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autisticlancemcclain · 8 months

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The first bout of whispering, Shiro can ignore. He’s a teacher by trade, after all. Astronaut, sure. Paladin, even. But he always expected to be a teacher, trained for it, and he knows when you put a group of teenagers in a room and expect them to start learning by lecture, there’s going to be some whispering. He’d be concerned if there wasn’t, frankly.

But as it keeps happening, again and again, to the point where it’s almost constant, Shiro begins to lose his patience.

“Lance, Hunk,” he says, catching himself long before then. He tries to smile, gentle but firm. “Everything okay?”

The two boys clam up immediately. Lance even begins to lean slightly away from Hunk, although Shiro’s not sure he notices.

Shiro frowns, puzzled at the reaction. That’s — uncommon. He’s seen embarrassed, seen sheepish, seen unbothered, even seen downright rude, but Lance looks almost… afraid. And Hunk looks at him with a lot more anxiety than the situation calls for, but Shiro is beginning to notice that that’s just Hunk.

The both mutter some semblance of apology, and Shiro moves on quickly, unwilling to dwell on the incident too long.

For the rest of the briefing, he keeps an eye on them. He’s still focused, of course, as their break-in and recon on a nearby Empire warship is not only hugely dangerous, but will also be hugely beneficial, but he lets his notes do a lot of the talking for him. He flits his eyes to the pair every so often, and while Hunk meets his eyes on occasion, smiling slightly, Lance keeps his head down, hunched over his tablet.

Shiro notices that the tablet is powered off. He doesn’t write a single note.

His shoulders are hunched up to his ears.

———

“Alright, kiddo, good job.”

Keith grins, stepping backwards and bowing to finish the fight. Shiro bows back, matching his smile.

“You did great.”

“I know,” Keith says cheekily. “You’re getting easier and easier to beat. Probably because you’re elderly.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Am I.”

His annoying little brother hums, completely unconcerned. He steps off to the side and starts swinging around his training stick, very clearly showing off. “Mhm. It was super easy to fight you. I just went whoosh, smack, bam! —” he punctuates every sound with a swing and slash of the stick — “and every hit just landed. Honestly, I think a punching bag would have been more of a challenge. Adam is a way better spar partner than you. I wish I was shot into space with him.”

Shiro’s eye twitches. It’s a clear goad, he knows it is. Keith isn’t even trying to hide it. He’s a twerp with too much energy and too much experience pressing all of Shiro’s buttons — a favourite button of his, of course, being the bit of…healthy competition Shiro has always had with his boyfriend.

(He’s well aware of the irony. He hears Adam pointing and laughing in his head every time he endures Keith’s complaining about Lance pulling his mullet, so to speak. In fact keeping his mouth shut about the parallels is the only thing keeping him from throwing Keith down the laundry chute. He’s waiting for a moment when the reveal can be well and truly devastating.)

Shiro manages, with herculean strength, to step away from his turd of a brother, putting his training stick away.

“I am leaving,” he says loudly, pointedly turning away. “I said I’d train one hour with you and not a second more.”

He feels Keith’s pout more than sees it. “Coward.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro snorts, waving his hand dismissively. He hears swishing sounds, and the clicks of buttons — Keith is starting up his own training. Again. “Don’t be late for dinner or I’ll send Lance after you.”

“Can’t promise I won’t maim him,” Keith mutters. “Sometimes I just want to wring his neck.”

Shiro is very familiar with that feeling. Or at least the raving about it. He used to feel great pleasure in driving Adam to that point, just because he was hot when he was mad. But Shiro values his limbs — or at least what’s left of them — where they are, so he keeps the comments to himself as he makes his way out of the training room, meandering back to his own quarters.

He takes his time showering and redressing, knowing he’s got some time before dinner. He thinks Hunk even managed to wrestle Coran out of the kitchen, which means no food goo. It also means that he’s banned from even breathing near the kitchen until the food is fully cooked and completed — which is a bullshit ban and one based in false accusations — but he’s sure he can help set the table, or something. Stir a pot. He’s good at that.

He towels off his hair, not bothering to style it, and takes his time walking over to the kitchens. The castle floors are cold under his bare feet, he finds himself wishing he had the lion slippers Lance made him. They’re very warm. He never wears them because he’s terrified of ruining them, but it’s so icy in here that he might start having to, or else he’ll freeze.

As he approaches the kitchen, he hears voices. He freezes, quieting his steps and pausing behind the wall to listen. Hopefully no one else walks by, or that will be humiliating.

“— all you have to do is ask, Lance, just casually, it’s not even —”

“— it is even, Hunk, it’s the worst and I’m not doing it, why would I inconvenience —”

“— it isn’t! Not even a little! It’s the smallest tiniest thing!”

“Hunk —”

Hunk throws his hands up in exasperation, spoon going flying and splattering some kind of blue sauce all over the cabinets. Neither of them even blinks at it.

“I am tired of watching you struggle, Leandro! Heaven forbid you ask for help!”

Shiro frowns. That’s not good. That sounds serious.

“I asked for help,” Lance huffs, arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t count and you know it,” Hunk says sharply, mirroring him. “I already knew.”

Lance looks away, clenching his jaw. His fingers are tangled in his jacket’s sleeve, tense.

“You don’t have to help anymore if it’s too hard,” he mumbles. “I can handle it myself.”

Hunk softens. “It’s not that, Lance.” He wipes his hands in his apron and pulls Lance to his chest. Lance goes, although he doesn’t move his arms, burying his face in Hunk’s shoulder. “You know it’s not that. If that’s all we have then I’ll keep doing it, damn the consequences.” He pulls back slightly, nudging Lance back so he can look him in the face. “You can just do better, dude. All you gotta do is tell Shiro about your —”

A hand claps over Hunk’s mouth, cutting him off, and Lance squeaks, “Hey, Shiro, hello, hi!”

Shiro startles. He scrambles upright before Hunk turns all the way, so at least he’s only seen crouching by the door like a weirdo by one person.

He clears his throat. “Uh, hi.”

