black hull

Shance Week Day 2 - Hero/Villain

Shance Week Day 2 - Hero
by Rigel126

Foreword: I couldn’t fulfill the villain theme and I wanted to make it cute and lovey dovey, so have at it people.


“Can heroes have heroes?”

“Huh?” Shiro, who has running a maintenance check on the Black Lion’s hull, looked up at Lance, who leaned up against the black armoured plating with a pensive finger on his chin under his pouting lips. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, since I’m a Voltron Paladin, defender of the universe, I’m pretty sure that qualifies me as a hero right?”

“Yeees?” Shiro looked at Lance, his head tilted in confusion.

“So if I have someone – a role model or something – who I look up to, that’ll make me a hero who has a hero right?”

“I guess so. So who’s this hero of yours?”


Shiro spluttered and blushed. “Me?”

“Stop looking so surprised! I’ve said it to you like, oh, three hundred times from when we started dating six years back? I mean, look at you! You’re like the dictionary definition of the word hero!”

Shiro rubbed his hand through his short, brushy hair and said, “I’m no hero, kitten. If anybody should be called a hero, it should be you.”

Now it was Lance’s turn to blush. “Y-yeah, sure.”

“I mean it. You really are a hero.” Shiro took Lance in his strong arms. “You saved me from the darkness and pain inside of me so many times. You took a bullet for me and nearly died. I’d have been dead a dozen times over if you hadn’t been there for me.” Shiro said the last sentence with such forceful conviction it sent shivers down Lance’s spine.

Cojones, that was fucking embarrassing!” Lance could barely look at Shiro anymore and his tanned face was now glowing scarlet. He tried to wriggle away from the bigger Paladin but Shiro held him in place.

“Don’t be, kitten.” Shiro’s prosthetic hand touched Lance’s chin and gently swivelled the younger pilot’s face back in his direction. “It’s the truth, and it’s why I’m so madly in love with you.” Shiro’s lips found Lance’s and kissed him deeply. It was long and passionate and Lance eventually found himself pinned against the Black Lion’s side. Lance’s long limbs wrapped around Shiro’s heavier build like an octopus, never wanting to let go of his lover.

“Hey guys, Allura’s looking – whoa! Get a room, you crazy horndogs!”

Lance tightened his grip on Shiro, still kissing the Black Paladin while he flipped off Pidge.

The power of fate is a wonder,
dark, terrible wonder–
neither wealth nor armies
towered walls nor ships
black hulls lavished by the salt
can save us from that force.
—  Sophocles, Antigone, trans. Robert Fagles

In Print

A stunning debut novel, essays on black women’s studies, and more recommended reading.

By Thahabu, Tayler Montague, and Diamond Sharp. Collage by Beth Hoeckel.

I will carry you

I get so lost in the detail

I don’t see the flow

Screaming that the sea salt

Has been affected and it won’t float

Swallowing the water

Clutching at my throat

Banging on the wood

Only vaguely rocks the boat…

My black boat

with shining hull

I look drowning from water

and my life looks dull,

I have been miss-sold…

My trip has transcended,

once dead, now mended

Once vivid,

now visually conscientious,

But I’m less defensive…

My life is a constant metaphor of itself,

or I am too use to taking two plus two drawing an incorrect conclusion

Involving my self is useless

I can’t even work my own computer…

The loop I live repeats

but constantly changes.

I hold on to what I feel is in danger.

but stranger things have happened…

In the last year I have become my own saviour

My saving grace is the changing flavour

I feared it

Now my old fears seem basic

Can you relate to this…

You can join me

I’m stuck here,

but at least I’m not fucked yeah?

Invisibly trying not to try

I deserve the next Oscar…

I have been acting,

Stuck in my own drama

with irony and sarcasm

All aboard my lifelong bad Karma…

As I get older my memories are getting better

I look back on the thoughts I discarded like litter

And think no David you were on to a winner

“… then Zeus son of Cronus mounted a thunderhead
above our hollow ship and the deep went black beneath it.
Nor did the craft scud on much longer. All of a sudden
killer-squalls attacked us, screaming out of the west,
a murderous blast shearing the two forestays off
so the mast toppled backward, it’s running tackle spilling
into the bilge. The mast itself went crashing into the stern,
it struck the helmsman’s head and crushed his skull to pulp
and down from his deck the man flipped like a diver–
his hardy life spirit left his bones behind.
Then, then in the same breath Zeus hit the craft
with a lightning-bolt and thunder. Round she spun,
reeling under the impact, filled with reeking brimstone,
shipmates pitching out of her, bobbing round like seahawks
swept along by the whitecaps past the trim black hull–
and the god cut short their journey home forever.”

