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foxfire74So I have committed fanfic, after a very, very long dry spell. Mostly because the now-11-God-help-me baby has turned into a massive Voltron: Legendary Defender fangirl, and I enjoy it enough that we can geek out together, which is fun.
But gets me thinking. And when I think, I frequently commit fanfic. In this case, fic about "how might a skyscraper-sized millennia-old sentient robot lion see the world?" Y'know, like you do. One Green Lion, mid-series, and one Red Lion, pre-series. Mostly here so I can have an easy-access copy, but comments are very, very welcome. Unbeta'ed, spoilerrific, and heavily inspired bymaychorian's Voltron fanfic.
Untitled Red fic:
When her paladin dies, Red tries to scatter with the others and wait as planned. But without that fierce, familiar mind at the controls and with the Black Lion’s shock and grief howling along their bond, she falters, tumbles, and finally drifts under a shower of energy beams from the Galra fleet. Little fleshlings rope her with tractor beams and truss her in bonds of metal and energy.
She does not move again for thousands of years.
Transferred humiliatingly from one garrison, one warship to the next, she does not stir. He-who-was-Black’s has betrayed them all; worse, he’s shattered her sister’s heart. She will not give him the satisfaction of a reaction, not the smallest flicker of light or twitch of a cable.
With no mortal bond to mark the time, years blur into an uneasy doze for Red. He-who-was-Black’s sends engineers, soldiers, even cubs in an attempt to learn her secrets, and she ignores them all. Sometimes he comes himself - braced for battle at the start, till her continuing stillness wears him down to complacency and then past that to constrained frustration. You shall have nothing of me.
Time is nebulous, but after several such visits, it occurs to her that a mortal should have worn out by now. Curious. Not worth breaking her silence for. He’d broken all their bonds; what other laws might he not flout? She settles deeper into dreams of battle, leaving only whisker-thin tendrils of energy to alert her when the once-paladin comes.
His appearances dwindle; years to decades to centuries. Usually he comes with a pack of lesser predators, all fawning or cringing according to their natures; once alone, standing in the doorway and staring, as still as Red herself. “I would have made you all great,” he mutters finally, and turns away with an explosive burst of air.
And again, decades later. “I know you’re not dead,” he said, standing at the edge of her particle shield. “Not even dormant.”
She can feel him faintly, a double-distant taste of emotions through the remains of his bond with Black. Confident menace, a powerful, calculating mind...baffled rage, that the creature closest to him had not submitted to his will. The bond with Black was not quite severed, and he still bled. Red savored it.
“What would it take, to make you bring the Black Lion to me? I’ve tried to override your systems, offered you pilots...shall I burn worlds until you submit? What would it take, to bring you to my service?”
Love my sister again, Red growls in her mind. But she wouldn’t say it if she could. His love was false coin, and Red would not permit him to offer it again. If he tries, she will break her stillness once and for all, and watch the false paladin burn.
Untitled Green fic:
Pidge slumped back in her chair and rolled her stiff shoulders, peeling white-knuckled hands away from the control levers and flexing her fingers. Exhilaration tingled along her nerves even as battle fatigue set in. Green had been brilliant, spinning through clouds of fighters like a housecat swatting at moths, dropping clouds of chaff to disorient the Galra pilots. And Pidge hadn’t flown half badly either, she cheerfully admitted to herself.
Bold, someone said approvingly. It was...staticky? Distant?
She thumped the side of her helmet and double-checked its frequency. “Who’s--” That hadn’t been her helmet. “...Green?”
Green. Stronger and clearer now, the thought thrummed with satisfaction and delight.
“How did y-- can you all do that? Have you done it before?” She spun around in her seat, looking for something to focus on. She’d felt her lion’s emotions before, they all had, but actual words would be so much better!
Pilot minds small/fast/fragile, Green said. Lions are...bigger. There was a sudden mental push and a faint sense of strain, like Dad lifting her to his shoulders as a child, and she saw-
She couldn’t say what she saw. Dizzyingly complex coding like a four-dimensional rose window, twining vines of thought, millennia of experience...Pidge shook her head, disoriented, and Green gently set her down again. “Whoa. That was...something else.” A little scary, honestly, but she’d give anything to explore it further.
Little Blade will learn, Green said confidently.
“Little - Green, don’t you start with the height jokes.”
Confusion from Green. All pilots are small. Little Blade is streamlined/sharp/precise. She flicked images at Pidge’s mind: flechettes, caltrops, holdout daggers. The trap that shifted overwhelming odds, the hidden weapon that turned the tables, the swift and silent attack.
Slowly, Pidge let out the breath that had started as an indignant huff. “Oh. Well, that’s all right then.”