“You’re banned from the kitchen,” Hunk says, muffled. How he looks so mighty and dignified with Lance’s hands still very much pressed to his face is well and truly beyond him. Shiro is frankly awed.

“I just came to help set the table,” he assures, hands held up in surrender. “Promise I’ll stay away from the actual food.”

Hunk narrows his eyes, but must decide he could use the help, because he nods, stepping backwards so Lance’s hands fall back down.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m making stew. You can set out utensils if you must but know I’ll judge you heavily for it. Lance, come help me finish up.”

Lance scrambles after him, avoiding Shiro’s gaze like he’s sure he’s going to get yelled at. Shiro watches him go, perplexed.

———

The next few days are, for the most part, manageable. Their mission goes well, Keith is surprisingly mellow — Shiro suspects the little nerd has discovered a library of some kind — and distress calls are minimal. All in all, Shiro should be taking the time as the blessing it is and catching up on some much needed R&R.

Instead, he’s worrying about the Blue Paladin.

Shiro can’t say he knows him well. They’ve hardly been in space a couple of months, after all, and while Shiro must have taught him a couple times — he was in the piloting program so it’s almost impossible that they didn’t cross paths — the Garrison is huge, and Shiro largely teachers younger students. Shiro can’t recall teaching a Lance, anyway.

But he can tell something’s off.

Besides the fact that Hunk keeps looking at Lance with concern, the Cuban seems…withdrawn, almost. He still works hard in training and smokes them in any kind of long distance, but there doesn’t seem to be any joy in it. Even his arguments with Keith seem halfhearted, which Keith will never admit leave him agitated as much as it has Shiro’s eyebrows raising. Shiro is sure, basically, that something is the matter, and surer still that he has to be the one to fix it.

How exactly he should go about it…well, that’s the part he’s struggling with. He knows Lance is kind of star-eyed around him, even though they’re on the same playing field, so Shiro’s not sure just regular talking to him about it is going to do something. And he seemed pretty resistant when Hunk pressed, in the conversation Shiro overheard. He’s just not sure what to do.

Luckily, the situation starts to resolve itself.

“Hey, Shiro, can I talk to you?” Lance mumbles into his breakfast, as everyone else is distracted by Pidge and Keith’s loud argument about cryptids (Shiro has heard it too many times at this point. He’s tuned it out).

Shiro blinks. “Sure,” he says, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. “Now?”

“Uh, after we eat, maybe.”

Shiro tries very hard not to seem over enthusiastic. He sucks at that, so it doesn’t work, and it seems to make Lance more stressed, which only stresses Shiro out more. By the time everyone has finished up and people are starting to file out to various tasks, the tension between them is so thick Shiro feels as if he might suffocate.

Suddenly, as if he propelled himself, Lance springs to his feet, snatching his bowl and Shiro’s and powerwalking towards the kitchen sink. Shiro, startled, follows him.

“You okay?” Shiro asks softly, noticing the whiteness of Lance’s knuckles, clenched around a sponge, and the robotic way he scrubs it across a dirty spoon.

Lance says nothing. He keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the soapy water, spine ramrod straight, nerves bleeding from him in waves.

Hesitantly, Shiro rolls up his sleeves, standing beside him and beginning to dry what he rinses. As Shiro gets close he gets tenser, shoulders hiked up to his ears, but as the minutes drag on, empty kitchen echoing the sound of swishing water and clanking cutlery, he begins to calm down. Shiro watches his face relax, easing its worries twist, and terror fade from his brown eyes.

He hands Shiro the last clean dish to dry, then pulls the plug on the sink, darting over to grab a hand towel and starting to dry.

“Can you write mission plans in pink?”

The words rush out of him, like he’d been holding them between his teeth for God knows how long and they’d finally spilled out. He looks almost nauseous after he says them.

Shiro blinks. That was…not what he’d expected.

“…Why?”

“It’s perfectly okay if you can’t,” Lance continues, as if Shiro had not spoken. “I mean, whatever. I’ll figure it out. I’ve gone without this long, after all, and it’s totally doable. Of course there’s the migraines and the agony but that’s all light work. It’s war, after all. Ha.” He chuckles nervously.

He’s shrunk in on himself, looking almost small. Shiro stares at him with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. Lance doesn’t even notice, eyes focused intensely on the hand towel, breathing worryingly erratic.

“I just swore to Hunk that I’d ask, you know. He said it wouldn’t hurt. And of course it wouldn’t but I don’t need it. It’s just. You know.”

Shiro cannot stress enough how much he doesn’t know. He hasn’t felt this lost in a while.

“Pink makes the letters stick to the page. And I know that sounds stupid as shit and that’s because it is stupid as shit, unfortunately. Dyslexia is the dumbest thing in the world, actually. And who named it that? You know how hard that word is to spell? It’s hard. They should have called it — I dunno, I just mean, it’s whatever. It’s fine. I’ve handled it this long. Uh.” He looks up, finally, and maybe he doesn’t know how to make sense of Shiro’s expression, because he winces, shame overtaking his face. He sets down the towel and gestures vaguely behind him, stepping towards the door. “I’m just gonna — go. Sorry. See you later. Sorry.”

He all but flees out of the room. Shiro barely manages to snag the back of his hoodie, holding him in place.

“Lance. Chill a second. Give me time to respond.”

Lance looks deploringly at the door, then back at Shiro. He looks like he’s accepting his death. Shiro can’t help but feel the teensiest bit offended.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he says, aghast. “Jesus, kid. You’re going to give me a complex.”

To Shiro’s great relief, the remark makes Lance grin. Some of the tension eases from his face.

“You sound like my mother.”

“From what I’ve heard, that’s a compliment,” Shiro says lightly. He pulls out two chairs, orienting them so they’re facing each other. He deliberately takes the one farthest from the door, so Lance doesn’t feel trapped. He gestures to the other one. “Sit.”

Lance does.

“Now. From the beginning and with a little less fear, hopefully. Tell me what’s up, kiddo.”

Lance looks down at his hands, where he’s picking at a scar on his wrist.