“The Odyssey” by Homer, F 12, 437-452, and translated by Robert Fagles, 1996.

Painting: “The Angry Sea” by Thomas Moran, 1911.

Seven Seas: RP

The seas were calm as the sun sat along the horizon. Beautiful shades of red and orange stretches out across the sky and towards the water, leaving in it’s wake a few shy stars.

The night approaching seemed clear and calm, beckoning for all the passengers aboard the small merchant ship to expect peace. Several sleepy passengers were already making their way below deck, while the few stragglers gathered together.

Little rings of music and songs, sung by voices missing home, slowly began to arise from the ship. For a few, very well drawn out minutes, it was the picture of Serenity.

The calm was broke when a loud boom rolled across the sea. A collection of eight cannons going off almost at the same time. The merchant ship was suddenly rocked by cannons landing around it, two well placed ones ripping through the hull.

Black sails seemed to replace the sun, as panic began to arose. The ship was skillfully being turned around so that eight more cannons could be aimed at the already damaged ship. A loud voice seemed to tear over the panic, one that was once bright, now tinged with aggression.

“Fire when ready men! I want to see the mast fall, and watch the rudder break!!!”

my sickness submits to serum

glides gilded back in black hull of 

perpetually ravenous guilt 

                                   I am

waiting for a moment of peace

that will never come.

The Hunt of Scales

The Depth Stalker swims the currents of the warp, its black hull covered in large red swirls to represent the blood flow of the universe. The large ship pushes into the familiar system of the Carnosaurs. The hull deflects any debris or asteroids that may strike it. It was lined with many lance batteries and missile tubes. Its hull inscribed with many combat litanies and Combat Honors, it was a sight to behold from thousands of years of combat and war.

In the halls of the ship, it was dark and quiet, only the constant thrum of the plasma generator can be heard amongst the dark halls. Even then there is only the stray servitor or serf that was attending duties for its masters that seemed all too irrelevant from the ships interior. But many trophies marked the feats of the Sarcosaur Imperators.

“Prepare your Bask Helliox, we will not keep our cousins waiting. Bring them my regards” The vox system in the ship is hollow and without tone, it matched Chapter Master Kynar’s tone perfectly.

In the launch bay, a black stormbird with the same red design as the Depth Stalker ignites its thrusters as Veteran Bask Captain Helliox and his Bask walk aboard it and attach to their harnesses. Their long snouted skull helmets painted with red fangs and black bone. The red eye lenses glow bright as the servitor counts down from ten. They dont flinch as the Stormbird speeds off into the warp to the surface of the Carnosaur’s home planet and their cousin’s chapter monastery.

An Admiral’s Affairs

The Rampant ghosted through the void, broadcasting the necessary codes for permission to anchor near Station Vigilantia. The black hull of the Dominator-class cruiser was rarely denied the requests the ship’s captain asked for. Nobody ever denied the Inquisition.

Lord Inquisitor Radcliffe sat in the crew compartment of a Valkyrie gunship as it dropped from the Rampant’s hanger and into the cold embrace of the void. The pilot scooted along the length of the cruiser, weaving between the winking lights that tipped sensor vanes and support struts before banking sharply away and taking on an approach vector to Station Vigilantia.

As the station grew larger in the Valkyrie’s view port, Radcliffe mused on the circumstances that brought him here. An Admiral had been accused of possessing an illicit narcotic that was making a comeback in the underworld. Rumors of Rift had reached the Inquisitor’s ears and he had immediately set out to investigate.

The Valkyrie shuddered slightly as it passed through the void shields of Vigilantia’s hanger. The gunship rotated in place before settling on the deck with a sharp thunk of metal and the hiss of decompressing hydraulics. The side hatch slid open and Radcliffe stepped out.

The hanger deck was busy but Radcliffe could already sense the fear and suspicion that his arrival tended to herald. He ignored it. He had learned a long time ago not to bother with it. Instead he turned his gaze towards the hanger’s interior, seeking the contact he’d been told would greet him.