#blackpaladinweek

[lidoshka]

It's not just therapy wolf looking out for Shiro.

They are looking out for each other.

image for the @blackpaladinweek for the fifth day: Support :)

More therapy wolf moments here

[zillabean]

I love stargazing naked

[headspacedad]

Shiro week: day 5: companion

day one   day two   day three   day four   day five   day six   day seven

Ryou bonus

Nights were always the worst.

Not that space has ‘nights’ to speak of but planet born creatures had sleep cycles in their blood and so ‘night’ came to the Castle even thrumming through the eternal dark of space.

And Shiro was left on his own.

Sometimes he slept.  He’d given up pretending he could on the bed, moved a blanket and pillow to the closet and - sometimes - he slept better in there.  Closed in and surrounded by walls, the small space felt - safe.  He was pretty sure it shouldn’t but - he couldn’t fight what he’d been made into all the time.  He had to sleep sometime. And the closet was the only place he could.

When he could - he slept.  But often he couldn’t sleep.  It left him at loose ends, something his nature rebelled at - but something his in need of distraction mind also tried to avoid.  He didn’t do well with nothing to do.  He never had but now it felt -

it was too easy to lose himself in the emptiness inside his head, where an entire year of memories wasn’t.  To easy to listen to the voices whispering that he wasn’t real, that he’d never really escaped, that it was only a matter of time before someone realized it and called him out.

It didn’t have to make sense.  It still had a way of wiggling down through his spine and lodging.

So nights were spent exercising.  Training.  Sitting with Black.  Watching the stars go by from the helm or the observation room.  Trying to learn to read Altean. Galra.  Trying to stay busy in the empty silence while his team slept, safe and protected under his watch.

Some nights it was harder than others to find distraction.

“Mm?” he looked down at the squeak near his boot, pulling himself out of an almost subconscious and fruitless search for constellations he recognized in the star charts spread out on the table in front of him.  Saw one of the mice... Chuchule maybe?  He didn’t have them memorized yet.  They were Allura’s mice.  Pidge’s companions.  Sometimes they shadowed Hunk in the kitchen.  But Shiro - there wasn’t a lot of room for small alien rodents in his routines.  But there was a mouse now, looking expectantly up at him and even though he knew they were capable, he lowered a hand to offer a lift to the table.  It just seemed polite.  The mouse, Chuchule, he was pretty sure, scrambled onboard, unphased by the fact it was a metal hand and not a normal one and just as he was lifting, there was a mad scramble and suddenly he had a full handful of mice and one running up his shirt sleeve.  It - was weird but pretty endearing and he smiled as he lifted them all onto the table in front of him, careful to set them where the star map wouldn’t slide under their small feet.  The one on his shoulder - Plachu possibly? - didn’t scamper down but remained and Shiro felt the brush of long whiskers against his cheek as it seemed intent on settling in.  They didn’t often interact with him.

“What is it?  Is everything all right?  Is something wrong with the princess?”

They weren’t acting alarmed but - why else would they have all showed up at the same time for his attention.  But - no.  From the miming, nothing was wrong.  Everyone was still sleeping, or at least Allura was if the little mimicked snores were any indication.  It made him smile again, watching Platt’s - he was pretty sure it was Platt - round belly rising and falling with the snores.

He resisted the urge to nudge it with a finger.

“You want food then?”  Because that seemed sensible but no.  Even if Platt looked like he might have been tempted to agree, the other mice made it clear this wasn’t a matter of food.

“All right. What do you need then?”

That answer took a great deal longer.  Shiro didn’t have the ‘mice’ skill that the women on the ship seemed to and there were quite a few false starts and mistakes on his part as he tried to work out what complex thing they were miming to him in answer.  Still, all those road trip games with Allura that Hunk had taught them seemed to have paid off because it was only ten or fifteen minutes later when Shiro finally pieced together:

“You want to put on another show for the princess but you want to practice it on me first?”

It had been a long time since he’d felt as proud of affirmation at his efforts as he did when the mice responded to the happy positive and he was sure that said something about him.  It still left a warm glow in his chest though and he was too wise to ignore that based on whether he thought it had merit or not.

“Okay,” he nodded.  “Show me how I can help.”

The next week and a half wasn’t so empty.  The routine the mice were working on was pretty complex and there were a lot of kinks to iron out of it. Apparently at least. Shiro mostly got to watch and provide the hands needed for certain tricks while the mice hashed it out in detail amoung themselves.  He enjoyed it though.  Their little cold feet were actually very comforting as they ran up and down and across him and listening to them squeak made the world very small and safe and full of warmth.  Eventually they got it worked out however and he was willing to admit he was sorry about it.  Not that he wanted to hold them back.  He’d just - miss the company.

Two nights later they were back however, new routine in need of practice, his hands and attention required while they worked away in secret on their next surprise for the princess.  Shiro felt included and it was a strange feeling.  It wasn’t as a member of the team or Voltron or even friendship.  It was just something he couldn’t define but felt inclusive and whole. 

