(criticism for the Mass Effect and Horizon series below the cut; slightly rambly)
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I sometimes like to indulge in media analysis video essays while working on art, because it can help corral my brain when I need to focus for lengthy chunks of time.
An interesting one I watched a couple months ago proposed that many of the problems people complain about in ME3 actually started in ME2, and I found myself nodding along with most of it. The discussed problems weren’t even ones I’d never recognized before in ME2; it was just a little eye-opening to have someone focus on them and tie it all together into a “compare with ME3, contrast with ME1″ kinda way.
What I didn’t expect, however, was my brain continually pinging on how Forbidden West exhibits many of these very same flaws, the primary one being a willingness to sacrifice consistency with pre-established rules and tone in order to solve short-term problems or engineer a dramatic moment. I wonder how much of this (in both cases) can be attributed to Corporate Daddy rolling up to the new successful IP and worrying too hard about drawing in and wowing new customers.
This comparison flared up again during another video I watched just this week, where the author argues Legion and the geth were done dirty in ME3 - pointing out where the stated character motivations and logic quietly did a 180 under the hood. and where some slight retconning robbed the geth-quarian conflict of some complexity. It was like the writers that handled the character in 3 didn’t properly understand what had been established, and couldn’t commit to the alien thinking... yet we know it’s not a simple case of Writer Bad because there are beloved characters that these same folks did do well! It ended with a little side helping of Higher-Ups Mandating Nonsensical Things Because They Are Awesome).
And I just... man. Too familiar.
I hope Horizon 3 can get itself back together on this front, but so much damage has been done already. =_=
so listen there is only one type of sheith I write and it’s apparently soft af and that is my default I apologize for nothing enjoy these goobers being sweet and sappy with each other oh also there is mild nakedness but its in the context of exhausted cuddling. if you want a song try this one because I am a sucker and everyone should have this song on their sheith playlist okay enjoy
diamond in the dust
Jerking Black to the side, Shiro dodges a shot from the largest ship, wincing when it grazes Black’s flank. She groans her fatigue through the bond. They’ve formed and disbanded Voltron so many times throughout the course of this fight that Shiro’s shaking from exhaustion himself, both mental and physical. His left wrist quakes, palm sweating and sore in his glove as he yanks on the controls. Black spins.
They’d run into the fleet on accident. The surprise had been double sided, though the Galra fleet had numbers on their side and had pummelled the Castle while the Lions were still waking up. There seems no end to their continuous onslaught, more battlecruisers warping in to replace each one that Voltron slew. It’s slowly spiralling out of control.
Shiro exhales sharply. The fleet fans out beneath him in vicious purple stars. Weaving throughout are various forms of light: blue and yellow and green spinning, spinning. Red is a sturdy and telltale streak. Explosions are quickly strangled by space as the lights dart through the fleet. There’s too many. They don’t have the energy to continue like this.
A quiet trill as Black nudges at his thoughts, directing him to the control screens. They light up, a series of equations and formulas that end in salvation, in furious destruction. Shiro laughs, bares his teeth in satisfaction, and punches in the codes. Black roars.
“Everyone, scatter!” Shiro shouts. The lights below shoot off in different directions as Black’s wings flare wide. The groan of metal shifting rings throughout the cockpit. The fleet turns as one toward Black. The bond thrums with excitement, with vicious glee as Black rears back and the equation completes. A barrage of missiles fire from the slots in Black’s chest, spirals of purple light wreathed in blue-white flame.
The fleet breaks beneath the onslaught.
Black’s wings flare wider, brighter, a brilliant star that the other Lions circle back toward. Shiro punches forward. The barrage becomes a cleaving axe, blowing ships into stardust as Black sweeps over the entirety of the fleet. The largest ship gains the highest concentration, fracturing with spiderweb delicacy before crumpling like a discarded ball of paper. The force of the outward explosion rocks through Black, through Shiro, and the sting of metal catches on the back of his tongue. He snarls. Black roars.
The rest of the fleet backpedals, desperate to regroup and reorient. The Lions shoot by Shiro, flying directly into the onslaught and corralling the stragglers. At Shiro’s command, they scatter again, the fleet bowing beneath the pressure. With one final flare of Black’s wings, the barrage tampers off. The rest of the Paladins dart in for clean up as Black droops. Her exhaustion amplifies Shiro’s own.
