#shiro: PTSD?

[discordiansamba]

do you ever think Lance feels cheated that he didn't get hit with the 'get buffer in space' beam. I mean. I think it's his fundamental nature to be a beanpole, but do you think he ever looks at Shiro, Matt, and Keith and wonders what he missed out on that they got.

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Over the next several weeks, Marcela continues to keep an eye on the boy. (Takashi. She knows his name is Takashi, and that he is an adult by legal standards. But she can’t get over how — how young he is. She can’t get over the scars on his face and the straight-backed robotic way he walks and the haunted look in his eyes. She hates America, often, and she hates the world, for letting children — encouraging them — to sign up for something they can never understand. He has been alive for less than one quarter of his lifespan. He is just a boy.)

She’s careful not to overbear him, to keep some distance, but at least once a week she’ll make a plate and send it his way, or have Luis weed his garden as well as theirs. She’ll even kick the football into his yard when she’s playing with Lance and Rachel, just to give them an excuse to go get it, just to give the boy a reason to get up and answer the door. She’s always been a light sleeper, too, and when she hears his car start up in the middle of the night, far too late for any errands, she’ll press a gentle kiss to her sleeping husband’s temple and slide her feet into her slippers, quietly padding over to the kitchen and watching with a mug of tea until the car pulls back into the driveway. (Some days, that takes hours. Some days the sun rises again before she sees the beam of his headlights bleed back onto their streets. Some days, even, he won’t leave the driveway, sitting instead with his hands clutched on the wheels and his eyes staring, unblinking, at the chipping paint of his garage door, for hours. Those are the worst days. On those days, she makes sure to make something sweet and warm and comforting, and leave a heaping plate of it on his doorstep. On those days, she swallows the lump in her throat and hugs her children tightly and they grip the seams of her shirt and say nothing, not even whining or squirming when she pulls them away from their games. On those days she misses her brother so much it aches in her teeth.)

On one particularly hot day, she’s reorganising the kitchen cabinets and only paying half attention. The rest of her is staring out the window above the sink, because the boy walked into his backyard two hours ago and stood ramrod straight in the middle of the clover and has not moved since and worried does not begin to cover it.

“Maaaaaaaaamá,” whines a voice behind her. Marcela jumps, whirling around, pressing her hand to her heaving chest when she sees who it is.

“Leandro,” she scolds, turning back to her half-hearted sorting of their colourful collection of mugs. “You startled me.”

Her baby doesn’t respond to that, choosing instead to flop dramatically over the kitchen table, cheek smushed on the scratched wood and limbs askew.

“I’m so bored,” he laments, brown eyes big and pouted and pleading. “There’s nothing to do. No one to play with. I am alone and despolate.”

“Desolate,” Marcela corrects, grinning. “You’re a mocoso descarado, you know that?”

He beams at her. She sets the final mug away, then walks over to brush his hair from his face and press a kiss to his forehead.

He leans into her touch, sighing. “How come I couldn’t go with everybody? It’s not fair. I’m very mature. I could have watched the scary movie.”

She hums, taking the seat next to him and gathering him into her arms. He goes willingly, elbowing her in the side in his haste to tuck himself into her lap and under her chin. She rests her cheek on the top of his head and strokes her hands gently down his back.

“You’re very mature, mi vida,” she agrees softly, squeezing. “But maybe no scary movies for the chico mono who gets nightmares when he sleeps without a nightlight and cries when he sees a dried out worm, hm?”

He harrumphs, wounded. She hides a smile in his hair and loves him with her whole body.

“‘M not a baby.”

“There’s nothing babyish about having a big heart. I just want to keep it —” she tickles the spot just above his heart, making him giggle — “safe and sound, okay?”

“Okay.”

She pulls back slightly so she has room to clasp her palms to his cheeks, kissing him smack in between the eyes with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise.

“There we go, mijo.”

She settles them back against the chair, rocking them a little. Her baby has grown up so much. It startles her, sometimes, when she checks in on him — on any of her babies — and sees a big, growing kid in a big boy bed, instead of the baby in a crib she’s expecting. Five years is nothing, and five years is hundreds of days worth of knowing and loving him. She hopes her children know how much love bubbles out of her, all for them. How much she treasures every single second she had and has with him.

He squirms, slightly, in her lap, forcing himself still after a couple seconds when he catches himself moving. She glances down to find him fidgeting, twisting his fingers. He’s restless — he’ll get moody soon. He’s been cooped up in the house all day with no one to play with. He’s been an angel, either helping her around the house and entertaining himself, but it’s not fair to him.

Her eyes drift back out the kitchen window, and she gets an idea.

“Lancito,” she starts, straightening out as a plan begins to take form, “you want to play chess?”

He blinks at her.

“You stink at chess,” he says, not unkindly.

It’s true — she does. She understands, objectively, how to play, but she’s never managed to see the board the way Lance or Veronica see it. She doesn’t understand how to play strategically and never has. She can’t picture future moves or anticipate strategy the way chess players can, so she’s always pretty easily beat. Not that it would matter too much if she could play well — Lance has beaten everyone in the house several times over. When he’s allowed to play on the computer, he beats the players there, too. He’s bright, and he has been obsessed with the game since his fingers were big enough to move around the pieces and his Abuela taught him to play.

