I have such a soft spot for really bad puns and the best part about them is probably the intense rage they tend to incite in the recipient, especially when you randomly text them out of nowhere to a friend as an ice breaker because you’re bored and need a chuckle.
“What do you call a laughing jar of mayonnaise?”
“I dunno, what?”
“Lmayo.”
*Cue like ten angry keysmash texts in a row.*
Aaand with that, my work here is done. On to the next unsuspecting victim of my shitty taste in puns.
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hello! I just finished re-reading 'stardust, silk and steel' and wanted to let you know how beautiful it was! Seriously one of the best Voltron fics I've ever read, if not one of the best fanfics in general! I'm practically obsessed with it, and take great inspiration from it! Its amazing and so are you! I just wanted to ask, if its not too annoying- are you planning on updating? I just want to know so I can stop obsessively checking- I have it bookmarked on Archive, but I still check regularly
I apologize for my embarrassing rambling in advance and I hope it comes across at least mildly coherent.
I have a couple of messages like this sitting in my inbox that I’ve picked up over the past few years and I keep meaning to answer them when they arrive, but I never quite know what to say.
Apart from holy shit thank you thank you thank you, anyway.
Because until someone says something I kind of forget that people actually not only remember but apparently really enjoy my writing and want to see how the hell it all turns out. It’s weird and thrilling that you love it, that you still love it after all this time. It’s weird and thrilling that the impact some of my favorite writers and fanfics have had on me over the years is apparently something I’ve had in turn on other people. It’s genuinely surreal.
I still go back and play with all the scenes and chapters and drafts (the many, many, many scenes) I have from time to time because I still enjoy the story but I keep thinking that I’ve waited too long to do anything with it or that nothing good will come from it.
But apparently not.
I really truly do intend to update at some point, and eventually take the story to it’s conclusion, but I honestly don’t know when that’s going to be. So much has happened in the past vague mumble couple of years that even though I’ve recently (finally) been getting back into writing as a consistent habit and getting better I genuinely don’t know when I’ll have chapters that I’m fully satisfied with. Plus, I think I might need to reread what’s already up so I can remember what the hell I was thinking back then.
(And edit, oh stars I will need to edit won’t I...)
But, regardless, by way of apology or whatever you want to call it, mayhaps you would like a small preview for a flashback I’ve planned for a chapter somewhere between 34-40 that shows us exactly what happened to the Altean Queen ten thousand years ago?
Something to at least show you I haven’t completely abandoned ship yet, anyway.
A statuesque woman with long, flowing midnight curls tugs gently at the gauzy shawl across her shoulders, shuddering at the sharp chill in the air. The flowing white and gold gown she had chosen for today’s observation is more of an outdoor garment for this shared moon- the climate outside is almost Altean, arid and comfortably warm, while the climate inside is tailor-made for Galra soldiers and caters to a preference for cooler, more humid air. She can’t wait to leave the internal observation deck to survey the exercises properly, even if that means she has to listen to the complaints of her Black Paladin for every moment he is away from the air conditioning.
He never did care for the dry heat of Altea.
Maybe she’ll finally be able to convince him to come back to the Castle. Or at least tell her why he left. Explain why he’s stayed away. It’s been three years. She’s given him his space. Surely she deserves an answer- not even as the Queen of Altea, or as the Star of Voltron, but simply as his friend, as Eris. Certainly after all they’ve been through she deserves that much.
She’s heard… whispers, stories about attacks on Galran outposts, stories that make her suspect she knows why he left them, but even that is something that people have only heard rumors about rumors for. Even that is wild speculation.
All she wants now is the truth.
She brushes a long curl back over her shoulder, pausing when the back of her hand skims the cool surface of only one delicate jewel earring- ah, right, she left the second pair in her daughter’s care. An old tradition Allura had complained about when Eris had yet again presented the young Princess with the box, but that she knew her daughter still appreciated all the same. As a little girl the Princess had hated when her mother would leave for diplomatic events without her and Eris thought that maybe giving her daughter a responsibility (take care of these for me, I’ll be back for them soon) would help. It did, when Allura was tiny. She took her responsibilities very seriously even as a young child.
Now she groans with exasperation because she’s not a child any more, mother, she’s an Apprentice now, but no, wait, she’ll still take them, a tradition is a tradition after all, and are we truly Altean if we abandon our ways so easily. Eris shakes her head fondly. For all Allura claims to be a warrior, there’s still the makings of a diplomat inside of her yet.
She watches as soldiers mill through the hangar, from Galra and Altea in equal measure talking, joking, a few of the younger ones roughhousing off in a corner where their officers can’t see.
The door slides open behind her and her shoulders loosen. A tender smile paints across her face as she turns from the window to the doorway. “Zarkon, my dear friend, I was beginning to wonder if you would show up at all, I certainly wouldn’t want to do all of the day’s surveys by myself-”
I was singing along to a playlist in the shower like you do and going absolutely HAM as you should and in the middle of a long-ass note I suddenly felt sudsy water dripping down my face towards my mouth. Do you think I cut that note short to save myself? Do you think I weighed the incoming risk of shampoo-mouth against my pointless sense of pride demanding I perform for two very bored cats like they were a stadium of thousands? Do you think I fear death?
My mom got a very sweet, very friendly calico kitten a couple months ago and while I love this kitten very much, she’s perhaps one of the dumbest cats I’ve ever met. My tortie is smart enough to hold a grudge, and absolutely will, while this cat isn’t even smart enough to be afraid of animals actively threatening her. She’s a darling who will gladly flop down on the nearest warm body that hasn’t moved in ninety seconds regardless of whether or not that body wants to be snuggled.
But the most amusing quirk of this dumb little fluffball is that she is voracious. She’s absolutely ravenous and not only will she eat literally anything you give her, she will shamelessly eat out of a bowl someone else is using while they’re still eating- because sharing is caring I guess.
Which is a nice rambling way to lead into the fact that this six pound monster just tried to climb all the way into my mouth in a bid to eat the last bite of my ham and cheese sandwich before I could finish it.
so, uh, if you ever get the inclination to dip dye your hair say bright emerald green at home and you get some of that super pigmented dye all over your sink, a squirt of dandruff shampoo on a paper towel works fucking wonders at getting that shit up before it stains
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In the four days since the so-called purge I’ve had more po/rn bots start following my account than I’ve seen in the last four months, so, you know, great job on that one, real stellar work there, really fixed that fucking problem.
I was getting ready for work and I accidentally grabbed the black lipstick instead of the nude lipstick by mistake
Yeah, yeah you know somehow I don’t think full goth is the right impression to make on your first day, I’m already pushing it with the leather jacket but it’s one of the only warm things I own
