Filipino//Female//A small tumblr blog where I barely post but when I do usually my own art or head canon//Don’t repost my art//Not like it’s worth reposting.
i respect alastor’s capacity for hating men so much. he just got out of one toxic situationship and immediately sets his sights on annoying the king of hell as much as demonically possible.
Soulmate AU where the marks on one person's skin show up on the other, but obviously they can't understand each other's writing, so Keith mostly just tries to express himself through art instead. So naturally, when he starts investigating the Blue Lion he starts drawing THAT too. Which is why, when Voltron shows up, Lotor is Dead Certain that the blue paladin is his soulmate, and he desperately tries to force himself to fall in love with Lance even while he's like "... Really? THIS guy?"
Lotor’s soulmate is not illiterate, but they may as well be. He’s compared their careless scrawl against every language in the Imperial data banks - thrice! - and it’s simply... not there.
“They’re a primitive,” Ezor nods sagely from where she’s half draped over his shoulder, eyeing the illegible lettering on his wrist with an entertained curl to her lips, “must be. Guess the universe wanted to counterbalance all your insufferable braininess.”
When Lotor shrugs her off with a snarl, she has the audacity to laugh.
Acxa’s kinder, or she tries to be, comforting him with the notion that if his soulmate is a primitive, they’re at the very least an educated one, or better yet of a more evolved society wherein knowledge of scripture is commonplace, so... they’re not feral.
Zethrid seems to half wish that they were, if only for the thrill of it.
“And the sex,” Ezor tacks on with an evil little grin, “the sex would have been fantastic.”
Her soulmate’s raucous glee drowns out any further discussion of the topic.
-
So they can’t communicate, not with words, but if Lotor’s soulmate is anything it’s tenacious (and the Prince can’t help but admire that). They come to the conclusion that pictures are the way to go, painting Lotor’s forearms with a veritable rainbow of quadrilaterals, each containing varying stripes and symbols, and then a series of dotted squiggles that Lotor is beginning to recognise as their approximation of a question.
The problem being he doesn’t actually know what it is that they’re asking.
There’s one rectangle - the majority of which is striped red and white, with a one contrasting quarter of stars in a blue sky - that his soulmate keeps coming back to, and Lotor realises it must be a clan symbol of a sort, indicative of their own people and culture, but... once again scouring Imperial logs turns up nothing of import. Frustrated, Lotor practically carves the hateful Imperial emblem into his palm with jagged lines of ink - Vrepit Sa - and turns in for the night.
In the morning, his arms are wiped clean.
They stay that way for a quintent.
Two.
On the third, he hears back, and it rocks his entire world view.
Kraliept Sa.
The lines are careful, deliberate, as if someone unfamiliar with the old scripture had taken great pains to transcribe that singular character, and Lotor quite simply can’t believe his eyes, because that would mean... that would mean that the only two things he knows of his soulmate are in direct contrast with one another: the first being that they are completely isolated from the Empire, and the second more impossible yet, that they have ties to the Blade of Marmora.
-
They continue this way for almost a decaphoeb, and it’s not perfect, but it’s something.
Lotor sends renderings of the stars, his ship, Kova, and in return his soulmate replies with sketches of the animals and sunsets and vast expanses of desert on an alien world.
One evening, they blur blues and greens into a perfect little marble on the inside of Lotor’s knee, an arrow pointing to one of the green patches labeled with a sequence of characters that the galra Prince is beginning to recognise as his soulmate’s name - though he can’t so much as begin to guess at how they might be pronounced - and so on the opposite knee Lotor paints Daibazaal, and then, because that feels inadequate, smears his thumb through the centre of the planet he no longer calls home, doodling a battalion of ships leaving the wreckage in a mass exodus, the children of an orphaned world.
And once more, his soulmate falls quiet.
-
It’s almost a full phoeb until they reach out again, and when they do Lotor finds them franctic, frightened, their little blue-green marble only the beginning; an entire solar system follows, complete with details such as what Lotor assumes must be an accurate number of moons on each planet for how deliberately they’re marked out, and then-
A ship.