She helps him to the floor, speeding to the fridge and pulling out some leftovers as Lance watches in confusion.

“There’s someone you haven’t played before, though.”

“Nuh-uh.” He starts listing on his fingers. “I beat you, I beat Papá, I beat Luis, I beat Veronica, I beat Marco, like, a hundred times —”

Marcela finishes setting up a — pointedly and deliberately — balanced plate, wrapped with parchment this time because she’s run out of aluminum foil. She spots Lance’s folded up chessboard and grabs it, placing the plate on top and offering it to Lance, who stares at it with furrowed brows.

“I bet you Takashi is a new challenge,” she says enticingly. “Why don’t you go over and ask him to play?”

Lance, bless his little extrovert heart, brightens immediately.

“Oh yeah!”

She walks him to the door, hand on his head to help guide him around the various tripping hazards in the hallway — her family is messy, and Lancito has never been the most coordinated child. He’ll be fine (probably) when he gets outside.

“Okay, make sure you’re either back in a couple hours or you come let me know that you’re staying,” she says, lingering at the front steps. Lance is already skittering across the driveway, not even bothering to wave.

“‘Kay! Bye!”

She watches as he rushes up Takashi’s steps, careful not to spill the plate. The door is open — it really is hot today — and only the screen is left closed. Marcela crosses her fingers, hoping the boy will come when Lancito knocks, and —

She freezes. Her jaw drops. Lance — didn’t knock. The little dork just…opened the door of a relative stranger’s house and just.

Walked in.

“Dios mio,” she mutters to herself, hustling back to the kitchen to continue spying out the window.

She makes it there just in time, not even bothering with the pretence of reorganizing cup ware as she watches her son stride up to the boy, a particular sort of childlike confidence guiding his bare feet, and plant himself in front of him. The boy, strangely, does not seem to notice him, still staring blankly ahead of him.

Lance considers this for a moment. He steps over to the side and sets down the plate of food, walking back to stand squarely in front of the boy. He pokes him. The boy startles.

Marcela scrambles to open the window.

“I need a chess buddy,” Lance declares.

Takashi blinks at him.

“How,” he says, finally, gesturing at Lance as a whole. “What.”

“Chess is a strategy game played by two people,” Lance explains, missing the meaning of Takashi’s statement entirely. Marcela bites her tongue to keep from laughing. “Sit down, I’ll teach you.” Lance sits. He opens his chessboard and begins meticulously setting up the pieces. “I call dibs on playing black.”

Takashi doesn’t move for a long while. For a moment Marcela worries that he won’t let Lance play; or worse, he’s frozen again, uncomprehending of what’s in front of him.

But, slowly, he sits. And he runs his fingertips over the top of the pawns. He swallows, harshly, several times. Something painful works its way across his face before settling into something pensive, soft.

“I would appreciate that,” he says quietly.

He clearly knows how to play. He lets Lance explain, but he has no trouble keeping up with Lance play for play; eventually cornering Lance’s king. Lance glares at him for several minutes after, which Shiro allows with a stoic look in return, until the frown on Lancito’s face suddenly shifts to one of begrudging respect.

“Rematch,” Lance decides, ever the most competitive child Marcela has ever known.

Shiro cracks a smile. “So I can beat you again?”

Lance huffs. “We’ll see, butthead.”

Satisfied that the boys are fine, for once, relieved at the animation returned to Takashi’s spirit, Marcela turns back to organizing the kitchen in earnest. She puts on her favourite CD and dances around the kitchen as she arranges the plates and bowls in a very particular way she knows will drive her husband insane. She loses herself in the monotony of scrubbing the fridge clean for no reason except that it’s Sunday and she’s bored and she has to time to lose herself in tedium, lucky as she is.

Hours later, long after the rest of her family comes in, Lance stomps his way into the living room where Marcela is braiding Rachel’s hair and helping her run lines for her school play.

“I want to trade Marco for Shiro,” he announces. He explains for their benefits: “That’s what Takashi told me I could call him.”

Marcela hides a smile. “You can still visit next door if you keep your brother, you know.”

“Ugh,” Lance says.

Rachel snorts. She knows as well as everyone else in the house that it will be Marco, tonight, who Lance will turn to to help check his room for monsters or sleep with should he have a nightmare. And Marco will sigh and whine and complain and never entertain the idea of not helping.

“I’m glad you and Takashi have become friends,” Marcela offers.

This brings the smile back to Lance’s face.

“Duh,” he says. “It’s Shiro.”

[nervousloveheart]

the reason Shiro was so insistent that Keith was capable of leading Voltron was because he was afraid that Haggar or Zarkon would kill him before he had a chance to finish the mission. Might expand on this later, but both of them have serious ptsd

[mpregfanatic197]

I will defend Ganta Igarashi till the day I die. Ganta is honestly my comfort character 😭

Plus Ganta can be a badass too, have you read the manga? Even in the anime he does fight back when push comes to shove, and he did save Shiro's life in episode fuckin' 2! And beat Senji/Crow in a fight at Carnival Corpse, and beat Yoh's bitchy as fuck sister humming bird or whatever.

