three times hasan faked it + 1 time he didn’t have to
more hasan here
hasan is good at faking many things.
look, he’s not one for bragging-really, he isn’t. it’s just part of his charm, of his appeal, another tick of good things about him-could be an actor if this streaming job ever falls through, if he ever gets sick of politics and dumb jokes.
at least, he likes to believe he is.
one
“i fucking hate this movie, dude.”
it’s obvious by the way his eyes have been glued to the screen and how he hasn’t said much that he’s lying. really, the only way you knew he was here was by the constant rubbing of the pad of his thumb over your hand, where it traveled and slowly creeped, two fingers at a time over your spine until it reached the back of your neck where his hand rested against yours, a gentle squeeze there, as if he’s saying: i’m here
“mhm,” you counter, eyes on the screen, “it’s obvious you hate it by how quiet you’ve been this entire time.”
he rolls his eyes but his hands stay constant:
“whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “this is the best part. hold on.”
he fucking hated this movie. his eyes were close to rolling out of his head but as he was about to make a joke, to say how dumb this was, he saw how excited you were, how wide eyed and excited you were over tbis movie and naturally, he had to love the movie as well.
two
“boo!”
hasan is many things, but at the very top of the list with your initials next to it, it’s a scaredy cat
he’s not proud of it.
the smile on his face gives him away, doesn’t give him enough time to fake a reaction, to play up being terrified:
“nothing?” your shoulders slump, “i didn’t scare you at all?”
look, he’d beat up anyone who even implied this, knows how cliche it is but the world is less scary with you by his side-isn’t on edge like before, isn’t always waiting for the other foot to drop.
“you didn’t even give me a chance to react!”
his giggle is loud as he reaches over to elbow you.
“reacting is your whole ass job!” you argue, moving out of the way as he tries to pull you close and plant a kiss on your forehead like he always does when you arrive at his side.
your face is bright red as he finally pulls you in close, another kiss to your cheek-
“cmon,” he giggles, “give me another chance.”
instead, you reach up, messing up his hair: “your time is coming.”
three
“i’m not much of a dancer.”
his voice is low as he drawls on, but as you stand with
“our kitchen would say differently,” you shush him, “come on.”
he groans, knows there’s no way he’ll get out of this, better to just shut up and follow what you say-you haven’t led him astray before.
“i’m going to embarrass you,” he all but whispers as he wraps his arms around your core, as you rest your head against his chest, “i’m going to step on your feet and it’s going to be horribly embarrassing.”
“shh.”
he leads, a gentle box as he’s careful to not step on your toes, grumbling and trying to act like he hates it-grateful you can’t see the pink across his face.
+ 1
“what is this?”
his giggle gives him away, proves he’s actually enjoying this.
“it’s a surprise, hasan.” you tsk at him, your hands shield over this eyes so all he can see is dark in front of him, “just-“
you pause, a sigh before kicking your lips:
“listen,” you counter, “do you trust me?”
there’s weight there, where he could play dumb or say the wrong thing and act like he doesn’t trust you-
“yes.” he says instantly, before he can even overthink it, his hands over yours as you guide him
“good,” you settle on, can hear your feet behind him as he smirks, his hands in front of him as he tries to make out a house he once knew by heart. “now shut up, and act like you’re enjoying this.”
you can’t see it as he rolls his eyes, as he tries to play up this act of someone who hates everything, hates this.
“okay, don’t open your eyes.”
there’s struggle for a second as one hand drops, he can tell by the difference in the lightning that you flicked a light on-
“okay. one, two-“
he can hear the deep breath you take as your hands drop. the second he can’t feel you anymore his hands scamper in the air, unsatisfied until they come back into contact with your hand, until his fingers are laced into your hand.
i’m the kitchen now lays half deflated balloons, a half hanging up happy birthday banner-
“it’s not great,” you sigh at your side, “I’m so sorry. i’ll make it up to you, i promise. the store-“
“hey.”
your head snaps up when you hear his voice, when his forefinger connects with your chin to lift it up so it strains, when you can finally make eye contact with him.
