#AND he was a part of they charge to flip the vote her meme owes that man nothing

[princesswithsomeinterests]

Also tired of people thinking meme should bow down to Cory and be his bestie just bc he wanted to work her. The moment she trusted him, he threw their final 4 under the bus hours later. Some of y’all acting like he was her white savior and it’s getting weird…

[kukuiolelo]

Da Kine: A Hawaiian!Hunk Fic

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Pairings: Background Keith/Lance

Summary:  "Uh, Hunk, buddy, did you just call Coran ‘Uncle’?”   The Paladins are far from home, really really far. As the mission goes on, Hunk begins to fall back into habits he tried to leave a thousand light years away on a small island chain in the middle of the Pacific.

AO3

 Uncle

The first time was a slip up.

The night had been going pretty smoothly, Hunk thought, all things considered. They, that is to say the team, was gathered in the communal living space in wing of the castle that was designated a “meeting area,” mostly due to its proximity to food and copious soft furniture.

The meetings original objective, to debrief on the latest Galra abomination of the week, was abandoned quickly in favor of Lance and Keith's latest tiff. The details were fuzzy, but what mattered was Lance had Keith in a headlock who was, in turn, kicking at him in the shins.

“It’s like some strange mating ritual,” Pidge observed from her position on the arm of the couch. Hunk hummed his agreement and went back to doodling schematics on the back of some scrap paper. “You know,” Pidge said, “It’s a wonder they haven't gotten over themselves and just… Is Keith turning blue to you?”

Keith was, in fact, turning slightly purple, due to Galra or lack of oxygen, it was not clear. He kicked at Lance with a renewed vigor, cursing him out, only partially in English. “I wonder what that is, the language, I mean,” Hunk said, looking up from the table.

Pidge hummed, “I think it’s Korean. Something like, 'fuck you', I think.”

"How'd you know?" Hunk asked.

"I used to listen to a lot of kpop"

“Huh,” Hunk said, “fucking weeabo.” Pidge flipped him off absentmindedly, still staring blankly at the fight.

Allura looked up at the boys, pursing her lips. She nudged Shiro in the side, and when he didn't respond, she elbowed him a bit harder, and harder, and harder until he curled away from her, holding his side, and whispered a betrayed ‘ow!’ She looked at him pointedly, before turning her eyes sharply to look at Lance, who was whispering something in what was probably some very creative Spanish.

Shiro responded to her glare with a blank look and a shrug of his shoulders. She rolled her eyes with a huff, and repeated the motion, this time punctuating each look with a punch to the shoulder. His head tilted to the side with yet another pondering look, before realization dawned and he nodded.

“Alright, you two, that’s enough,” Shiro said. He marched up to the pair, who fell apart reluctantly. “Besides Lance, your form is sloppy, you need to turn your elbow in more. Here, like this.” He then proceeded to demonstrate said technique on a very indignant Lance, much to the amusement of his former victim. Allura put her fingers to her temples, taking in a deep breath

Hunk slapped his knees with finality and stood. “Well, I’m out,” Hunk said, “I’m going to go make dinner.”

Coran popped out of his seat as well. “I’ll come help lad,” he said. “I imagine you could use and extra pair of hands.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk said as he gathered his papers. “Thanks Uncle.”

The chatter fell silent for a moment. Shiro glanced up from his captive, who wriggled free of his hold. Allura turned towards Coran with a quizzical expression, who only shrugged. Finally, Lance spoke, rubbing his neck, “Uh, Hunk, buddy, did you just call Coran ‘uncle’?”

Hunk started. “What? No, no,” Hunk shook his head, hands held up. “No, I called him, um… shmunkle?”

Keith cocked his head to the side, “Shmunkle?”

Hunk stuttered. “It’s a- well I- and- Oh, shut up.”

Pidge scooted forward on the couch and had taken to looking at him over interlaced fingers. She looked calculating, studying, the same way she was over a perplexing line of code, and seemed about to say something. Before she could, Lance chipped in.

“Is there something you’re not telling us bud?” Lance said, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Do we have two part aliens on the team, I mean if anyone was going to be Altean it would be you, besides me of course-” Hunk glanced over at Shiro with a pleading look. He saw Shiro nod imperceptibly before he stepped forward.

“Alright guys,” Shiro cut in, “Leave him alone.”

Hunk shot Shiro a grateful look. He cleared his throat and four pairs of eyes turned to him. “Right,” he said, “As I was saying, any votes on dinner?”

The team shouted out their input, ‘not goo’ being the dominant sentiment. Hunk flashed a thumbs up before running back to the kitchen, the door slamming behind him. He could still hear the others talking from the other side of the door.

“So Coran’s our uncle now?” There was a general murmur of confusion and assent. Hunk scoffed and rolled his eyes.

A pause, and then, “Lance is this another one of your mee-mees?”

Lance groaned. “It’s pronounced memes, Keith, we’ve been over this!”

“But it’s spelled mee-mee.”

“No- well yes technically, but it's pronounced- You know it feels like you’re just fucking with me at this point.”

“Then why is it spelled mee-mee?”

“Dude, I don’t know!”

Pidge piped in. “English is a garbage fire.” Shiro, Keith, Lance, and surprisingly Allura seemed to agree with this.

At that moment, Coran stepped into the kitchen. He grinned, twirling his moustache. “So, Uncle...”

Hunk buried his face in his hands. “Long story Coran.”

