#Hurt Shiro

[icypantherwrites]

Fic Update: Bottled Ocean, Chapter 43

Been forever since I posted a Bottled Ocean update on Tumblr (or really any fanfiction updates, but just not really feeling the energy to do so since not too many folks reading anymore and no audience on Tumblr on top of AO3 still not unlocking my story despite removing the link and mention to/of RAINN (which is also still bullshit)). Lots happening though in this Mer!Lance and Slaves! Shiro and Keith whumpy story so might try to resume chapter snippets for it at least (if I can remember). Enjoy :)

Chapter 43 snippet:

It took Shiro a second to realize Lotor had addressed him in his spiel as his brain combined ‘inside’ with the knife and he’d thought Lotor was about to cut Lance but he…

Wanted Shiro’s blood?

Shiro held said appendage out with only the back of his mind knowledge that Lotor was not so stupid as to remove his arm — and the knife was not a bonesaw, it wasn’t — lending him the ability to do so.

He still bit down on his tongue as Lotor, after sliding the arm sleeve back, cut a sliver on Shiro’s arm that immediately welled with blood.

And Lance’s head shot up so fast Shiro winced at the whiplash as those dark ocean eyes zoomed in right on Shiro and he had the strangest sense of deja vu of Lance doing the exact same thing when—

Shiro’s breath caught as he realized it was the exact same reaction as to when Keith had been brought above deck injured and sick and how Lance had been hyper aware of the other boy.

And the common factor?

Shiro glanced down at his arm where crimson was starting to drip down.

“Ah,” Lotor’s voice was soft and delighted and it made a shiver roll down Shiro’s spine. “And so the legends are true. Mers,” his thumb smeared along the wound and lifted up a now red finger, “are attracted to blood.”

He turned to Lance, who shrank back at his approach, and Shiro could see the corner of Lotor’s mouth curl up in amusement at the reaction. “Tell me, Lance,” he knelt in front of the boy and thrust his bloodied finger at Lance’s face and he recoiled even more. “Do you smell it? Taste it in the air? What drives you to it?”

“I…”

Lance’s voice was barely a whisper and he was shaking, face pale. “I just… do.”

“That is not an answer,” Lotor’s voice hardened slightly and he turned to look over his shoulder at Shiro. “That sounds like insubordination, does it not, Shiro?”

“I, I don’t know,” Lance stammered, voice rising in pitch as Lotor summoned a crackle of lightning to his fingers and turned to face Shiro and Shiro fought to remain impassive as he knew what was about to come.

It was just pain.

“I, I swear. I don’t,” Lance continued. “Pl-please. I don’t know. I, I just felt it—”

“Felt it?” Lotor interrupted him and Shiro held his breath as a purple wreathed hand remained inches away from his chest. “But you did not touch it.”

Lance shook his head. “The, the wound. I felt—”

“Of course,” Lotor breathed, whirling back around so quickly his hair slapped Shiro in the face but it wasn’t lightning and the man’s voice was back to excited. “Of course,” he repeated, pulling out his notebook. “With Mers' affinity for healing magic it would make sense that they can sense the wound and therefore are highly attuned to blood. Fascinating. The legends are true but,” he chuckled, “not in the way we interpreted.”

Read the full chapter here

[mushed-kid]

vld as textposts etc. 51

(wowzers im shocked every time i make one of these, idek if people still like them)

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

current comfort character and first ever comfort character from when i was 3

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith knows his nerves must be leeching off him, because the rest of the team is overcompensating. There’s an abundance of chatting and banter, way more than usual, enough that Keith can recognise the oddity even though he’s been gone for two years. It might just be everyone’s relief after finally getting to sit down and be calm after rushing to foil Haggar’s weirdo clone plan, but Keith’s pretty sure his team has noticed his strangeness, and is trying to make him comfortable again. The thought makes him smile despite his anxiety. He’s missed them.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by Pidge pointedly clearing her throat and using her spork to point at Krolia, who’s been about as anxious as Keith (only for her that manifests as looking like she wants to kill small cute things).

“Are you finally going to tell us who Tall Dark and Gorgeous is?” she asks, because she is the least subtle and nosiest person in the galaxy and Keith honestly should have expected it. His face flames, and his mother raises an eyebrow, while the rest of the team snickers.

Shiro tries his best to appear a little more adult. “If you wouldn’t mind introducing us, Keith.” He smiles kindly at Krolia. “You were amazing out on the field, we were really grateful to have you. Sorry for not getting us all introduced earlier.”

Krolia nods at him, smiling in an awkwardly reassuring way. “Of course, Black Paladin. There were bigger things to focus on handling.”

She returns to her food too after speaking, clearly done her piece.

Keith grimaces. He was hoping she’d introduce herself, but it looks like he’s going to have to. Fuck. (He’s not sure why he’s so opposed to it. It’s nerve-wracking, though, introducing his actual mother to his family. To his brother, his almost-father.)