“this is perfect-“
“hasan,” you sigh, “you lie so badly-“
“i’ve literally never lied in my life,” he laughs, “this is perfect.”
you don’t believe him until he pulls you close to him, when your belly collided with the side of his legs, his hand outstretched as he points out the little things you spent all the time doing-
“this is perfect,” he insists, the smile never leaving his side, “you’re perfect.”
pink raises on your face as you shake it: “cliche.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Odysseus offers to raise the infant son of Prince Hector as his own, desperately hoping to spare an innocent life. Despite fate, Zeus accepts his bargain. For a price.
You can probably guess what that price is, considering this is Zeus we're talking about.
Except, the price goes deeper than Odysseus thought. After all, he never clarified exactly what he meant by raising the child as his own, and the gods do love their word games.
You worked at a food place inside the Star Court Mall. The job sucked but money was always the reward, so you stuck around. The costumers were almost always incredibly rude, but you did have your favorites. There was this one guy named Steve. You knew him from Highschool, he was stuck up and always worried about his status. He couldn't be alone, he always needed someone on his arm to brag to. Even though those things were really annoying about him, you couldn't help but develop a little crush on him, he was adorable, charming, funny, and really really cute. He came in at least three times a week for his lunch. The sailor uniform he walked in with was always funny, it took everything in you not to laugh when he came around that corner.
"Afternoon Steve." You leaned on the counter, waiting for him to order. "You know what I don't get?" He asked you, taking off his hat. "How this hair stopped landing me the ladies. It used to always work." He paused to stare at the hat in his hands. "I think it's the hat." He looked at it as if it were his arch nemesis. "I think you're trying too hard." You stared at him. He looked up at you confused. "How? I'm using the same stuff as before, used to work..." He trailed off.
"Yeah, well maybe some new material will work.
That, or stop trying to get the girls who would turn a blind eye to you the second something better comes along." You rolled your eyes playfully. "Yeah sure, I'll get right on that." He said sarcastically. "Your regular?" You asked him, starting to order. "Yeah." He mumbled annoyed, still looking at his hat as he got his wallet out.
You watched as he found his favorite seat and
sulked. You chuckled and went to find your manager. "I'm going on lunch." You took Steves order and stole a sandwich for yourself. "You've got 30 minutes." Your manager said, not looking at you.
You walked up to Steve and put down his food.
He looked up confused, usually you call out his name to come pick it up. "You look lonely. I think I'II start taking my lunch with you." You lightly flirted. "Oh, okay cool." Your flirt went right over his head as he starts pulling out his food.
The two of you start taking daily lunches with each other, Steve even started to bring you lunch from other places when you both were bored with the food where you work. This went on long enough you both knew what the other orders at all the food stores. There were times you and him tried new items from different places, most were gross which resulted in spitting up a lot of food and pure laughter at the other reactions to the flavors. You had such a fun time with him every day, this didn't help your little crush issue. It grew each week, the more you learned about him the bigger the crush swelled. The times you both ate at Scoops Ahoy, you noticed Robin looking your way with a smile, as if she knew something
"Alright Dingus, your break is over. You're up."
Robin forced Steve up. He looked at her annoyed but followed. "I'll see you later." He said to you then left. 'I'm just gonna ask, do you like Steve?" She asked you, taking some of what was left of Steve's fries. "What do you mean?"
You tried not to blush but that was nearly impossible. "You know what I mean. You've got a crush on him, don't you?" She smiled. " mean.." You tried to think of something to say but you came up short handed. ' knew it." She grinned bigger. "Fine." You gave up. "Has he asked you out?" She questioned. "No, in fact I'm not sure he knows how to flirt. Every time I flirt with him it just goes right over his head." You put your face in your hands. You couldn't believe you were confessing your crush to anyone, let alone his coworker. "I think he needs a gentle nudge, I can give him that, if you want." She looked at you seriously. "Why would you help me?" You asked, a little suspicious.