It was during the third round of practice for a new routine that he finally mentioned it in passing to Allura.  Some casual comment that slipped out because he wanted to hear her praise their efforts - their efforts because he was starting to feel as if he was included in their routines as well even if he never got to be there when they entertained Allura with them and he hoped to hear how much she’d enjoyed the mice and the hard work they’d put in -

except she only gave him a puzzled smile and asked what he was on about.  The mice only did routines when the lack of missions gave her too much downtime and that certainly hadn’t been recently.

That night, as Chulatt clambered up his arm to swing from his thumb, Shiro offered Platt the cookie he’d snuck from dinner for him and then looked at Chuchule.  And he smiled.

“I think I’ve got an idea for your next routine...”

Nights were always the worst.  But - sometimes - the smallest distractions could fill up an entire empty night with their scurrying feet across him and their cheerful chatter.

It made the days easier to tackle too.

@blackpaladinweek

[ancientmeadows]

DAY 1: SHIRO WEEK 2 - TIME/SPACE

--

im one day late but this may be the only drawing for this week.  ill try my best to draw a few more drawings .

mew .3. 

@blackpaladinweek

[yelonis]

Black Paladin Week - Black Bayard

“Why won’t it activate?”

We never got to see Shiro use it in season 4 so I hc that he couldn’t use it for some reason ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

For Black Paladin Week @blackpaladinweek!

[thehouseofthebrave]

It’s About Trust

Day 6: Choice/Duty

Shiro stares up at the Black Lion, regal and imposing in her hanger at the Castle. She towers over him in the vast, cold space of her chamber, filling it with the sheer sense of the power that radiates off of her, the same power that left him awestruck the first time he saw her.

Even after so long together, he feels awe in her presence.

He feels fear, too. He’s afraid of her.

Shiro stands before her, motionless with his arms crossed, and studies her. She doesn’t do anything except allow him to watch her, the bond between them present but quieter than before his most recent capture. She doesn’t reach out to him through it, doesn’t welcome him into her hanger. She doesn’t move, her eyes don’t glow, her systems don’t light up, she doesn’t do anything.

She just stays.

“You ejected me into space the first time we faced Zarkon.” His voice shatters the silence of the room despite how quietly he speaks. He keeps his tone steady, but there is a weight to the air once the words are allowed out, and Shiro fights to keep his gaze on her face. “He was hurting me—us—and I thought you were protecting me. You’d done it before.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, and his fingers dig into his biceps before he can consciously relax. He’s so loud in such an empty space.

“You made me believe you were taking me from the Castle and tricked me into thinking we had left, but that was so we could strengthen our bond. You saved me from Zarkon then, too.” He frowns, and his fingers tighten. A sharp edge creeps into his tone as frustration and anger leak through his tight control. “Only, you let me fight first. I had to prove myself to you again, and then you decided I was worth it.”

He shakes his head and heat flares in his chest, “I’ve trusted you! We’ve done so much together—we got the black bayard back from Zarkon!” He can’t keep still any longer, his blood running hotly through him and driving him into an agitated prowl in front of Black.

“Every time I think we’ve bonded enough, something happens and we have to do it all over again. Do you not trust me? Is that it? Are all these tests to prove that I’m worthy of you?” He pulls to a halt and faces her, arms wide in supplication.

“What more do I have to do to be able to be the Black Paladin? What am I doing wrong?”

He’s suddenly cold. The anger that had been warming him leeching out of his skin and leaving only a chilly emptiness behind. He turns away from her, breathing hard. His headache is rising into a crest, pressing into the back of his eyes, and he pushes his fingers in a counter-pressure against them.

He had thought…

Shiro, you will pilot the Black Lion.

Defenders of the universe, huh?

Do you really think a monster like you could be a Voltron Paladin?

Shiro shakes his head sharply, once, as if he can erase the words from his mind as simply as an etch a sketch. As if it could ever be that easy. His gaze falls to the floor as resolve solidifies in his gut. His head throbs in time with his heart. He clenches his jaw and looks up. He can’t even tell if Black is paying any attention to him.

He pulls out his bayard—the black bayard and walks slowly, heavily to a table to the side of the room, his back to the Lion. He’s so tired.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, injecting steel into his voice. It has all the strength of overworked metal. “I told Zarkon that what was most important between us was earning each other’s trust.” The bayard is smooth in his hands, elegant in its simplicity. He has no idea what shape it would take for him. “I’ve tried to earn your trust over and over again.” He sets the weapon down gently, his hand lingering over its sleek black and white lines. “But the thing is…”

He lifts his hand off the bayard and faces her, “I don’t trust you anymore.”

The Black Lion does nothing.

He waits, concentrates fully on the bond between them, on her looming presence before him. There’s no response.

He turns away. He’s so very tired.

“Maybe we can find you another Black Paladin. One you can actually trust. I hope you’ll let me pilot you until then, for the team.”