Coran chuckled. “If you say so lad”

Hunk shot him a look. “Seriously, long story.” He turned towards the refrigerating unit and considered its contents. Uncle, that was a slip. Hunk wasn’t embarrassed of his upbringing, not really. He didn’t have an accent like a lot of people did, his English at the Garrison was 100% mainlander. But, old habits die hard, he thought, and he had been on the mainland for quite a while, long enough that his team would barely comment on any slightly less than middle America peculiarities. That being said, they did tend to pry, and with how much everyone missed their families and their home, that stone was better left unturned.

He closed the fridge with an armful of ingredients and threw a purple thing at Coran. “Mince this for me, I’ll start on the starch.” He turned to the counter and started cooking, and by the time he put dinner on the table, the Uncle incident was all but forgotten.

 Loco Moco

When time zones cease to exist, one’s circadian rhythms can become slightly out of whack. It was a few hours before the castle would wake up and the lights would brighten. Hunk padded into the kitchen and fumbled along the walls for the light dimmer.  The lights turned on with a small whine.

The fridge was stocked well enough. A trip to a nearby planet, one with a downright toxic atmosphere but surprisingly edible animal products, had stocked them with a good supply of meat and what could pass as eggs. Hunk pondered the contents of the fridge. The others wouldn’t be up any time soon. Yesterday’s mission, yet another standoff with the Galra fleet, had been rough. Keith, after charging headfirst through a line of battle cruisers, was really dinged up, and Shiro, who’d been targeted again by the main destroyer class command ship, looked like shit. After that, no one would muster the effort or wakefulness to eat together any time before noon.

And that’s why Hunk was now standing, bleary eyed in front of the alien fridge at what must be around four AM, Earth time, pondering what to eat for breakfast. There was meat, lots of it, and a good few dozen of the egg-like things. It felt like an age since Hunk had made a good breakfast for himself, and only himself. In fact, the last time was back home. His mom had spent the night on the North Shore with a friend from school and Hunk was left the house to himself for the morning. He got up around seven and started on a good, heavy, traditional local meal, with meat and eggs and rice and...

Hunk started to grab ingredients out of the fridge, some minced fatty meat, three of the egg-like things, leftover grains from a few nights ago. He didn’t have exactly the right spices, and the milk always made things taste a bit like paperclips, but it would do. He began mixing the meat, eggs, and a few approximate spices. As long as it had been, it wasn’t a recipe you forget. Hell, it wasn’t a recipe you even had to remember. All you had to do was make a hamburger patty, make some gravy, and fry an egg. Hunk proceeded to do just this, frying up his components and stirring together a gravy over the still disconcertingly cyan cooktop. Just as he began to plate his food, the door slid open to reveal Lance, resplendent in his fuzzy bathrobe and facemask.

“Morning Lance,” Hunk said, returning to the task at hand. “How are you?”

Lance shuffled towards the machine that made a liquid almost like coffee. “Better than Keith, that’s for sure,” he said, “Yesterday was a fucker.” He took a sip of his coffee and moaned. “God, how are you even awake?”

Hunk shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” He placed the fried eggs in the bowl and went to load the dishwasher. He came back to see Lance leaning over the table to stare into his bowl with a mix of curiosity and horror.

“What even is this dude?” he said, poking at the bowl with a fork. “Is that a hamburger and gravy? I can feel my pores clogging just looking at this. Hey, Pidge!”

Pidge stuck her head through the door looking like for all the world like a bespectacled owl who’s gone through a wind turbine. She stumbled through the room and dropped herself in the seat across from Lance and dropped her head on the table with a thunk. After a few seconds of tired mumbling, she reached across the table to snag Lance’s coffee and downed it in a few gulps, staunchly ignoring his affronted stuttering. Finally, she looked back up at the pair and blinked. “What?”

“Um, Pidge,” Hunk said, “have you slept?”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“Yeah, also the dead,” Lance said.

“Same difference.” She looked into her, formally Lance’s, cup and groaned. “Get me coffee?”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, yeah.” He took Pidge’s cup.

Hunk looked at her with worry. “Pidge you really should sleep.”

Pidge waved him off. “Sleep later, coffee now.” The coffee machine hissed and bubbled and Lance came back with two cups, one for himself and one for Pidge. “Fuck, yes.” She grabbed the cup from the table and took another sip. “So yeah, you wanted something. What?”

Hunk took a minute to remember what she was referring to. Lance, however, beat him to the punch, and pointed at the bowl on the counter. “Look at that, tell me it doesn’t look like heart disease.”

Pidge leaned over the bowl. “Is that gravy and eggs?” she said. “Hunk what is this?”

Hunk rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a loco moco,” he said, “just some food from back home.”

Lance stalled, staring at the bowl, and blinked. “Crazy boogers? Loco moco. Crazy boogers. Seriously?”

Pidge, still staring into the bowl, smacked her lips tiredly and looked up at Hunk. “It looks like hangover food, dude.”

Hunk pulled the bowl away from the pair with an affronted huff. “How would you know, you’re like, what, twelve?”

Lance put his hands together in a ‘let’s talk about this’ way. “Seriously, it’s called crazy boogers. Why is a food from your home called crazy boogers?”

Hunk sighed. “I don’t know, it just is.” He sat down and took a bite. “Damn, needs shoyu.” Lance and Pidge looked at him, befuddled. Hunk corrected. “Soy sauce.”