"Because he won't shut the hell up about finding a girlfriend and you're obviously the best candidate." She pointed at you up and down.
"What if he doesn't like me? Then he finds out I like him and then it's awkward and we'll never be the same? rounramorere-reeling vour nerves getting the best of you. "Hey, chances are, he likes you and just doesn't realize it. Give me about a week. Where did you get these fries?
They're delicious." Robins mouth was stuffed.
You glanced back at Steve who was scooping ice cream for a bunch of kids.
A week goes by, and Steve starts to act more and more fidgety. The last day of the week, you wait for him to turn that corner for your lunch, but he never did. This made your heart sink. It failed, he didn't like you back and now you've lost him forever... Depressed, you took your lunch and ate alone. All week you could tell he was acting weird; you should've known he wouldn't like you back. He cares more about hi image than who he's with.
You went home that night and fell onto your bed, you sighed and stared to the wall, thinking of nothing but regret. That's when you heard something hit your window. "The hell?" You stared at your closed curtains, waiting for it, the knock came two more times before you pulled the curtains open. Steve was standing in the yard with a handful of rocks. You open your window and put your head out. "Steve? What're you doing here?" You asked, the butterflies in your stomach came to life and fluttered around like no other. "Come down here please." He was trying to be quiet, not wanting to be caught by your parents. You shut the window, hurried to change into something cuter, then rushed down the stairs faster than you've ever managed before. "I'm going out. I won't be long!" You shouted over the loud TV and left through the front door.
"Hey.." Steve said breathless, as if he were the
"Hey..." Steve said breathless, as if he were the one who just ran a 5k to get to the front yard.
"Hey." You said in the same tone. "Uh so I'm just gonna get straight to it, Robin told me what you two talked about last week." He had his hands behind his back, looking very nervous. "Oh, she did?" You asked, hoping this wasn't the end of your friendship with him. "Look, Steve. I didn't mean to make things uncomfortable between us, I understand if you want to take some time apart, but I would really like if we stayed friends." You were fiddling with your fingernails, not daring to look at him at all. Rejection straight to the face would be too hard for you right now.
"Will you go on a date with me?" Your head shot up at his question. He pulled his arm from behind him to reveal a dozen roses. "I'm sorry for not showing up to our lunch today, Robin was helping me rehearse how to ask you out. I like you a lot and she helped me realize that. I usually don't realize these things until it's too late." He sheepishly handed you the flowers and refused to look at your face. "So, when is good for you?" He asked, still unable to look in your direction. You tried to ground yourself, trying to silence all the screams in your head. "I'm free right now." You told him. He finally looked at you, grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Shall we?" He offered his hand to you.
oh no richie! don't look at my ass! i'm so embarrassed!
Richie was pretty sure he was losing his goddamn mind. If he has to look at Eddie's ass one more time, he's going to have to check himself into sex rehab.
So I recently made a playlist of absolutely horrible music to drive around to, and the image of Ronan and Blue terrorizing the others with it popped into my head and refused to leave until I wrote this entirely self-indulgent fic to go along with the playlist. It’s v silly and also my first foray into writing TRC content, but...here we are.
Post-TRK/Pre-Epilogue Bronan friendship and gangsey shenanigans, rated T, read on ao3
In the week following Gansey’s graduation, something strange happened.
He hadn’t wanted to leave for a week, not when he was going to be leaving Henrietta so soon anyway. He’d disliked the plan even more when Maura had insisted Blue couldn’t go with him, that if she was going on this road trip with him and Henry, the Fox Way ladies needed to take advantage of every moment they had with her. Gansey couldn’t begrudge Maura time with her daughter, just as he couldn’t blame his own mother for wanting him to spend a little time with the rest of the Gansey clan before he took off again.
