#there are small children getting their limbs amputated with no anaesthesia ….. and we all just have to go abt our daily lives…….

[yioh]

it’s so weird being at work and doing courses on child protection and reading abt how careful and on guard we need to be to preserve the safety and health of a child and then i go online and i see children on live videos taken at this very moment going through the most horrific terror attacks known to man… , inflicted on them by adults ………… the same adults who’re taught to make sure that none of their actions should even slightly harm a child…. seeing them screaming with blood and tears streaming down their faces and missing limbs because of bombs that grown fucking adults are dropping on them when all my life i’ve learned that no matter what, no matter who, an adult should protect a child from even the smallest of harm breaks my fucking heart man …. free palestine free congo and all the other people being systematically exploited, murdered, abused, abducted .. no one deserves this torture. there is no justification for something this indescribably cruel

[arcadenemesis]

How do you keep chasing your dreams when the person running beside you disappears from the race? 

Young defence attorney Takashi Shirogane finds himself alone after the senseless murder of the person dearest to him, and all of the absolute truths he once knew come crashing down around him. When the reason for his path is gone, will he be able to find something new? Is justice the true course, or will he require something more to take down a cold-blooded killer?

The Ace Attorney AU no one needs. This story is based around the events of Dual Destinies, adapted for Voltron. Knowledge of the game isn't necessary, but please be aware spoilers are abound.

Here is a clear example of me succumbing to exactly zero peer pressure and picking up a pen after seven years. Fic through the link and below the cut.

The sensation of phantom fingers was a deeply unsettling and new, alien feeling. A whole body experience that set his nerves afire and shifted his world into an awkward tilt he couldn't right. And yet, it still couldn't compare to the ghost that had settled deep into his chest exactly 3 days, 21 hours and 49 minutes ago. The adjustment to the loss of a limb would likely take years, they had warned him. The loss of Keith would take a lifetime.

"Shiro?"

Pidge's uncertain voice pulled him from his thoughts, forcing himself to look up to where he knew his junior partner would be watching him with concern knitted into her expression, too wary of all he had been through these last few days alone to be annoyed at whatever conversation he had dropped out of. He gave his best attempt at a reassuring smile. He thought it was at least mostly successful.

"Sorry Pidge. Miles away. What were you saying?"

Her gaze drifted uneasily to the IV bag strung up at his side, toying with the frames of her large, round glasses. Shiro was again reminded of how she had closed up when they first arrived at the Garrison Space Centre to examine the scene. The way she had frozen without explanation and ran off with a hasty explanation he had barely heard. His bracelet tightened on his wrist, but when he reached for it, he was met only with air. He corrected to grip the end of the amputated limb, fighting a wince when his collarbone twinged as he adjusted it in the awkward sling held tight to his ribcage. It didn’t escape Pidge’s notice, who eyed the bandage with a pained expression that was anything but subtle.

"It's just... I'm not sure you should be looking at these files right now. Your anaesthesia is probably still affecting you and the doctors said you should be resting."

"I'm fine."

Shiro wasn't sure whether her flinch came from his choice of words or the way he grit them out through his teeth. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes closed before trying again.

"I'm fine," he repeated, softly this time. "Keeping my mind on the investigation helps."

Pidge didn't look convinced, mouth opening to object. But in a moment of mercy, she seemed to think best of it. Better still, the little robot draped around her throat stayed silent too.

“It’s day two of Shay’s trial, right?” Best to move the conversation away from him, before she could probe into his feelings. Or worse, say his name. “Allura said you and Rover really turned things around with your emotional analysis of her testimony yesterday.”

Pidge flushed a little under his praise, but then she adjusted her glasses with a sigh. “Yeah, but if the boss hadn’t showed up when she did, we would have been toast. I thought I was ready for my first solo case, but…”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, “you held down the fort. That’s the important thing. Remember what Allura always tells us: A lawyer is someone who smiles no matter how bad it gets.”

Her expression eased a little. “She was asking after you. Shay, I mean. When this is over, I think she’d really like to visit to say thank you and… and sorry too. If it wasn’t for what you did when that bomb went off—”

“What happened wasn’t her fault,” Shiro cut in again quickly, pain shooting down to invisible fingers at the memory.

It came back to him uninvited, pulsing in time with the burn. He remembered the sinking in his stomach when the PD’s bomb technician had interrupted testimony to declare the - quite literally - explosive evidence active and counting down. He remembered Shay’s scream as she was knocked down in the panic. The rush of bodies as he fought the flow of the evacuation of Courtroom 4. It had been instinct to run to her aide and shield her from the blast. Shiro was still yet to unpack the complicated mix of emotions over what had happened next. Bitterness, disbelief, grief… but not regret. Even knowing the price now, it was one he would gladly pay again to save an innocent person’s life.

