walks anymore. Pidge was busy. Way more busy than you had ever seen them, there was no comfort in the galaxy you could give them for them to stop their work for even a second. Realizing that leaving them alone was the best thing you could give them, you did just that, and to your small heartbreak, you received no words addressing the fact, no complaints either. Getting as desperate as walking into the training room, in case Keith was staying up late too, you often were met with nothing. Sometimes, Keith was there, but most times your ears were met with sharp yet tired words; “You shouldn’t train this late, a medic shouldn't be half-dead each day.” And with a roll of your eyes, you often walked out.

Sometimes, you stood there a second longer, savoring the meeting, and letting the hatred built up as your mind was screaming: “I’m not just a medic! I’m a Paladin just like you!”. But in the end, you sat in that cold, and now, lonely, room of yours.

Your eyes scanning over the same wall you always faced. Tired gaze raking through the metal, dissecting it into pieces, logic you couldn’t grasp. At times like this, moments before shutting off from complete exhaustion, even you had no idea how to comprehend the drive that was pushing you at such times.

Maybe tomorrow, it’ll all make sense. Maybe tomorrow won’t be just a copy of today, which was just a copy of yesterday.

At least, tomorrow, you’ll finally go on a mission, after this whole time, which felt like eternity and a second, all too far to understand and grasp. With that thought, you had no idea what came next, as your exhausted body hit the bed.

You passed out.

Again.