Ganta haters just piss me off.

[rorimoon9597]

Tw for mentions of inhumane experimentation and murder.

_______________________________________

They'd been fighting the Galra as they usually did when it happened. They were being overwhelmed and growing tired, so Allura opened a wormhole to get them to a safer galaxy.

Apparently, one of the cruisers they were fighting had a Druid on board, and had corrupted their wormhole. Again.

"Shiro!" Pidge called out, frantic as she lost all control of Green and thrown out of the wormhole. Yellow followed, and all Shiro heard of Hunk before his comms cut out was his screaming.

"What do we do?" Lance said, just as frantically as Pidge. Blue and Red were thrown out as well, so Shiro didn't have time to reply.

Black was also thrown out of the wormhole, right into the atmosphere of a planet that he didn't know anything about. Desperately, he tried to gain control of Black, but she wasn't responding.

They crashed into trees which were, for some reason, blue. Shiro didn't have time to think of the scientific reasons behind it, because he was busy trying not to get a serious injury.

When everything stopped moving, he opened his eyes and started to move his body, bit by bit. Nothing was broken as far as he could tell, so that was good. He'd definitely have bruising and maybe a concussion, but he was rather lucky that nothing was broken.

"Guys? Are you there? Allura? Lance? Keith?" No reply. Sighing, Shiro got out of his seat and climbed out of Black.

The forest was dense, and there were so many sounds. It was spooky, being there alone. Shuddering, Shiro decided to get started on a camp. The others would come soon enough. He just had to wait.

So he walked through the forest, taking note of his surroundings so that he would be able to make it back to Black when he was done doing... Whatever it was he was doing.

Because he didn't know why, but he felt as if something was off. It was so strong, that he had to investigate.

The answer to his question came soon enough when he saw a Galra base hidden under the canopy of trees. The black of the metal and harsh purple of the lights made the place stand out like a sore thumb.

He went in, managing to bypass the guards outside. Carefully, he made his way to what he assumed was the control room. Making sure that no one was there, he went up to the console and put his Galra arm on it, downloading the information for Pidge to look through once he was back at the castle.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" One of the facility personnel asked. Shiro barely thought. He ran at them and pinned them to the wall, hand glowing dangerously.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I won't-"

"Tell me or it's your life," he threatened. He pushed back the memories of the gladiator pit, grounding himself in the present.

"We- we're working on an experiment here."

"Tell me about this experiment," Shiro ordered. The Galra eyed his arm, still glowing purple and dangerous, before replying.

"We're working on a secret experiment that Zarkon doesn't know about. We want to surprise him with a weapon, but unfortunately the weapon has to be grown from a baby for the experiment to work."

"Do you have a baby?" Shiro asked, voice deadly.

"Y-yes. Project Altn-251."

He had enough.

The Galra slid to the floor, neck sliced open.

He allowed for himself to turn off his mind, to go berserk on the Galra scientists. His body acted on instinct born from being forced to fight to survive, hand glowing purple.

He came back to himself, he was covered in blood. He swayed on his feet for a few moments, before going and finding the bathroom. He scrubbed off the blood, scrubbing his Galra arm as if it were the one he was born with.

When he was done, he took some deep breaths and went to find where the test subject, Altn-251, the Galra had called it, lived.

It was fairly easy to. He placed his hand on the scanner and opened the door. He walked into the room, unsurprised when he saw a crib. He walked up to it and looked inside.

"How the fuck-"

_______________________________________

Ch 2 Ch3

[clickabletale]

I ended up making a Shiro headcanon on his PTSD, mainly because I feel like it was discarded in the show. Like S1-S2 had decent build up about it but afterwards, never hear about it again.

But you guys remember how Shiro in the early morning was doing push ups in his armor?

I’m thinking aside from Shiro’s flashbacks and nightmares, he would be on high alert at night or morning for a suspecting threat ready to jump out. He would end up coping through paladin exercises when the others aren’t awake/when he’s supposed to rest or being on guard to check around the Castle for any areas intruders could enter.

He’d probably play it off as being cautious as a leader but Shiro really just can’t stay idle when there’s always this inner voice inside him getting louder and louder of what threat could come for his team, his family if he lets his guard down and isn’t prepared.

I just love Shiro, my boy deserved so much better— 😭🖤

[mrspasser]

This is the droid you're looking for

Voltron x Detroit Become Human AU

After the android revolution Lance ended up at Castle Bar. He likes it there a lot and he loves his friends. There's not much of a difference between working as a bartender and working as a nanny: you're taking care of people who are not always capable of speaking clearly and mopping up spills. Then this mysterious K. figure turns up. An old friend of Shiro and half-Galran to boot. Lance doesn't really know what to make of him, though his original programming quickly kicks in: he will take care of this K. person, whether the guy likes it or not!

This crossover between Voltron and Detroit Become Human has been in my WIPs since February 2019, growing slowly but steadily. I decided to put up the first chapter as an incentive for myself to finally finish the fic and to gauge your responses to this AU.

