which of the paladins do u think/headcanon sings the best??
Lance. He has so many siblings and I like to think that he’s the second oldest, maybe? So if his parents were ever working late, he and his older sister would be the ones to tuck everyone into bed, and he would sing them lullabies.
Sure, he’ll dance around the Castle of Lions hollering the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody just to be annoying, but when he actually tries, he has a beautiful voice. Lilting and soft, and it gets a little raspy when he hits higher notes.
He never talks about it, but his youngest sister always asked him to sing My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion because Titanic was her favorite movie. He’d always tease her, but then swaddle the blankets up to her chin and pet her hair and hum the intro before singing softly until her breaths were deep and even.
It’s one of the memories of home that hurts the most, so he never truly sings around anyone in the Castle. Just when he’s by himself in his room, alone in the dark, feeling suffocated by the enormity of the universe.
PaRt 11 iS WhAt I nEeD !! GoD of bLuE! I pRaY To yOu!
*laughing* I hear thy mortal plea, and thus I grant you part 11, my dear!
It was late, she should have been asleep in her metal form, but it had been so long since she’d been able to walk around of her own free will. Which is probably why Shiro seemed so surprised to see her wandering the hallways that night, after everyone had already been tucked away for bed. It had only been a day, and the first time her sisters left their Lion forms they had gone back in order to recharge.
But unlike them, Blue had been storing energy ever since she’d met her precious little pilot, waiting for the day when she’d finally have enough to form a human body to match her Paladin’s species. But now she turned on her heel to raise an eyebrow at the Black Paladin. “Oh. Blue. You’re awake this late at night? I kinda figured you would be back in your Lion form by now, since that’s what Black did the first few nights she used her human form…” Shiro trailed off, unsure how to fix the awkward and tense atmosphere.
After all, Blue was still upset over the mistreatment of her little cub. One day doesn’t fix the damage of a month. And they had damaged her Lance, unintentionally or not. Blue hummed quietly. “I have not used this form in a very long time. I was storing energy in preparation for when the system finally repaired itself.” She stated coolly as she motioned for Shiro to walk with her, instead of standing awkwardly in the middle of the hallway.
“Also, I would ask you why you yourself are not asleep like your fellow Paladins. My studies on human anatomy and physiology during my time on Earth show that lack of proper sleep leads to negative side affects.” No one was safe from Blue’s mothering side, it was just in her nature to care for others, no matter how angry she was at them. Besides, this was her cub’s potential mate. She had several questions for the Black Paladin, might as well clear them up now.
Shiro laughed wryly. “Just… felt like checking the perimeter is all. Black is currently covering the other half of the Castle.” He explained as they both padded quietly down the dimly lit hallways. Blue raised an eyebrow, figuring there was more at work than just “feeling like a walk” here, but didn’t press further. That was Black’s job, not hers.
They walked in silence for a little while, when Blue finally spoke up. “Thank you, by the way.” Shiro gave her a questioning glance. “For earlier. Carrying Lance to bed while I was busy with my sisters. Thank you.” She clarified, and as she suspected, a light blush formed across the Black Paladin’s cheeks. Hmm. Interesting. She’d have to ask Keith and Pidge a few things too it seems.
“Ah, I was just trying to be a good teammate. Besides, he was barely out of the healing pod, walking was out of the question. We’ve been treating him badly for too long, I figured I should start trying to make amends before we lost him again…” Shiro managed to keep the embarrassment out of his voice, but the look on his face was more than enough for Blue.
“Black Paladin, I want to know your intention with my cub.” She stated suddenly, stopping and pinning Shiro with her gaze, both stopping in the middle of the hallway near Pidge’s room. Shiro blinked, startled at the sudden inquiry. “My… what?” Blue folded her arms under her chest and quirked a brow, the very image of a mother interrogating her son’s future boyfriend. “Your intentions with Lance. Because I’m receiving very mixed signals from you about him and I’d like some clarification.” She asked, and Shiro suddenly got a whole lot redder.