So he acquiesced to his mother’s demand-phrased-as-a-polite-request that he would spend a few days at home, on the condition that he could bring Adam along. Adam was even less thrilled than Gansey at the prospect of leaving Henrietta, especially when he knew Ronan wouldn’t come with them, especially especially when he remembered the last time he’d visited D.C. But Gansey desperately wanted company, and with Henry visiting his mother, Adam was the only option left, and he knew it. Besides, at Gansey’s suggestion, they’d added a few extra days for visiting some of the colleges Adam was applying to.
(Neither of them mentioned that the idea of some quality time together—just the two of them—before they each went their separate ways for the foreseeable future was an appealing one. They both thought it.)
The plan was met with mixed feelings by every party involved, but it went off without a hitch, and four family dinners, three college visits, two breakdowns in the Pig, and one emotional late-night heart to heart later, the two boys had returned to Henrietta.
For a while, Gansey noticed nothing amiss.
The first night back was a game night. As usual, Blue somehow managed to beat everyone at Super Smash Bros. despite passing up actually learning how to play in favor of smashing buttons at random. As usual, Adam was alarmingly good at Monopoly. As usual, Ronan got bored before they could finish a round and insisted on playing Cards Against Humanity instead. As usual, Gansey was terrible at every game but nonetheless seemed to have the most fun.
The next day was spent split off in pairs. Gansey spent some time at 300 Fox Way, helping out around the house and good-naturedly tasting Maura’s experimental teas before Blue got fed up with Orla, who was not in the least deterred from her usual flirtatiousness by the official nature of their relationship, and dragged him out of the house to 1) go for a drive, 2) make out in the back seat of the Pig, and 3) explore a local farmer’s market. The rest of the day was spent at Monmouth Manufacturing, though Adam and Ronan were nowhere to be seen. Ronan had been spending more nights at St. Agnes than Monmouth, though, so Gansey wasn’t surprised. All went as usual.
It was on his second full day back that Gansey realized something had happened during his week away.
After a lazy morning, everyone was gathered once more at Monmouth Manufacturing to go for a trip to the Barns. Ronan had volunteered to drive the BMW.
Adam and Gansey followed the other two as they headed out of the apartment, watching amusedly at the scene unfolding. Blue had thrown herself sideways into Ronan, and despite her size, she’d managed to knock him off balance for a moment.
“Hey, asshole, cut it out,” he growled, mussing the colorfully clipped mess of her hair affectionately.
Blue huffed and attempted to shove his hand away. He redoubled his efforts. She ducked away, but he followed, and it quickly escalated into a chaotic tussle.
“‘M gonna shave it all off,” came Blue’s muffled voice from behind Ronan’s arm, “just to spite you.”
Adam laughed. The sound made Gansey grin.
“I’d shave it for you if you asked nicely.”
“No way. It’s a punishment, not a reward.” By this time she had freed herself and was grinning breathlessly back at him as she jogged up to the Beemer.
Then Blue climbed in shotgun.
Ronan was unfazed by this. He hopped into the driver’s seat, and Gansey saw rather than heard him answering her quip.
Gansey, however, was not unfazed. And neither was Adam, if the slight frown and amused quirk of his lips when he turned to meet Gansey’s eyes was any indication.
Gansey could only shrug and follow Adam into the back seat.
Blue rode shotgun in the Camaro more frequently than Ronan or Adam did these days, and on the rare occasion that any of them ended up in Adam’s piece of shit car, she had as fair a shot as either of the others. But if Ronan was driving, it had always been Gansey or, more recently, Adam in the front. It wasn’t that Blue and Ronan weren’t close—they were just about as close now as any of them, and it made Gansey’s heart feel like it was swelling up three times it’s regular size, like the Grinch’s in the old cartoon he and Helen used to watch every December. But Blue had never attempted riding shotgun in the Beemer if either of the others were along, and Ronan had never asked her to, and something about it felt significant when she casually swung herself into the front seat.
It was practiced, Gansey realized as he buckled his seatbelt. It was easy. What had Ronan and Blue gotten up to while he and Adam were away?