“Thanks,” Shiro says, unclenching his fingers around the controls with a groan. Pain alights in his left wrist. Black thrums worriedly against his thoughts, curious despite Shiro’s reluctance, and Shiro allows her to poke at the pain flicking hot and fast up his arm. She soothes it with a purr, and Shiro smiles.
The last straggler of the impressive fleet is destroyed by Yellow, barreling into it full force. Shiro sags in his seat, massaging at his wrist carefully. Exhaustion prickles hot at his temples. There’s a quiet throb against his right hip, when Black had been thrown into the side of a ship and pinned for a hot minute before Keith and Pidge had freed him. Black nudges against his thoughts again, a quiet purr, and Shiro directs her back toward the castle ship.
“Good job, everyone,” Shiro says, straightening his spine when the video feeds pick up. Everyone is in various states of exhaustion, sweating and shaking and smiling with adrenaline. Lance stretches tall, fingers reaching up and away. Pidge swipes lazily at something off screen. Hunk bows forward until only his forehead is visible, the shine of his helmet reflecting in the screen.
Keith beams. His cheeks flush, gaze bright with a burning intensity mimicked by his Lion. Sweat curls the hair around his eyes. He’s beautiful like this, basking in his element, delight clear in the tremble of his jaw. Shiro winks. Keith laughs, a gut-punch bark of sound.
“That rocket barrage was so cool!” Lance crows, gesturing widely. “New move?”
Shiro chuckles, tired and pleased. “New move. Black was getting irritated.”
“Irritation equals new shit? That’s unfair. Why is it I have to go on a life changing experience with Green to have her give me neat stuff?” Pidge asks, rubbing at her chin. The Green Lion sways out the window. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all about learning and growing; your speeches are getting old, girl.”
“I could sleep for a good ten years.” Hunk pops up properly on camera, jaw cracking as he yawns.
Shiro nods, firmly clenching his teeth to stop from following Hunk’s example. “We all deserve a good rest.”
Black perks up at the mention of rest, increasing the force of her thrusters until she’s barrelling toward the Castle. Shiro leans back. The other Lions follow suit, chasing Black’s tail the entire way. To Black’s right, Red floats lazily, keeping pace but not joining in on her sister’s fun. Smiling, Shiro closes his eyes.
The briefing is short, thankfully, Allura equally exhausted from providing support. Shiro stifles a yawn behind his hand, tears catching in the corners of his eyes as he stumbles his way back to his room. Keith had departed early with the others, hopefully to get some rest. Bed sounds amazing. Granted, so does a shower.
Rolling his shoulders, Shiro groans. He’s sore all over; hell, even his toes are cramping. He slaps a hand against his room’s panel, dragging his feet over the threshold. The blankets from this morning are still draped half way across the floor. The soft hum of the shower echoes through the room and Shiro pauses. Keith’s armour sits in a pile beside the dresser, his undersuit collapsed over the entrance to the bathroom and halting the door’s natural closing feature.
Dragging a hand over his face, Shiro plucks at his armour, frustrated that he can’t just will it off. He trips his way over to the bathroom, shedding the chest armour and the bracers, dropping the belt to the floor, and struggling with his thigh plating. He nearly brains himself yanking off his boots, but catches himself on the frame. Keith’s just inside, scrubbing his hands through his hair while the shower heats up. Shiro leans against the door and yawns at him.
“Come on, then,” Keith says, holding out a hand. Shiro slips in and drops his forehead against Keith’s bare shoulder, spreading one palm over Keith’s belly and the other against the dip of his spine. Keith turns his head to brush a kiss against Shiro’s hair. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t wanna,” Shiro murmurs, rolling his nose against Keith’s arm. Slim fingers slide up Shiro’s spine and he hums into it, arching back into the touch. Keith snorts. With a deft flick of his wrist, he taps the series of locking mechanisms on the back of the suit, its confines releasing. Shiro gusts out a moan and rolls his shoulders. A chill passes over his skin and he cuddles Keith closer, rubbing his cheek against a bony shoulder.
“Stop that.” Keith peels Shiro off of him, assisting with getting the arms of the suit down Shiro’s biceps and over his grabby hands, shoving the entire thing to Shiro’s waist. Water thrums over the tiles, a soft pitter-patter reminiscent of rain. Shiro peels off the last of his undersuit with a groan. Keith runs a palm over his waist, along the dots of his spine, and Shiro sways into the touch. A soft edge bruises Keith’s eyes, his smile exhausted but pleased. Shiro reaches for Keith’s hand. Keith slips into the shower.
