#is this even an autistic thing?
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When I obsess over a character, I unconsciously start acting like them. This can consist of me copying their mannerisms, habits, or personality I guess.
Well, right now, I am obsessing over Abed from Community, so I've been copying his mannerisms such like his head and eye movements (like when he tilts his head in thought, which is something I already do but now I'm doing it in a more similar way), and I find this funny because he also acts like characters from his favourite shows/movies.
Just two autistic folks pretending to be fictional characters
#communicating through acting like fictional characters was something I did not notice I did until I started watching community#i remember trying to act like Hawks from mha last school year during a presentation bc i could not be myself#i literally had to try and be someone else just so I wouldn't have a mental breakdown#well it didn't work bc i still stuttered and messed up my words but not as badly#abed nadir#community nbc#nbc community#community#jeff winger#britta perry#troy barnes#shirley bennett#pierce hawthorne#annie edison#autism#actually autistic#autistic things#is this even an autistic thing?#idk im saying that it is
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please i love you i'm begging you bring back suspension of disbelief bring back trusting the audience like. i cannot handle any more dialogue that sounds like a legal document. "hello, i am here to talk to you about the incident from a few minutes ago, because i feel you might be unwell, and i am invested in your personal wellbeing." "thank you, i am unwell because the incident was hurtful to me due to my childhood, which was bad." I CANT!!!!
do you know how many people are mad that authors use "growled" as a word for "said"? it's just poetics! they do not literally mean "growled," it's just a common replacement for "said with force but in a low tone." it's normal! do you hear me!! help me i love you please let me out of here!!!
#i am so sick of writers having to anticipate the most boring#bad-faith readings of their work. i am like - if you use cheese as a currency#okay! as long as the world makes sense to me: cool. cheese tax. moving on.#my job as the reader is to suspend my disbelief and say okay! i am so sick of like#fanfiction authors having to write dissertations#because they had an interesting idea they'd like to try out!!!#just write it! if it doesn't make sense that's someone else's problem!!!#PS OP is autistic. yes sometimes i take things literally at first glance. then i think about it lol#this is so clearly not about accessibility etc. it's about like. girl even i an autistic person#am able to understand ''they probably didn't mean his eyes darkened LITERALLY''
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the way people online talk about autism is getting really weird, like do they know that neurotypicals still have interests? that someone being passionate about a hobby doesn't mean they're autistic? you guys know that right
#woof#like self diagnosis is one thing#but saying someone is autistic because they talk about a specific hobby a lot is weird (and waters down the actual definition of autism)#and its no different than saying someone has ocd bc they organize their books alpabetically#or saying someone has ADHD because they got distracted by something#and people who aren't even autistic are honestly getting way too comfortable with autism jokes
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I WAS FUCKING RIGHT
people who disagree or made me embarassed to have had headcanons about this are LOSERS
as i said as soon as i saw this on twitter:
''I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW ITTT I K N E W IT I FUCKING WON!!! I MAY SUCK AT FNAF THEORIES BUT I FUCKING WON AT THIS ONE LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO god anyways i love kellen he was an inspo before the dca existed- this guy is such a goat!! autism icon!!''
@basyacriptid i'm fucking losing my shit sorry if u already saw this
#dca#fav#moondrop#sundrop#fnaf#security breach#ok this might not be CANON but it FUCKING IS TO ME#IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF for making that video such a long ass time ago about moon being autistic#a person even came to me and refered to me as the ''person who did the autistic moon thing''
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hey autistic people who get overwhelmed by large groups or noise or conversation or etc etc etc you’re not evil for wanting to leave a family gathering. just so you know.
#additionally hard when you have no diagnosis#people just think im “antisocial” and “rude”#while im over here completely burnt out#because the whole room is talking and the tv is loud and all the lights are on and every kid in the house is shrieking about something#and whoever you came with(looking at you parents) acts like you’re evil and hate your family when you even ask when you’re leaving#autism#actually autistic#autistic#autism spectrum disorder#autistic things#asd#autistic community#undiagnosed autistic#undiagnosed neurodivergent#undiagnosed autism#neurodiversity#neurodivergent#neurodiverse stuff#neurospicy#neurodivergence#neurodivergencies
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a moment of silence for all us disabled ones who had to watch each of their friends move on with their lives without you and get jobs, go to school, have partners come and go, get engaged and move house etc.
shout out to my fellow struggling people who are still sitting in the same bedroom they grew up in. the ones who can't get a job, can't make new friends, can't find a partner or partners, can't move house and can't go to school.