He said nothing to Pidge of the fact that the last thing he wanted right now was more visitors, more offers of sympathy and pity. Get Well Soon cards and flowers were a bit hard to stomach when there wasn’t much to be done about growing back an arm.

“Tell her focusing on giving her best testimony so you can wrap this case up as quickly as possible is all I ask for. The sooner she’s free, the sooner we can return to Kei… to Kolivan’s case.”

Pidge, not quite catching the slip, nodded with a smile as Rover beeped in affirmation at her throat. “Just watch!” she grinned, stooping to shoulder her satchel. She re-tucked her green blouse into her slacks as she paused by the door. “We’ll be back before you know it. I’m going to get that Not Guilty verdict before lunch.”

Shiro chuckled, but the sound felt distorted and tight in his throat. “I don't doubt it. And hey, Pidge?”

The junior defence attorney paused at the doorway.

“Let me hear you say it.”

The hesitation was only fractional, but Shiro felt the full weight of it until Pidge forced her biggest smile, punching a fist into her palm.

“Pidge Gunderson is fine!”

By the tender age of eleven, Takashi Shirogane had become an expert in sneaking out. Having lived at the Children’s Home for a good portion of his memory, he had learned the habits of the matrons, which stairs squeaked on the way down and how to jimmy the back door just right to escape into the night. With his bed stuffed with his pillows and blankets draped properly, no one was ever the wiser to his nocturnal adventures. Which was why he was startled when he heard a soft sob at the edge of the garden on his way off-grounds.

Curious, he edged forward silently, peering over the garden wall. Just beyond, a small figure sat hunched in the dirt, rubbing furiously at their eyes, shoulders quaking violently as they tried to suppress their sounds in vain.

Shiro vaulted the wall, and red-rimmed violet eyes whipped over to him underneath a mop of black hair when his bare feet hit the ground. Shiro recognised him as the new kid who had arrived this afternoon. He wasn't surprised to see him crying. The very nature of his arrival meant that something terrible must have happened to him, as with all the children who entered the Home. Shiro had comforted countless others before him, reassuring them that the matrons were kind, the food was filling and beds comfortable. Most importantly, everyone always looked out for each other, no matter how long they stayed. But he was surprised to find him outside, after lights out. None of the other children ever made it past their bedroom doors without being caught and sent swiftly back to bed. The new kid must have been a natural in midnight stealth.

The small boy glared at him defiantly, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “What do you want?” he demanded wetly.

Shiro, having always been a kind child, simply offered a comforting smile. “I was going for a walk and I heard you crying. Can I sit with you?”

The other boy shrugged, sniffing loudly. Taking it as good an invitation as any, Shiro moved closer to plonk himself down to his side.

“My name's Takashi Shirogane. But everyone calls me Shiro,” he said without reservation. “What's your name?”

The boy looked at Shiro sideways, as if confused by his openness. “Keith… Kogane. Just Keith.”

“Nice to meet you Keith,” Shiro beamed brightly. “I don't know what happened, and you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but it's going to be fine. We all know how you feel right now, but it won't last forever.”

Keith looked up at him with those curiously coloured eyes, emphasised only more by the tears gathered in them. He seemed to assess Shiro for a moment again.

“My papa died last week,” he said quietly. “And mama… she disappeared years ago.”

He seemed to fold in on himself, hugging his arms. “I went to some foster family but I ran away. When they caught up with me they took me here.”

Shiro gave a sympathetic smile, shuffling a little closer to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder. The other boy’s spine stiffened at the touch and he looked to the hand and then Shiro’s face in surprise. But whatever he saw there must have soothed him, as he didn't pull away and his posture started to relax again. “I lost both my parents when I was a baby,” Shiro shared. “I don't remember what they look like and I don't have any photos. Just this bracelet my mother left behind.”  He lifted his wrist, shaking the large gold bangle there.  “It helps me tell when people are hiding something from me."

The other boy frowned, scrutinising the piece of jewellery closely. “I don’t believe you.”