It's a self-indulgent thing that I'm really fond of. I hope you guys like it too!

[palidinus]

smth i failed to mention involves some sexual trauma at the hands of the galra because of the experimentation they did on shiro, like. it was a pretty gruesome ordeal. everything that could've gone wrong did go wrong. you'd best believe that the things they did to him also involved violating him in... a myriad of ways. i never have him go into detail about it because it is genuinely that upsetting to him (and not my cup of tea to write). so... i liberate what he went through by having him give himself permission to have sex and enjoy it, sometimes. autonomy and consent are very important to him because it was taken away from him. this is why smut is part of this blog. i realize this is a dark topic, and i hope one day shiro can fully talk to a muse about it without breaking down, but for now, it's definitely kind of an untouchable subject that takes a lot of time to even breach. so talk of that nature can be triggering to him.

[insomnikat-mused]

The light bleeds through

Shiro & Keith. SFW, 1.1k words. No.15: emotional damage and new scars. Shiro will not be saved.

Shiro doesn’t like mirrors. He avoids them as much as he can. But it’s impossible to completely avoid reflective surfaces— particularly in space— so when he's forced to see himself mirrored in the windows of the observation deck, he takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes, and smiles.  

The last thing he wants is for Keith to think he needs saving.  

“This is nice.”  

Shiro’s smile is easy, dazzling and far too bright for anyone to notice that he is far from okay. He hasn’t been okay for a while, but he’s gotten so good at faking it, even the one person he desperately hoped would see through it is fooled.  

Shiro doesn’t just dislike the version of himself that’s reflected.  

He hates it.  

Continue on Ao3

[vrepit-sa]

@shiroganc

“You're just wasting time with the diplomacy, you know,” says the unwelcome voice from the unlit room as Shiro entered it. He was probably expecting it to be empty, but unfortunately for him, Sendak had long since claimed the training room.

This wasn't actually a place they'd technically given him access to. He was actively caught doing something he wasn't supposed to — had a weapon in hand and everything, even if it was just a polearm — but Sendak seemed unfazed. He had no intent on attacking, so what was the issue? His disposition is cool and casual.

“The Klaroxakans don't respect anything that can't dominate them on the battlefield. Speak all the right words, it won't matter if you don't prove your capability traditionally. You could speed this process up effortlessly. I know how; it would easy.”

He was being truthful in his words. Yet, Sendak can't help himself, and his lip curls over his fangs in a grin.

“Especially for you. They adore gladiatorial combat.”

[trujellyfish]

sometimes i read voltron fics and think "awww maybe i should rewatch :)" but then i remember how they treated lance >:(

[has-brain-rot]

Aaaaahhh, it's cool to see you getting into Voltron and having Keith as a potential new blorbo! He is my beautiful angsty aroace son and I always need more people on board to provide him with hugs he pretends he doesn't want :) I will say that I agree the writing especially in the later seasons leaves a lot to be desired, but the show as a whole is always just a really fantastic sandbox to play in and make a mess

haha thanks!!

He is very angsty and I vibe with the aroace headcanon. He deserves a break and a day where he DOESN'T get nearly killed like he so badly needs a break arlkgm

I only just finished season 2 so it'll be interesting to see where the show goes, but you are SO RIGHT about the sandbox concept. The world and technology is so fascinating and also giant mechs fighting in space? what's not cool about that?

[autisticlancemcclain]

When Shiro woke, everything was dark, and the stone was cold under his hands, and the flickering flame of torches cast a thousand shadows on Adam’s terrified face.

He scrambled to his feet with a gasp, scraping his knees on the rough stone, thin sandals digging into his feet. The dampness was suffocating, a blanket of wet air filling his lungs until he was drowning. He reached out to Adam, to touch and hold him, finally, finally, finally, but his hands would not obey, nor would his arms stretch out. Instead he only stood paralyzed and looked at him, watched as the shadows danced across his face. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. Where were his glasses? Adam couldn’t see. He needed to see.

“Son of the Skies, Grand Master of the Lyre and the Silver Tongue,” boomed a voice, not loud, but strong, strong enough that the pebbles on the ground shook in fear and the water rushing behind the walls of the cave froze. Shiro looked up, terror making his movements jerky, fragmented, and saw for the first time in front of him a throne grander than any he’d ever seen, woven together with bones and skulls and ash, studded with gold and diamond. The flames of the torches soared, burning brightly, blinding white in the blackness of the cave, illuminating on the throne skin of bleached bone, eyes of crimson rubies, and a crown of blood and marrow, dripping in rivulets down his face.

Hades.

Shiro did not know how he knew the god, from where the certainty came, but he was sure: in front of him, giant in stature and horrifying in posture, the god of death and dying and riches sit before him.

“Orpheus,” Hades thundered, more final than before.

Shiro knew that Hades spoke to him. He was Orpheus. He knew also, somehow, that he was the one who had demanded an audience, he was the one who stood trembling in front of the King and asked a task impossible, implored the mercy of the god for whom mercy was a slight, an insult.