“No fair,” Shiro whines. Laughter blotted by water mocks his pout. Folding the suit into some semblance of order, Shiro drops it on the sink and stumbles his way inside.
Water splashes up and over his ankles as he wrenches the glass closed. Keith’s fingers dance along his waist, fanning over his shoulder blades, and dig sharp into the tense muscle there. A happy moan rumbles out of Shiro’s chest as he drops his head forward. Keith brushes a kiss against the knobs of Shiro’s spine, thumbs working against a particularly stubborn knot. Shiro rocks forward, hair brushing glass. Everything is hazy. Exhaustion bumps up against overlapping soreness and Shiro sighs when Keith tugs at him.
Turning is an endeavour, Shiro yelping as water finally splashes onto the rest of him. It’s boiling, nearly too much, but Keith just taps him on the nose and draws him further in. As it rains down over his shoulders, hot, nearly too hot, Shiro closes his eyes in barely restrained bliss.
“You’re so easy,” Keith whispers, laughing when Shiro squints at him. A palm spreads over Shiro’s belly, fingers curious against warming skin, and Shiro catches Keith’s wrist, raises his knuckles up until Shiro can press a quick kiss against them. Keith’s smile crinkles the edges of his exhaustion, blots away the smudges under his eyes. He reaches up and Shiro bows to meet him.
Keith’s mouth is warm, just like the rest of him. Shiro hums, keeping the kiss soft, exploratory. Keith pulls on his fringe. Laughing, Shiro presses his smile to Keith’s bottom lip, pulls back and brushes it against Keith’s forehead. They sway together, water raining around them, until Shiro’s vision fuzzes.
“Come here,” Keith says, palms sliding along Shiro’s shoulders and tugging. With clumsy grace, Shiro drops forward until his forehead slides against Keith’s shoulder, his nose brushing along a thrumming pulse. Keith massages the back of Shiro’s neck, fingers warm and steady, blissfully certain as they catch and work out the tightness clinging stubbornly beneath Shiro’s skin.
It’s euphoric, but muted, as though Shiro views it through tinted glass. His exhaustion is absolute, tugging at the fragility of consciousness with all the vicious certainty of a clear victory. He mumbles Keith’s name, kisses it into Keith’s skin even as Keith works lather into his hair. He brushes sleepy hands over Keith’s waist, the arch of his spine, the swell of his ass. Keith flicks him on the ear for that. Shiro burrows closer, safe in the knowledge that Keith will hold him upright. Suds slip heavy down his spine as Keith pulls back, baring Shiro to the spray.
Protesting, Shiro clings even as the water runs clear. Keith keeps up his ministrations, cradling the back of Shiro’s neck as he washes his own hair. Shiro squints against the soapy spray. They remain like that, twisted together until Keith runs both palms down Shiro’s spine and pinches his side.
“No,” Shiro grumbles, tugging Keith close until he’s forced to arch to maintain the contact.
Keith huffs another laugh, soft, easy. “I’m not drowning in here with you. You can cuddle me all you want in bed.”
Ducking in quick, Shiro blows a raspberry against Keith’s throat before stepping away. Keith gasps, a half strangled shriek, before barking out Shiro’s name in disbelief. Tripping his way out of the shower, Shiro gropes for a towel, tossing one in Keith’s face to stop him from chewing Shiro out. Surprise is a better look on Keith than exhaustion, so Shiro pads dripping wet out into the bedroom, grinning at Keith’s scolding ‘Shiro!’ that follows.
He doesn’t make it to the bed. Keith slings a towel around Shiro’s waist, hauling him back. They stumble together, shaky limbs and exhaustion tripping up their usual grace. Shiro catches Keith’s bicep; Keith smacks a hand against Shiro’s hip; they go down in a pile on the clean, dry sheets.
“You get the wet side,” Shiro says immediately. Keith’s head pops up from near Shiro’s hip, indignation swiftly shifting to determination. They roll across the bed, Shiro scrambling when Keith shoves him right into the wet spot. He catches Keith around the ribs, yanks him back and over, and Keith goes down with a barely restrained yell.