“Oh. Well, he’s a vital part of the team and an all around nice guy to have backing you up…” Shiro tried first, but Blue stepped forward and he stepped back in return. “Your. Intentions.” She stated quietly, golden eyes full of promises of intense hurt if he said a single word wrong. “Umm, I have no intentions? I really don’t?” He squeaked, the intimidating commander of Voltron reduced to a shy and blushing schoolboy under the ancient Lion’s gaze.
Blue hummed, pleased, and stepped away, finally allowing Shiro to relax. “Hmph. Very well. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to my sisters about something.” She said calmly as she walked away, towards the Hangars, leaving a shell-shocked Black Paladin behind.
“What the hell just happened…?” Shiro muttered, as Pidge opened her door, peeking out and grinning at him. “You just got the meeting the parents lecture! From Blue!” She giggled, Shiro merely going brighter red in response and pressing his face into his palms.
“Pining denial! I fucking called it!” Red screeched, pumping her fist in the air and turning to give Green a high five. Yellow merely sighed in defeat while Black smiled indulgently. “Language, Red.” She chided lightly as Green spun around, cackling about how her calculations were always correct.
Blue rolled her eyes at her sisters, sighing. The Lions had been betting on possible mate pairs since they’d met their Paladins, and Yellow had been betting on Lance and Hunk.
Black had been torn between Lance and Shiro or Keith and Shiro until the Blade Of Marmora incident, when Red had come back smugly informing them that Keith saw Shiro as a brother more than anything else.
Green and Red had both been rooting for Shiro and Lance since day one, though they’d also been chatting about Keith and Hunk. Green had firmly declared Pidge off limits though, not that anyone was going to argue with her. The smallest cub was too young for a mate, even if she was barely a few years younger than the others.
Blue was very into the Hunk and Keith pairing, but her Lance was too precious for a mate. She’d rather tuck him away from the possibility of a broken heart, thank you. Black sidled up to her youngest sister, smirking. “Oh Bluuuuuuee~!” She purred, and the blue haired woman pouted. “Absolutely not.” Black’s smirk widened. “Come on, even you can’t deny it at this point.” Blue kept her mouth shut. “They’d be cute together and you know it.” The eldest Lion sang cheerfully, and Blue pouted even further, crossing her arms under her chest and slouching a little.
“Black, no. My cub is not ready for courting.” She argued. “Oh come on, Blue! Don’t you think they’d be adorably lovey dovey as mates?” Black wheedled, knowing she was wearing down her sibling by the waver in Blue’s lip.
A few moments of silence while Red, Yellow and Green leaned in as well, each giving the youngest Lion a knowing smile.
“…….okay, maybe a little bit cute.”” Blue mumbled in defeat, and Black grinned. “Told you so.” Blue glared at her pride. “I hate when you’re right.” She huffed. "I always am, dear sister.” Black purred, completely smug.
The Lions have a betting pool on their Paladins and nobody else is any the wiser. Soon enough Green will pull Pidge, Keith and Hunk into helping make Shance canon while secretly doubling up in getting Hunk and Keith together. What? Their Paladins deserve happiness! And Pidge needs blackmail!
But yeah. Part 12? Or should I finally end this arc and move on to the next one, the one I’m calling the Progression Arc with a shit ton of awkward flirting and fluffy Shance? And bits of Heith? :3 send me an ask telling me if you want a part 12 or the new story arc! :D
Do they have a ship name? Does anyone know what it is?
For now let’s call them…uh…Meggy? Paria? I don’t know oh well
AndPeggy: how does one flirt?
She typed quickly, hiding her phone with a smile as her friend - ‘friend’ - looked over at her. “What are you thinking? I’ve never been here before.”
She grinned. “My dear, sweet, deprived Maria. You have so much you were missing out on! We used to come here all the time as children! Their burgers are so good - and the drinks come in mason jars! How cute and - and pintristry!”
Maria grinned, finding her rambling adorable. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Peggy smiled, putting her menu down. “Well, I normally get the chedder trifect - so you can try that or - do you like avacados on your burgers?”
Maria blinked. “You put that on burgers?”