“Oh,” Pidge said, “Just use butter and salt.” Both Hunk and Lance looked at her in horror.

Hunk pulled his dish away from her further. “Don’t you dare.”

Lance seemed to shake himself. “Seriously, crazy boogers-”

Hunk dropped his head and groaned. “Oh my god, guys,” he said, “Let me eat in peace.” He took another bite out of the hamburger. “Or I will be making these for breakfast for a week.”

Lance raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right.” He nudged Pidge in the arm. “Hey, let’s take bets. Who will wake up first, Keith or Shiro? Dibs on Shiro.”

Hunk tapped the table. “My bet’s on Keith.”

Pidge raised her hand. “Stumbling in at the same time.”

“You are on.” Lance clapped her on the back. “So what the hell was up with those green things yesterday.”

The conversation devolved slowly as Hunk finished his loco moco. A few hours later, once all the lights had brightened and both Coran and Allura had floated through, cheery and murderous respectively, Shiro and Keith staggered into the kitchen. “Huh, looks like Pidge won.” Hunk said. Pidge had fallen dead asleep an hour before, in the middle of a sentence no less.

Lance poked at her arm, with no response. “Shame she can’t be awake to see it.”

Keith looked around the kitchen in bleary confusion. He squinted and said, “Why does it smell like a Sonic drive-in in here?”

Lance raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his long cold coffee. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask Hunk?”

Hunk dropped his head into his arms. “Shut up.”

 Ku’u Honua

Before the team had even landed on the planet of the week, it was pretty damn obvious there was going to be trouble.

As the lions touched down on one of the millions of islands that made up the land mass of the planet, a group of aliens scuttled out from the trees. They were diverse in appearance, like they were a mix of species rather than just one, and all with some kind of firearm strapped to their sides. The one at the front, a tall, broad alien with a line of triangles running down her leg, walked towards the lions shouting. “‘Ey! ‘Ey, wha’ chu doin hea? Chu wit dem fakas?”

Shiro’s voice crackled over the comms. “I’ll handle this.” He stepped out of his lion and the rest of the paladins following suit. He stepped forward, a hand raised in greeting. “Hello, we are the Paladins of Voltron. Have you seen any Galra on this island? Our intel indicates their force should be stationed here.”

The alien looked around at the paladins, brow furrowed. “Eh? Wha’ chu say?”

Shiro repeated. “We are the Paladins of Voltron, maybe you’ve heard of us?” The leader looked back at the others and shrugged. The other aliens looked around at each other awkwardly and began to shuffle their feet. The leader turned back to Shiro and shook her head.

Shiro frowned before he walked back towards the paladins, who’d gathered at the edge of the sand. Hunk spoke first. “Hey, what’s up?”

Shiro gestured back at the aliens. “I’m having some trouble understanding them,” Shiro said.

Lance snorted, “Yeah, we can tell.” He looked back at the aliens, who started to regroup on the edge of the treeline. “Maybe our translators are malfunctioning?”

“That could be it.” Shiro lifted his hand to his helmet and fiddled with some controls. “Princess, do you copy? We’re having problems communicating with the locals.”

Allura’s voice crackled through the comms, “I read you Shiro, what seems to be the problem?”

Hunk cleared his throat, “Um, guys I can try-”

Before Hunk could finish, Pidge cut in, “It’s not our translators, if it was we wouldn’t be able to understand Allura.” Pidge fiddled with her helmet’s onboard computer, scanning through lines of code, and frowned. “Nothing’s wrong with our systems either.”

Shiro nodded. “Princess, can you tell us anything about this planet?”

After a brief pause and the sound of typing, Allura said, “The Honuans, an amphibious sentient species from the planet Honua. Or at least, those were the natives. Many other species have settled here from other planets, for work, refuge, etc. They call themselves the Kanaka.” There was a pause over the line as Allura scrolled through the page. “However their languages have mixed. For some reason it never goes well through translators. We might be able to communicate with them another way, though.” She continued to type, muttering to herself under her breath

“Rodger that.” He switched off his helmet and turned back to the team. “Does anyone have any ideas?”

Hunk raised a hand, “Hey, guys?”

“Why do we even need to communicate with them?” Keith said, growing visibly impatient. “Why can’t we just look for the Galra ourselves?”

Allura’s voice broke in. “There are thousands of islands on this planet.” She said, the typing of a keyboard coming through the comms “To search all of them would take years.”

“Well what if we just fly above them,”  Lance said, “Scan for anything Galra-”

Pidge broke in, shaking her head. “Are you seeing that jungle?” she said, “We won't be able to find jack if they don't want to be seen.” As the team argued, Hunk turned to look at the Kanaka. They were chattering amongst themselves in much the same way, glancing over at the paladins apprehensively. Hunk raised a hand in greeting and a few waved back, before turning back to the group. He turned back to hear Shiro speaking in that finalizing team plan voice and made a decision.

“OK,” Shiro said, “here’s the plan. Pidge, go high and use your scanners over the oceans. Lance and Keith, you check the big islands for anything suspicious, they might make a mistake. Hunk- Hunk? Hey Hunk, what-” Shiro turned to see Hunk walking over towards the Honuans, who were crouched on the ground by the treeline. They pushed themselves up, hands hovering by their weapons. He raised his hands and took a step closer.

Hunk cleared his throat, it had been a while for him. “Ey, chu ova dea!” His voice changed, harder on the consonants and more open on the vowels. The Kanaka perked up, listening, and a few hands fell away from their weapons.

