As soon as Lance felt the weight of his gun form in his hands he immediately thought of his mother. She was a pistol of a woman and everything Lance wanted to be.
She was sweet, caring, pretty to look at but if you got on her bad side she would make sure you learn your lesson. Lance looked up to his mother and knew that no matter where he was (Even when he wasn’t on the same planet as her) she was there to protect him.
Lance immediately named his gun Sophia.
As time moved on with team Voltron and Lance found himself in more battles he would always hold his gun closer and whisper “I’ll be home soon Sophia.”
Lance didn’t care that the team heard him. He didn’t care that they would give him questioning looks. He didn’t care what his team or anybody thought, he was surviving for his mother. He was going to come home.
Roughly a month or so passed before someone questioned Lance on the name. They were all lounging in the common room and Lance was cleaning his weapon making sure everything was perfect and ready to go.
“So Lance why the name?” Shiro looked at the boy sitting on the floor with a rag in his hands.
Lance looked at his hero and cocked his head to the side “Name?”
“Yeah Sophia.” Everyone turned and looked at Lance, even Hunk despite the fact that he knew where the name came from.
Lance looked around at his team, gave them a small sigh and place the part he was cleaning on the floor and picked up another part to clean. “Sophia is the name of a pretty lady back home.”
All of them groan jokingly, Shiro even said that he hopes she waits up for Lance and Lance said he hopes so too.
Lance crouched down behind a desk and listened to the Galra run by the room. He tried to calm his heart down but it was pounding so loud and so fast that Lance was freaking out.
The mission went bottoms up when somebody accidentally tripped a wire causing the ship to go into complete lockdown. Lance ended up being separated from his group and Pidge was filling him in where the Galra were.
“Lance I hate to say it but they are closing in on you.” Pidge attempted to hide the panic in their voice but it leaked through enough to send Lance into a panic.
“Pidge please tell me that I have an escape?” Lance started to shake.
“Sorry Lance I can’t see one.” Lance could hear his team talking. They wanted to get to him but they couldn’t, it wasn’t possible.
Lance placed his gun on the ground and put his hands over his ears. Everything was too loud and Lance couldn’t breath. He needed to do something but he didn’t know what to do. He could hear the Galra getting closer and Lance felt tears fall down his face.
He thought back to everyone he didn’t get to say goodbye too and everything that he missed or will miss. He thought back to his mother and how heartbroken she will be when she gets told of what happened to him.
“I’m sorry mama I can’t keep my promise.” Lance felt more tears fall from his eyes as more Galrans approached. He had promised her that he would come back home no matter what (This was back when he was in the Garrison).
Just before Lance was about to completely give up he remember what his mother always said to him. Breaking a promise is like breaking a heart. You must fulfill the promise you made no matter what, or else you will crush someone.
Sophia had never in her entire life broken a promise and neither had Lance. This wasn’t going to be his first promise that he would break. Lance picked up his gun and peered over the desk, he counted the Galrans and looked down at his gun. “Well Sophia want to give it one more go?” Lance started to fire.
It had been 6 years since Lance disappeared and Sophia was sitting in her kitchen staring at the wall with a cup of tea in her hands. She was still determined that, even after all these years, her son would come home. Even when everyone told her to just accept it she would shake her head no and say “Lance would never break a promise, especially one he made to me.”
People sympathised with her but she didn’t want sympathy or empathy she wanted her son back.
She heard a knock on the door and stood to answer it. She looked at the family pictures that hung from the wall. She fixed her hair and opened the door. She came face to face with a slightly taller, more buff and more mature Lance.
He smiled at her wildly through the tears that stained his face “See mama I would never break a promise.”
Whoops I kinda went on my own at the end.
I hope you like it Star!!!! I know how much you love happy endings <333333
neil felt his arms tied behind his back. he wasn’t in the car, wasn’t in any room or any real place. it was just dark. black. he couldn’t see anything, but could feel the tight metal of the hand cuffs scrapping into his wrists. the world was a mindless shape, an empty space.
beside his ear, he heard lola. she whispered cruel nothings beside him, taunting him, torturing him with words. threatening the foxes. threatening his family. she told him what she was going to do to him.