Peggy laughed, and Maria found herself blown away at the lightness of it, her smile, the way her head fell back. Her heart felt like it was exploding, at the same time, skipping beats. “I guess some people do, I personally like the cheddar trifecta or the Gouda burger. Ooo! Or we can both order one and split those in half and share them!”
Maria was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. Of course, being around Peggy, that was normal. The younger girl always looked on the bright side of things, always cheerful and there for you. That’s one of the main things Maria liked about her. Her kind heart, her soul, her eyes, her smile.
God that smile.
“Alrighty then, Gouda burger for me, cheddar trifecta for you!” Smiling at each other, they launched themselves into gossiping about the couples at their college. Their waiter - an adorable old man - had taken their orders, smiling charmingly at the two young girls.
“You’re serious?” Maria managed to ask between laughs.
“Yes! I’m not even joking - the second the guy had even opened his mouth Angelica was already turning him down. She somehow brought in the Declaration of Independence, saying stuff about how she never needed a man! And not even five seconds later, she was flirting with John Church right in front of the poor guy!”
Their food came as they were laughing about how embarrassed Jacob Eaker must have felt, having previously been ranting about getting any woman and how any woman would be begging at his feet for him.
Their waiter sat their food down, a happy grin on his face. “Need anything else?” His voice was kind, and Peggy grinned, hearing the faint British accent underlying the American one.
“No, thank you sir! It all looks good to me!” She picked up her cup, taking a sip.
“It’s nice to see the youth so happy - the last time I had seen such a loving couple my daughter was getting married.”
Taking a sip was a bad idea as she choked on the water, inhaling some through both her mouth and her nose. She began to cough, as both the waiter and Maria gave her a concerned look.
“Uh - um,” She put her hand on her chest, coughing some more.
“Thank you, sir. But uh - “ Maria began.
“You two remind me of me and my wife when we were younger. Oh, the milkshake dates we went on, she was always more daring than me.” He laughed, “She was the one who convinced me to break curfew a few times, she even owned a motorcycle!” He paused, “Please don’t think I don’t think girls can own them - but in my time it was seen as very odd.”
He grinned, “I’ll get you two some refills.” He left, leaving the two girls stunned into silence.
Placing her head in her hand, Peggy felt her face heat up. “Oh my God…” Looking down at her lap she saw her phone still on, countless texts from her sisters on there.
Elizaaa: be yourself! you’re a lovely girl pegs!
Angelicaaa: dont be too obvious!
Elizaaa: make sure to compliment her!
Elizaaa: and make sure you don’t ramble too much - see how much she likes you first and slowly ease into it
Elizaaa: or don’t! totally your call!
Angelicaaa: do you want her to be herself or keep from rambling lizzy?
Elizaaa: oh hush
Elizaaa: youll do fine pegs!
“Well I mean,” She looked up to see Maria’s face almost as red as her dress. “If we already look the couple, why not make that part official?”
She found herself speechless. “W-What?”
“Well I mean,” Maria took a deep breath, “I really, really like you Peggy. You’re extremely sweet and kind and you’re gorgeous and funny. And I’ve had a crush on you for a while - even before the project! So, using all of my courage hoping you like me back, will you be my girlfriend, Peggy Schuyler?”
“Uh - oh God - I mean - uh, yes! Yeah, I’d - I’d love to - yeah, I’ll…I’d love to be your girlfriend!”
Maria grinned, obvious relief on her face. “Great.”
Peggy smiled. “Yeah, great.”
Maria Reynolds was her girlfriend.
She, Peggy Schuyler, youngest Schuyler sister, was Maria Reynold’s girlfriend.
Oh my God was her heart beating faster than Alex and her rambles combined.
It was halfway through the morning in Valla that particular day when the High Prince of Hoshido requested an audience with the Crown Prince of Nohr.
“What is all this formality, Prince Ryoma?” Xander asked as they both sat on the stone floor of an abandoned cathedral built in honor of Anankos, now in ruins. The nohrian prince sat over the steps between the transept and the chancel as the hoshidan royal purposely put himself on the lower ground.