It’s small and unassuming and positively archaic in design, but it’s a ship nonetheless, and as Lotor watches, his soulmate draws and erases and re-draws that same design until it’s traveled the length of his leg - thigh to ankle - and ‘lands’ on an unassuming moon of the most distant planet. They circle it with agitation, jabbing whatever implement they’re using to mark their own skin so violently that Lotor’s quite sure they must bleed under the force of it, but he doesn’t know what to say, let alone know how to say it if he did.
The next morning, his soulmate’s mural has gone.
The phantom ache of it remains.
-
They call him Champion.
Lotor only takes interest because of the timing, because of the circumstance, because it’s Sendak’s fleet that located these new lifeforms on a desolate moon in some distant corner of the universe, and of all Zarkon’s commanders he most of all has something of a reputation for toeing the line between cruelty and outright sadism.
The odds are one in a million, but that’s not a risk Lotor is willing to take.
He paints an obnoxious criss-cross of colour onto his own face that will be impossible to hide or mistake for anything other than what it is, and sends his generals to ascertain whether the Champion or either of the two lifeforms that accompanied him - soon to be subject to the work camps - share the mark.
They don’t, not one of them, and so Lotor chalks it up to coincidence and moves on.
Finding what could almost be mistaken for the legendary Blue Lion on the back of his hand only for Voltron proper to re-emerge into the universe after thousands of decaphoebs with the Champion himself allegedly at the helm, is not so easily written off.
And this time, when his soulmate abandons him to cold silence, it feels final.
-
Thayserix was very much a spur of the moment decision, but Lotor has never been so glad of such impulsivity as he is now, with the blue Lion of Voltron having been stolen from the thick mists and safely in his grasp.
Though, it’s not the lion that interests him.
Yes she’s a beautiful beast of considerable power, but in this case it is quite literally what’s on the inside that counts, that being of course Lotor’s soulmate... or so he’d thought.
Princess Allura of Altea cannot be them.
At least he certainly hopes not.
She’s lovely, in theory, but they’ve been in a stalemate for the past varga with her sullenly refusing to so much as consider entertaining Lotor’s attempts at hospitality, let alone conversation, and instead quite stubbornly standing with both her guard and weapon raised.
“I really would simply like to speak with-”
“Release me.”
Her end of things has consisted solely of those two words, and the monotony of it all really is growing rather tiresome.
Narti saves him from another repetitive bout, slinking into his mind and whispering that the rest of Voltron have located them far more quickly than Lotor would have thought possible.
The worst part is he’s almost grateful.
“Very well,” he growls, temper wearing thin, “your friends are here to collect you Princess, perhaps they will be more amenable to a little tête-à-tête, hm?”
They are not.
“Release Allura,” is the first thing to pass the dark-haired Paladin’s lips, teeth bared and tongue sharp, and it takes everything Lotor is not to simply concede on the spot.
“Frankly, I would love to,” he spits, gratified by how completely this blindsides the lot of them, every face on the holoscreen struck blank by his immediate compliance. “I do not believe she is the individual I am looking for, nor does she seem inclined to assist me in locating whosoever is. Answer my questions, and you are welcome to her and the blue Lion both.”
“We... We are?” It’s an older gentleman who speaks up, the only other altean among them.
“Absolutely,” Lotor hisses, and then graciously concedes: “the mistake was mine. I simply wished to open a dialogue with who I had assumed to be the blue Paladin, but as she is of a background that would doubtless have allowed us to communicate in galra script, that no longer seems the case.”
Their group look like they’re going to ask him to further explain what must sound to the lot of them nonsense... all except the black Paladin whose eyes have gone wide on some personal revelation, whispering “you,” as if he can’t believe his ears, only to spit out an obscenity before repeating himself with all the fury of an imploding star. “You!”
There are several exclamations of “Keith-!” as those violet eyes narrow to slits, the man smacking his hand down and cutting their com-line dead.
Ezor, helpful as ever, mumbles: “Well that went well,” quiet enough that it’s almost as if she doesn’t mean for everyone in the otherwise silent cockpit to hear her.