“i’m going to set your body on fire,” she told him, and he cringed, curling into himself. “i’m going to carve you into pieces.”
and he knew she was not lying because he could feel the fire on his arms, crawling up to his face, flames wrapping around him. he could see the ugly red and orange overlapping his skin. he was crying, begging, pleading as he felt his body boil and burn.
Hi. Sorry to bother. I was looking for a fic where Dan goes to buy milk(?) and got in a accident. Then he stays in coma for a while and everybody thinks he is not gonna make it? Then he wakes up but struggles to do simple things. I look through all the tags I thought this could be in and I couldn't find it. Sorry if it's vouge. Thank you for your help
Losing Everything and Falling in Love - After arguing between who should go buy milk, Dan finally gives in and heads out. It’s not until after 40 minutes that he’s out, that Phil receives a call from the hospital saying his best friend is in a coma. Phil has to go through the struggle of possibly losing his best friend and then helping him recover as he falls desperately in love.
So @whenimaunicorn sent me the prompt: “Truth or Dare? I dare you to spend the rest of the night tied to Prince Ivar at the wrists.” Thanks for the prompt!
Here is the result. More angst than originally planned. Oops?
TW: mild sexual content, infidelity
You had never known Hvitserk to be cruel.
Okay, that was a lie. You had never known him to be cruel to you. Other people were another story. But tonight, tonight you fell into that category of “other people”. For what he had done, you would consider the cruelest thing of all.
It had started innocent, a game of truth or dare among brothers and friends. It was a game played often, as you had known the Ragnarssons since you were all grubby children, playing in the mud. The ale and laughter had flowed, to the point where you could almost forget the aching hole that was etched permanently upon your heart. But then, it had been your turn. You had chosen dare. And Hvitserk, drunk and careless, had dared you to spend the rest of the night, tethered by the wrists, to none other than Ivar.
Ivar, the man you were hopelessly in love with. Ivar, the man you could not stay away from. Ivar, the man who would never be wholly yours.
You agreed to the dare, not only to be spared the severe penalty but to savour any sort of closeness you could get with the Prince.
You moved to sit beside Ivar. Someone came and bound your wrists together, you didn’t know who. All you could focus on were her eyes, staring at you from across the table, hating you. Wishing you would one day take to your father’s fishing boat and not return. Drowned, dragged to the bottom of the sea, a sea that she could somehow bend to her will. She knew, she knew that his heart lay with you and not with her. She was a pawn, a token used for land and power and offspring with a strong bloodline. You, you were the fire in his blood, the beating of his heart, the name on his lips when he took her to bed.
But you were a nobody, and princes did not end up with nobodies. They had mothers and fathers and brothers who pushed for alliances, for duty, for the good of the people. They ended up with someone who could give them those things.
You were not that someone.
You could feel Ivar’s skin next to yours, where your wrists touched, warm and familiar. It made you ache for an easier time, when there was nothing but bare skin and love and the hopes of the young and foolish. Hopes you could one day be together, love freely and without restraint. You hardly got any time with each other now. Every moment you could spend by his side was a precious one.
As if he could sense your distress, your lover placed your linked hands under the table, onto your thigh. He had not said anything when Hvitserk had issued the dare. He had not protested, had not insisted it be an insult to his wife to be tied to another woman. He had simply let it happen. A choice. A declaration. You over her, every time. And she knew it.
The weight of your joined hands on your thigh was comforting, a balm amidst the tension that was threatening to suffocate you. She flicked her eyes down to the table, disgust marring her pretty face. To her, you were worthless. She could not see what kept drawing him to you. You both knew she didn’t love him, only married him for the name and the power and the role of duty. But it irked her to no end that he did not fall at her feet like all the others, did not desire her body. She wanted to catch her prey, but he kept slipping through her net.
The game continued on. You could not focus. Ivar’s hand had inched higher up your thigh, fingers stroking over the soft material of your dress. Her eyes were now on her husband, cold and stony. He growled, baring sharp white teeth as his fingers sunk deep into your thigh. Baiting her, showing her what she was to him. The title of wife meant nothing.
It should have comforted you, to know he only wanted you. That she was nothing to him. But it still hurt. It hurt to know she carried the title of wife, and not you. It hurt to know she was by his side, would one day grow round with his child in her belly. She would have his future, and you would be naught but a secret in the dark. You did not want to share, you wanted all of him. Every moment, every look, every touch. It was not enough to know he loved you. Your heart was greedy. It wanted everything, for it and it alone.