“Um, Krolia, this is my family.” He points to them all and names them, rolling his eyes fondly at Lance’s wink and finger guns. He even introduces Lotor, even though he still maintains that they are not friends and Prince Hairdo has a lot of making up to do. “Everyone, this is Krolia.” He looks directly at his brother, taking strength in the man’s encouraging expression and addressing him directly. “She’s my mother.”

The entire table goes dead silent. Small conversations abruptly halt, the sounds of eating cease, silverware freezes where it was scraping on bowls. Complete and total silence.

Shiro’s face goes from encouraging and open to shocked to shuttered, jaw set and eyes narrowed.

Keith’s anxiety skyrockets. He sees his mother tense from across the table, and feels Lance go rigid beside him.

This is worse than what he expected.

“Your mother?” Shiro clarifies, words careful and controlled. He’s the first to return to movement, scooping goo into his spork almost robotically.

“Yes,” Keith says hesitantly. He doesn’t understand his brother’s reaction. He had expected some hesitance from Hunk, who is wary of newcomers, and maybe some understandable discomfort from Allura, but not…

Not Shiro. Not Shiro who is great in a crisis, who is the king of diplomacy, who has always supported Keith.

The rest of the team slowly follows Shiro’s example, returning to their meals, but there’s no more jovial conversation. All eyes are avoiding the brothers, but ears are open, movements slow and quiet so as to not miss a word.

“Hm. Interesting.” Shiro takes a bite of the goo, slowly chewing and swallowing, looking forward like he’s really contemplating. Keith watches every move carefully. “Where’d you find her?”

His tone is almost pleasant, conversational, but there’s something off and plastic about it. Forced. Like he’s talking about a volatile creature Keith has dragged home that he’s trying to be cool about, not the parent Keith has been searching for his whole life.

Keith glances surreptitiously at his mother, but she only shrugs at him. “On the space whale. Well, at the Blades, technically. She was assigned the mission with me and we both got stranded.”

Shiro makes another hum of acknowledgement, nodding to himself. He pokes aggressively at the bowl of green gelatine. “That’s wild. I would have guessed you’d have found her in a jail cell for tax evasion or something, since she seems to be the type to avoid responsibility.”

Keith blinks in shock. Two seats down, Hunk chokes on his water, and Coran thumps his back to help. Every other jaw is dropped in shock, heads swivelling from Shiro to Keith, at a total loss.

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Keith says harshly. He glances at his mother, who quickly hides the hurt on her face with a carefully practiced mask of indifference.

“Oh, nothing,” Shiro says, distractedly pushing around his goo. He sounds blasé, unbothered, but Keith recognises this tone of his, as rare as it is to hear it — the passive aggressiveness, the snooty way he speaks when he’s too furious to even yell, and just wants to make everyone around him feel stupid. “I just figured the person who abandoned her infant son without so much as a note is someone of the more irresponsible and immature variety. That’s all.”

Lance, who has never been capable of handling tenseness, stands abruptly and starts gathering the bowls and utensils of everyone at the table, regardless of whether they’re finished. Keith watches distantly as he quiets Pidge’s whining, firmly telling her to get up and bring it with her if she needs.

“She’s my mother,” Keith says through grit teeth. He pulls his gaze away from the red paladin, glaring at his brother. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

Shiro finally looks up from his stupid goo, baring his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile.

“Thrilled,” he drawls.

Quietly, Krolia stands, pushing in her chair and following the rest of the team to the door. In the back of his mind, Keith wonders if it would be better for her to stay, but dismisses it just as quickly. Better for her not to hear whatever Shiro’s problem is. She walks out the door without so much as a glance backwards, and Shiro’s gaze follows her out with a sneer. Lance shoves the rest of the reluctant team out of the kitchen doors, then glances back one more time, brown eyes big and reassuring, smiling sadly before closing the doors quietly behind him.

When Keith finally returns his gaze to his brother, his eyes are wet and there’s a lump in his throat. Hurt swarms his chest as much as anger.

“You’re being a dick,” he says. His voice cracks several times as he says it.

“Oh, well, fuck me, then,” Shiro says, violently pushing his chair away from the table and stomping to his feet, grabbing his bowl with his prosthetic so tightly it cracks. He barely even glances at it, fisting the pieces and storming over to the kitchen to toss them. “Here, let me pretend.” He turns back to face Keith and forces a smile on his face, mockingly sincere. He reaches over and yanks Keith bowl away, with his flesh hand this time, and all but tosses into the sink.

There are small smears of blood on it, from the shards of porcelain that dug into Shiro’s flesh hand. Keith’s own hands shake. He scoops his and Shiro’s sporks into his hands, squeezing them tightly, and walks carefully to the sink. He resists the urge to fling them right at Shiro’s head, instead forcing himself to set them gently among the rest of the dirty dishes and standing next to his brother to rinse what he washes. He says nothing as Shiro roughly scrubs the goo pot — they’ve discovered it tastes sort of better hot, so they take the time to cook it — and practically slams it into Keith’s sink.

“Could you tell me what your fucking problem is,” he grits out. He can no longer stop his tears and they drip down his face, down his nose, over his lips, down his chin and disappearing into the dishwater. Every time he swallows, it’s bitter with salt.