“I thought you were tired!” Keith says, muffled partially by the pillows as Shiro bats his hands away and flops down on top of him.
Spreading his palms over Keith’s stomach, Shiro ducks himself beneath Keith’s chin. “I can still play dirty when I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Keith grouses, fingers combing through the wet mess of Shiro’s hair. Keith squirms to get comfortable and Shiro cradles his hip, running a thumb over the thin skin along bone. Keith calls for the lights to dim, not enough to plunge them into darkness, but to merge the haziness of Shiro’s vision with the electronic fabrication of twilight.
The burn of fatigue mixed with the warmth of the shower and Keith’s body tugs at Shiro’s senses. Tucking his nose into the hollow of Keith’s throat, Shiro relaxes. Every exhale brings him another layer of relaxation, his thoughts fuzzing and his eyes drooping. Keith’s nails scratch gently against the grain of Shiro’s hair. Murmuring Keith’s name, Shiro snuggles in close and presses an exhausted kiss to Keith’s collarbone.
Shiro drops into sleep, warm and content, Keith’s heart thrumming against his ear.
Come yell at me about sheith or send me cute prompts I am desperate
...listen I adore all Hunk ships but I’m falling into the Hunk/Matt mindset SUPER HARD and its...where am I what is happening someone take this show away from me there is so much ship material I want to DIE
So. Ulaz. if he survived. and was on the castle with the paladins for a while. what he might think of 'strange earth customs'. that maybe shiro introduces him to. accidentally. or on purpose. maybe. I mean. you know.
MISS ONIONS HOW DARE YOU COME INTO MY INBOX WITH ANOTHER PAIRING POSSIBILITY. HOW DARE.
(also I apologize this is only like PART of your prompt because I didn’t want to write a 10k story at work IT’S JUST ABOUT TOUCH AND TOUCHING AND ANYWAY)
a lazy temptation
The Castle was quiet, a gentle hum of energy accompanyingUlaz as he made his usual rounds of the halls. The Princess had kindly gifted hima map of the entire complex, though some spots were suspiciously blacked out.They were easy enough areas to get into, but Ulaz appreciated her generalwariness in giving a potential enemy access to the Castle of Lions.
The patrols calmed him, channelled his unused energy into auseful task. Since leaving the Empire to assist the Paladins in the dauntingtask of wresting control from Zarkon, his routine had become more…lax. TheCastle of Lions spanned wide; usually, he was on patrol for hours, just thequiet of his thoughts and the hush of his feet his only company. Solutions cameeasier in the calm of patrol.
As he turned another corner, the room on the far leftflicked, light spilling and fracturing the gentle shadows of the hall. Hepicked his way over, peering inside, and was surprised to find one of the manylounges in use. A holograph played across the entire far wall, aliens movingand dancing and talking in a language Ulaz could not quite track.
Though he wasn’t interested in the movie.
Sprawled upon the couch were the Paladins of Voltron.Haphazardly collected in a bundle near the middle, the movie was most likelyfor them, though only one of them was upright to enjoy it. Shiro’s telltalewhite tuft of hair was visible just over the top of the couch, head back andrelaxed. Ulaz entered the room on soft feet, taking care not to interrupt thetranquil atmosphere that blanketed the room.
“This is certainly interesting,” Ulaz commented quietly,laying a hand near Shiro’s head on the couch. Shiro glanced up lazily, smile aquick flash in the fuzzy darkness. The rest of the Paladins were all piled slapdasharound him, layering themselves upon Shiro until he was practically buried. Thebarest hint of a blanket could be seen bunched over Shiro’s lap. The movieplayed, voices indiscernible, with strange subtitles scrolling across thescreen whenever someone spoke.
“Good interesting orbad interesting?” Shiro asked, his voice a gravelly drawl. It was – pleasing.Ulaz flicked his gaze over the sleeping Paladins, to Pidge’s face tucked intoShiro’s throat and Keith’s ear against Shiro’s chest; to Lance holding one ofShiro’s arms and Hunk with his cheek smooshed against Shiro’s thigh.
“Interesting. What is this called?”
Shiro frowned, brows dropping low. His bangs flopped intohis eyes, a shadow over the bridge of his nose and the slant of his cheekbone.“A movie? Have you ever watched one?”