Ryoma wasn’t wearing his armor. He placed his Raijinto and his kodachi on his right side in respect of Prince Xander and sat formal style, showing every kind of vulnerability he found possible. After a few seconds of silence, Xander began to wonder if Ryoma had heard him at all and meant to repeat his question.
He was, however, cut off. “I have called you here in regards of the future of both of our kingdoms once this war is done and won.” Ryoma began, his voice deep and unfaltering; his eyes looking at the ground beside Xander’s feet. “Regarding ways to further strengthen the bonds between our lands and families.”
“Bajaja, a young peasant, protected by the spirit of his dead mother, arrives at the castle of the King, where he entertains his three daughters. He soon realizes that the three princesses are nagged by evil spirits. The little peasant manages to rid them of them, then fights a duel with a wicked lord who wanted to marry one of the three princesses. He finally wins the heart of the youngest sister while saving the soul of his mother who was in purgatory.”
au where priya and chalo are reincarnated and in every lifetime they end up together
He was a boy of ten and his heart belonged to the wide open space. Sun-bronzed skin, tawny hair, and soulful brown eyes left him a mix of handsome and soulful. While other children played or worked, he dreamed. With a stick in his hand he would write poems in the dirt, then run with the wind at his back through Savannah grass. (1/12)
The boy had siblings, though he struggled to remember how many over the years. There were two, at least, who had passed away. One in infancy, another to an accident. His youngest sister though was the one closest to his heart and he treasured her daily. By the time he was fifteen she was seven, fierce with golden eyes and a toothy smile. (2/12)
He showed her the savannah, the fallen trees, and introduced her to the spoken word. The boy would weave together sentences with music and cadence and fill the warm evenings with song and laughter. She would always be at his side, his shadow, ready to pounce and jump and follow him to the ends of the earth. They both dreamed of faraway places as they slept side by side under the stars when the nights were too warm to be concealed under mud roofs. (3/12)
One day, in a flash, his life ended. The last thing he heard was his lovely sister’s cries. When his spirit awoke again there was nothing but darkness, though if he squinted he could begin to make out the shapes of trees. He was in the Savannah again, except the illusion barely held. The image wavered in places where it was weak and there were gaps where trees disappeared into endless darkness. (4/12)
The next time he saw true light, he’d been conscious but otherwise dead to the world for two weeks. His eyes fluttered open at the end of that second week and all around him were furry bodies tucked away in a makeshift den of dirt. With his gaze at ground level he marveled at the things he could hear and the smells on the wind. He was different, but not in a bad way. He’d been reborn, and was ready to live again. (5/12)
A girl came and took him, when he didn’t need his mother anymore. There was a kindness about her that reminded him of faraway memories. Though he couldn’t use words anymore, he still tried to use his voice, and through whines and yips he tried to tell his new found friend his story…and she listened. They slept side by side underneath a roof of mud, as the heat of the day gave way to the comfort of night. (6/12)
His new life provided him interesting opportunities as he grew. He learned, and so did she. They fell into a pattern of communication and he knew he was understood. They worked together, and sometimes fell apart, but in the end love swelled in his heart for her. Through it all she would be his world, and he could not imagine it being any other way. (7/12)
He traded the familiar wilderness for one he’d only dreamed about, though it did not come without its trials. One day, long settled into this routine, something changed. A new light stepped into his life, golden brown with a toothy smile and fierce eyes. He warmed quickly to her presence, a strange familiarity in the way she moved and regarded him. It was not until they were running through a field, the wind at his back, that the connection was finally made. (8/12)
Memories of a life long gone flooded his mind and he stopped in his tracks. She was his sister, her eyes alight with a spark that roared into a fire of recognition. They danced together, leaping, jumping, biting, reuniting both with themselves and with the earth as they rolled in the dirt and between the blades of grass. His soul soared as he watched her speed around him, dashing to and fro, as he did his best to give chase just like they were children again. (9/12)
Then a scent came on the wind and they both paused and looked over at the girl who watched them from afar. She had reunited them, and they were both with her. His heart soared with joy when he heard her call over the wind. (10/12)
“Chaaaaalo! Priiiiiiya!” (11/12)
They didn’t dare look back as both charged full speed ahead, overcome with love. Everything was right again. (12/12 - sorry; my hand slipped after that other person who mentioned they knew each other in a previous life. I had to)
You guys. You’re destroying me with these Chalo and Priya reincarnation fanfictions.