“Do you understand the gravity of what you ask? I am moved by your plea, by your song. But what you demand is an imbalance. A disruption of the natural order. Your lover died of no unnatural means. To send him back to the living would be to risk the delicate balance of life itself, for no gain for anyone but you and your love. And still you ask me?”

Sweat dripped into Shiro’s eyes, even as he shivered from the cold. He looked over to Adam — to Eurydice — who stood frozen beside Hades’ throne, black tendrils of poison still lining his skin from the venom of the snake that befell him; the lines of betrayal because Shiro could not save him, because Shiro left him behind.

To die.

He would not leave Adam behind again. Not at his own behest, not at Hades’, and most certainly not at the world’s. He would choose Adam, this time. This time he would choose to be selfish.

He turned to the god, resolve hardening his jaw, straightening his spine, even as terror churned in his belly, trembled his hands.

“I understand that gravity of my request. And I make it again — I beg you, Lord of the Underworld, for the return of my love’s soul.”

This time, he would choose Adam.

The god stared at him for several minutes, unmoving, unspeaking, endlessly. He looked silently ahead for long enough that Shiro felt as if his would skin wrinkle and his hair would grey. He feared he would be trapped in this cave until he perished, and he and Adam would never be free.

“I will grant you his freedom,” Hades said finally. “Your performance and bravery are admirable, boy. You have nearly won your prize.”

Shiro swallowed. “Nearly?”

Hades’ gaze grew cold. “My domain is large, and treacherous. You have played waylaid your way into it, and now you must find your way out. Your love may follow you, and once you are both in the land of the living, there you shall both stay until the sands of time finally return you to me.”

“Thank you,” Shiro gasped out, hunched over in his relief. “Thank you, my lord —”

Hades held up his hand for silence, and Shiro’s tongue grew heavy in his mouth.

“But,” he warned, “Eurydice shall walk behind you. And if you look back, even once, he will remain here for eternity, and he shall never be with you again. These are my terms.”

“I accept,” Shiro said hastily. Immediately. Hades could have suggested any sacrifice and he would have made it. This would be easy; a sacrifice only of faith.

“Go, then,” said Hades.

Shiro hesitated. “Adam, call out to me, so I know —”

“Go now, boy!” Hades boomed, coming to his feet, and the weight of him shifted the walls and shook the ceilings, a rain of rock falling from the sky. “Do not look back!”

Shiro turn and fled. He ran from the cave, from the throne of bone and blood and the flames that stank of rot and the god that held the souls of everything that had ever lived in his palms. He ran past the weeping poplar trees, silver in the eternal night of the underworld. He ran until his sandals ripped and his feet bled on the unforgiving ground, skin cracked and torn. He collapsed finally to the ground, heavy breathing the only sound in the heavy stillness of the Underworld.

“Adam?” he called softly, once he had his breath again. “Adam, are you behind me?”

He heard nothing, even when he held his own breaths. Not the quiet uptick of an inhale, nor the steady sigh of an exhale; not the shifting of clothes and skin, not the shuffling footsteps of a man waiting. Not even a faint heartbeat. There was no sound but the near-silent rustling of the poplar leaves, and the slow movement of the river Lethe.

“Please,” he begged. “Just — even a click of your fingers. Please let me know you’ve followed me.”

When no sound made known the presence of his love, he pressed the heels of his hands to his red and aching eyes, holding back a sob. He had to have faith. He had made the selfish choice, and now he was paying the price. He would stave forward, eyes steady, until they were both securely back to the land of the living, and then they would both live their lives.

Onward he trekked, much slower this time. He limped and pushed his way over the uneven ground, careful of fragments of forgotten bones and shattered glass, of spilled dreams and broken promises. He walked along the bank of the Lethe until the temptation of its waters grew to strong, and then he followed the bends of the Phlegethon, occasionally plunging his hands into the searing flames of it to drink when the exhaustion grew too great for him to continue.

For weeks he stumbled on the floor of the Underworld, crying out for any hint of his love’s faith, of him following, only to receive stony silence in return. On some days the hopelessness grew too great for him to ignore, and he would collapse in a heap, forcing his head down so as to not look behind him, and weep. He did not know where he was going, nor how long it would take to finally escape. Or even if he ever would. All he wanted was the barest glimpse, the smallest assurance that Adam had even been allowed to follow him from Hades’ throne. What if he had not? Hades was not known for his mercy. For him to allow Shiro an audience at all had been a miracle. He had sworn no oath, made no promise. For all that was certain, he had simply said what Shiro wanted to hear to get him away from the throne room, and Adam was still trapped, soul severed and alone, hopeless.

But there was some hope. Shiro could not hear him, could not see him, could not even catch the barest hint of his scent — peppermint and evergreen — but he trusted Adam. Even when they fought, even in anger, he trusted Adam. Even when they tore themselves apart Shiro trusted him. He had to trust that Adam would fight to follow him, and that he was right behind him.

After months at least of travel, although no time passed in the barren fields of the unloved and unliving, his hope was finally in sights. A bright light shined from the side of a mountain — too warm to be from the endless night of this barren hellscape. Shiro knew in his heart that once he reached that door, once he clawed his way up the mountain and through to the light, he would be free. He and Adam both — please let Adam be behind me, please, please make a noise or a sound or even the barest huff of air, please, I need to know you’re here with me that you’re behind me that you followed me that you want to live with me that you want to be with me that you want to live Adam please please please — would be free.