He didn’t have to wonder long.
Ronan wordlessly tossed Blue his phone, and she hooked it up to the aux that he’d dreamt to work in the BMW. This, too, was practiced and easy. Blue even knew his phone password.
Just as they screeched out of the parking lot, some kind of music that Gansey could only call aggressive blasted through the speakers. It wasn’t the murder squash song, which he appreciated, but it also wasn’t all that much better. It was all angry electric music and yelling and loud, so loud, but Blue and Ronan were both yelling the words and head-banging, which he had never seen from either of them. It was so strange, he had to glance over at Adam for confirmation that he wasn’t hallucinating. Adam stared back at him wide-eyed.
For a while they only watched in silence, and Gansey almost felt as though he were intruding on some kind of private ritual until Blue turned and began to teasingly sing some of the lyrics of the next song—a horrible, upbeat electronic sounding one—at him. From the few lyrics he could understand, it was about carrying out a relationship over the phone. It was more than a little pointed, and he found himself blushing at some of the more explicit lyrics.
Some of his discomfort evaporated when she laughed delightedly at him and returned to dancing in her seat, replaced by fascination.
Finally, Adam broke in, yelling to be heard over the music, “Can someone please explain what is going on?”
Ronan met his eyes in the rearview mirror and shouted back, “We’re going to the Barns, Parrish. Where have you been?”
“Or do you just mean like, the state of the world today?” Blue asked, turning to face him. “Because you will not believe what’s going on with climate change.”
“I mean the state of my good ear, which is on the verge of becoming my other bad ear. The hell are we listening to?”
Blue lowered the volume just enough that they could speak without having to shout, warding off Ronan’s dirty look with one of her own. “Our playlist. I wanted to name it “emo to the excreamo,” but Ronan kept insisting on names that were objectively terrible and we couldn’t compromise so now it’s a sad nameless little playlist.”
“For the record, ‘songs to commit crimes to’ is the perfect name.”
“It doesn’t make sense! I can’t commit ecoterrorism while blasting Britney Spears.”
“Not with that attitude you can’t. You probably shouldn’t even fucking bother with the ecoterrorism if you aren’t gonna blast Britney Spears while you do it.”
Gansey’s head was spinning. “There’s Britney Spears on this playlist?”
“Obviously,” Blue shot back over her shoulder. It did not seem obvious to Gansey given that the current song was some kind of angry electric rock and that the playlist had been made by Ronan Lynch and Blue Sargent, but then again, nothing else about their current situation had seemed obvious to him ten minutes ago, either.
“I can’t blast anything as bop-worthy as Britney Spears, or I’ll get caught and then I won’t be able to commit more ecoterrorism.” This Blue directed at Ronan. “You must be a terrible criminal.”
“Fine. ‘Songs to get murdered to’ works just as well.”
Blue punched him in the arm. “That’s insensitive! Gansey’s been murdered!”
Ronan barked out a surprised laugh at that. “Yeah, by you and your kiss of death, Maggot.”
“For the record,” Gansey interjected, “Jane’s kiss of death was vastly preferable to the thousands of hornet stings.”
“What a compliment.” Adam raised an eyebrow and looked from Gansey to Blue.
Ronan snickered. “Congrats, Sargent. Kissing you is slightly better than getting stung to death.”
Blue’s reply was interrupted by the sound of “it’s Britney, bitch,” from the stereo, which sent her scrambling to set the volume to its previous ear-bleeding level.
They carried on like this for a while, Ronan pushing 20 over the speed limit and Blue scream-singing lyrics to songs that almost all had to do with sex, cars, or both. Gansey thought the one about a dreamer in a Beemer seemed a little on the nose, and sentiment Adam voiced moments later.
“I can’t help it if I’m someone’s muse,” came the reply. Blue snorted loudly, and Ronan reached over and pinched her on the exposed skin between the top of her knee socks and her ripped shorts. She slapped his hand and squirmed away.