“Um. So. I have dyslexia. I can’t read too well.”

Lance cringes as he says it. Shiro wonders who he has to kill for putting the idea that this is something to be ashamed about in his head.

“Cool,” Shiro says, as encouragingly as he can manage. “The main character of my favourite book series as a kid had dyslexia. I was jealous of everyone who had it. I used to pray for it.”

The revelation startles a laugh out of Lance, like Shiro hoped it would. The tension melts right off of him.

“You prayed?”

“Every night,” Shiro affirms, grinning. “I even crossed my eyes and pretended when it didn’t work. My mother didn’t believe me for a second.”

“You’re a dweeb,” Lance says, sounding kind of awed. Like he’s shocked that Shiro, too, is a nerd loser on this castle full of other nerd losers. “Dyslexia sucks.”

Letting his face settle into something more serious, Shiro nods. “I imagine it does.” He reaches over and squeezes Lance’s hand, subtly stopping him from picking at the skin. Keith has the same bad habit. “Writing in pink helps?”

Lance shrugs. “Sorta. Dunno why. But things are less squiggly when they’re written in pink or red. Not perfect, but it’s something. I can hardly read at all when they’re in black; it’s like my eyes are spinning out of my head trying to focus on ‘em. Gives me migraines like you would not imagine.”

“And thus Hunk whispering the plans to you so you don’t have to read them,” Shiro surmises, the whispering during briefings suddenly making sense. Guilt twinges in his belly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Of course not,” Shiro says gently. “I get it now. Sorry for not understanding.” He frowns, remembering something. “I should’ve asked beforehand. Or suspected something, or known better, really. I had a kid a few years back in one of my astronomy courses. Li-something. I marked all his stuff in red for the same reasons.”

Lance makes a very particular face. Warning bells go off in Shiro’s head.

“I appreciated that very much,” Lance says politely.

It takes a moment for it to click.

Shiro considers banging his head against the table.

“Please tell me no,” he begs, ears reddening.

“It was a great honour to be renamed by the Takashi Shirogane,” Lance insists.

“I had you in my class for three years!” Shiro says, aghast. “I — I called you Li all the time! In front of people!”

“I didn’t want to correct you! That’s — embarrassing!”

Shiro cradles his head in his hands. Dear God. He knows he’s not great with names, but — Jesus. To rename a kid. Blatantly. Other teachers must have thought he was some cruel jackass.

“I think there was a Li McKinney ahead of me in roll call,” Lance offers, patting Shiro’s back delicately. “So. Pretty easy to mess up.”

“Did you write your name as Li on tests? And assignments?”

“After the first couple times, yeah. Hunk laughed at me. At a certain point I’d just dug myself too deep, I think.”

Shiro sighs, dragging his hand down his face. It’s still quite hot. He looks up at Lance, who’s mouth is twitching.

“You were short as shit back then,” he observes, trying to picture the kid in his class. “Like, shorter than Pidge.”

Lance scowls. “I was — saving up on growth spurts. Yeah. So. Purge that from your memory.” He smirks. “Like my name.”

Shiro groans. “I’m never hearing the end of that, am I.”

Lance smiles. “Probably not. I didn’t know you were uncool. It’s interesting. I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, but reaches over to mess with Lance’s hair, like he would Keith. Unlike Keith, Lance freaks out way harder, screeching something about hard work and artistic expression.

He smiles. “Glad you came to talk to me, kid.”

Lance sticks out his tongue, but he looks pleased, too. “Yeah, yeah.”

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rachelfoleyisntdead · 5 months

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Some funny/cute dating headcanons:

Jill definitely waited til the second date to fuck Carlos, bc she liked him.

Ada fucked Leon on the first date bc she didn't respect him lmao

Mia thought Ethan was a lesbian when he asked her out, and did not find out otherwise until she said that Ethan was an interesting name for a woman during their first date.

Rachel was still not sure HUNK liked her until she found out that she was his beneficiary on his Umbrella company life insurance

#headcanoning HUNK as the most boring white (and possibly autistic) man you've ever heard of #he probably still has a favorite dinosaur #bi mia supremacy #jill valentine #carlos oliveira #valeveira #ada wong #leon s kennedy #the s does not stand for 'self-respect'#aeon #mia winters #ethan winters #mithan #rachel foley #HUNK #rachel x hunk

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pidges-lost-robot · 11 months

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I can't tell if I think Keith is the sort of autistic person that needs so many layers all of the time and bags weighing him down or if he's the sort that will wear as light a clothing with as many pockets as he can manage so he doesn't have to carry much, but tbh I think I'm landing on some sort of cursed mix of the too

#hed be out there with like 3 coats with huge pockets and some heavy duty fanny packs but the skinniest of jeans with fake pockets on #lance fucking screaming for him to just use a fucking backpack #hunk is crying every time he has to wait for keith to check every pocket of every coat and every fanny pack for something #voltron #vld #voltron: legendary defender #keith #keith kogane #my headcanons #autistic keith

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vldsideblog · 8 months

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Okay so this is my most recent oneshot. It’s been up on ao3 for a few day, but I decided why not post it here as well

It’s set right after they get back to Keith’s shack after finding Shiro and is silly and a bit heart felt. I hope you enjoy

Before the beginning

Shiro was still unconscious as Keith carried him from the hoverbike. Technically, Lance was also carrying Shiro cause he refused to be normal and just let Keith do it. But he still bore most of the weight of his brothers limp body.

“This is where you live?” The short kid with bushy brown hair asked incredulously. They looked familiar, but Keith couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Before the group stood his small desert cabin. Well, cabin was a nice word for what was basically a shack.

“Yeah,” Lance added from Shiro’s other side. “It looks like it’ll collapse if we go inside.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You’ll be fine city boy.” And with that he kept walking, half of his miraculously alive brother's weight on his shoulder. Lance was forced to follow, though he obviously wasn’t very happy about being called a city boy.

“Are you sure we won’t be traced back here?” Asked the tall boy with an orange bandana tied around his forehead. He was fidgeting nervously with his hands as he spoke. “We had a lot of cars on our tail. What if they followed us?”

