good to be back.

ind. takashi shirogane.

[lightningstrikes-art]

[thesizeofthefight]

alternate response to @astralrevenant‘s prompt of Keith running his fingers through Shiro’s hair and waking him up.

   “Shiro, wake up.”

   Time moves slowly, muting the noise around him until all he can hear is this: Shiro’s labored breathing, rasping between parted lips; the blood pounding in his own ears; the high-pitched whine of everything he’s worked so hard to save whistling its way down to earth for a cataclysmic explosion. Around him, dust and dirt are settling, and people are moving, but Keith’s vision is blurred at the edges. The only thing that he can see with any kind of clarity is the sweat beading Shiro’s brow, the incremental space between his top and bottom lashes.

   Shiro is dying in his arms, and he can’t do anything about it.

   “Shiro,” he pleads, the name torn out of him like a curse and a prayer. His chest aches, and his hand trembles where it’s pressed against Shiro’s cheek, warm and slick with blood. “Wake up. Please. You have to wake up.”

   Someone’s hand claps onto his shoulder, but Keith jerks away, curling himself protectively over Shiro - as though he can protect him from anything right now - and pushes his fingertips through Shiro’s hair. “Don’t do this.”

   He passes his hand over Shiro’s head twice, three times, streaking pink through the white, and he chokes out, “I can’t do this without you. C’mon, Shiro.”

   Shiro breathes in, sharp and deafeningly loud, and Keith’s heart rolls over in his chest. Weight lifts from his knees as Shiro struggles to sit up, gasping, his hand spasming at his side.

   Keith laughs, the tears that had flooded his throat finding release to drop down on Shiro’s cheeks - one, two, three - and he continues petting Shiro’s hair, mumbling nonsensically. “That’s it. Come on. Come back.”

   “Keith,” Shiro manages, dropping heavily back on his legs, eyelids fluttering. He smiles, a small thing, straight white teeth outlined with garish red. He speaks next on an exhale, fingers splayed at his side. “You’ve got me.”

   “Yeah,” Keith says, barely recognizing the sound of people hitting the ground next to them, gently urging Shiro out of his arms to guide him onto a stretcher. “Yeah, I’ve got you.”

   I love you. I won’t let you go where I can’t follow.

   He watches, expression carefully blank, as the medics take Shiro up and away from him, and dimly registers Lance’s voice static-crackling behind him. He’s saying something about how Shiro is gonna be fine and can we check your head now, Keith? and Keith lets himself be hoisted up, finally smiling a little, himself. 

   Lance’s arm is underneath both of his and around his back, and he mutters, “You’re so crazy, you know that?”

   Keith swings his head to the side, seeing the concern and the fear and the relief so start on Lance’s face, and his smile grows. “Yeah, I know. But Shiro’s okay, so…”

   Lance sighs a laugh. “Yeah, Keith. Shiro’s okay. Good job, leader boy.”

   “Thanks,” he hums, limping alongside Lance to the next available bus. “You, too. Hey, Lance?”

   “Yep?” Lance asks, slowing to a stop.

   “I’m gonna pass out now,” Keith says with finality, and he slumps right into Lance’s arms amid his panicked squawk. Later, he’ll tease Lance about that for sure, but for right now?

   Shiro’s gonna be okay. That’s enough.

[astralrevenant-blog]

thesizeofthefight‌:

   Keith makes a noncommittal noise, letting his hand linger against Shiro’s shoulder. He looks tired, and they all look tired lately, but Keith has always been just a little more aware of the way strain pulls at the muscles of Shiro’s face, hides in the corners of his smiles. Maybe because he fights it so hard and does so well hiding it - someone has to be watching for it, and that’s sort of what Keith does. He looks out for Shiro, and Shiro looks out for him, an unspoken promise that goes hand-in-hand with I will never give up on you. 

   Not that there’s a lack of people who’d take care of Shiro if he gave them half the chance, or Keith, either, for that matter. Of everything, that’s been the hardest to get used to: having people (who aren’t Shiro) care about him, want the best for him, stand beside him and stand up to him when they need to. Even still, though, there’s the team and what they all mean to each other, and then there’s Shiro and Keith and what they mean to each other. Keith’s trying to reach out to all of them, trying to be the leader that Shiro believes he’s capable of being, but with the man himself? He doesn’t have to try.

   “Can’t remember,” he finally says, a beat or three too late, though that could be mistaken for sarcasm (he hopes). “Was it that I should do it more often?”

   He finally takes his hand back, shifting his seat and tucking one leg up underneath him. His tablet is forgotten beside him, and he curls his fingers into his palm, chasing warmth.

   “Because you should be proud, Captain,” he stresses, teasing softened by the sincerity in his smile. “I am.”

   Proud doesn’t begin to cover it, really. Awed, amazed, grateful - terrified - and somehow, there’s a small part of him that’s even infuriated, but it’s all knotted together so tightly that he couldn’t pick the strands of his feelings apart even if he wanted to. Of course Shiro is the only one who could possibly do it - and of course he is the only one who should, too.