Ivar pushed your joined hands further into your lap, fingers teasing your flesh. You could feel the desire flowing through them, his simmering need for you. With her, it was all about business, securing a child. With you, it was love and passion and burning, all consuming need. You did not get many chances to be together, and every encounter was a like a wild summer storm, fierce and raging.
He stopped his movements on your thigh, instead leaning over to ghost his lips over the shell of your ear. No one was watching but her, no one cared but her. You should have felt bad for her, how must it feel knowing your husband cares not for you? But you did not. You would never see her as anything more than a thief. A thief who stole your happy future.
“Truth or dare?” Ivar whispered softly in your ear, voice laced with a dark lust. You shivered as his words slid over your skin like a silken scarf.
“Dare,” you whispered back, not daring to look at his face.
He leaned closer, his heady scent enveloping you like a tender embrace.
“I dare you to take me to bed. My bed.”
He meant the bed he shared with her, in the back of the Great Hall. You sucked in a breath. You had always met somewhere, never had he taken you in that bed, since he had gotten married. It was probably a bad idea.
But you did not care.
You stood up, grabbing Ivar’s crutches for him from where they leaned upon his chair. He allowed himself to give you a heated smirk, before the two of you awkwardly made your way towards the back of the Hall.
Her eyes followed you the whole way there.
But once you were enclosed in his private quarters, all thoughts but Ivar left your mind. He somehow managed to get his knife out of his belt, cut your bonds and throw you onto the bed with a few smooth motions. You eagerly reached for him as he lowered himself out of his crutches, desperate to feel all of him against you.
You needed him like air, you craved him like a drug. He fell upon you with a fervour only he could have, all groping hands and hungry kisses and loud, needy moans. He did not try to quiet himself, he did not care if she heard. If anyone heard. You found you did not care either. You arched into him and let him sweep you away in a tidal wave of pleasure.
He took you fast, and he took you hard. No loving caresses, no soft teasing, no slow and sweet build up. Pure carnal desire, the kind that leaves delicious aches and bruises to savour. Ivar in his truest form, making you cry out, making you beg for more, more, more. You knew nothing but the slide of hot, slippery skin, the taste of salt and sweat, the stars exploding behind your eyelids.
After, you curled yourself around him, pressing your shaking body as close as you could get. He enclosed you in his arms, letting you rest against him as you both caught your breath. As you laid there, your euphoria faded, and the ache in your heart returned.
“It should be enough,” you said softly, tracing a pattern over his chest with your fingers. “It should be enough to share you, and know that it is me who holds your heart. People do it all the time. Look at your brothers, sharing Margrethe between them. But I am selfish. I want you all to myself. I want to be your only wife, and the only woman you take to bed. I want to give you all your children. Is that wrong?”
He began to stroke his fingers through your long hair, blunt nails scratching gently over your scalp.
“It is not wrong,” he said, voice rumbling in his chest. “It is not wrong, for I feel the same way. I do not want to be tied to her. I do not want her to bear my children. I chose you, and only you, a long time ago. When I think of how I would feel if our situations were reversed, I want to kill something. The thought of another man touching your makes me sick.”
It made you sick, too. You twisted so you could press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.
“If only I was not who I am. If only I was like her, from a family worthy-”
He cut you off with a firm hand to your throat, pulling you on top of him so he could look at you with angry eyes.
“Do not ever say that again,” he growls, fingers squeezing, squeezing. “Do not wish you were anything but what you are. You are perfect. You are not less than her. Do you hear me?”
You nod, and his fingers relax. His eyes, however, stayed hard and blazing.
“I will find a way,” he vowed. “I will find a way to weaken her father, to make it so he is not more powerful than us. I married his daughter so he would not overpower us; I will make it so he has no power, and so I will no longer be in need of my marriage. Then,” his face softens ever so slightly, “then I will be free to marry whom I wish.”
It was a lot to promise, and probably very much unlikely to come true. But you clung to his words like a child clings to its mother’s skirts. A distant hope. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.
“I should go,” you whispered, thinking of her sitting in the Great Hall. “I should go before she comes to you.”