Keith didn’t bother looking at him while he answered. “They’d be crazy to jump that cliff. Plus no one knows about this place. I’ve been here for a year and no one’s ever bothered me.” The porch creaked beneath his boots as he jiggled the doorknob and pushed open the door with a foot.

“You jumped that cliff, doesn’t that make you crazy?” Asked the big guy.

“Who do you think taught me that trick?” Keith nudged his head towards Shiro and the other teens eyes went wide.

“Wait,” Lance glanced over at him, peering over Shiro’s bowed head. “Why’d you come here, don’t you have family or something?”

Keith saw the bespectacled teen stiffen out of the corner of his eye but chose to ignore it for now. “That’s none of your damn business.” And he stepped through the doorway.

Nothing much had changed in the two hours or so he’d been gone, but it felt different now that there were people milling about and touching his stuff. Lance and he carefully set Shiro down on the couch and Keith threw a blanket over him. Now that the sun had set the ground would soon lose its heat and the chill would set in. As much of a reputation for scorching heat the desert got, it could also be cold as all get out, as his Pop liked to say when he would tuck Keith into bed with his big blanket. I don’t need to think about that right now. There’s other stuff to worry about. He shook his head to dispel the bitter memory.

Keith settled himself down on the arm rest on the couch and crossed his arm defensively. He wasn’t a fan of new people, especially ones who were quite literally invading his home.

“Oh, we should introduce ourselves right?” The small one with glasses spoke up from the other side of the room where they were looking at the few books stacked on the floor. “I’m Pidge Gunderson.” They stared directly into his eyes at that, as if daring him to say otherwise. Weird.

“Oh, hi I’m Hunk,” the tallest one added.

“And I, as you know, am Lance.” The brown eyed boy finished his introduction with an extra hand flourish and Keith just felt like rolling his eyes. Why do there have to be other people here? Shiro’s my brother, I don’t need a group of random Garrison recruits to help him.

“Great.” Keith drew out the word sarcastically. I’m Keith. Now can you all stop touching my stuff.” It wasn’t a question.

Hunk immediately pulled his hands back from where he was inspecting a sheet on the wall and Pidge put a book about aliens back on the dusty shelf. Lance hadn’t even bothered messing up his house and was staring at Shiro with confusion.

“How is he alive,” he began in awe. “Like, didn’t he crash in space?” Keith grated his teeth and just shouldered Lance out of his way, he didn’t like other people being near his incapacitated brother, not after he just got him back. Lance threw up his hands and stalked over to Hunk in annoyance.

Unexpectedly Pidge spoke up, so far he’d been pretty quiet. “Well, it’s obviously some kind of conspiracy. The Garrison's best pilot disappears into space with the rest of the crew, only to show up a year later alive, and with a metal arm. That’s suspicious. Especially since as soon as he showed up they knocked him out.”

“D’you think they all got abducted by aliens?” Hunk questioned.

Pidge pushed up his glasses. “It would have to be that right? That spacecraft definitely wasn’t from earth. We don’t have that kind of technology.” Pidge decidedly sat down on the worn pine floorboards and began tapping at his jaw with a finger. “That means the rest of the crew might be alive as well.” It was almost a whisper, as if a hope only he understood. But Keith got it. Matt had been a friend, and Mr Holt a good man. He sincerely hoped they were alive somewhere.

Hunk lowered himself to the floor as well with Lance following suit. The lanky teen leaned against his friend's side with a huff of fatigue. Keith seated himself on the floor leaning up against the couch. He almost felt like a guard dog, protecting his brother from harm. Though he feared it might be too late for that sentiment to mean much.

“We won’t have any exact information until Shiro wakes up,” Keith said with gruff resignation. “It’s probably best if we all rest. I’m assuming you can’t all sneak back into the Garrison and leave me alone?”

“Nope,” Lance said with his eyes beginning to droop. “We’d get our asses handed to us if we tried to go back.”

“I guess you can stay for the night then.” Keith accepted his fate. “But don’t mess with my stuff.”

Everyone nodded their agreement.

“Do you have anything to eat here?” Hunk asked with a bit of hesitation. “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten.” There goes the ‘not touching my stuff’ plan.

Keith groaned but pointed at the small makeshift kitchen. “There’s some canned beans and meat in there, knock yourself out I guess.”

Hunk looked a bit offended at the prospect of canned beans and meat with nothing else but he got up anyway and walked the few feet to the kitchen.

“Wow, dude. You don’t even have condiments in here.” Hunk said bluntly.

“There’s ketchup in the back of the fridge.” Keith called out.

“Seriously, ketchup. I am a chef, what am I supposed to do with ketchup?” Lance snickered and Pidge ignored the entire scene, opting to pull out a tablet.

“I usually mix it with the beans.” Keith stated, standing up to grab some things from a small closet.

“You're a disgrace to food.”

“This is my house, leave my taste out of it.”

Hunk grumbled something as he set about heating up the meat and beans. He opted to leave the ketchup in the fridge.

Keith huffed as he grabbed the few spare blankets he had. Most were ripped in places and overall worse for wear. But there were enough for everyone sans himself. Not like it’s my first time going without a blanket.

“We’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight,” Keith said gruffly as he passed out the blankets.

Lance squaked, “The floor? How am I supposed to get my beauty sleep on the floor?”

“Get over it pretty boy.” Keith quipped before settling back on the floor against the couch. Lance gasped and put a hand over his heart in offense, a small dusting of red graced his cheeks. Then realizing his expression he stuck his tongue out at the other boy, ruining what little grace he’d had. Keith ignored him.

A thin silence had spread over the small cabin, only the noises of breathing and Hunk scraping at a metal pan indicated life. Lance was leaned up against the wooden door with his blanket, he seemed deep in thought. Pidge was writing something down in a small notebook, and Keith realized why he looked familiar. The kid across the room looked like a carbon copy of Matt, glasses, askew hair, freckles and all.