wild at heart, adventurous, and soulfully kind; she’s the youngest Calloway sister in the Addicted series
“I am ready,” I tell my dad. “And I’m not just a single type of girl. I’m not just Daisy Calloway, the girl who dives off cliffs. Or Daisy Calloway, the girl who jumps into the ocean without a life vest. I’m so much more than that, and I want a family.” I fight tears. “I want a little girl or boy to smile at me just because.” (…) Why can’t I have that? Why can only certain girls be “meant” for something? It shouldn’t be bad to want to be a mom. It shouldn’t be bad to want to only have a career. It shouldn’t be bad to strive for both or nothing at all. We all should just be what we want to be.
This is probably too long for tumblr, but I wrote it to be posted here and I think that’s where it ought to go first.
I’ve really been struggling with stress nightmares lately, and when a particularly violent and horrifying one woke me up last night about two in the morning, I realized there was no way I’d be able to get back to sleep anytime soon. Instead I opened a blank document, intending to sketch out a few notes for a wonderful ask I got the other day, and ended up with four thousand words spilling out over the next three hours until I finally felt I could get back to sleep. I finished it this evening after clinic, and though I don’t quite know what it is and it hasn’t been edited, I hope you enjoy it anyway. It’s not what I usually write, but…I’m very fond of it, somehow.
Anonymous said: I don’t know if this sort of question has been asked before, but if you had to pick a fairy / folk tale to represent your OCs, what would they be? It doesn’t have to be a direct parallel, just a story that has some sort of emotional mirroring/resonance with your character.
What Happened In the Godswood catelyn tully/petyr baelish/lysa tully (1299 words)
There were berries that grew on the banks of the Trident. Red and green and deepest purple, they hung in clusters amongst thicketed branches — juicy baubles that taunted the birds above and the scurrying things below. They taunted the Tully children as well, Cat most of all. Whenever she ran past, she would afford them a glance, the braid of her hair whipping against her back in protest, like the reign of a bridle admonishing her, spurning her onwards.
Disobedient thing— the weight of her hair was as heavy as ironman’s rope between her shoulder blades. —be not tempted; the thorns would savage you. Now, on with you. Go.
As she ran, the Baelish boy would chase after. (He was smaller than all of them, a slip of a thing, but with bird legs that could hurry him along faster and quicker than anyone ever gave him credit for.) And without fail, he would always think that glance back was for him — the line of Cat’s profile offered to his jostling vision, those pale eyes framed by even paler lashes. Eyes he knew better than his own.
He was wrong, though; she would never look back for him. There was no need to, for Cat knew: where she went, Petyr would follow. Those were the roles they would play, and always.
A game, until it suddenly wasn’t.
After Petyr came Lysa (that was also part of the game), and where Cat would laugh and Petyr would snicker, Lysa would call out in her warbly voice: wait for me, wait for me, I’m coming, then stumble. The echo of her words danced like finches flickering between the trees, carried high above their laughter — the refrain of a song that no one but Lysa would listen to. But still she sang it, she sang and she sang until her throat stung and her knees ached with the scrapes they had collected so indelicately among the fallen tree trunks and gathers of wet moss.
There were twigs in her hair and her lungs had begun to burn as if they were on fire when she finally stopped to find her breath. With a hand, Lysa braced her weight against the sturdy spine of a birch and searched the distant trees for her sister’s white shadow moving amongst them.
Nearby sat one of those tempting berry bushes, its boughs drooping from the weight of its bounty. The fruits winked smugly at Lysa from amongst the thorns, as enticing as a high lady’s jewels. From somewhere beneath and inside, a creature rustled and the whole thing gave a shivering shake, its leaves kicking up a whisper. Perhaps if I am brave, Petyr will reward me, she then thought. If I go where Cat dare not tread.