Ulaz chuckled quietly, leaning his weight against the couch.His fingers crept closer to the enticing curl of Shiro’s hair. “I understandthe concept of a movie, yes. This communal get together I do not.”
“We like to watch movies after training,” Shiro said,rubbing his cheek against the side of the couch. His gaze went half-lidded ashe glanced over the other Paladins. “Though no one stays awake long enough toenjoy it. I think we’ve watched this movie about four times now? I still can’tfigure out the plot.”
Keith groaned, squirming closer and draping an arm overHunk’s chest. Shiro hushed him, trapped hand barely brushing againstKeith’s side. Ulaz cocked his head. The ease with which the human speciestouched or sought out touch was fascinating. Isolation was the Blade way; barecontact was a treat when allowed. Over the course of his tenure within theBlades, he had only received minimal touch, usually at the other end of abattle. Gaze flicking to the lazy tilt of Shiro’s head, Ulaz contemplatedtemptation.
With hesitant uncertainty, Ulaz brushed a single finger overthe soft skin at Shiro’s temple.
Shiro hummed, turning into the touch. It was a – shock, theease with which Shiro turned into him. Emboldened by the consent, he stroked twofingers against Shiro’s hairline down to the curved shell of his ear. Not oncedid Shiro pull away; Ulaz stared, fascinated, as Shiro nudged into the touch,sighing out and relaxing his shoulders. Dangerous. That’s what this was. Adanger that Ulaz should mitigate immediately.
Instead, he gently ran his nails against the grain ofShiro’s hair. A breathy hum shook out from Shiro as he sagged fully into thecouch, the Paladins shifting down with him. Lance huffed, wiggling closer untilhis forehead dropped against Shiro’s shoulder; Pidge squirmed her way almostinto Shiro’s lap, though Keith halted her progress by tugging Hunk close andgripping the bottom of Shiro’s vest. Overall, a fascinating process.
The little shivery sigh Shiro let loose as Ulaz continued tostroke his hair was far more interesting.
Textures lit up the against Ulaz’s skin: the coarse rasp ofShiro’s short hair against the silken fullness of the hair on top; the smoothskin between Shiro’s hairline and his ear; the rough bump of Shiro’s scarbeneath his questing thumb. Each touch was coupled with another gentle exhalefrom Shiro, his gaze half lidded and pleased. Ulaz rubbed a thumb against theraised bone of Shiro’s cheek, fascinated despite himself. What was the point ofhard bone cushioned by warmed skin except as temptation? He gentled his touchuntil just the tips of his fingers lingered on Shiro’s skin.
“Feels nice,” Shiro whispered, eyes closed as he pushed upinto Ulaz’s touch.
The cadence of his voice tightened the spell. Ulaz swept thebangs aside, tucked his fingers into the silky softness of Shiro’s hair, andcombed his nails through. Shiro shivered and dropped his head forward, asdocile as a pyjak. His skin pebbled where Ulaz drew his palm over the back ofhis neck; interesting reaction. Was human skin as sensitive as human hair?
Shiro rolled his shoulders, dropping his head back againstthe couch when Ulaz pet at his hair again. His smile was soft in the flickeringlight of the hologram, his pupils wide under the low dip of his lids. With afinal brush of his fingers against Shiro’s warm cheek, Ulaz pulled his handaway and tucked both into the crooks of his elbows, staving off further touch.Indulgence was a dangerous game and Shiro was temptation incarnate.
“I will leave you to your hologram,” Ulaz said, steppingback. Shiro twisted his head to catch a glance at him but Ulaz ducked outbefore words could be spoken. Best to break the connection now. The Blades wereright to withhold touch from their training; anything that self-indulgent andtheir organization would not have lasted as long as it had.
The warmth caught in his palms was his own secret.
That moment when you read a ship and have to squint really hard like 'am I into this oh no I'm into this oh shit what do I do' And then @bosstoaster and @butteredonions laugh at you
You can be encouraged for more Shulaz? I LOVE your fic on it and I would die of happiness if there was more!!
Listen. Listen. This was supposed to be a one off thing where I wrote a cute lil fic for Lisa Onions. I do not need another rarepair; I’m already writing an epic rarepair that is ridiculous. If I start writing cute soft moments between an alien assassin/spy and a Shiro then there are gonna be consequences. Like ‘5 Times’ fic consequences. You do not want that.