The leader took a step forward. “Wha’ chu wan’? Chu guys one a dem fakas? Chu wit dem?” The Kanaka stopped her foot, rolling her shoulders with arms held away from her sides in a pretty universal ‘come at me, bro’ posture. “Chu wit dem, yea? Like scrap? Yea, les’ go, brah, les’ go.”

Shiro shifted. “Hunk?” Hunk looked back at the team, in various stages of curiosity and wariness, a few hands floating towards bayards. Hunk shot them a look before turning back to the Kanaka.

Hunk lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Nah, nah nah nah, nah.” Hunk laughed and shook his head again. “Nah, we got big kine beef wit dem fakas.”

The Kanaka lowered her shoulders, hands falling to her sides. “Fo’ real?” The Kanaka in the background started to relax, falling out of defensive postures and speaking to each other in quiet tones.

Hunk turned back towards their leader and smiled. “Yea, yea, brah, we coo’.”

“Ah.” She relaxed and stepped a bit closer. “Oh, yea, wha’ chu wan’?”

“Chu see da kine purple guys?” Hunk gestured, indicating the average height of a Galra. “Look like one popoki?”

The Kanaka nodded.“Yea, brah, choke.” She made an expansive gesture with her hands and continued. “Dey wen’ go ova dea, dat islan’.” She pointed towards an island maybe a mile off with a large crater at the peak. “Mean kine luna tho, he go ova mauka. Big, da faka, hoowie!”

Hunk nodded, “Tanks auntie, dea an’ dea?” he pointed, first at the island, then up into the mountains.

She nodded. She looked back at the group with a questioning look before she seemed to make a decision. “Yea brah, we try sho’?” The other Kanaka nodded

“Shoots auntie!” Hunk smiled. “Guys,” He turned back towards the group, all in various stages of surprise, confusion, and curiosity, “The main Galra force is on that island over there, but their leader went up into the mountains for some reason.” He gestured towards the Kanaka, who were pulling each other up and talking amongst themselves, checking their weapons and packs. “They can takes us to where they last saw him.” He paused and looked around nervously. “Is that cool?”

Shiro considered for a moment and nodded. “That sounds good, Hunk.” He turned to the rest of the team. “All right team, here’s the plan.”

The walk up the mountain, while it was slightly awkward and technically a march to a possibly unspeakable evil, was some of the most fun Hunk had had in awhile. The leader, named Ohelo, was friendly, despite her initial hostility. They talked story, seemingly incomprehensible to the rest of the team, who trailed behind in relative silence. Ohelo stopped at the edge of the forest and pointed up at the barren craggy mountain. “Da luna small kine up mauka,” she said.

Hunk nodded. “Raga’,” he said, “Sua you no can go?” They had discussed the Kanaka leaving the islands for the time being, just until the Galra had been cleared out.

Ohelo shook her head “No can, choke keiki and kupuna ova hea.” She shrugged. “Bummas.”

“Yea, yeah, auntie,” Hunk said, “I gotchu.”

Ohelo looked out over the clearing, all the way up to where Hunk guessed the Galra were hiding. “Ey.” She grasped Hunks shoulder and looked at him seriously. “Chu no go make, yea?”

Hunk chuckled. “Yea, auntie. No sweats.”

Ohelo shook his shoulder and smiled. “Den go, chu lolos.”

“Ey!” Hunk laughed. He turned back towards the team, checking their weapons, and cleared his throat. “Hey guys, the leader is a bit further up that way.”

“All right, you all know the plan, let’s go.”

Hunk broke off with Lance to scan the base ridge for suspicious activity. Before they left the forest, Hunk turned back towards the Kanaka. “Ey auntie!” He raised a hand to about chest and flashed a shaka, first three fingers bent down and thumb and pinky held straight. “Tanks!” The Kanaka waved back and he turned to walk up the mountain.

“Um, Hunk?” Lance was looking at him curiously. “What...”

Hunk shrugged. “I’ll explain later.”

And that was, of course, when they stumbled upon a Galra security droid all hell broke loose. Now, Hunk thought, it would really have to wait for later.

A giant purple octopus and two very angry Honuan sharks later, the paladins returned to the castle battered, tired, and hungry. The castle dispensed the usual food goo and Hunk took it with a resigned reluctance. This wasn’t real food, and God if he missed being able to pick up a spam musubi from 7-11 or a surf pac from Zippy’s. He dropped down onto the floor next to the couch and pondered his plate. Pidge sat on the arm of the couch and grunted.

Hunk dropped his head to the table. “Yeah, same.” He felt Pidge fall back onto the couch.

“Hey buddy.” Hunk looked up to see Lance leaning over the table. Hunk hummed in response before dropping his head back on the table. “Aw come on, don’t be like that, scootch over.” Hunk sat up and complied, and Lance sat down next to him. “Thanks, but you’ve still got to explain the thing.”

Hunk looked at him quizzically. “What thing?”

“You know,” Lance gestured vaguely. “The thing. The thing with the talking with the Honuans.” He spread his hands. “Duh.”

Hunk groaned. “Kanaka.”

“What?”

“They prefer to be called the Kanaka. I asked.”

Lance pointed at him. “Yeah, that’s the thing. We couldn’t understand, like, ninety percent of what you guys were saying. Come on, Pidge, tell him.” He nudged Pidge in the leg and she hummed groggily.