“Sure,” Shiro snaps. “I have a couple questions first.”

Frankly, Keith wants to tell him right where he can shove those questions, but he wants this to be resolved more than he wants to be angry.

“Fine.”

“Great,” Shiro says with a relish, and Keith regrets it immediately. “She recognise you the second she saw you?”

Keith swallows. He has to try three times to speak, to force his voice above a whisper. “No.”

“Huh. How long’d it take her to realise?”

Keith hands shake so bad he has to set down a cup lest he drop and break it. He doesn’t want to answer. “Some time.”

“Crazy. Bet she told you she’d been looking for you, huh?”

“Stop,” Keith whispers, choking on a sob, but Shiro plows right on.

“Told you that finding you was all she ever wanted? That she’s so glad she can finally see you again?”

“Stop.”

“That you’ve turned into a fine young man she’s proud of?”

“Shut up!” Keith shouts, and the words hurt on their way out of his mouth, shoved past the giant lump in his throat. He gasps for air and can barely find it, lungs heaving, hurting everywhere, heart feeling like he’s being squeezed. He can no more stop his sobs now than he could stop a star from imploding, and they tear out of him, leaving him aching and shuddering and shaking. “Stop. Stop. I don’t know why you —”

“I’ll tell you why,” Shiro snaps, dropping the last dirty dish and gripping the sides of the steel sink so hard it warps under his prosthetic. “You remember when you showed me those pictures of your dad and his crew? When you were thirteen?”

Keith nods, sniffling, wiping his eyes with wet hands. He hears metal creak, hears hands being dried on a dishtowel, and a long, heavy sigh.

“I picked him out immediately, kid,” Shiro says quietly. Some of the overt cruelty has faded from his voice. He just sounds tired, now; bitter. “You didn’t need to point him out to me. I barely even needed to look at it. I knew who your father was immediately.”

Keith sets the last dish on a drying rack and takes a step back, leaning away from Shiro and pointedly looking away. “So?”

“So — ”and Shiro’s voice sounds almost gentle, now, apologetic, although to Keith or for Keith he’s not sure — “you look just like your Pa, Keith. You are his spitting image. The only difference is your eyes, and your height.” He glances at Keith and then snorts softly. “Well, not the height anymore.”

Keith doesn’t smile back anymore. He hears what Shiro is saying and he hates it, hates him a little for bringing it up.

“She had no reason to expect it was me,” Keith argues.

“And no reason not to recognise you if she was really looking,” Shiro retorts. “If she was exactly what she said she was, she’d recognise you.”

Keith scowls at him. His eyes still burn with tears. “I was wearing my Blade uniform. And she hadn’t seen me since I was a baby.”

Shiro’s face has started to return to the anger it held before, the frustration. “That’s the fucking point!” he shouts. “She left you! Without so much as a goodbye, or even a note! Just a cryptic knife that did nothing but confuse you!”

“There was a war to fight!”

“And she had a kid to raise!”

“What was she supposed to do about Blue, huh?” Keith demands, pushing off the counter and throwing his hands up. “Let Zarkon find her? She had to protect the universe!”

“She had to protect her fucking kid.”

“One kid is not worth more than the entire universe!”

“You are!”

Keith freezes. Shiro barely notices, face twisted in rage so badly that he’s barely even looking at Keith, fists clenched hard enough to creak, fury radiating off of him.

“What?” Keith asks in a small voice, but Shiro plows on.

“You’re her fucking kid. You come first. You come before any other kid, you come before her mission, you come before the fucking universe. That’s how having a kid works. They’re the priority. And anyone who leaves their family behind like that is unforgivably despicable.”

The truth comes crashing down at Keith all at once. He looks at his brother with wide eyes, unclouded with his own hurt, and sees for the first time all the pure hate and rage and pain — not directed at Krolia, not even a little, but sharpened to a point and shoved back into himself.

Anyone who leaves their family behind is unforgivably despicable.

The words ring through the room. Keith hears them repeat a thousand time in three seconds. A million different memories whirl through him at once, all tinged with a pain and a border of abandonment; memories he hasn’t let himself touch since he got to space.

“I don’t blame you for Kerberos,” Keith says quietly. He waits a beat. “I never have.”

Shiro says nothing. His expression is frozen, body unmoving, but his dark black eyes — the eyes that chose him first, that followed him with pride, that were the first to look at him softly when his heritage came out and everything went to shit, that he used to cry and sob and beg to have so that Shiro could be his brother in more than name — are wrought with pain. His face does not crumple, but his eyes are like shattered volcanic glass, and slowly they fill with water, and a drop escapes the corner of his almond eye, dripping slowly down his cheek.

“How can you ever forgive her?” he asks, near silent, voice rough as sandpaper and twice as painful.

How can you ever forgive me?

Keith chokes back his tears and meets his brother’s eyes head-on, determined and steady and loving as Shiro always has been when Keith was the one shattering.

“Easily.”