Good pilot. Best pilot.
The green lion banked around in a long, lazy curve, heading for home.
But gets me thinking. And when I think, I frequently commit fanfic. In this case, fic about "how might a skyscraper-sized millennia-old sentient robot lion see the world?" Y'know, like you do. One Green Lion, mid-series, and one Red Lion, pre-series. Mostly here so I can have an easy-access copy, but comments are very, very welcome. Unbeta'ed, spoilerrific, and heavily inspired by
maychorian's Voltron fanfic.Untitled Red fic:
When her paladin dies, Red tries to scatter with the others and wait as planned. But without that fierce, familiar mind at the controls and with the Black Lion’s shock and grief howling along their bond, she falters, tumbles, and finally drifts under a shower of energy beams from the Galra fleet. Little fleshlings rope her with tractor beams and truss her in bonds of metal and energy.
She does not move again for thousands of years.
Transferred humiliatingly from one garrison, one warship to the next, she does not stir. He-who-was-Black’s has betrayed them all; worse, he’s shattered her sister’s heart. She will not give him the satisfaction of a reaction, not the smallest flicker of light or twitch of a cable.
With no mortal bond to mark the time, years blur into an uneasy doze for Red. He-who-was-Black’s sends engineers, soldiers, even cubs in an attempt to learn her secrets, and she ignores them all. Sometimes he comes himself - braced for battle at the start, till her continuing stillness wears him down to complacency and then past that to constrained frustration. You shall have nothing of me.
Time is nebulous, but after several such visits, it occurs to her that a mortal should have worn out by now. Curious. Not worth breaking her silence for. He’d broken all their bonds; what other laws might he not flout? She settles deeper into dreams of battle, leaving only whisker-thin tendrils of energy to alert her when the once-paladin comes.
His appearances dwindle; years to decades to centuries. Usually he comes with a pack of lesser predators, all fawning or cringing according to their natures; once alone, standing in the doorway and staring, as still as Red herself. “I would have made you all great,” he mutters finally, and turns away with an explosive burst of air.
And again, decades later. “I know you’re not dead,” he said, standing at the edge of her particle shield. “Not even dormant.”
She can feel him faintly, a double-distant taste of emotions through the remains of his bond with Black. Confident menace, a powerful, calculating mind...baffled rage, that the creature closest to him had not submitted to his will. The bond with Black was not quite severed, and he still bled. Red savored it.
“What would it take, to make you bring the Black Lion to me? I’ve tried to override your systems, offered you pilots...shall I burn worlds until you submit? What would it take, to bring you to my service?”
Love my sister again, Red growls in her mind. But she wouldn’t say it if she could. His love was false coin, and Red would not permit him to offer it again. If he tries, she will break her stillness once and for all, and watch the false paladin burn.
Untitled Green fic:
Pidge slumped back in her chair and rolled her stiff shoulders, peeling white-knuckled hands away from the control levers and flexing her fingers. Exhilaration tingled along her nerves even as battle fatigue set in. Green had been brilliant, spinning through clouds of fighters like a housecat swatting at moths, dropping clouds of chaff to disorient the Galra pilots. And Pidge hadn’t flown half badly either, she cheerfully admitted to herself.
Bold, someone said approvingly. It was...staticky? Distant?
She thumped the side of her helmet and double-checked its frequency. “Who’s--” That hadn’t been her helmet. “...Green?”
Green. Stronger and clearer now, the thought thrummed with satisfaction and delight.
“How did y-- can you all do that? Have you done it before?” She spun around in her seat, looking for something to focus on. She’d felt her lion’s emotions before, they all had, but actual words would be so much better!
Pilot minds small/fast/fragile, Green said. Lions are...bigger. There was a sudden mental push and a faint sense of strain, like Dad lifting her to his shoulders as a child, and she saw-
She couldn’t say what she saw. Dizzyingly complex coding like a four-dimensional rose window, twining vines of thought, millennia of experience...Pidge shook her head, disoriented, and Green gently set her down again. “Whoa. That was...something else.” A little scary, honestly, but she’d give anything to explore it further.
Little Blade will learn, Green said confidently.
“Little - Green, don’t you start with the height jokes.”
Confusion from Green. All pilots are small. Little Blade is streamlined/sharp/precise. She flicked images at Pidge’s mind: flechettes, caltrops, holdout daggers. The trap that shifted overwhelming odds, the hidden weapon that turned the tables, the swift and silent attack.
Slowly, Pidge let out the breath that had started as an indignant huff. “Oh. Well, that’s all right then.”
Good pilot. Best pilot.
The green lion banked around in a long, lazy curve, heading for home.