He strides forward with as much authority as he can muster, fighting the urge to bow his head as the pain in his chest overshadows the pounding of his temples. Say something, he urges, anything. Give me a reason to trust you again. Let me know what is so wrong about me.

The door hisses open as he approaches, the barrier to a new reality in which he’s not the Black Paladin anymore. For good, this time. He can’t go back if he steps through that door, or else Black might finally be what shatters him.

He’s steps away from the door now, hope a breathless flutter in his chest.

Three to go. The Black Lion tends towards a surprising flare for the dramatic.

Two. She might not realize how much this is hurting him.

One. The bond is quiet in the back of his mind.

The snick of the door sealing closed behind him crushes the wings of hope beneath its finality, and Shiro staggers to the wall beside the door where he can brace himself instead of collapsing to the ground like all his strings have been cut. One shaking hand finds its way up to clutch at his aching head. The world crashes down around his ears. Shiro sucks in a gasp, his breath ragged.

His chest feels like the impossible cold of a black hole.

The Black Lion is silent.

AN: So this wasn’t originally for @blackpaladinweek​ and was instead supposed to be something to break me out of a writer’s block on another fic. But, well, timing somewhat worked out so this is my (late) submission for Day 6: Duty/Choice (it also works for day 2: break). It’s also cheating a little, because this is Kuron more than Shiro to me, and not something I see happening in canon. It’s a big contributor for why I root so hard for the clone theory, though! 

Anyway, thanks for reading! I might edit it and put it up on Ao3 at some point. Fun fact: this was inspired by the scene in Moana where she gives up the heart of the ocean, with some obvious changes to suite the circumstances. 

[lyssartandstars]

Well, I know, I know, the sirens sound Just before the walls come down Pain is a well-intentioned weatherman Predicting God as best he can But, God, I want to feel again Oh, God, I want to feel again

Down my arms A thousand satellites Suddenly discover signs of life (x)

break / mend

@blackpaladinweek

buy me a coffee?

[froldgapp]

Black Paladin Week Day 5: Isolation

@blackpaladinweek . tagging you too @blackpaladindown yo!

The cell stank. The shivering bodies beside him stank. He stank.

‘Hello?!’ he cried, rising up on his knees to better see through the bars.

‘No point,’ moaned the long, pucker-skinned alien to his right, its mouth filled with sores. ‘No point.’

‘Hel–’

‘Hey!’ Everyone in the cell jumped as a guard struck the heavy door outside. ‘Quieten down in there, you lot!’

Shiro swallowed and wetted his lips. He was panting heavily, couldn’t stop, couldn’t draw breath.

‘Where’s my crew?!’ he demanded, agonised. ‘Where’s my crew?!’

The door shunted open and an enormous guard stormed in, striking Shiro once across the temple and straight into black oblivion. 

OoO

The crowd was deafening. Bleachers staggered up, up, up into the sky. A faceless mass lit from massive floodlights chanted, hooted and clapped with terrifying uniformity. The sand beneath Shiro’s feet was dark with blood.

In front of him, his six-legged opponent scrambled urgently to grab the eye Shiro had dislodged with one solid blow. Blood hissed from deep body wounds and hung in the air, a red mist. The match was over, but not over. Not until Shiro delivered the killing blow.

‘My eye!’ the alien gurgled.

‘Champion!’ a rich voice boomed across the arena. ‘Take the head and claim your victory!’

‘Take the head and claim your victory!’ the crowd echoed.

Shiro’s entire body sang with adrenalin. His right arm charged with a high-pitched hum and the air split around it.

‘Mercy!’ the creature cried. ‘Mercy! I have a s–’

The head hit the ground, undramatic as a child dropping a toy they were no longer interested in. There was no more blood. The neck had been seared closed.

Shiro pulled in a breath and thumped his chest. ‘Vrepit sa!’ he bellowed.

The crowd answered, ‘Vrepit sa! Vrepit sa!’

OoO

Nobody spoke to the champion.

Nobody ate with, exercised with, or otherwise dealt with the champion. He boarded alone now. When he spoke, it was in little above a chalky scratching. Names began to fade, faces too. Places became shadows became nothing at all. What was that town... the one where they had holidayed in his youth? His uncle’s passing, what had that been? When had that been? He remembered his father crying, one knuckle clenched between his teeth as he listened to the news. Then, horribly: what was his uncle’s name?

‘Do not concern yourself with your opponents.’

Shiro shook himself and followed the tinkering at his arm with slow-blinking eyes.

‘They are nothing but fodder for your fury,’ said the witch.

‘Yes,’ said Shiro.

Her hands ran the length of his right arm from fingers to shoulder. She moved behind him and followed his neck up to his jaw, holding his head between both hands.

‘The universe has delivered you to us,’ she said. ‘Champion.’

‘Champion.’

‘Vrepit sa,’ she whispered.

Shiro swallowed and closed his eyes. ‘Vrepit sa.’