Shiro swallows. It’s loud, deafening in the silence of the room. The sound of it, the knowledge that Shiro is pushing his pain down but it’s coming up anyway, makes Keith’s chin tremble.

“I don’t deserve easy.”

“You deserve whatever I want to give you.”

Finally Shiro breaks, and sobs. And sobs and sobs and sobs. His cries seem the yank the life out of him, drain himself of energy; his knees hit the floor with a crack and he crumples at Keith’s feet.

“Forgive me,” he begs, like he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Keith gently kneels next to him and reaches out, almost afraid to touch. “I already did.” He reaches out finally and holds his brother, his big brother who was stronger than his body and bigger than his dream and catapulted Keith up to the stars with him, and holds him together as he cries.

“I forgave you before you even left,” Keith whispers, when Shiro’s sobs don’t sound so painful. He squeezes tighter, because he’s almost worried that he needs to keep Shiro all together. “So did Adam.”

The mention of Shiro’s…whatever Adam is to him makes him cry harder, but Keith pushes on, sure that he needs to know.

“The day you went missing, he broke into your apartment. Went looking for the rings. He never took it off after. Never stopped looking for you, either. He forgave you, too.”

Shiro cries something, too warbled to make out, but Keith can make a pretty good guess as to what it was.

“You do deserve it,” he says firmly. “You are not a monster. You are not undeserving of our love, Shiro, of any of our love. We have always loved you as you are. Don’t rob of us the chance.”

“I don’t actually hate your mother,” Shiro whispers.

Keith laughs wetly. “I got that one, dumbass. Use your words next time.”

Shiro smiles slightly, wisely not agreeing. They both know he won’t. They both know this will probably happen to him again, and probably Keith, too — they may not be blood brothers, but they’ve always been alike anyway. Neither has ever been good at expressing themselves, at letting themselves be vulnerable.

But Keith holds his brother tighter, and thinks of their family who loves them with all their shit, despite it and because it, and thinks that they’ll make it through anyway.

[petratherrock]

Inutade, trying her best

Red dragon sized, chimera Falin :

[holysheithyall]

“We’re just two slow dancers, last ones out.”

[apparently-artless]

(>﹏<)

[im-peech]

i have always wanted to draw Shiro aka the elf guy so here i goooo

his first design was pretty complex to draw so i drew his latest design (still not easy tho)

i added and came up with my own ideas about his outfit since we have not got a complete of his design so pls dont judge 😭

[vcepsis]

17 and 50 with hurt Keith and Shiro (some broken bones pls?)

Hi so I received this ask in JULY. OF 2019. Dear anon, I am so, so sorry. If you're still out there, I hope you see this. I actually had this saved for a long time, but, well. Here it is.

This was a dialogue prompt. 17 and 50 were: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?” “Here, let me help you.”

Beta'd once again by @feverflushed who is perfect in every way <3

----

“That absolutely sucked,” Lance complained loudly, stretching an arm over his head. “Did anyone else feel like that sucked? Like, a lot more than normal?”

Keith could only roll his eyes at Lance’s dramatic complaining; they’d barely been back on the Castle for thirty seconds before Lance had started this up. Now, standing in the hangar, they were all taking a few minutes to have a quick debrief of that disaster of a battle.

Only it seemed quick was just a dream at this point. 

“Yeah, it really did,” Hunk chimed in. “I know we won and stuff, but didn’t it seem like a lucky fluke?”

Pidge took her helmet off, running an agitated hand through her hair. “I’m with you on this one. That solar flare hitting the Robeast was the only thing that kept us from getting our asses completely kicked.” She huffed in frustration. “So much for ‘strongest weapon in the universe’…”

Keith crossed his arms across his chest, only to drop them almost immediately as the pain spiked anew. He rubbed a hand across his chestplate, trying to subtly determine if it was broken anywhere. As far as he could tell, the armor was intact, despite the awful crack he’d heard when he’d slammed into the control panel in Red. 

Really, they all looked a little worse for wear. Hunk’s helmet was cracked across the top, Pidge’s undersuit was ripped along her side, exposing the skin there to a (thankfully mild) burn, and Lance kept stretching out the same arm, like it hurt.

“It was a tough battle,” came a voice next to Keith. Looking over, he saw Shiro take his helmet off gingerly, the visor almost completely shattered. Part of his white bangs were stained pink, sticking to a cut just above his eyebrow. “The important thing is we’re alright, more or less.”

Everyone nodded solemnly at that. The battle had been long and unforgiving, but they were all alive in the end.

“You should all get checked out by Coran before getting some rest,” Shiro continued. There was some more grumbling at this, but eventually the others turned in the direction of the med bay.

Keith sighed softly, but even that small movement made him wince. It was like embers in his chest, the fire licking up to burn his lungs. It came and went as he breathed, but never abated completely. He knew the impact he'd taken in Red would be a hell of a bruise, but it hurt like a bitch. Definitely one of the worst bruises he'd had.