Katie. I haven't seen her in a while. Keith almost spoke up before realizing that everyone had referred to them as Pidge, using he/him pronouns as well as a fake last name. Huh. She must be undercover. She pulled that stunt before I left and got banned from the campus. She’s probably trying to dig up the Garrison’s dirty laundry. Honestly, good for her. She definitely got farther than I did.

He chose not to blow their cover, but maybe he could pull her aside later for a conversation.

A few tense minutes later Hunk called from the other room. “Heyo, I finished heating this stuff up.” Lance bounced up at the prospect of food, and Pidge stuffed his notebook back into his bag, zipping it closed.

Keith stood and took a look at the sleeping face of his brother. It was definitely Shiro, but with the scar over his nose and metal prosthetic something must’ve happened to him. Keith shook his head, he didn’t have the energy to think this all through right now, he needed to eat.

Pidge stared into his small portion of food with distaste, the spoon he held was old and bent out of shape from use. He scarfed it down as fast as possible as to avoid the taste.

Hunk and Lance had a similar reaction to unseasoned canned food.

Keith grabbed the ketchup from the fridge and squirted a large portion into his bean and meat mix. It tasted like childhood.

Hunk made and face and finished off his food.

Pidge and Hunk made a show of washing the dishes in his dirty sink while Lance wandered back into the main room where Shiro slept. The brown eyed boy plopped down by his designated blanket and lay down on the pine floorboards, not without complaining about the situation though.

Pidge and Hunk joined him soon after and chose to rest as well, it was late and the sun had gone down hours ago. Lance snuggled up to Hunk opting to use him as a pillow.

Keith wanted this all go on in silence from his perch on the kitchen counter, before standing up and turning off the overhead lights. He didn’t mind the dark, he’d always had excellent night time vision, a thing that had always baffled Shiro and Adam when they found him up late at night eating dry cereal in a dark kitchen.

After looking out of each window to check for possible danger and sat himself down by the couch, his back up to it. He pulled the blanket over Shiro a bit snugger and whispered into the night. “Good to have you back ‘Kashi.”

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johannestevans · 5 months

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its very hot for the naval lieutenant to get So Into the musical performance that he gets into a fist fight w the bastard spaniard beside him who tells him to shut the fuck up and learn to keep rhythm after the show, and to obsess over him forevermore

but we all know that what he should have done is take that coked up emaciated freak by the spindly neck and fucked him into the nearest rough brick wall outside until he was teary-eyed and bloodied in places

sorry im rereading master and commander again. can you tell

#musings #jack aubrey #big autistic hunk of a man with a hunk of appropriate cock to match #and #stephen maturin #the sharpness of his elbows only rivalled by the tightness of his pussy

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alluraaaa · 11 months

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hunk is the type of autistic who’s always understimulated. he wants more noise more pressure more color more movement more more more. day to day life without self added stimulant is like being unable to scratch an itch. keith is the type of autistic who is always overstimulated. daily routines can feel like an uphill battle sometimes and it leads to him being snappy and short with others.

the two of them often clash, with both of them forgetting that not everyone is like him. so hunk will grab and squeeze keith in a bearhug and keith thrashes and gets pissed because why would anyone do that to another person? other times, albeit rarer, keith will initiate touch— a hand on hunk’s shoulder, a hug, the secret team voltron handshake lance forced everyone to learn— and hunk gets annoyed at how soft it is. it tickles in the worst way and it could be solved if keith just put more pressure into it.

but after way too long of mixed signals and miscommunication, they realize just how much they’ve been accidentally pushing each others buttons. there’s embarrassment and apologies, but there’s also relief at knowing there were no actual harm in the actions— in fact, both of them were trying to do what they thought would be nice.

and, in the future, keith happily treats hunk like a human pillow, putting pressure on him without getting any on himself in turn. they watch movies at high volumes, but hunk gives keith ear plugs beforehand, just enough to lower the noise while letting him still hear. hunk makes dumb jokes at the sunglasses keith wears on bright days and keith turns it around into dumb jokes at the headphones blaring pounding bass that hunk wears while tinkering on projects.

hunk’s hugs are gentle. keith’s hugs are bone crushing. both of them smile into the warmth

#sorry not sorry for autism posting. it will happen again.#for clarification the entire team is autistic and also butt heads #but keith n hunk are at opposite ends of the sensory spectrum with everyone else falling somewhere between them #someone put keith in a sensory deprivation tank Now #and whatever the opposite of that is. put hunk in that Now #send hunk to a rave. it’s what he deserves #hunk #keith #hunk&keith #headcanon #txt #mine

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sugaryoats · 2 years

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This man has taken so many tries, one day I'll get it just right

#bugsnax #snorpy #snorpy fizzlebean #autistic disaster gay who's in love with a chill hunk is my FAVORITE trope btw #oatsart

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punkeropercyjackson · 3 months

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Shalluwuras are truly deranged for their insistence that their parentification ship should've been canon for 'black girl with a good bf' rep as if Shiro isn't the ONE male paladin Allura dosen't have chemistry with

#DEADASSSSSS #antishallura #anti shaladin #allura #takashi shirogane #pro adashi #trans allura #autistic allura #legitallurance #kallura #hallura #allura and her boys #lance vld #keith kogane #hunk vld #vld #💌#summerposting

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the-punforgiven · 8 months

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I had a dream the other night where I was on a game show where you had to pick two pieces of media you love and two pieces of media you dislike, to which the other contestants will ask you questions about them and try to determine which are which.