“What?” She said.

“Hunk talking with the Honuans-”

“Kanaka,” Hunk corrected.

“Kanaka, sorry. Hunk talking with the Kanaka, you couldn’t understand that right?”

“Nope.” Pidge said. She yawned. “You’re going to explain that? Hey guys,” She sat up to yell into the kitchen. “Hunk’s going to explain how he talked to the Kanaka.” Keith and Shiro wandered in, Shiro looking worn out, as usual, Keith looking like a drowned cat and still grumpy from the healing pod. Shiro looked around the room before he sighed and dropped into the nearest chair. Keith stalked through with a bowl of something from the kitchen and climbed onto the back of the sofa.

Keith took a bite of what might have been cereal, or maybe ground meat. Hunk winced. He pointed the spoon at Hunk and scowled. “Talk.”

Hunk sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “They were speaking pidgin.” This was met with confused looks. “Spelled P I D G I N, not like the bird. It’s a language, kind of, or maybe a dialect, from Hawai’i. It’s just how we speak sometimes with friends or whatever.”

Pidge frowned. “Why did a bunch of aliens speak pidgin?”

“I don’t know dude, they just did.” Hunk shrugged. “And you guy’s weren’t making any headway so...” He trailed off. It felt like every eye was on him. He took a bite of food goo.

Lance clapped him on the shoulder, nearly making him choke. “Well thanks for saving our asses with your weird hidden accent, God our lives are weird.”

Shiro, silent up until this point, smacked his forehead. “Pidgin,” he said, “God, it was pidgin.” Keith looked at him curiously, along with more or less everyone else in the room. He noticed the looks and explained. “I was in an exchange student program to Honolulu in high school, I should have recognized-”

Hunk waved him off. “Nah, you couldn’t have recognized it. They were talking pretty thick. What school were you at?”

Shiro thought for a moment. “Punahou, I think. We visited ‘Iolani too.”

Hunk laughed. “Yeah, no. No one there speaks pidgin, definitely not with exchange students.” He shook his head, smiling. They tried, but those kids spoke like junior professors sometimes. “You want to hear pidgin, try Aiea. Or hell, try Kaua’i, some of them talk it like it’s the 1960s.”

Keith finished chewing a mouthful of his whatever it was and set down the bowl. He squinted at Hunk. “Is that why you called Coran uncle that time?”

Hunk groaned. “I thought we were going to forget about that?”

Lance shook his head with a shit eating grin. “We are never going to let that go, I thought you knew us.”

Hunk growled and threw his hands in the air. “It’s a thing, ok! You’re like ten years older than me, you’re uncle or auntie. It’s how we talk, for God’s sake. I don’t make fun of you guys for your weird accents.”

Pidge raised her arm from the couch. “Petition to mercilessly mock Keith every time he says ‘y’all’, say aye.”

Lance raised his hand. “Seconded.”

“Hey! I don’t say it that much.”

Hunk raised his hand as well. “Yeah, honestly, you do.”

“Come on.” Keith pointed his spoon at the couch. “Honestly, if y’all-” Keith stopped, blinking like a confused fish, and started over. “I mean if it ain’t for y’alls- I mean youse- Stop laughing!” He scrunched up his nose and took another bite of stuff, hopefully food.

“See, Keith? Do you see?” Lance said. “Shiro agrees with me, right Shiro?”

The room turned towards Shiro. He looked around before sighing, resigned to his fate, dropping his face into his hand, and slowly raising the other. Keith whined. “Shiro!”

Shiro looked for all the world like a man who’d lost all hope. “Do you even hear yourself any more? I- I don’t even know where you got that accent.”

“Yeah, this is an intervention, Keith.” Pidge leaned forward on her elbows. “Time to face the music.”

Keith sputtered. “I- Just-” He picked up his bowl and growled, “Fuck y’all.” and stormed out of the room.

Hunk couldn’t help but smile as he heard Keith fume in the kitchen. Finally, Lance pulled himself up. “I’ll go cool him off.” he said. Hunk gave him an incredulous look. “What? We’ve been bonding.” Lance headed off for the kitchen, and Hunk shrugged. He picked up his bowl of food goo and left the meeting area with a few goodnights to the sound of increasingly quiet Texan cussing. As he walked back towards his room, he chuckled to himself. “That,” he whispered, “went better than I thought.”

 Manapua

Not all missions are created equal. Some are long, stressful affairs that take weeks of planning and days of fighting, some are hard and fast, a few hours of intense, white knuckled battle followed by a day of cleanup, some are tense and tedious, operations with little to no intel going in and so, so much nerve wracking waiting.

This mission, the one scheduled for tomorrow morning, was none of those. This mission was easy and simple, they knew the deal going in, there were no civilians to clear, and the objective was some uncomplicated sabotage. It would take half a day, at most, by Hunk’s estimates, and there would be plenty of time afterward for cleanup without technically needing to stop at the castle first. So, of course, they would need a lunch.

Hunk carefully lifted the last baking tray out of the oven and set it on the counter. The buns looked good, from a visual inspection, golden brown and lovely. He didn't have a stamp, even if it was traditional, but he did get something close to char siu for the filling. Hunk started to clean as the buns cooled.

Just as he put away the last of the ingredients, Hunk heard someone shuffle into the kitchen. Lance stood in the doorway, eyes squinting in the light. “Hey bud,” Lance said.