At one point, Blue sang (if you could call it that, when it was really closer to talking or shouting but set to music) the intro to a song that began, “Hey you lil piss baby,” leaning across the center console to get in Ronan’s face, without missing a single word. In fact, Gansey realized, she knew at least some (if not most) of the words to all of these songs, and he wondered just how many times they’d listened to them together.
The fact that they had coordinated dance moves and established which of them sang specific parts when there were back and forth elements solidified for him that the answer was…many, many times.
This coordination was amusing for the most part. An amused smirk played across Adam’s lips as he watched their stupid dances, and Gansey was just ruminating on how happy and carefree both of them seemed, open in a way he rarely saw from either of them, when their performance jolted him out of his reverie.
Blue was moaning. Loudly.
It was part of the song, of course, the singer’s desire to — like rabbits, with a moan in place of an expletive, blaring over and over through the speakers. Ronan was singing along with the rest of the lyrics. Blue contributed the…interjectory sounds, and apparently took this role very seriously.
When her eyes, glinting mischievously, met his in the rearview mirror, he realized she was doing this on purpose. To mess with him. His mouth finally caught up to his brain, and he spluttered a scandalized, “Jane!”
She threw her head back and cackled gleefully. Ronan fist-bumped her. Gansey’s face felt hot.
“I think you’ve become a bad influence, Lynch,” Adam shouted, but he was failing to suppress his smile.
“If anything,” Ronan shot back, “Sargent’s been a bad influence on me. She’s the one that found most of these songs.”
Gansey wondered at that. He wondered all through the suggestive and outright explicit of the next song as well. He wondered at Blue’s ability to sing along without so much as a blush, all while he tried very hard not to think on any of the images his mind conjured up in response.
But of course, she was dauntless and outspoken in everything she did. He smiled at the mental image of her playing these songs for Ronan, ranting all the while about how women in media are sexualized for male gratification but expected to keep themselves modest and pure, the double-edged sword that is the masculine perception of female sexuality, and raging against the vilification of the women who wrote songs expressing that sexuality while men could objectify women in their song’s as much as they pleased. Gansey wished he could’ve been there for Ronan’s response.
None of that made the upbeat, electronic excuse for music any more aurally appealing, unfortunately.
One song ended with sudden bursts of horrid, metallic clashing sounds at a volume so painful that he, Adam, and even Blue covered their ears. She reached to lower the volume, but Ronan slapped her hand away.
“Come on, Ronan,” Gansey yelled, “this isn’t even music! It’s just…screeching!”
Ronan threw a wolfish grin at him over his shoulder. “I know. It sounds just like the Pig when she breaks down. Does it turn you on, Dick?”
Gansey let out a deep sigh, but before he could defend himself, the song had changed and Blue had let out a little excited yelp.
“I just remembered!” she gasped, grabbing for Ronan’s phone. “Henry gave me a song to play for you. You’re gonna love it.”
Ronan sneered. “I don’t trust Cheng’s taste in music.”
Blue only waved her hand dismissively and fiddled with his phone until a new song, not dissimilar in style to the rest, was playing. A few verses in, Adam began laughing, a full, joyous laugh rarely heard and positively contagious.
“It’s perfect for you, Ro,” he gasped out.
Ronan had to concede that a song about only answering the phone for your boyfriend’s personalized ringtone was rather fitting, even if Henry was the one to recommend it. He didn’t fight Blue when she added it to the playlist, and his threats following her announcement that she was making the song Adam’s ringtone were halfhearted at best.
Looking from Blue and Ronan’s bickering to Adam’s gasping laughter, Gansey tried to take in and file away every detail. He wanted to be able to look back on this moment when they were spread out across the country, to remind himself that the separation was only temporary. His chest felt like it was going to burst.
By the time they got to the Barns, it was his eardrums that felt like they were going to burst.
“Next time,” he groaned, stepping out of the car and into the Virginia summer heat, “I’m bringing ear plugs.”