I hope one day we can all find someone to at least sit with us in our rooms. I see you and I understand... and I'm sorry we can't be that person for each other
#hell o void#hell o hadal#disabled#disability#invisible disability#nuerodivergent#nuerodiversity#mental health#agoraphobia#depression#anxiety#chronic pain#chronic fatigue#autistic#autism#i know this applies to more people but i am too tired to think of more tags and i really need to stop posting and do other things#but this is something i struggle with constantly and cant get over so#about#it hurts even more knowing that my friends who have done this are also disabled#like.... what do you mean they can overcome their disabilities and have lives why the fuck cant i do that
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i love swiss ghoul bc he's rly just a ghoul and his tambourine against the world
#i am so autistic it's not even funny#i am incapable of liking things a normal amount#swiss ghoul#the band ghost#nameless ghouls#swiss ghoul ate my gender like a feral cat in front of me and i've never been the same#ghost#shitghosting
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In the same vein as "I've been taking my medication for long enough that I haven't experienced any symptoms in a while, I must not need to take it anymore! (Spoiler alert: the meds are why you haven't had symptoms)" I present to you a similarly clownish thought process- "I haven't experienced that trigger in a long time, maybe I was just exaggerating how bad it was and it'll be fine to engage with this! (Spoiler alert: take a fucking guess babes)"
#on a definitely unrelated note the contamination obsessive thoughts are in fact still there and still upsetting#turns out when you take care to avoid things that trigger and upset you...#those things still trigger and upset you even if youve avoided them for a while#😱🤯#ptsd#cptsd#trauma#recovery#disabled#autistic adult#actually autistic#<- idk if thats a good tag or not it just came up suggested when i typed autism so#ocd#<- not dxed and not even sure if i feel comfy self dxing w ocd but i definitely have upsetting obsessive + compulsive tendencies + thoughts#that i struggle with a lot so#medication#trauma recovery#triggers#arfid#disability#neurodivergent#neurodiversity#audhd
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I won't be able to finish this drawing before the convention, which will take up my next 5 days.. But I want to talk a little about him.. I've been thinking about golems and Frankenstein, and the trans body, projection and misunderstanding, villainization and death.
The concepts of Frankenstein's monster and the golem have been swimming in my head for a while, and their lore intertwining.. The tragedy of existing being seen as a monster no matter how you try,.. And the Golem, a protector of his people and a servant whose only flaw always rang a bit close to home as an an autistic person-- being too literal in execution of his orders. He's tired and struggles with a yearning for death. His havdalah candles will be out.. The first flame of the week, a spark of starting over again-- The flame brings him fear. As much as he's kept himself together he doesn't know how much longer he can keep doing it, he fears failure- but the fear of what may happen if he's gone is even more terrifying. He's lived a long life, and over time the one who formed him has sculpted him to the golem's own wishes.. From nothing to the man he is- but even with that effort, to outsiders he's still a monster. His skin is different shades of clays from varying riverbeds as his people have travelled.. Golems are unformed, imperfect.. but even as outsides can be polished the insides can still be broken
#i have a million thoughts on him but will only put a little ramble i guess#jewish art#trans art#you ever think about how no matter how hard you try as a trans person at the end of the day a large amount of people will still see you#as trans. doesnt matter how acceptable you look#the same thing is with jewishness for me.. it's been like a damage multiplier on top of transness.#it doesnt matter how nice i try to be or how caring. it doesnt matter how many good things i do im still a jew to a large amount of people#even within the queer community haha :') ive felt it so often in queer communities here.#this little guy is gonna be where i store that experience as a trans jew. it goes in the frankengolem#i like the thought of frankenstein's fear of fire being incorporated into him in his fear of both rest and havdalah..#he doesnt feel safe to rest. he dreads the new week. his entire life he spends in dread even if he wants to protect his loved ones#gently pats the top of his head.. this boy's autistic#long text#bare chest#death#cw death#tw death#just in case
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The Ryoko Kui interview's reception is such a disaster over a pretty normal (yet still flawed) interview between a non-Japanese fan and Japanese artistic. This is discourse for discourse's sake, and it's no surprise that almost every Twitter user I've looked at who's using this interview to parade Kui around as a goated mangaka standing strong against Western ideology is anti-trans.
Like, I do think the interview was kinda wonky with its focus on fandom culture, which Kui clearly didn't have much interest in. But sometimes that happens. Sometimes interactions between two people, especially a fan and a creator, two people who view and interact with a piece of media in completely opposite perspectives, don't click. Does this really need to get blown up into a "West vs. East culture war" issue.