Your goal was to deceive the other players and convince them you liked the things you don't, and hate the things you do, and you won like $10,000 per thing you tricked people on, whereas they would get that money for every guess they got right, there were a lotta wacky mindgames involved with that, it was fun

#iirc I chose Dark Souls and Jojo for my list of likes #for my dislikes I chose one specific metal band #(I've seen a lotta fashy dickheads using them as a not-too-subtle rallying flag so I knew what bullshit to parrot lmao)#and one anime I'm not fond of but a couple of my friends infodump about it to me a lot and I don't mind since I like hearing my friends talk #the show had been around for a while and answering questions with ''I don't know I don't watch that garbage'' was a huge gamble #so I just answered every question like a wikipedia entry #and through a combination of intense bullshitting and the power of autistic friendship I walked out with a good hunk of cash lmao #did not manage to convince everyone I didn't like Dark Souls though they got me there #lmao #Pun's text Posts

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chadepitanga · 21 days

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That laios dunmeshi guy. I want him

#autistic hunk autistic hunk autistic hun-k-

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l-e-g-i-o-n-losh · 2 years

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Why is all the foeyay tension concentrated in gotham. Not thst theres none anywhere else but like 90% of rogues have at some point flirted w bats j/ or /srs. Hero who has NEVER encountered a flirty villain before visits gotham and spontaneously combusts challenge.

#personally picturing a hero who thought they were 100% ace until this Very moment and is like ??? how do you live like this wtf #not trying for the trope of 'finding the right person' but rather my actual experience wondering if my closet wallpaper was ace or pan bc #as an autistic kid i had no idea how to quantify/id my feelings & people kept showing me the blandest imaginable hunks to exemplify hotness #also lying egregiously abt all kindsa random social norms to haze me so i never knew what was a joke & what was a real feeling others have #songs that the hyades shall sing

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autisticlancemcclain · 6 months

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The air in his apartment is getting staler, and his scalp is starting to ache.

Everything is going to fail, he thinks to himself, unhelpfully. He doesn’t have time to correct himself because he has time for nothing. He barely has time to breathe. People will be coming in less that two hours, and he’s only just begun decorating; at this rate people will arrive and everything will look barren and horrible and boring and of course no one will say it to his face but he can hear how muttered conversations will go on the way home, how everyone will think he’s —

The front doorknob rattles. Lance gasps, a great, heaving breath forcing its way in and out of his lungs, realizing for the first time his hands are trembling too much to hang the tinsel correctly.

“Lance?” calls a voice, familiar and soft and raspy from years of cigarette smoke. “You in the kitchen?”

Lance finds himself frozen in place. His mind has gone completely blank, and he’s become a statue; thoughtless, still, unblinking, unable to process. As if someone has hooked him up to a remote and pressed pause.

Quiet sounds of boots unlacing echo the empty apartment, followed by socked footsteps. Keith appears round the bend of the front hallway, eyebrows knit together in concern, lips pursed.

“…Lance.”

“Everything is falling apart,” Lance blurts. He twitches suddenly, stiff muscles spasming, and the sudden movement rocks the rickety footstool under him. Quick hands flit out to grip his arms before he falls, steadying him on the ground with a soft, “Woah, dude.”

For several moments the only sound is the synched billowing of their breathing. Keith’s hands slide down his biceps to rest on his elbows, squeezing gently. Slowly, dragging through molasses, Lance’s heart begins to slow.

“You’re freaking out,” Keith says. “There is no need to freak out. Take a breather.”

“I don’t have time for any of this,” Lance says, heartbeat picking up again. “I barely finished the last of the food fifteen minutes ago, decorations aren’t out yet, there’s flour all over my clothes and my face is a mess and I haven’t washed my hair —”

Darting out faster than Lance can track, Keith’s hands come to rest on Lance’s cheeks, thumbs brushing under his eyes — rough, warm, startling. Lance stares at him with wide eyes. Keith smiles back, quickly, widely, crookedly; breathtaking. His hair is twisted back neatly, thick and gorgeous, and festive red sparkles line his eyes. Pretty red stones glitter in his ears to match. The gold bands of his thumb rings are cool against Lance’s cheeks, and the chain he got from his mother rests delicately over black knit fabric. The high-cut neckline of his sweater compliments his frame nicely. His jeans are the only pair he has without rips — a pair Lance forced him to get last time they were shopping together.

The air punches right out of Lance’s lungs, and the last of his worries with it. Keith tucks a curl behind his ear, lingering.

“Go shower and get dressed,” he urges, indigo eyes dark and imploring. “Let me help.”

“Okay,” Lance breathes. He doesn’t move.

Keith smiles. He pulls Lance’s face down at the same time that he stands up on his tiptoes, eyes fluttering shut. Their lips press together softly, one, two, three, and then he pulls away.

Lance makes a noise in the back of his throat. His fingers come up to brush the swell of his lip. “What was that for?”

Keith’s eyes flick up at the doorway. Amusement dances across his expression.

Mistletoe, green and white and fragrant, hangs delicately from the door frame.

“Oh,” says Lance, flushing. He remembers, abruptly, the stepladder and falling into Keith’s arms. He becomes hyperaware of the bareness of the rest of the apartment, hardly lived in one month.

“Lance,” Keith says again, noticing the shift in his expression. He slides a hand down and pats his hip. “Go, you walking mess of anxiety. I got this. Get fixed up. Everything will be fine.”

Lance closes his eyes, exhaling shakily, and nods. It’s too late, now. Whether or not things get finished is irrelevant — he can’t very well host a Christmas party in sweatpants and his grossest, most threadbare hoodie. Whatever Keith can manage while he showers will have to be enough.

He rushes off to his room, tearing off his clothes the second the door locks behind him, practically throwing himself under the stream without bothering to wait for it to heat. He rushes through his routine faster than he maybe ever has in his life, toweling off so roughly the first two layers of his skin go with it, and buzzing around his closet like a horde of wasps on a field of decaying grapes.

There is Nothing to wear. Because of course there isn’t. The outfit he’d picked last night suddenly seems inadequate, and most of his other stuff is still boxed up, so he doesn’t even have the time to go digging. Eventually he just throws on what he’d planned and tells himself to get over it.

Forty-five minutes have passed, by the time he steps out of his bedroom, and the state of his apartment makes him gasp.

String lights are hung delicately along the walls and wrapped around his small tree. Ornaments and decorations sit artistically on every surface, as if each placement was deliberated and perfected. Paper snowflakes, even, that Lance had made in a fit of procrastination to avoid work weeks ago, are hung from the ceiling. Keith stands on the same footstool Lance tumbled from earlier, hanging a few more.