   Keith’s proud. He’s also going to be right there, ready to douse him in water if he tries to burn himself up to keep the rest of the world warm.

   His eyes narrow, shrewd on Shiro’s face, but he doesn’t say anything. (Not yet, anyway.)

A lot about Keith has changed, in the years they’ve known each other. He’s filled out in the span of time, gotten calmer, more composed. He’s always had a mouth on him, though, and Keith’s sarcasm is a familiar balm that eases his frayed nerves. 

Shiro has enough time to miss the fingers on his scalp before Keith’s teasing turns genuine, and his eyes soften at the words, suddenly shy. The events of the ATLAS all seemed to happen around him, not because of him, and so it’s hard to take praises he doesn’t feel he deserves. Even the rank was a gift, given under dire straits by a team that could have promoted any other in that room and have chosen right. Shiro is grateful, to be sure, but. 

Keith is looking at him like he expects to be challenged, and maybe on a good day Shiro would follow up, but he still feels muddled, bone-weary. It’s not unlike how he felt after waking up after his revival of sorts, like no amount of sleep could ever be enough. The difference is, he thinks sleep is now no friend to him. 

“I’m proud of all we’ve accomplished,” he acquiesces. “Proud of you all for how deep you’ve connected with your Lions.” 

It would be a lie to say he doesn’t miss Black, in all her fathomless glory. There is centuries of history buried in that consciousness, and for a time, he was part of it. It was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Shiro doesn’t miss it as much as he once would have, he thinks, and there’s no jealousy between them, but sometimes, alone in the dark, it was nice to have a mollifying presence to share his bleaker thoughts with. 

“I’m glad,” he says out loud, encompassing the amalgam of thoughts trying to sort themselves out in his fuzzy head. Glad they have one more thing to share.

[astralrevenant-blog]

gently presses my face into my open palms ur killing me @thesizeofthefight

[astralrevenant-blog]

"Are you hurt?"

The speech had ended, and Veronica had pulled him aside almost immediately after his mouth had closed. 

“He’s awake.” 

Shiro doesn’t pause. He doesn’t thank her either, which he should be ashamed of, but now there’s a single-mindedness to his moments as he all but sprints to where Keith is bedridden. He’s taken this route over a dozen times, and the end had always been the same: Keith, bruised and battered but breathing, laying pale on a Garrison bed. 

Now, he’s awake. And Shiro hadn’t been there. 

When he bursts through the door, prosthetic treating it like a barricade instead of breakable wood, he sees Keith has company. Kolivan looks placidly unimpressed, but Krolia smiles at him. “We’ll leave you two,” she says, and Shiro doesn’t look for a reaction from either of them because now that he;s got eyes on Keith, he can’t look away. 

He’s still wrapped in bandages, and he’s holding himself delicately but trying to hide it, and - 

He’s awake, alive. 

“Keith,” he says, gut-punched, and goes to sit on the bed. The thought of jarring his injuries makes him shy away quickly, and he collapses in the cushioned shair at his head instead, where he’d been sitting every chance he’d gotten for the past two days. 

Two days. 

When Keith speaks, Shiro blinks. His voice sounds tired but strong, and Shiro should have expected that, should have known even from the brink, Keith would still come back to him by tooth and claw, ready to face whatever’s next. 

For one wild moment, Shiro wants to get angry. He wants Keith to stop putting him above himself, but the hypocrisy douses the flame before it has any chance to grow. 

“I’m not the one laid out in a hospital bed,” he says, and smiles through the image of Keith’s blood caked on the inside of the helmet, of droplets cast over Black’s display. “I’m fine, Keith.”

You saved me.

[rp-meme-central]

Are you...? sentence starters

1. “Are you okay?” 

2. “Are you hurt?” 

3. “Are you done?” 

4. “Are you pregnant?” 

5. “Are you crying?”

6. “Are you going to finish that?”

7. “Are you sure about this?”

8. “Are you finished yet?” 

9. “Are you ready to go?” 

10. “Are you sick?”

11. “Are you single?”

12. “Are you going to stop anytime soon?” 

13. “Are you tired?” 

14. “Are you awake?” 

15. “Are you always this ______?” 

16. “Are you crazy?” 

17. “Are you stupid or something?” 

18. “Are you going to help?” 

19. “Are you alive?” 

20. “Are you new here?” 

21. “Are you a _______?” 

22. “Are you hungry?” 

23. “Are you in/out/down/up there?” 

24. “Are you going to leave?” 

25. “Are you _______?” 

[astralrevenant-blog]

@thesizeofthefight

cont. from here because wowee 

He’s dreaming. 

It’s one of those that makes itself known, but whether the first clue is the lack of a missing arm or keith’s unmarked face, Shiro doesn’t know. 