His grip on you tightened, possessive. “No. You will stay. She will not come to me tonight. You will stay, and let me hold you. I will wake at least once with you in my arms.”
You knew you should leave, before leaving got any harder, but a night in his arms was more than you ever got. So you agreed, nestling down against him, letting him wrap himself around you. The darkness pressed around you like a comforting blanket, wrapping you up in a world where you could pretend only the two of you existed.
“Truth or dare,” you whispered, finding his hand in the dark.
“Truth,” his hand was warm, calloused, perfect.
“Will you always love me? No matter what our lives become?” You knew the answer. But to hear it was a bandage across your broken heart
A sigh. A kiss on your head. Broad fingers squeezed yours.
I known with Vikings sharing is caring, but I imagine some of them are not into it. Happy Sunday! ❤️
With all the cishet discourse, I've been confusing myself. I always considered myself lgbt by being ace but haven't figured out my romantic orientation. I'm pushing myself to be more gay because I don't want to lose being lgbt even though I know aces are. So pretty much I'm even more confused than before.
Fuck all of that bullshit. Listen to how you feel and only how you feel when it comes to labels. I believe that to be LGBT+/Queer is to be the target of heteronormativity based on identity. Asexuals (despite gender or romantic leanings) do not fit into the gendered binary that believes hetrosexuality is the “correct” way of being.
Don’t let anyone convince you of how to be. Fuck the noise and decide what you like being and doing within your identity. “More gay” as a demand is gate keeping talk. It’s fall in line talk. Be “more gay” in the ways you want and enjoy. That’s the heart of pride.
Alrighty fam this is really IMPORTANT to me so I hope y'all read and help me out.
Last night my friend who is part of the lgbt community was called a f*g and a n*gger in Overwatch competitive. It wasn’t one guy it was a group which is even more disgusting. This party wished that q*eers would die off (something along those lines)
This was on Xbox and I’m not sure how reporting goes through but I assume that the more reports that an account has the more likely it is that Microsoft will take action.
To be completely honest ¼ persons did apologize, not to my friend, but to the person he was in a party with at the time. Which is a shitty apology so you should report them as well imo. He could have (A) apologized to my friend directly or (B) told his friends to back off mid-game if he was so sorry.
I know toxic players are something that we all encounter in gaming, but toxicity is one thing and racism/bigotry/homophobia is another. My friend had a shitty experience and the least we could do is take action on his behalf.
If you think I’m starting a witch hunt and want to tell me i’m being too dramatic or whatever than just don’t. can’t catch me with that shit. I don’t want anyone in the community to encounter people like this. I know there is a lot of people like this in the gaming community but the least we could do is act on these four. I was gonna ask y’all to message me if you wanted to take part but i’m just gonna post this their names because fuck it.
xO DEATH ROW Ox
Cassius is Swag
xRickySpani5hx (he was the one who ‘”apologized” tho you should still report)
REMEMBER this is on XBOX LIVE not on battlenet/psn/tumblr. Thanks.
cishet men who are dating bisexual women and cishet men who are dating trans women (who are either straight or bisexual) abuse and sexually assault them for different reasons, but i’d wager that bi women vs trans women are abused by these men for a few similar reasons: fetishization (of bisexuality vs of trans womanhood), display of masculinity (rooted in power and control - abuse a bi woman to show that he possesses her attraction to all people, including her attraction to women, and abuse a trans woman to show that he isn’t “gay” for being attracted to a trans woman and that dating her does not emasculate him), and coercion (straight men believe that bi women will cheat on them because of the belief that bi women are always led astray vs straight men believe that society will call them gay if they’re openly dating and loving a trans woman, thus because of these external stereotypes, cishet men punish the bi woman or trans woman they’re dating and blame them for their perceived emasculation).
OKAY Blame @pureren but here is my funny Shiro headcanon:
I was date checking whipped cream at work and we came to the cans of squirty cream and then I just imagined like IMAGINE if Shiro carried a squirty cream can in his jacket with no explanation no context whatsoever and he just randomly pulled it out when he was having A Day™. Like someone is like “oh haha yes gotta stay fresh, is that deoderant?”
“No.” *squirts whipped cream into mouth “okay I feel better now.”
“Shiro Iverson wants to see you in his office.” *shiro takes out the squirty cream and pours it into his mouth*