“Keith,” Lance chokes out. “Oh my God.”

His friend shoots him a grin. “What, surprised? I told you I’d handle it. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” Lance swallows as the words come out on reflex, heavier than he’d ever usually let them. “I just.” He looks pointedly away from where Keith stretches his arms above him, thin paper held delicately between his thick fingers, sweater raising to show a strip of pale skin. “I appreciate it, is all. Turns out you do have some taste, Mullet.”

“Asshole,” Keith huffs.

But he’s smiling.

They spend the next twenty minutes in comfortable silence, putting up the last of the decorations and plating up the last of the food. Lance doesn’t need to say, I should have asked for help from the beginning. Doesn’t need to say, I’ve missed being close to everyone, being a real adult is hard, finally finishing school and growing into a new phase of adulthood, away from all the people I’ve grown up with, is hard. I had to prove I’m handling it. Doesn’t bother admitting, I couldn’t have done it on my own. Thank you for knowing me enough to come even if I couldn’t ask.

Keith brushes his hand on the small of his back as he walks by. Lance smiles, shy and pleased, and sinks into the comfort of Keith knowing, of Keith knowing him; of the proof of their familiarity despite all the new changes. He sighs, long and silent and heavy, something settling in his bones.

When the doorbell rings, and the rest of his friends start pouring in, he’s ready for them.

———

Hours later his giggly and red-cheeked and a little bit tipsy. Pidge brought bottles of liquor and Allura brought novelty shot glasses, and the rest of that story wrote itself. Lance lost count somewhere between Hunk slicing up the honeyed ham he brought and Shiro busting out the Twister. Cheesy Christmas songs have been looping for hours on Veronica’s CD player, and the air smells of plátanos a sweet-smelling incense Adam pulled out, and Lance is drunk on more than just the booze.

“The place looks great!” shouts Shiro, not particularly because it’s loud in here. He looks pretty red-cheeked, too, glass of wine tucked protectively to his chest. Adam watched him in amusement, arms half-raised in preparation for his clumsiness.

“Keith helped,” Lance admits, just as loud. Their shouted conversation draws teasing glances from the rest of their friends, but for once Lance isn’t self-conscious of the stares on him.

They’re drunk. It’s Christmas. Who cares?

“Speaking of, where is Keith?”

Lance frowns. He blinks some of the dizziness out of his eyes — he truly needs to stop walking around, there was way more rum in that daiquiri than he thought, typical Matt — and scans the crowd of people shoved into his tiny apartment. He would recognize that mullet anywhere and from any angle, and it is not currently among the masses.

“Hm,” he says out loud, and wobbles off.

The first place he checks is his bedroom. It’s locked, but he knows Keith can pick a lock and also has no qualms about picking the lock for Lance’s bedroom, because he was raised by wolves. He’s not in there, though, so Lance pivots to checking the bathroom — occupied by Kinkade and Rizavi who are busy sucking face — and the weird little linen closet tucked in a random alcove, which is empty. Keith is, strangely, nowhere to be found, but he couldn’t’ve just — left, right? He would have said goodbye.

Lance pouts. He hopes he would have, because Lance’s emotions are Compromised right now, okay, and if he gets sad he’s going to get sad for real. And Keith leaving just like that will, indeed, make him sad as shit.

“I need t’clear my head,” he mumbles to himself. He pushes through the tight circle Allura, Pidge, and Veronica have formed — he does not want to know, it might be actual witchcraft knowing them — to make his way to Hunk, tugging on his sleeve to pull his attention away from Shay.

“‘M gonna go get air.”

“Don’t die,” Hunks says. Lance nods, moving to stumble away, but Hunk grabs his sleeve and tugs him back. “No, wait, drink this, buddy. Else you’re going to walk into a wall and we’re going to end up in the ER on Christmas again.”

Lance dutifully chugs the three separate glasses of water Hunk hands him, realizing suddenly that he’s parched. By the end of them and also a banana Hunk has him eat, his head has miraculously stopped spinning.

“Hunk,” he says in total seriousness, “I love you. Deeply. From the bottom of my soul.”

Hunk rolls his eyes fondly and presses a kiss to the top of Lance’s head. “I know, you doofus. Begone.”

Lance snickers and heeds his command. As he closes the apartment door behind him, shutting out the noise with it, he breathes a huge sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how overwhelmed he’d been getting, as much as he’d been having fun.

He understands, immediately, where Keith has gone. He huffs a smile.

“Goober,” he says around a smile, and jogs to the stairwell.

———

A sobering seven flights later, he pushes open the door to the roof, panting breaths turning to steam in the frosty air.

“You are elusive, you fucker.”

Keith looks over his shoulder, smiling in that quick way he does. “And you’re tipsy.”

“Nuh uh! Hunk made me drink water!”

“Right, and that undoes the six shots you took when Pidge dared you.”

“Obviously.”

Keith laughs, a little, and Lance preens like he’s won the whole lottery. Keith most definitely notices. Lance can’t bring himself to care.

“C’mon, let’s sit somewhere not so close to the edge. Knowing your shit luck you’ll go careening over the edge and I’ll have to jump after your dumb ass.”

Ignoring how that makes his heart pound, Lance shoots back, “That wouldn’t solve anything, stupid, we’d just both be dead.”

“A very Merry Christmas to us both, then.”

Keith finally finds a spot on the ground that’s mostly clear of snow and only a little wet. He plops himself down. Lance grimaces, looking down at his expensive and shimmery black slacks before sitting down beside him.

“You good?” Lance asks after a moment.

Keith lets out a breath. “Yeah, it was just getting to be a lot in there.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re basically a cat in human form. Surprised you didn’t bite anyone on your way out.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

Keith looks over, eyebrows raised. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“That was very transparent, you know.”

Lance shrugs, not bothering to hide his own smile.

“Hey, you’re the one who kissed me. Not my fault I’m thinking about it.”

“You think I kissed you to shut you up?”

“A little.”

Keith holds his gaze, challenging. Lance crosses his eyes. Keith snorts, punching him in the shoulder.