A hand touched his shoulder, and even though it was gentle, it made Keith jolt in surprise. This time, he couldn’t hold back his sharp hiss of pain, and he felt the hand let go almost immediately. Looking over, he saw Shiro, brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you alright, Keith?” he asked softly. 

Something inside Keith melted at Shiro’s tone, and he turned. Thankfully, Shiro seemed fine, other than the cut on his forehead that was still leaking blood. 

“What about you?” Keith said, trying to ignore how talking made the pain spike anew. “Are you gonna get checked out by Coran too?”

“I’m fine,” Shiro said easily, like he was parroting the words rather than actually being sincere. 

“But what about—” Keith reached up to Shiro’s head, intending to inspect the wound there, when a flash of pain worse than all the others combined stopped him. A choked noise escaped him, and he stumbled forward as it threw him off balance.

“Whoa!” Strong hands gripped his shoulders, keeping him upright. Keith couldn’t help but groan; it felt like his chest was cracking open now. “Keith? What’s wrong?”

Keith blinked back tears, raising his arm again to try to find the source of the pain, only to be nearly blinded by it again. He let his arm fall to his side, but even that small movement felt like torture.

“Alright, you’re alright.” Shiro murmured soothing words as he gently guided Keith to sit on the floor. Keith went willingly, hoping that sitting down would somehow ease the pain that seemed to be coming from everywhere. 

Kneeling in front of him, Shiro cupped Keith’s cheeks softly, taking care not to apply too much pressure. Then he swept his bangs aside, turning Keith’s head this way and that. “I don’t see any head injuries,” he said, and Keith couldn’t help but snort at the irony as the gash on Shiro’s forehead continued to ooze blood. “Where does it hurt?”

Swallowing back the urge to cry, Keith again tried to raise a shaking arm, but barely made it past his stomach this time. “C-chest,” he managed to choke out.

Though he was barely able to focus, he saw how Shiro’s eyes immediately flicked down. “Let’s get that armor off, then.”

Keith could only offer a jerky nod, and he instinctively reached up to pull the chest plate over his head, but Shiro managed to stop him before he got too far. It was a good thing, too, as the burning hot embers inside him quickly turned into a raging fire in his lungs.

“That looks like it hurts,” Shiro said, clearly trying to sound calm for Keith’s benefit. “Here, let me help you.”

Shiro reached around Keith’s back, fumbling a bit before finding the latch that allowed the armor to pop open rather than having to pull it over his head. Shiro tugged it off, taking care not to jostle Keith too badly. Keith could hear how his own breathing had gone rough and ragged, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Do you want to lie down?” Shiro asked, starting to tear the top of Keith’s undersuit in quick, steady movements. “Or would that make it worse?”

There was a long pause while Keith tried to process what Shiro was saying, to the point where Shiro raised his eyebrows. Eventually, the signals managed to fire properly in Keith’s brain for him to answer with a weak “W-worse”.

Letting out a breath, Shiro nodded, tearing the undersuit as gently as he could around Keith’s chest. Unfortunately, he managed to brush the epicenter of the pain, and Keith couldn’t contain his cry.

Shiro cursed, but didn’t stop. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said desperately, before finally ripping away the last of the material. Keith didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, even though it was Shiro and he was looking at Keith half naked and vulnerable weak disgusting worthless---

“Keith,” Shiro exclaimed, and though it was more of a breath than a word, it managed to break Keith out of his downward spiral. “You should have said something.”

Finally looking down, Keith saw.

The skin all around his upper body was bruised, as he expected, but he was unprepared for the red, swollen skin that wrapped around his chest. If he looked carefully, he imagined he could see the outline of Red’s control panel, though that didn’t make any sense at all.

“M’sorry,” Keith mumbled, trying to suppress the urge to cover himself. Lifting his arms hurt, and for some reason he kept forgetting. But he couldn’t help the awful feeling stirring again in his stomach, the awful mix of anger and bitter disappointment at letting Shiro down. Again. Tears gathered in his eyes again, and even though he knew it was irrational, he couldn’t make it stop.

“No, Keith, don’t be sorry,” Shiro said, and he sounded sad this time. Keith looked up, meeting Shiro’s eyes, and only saw tender concern there. “We need to get you to a pod, though, ok? This is…” He reached out a tentative hand, not quite making contact. “This is serious. I think you might have broken something.”

Oh. That made more sense than just a bruise, if the pain was any indication.

Shiro quickly scrambled to his feet, only to bend down again. “Can you stand? We need to get you to a pod right away.”

Keith nodded without actually believing it, but Shiro was right: this wasn’t something that would be fixing itself anytime soon. Putting a hand on the floor, he tried to use it to push himself up, only to have the pain spike through his chest again, this time so bad that he nearly blacked out.

Just then, there were arms behind his back and under his legs, slowly lifting him up. Keith knocked his head against something hard, turning a bit to see Shiro’s white and black chest plate.

“I’m going to take care of you, okay?” Shiro said softly, keeping his hold gentle, but still secure. 

Keith let his eyes flutter closed as Shiro began to move, and Keith could feel how Shiro tried to keep Keith as steady as possible.