Hunk waved a hand over the manapua, checking for temperature, before he began to transfer them to a plastic container. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You, apparently. What’re you even doing?”

“Just finishing up a recipe.” Hunk moved a few more of the buns. “You should be in bed already.”

Lance yawned. “Pot and kettle, bro.”

“All right, I’m just finishing up.” Hunk transferred the last few things and put the container in the fridge. “Night Lance.”

“Yeah yeah, night.” Lance raised a hand in farewell and stumbled off to bed. Hunk placed the baking tray in the dishwasher, checked the oven one last time, and began to wipe down the counter. This, at least, would make tomorrow a bit more interesting.

The mission ended more or less as expected. No unexpected purple abominations were discovered, nor were any life altering secrets revealed. The lions settled on the cliff edge where the base used to be, and the paladins by mutual routine stepped out for a breather.

“Never again.” Pidge dropped back onto the ground with a groan. “I am never being bait for you again.”

Lance sat down next to her. “Speak for yourself. Better you than hothead over here.” He gestured towards Keith’s prone form.

Keith grunted in agreement. “Fair.”

Shiro dismounted from his lion and cleared his throat to get the team’s attention. “Status report, how is everyone?”

Lance raised his hand. “Present, no damage on Blue.”

Keith sat up. “Same here. No damage on Red either.”

“Present,” Pidge said, “Green’s sensors were damaged, but it’s nothing urgent.”

“Can you make it back to the castle?” Shiro asked.

“Yup.” Pidge nodded. “She’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Shiro said. “No damage on Black. Hunk?” Shiro turned towards the lions. “Hunk? Has anyone seen Hunk?” His shoulders tensed, his Galra hand held rigid away from his side. Keith rolled into a crouch, and his hand dropped to his bayard.

The door to the yellow lion opened. “Sorry!” Hunk said, “Present. Yellow’s fine. Hey, I brought lunch.” Hunk dismounted from the lion with an armful of paper bags. He tossed one to Shiro.

Shiro fumbled to catch the bag. “Thank you, Hunk. What is it?”

“No problem. Manapua, try it.” Hunk finished passing out the bags. “I thought you guys would be hungry, dig in.” He sat down next to Pidge and took a bite of his own. Keith took one of the buns out of the bag and took a mouthful. Lance and Pidge leaned over, looking at the half eaten manapua.

“Why is it red?” Lance said. Hunk looked up to see something like confusion on their faces.

Hunk shrugged. “It just is, ok.”

Pidge tilted her head to the side. She whispered to Lance, “Is meat supposed to be red?”

Lance whispered back “Dude, I don’t know.”

Around another mouthful of bread, Keith mumbled something that sounded like, “It’s food, just eat it.”

Hunk rolled his eyes and continued to eat. Shiro tore it open curiously and took a careful bite. “It is rather red. Is this normal?” Hunk rolled his eyes and nodded in lieu of a spoken answer.

Pidge pulled hers apart and looked at it suspiciously. After a minute of staring she looked up at Lance. “It’s like my food is bleeding.”

Hunk groaned and looked up at the sky. “Holy quiznak, guys,” he said, a little louder than usual, “You all are such haoles, eat the damn manapua!”

The translation software on their helmets clicked on and began to read aloud.

  Haole: Usage, Hawaiian Creole English or Pidgin. Hawaiian translation, stranger or foreigner. Modern usage, an individual of exclusively or predominantly European descent. Example, a haole friend of mine went to Zippy’s and ordered teri beef with mashed potatoes.

An awkward silence fell as the group scanned the people to which Hunk was referring, more specifically Takashi Shirogane, Keith Kogane, Lance McClain, and lastly, Pidge Gunderson, the only caucasian for roughly 10,000 light years. Hunk felt his face go red. “Mainlanders,” he said, “I mean mainlanders. You’re all such mainlanders.” He took another bite of a manapua, pointedly not making eye contact. “Just eat it, you lolos.”

Keith leaned over at Shiro and whispered. “Did he just call us white?”

Lance snorted. “Dude, he called me white.” He gestured at himself with a free hand. “Me. I resent that statement.” Hunk groaned and hid his face in his hand.

Pidge raised her hand. “I resemble that statement,” she said.

“Sorry,” Hunk said, his voice muffled by his hands.

Lance laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Nah, it’s fine buddy.” Hunk looked up to see Lance grinning widely. “But, oh my God, we are never letting this go.”

Pidge nodded. “That is very improbable.” She sniffed at the manapua again, less wary than before. After one last poke, she shrugged and took a bite. Her eyebrows raised as she chewed. “Hm, not bad.”

Keith gestured at her pointedly. “The haole ate it, Lance,” he said, ”Suck it up and eat the bread meat thing.” Hunk choked on a laugh and a mouthful of manapua. Keith, oblivious, continued. “It’s bread and it’s meat, what more do you want?”

Hunk swallowed and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Keith.” He turned towards Lance. “See? Keith will eat it, Pidge will eat it, just try, for God’s sake.”

Lance raised his eyebrows. “I’ve seen Keith eat a space possum,” he said, “He’s not a high bar to jump, Hunk.” Even so, Lance took a bite. His expression rapidly changed from trepidation, to surprise, to enjoyment. “Ok, I’ll admit, not as bloody as it looks.” He took another bite.

Hunk snorted. “Just be glad I didn’t make you Spam musubi.”