Summary: Shiro finds Allura sitting alone with the stars and her grief. He can’t just leave.
Category: Gen
Characters: Allura, Shiro, Coran
Read it here on ao3!
An excerpt from The Book Thief by Markus Zusak:
He had not seen the outside world for twenty-two months.
…“How did it look?”
Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment. “There were stars,” he said. “They burned my eyes.”
Four of them. Two people on their feet. The other two remained seated. All had seen a thing or two that night.
This place was the real basement. This was the real fear. Max gathered himself and stood to move back behind the sheets. He wished them good night, but he didn’t make it beneath the stairs…
From a Himmel Street window, he wrote, the stars set fire to my eyes.
~*~*~*~*~
It’s been a long day, and the expansive views of the observatory are calling. Shiro stretches his arms above his head, his back cracking nicely as he walks down the hall to finally enjoy some alone time. He palms the door open with a sigh and pulls to a stop when he finds the room already occupied.
His first, overwhelming reaction is disappointment but then he takes the second process what he’s seeing.
It’s Allura, her white hair and pale robe stark against the backdrop of space where she sits in front of the windows, arms wrapped around her knees and shoulders slumped.
He hesitates, torn. She clearly came here to be alone, but the way she’s holding herself…something’s wrong. Before he can make a decision one way or the other, she turns around and spots him hovering awkwardly. She gives him a shaky smile and while her face is dry, her eyes are full of grief.
He can’t leave her alone like this.
Shiro steps carefully to her side, lowering himself to sit close enough to be present but not touching as she rests her chin on her knees. She doesn’t say anything, so he leans back on his hands and looks up at the stars.
“This is my favorite room in the castle,” he says. “The view is incredible.”
If he finds the right opening, he thinks she might talk to him. He has a tendency towards silence, but Allura always struck him as the type who would talk about her problems if she found the right person. After all they’ve been through, he hopes she can trust that he’ll be there to support her. She’s technically his commanding officer, but they tend to lead as a team.
“I love to come here to think. It helps put everything in perspective, you know? Reminds me why we’re out here.”
Allura’s fingers clench around her upper arms and she curls further into herself, blinking rapidly. Shiro leaves it out there, letting her take up the conversation or not.
They sit together in silence for just a few minutes, and Shiro works to keep his body language relaxed and open.
“Sometimes,” Allura says, voice quiet but steady, “we are in such a position that the light from Altea’s star is visible to us.” Her fingers clench again, holding tight. “Sometimes I can pretend Altea is still there beside it, waiting for me to come home.” She buries her face in her knees and continues, muffled, “But sometimes there is a new light beside it and I know it is the explosion that destroyed my home. This far away, Altea is still burning after 10,000 years.”
Her shoulders begin to shake, and Shiro’s heart breaks. He wraps his arms around her and she tilts onto his shoulder but doesn’t uncurl, leaving her face hidden and her arms tight around herself. He doesn’t let up on his embrace, though—if she wanted the space, she never would have allowed him to move her an inch. He rests his head on hers and takes in the stars with new eyes.
He wonders which one is Altea.
He’s never lost his entire planet before. He’s never lost his whole people and 10,000 years in one fell swoop. He’s never had the weight of the entire galaxy suddenly thrust onto his shoulders while he lost everything.
He can’t possibly understand everything Allura’s going through, but he has lost an arm, a year, a future, and a family, and most importantly, he can hold on when she needs to let go.
“After I escaped from the Galra—and the other Paladins got me away from the Garrison—they took me back to this old shack out in the desert. When I woke up, Keith told me how long I’d been gone, that I’d been missing for a year.” He keeps his posture loose, fighting not to tense up. “I spent the entire night outside, watching the stars move across the sky, trying to remember.” He’d been there for hours, watching stars and planets and satellites, feeling the wind blowing and remembering—how loud the desert could be, himself, home. He couldn’t remember his missing year, he couldn’t remember getting a new arm or losing his old one. “I didn’t want to believe him, but he’s never lied to me before.” It’s hard to put into words, exactly what he’d felt that night. It’s harder to come to grips with the dissatisfaction he had felt with the truth, but if anyone has a chance of understanding, it’s Allura. His voice goes quieter. “It felt like it should have been longer.”