At that moment, it didn’t matter how bad the pain might have been. In Shiro’s arms, Keith would always feel safe.

[cooltrainererika]

I posted my first Godzilla Minus One fic!

It’s about Shikishima having a PTSD episode on the Shinseimaru and the crew dealing with it.

I do hope this fanbase grows…

[misterpoofofficial]

quick toul ft. sheith

[icypantherwrites]

New Fic: A Star-Filled Sky

Summary: Space was supposed to be exciting. It was supposed to be looking up into the star-filled sky and wondering what else was out there, how far could they go? It was something to dream about, to have hope for.

And that dream…

For Shiro it had become a nightmare.

Or; set directly after Keith + Garrison Trio rescue Shiro from the Garrison and Keith and Pidge reflect on the Kerberos Mission and their brothers.

Story snippet:

Keith reached up and took it with a soft thanks and his stomach took that moment to let out an embarrassingly loud grumble and Keith could feel his cheeks and ears heating.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask if you were hungry,” Pidge said, “but I think that question’s been answered. Hunk’s going through your fridge—”

And at that Keith did turn around again because water bottles were one thing but that was his entire food budget for the week and no offense to Hunk but he looked like he enjoyed eating and Keith didn’t really have all that much to spare. Everything he bought was with the emergency money Shiro had given him and what little he could make doing odd jobs for some of the older residents who lived outside Garrison City and were happy for the help.

Something must have shown on his face because Pidge added, “There’s no use asking him to stop. He’s determined when he’s hungry and he stress cooks or bakes when he’s upset and, well, he’s more than a little stressed right now. Don’t worry though, we’ll take care of your supplies, okay?”

Keith gave a slow nod, pulse slowing down again.

“He’s a great cook,” Pidge said, a small smile on her face. “And you,” her eyes were searching but hesitant, “look like you could use a home cooked meal.”

Keith gave a small shrug, not sure what to say to that but unable to deny it.

“Have… have you been out here since you got kicked out?” Pidged asked, blunt and almost rude despite the careful delivery but Keith found a comfort in it. He liked straightforward people and he didn’t like useless small talk.

And considering today was the most he’d spoken to anyone in months and he’d already had to deal with Lance’s confusing comments and declarations, he really appreciated this approach.

Read it here

[sockdooe]

You ever just take a shower for an hour and start just bawling because of Kuron? Start crying in absolute anguish because if he’s the “evil clone” if he’s deemed as a monster due to his existence what does that makes shiro?

If Kuron the clone who didn’t even know he was one chose to live the paladins, try to be by their side, even if he made the wrong choices is deemed evil what does that make shiro?

If Kuron who was so desperate to get back to what he thought was his team his friends and even family killed because he wasn’t who anyone thought he was mean to shiro?

If Kuron can be corrupted and deemed kill able what does that make shiro?

Kuron had less blood on his hands and was created by hands who have nothing but anger to offer him.

Kuron who even when he snapped apologized and then opened up to Lance.

Is deemed evil. And deserving of death.

What does that make shiro?

Shiro who’s killed probably 100s of people before Voltron.

Whose entire being has been soiled and rotten because of the things he’s been forced to do against his will.

Who has seen nothing but death follow his shadow ever since he was little.

Who’s so riddled with guilt that he’s terrified of hurting others.

Whos tried so hard to be there for his team his friends his FAMILY without asking anything in return.

And still shiro loves.

And still Kuron loves.

Why does one get to live?

Why does the other have to be forced into their body?

Why must he lay in another’s coffin?

Why is he, a man more innocent than I, deemed a monster?

Am I only alive because of my familiarity ?

would you love me if you didn’t know me?

Would you care for me even if I was a stranger?

Or would you call me a monster because you mistook me for someone else?

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

some portraits based off frames I liked in the first episode of Voltron. The pilot episode still is everything to me. Thought this was a nice angle of Shiro <3 Wanted to play with giving Allura a different hair style while keeping the silhouette of her canon hair. I thought Sendak's evil little grin was fun

[autisticlancemcclain]

When Shiro hears news of his mother’s death, his first thought is good riddance.

His second thought is fuck. Loudly, and repeated many times in his head. And out loud. In the middle of the night, sitting straight up in bed, startling his fiancé awake.

“T’kashi?” he mutters, eye squinted as he blindly pays the bedside table for his glasses. “What’s going on?”

Shiro’s mouth works on autopilot. “It’s my mother.”

As it always does when she is brought up, which is frequently due to her many life decisions, Adam’s face wrinkles as if he just bit into something very sour.

“Oh. What the fuck is she up to now?”

“Uh, the afterlife.”

Adam’s face freezes. Shiro chokes down hysterical laughter. It doesn’t work, and comes out kind of reedy and strangled.

“Mr. Shirogane,” comes the tinny voice from his phone, and Shiro startles.

“Oh, shit, yes. Sorry. Um. I wanted to ask about my brother. Where is he? When can I pick him up?”