He heard Lance choke. “Spam what? I am not eating Spam, buddy.”

Hunk smirked. “Yeah you will, I’ll get you eventually.” He looked at the slightly appalled faces of everyone but Keith. “I’ll get you all, believe it.”

Pidge blinked, a delighted smile spreading across her face. “Was that- Hunk was that Naruto.”

Hunk froze. “What? No, I-”

“Holy fucking quiznak it was!” Pidge stood up, pointing at Hunk triumphantly. “You’re wearing a headband, oh my god you’re-” She dissolved into giggles. “You’re a fucking weeaboo!”

“Hey, you’re the one who recognized it.” Hunk pointed back at her.“Judge not, lest you yourself be judged or whatever.” Lance raised a hand, held out towards Hunk for a high five. ”You too?” Lance shrugged unapologetically.

Shiro scratched his head. “Believe it,” he said. All eyes turned towards him. “Is that a thing from the English dub?”

Hunk shook his head in disbelief. “No.”

Meanwhile, Pidge punched the air. “YES!”

“What are y’all even talking about?” All eyes snapped to Keith.

“So you’ve never...” Lance said.

“Never,” said Pidge, “Not ever.”

Keith looked at them incredulously. “I grew up in a hut in the desert in Texas.” He spread his hands. “What do y’all think?”

Pidge stared off into space with a delighted smile on her face. “Boys, we have a job to do. Naruto marathon, at the castle, in Keith’s room, right now.”

“Not so fast,” Shiro said, “We still have a mission to finish here. After cleanup, you can, but until-” Lance and Pidge were in their lions before he even finished the sentence.

Let’s just say cleanup was much, much more efficient than usual.

 Kuleana

There was a routine in the castle. What else would you expect? All but one of it’s residents had been military in one form or another, and this manifested in more than a few ways. Besides the obvious, everyday, and downright bizarre signs, many a time salt shakers had been literally thrown across the table, the most notable hangover was that of the chore schedule.

Today, it was Lance’s turn to do the dishes. Hunk knew this, and he knew Lance was present and accounted for, and he knew the state of the castle presented no current emergencies, but even still, there were the dishes, unwashed, in the sink.

“Hey, Lance?” Hunk called. “Lance!” He wasn’t in the common room, nor was he in the kitchen or his room or anywhere else Hunk looked. In the end, Hunk found him in the gym, predictably, in hindsight, as that was where Keith was.

Lance was leaning against a wall with his most flirty smile. “Hey, are you a photographer?” he said to Keith.

Keith barely paused in doing pushups.  “What.”

“Because,” Lance continued unperturbed. “Baby, I could picture you and me together.”

Keith actually stopped his circuit to look up at Lance. “Why would you think I’m a photographer?”

“No Keith I mean-” Lance floundered, then started over. “Are you from Tennessee-”

“No, I’m from Texas.”

Hunk figured it would be a good time to step in. “Lance, could I talk to you?”

Lance glanced over at him. “Hmm? Oh yeah sure.” He trotted over to Hunk. “What is is? Quick, I think I’m making progress.”

Hunk exhaled slowly. This would call for drastic measures. He placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder and steered him out into the hallway. He turned Lance toward him and sighed. “Ok buddy,” he said, being sure to make eye contact, “Now we’ve all got a job to do, we’ve all got our kuleana here. Do you know what kuleana means?”

Lance shook his head. “No I don’t, what does it mean?” he said skeptically.

“It means responsibility. It means your responsibility to those around you, the earth, and everything on it. But it also means privilege. Your kuleana is an honor, and you do your kuleana, not just to stop bad things from happening or to get attention, you do it because it’s your kuleana and that’s what’s pono.” He pulled Lance next to him, his arm wrapped around his shoulders. “The paladins’ kuleana is to protect the galaxy. It’s a huge job, but we’re doing it, because the lions and the universe are our kuleana. It is an important responsibility.” Hunk turns his head to look at Lance. “And so is yours. Your kuleana is to do the damn dishes tonight.” He cuffed him on the back of the head. “Now stop making eyes at Keith and go was up, you lolo.”

Lance scurried towards the kitchen, looking sufficiently cowed. Shiro, previously standing in the doorway of the gym, walked towards Hunk. “How the hell...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “Huh. How did you-”

Hunk shrugged. “Kuleana lecture,” he said simply, “Works every time.”

“Huh.” Shiro blinked, still visibly confused, before he seemed to give in. He disappeared into the gym, and through the door Hunk could hear muffled muttering.

“How did he-”

“Still no idea.”

Hunk smiled to himself and set about his own chores. The dishes were clean within the hour.

 Fakas

Some missions were easy and some missions were hard, but some missions were downright brutal. Hunk dodged out of the way of yet another small fleet of Galra fighters, biting back the litany swears at the tip of his tongue. Few others offered the same courtesy. The comm link was flooded with profanity in more languages than Hunk could track. Lance swerved past, tailed by two long range guided missiles. “Chingate!” Lance yelled over the comms, desperately weaving in and out of nearby rock formations, “Tu madre es una puta fea- CHINGATE!” Blue made a sharp turn around a large spire and the missiles exploded against it. “HA,” Lance crowed, “Besa mi culo, puto.”

