FOR GLORY

Independent Commander Prorok of Voltron: Legendary Defender - Written by Fuss Dossier || Info & Rules || Verses || Thread Tracker

[for-glory]

March 8, 2020: Mothballing this blog until further notice.

[for-glory]

inhales

[for-glory]

a banana peel lays in the middle of the commander's desk menacingly.

     Prorok stops short, actually having to blink a couple of times to determine that he isn’t just seeing things. He knows this… thing. He’s seen them enough times to know exactly what it means. He plucks it up, and with a flick of a wrist he crushes crushes it in his fist as he stares blankly into the distance.

     “Dinkleberrrrrg…”

[for-glory]

CEASE. THIS. You have been told multiple times across many blogs already. Stop. Just stop. You’re fired. Box. Your stuff. Out the front door. Parking lot. Car. Goodbye.

[techthiev-deactivated20241229]

    It’s mercy, compassion and forgiveness I lack.

                                    Not rationality.

         Written by Holly

Promo Credit: X

[highcmdr]

                          ❝ NO FOE HAS EVER STOOD IN MY WAY,                                          AND NONE EVER WILL. ❞

                                                    ( RULES - DOSSIER )

[for-glory]

Alright, all of my drafts on this account are either queued or posted, finally. Part of me wants to do a starter call again, but I know well enough how chicken I end up being about those, so I’m gonna just not go that route for now.

Maybe after S6 has aired and I know what direction I want to take Prorok and Thace in.

[adhering-virtue-blog]

In Our Youth

[for-glory]

thaced:

Thace could not help himself but grin just slightly as the last minute strategy worked quite well. Now instead of two against one it was, two against one and one, which for the moment was well enough to be two against two. Either way the odds were slightly more in his favour. 

The other Galra looked up the the brick-house stature of the man he had just decked absolutely accidentally in the face of all place. In the face and still standing. His composure dwindled just a bit as the snarl came. “Wait, it was-” His hand went to pull his intended target in as a meat shield defense too slowly, and was struck hard in return.

Thace pulled back, finding the fist from the other trainee far to close for comfort as it careened past. For just one moment he did think it would backfire and he’d be on the floor with no one but himself to blame this time around. He huffed out some relief when that was not the case and quickly brushed his hands down the front of his shirt after being manhandled by the team-mate now on the ground. 

Rulve, though not the brightest, still understood what was going on, “Hey! You stay out of this you big oaf!”

     Still reeling from the impact, Prorok paused just long enough to try and shake the stars from his vision. It was long enough, too, for him to catch someone shouting at him. A voice he recognized instantly. One he’d already disliked, now even more so that it was calling him an ‘oaf.’

     “You got a problem?” He spun on Rulve, his lip curling into the beginnings of a snarl. His temper already near its limits, it didn’t take much protest from the other cadet before his fingers were curling one by one into a fist. One that he drew back in preparation for the swing to end all, his free hand darting out to seize Rulve by the collar and drag him down to his level.

     “Well?” Prorok demanded again, his knuckles cracking ominously.

[for-glory]

Sendak ::

     “ …I need another drink, ” the mumble is half-muffled by the mug already lifted against his lips. At some point in this night, he stopped caring about his drinking partner being Prorok of all people, having now found himself finally and completely indifferent.

Of course, that could also be the side effect of finally being tipsy after three glasses.

Sendak shoots the other Galran a look through a squinted, narrowed, judgmental eye. “ Care to leave yet? ”

@for-glory

     Prorok was off in his own world, a slow-burning cigar clenched between his teeth, filling the immediate area with an overwhelmingly herbal smell. Not the cheap sort. It was something he only bothered to smoke when he had the time to actually sit back and enjoy it. Thus, he’d been mostly able to ignore Sendak’s mumblings up until that last little bit. Even then, he only bothered to glance at the other commander after taking a long pull, a pink-lit cloud of smoke rushing back out in a sigh.

     “I’m not going anywhere. But by all means, if you’re done here then feel free to take your leave.” He regarded the Kariian through the dim light, his scowl never budging.

[highcmdr]

Could anyone do me a favor and like this or preferably reblog this if they are interested in writing with a semi-active COMMANDER SENDAK roleplay blog, from Voltron: Legendary Defender? (Trigger warnings for various dark themes.)

[for-glory]

Reina ::

Reina watches curiously, ears alert and nose primed for the delicious smells that wafted in her direction.

Well, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, but still. “Consider me a little confused as to why you’re deciding to do this for me specifically.” She muses, impressed at the small array the Commander had brought out.

Idly she brushes a lock of fur behind her ear as she moves to take a leisurely seat at a vacant chair. “Unless you’ve made everyone on your personal team a meal already, but, I doubt that that’s the case.”

     Prorok sighed, settling into the seat across from her and cutting her a tired look. “I can understand why you’d question my motives, but I assure you, this is only because I felt like cooking and it made no sense just to cook for myself.” He picked up the carving set and speared the meat, forking it over onto the cutting board between them.