There’s a hesitance from the other end that Shiro doesn’t like. He sits up straighter, if at all possible, and Adam’s face hardens — it has been a four year long fight, with his mother, to try to get Keith over as often as possible for even an ounce of stability, and not a fight they have won very frequently, but it is not one they’re willing to give up. Shiro has no doubt that the state will fight just as hard as his mother did.

Adam and Shiro will simply fight harder.

“The safety of the child is the state’s first concern,” the lawyer says neutrally.

“Great. Give me an address and twenty minutes, then, and I’ll bring him right home.”

The lawyer’s voice is steely. “He is home, with a lovely young couple who are happy to have him.”

“There is a lovely young couple who he is related to and whom he has familiarity with right here,” Shiro grits out. “Tell me where my brother is.”

The lawyer waits a moment. “It might be a difficult transition, you know. It would be nice for Keith to have a mother and a father, for once.”

Before Shiro can even blink, a hand reaches over and snatches the phone right from his face, and Adam throws it open onto the bedspread, presses speaker, and sets off.

“You listen here, you gristly assed motherfucker. Takashi has the right of next of kin. Failing proof of neglect or abuse, which you have tried and failed to invent on our end so many times the court as all but banned you from trying again, Keith is legally required to be placed in our home should Shirogane Saori be found incapable of care. And, as you can imagine, lying on a table in a morgue renders one quite incapable. If you don’t provide an address clearly and concisely in the next fifteen seconds, I will sue not only you and your firm, but you mother, your father, your children, and you dusty tailor, you ugly brown suit wearing hetero. Are we understood?”

There’s another stretch of silence, wherein despite the gravity of the situation Shiro considers proposing to his fiancé again, before the lawyer finally speaks.

“…Group home on 4th and King.”

“Thank you,” Adam says tersely, and slams the phone closed. He scoffs at it. “Fucking jackass. Someone should kill him.”

Shiro snorts. Then he giggles. Then he starts laughing, and then he can’t stop, and he laughs so hard tears come to his eyes, and then they don’t stop, either, and his breath hitches and a lump forms in his throat and his whole face starts to get itchy. Adam pulls him into him immediately, cradling him into his lap like he’s a child, and he goes without resistance because it’s Adam doing to holding, and because he doesn’t know where this sadness is coming from. He has hated his mother for more years than he has loved her. The only time he’s thanked her for anything in the last eight years was one he held Keith in the hospital, skipping his first day of high school to do it. She has been crueler than kind to him for most of his life.

But she was his mother, in many ways. In all ways except the ones that mattered. And apparently that counts for something.

“We need to go,” Shiro whispers, trying to lift his head. Adam gently presses it back into his neck, holding his arms around him.

“It’s four in the morning, starshine. Maybe we wait a few hours?”

“No.” The hoarseness of his own voice makes him wince. “He can’t…Adam, I don’t even like my mother, and look at me. Keith is going to be inconsolable. She carted him around like a baby doll. He loved her.”

Adam winces. He knows it’s true as much as Shiro does. Their mother’s erratic lifestyle has gifted Keith an assortment of attachment issues, as evidenced by the tantrums whenever she dropped him off at their apartment when she was bored.

Not that Keith understands the issue. Because he is four, and because he has gone through more things in his four years of life than many children will before they are even ten, but not enough to stop thinking his mother is the most important person on Earth.

Quickly they dress, shoving in whatever clothes are near without worrying about looking presentable. They don’t bother with much more than brushing their teeth, skipping shaving and breakfast and coffee in favour of speeding to the parking garage.

It only takes them fifteen minutes to get to the group home the lawyer has mentioned, and they waste no time in rushing up the steps, uncaring of social norms or etiquette as they ring the doorbell and stand fidgeting at the front door.

It takes a long time for the door to open. Shiro can’t help feeling like that is intentional.

“What,” barks the man at the door, as if their intent isn’t expressly obvious given the circumstance.

“I’m here to pick up my brother,” Shiro says as politely as he can manage. “Keith?”

“He’s sleeping,” says the man, who Shiro presumes is one of the foster parents running the home. “Come back tomorrow.” He tries to slam the door shut, but before he can register his own movement Shiro is slamming his hand against the door. The wood cracks under his palm.

He doesn’t bother saying anything. He doesn’t have it in him. He simply shoves the door open, sending the man stumbling, and strides in, remembering at the last second to try and keep quiet so as to not wake any other sleeping children. It takes him three tries to find the right room, but when he finally swings open the right door he knows, from the very second he sees the lump of blankets on the bottom bunk in the far right corner. He stands frozen for a moment at the door, watching his baby brother breathe, seeing the dried tear tracks on his face, the stutter of his breaths and shake of his chest. His thumb is firmly in his mouth, a habit he’s had broken for two years.