At least it was only a year. He should have been happy it was only a year, especially since he has such a limited number to begin with.
He could have lost so much more to the Galra.
And yet…and yet. It doesn’t feel like it was only a year.
He looks up at the stars and tries to find his balance.
“It was the blink of an eye,” Allura says. Her face is tear-stained when she looks up, her nightgown damp. She doesn’t look at him. “Between one moment and the next, my whole world was gone. I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep.” Her face scrunches up in a fresh wash of pain. “I just blinked, and they were gone.”
She lets go, turning in his hold to clutch his shirt and bury her face in his chest as she sobs. “Shiro, they’re all gone.”
A lump form in Shiro’s throat, and he wraps his arms more securely around her, pulls her close, and just holds her. There’s nothing he can say.
“Oh, Princess,” a voice chokes out from the doorway, and Shiro shifts enough to watch the mice scurry to Allura’s side as Coran stands in the open doorway with sorrow etched deeply into the lines of his face.
Allura cries harder, shuddering in his embrace.
Coran has a blanket in his hands but he hesitates to come any closer.
He’s never even paused to jump to Allura’s defense before, and Shiro’s eyebrows furrow at the sudden out of character action. He would think this, especially, is a situation where Coran is most needed, since he’s the only other Altean left.
“I didn’t know, Princess, I swear I didn’t know,” he chokes out, clutching the blanket in a stranglehold. Shiro’s eyes widen in understanding.
He was awake when Allura was forced into cryosleep.
He took away her chance to say goodbye.
It’s not just grief on his face—it’s guilt.
Allura reaches out for him anyway. “Coran.”
All hesitation vanishes and he falls to her side, reaching for her as well. Allura twists to grab him and Shiro lets her go so that she can shift into Coran’s arms, but she grabs hold of his hand before he can pull it fully away. She tucks it against her chest and clutches it there even as Coran gathers her into his own arms and the mice crawl into her lap.
She holds tight as the two Alteans weep for their lost people and Shiro rests his other hand on Coran’s shoulder, staying quiet.
“I don’t want to be the last, Coran,” Allura whispers. “I can’t.”
It’s a heavy thing to carry, the culture and legacy of an entire planet.
“I am truly sorry that you are the one to suffer this burden,” Coran says with heartbreak in his voice, “I am. But I could choose no one better, my princess.”
Shiro squeezes his shoulder. “We may not be Altean, but you’re not alone. We’re a team, and I will do my best to live up to King Alfor’s legacy as a Paladin of Voltron. He won’t be forgotten.”
Coran meets his eyes as Allura takes another deep, shuddering breath and pushes herself upright, releasing her grip on both Shiro and Coran.
“Thank you, Shiro,” she says, wiping at her eyes. She sits up straight and tall, regal, and meets his gaze with clear eyes, full of grief still but with her core of strength and determination shining through.
He’s not stupid enough to think this fixes everything. It doesn’t bring Altea back, nor her people, nor does it give her a chance to say goodbye.
She looks back up at the stars, at Altea as it burns, and he puts his arms back around her shoulders. Coran disappears briefly and comes back to tuck the blanket around them both, sitting again at Allura’s side and taking her hand.
It doesn’t give her back her people, but they’re a crew now and that means family. No matter how lonely she gets, she won’t be alone.
They won’t let her be.
———————————————–
Note: I have to give credit to that one panel of star wars comics where Leia talks about Alderaan because I very obviously was inspired by it for Allura’s comment about Altea.
This very much didn’t go the way I initially thought it would, as I originally pictured a lot more Coran and Shiro talking about captivity but there we go. Don’t go writing when you want to cry on Christmas or else it will steal all of your inspiration and take over whatever other thoughts you had.