He stumbled finally through the light, out of the frozen and uncaring darkness and into the gentle warmth of the sun on his skin, the scent of the grass in the air, the packed earth under his cheek and his hands.

The land of the living.

Finally.

With relief more palpable than he had ever felt, he turned finally behind him, praying to any gods that would listen that he would find Adam behind him, sandals on the ground, chestnut hair glowing golden in the sunlight, gentle smile rivalling the brightest stars.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Please.

When he gathered his courage to open his eyes, slowly, too afraid to go quickly, he saw finally the face of his love. Adam stood tall behind him, long and lean and beautiful, one step into the warm beauty of the world.

Only one foot was still behind him, mid-step, toes of his sandal barely brushing the rough stone of the Underworld.

“No,” Shiro moaned. A freezing dread rose slowly from the soles of his feet up his legs and arms and froze over his heart. “No!”

“Shiro,” Adam whispered, quiet and crackly and desperate. “Shiro —”

As if a thousand hands had grabbed onto his tunic he was suddenly yanked backwards, pulled back into the depths of the unknown.

“Shiro! Help me! Please!”

“No! No! We made it! We were on land!”

Shiro lunged forward, desperate to grab him, to finally wrap his arms around him after days weeks months years of stumbling through the barren wasteland without any indication that Adam was following and he couldn’t lose him now, not now, please, they were so close, they were on land! Their feet were on the soil! They were so close, please, no, no —

He reached forward as far as he could, fingers brushing Adam’s, before he was pulled away with a final cry of Shiro’s name and the stone was shut behind him.

“Adam!”

Shiro gasps awake with his hand still outstretched, reaching for a soul that had already disappeared from his life. Everything is dark, but this time there is no cold stone under his hands, only soft blankets. And the flickering of light doesn’t come from dimly lit torches, but the strange glow of the Altean crystals that power the castle.

There is no Hades. No underworld. No desperate bid for Adam’s soul.

Shiro buries his face in his hand and cries.

On reflex he tries to touch the gold of his engagement ring, something he’s done to self-soothe for ages, but the stark reminder of why he can’t do that anymore only makes him cry harder. The metal of his left hand is cool against his heated skin, unforgiving.

Why couldn’t he have been selfish? Or maybe he was selfish, choosing the Kerberos mission. Maybe Adam was selfish, to try to keep him from it. He doesn’t know. He’s thought about it — spent hours and days agonizing over it, locked in a Galran prison cell — and there’s never a clear winner, in his mind. He knows Adam cares about him. Cared. He still feels the open wounds in his chest, the feeling that his heart was ripped open and bared to the world when Adam slipped through his fingers. It haunts him. He dreams about it often, every single night, in a myriad of different ways. It’s always painful.

The Greek mythology allegory is new, though. He has to hand it to his subconscious — it never runs out of new ways to torture him.

He forces himself to take a deep breath, pressing his fingertips into his eyes until it hurts.

“You don’t have time for this,” he whispers to himself. “You have a mission tomorrow. You need to sleep.”

He forces himself to lie back onto his pillows, untangling the blankets and dragging them up to his chin. He slows his breathing, steady inhale, steady exhale, trying to lull himself into a deep slumber.

He lies awake until the alarm sounds in the morning.

[obsessedwithtodoroki]

Summery:

The team had returned after Allura's sacrifice.

Feelings are running high, and they have to learn to cope with the loss of not only a friend but a member of their family.

[electricboogaloosstuff]

Spoilers post canon

Kinda tired of the "Laios need Kabru to tell him to do literally anything in his king job post canon" like yes, Laios is extremely off putting when he talks about his special interest and fail to pick up social clue until they punch him in the face (Toshiro they'll never make me hate you but please learn some additionnal steps between "acting like you're still in your japanese household" and "I Will Break Your Face")

BUT

My boy is a good leader, autism be damned. He didn't even whisper a word about eating monster before the beginning of the serie because he knew it would be strange to other people. He only told Tenshiro about the Crimes™ because he considered him his best friend (and Shiro is his friend ! The miscommunication is strong with these two but they do care about each other !). He told Kabru about eating monster because Kabru straight up told him "omgggg that's like, so interesting" while twirling his hair around his finger (that's one is on you Kabru, don't put yourself in your own PTSD nightmare for the bit please).

He is also observant of his party's personnality and strenght and know when he need to let someone else do the job (also why Kabru is his advisor, Laios know that Kabru is way more skilled in inter personnal relationship than him, especially when it's about people Laios doesn't know/care about like foreign dignitaries). Yes, outsider of his party are wary of him but he is still a stand up guy. And when he became a king, I have no doubt that his people will love him in the long run.

That being said, he absolutely needs Kabru ! That off putting motherfucker is very skilled and care about everything Laios cannot even force himself to give a fuck about. Alone they're good but lack something that would allow to them be good king. Together, they're unstoppable.