Shiro’s eyes begin to leak again. He feels Adam squeeze his bicep once in comfort, then wordlessly he walks off, gathering the messy scattering of Keith’s things into a large backpack. Trusting him to know or guess what belongs to his brother — all largely things they’ve bought him — Shiro approaches the bed, kneeling carefully at the edge of it. He reaches out and brushes Keith’s hair out of his face, gliding his thumb across his forehead. It wrinkles as Keith wakes, squinting his eyes up at Shiro in grogginess and confusion. It takes him a moment to register what’s going on, but Shiro knows the exact second it does, because his indigo eyes go blank the way they do when Keith is so far overwhelmed he can’t even come close to starting to process how he feels. Shiro braces himself for whatever vitriol, likely directly quoted from their mother, is about to come out of his mouth.

“I don’t want you,” Keith cries. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, cracked and strained; a long, keening cry. His face twists up and he glares at Shiro in what can only be described as betrayal, as if it’s Shiro’s fault their mother is gone, as if it was Shiro’s evil plan to take her away forever so he can never go back.

He wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s what their mother has told him. It hurts anyway.

“I know,” he chokes out, hushed. He brushes his thumb over Keith’s forehead again, slow, from temple to temple, and to his surprise his brother leans into it slightly as his breaths hitch with sobs. “I know, baby.”

He exchanges a look with Adam, who, God Shiro loves him so much, understands immediately: they have ten minutes.

Two years ago, when their mother dropped Keith off at his doorstep one day and fucked off to Atlanta for a week, Shiro decided enough was enough. Keith was convinced she was coming back to get him every morning and was devastated when she didn’t. It was an endless, sisyphian cycle. Shiro took the day off school, took his limited funds, and brought Keith to a paediatric specialist. It was of course not the most thorough evaluation, as that was something that could only be done with time, but there was almost definitely some valuable input. Shiro learned, in harried, layman’s terms, that their mother’s flakiness meant Keith always believed he was about to be left behind. Her babying of him lead him to believe that he was at fault when that happened. When he was actually happened, he was prone to tears and affection, trying to win back his mother, trying to prove that he was a good enough baby doll for her, basically.

And if that doesn’t work…well. Then the hurt and the anger start, and God knows how long it will last.

“Ten minutes,” Adam mutters, stuffing one last thing into the backpack and shoving it over his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Taking the blanket with him, because fuck these guys, Shiro lifts his baby brother up, holding him tightly to himself, pressing his face into his neck. He starts to powerwalk down the hallway back to the front door, Adam close behind him. He vaguely hears the same man who opened the door start to argue with them, start to try to stop them, and he trusts Adam to handle it, because all he can hear in his head is a countdown. If they don’t make it to the car in time and Keith starts really wailing, they are going to take him away, and Shiro knows he will never get fucking visiting rights because the family court system is the most broken thing in America, and Keith will be shoved into some random group home that doesn’t care about him and won’t care about him and he’ll be treated like shit or worse not treated like anything at all, and he will grow up thinking that there is no one who loves him and no one to turn to and Shiro will never forgive himself or his mother or the world.

He needs to get his brother to the car.

He rushes down the beaten down concrete steps as fast as he can while still being careful in the dark. The car is half a block away, the only place they could find parking, and he starts to jog, ignoring the ache in his arms. He’s held Keith for longer. At the seven minute mark, he registers yelling voices and a door slam and Adam’s rapid footsteps behind him, and by the ninth they make it to their beat up piece of shit fourth-hand car, throwing open the back door, setting Keith down gently, bucking the kid in as quickly as they can manage.

Shiro has lost count of how much time they have, if they have any at all. His heart pounds so rapidly he can feel it everywhere in his body. He’s bitten the inside of his cheek so harshly he can taste blood. He feels like he’s gonna throw up.

He’s barely thrown a seatbelt on by the time Adam shifts into gear and tears out onto the busy street, cars honking at him. Shiro meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, trying to find strength in his look, in his support. He tries to tell himself that the worst part is over, now; Keith is with him, beside him in the back seat, Keith is going to stay with him forever, now, he is going to make his baby brother’s life stable from now on. They are starting to swim their way out of the deep end.

And then the wailing starts.

It’s loud. Keith takes a huge, deep breath, then lets out a noise that Shiro can only describe as agonised, so big and heavy that it pulls on his little body, straining against the seatbelt. His face is bright red from the force of it, and Shiro can count his teeth with how wide open his mouth is. Bizarrely, Shiro wonders if he’s loud enough for the windows to break, or their eardrums. He’s not sure if his own pain comes from his ears or his heart.

“I want my mama!” Keith sobs, shouts, screams, cries. “I want my mama! I want my mama!”

“I know,” Shiro whispers again, for what feels like the millionth time that night. Between Keith’s stuttering breaths Shiro hears Adam’s soft cries, looks up to see tears streaming down his face. He’s surprised to find his own face dry as a bone, the lump in his throat he’d felt earlier completely disintegrated. He feels hollowed out. “I know, Akira. I know. I know.”

Shiro wonders if this is what it feels like to drown.

[shezit]

What's your favorite moment between Shiro/Keith

Mines is when despite Shiro being in the Black Lion and protected Keith still tries to deactivate the bombs. Great job Keith, it doesn't quite make sense but great job. (Also his clutch on saving Lotor)