“It does!” Shiro laughed, already familiar with the skepticism that came with his gift. “When people aren’t telling the truth, their body language changes. It’s like my bracelet gets tighter and all of a sudden I can see their nervous habits. Like when you said you ran away. You tapped your finger on your knee and looked off to the side—”

“I wasn’t lying,” Keith cut in quickly, too defensively. He must have known, because he suddenly looked crestfallen and buried his head against his knees. “I wasn’t…” He cut himself off with a muffled sniff, then smally, “don’t do that…”

Shiro suddenly felt guilty. “Hey, it’s okay. I had a foster dad before too. He said he would come back when it was safe to get me but…” He shrugged. “It’s not your fault it didn’t work out.” “But it's okay now. The past happened but there's a whole future full of opportunity. Even for a couple of kids like us.”

“How can you say that though?” Keith asked, raising his head and looking entirely unconvinced. “How can you know it's going to be alright in the end?”

“You just have to believe it!” Shiro said earnestly. “We're the ones in charge of our own destiny and no one can tell us otherwise. Whenever I start to forget, I just stand up and shout: ‘Takashi Shirogane is fine!’ You should try it.”

Keith looked around nervously. “I don't know… what if the matrons hear us out here?”

Shiro jumped to his feet, offering his hand to the other boy. “Trust me?”

Keith hesitated only to glance back at the Home, before grasping Shiro's hand, letting him tug him up to his feet to drag him down the pathway and through a large meadow under the moonlight.

It was only when they reached a little run-down shack on a hill that Shiro let go to place his hands on his knees, both boys out of puff.

“Don't worry, no one comes here,” Shiro reassured after he caught his breath. “We can climb up onto the roof and shout from there.”

Keith looked unsure, but followed nonetheless, accepting Shiro's hand again as he scrambled over the gutters. His eyes lit up at he looked down into the valley below. “Hey, is that the Garrison Space Centre down there?” he asked, pointing down to the distant structure, where a rocket stood in construction just off to its right.

Seeing the change in his mood, Shiro jumped onto the topic immediately. “Yep! Sometimes the Centre does a free info day and the Head Matron organises for us to get a tour from Kolivan himself.”

Keith's eyes were practically bugging out of his head. “The Kolivan? The first astronaut to complete a space walk beyond the moon's orbit?”

Shiro nodded enthusiastically. “You seem to know a lot about him already?”

“He's incredible,” Keith practically gushed. He turned his small face up to the night sky, galaxies winking in and out of existence above them. “I heard they're planning a mission to take new samples from the moon.” He reached up, as if trying to pluck the stars from the sky itself. “I wish I could go with them.”

Shiro looked up too, smiling. “You dream of going into space?”

“Mm!”

“My dream is to become a famous defence attorney.”

Keith turned to regard him curiously. “Why?”

“My foster dad was a lawyer. He used to say that his job meant protecting those who can’t protect themselves from injustice. That the law and the people in charge of it don’t always do the right thing. Being an attorney means taking care of some of the most vulnerable people in the world. I want to do that too - save innocent people from punishments they don’t deserve.”

“But what about if they are bad people? How can you tell if they whether they belong in jail or not?”

“I guess that’s where this comes in handy,” Shiro replied, shaking his adorned wrist again, laughing when Keith only scowled in response.

Shiro suddenly scrambled to his feet, offering his hand out again. “Okay, it’s time. Yell it out into the universe. Say ‘Keith Kogane is fine!’”

He could still sense the boy's uncertainty as he let himself be pulled up to stand. Well, okay, it had less to do with Shiro’s innate empathy; Keith had the subtlety of a brick to the face, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him like he had grown another head. And Shiro was capable taking a hint.

“Alright, I'll go first.”

He squared his shoulders, facing out to the Space Centre below, and took a deep breath. “Takashi Shirogane is fine!” He grinned, then turned to Keith. “Now your turn.”

The other boy still looked entirely unconvinced, but he copied nonetheless, steeling himself and cupping his hands around his mouth. He gave Shiro one last side glance before he drew breath.

“... Keith Kogane is fine!”

His voice cracked around the last word, but when he dropped his hands, he sported a ridiculous pout, as if trying very hard not to smile.

“Better, right?” Shiro beamed.

Keith looked down, attempting to hide the quirk to his lips. Shiro caught sight of it anyway, triumphant.

“Yeah… better…”

“Sir, I must advise strongly against this.”

The doctor’s mouth painted a thin, grim line, pen tapping at his clipboard.

“After such a traumatic injury, you should remain under our observation for at 8 days at a bare minimum. Even if we disregard your requirements for competent post-surgical care, there’s still your physical therapy and mental health management we need to oversee. There is an 83.7% chance that you will develop some form of post-traumatic stress disorder without early intervention.”