     “As for the others,” he went on, slicing off medallions as he spoke, “They can fend for themselves for once. It won’t kill them to mingle with the rest of the crew for an evening.”

[for-glory]

This blog is now on semi-hiatus while I figure some things out.

Sorry.

[for-glory]

Soldier Qessyn ::

At the word ‘discharged’ Qessyn looked back, eyes wide.

“N…No! I don’t…I don’t need to be discharged! I can keep up!”

She struggled harder, even as Prorok dug his heel into her ankle. “I will not…I will not…be tossed out…like trash…” she hissed. “I am not trash…”

Fury began to boil beneath the surface, and Qessyn started pushing herself to her elbows. So he was against her too, was he?

“I won’t…give up…I will serve the Empire with…the rest of my family…no one…will stop me…”

She managed to bring one leg under her and push herself up, though her other leg remained pinned. She was nothing if not stubborn, at any rate.

“I would…sooner die…than be tossed out…I will not give up…I…will NOT!”

     It was a tantrum he’d heard a hundred and more times before this one: a distraught soldier under-performing, swearing up and down that they could be of use, that they were worthy of being kept around. Yet in all but a handful of those cases, they’d either wound up dead or discharged anyway. He wasn’t certain which one of those categories this one fit into, but from his standpoint, watching her struggle on the ground while held in place by little more than his foot, she was destined for the latter.

     “Nobody said anything about trash, though if you don’t calm yourself, that is where you’ll be headed.” He lifted his foot just enough that he could turn and walk around her to a panel inlaid into the wall. He pressed a palm to it, waiting long enough for the display to turn green before letting his arm drop to his side again.

     “A team will be here shortly to take you to the medbay. I suggest that you do not move any longer, lest you worsen your injuries before they can even examine you.” Even with the bare minimum of concern he managed to show, his tone remained flat and unfeeling, his glare positively withering. He wasn’t just displeased with her inability to defend herself; he was outright disgusted.

[for-glory]

@qessyn-of-ieuzuno | Continued from [ x ]

Qessyn’s eye went wide, and it took her a few moments to register what the commander had just said. She looked up at him with flushed cheeks and ears, and it took her a moment to find her voice; when she did, it was an awkward stutter.

“I-I…yes…yes, of course.”

     Qessyn’s reaction drew a smirk out of Prorok, and for a moment, it looked as though he might actually follow through on the query. He stoped down a bit, lifting a palm to her cheek and dragging his thumb across, his claw grazing just below her eye. But rather than lean down to kiss her, he instead seized her nose between his index and middle fingers and gave it a quick, playful little ‘honk.’

     “Got you. Now. Get back to your post.”

[techspecialistofvoltron-archive]

@for-glory liked for pidge art

[for-glory]

What’s Your Muse’s Fatal Flaw?

Take the quiz here and post your results.

Fatal flaw: Your uncompromising sense of justice.

When it comes to right and wrong, there’s no gray area. Not for you. You’re like a cop who says stuff like, "Listen, buddy, I don't make the rules—but I WILL enforece them." Look, you’ve got principles, and I get that. I can respect that. But you’re going to wind up dead in a river (JAVERT) if you don’t ease up a little on the rulebook and reconcile these two opposing viewpoints before a convict saves your life and shatters everything you thought you knew.

Tagged by: @ofalsehoods 😘 Tagging: Pretty sure everyone has done this by now, but knock yourselves out.

[for-glory]

@scallywxg | Continued from [ x ]

She hadn’t thought anything tonight would be different. Everything was always the same, the routine, the Galra around her, the times she was and wasn’t working. However, when she sees her boss already in the kitchen, cooking, she’s stunned. Her surprise quickly rounds to suspicion. Did he want something? Probably. She didn’t know any Galra to act with no alterior motive. She wanders around him, eyes lingering on his arms for a moment before she stretches onto her toes to peek at whatever he was making. “… And what made you think that?” She asks, casting him a look of suspicion before making her way to the table that had been set. In all honesty, she hadn’t even realized the Commander was capable of cooking. Maybe he was simply seeing if he could make something palatable, and she was his test subject.

    “Just because I have underlings to keep track of the day-to-day aboard this ship doesn’t mean I don’t notice things.” A hint of offense lines his tone, but he doesn’t say much more than that as he turns from the stove holding a pan that appears to be made of cast iron of all things. Certainly not the sort of cookware one finds in a galley meant for high-volume cooking. If anything, it looks to be an heirloom, well-used and well loved, perhaps dispelling some of the misconception that he can’t cook for himself. And if that isn’t enough, the cut of meat inside appears nicely-seared and well-seasoned.

     Probably a far cry better than the mess she might have expected, at the very least.

     “I prefer to have people working for me who aren’t as stressed as you seem to be lately. It doesn’t kill me to cook for myself once in a while. I simply don’t have the time to do it.” He sets the pan down in the center of the island, followed by a number of other bowls and containers, each containing one of a variety of side dishes or sauces.

     Seems he had a day off.