Heh. Success.

“I didn’t kiss you to shut you up, you goober. I kissed you because I wanted to.”

“…Did you maybe want to again?”

Now it’s Keith’s turn for his smile to turn shy, for a slight flush to rise on his cheeks. Lance’s own cheeks hurt from grinning.

“No mistletoe up here. Not sure I have an excuse this time.”

“Aha, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Lance digs in his pockets until he finds the little sprig, plucked from when he and Hunk were caught under the doorway sometime after shot number five. He holds it up between them.

Keith’s smile grows. “You really are a genuine actual goober.”

“You seem to like it,” Lance says cheekily.

“It’s fine, I guess. If I had to live with it.”

“Mhm.” Keith’s hand has snaked its way around Lance’s neck. Lance’s own hands are planted firmly on the ground between them, keeping him balanced as he leans closer, closer, closer. “Is that the case.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, and then he doesn’t bother with anything else, closing the distance between them. “Merry Christmas.”

Lance sighs into his mouth, tilting his head as their mouths move, as Keith’s long eyelashes tickle his cheek. Merry Christmas, indeed.

———

based on this art by @mothmanavenue

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sidleyparkhermit · 1 year

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I will never be over Howard Hamlin. He’s a stone cold hunk. He’s autistic. He’s bisexual. He can’t sleep. He has a drinking problem. He’s a nepotism baby. He’s an amateur barista. He’s in love with his hot wife and his dead law partner. He cries in the public bathroom of the Bernalillo County Superior Court. He likes being on his bike because it’s the one time he doesn’t have to be “on.” He went to his grave not knowing why his law partner’s brother made billboards dressed up like him. He’s in a legal dramedy. He’s in a horror movie. He’s the kind of guy to get hammered and deliver an incredible speech to the two people who hurt him the most in the world and then try to talk down an armed stranger to protect them. HE’S UNDER THE FUCKING LAB

#better call saul #howard hamlin #I’m just scratching the surface #(I was actually having this train of thought *before* I got my Year in Review)#and what I want to know is.#how do you like your blue eyed boy mister death

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vldsideblog · 1 year

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It’s a known fact that Keith Kogane doesn’t sleep well. Between the insomnia and night terrors, it’s a welcome relief if he sleeps through the night. However he tends to make up some of those missing hours during the day. This can lead to some interesting situations.

It had taken months for Keith to really trust Shiro and Adam, to see them as family. But when he did become truly comfortable around them they were surprised at his uncanny ability to fall asleep literally anywhere.

On the floor? Yup. At the kitchen table? Happens every week. On top of the washing machine while waiting for his clothes to dry? Absolutely. In the car? Yeah. Hanging upside down off the couch? All the fucking time. On the roof of their garrison issued house? Way too often.

One day Shiro came home from a grocery run while Adam was at a meeting on campus to find his little brother curled up in a kitchen cabinet. When asked about this Keith just said it sounded like a good idea at the time and went to his room to play Minecraft. Eventually this just became part of life. The sky was blue, velvet was a bad texture, and Keith tended to fall asleep in weird places.

When the Kerberos mission failed, (and was covered up) this didn’t change. The old shack didn’t have an actual bed so the teen took to sleeping on the musty couch. But there were days that he was to tired to drag himself to the cushions and blankets, so he often woke up to find himself in random places.

The empty bathtub was a common one, as was the kitchen counter. On the dusty rug, in the corner under the table, even standing up. But Keith never really realized that this was a strange habit and just went with it. Besides if the only living thing to see you was a dying cactus, did social rules really matter. Even if you didn’t follow them in the first place.

Being in a space war kinda made things a bit more difficult.

For one, The Castle Of Lions was huge. Rooms upon rooms of the ghosts of Altean past. Furniture, trinkets, technology, art, everything. This meant there were lots of places to hide, and for an introvert like the red paladin, these secret places became a safe haven of quiet and calmness.

Now Keith had been diagnosed as autistic while back at the garrison, after Shiro realized how similar his mannerisms were to those of the Holt’s and Adam. This explained a lot of things for the teenager, his angry outbursts, were meltdowns. His social awkwardness was a misunderstanding of social cues. Even his troubles with food were just sensory issues.

So this led to him needing a lot of alone time to decompress after any interaction with others, especially the very loud energetic paladins of Voltron. Basically he spent a lot of his free time when not training, to wander the empty hallways and rooms. And as his sleeping habits had only gotten worse while in space and away from any stable routine, he took naps all over the place.

At least once a week some member of the crew ran into Keith, passed out in some strange location. Hunk often stumbled upon him in the kitchen, sometimes on the counters, at the bar, or even in the large pantry while looking for a snack.

Pidge tended to spot him asleep in the hanger, curled up near Red after a bad nightmare. Not that they knew that. Sometimes he even climbed onto Red’s head just to nap.

Lance often found him fully clothed curled up in a bathtub in the common area bathroom, at least he looked comfortable.

Allura would often spot him asleep in some strange contorted position in his chair on the bridge.

Coran tended to get the shit scared out of him while working on the inner workings of the castle, when he would see the red paladin passed out in some random alcove.

Shiro often ran into his unconscious brother while he was taking his own late night walks around the castle. Keith wasn’t the only one with nightmares after all. Keith would be tucked into a corner in the hallway, or had shoved himself under a random table. Shiro would just chuckle to himself and carry the sleeping teen to his own bed.

Now while these sleeping habits weren’t exactly healthy, they never caused much of a problem. Until they did.

After a battle gone wrong Keith always found himself in the training room battling out his frustration on one of the bots. But he would be sluggish and overestimate his ability at the time. After getting beat up by the gladiator while sleep deprived too many times Shiro insisted that the automatic bots be shut off after combat. Keith would just have to settle for an old fashioned dummy.

His strange habits never really changed, the nightmares continued. But he eventually came to understand that he wasn’t alone, and found some better ways to get a bit more sleep.

Keith was just a weird ass sleeper and that fact became a part of the day to day routine.

This fic is also crossposted on ao3

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