But Lysa was not brave, her Tully fire ran hot cold, and she was scared more often than not. Still, earlier that week she had dove into the inland lake, had shut her eyes and hopped from the rocky outcrop that hung over its dark waters, even though the shallows had frightened her and taunted her from below. She knows she would not have been able if it had not been for the small hand that had grasped hers, the goading whispers from a boy who had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach her ear.
If it had not been for Petyr—
Lysa gathered her skirts and trembled. (No, she was not brave at all.)
Still, she crept forward. Still.
At first she tried tentativeness, her hands not daring to venture past the outer-most leaves, but few berries grew without the shade of the brushes’ branches and those that did had long been scavenged by braver, more daring creatures than Lysa Tully. After, she tried cleverness, wrapping the whole of her arm in the fabric of her skirts to form a protective sheath, like armor. No thorn would catch her, this much was true, but her fingers became ungraceful, leaden things and every berry she managed to grasp was soon squashed to jam as she tried to pull it from the thicket. In the end, there was no avoiding it; she would have to do it bare handed or not at all. But sweet sacrifices gave birth to sweeter rewards, or so that is what her septa taught, and Lysa had no choice but to believe her.
It is nothing, she told herself as the first of the barbs found her skin, the sting as bright and as vivid as anything she’d ever felt before. The berry it earned her was as heavy as a silver stag; its pebbled surface was as cool. It landed in the hollow of her welled-up skirts with a satisfying plonk against the cloth.
(It was a lie, of course, it hadn’t been nothing; but it had gained her something. And if that was not a reason for pride, then nothing truly was.)
Petyr, she reminded herself as she stared at that fat morsel and then thrust her arm into the bush once again. Wherever he had gotten to, he was calling out now (to her or to Cat, she couldn’t tell). Regardless, the thin echoes of his voice reached her ears and encouraged her, a salve to every bracing tear as the skin of her knuckles began to weep.
Petyr, Petyr, Petyr, Lysa repeated, until her skirt was heavy with fruit, until her cheeks were wet with tears rung from her by both joy and suffering.
She found them waiting for her, laid out across the dead leaves that had fallen from the crown of a sprawling oak. Its top-most branches stretched outwards into the canopy like the proud tines of a stag’s antlers, and so the tree had earned itself the name of ‘Storm’s End’. Lysa blushed when Cat admonished her disappearance, and then blushed further when Petyr gathered her hands in his own and breathed a warm breath on her wounds. You’ve been bold, he told her, a sly look about him.
Needlessly, her sister added as she wiped at Lysa’s red-rimmed eyes. But the chastisement began and ended with her words, Cat’s mouth soft upon her eyelids as she kissed one and then the other in gentle gratitude for the gift she had brought all of them. They invited her to sit at the base of the tree, where its elaborate network of roots had pushed upwards out of the soft to form a rise of knotted wood. And so, Lysa did, her back straight and her face flushed, regal if only for a moment, having been anointed by the approval gleaned from Petyr’s grinning eyes.
Like a queen, she watched with pride as they ate, the bounty of all of her hard work filling their mouths, dissolving like laughter on the tongue.
The afternoon yawned and sprawled itself over Riverrun like a brassy-haired dog. Stains dried on the hands of the Tully sisters and on the fingers of their father’s ward — smears of dirt and berries and blood, childhood things that would be washed away by the cool waters of the Tumblestone before returning home. The sun hung in the low-riding branches of the trees, a blood orange that threatened to fall from its perch and roll away behind the farthest of the foothills, bringing evening with its departure.
We should return soon, Cat told them, but the others pleaded and tugged at her skirts. (“I little while longer, Cat.” “A few more minutes, then we’ll hurry, we promise.”)
And so the three of them sat a while longer in the godswood. Lysa peering after Petyr, Petyr peering after Cat, and Cat peering through the trees, back to the river, to where she knew her father was waiting.
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.