-
For the first time in ten thousand decaphoebs, the black Lion is - technically - in Imperial hands.
Lotor couldn’t care less.
The man who strides out of her is a veritable firestorm, all dark brows and snarling lips, and in a heartbeat Lotor knows, he just knows, who he is.
What he is.
Galra, for one, almost certainly a hybrid like Lotor - it’s the eyes that betray him, half luminescent with rage - and there’s a gorgeous poeticism to that.
Reckless for another, and behind him from where she’s been brought to stand witness, Princess Allura is clearly horrified to see her companion step from Voltron’s keystone and leave it completely unprotected, but the Paladin doesn’t seem to care, and neither does Lotor.
“Release Allura,” he growls again, voice like thunder and just as electrifying as he storms across the landing bay without hesitation, not even stopping to glance in his fellow Paladin’s direction and affirm that Zethrid has, in fact, released her as instructed.
No, Lotor’s soulmate simply fists pale fingers into paler hair and hisses, “fuck you,” into his mouth before kissing the Prince senseless.
-
Later - much, much later - Lotor is pleased to report back to Ezor that the sex is, in fact, fantastic.
(some context, it’s a modded boss battle)
Sheo is just. He’s just there painting while Oro is getting his ass beat by a toddler. Then Oro and Mato dramatically look at each other and Sheo is like: What? Ok.
Steven: I see you have fries, can I please get the bits?
Stan: The bits? What is it, what are those?
Steven: Oh, just like, fry bits. Like, what was left over in the fryer. I used to get them all the time at the boardwalk I grew up on. There was a shop that sold only fries and I went there all the time and they'd just give them to me.
Stan: What, for free?
Steven: Basically.
Dipper:........you know you can eat the regular fries, right Grunkle Stan?
Stan: Yeah. Kid, get the regular fries. With ketchup, you like ketchup, right?
Steven: ::confused why eveyone is giving him pity eyes when it dawns on him:: OH! GUYS!! NO, AHAHAHAAAA, NoNoNoNo! You got it wrong, my family fed me! I just got the bits cuz my dad told me they were a special secret menu item and-and-........::spiraling into a void of realizations::
Mabel: Cuz you lived out of a van, yeah we know.
Stan: Two plates of fries for the boy please, and a whole bottle of ketchup.
Steven Universe / gravity falls summer job au but instead of immediately trusting steven they're actually a skeptical and dont believe him/ are cautious around him until steven actually earns their trust
Ooo I like this. My take on it is that Dipper would definitely be suspicious just like he was with Norm. I feel like Stan would be skeptical. He doesnt trust anyone that nice. But when Steven's willing to work for practically no pay, has zero legal documents (easy tax evasion), and has enough imagination to create a thousand attractions, Stan hires him on the spot.
Absolutely on target with stan. I feel like dipper would be super suspicious. Everyone's explored the funny side with him constantly trying to figure out what steven is but no ones explored the part where Dipper is just genuinely skeptical basically to Steven's face because Dipper is not subtle. Im partial to both Steven working really hard to gain Dipper's trust and to him just accepting that dipper feels the way he feels and hoping he can change his mind just by being himself normally; because on one hand entertaining story material but on the other hand steven growing as a person who isnt dependent on how others feel about him.
Yess, agreed! Dipper already had trust issues before coming to GF anyway (I'd guess that, cause people made fun of his birthmark when he was younger, that also made him lack confidence), so all these monsters and these people he met made him have even more trust issues. I know damn well he'd also compare Steven with Bill, due to them having some identical powers. Steven would probably try his best to gain his trust, but Dipper would always be suspicious. Sure, they'd get along after a while, but Dipper would definitely still keep an eye on him.
Something I’ve noticed in the Hanako-kun fandom is a tendency to mistake Tsukasa and Hanako for each other! I can’t really blame them, since they’re identical twins and all, but I figured I’d list some common mistakes I’ve seen made!
Hopefully this post can help you learn how to spot the differences between these two!
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
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