Anyway, Laios is an adult with his strenghts and weaknesses, but he is not a innocent little baby that need to be told how to say hi to people.

[rorimoon9597]

Ch 1

---------

He had only planned on going into the base and getting information, then to get the baby out of there when he found out about it.

Now, it had been a few hours, and he was back in his lion, staring down at this sleeping baby.

She was peaceful, wrapped up in a thin baby blanket, but Shiro had so many questions.

Altn-251.

Altean 251.

How many had they experimented on?

How'd they even get an Altean child? Because he only knew two.

Well, three now, he supposed, because the base he'd infiltrated had been hiding an Altean child that looked to be around two or three months old.

She was cute, though, he had to admit that.

Her hair was a soft pink, like cherry blossoms in the spring. Her eyes and Altean marks were purple, and she was sleeping in his arms peacefully.

'Allura and Coran are going to be so confused yet happy to know that they're not the only ones,' Shiro thought to himself.

The baby had been awake when Shiro first saw her. Her scared eyes turned to well... Less scared. She seemed to know that he was there to get her out, and she'd fallen asleep pretty quickly. He was glad, because it meant that she didn't have to see the blood and lifeless bodies all over the place.

He'd nearly thrown up as he got out of that place.

Black sent him a message, and Shiro sighed in relief.

"I guess it's time to return home, huh?" He asked. Black agreed.

He put the baby, which he'd already named Sakura, into a special cot that apparently Alfor had put in all of the lions for cases like this. He sent a thanks to the dead king that he'd thought ahead like this.

Shiro sat down in the pilot's seat and moved Black, guiding her into the atmosphere and out of it.

"Guys, are you there?" He said into his comms.

"Shiro! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Princess, though I crashed into a planet that had a base filled with people wanting to experiment on a baby," he said.

"A baby?!" Coran asked, genuinely upset and angry.

"Yes. I've dealt with all of the personnel and I have the baby with me, she's asleep right now."

"Coran, go prepare a room for the baby. I believe that we should still have my old things from when I was one in the storage," Allura said.

"Yes, Princess."

"Shiro, I'm going to need your coordinates so that I can open a wormhole to get you and the baby back quicker."

"On it," he replied. He easily sent off his coordinates. Moments later, a wormhole opened in front of him.

He flew Black through it. Seeing the castle again gave him a sense of relief. He wasn't as tense as before, even when he had Sakura in his arms.

He landed Black in her hangar. The entire team, including Coran, were already there. Shiro sighed with relief.

They were safe. The kids in his care were safe, and they were home.

He went and grabbed Sakura, wrapping the blanket to cover her head. Then he grabbed the things he'd managed to get from that place - the baby formula was one of them - and left Black.

"Is this the little one you found?" Coran asked, peering at Sakura.

"She is. Although, I have no clue as to how she exists," Shiro replied.

"What do you mean?" Allura asked, curiously. Shiro pulled away the bit of blanket covering Sakura's head.

"Because her people are supposed to be dead."

The entire team gasped. Allura and Coran stared at the baby in his arms. Sakura moved, and her eyes opened. She looked at the princess.

"Hello, there," Allura said. Sakura made a noise at her. "You're so adorable! Your ears, too! Oh, I'm so glad to meet you."

"You can hold her," Shiro said. Allura looked up at him, smiled, and took Sakura from his arms.

That snapped the others out of their stupor.

"What were they planning on doing to her?" Keith asked.

"I don't know, but I made sure to download all of the information I could," Shiro replied.

"We'll have a look at that information in a tick. I just need to make sure that you and the little one are both okay," Coran said.

"Sakura," he said.

"Sakura?" Allura repeated. Shiro nodded.

"Yeah. I... I decided to name her so... I went with Sakura."

"That's what the Japanese call the cherry blossoms. They only bloom for a couple of weeks in spring, so there's this whole viewing. The flowers are pink," Keith supplied. Allura smiled.

"I think that it's the perfect name for you. Don't you think so?" Sakura made another sound in reply to Allura.

"Let's go check over you and little Sakura here." Shiro nodded.

All of them made their way to the infirmary, where Shiro and Sakura were scanned. Luckily, Shiro had a minor concussion and bruising. Sakura was in good health.

Pidge took plenty of videos and photos of Sakura, while Lance cooed at her and played games with her.

"We were able to set up a room for her using many of Allura's old things, so she should be quite comfortable," Coran informed him. Shiro nodded, watching as the three teens and the mice fussed over Sakura.

"That's good. I'm honestly glad I got thrown onto that planet."

"You said that you took care of the scientists there?" Keith asked.

Shiro could only nod, barely able to keep away from the fuzzy memories that tried to creep into his mind and take over him.

"We'll have to take a look at that information you got soon. Perhaps when Sakura is sleeping."

"Yeah."

It didn't take long for Sakura to fall asleep again. Lance said that it was probably the excitement of meeting friendly people. Shiro had to agree.

So they put her down for a nap in Allura's old crib. Then, with a baby monitor in hand, they went to decipher the information that Shiro had the foresight to gather.