Shiro worked his bracelet onto his left wrist calmly, settling it in place with a quick shake of his hand. It hadn’t been quite as frustrating, nor as painful, as dressing himself back into his black vest and a new dress shirt, but the task of completing it one-handed had been challenging all the same. He tried not to focus on how foreign it felt there, instead turning his attention to the red jacket folded over the chair beside him.

“Do you intend to hold me for psychiatric assessment, Doctor Slav?” he asked clinically, not glancing up.

He heard the uncomfortable shuffling of feet.

“I think you’re aware already Mr. Shirogane that we have no legal grounds to do so based on our observations so far.”

“Then I would like my release form.” He stood, pulling the jacket to his chest in a tight grip. “I’m aware of the risks I run regarding infection and my physical recovery. But just as I told your nurses, I have no desire to sit here in this hospital longer than absolutely necessary.”

Slav was clearly frustrated, his brow pinching in poorly concealed displeasure.

“But it is necessary Mr Shirogane. Your body has been put through significant stress. Limb amputation is not a surgery you can simply brush off like this. There is a 26.1% chance of atrophy and a 39.8% chance of further ligament and tendon damage if you are reckless in your care. What’s more, Mr Kogane’s death—”

“The release form,” Shiro interrupted curtly between gritted teeth, fingers tightening around the jacket in his hand. “Now.”

The silent stand off lasted only a few moments before the doctor schooled his expression back to one of professional detachment, unclipping a piece of paper from his board.

“Very well. Please read the conditions and initial in each of the boxes. We will require your social security number and signature at the bottom of the second page. The nurse at the front desk will see to your prescription for antibiotics and pain management.”

Shiro draped the jacket around his shoulders before taking the form, pointedly ignoring the childish scrawl of his non-preferred hand as he signed off without reading through. Slav sighed heavily, but didn’t reprimand him.

“I’ll have this processed now,” he said as Shiro handed it back. “But Mr Shirogane,” he continued in sudden soft earnest, “if you have any problems at all, if something doesn’t feel right, come back here immediately so we can ensure your recovery isn’t compromised.”

Shiro swallowed down the tightness in his throat, giving a single nod. The doctor sighed again and swept from the room without another word. Shiro reached up to grip the shoulder of the jacket he wore, turning his face into the high collar and taking a deep breath. Lemongrass and motor oil. He closed his eyes. It was faint, but still there all the same.

“What do you mean? Why would I recognise it at all?”

Shiro could remember the tightening of his bracelet on his right arm when Pidge had spoken. The way she had reacted when they first saw the knife had struck Shiro as unusual. The two of them had seen their fair share of murder weapons together, and even if the blood on this one seemed to seep into him like a slow poison, there was no explanation for when she had stopped still to stare at it wide-eyed. Grief and other interfering emotions had long been pushed aside for the sake of the case, but the curiosity Shiro had felt then was genuine. The moment he had quizzed her about it, her tells had lit up immediately, his bracelet helping him focus in on the way she worried her lip between her teeth as she adjusted her glasses and the way her eyes flickered ever so slightly to the insignia on the blade.

She had been lying to him.

Shiro was still struggling to reconcile the reason. Pidge had never kept secrets from him before. They functioned well as a unit, honest and open with each other as partners during their investigations and as friends outside the cases. So why would that suddenly change? Shiro was almost positive that Pidge had recognised the strange purple insignia on the handle of the knife. Perhaps somewhere in her subconscious, a memory had tried to surface, blocked and eroded by the passage of time. Maybe she wasn't even certain whether the familiarity really rang true at all.

Or maybe it was something more sinister.

Shiro shook his head as if to banish the thought, bitter bile in the back of his throat. But the idea wouldn't leave him. What if Pidge knew the blade far more intimately? What if she had once held it in her hands? What if…

Shiro choked, rushing to the basin in the adjoining bathroom to expel his breakfast onto the porcelain. It wasn't possible. Pidge hadn't even known Keith. Not properly. But Shiro knew her and he trusted her. Or at least, he used to.

He heaved again at his doubt. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as he gasped for his erratic breath, spitting into the sink.

‘In for 2… 3… 4… And out…’

He turned on the tap to rinse the basin and his mouth, splashing the cold water onto his face. Still hunched over, he looked up to the mirror, taking stock of the healing scar across the bridge of his nose, the dark circles under his eyes, and the patch of greying hair at his crown.

“Takashi Shirogane is fine,” he coached himself.

He felt anything but.