Old times, the dream implies, but his hair is white and Keith is nearly as tall as him, so his brain gives up trying to muddle over it. They’re in a field, plush purple hills rolling for miles. He sees Lance and Hunk off in the distance, leaping as high as the lowered gravity will let them, their lions sentinels watching their progress. 

Keith is saying something soft, and Shiro turns to him, but the paladin armor is suddenly lacking it’s usually luster and instead is cracked, broken. Blood coats the lights in the collar, and there’s a thin trail of it creeping down Keith’s chin, but his gaze doesn’t waver. 

“Everything okay, Shiro?” 

Shiro blinks, and the sun shines on flawless armor, on unmarred flesh. “Yeah,” he says. “Everything’s fine.” 

Keith brings a hand up, a fist, and swings forward like a viper’s strike, but Shiro jolts and it’s only an open palm on his shoulder. “We should head back,” Keith says, smiling softly, one reserved for quiet moments and low light. He rises, fluid with his gaze never leaving Shiro’s, and offers a hand. 

Shiro is pulled up by a strong, almost desperate grip, and the Black Lion casts a shadow over them both, the purple grass beneath their boots black and crushed. 

“You killed me,” Keith says, and lets Shiro’s hand fall. 

He comes awake to the sound of Keith’s murmur, and he has to focus on the words, on the scar come alive on his cheek. He shouldn’t be relieved to see it, and for a moment, he hates himself. 

But Keith’s hand is at his temple, fingers light in his hair; it’s a grip of affection, not fear, and so Shiro settles. “What’d I tell you about calling me Captain,” he says, words muddied with the vestiges of sleep. Still, he can’t smother the grin that pulls at his lips, at the warm calm that overtakes him, shoving the dream away and burying it. 

[thesizeofthefight]

14: running their fingers through your muse’s hair

Keith running his fingers through Shiro’s hair and waking him up.

   Peaceful moments are hard to come by, so anybody who wants to say something about the five minute break that had turned into Shiro slumped against Keith’s shoulder can go ahead and try, but they won’t like the result. He’s got a data pad propped up in one hand, and the angle he’s been holding it is starting to make rarely-used muscles in his hand cramp up, but the idea of moving his shoulder even an inch and waking Shiro up is so heinous that it never even crosses his mind.

   The guy deserves some rest. God knows he hit the ground running when he burned his way back to Earth years ago (and how does it already feel like a decade? centuries? it wasn’t even that long ago-) and hasn’t stopped since. If Keith didn’t see it with his own eyes, he’d doubt Shiro slept, even now that they’ve been able to deescalate from full-blown world-ending panic to whatever the level just below that is.

   As it is, he suspects that Shiro does more catnapping than actual sleeping, but he hasn’t figured out a way to bring it up yet that isn’t hypocritical. He can’t blame the man for being busy, can’t fault him for the fact that he’s a beacon of stability, hope, and strength in this strange post-Galra wake that Earth has found itself in. He’s the kind of person that people naturally gravitate to and want to depend on.

   He’s also one person, and Keith knows that people forget that. (Shiro is the most guilty of all, when it comes down to it; it’s a good thing he has Keith to lodge in his shoe like a pebble and remind him to slow down once in a while.)

   Shiro makes a soft noise in his sleep, little more than a huff of breath, but it draws Keith’s eyes. His forehead is beginning to crease, and Keith sets his tablet on his knee as he brings the other hand up, intending to (gently, gently) jostle him awake. Somewhere along the way, the signal takes a wrong turn; he’s aiming for the shoulder wedged against his own and his fingertips brush against down-soft hair, sending a little jolt zinging down around the curve of his elbow, ricocheting up his shoulder and misfiring somewhere in his chest. 

   Knock it off, he tells himself, pressing his thumb to the wrinkle in Shiro’s forehead. It clears.

   “Hey,” he mumbles, hesitating with the pads of his fingers just barely resting against Shiro’s scalp. “Shiro, you’ve got to get to bed.”

   Voice pitched low, he’s not making much of a case for waking him, but it doesn’t even occur to him to be brisk. Shiro turns his head just a little, probably just shifting, but it increases pressure on the five points of contact, and Keith’s fingers slip a little. 

   Anybody walking in right now would think that Keith is sitting here, running his hand through Shiro’s hair. 

   (He hasn’t taken his hand back, so he sort of is, but-)

   Smiling crookedly, Keith gives in and commits, making a full pass from hairline to crown; as he does, he clears his throat and speaks a little louder, a little more firmly. “Up and at ‘em, Shiro. Time to be horizontal for at least three hours, in an actual bed.”

   His hand falls away from Shiro’s hair as his eyes blink open, and Keith ignores the little tremble inside, settling his hand on Shiro’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

   “Don’t make me carry you,” he adds, aiming for a joke and falling somewhere between fondness and exasperation. “Captain.”

[lightningstrikes-art]

[kerberosheith-deactivated202103]

sheith + seeing each other for the first time in years.