So they crowded around one of the desks in Green's hangar, where Pidge opened up Shiro's arm and plugged in a few wires to get to the information.

Pidge sucked in a giant breath.

"What's it say?" Lance asked.

"It says that Sakura is the 251st test subject. All of the other ones died because of the intensity of the tests. Not only that, but they were planning on turning her into a monster and setting her against us."

"Then it is very good that Shiro found her before then." All of them nodded.

Shiro knew what it was like to be turned into a weapon, to have what made a person themselves ripped away slowly until they were a shell of who they were.

He could still barely crack the jokes he used to make. In fact, none of the others except for Keith knew that he used to make them.

A hand on his shoulder, Keith's hand, pulled him out of his thoughts. Good thing, too, because he might have spiralled farther than he wanted.

"I'm glad that I got her out of there." He admitted.

"We all are, Shiro. However, we can not afford for the Galra Empire to hear of her. I don't want to know what would happen if they did, so we can not risk it."

"Allura's right. We can leave her on the ship with me during missions of all kinds. I have taken care of not only Allura when she was a baby, but also my own children." This revelation made the Humans look at each other.

Coran had lost his family when Altea was destroyed, just as Allura had lost her father.

"Alright well, that sounds good. We leave her here when we have missions, and take turns caring for her," Shiro said.

"That sounds like a good plan," Allura confirmed.

"That also means that we will have to keep other diplomats from knowing of her existence, so everyone who lives on this ship is sworn to secrecy," Pidge added.

"We'd all keep her a secret from diplomats regardless, Pidge," Keith pointed out. Pidge just shrugged.

"I'm just trying to make sure that everyone's on the same page here," she told him.

"We all are," Shiro confirmed.

"Sakura's cuteness is too precious to be shared with anyone else," Lance commented.

"I agree with Lance on that. Though wouldn't it be a good idea to socialise her with other children?" Hunk asked.

That was a very good point.

Sakura was going to need to get used to other children and learn how to share, be kind, and all of that. Letting her hang out with other children her age would be a good idea.

"We can let the Olkari know of her existence, though they will be sworn to secrecy, as Pidge said earlier. However, I do believe that they will not tell anyone else about Sakura," Allura said. She gave them all a smile. "I will talk to Ryner about this subject as soon as I am able to." 

They separated then, going off to do their own things. Pidge continued to scan through the information, joined by Lance who was the most fluent in Altean compared to the rest of them. Hunk went to make something for lunch, and Coran went off to check on everything within the castle. Keith joined Shiro.

“Is something wrong?” He asked. Keith shook his head.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just… need to talk to you about something,” he replied. Shiro tilted his head, curious. 

“Not here. I… I don’t want the others to know just yet…”

“Oh. So a secret thing?” Shiro asked. Keith nodded. “Let’s go to the training deck. You can tell me there.”

“Okay.”

They walked there in silence, side by side. Two brothers, going to beat each other up and talk about a secret that the youngest trusted the oldest with.

Shiro had to laugh at that.

“What?”

“We’re basically brothers, and we’re on our way to beat each other up,” Shiro replied.

“You’re a dumbass,” Keith said, shaking his head. He was smiling though.

They entered the training room and got ready, standing in position and waiting for the other to make a move.

As always, it was Keith who moved first. He tried to punch Shiro. Shiro blocked it and swung at him. Keith managed to dodge the move, then made to kick Shiro, forcing them apart.

“So, what’d you want to tell me?” He asked, dodging another hit.

“My crush,” Keith replied. He dodged a kick aimed at his head.

“Any progression with that? Have you maybe kissed him?” That threw Keith off long enough for Shiro to knock him off his feet. Unfortunately, Keith was able to steady himself. He attempted to swipe at Shiro. 

“We ended up on the same planet together,” Keith replied, standing up and aiming a high kick at Shiro. He moved out of the way and grabbed Keith’s leg, pulling the younger to the ground and pinning him.

“And?” Shiro prompted.

“He may have thought that we maybe weren’t going to survive, and he might have kissed me.” Shiro grinned. He laid down on the ground next to Keith, putting his feet up in the air and resting his head on his hands as if he were a teenage girl talking about crushes with her friends.

“Do tell, Keith. Did you like it? Did you kiss him back? Do you want to marry him and have five babies?”

“What the fuck?” Keith asked. Shiro snorted.

“Just tell me,” he insisted. Keith laid himself flat on the floor, face smushed into it.

“I… liked it. And I kissed him back. And now I want to find him and make out with him.” Shiro laughed, causing Keith to glare at him. The red covering his face made it hard to take him seriously, though.

“You’re in love,” he teased. Keith got up and launched himself at Shiro. They ended up wrestling on the floor, going back and forth until they were lying side by side, breathless.

“I think I am,” Keith said. His voice was so quiet that Shiro almost didn’t hear him.

Almost.

“Don’t let the opportunity slip by you now that you know that he feels this way about you,” he advised, looking at Keith. His brother turned his head to look at him, studying him for long moments.

“I won’t,” he promised. Shiro smiled at him.

They returned to sparring a while later, talking about anything and everything, exchanging jokes and insulting each other like siblings did, laughing together.

Ch3