Shiro’s voice cut through the line. “All right cut the chatter. We need to form-” A heavy collision sounded over the comms. “SHIMATTA- Form Voltron NOW.” Another volley of shots whizzed past. “Formation!” Hunk veered away from the Galra fighters, just barely avoiding a collision with a ship. He ascended into open skies while Lance gave cover fire at the fleet at his back. Keith spun in the air, as he scanned for melee targets. Red turned suddenly into a steep dive, and Hunk heard Keith roar and he ripped through a Galra cruiser aimed at Lance. “Form up, form up!”

Lance shouted over the maelstrom of shots. “Where’s Pidge?” Several curses cut through the sound of gunfire. Hunk could hear her swearing over the comms, quick and multilingual, and nothing she spoke fluently.

Hunk scanned the horizon for the green lion. A battalion of Galra fighters spun like bugs near the rock formations, and in the center a green speck. “There!” Hunk yelled. “Shiro, on your four o clock.”

The black lion spun towards her. “Pidge, respond!” Shiro snapped. “Get out of there!”

The green lion swerved a hard left. “I’m trying- SCHEISSE.” A spearhead of Galra followed her screeching ascent. “Fatue! Tcho za galima, ba’Qa shit shit shit.”

“Lance, cover fire.” Shiro ordered. Lance said some choice words in Spanish and began to fire holes in the formation, covering her retreat. She swerved into her place, still muttering invectives. The Galra fleet began to reform below them. “Form Voltron!” The team did so under heavy fire, shield formed before the legs even clicked into place. Just as the giant robot man unsheathed it’s sword, a missile the size of a bus launched from the flagship, aimed not towards them, but towards the castle. The castle, where the entire refugee population of the planet was being housed.

Hunk, of course, reacted. “Ho, chu FAKA.” Hunk roared. Voltron’s sword sliced the missile in half as it hurtled towards the Galra ship. Hunk whooped as they sped downwards, winding up before the yellow foot of Voltron rammed into the bow of the Galra battleship in a punt kick that sent it spinning. Something important sounding crunched. “CHEE HOOO.” The ship careened into the ground and exploded as it’s magazine apparently caught a spark. The surrounding fleets dived towards the wreck in a desperate attempt to rescue survivors, leaving the way clear to destroy the objective. They did so thoroughly before retreating to the castle.

As they cleared the stratosphere, Pidge huffed. “Well,” she said hesitantly, “That worked.”

The comms fell silent as Hunk muttered sharply in pidgin. “Try come ova oua side, yea?” Hunk chuffed harshly. “Yea dey wan scrap, yea I give dem scrap...”

“Hunk, buddy?” Lance said, “You need to explain that better to us sometime, yeah?”

Hunk snapped out of his string of threats. “Wha’ chu say?” He blinked, then corrected himself. “Oh, oh right. Yeah, just an old habit, but chee dem fakas...” He broke off into another string of pidgin. “Hoowie, we’re retreating right? We should do that.”  

“Yeah.” Voltron climbed steadily into the sky, then broke off into the five lions.

“Y’know y’all,” Keith said, “I’ve got to agree with Hunk.” The lions touched down in the hangers, where Coran waited. “They’re fuckers.”

 ʻOhana

Across the galaxy, the Paladins were widely known. News often traveled fast between the planets, Galra censorship be damned. Each paladin was known, remembered details through every sighting and small interaction. They knew of the clever green paladin with a love for robots, the brash red and his Galra ancestry, the flirty blue with an eye for marksmanship, the stoic black with a robotic hand. But, when news travelled that Voltron was coming to help, the most widely anticipated, the most widely loved, was Hunk. If you were in trouble, they said, hope for the yellow paladin, kind and steadfast.

They said he was big and strong as a tank, wielding a massive cannon like it weighed nothing. They said he was a mechanic, able to understand engines and thrusters he had never seen before, and able to repair anything, from the largest turbine to the smallest wiring, with ease. They said he could cook, quite well in fact, and if you took him to your kitchens he would make something incredible from mere scraps. And, they said, he could communicate directly with the Honuans.

The paladins did make another trip to Honua. The islands torched by the Galra were devastated, and rehabilitation efforts were far underway. Hunk went to greet Ohelo and her hui and ask her how they could help. She had hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, and then promptly ordered the other paladins off to help on other islands. She took Hunk aside and they talked story in rapid fire pidgin. She asked if he had found a boy or a girl he liked and Hunk responded with a scandalized “Auntie!” They left soon enough. Ohelo and her hui met at the beach to bade them farewell. Ohelo herself sent Hunk off with a hug and an order to not break too many hearts. Hunk hugged her back and agreed that he would try.

Hunk slipped into using more and more pidgin, on and off Honua. Lance and Pidge caught themselves using picked up vocabulary, asking for ‘da kine’ at dinner and responding to queries for a marathon movie night with ‘shoots!’.

Hunk began to cook more local food. He fried spam and portuguese sausage for a breakfast fried rice and served up plates of loco moco at all hours. And, even though Pidge still salted her rice, an action that made Hunk physically wince, he couldn’t help but love how his friends would dig into whatever salty and greasy thing he put on the table.

The onboard refrigerator, only found on the lions after someone stuck their bayard in the wrong place, were soon stocked with pog and spam musubi. Lance and Pidge would complain, of course, speculating how much of pog really is juice and what distasteful creatures went into the spam, Hunk still had to refill the coolers every week. They’d sometimes just stop, after a mission or just before one, on some grassy hill and eat in silence, each with a musubi in one hand and a carton of pog in the other.

When you got down to it, it tasted like family. Salty, carb laden family.