Anyways, Kui saying "I don't consider my audience's interpretations when writing. I leave it to their imaginations, but I have my own read on things too" is the healthiest, most normal thing an artist/writer who wants a non-parasocial audience could say. Artists and writers use this line all the time. If Kui didn't enjoy autistic Laius or Farcille headcanons, she would have probably voiced/signalled her discomfort, like she did on the topic of Senshi fanservice. Overall, Kui handled the interview really well. Props to her to sticking to her guns and keeping a healthy disconnect from the fandom. While I think the interviewer could've/should've been more tactful and restrained, the flaws in their questions is not a symptom of the woke mind virus trying to wriggle its way into the pure Japanese psyche. It's the sign of an over-eager fan who sees a piece of fiction differently than its creator.
#personal#delete later#this isn't even worth talking about in depth#but it's crazy that we're rehashing the “artist intent vs fan interpretation” crap again.#read stuart hall's encoding/decoding.#is it so terrible that laius reads to nd people as autistic even though the writer wasn't thinking about it#is that really something to criticize#also you may think the last sentence is me exaggerating but that's literally what the twt discourse is about#anyways i feel bad for the interviewer who's getting harassed over this#i'm seeing every side of discourse be super uncharitable toward them because it's funnier to make them sound outta touch and confrontationa#like. i'm seeing posts from cool people making the interviewer look like they asked “why did you make laius autistic??”#when the actual text of the interview goes “a lot of nd people interpreted laius as autistic. did you have that in mind when writing him?”#and obviously i think a lot of fandom people upset about this are weird too. joking that kui. a real person. is probably autistic is weird#but who am i more willing to criticize. the overeager parasocial fans taking things a too far and making things kinda weird#or the “kill the woke mind virus” weeabo/otaku terfs who still use the r-slur against queer/nd teen anime fans
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We don't talk enough about the fact that Amelia Pond, s5 Amelia Pond, before the timeline is reset, isn't just a normal orphan. Her parents didn't die, didn't abandon her, and didn't send her away. They never existed in the first place.
And if her parents never existed, then Amelia cannot exist. She is a causal impossibility.
"People fall out of the world sometimes, but they always leave traces." A photograph. A face carved into an apple. Yes. Sure.
A child.
Now that's too big, surely.
But that's what she is. She is exactly the same as these things. A trace. An echo of something that could never be, never was, never could have been.
And the universe should never allow it. A whole person, that's just too much. She could not have continued to exist indefinitely, in normal circumstances, after her parents never existed.
In normal circumstances.
Because the Doctor didn't just save her from things coming out of the crack in her wall. He saved her from going into it. And he didn't just save her from the threat of going into it simply because of its vicinity.
No, by arriving when he did, he interrupted a process that was probably already in motion. And then by arriving again only moments later on a cosmic relative timestream (too quickly for the process to complete) and yet in the local relative timestream, years later --- years of a potential future caught midway through the process of rewriting -- he solidified that existence. Amy is a creature from another timeline, caught in amber. The Doctor prevented her from never existing, but only after she could already never exist.
And so, no one around Amelia thinks about it. Neither does she. There's some kind of consciousness block, because if you thought about it, really thought about it, for two seconds you'd realize she cannot exist. And the human mind can't deal with that. So, to protect itself, everyone's brain simply slides off it before ever noticing. They just assume that her existence makes sense, and don't question it, and don't notice what they don't question, that is staring them in the face.
But of course, to some extent they do notice. They can't think it, but they notice subconsciously that there's something they can't think. They notice there's something wrong with her, something uncanny. And they don't like it, and they alienate her even more because of it.
"Does it ever bother you Pond that your life existence doesn't make any sense?"
#like!!!!!! why arent we talking about this!!!!!!!#amelia pond#amy pond#the ultimate autism metaphor on top of being autistic anyway#doctor who#dw#ndw#dw theory#lavender thoughts#SHE CAN'T EXIST SHE IS LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE#you called clara the impossible girl but that's amy#and THEN the fact that even after it's all set right#she remains shaped by -- remains deeply traumatized by -- a timeline that never happened; a reality that never was#AUGH !!!!!#some wounds just can't heal even if the thing that caused them never existed in the first place#some wounds remain as a TRACE of the other time just as you yourself were once#THE mental illness rep of all time#and in the big bang of course the doctor had to take the shortcut because if they'd all gone the long way round#she'd have been gone before he got there#as starless universe's little amelia disappeared.... it could be millienia but from another perspective it HAD to be moments#they made it only in the nick of time#and the doctor knew that#pond#the life and times of amy pond#lavender writings
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Eloise Bridgerton being an absolute mood:
and Cressida's reaction of 'this girl is so weird, but I'm into it??? Wait am I into this??'':
#i was so sad that no one had made gifs of this moment#that i simply made one myself#i just love this almost smile cressida has here#like she can't believe eloise would just say and do this sort of thing#which kind of also adds to what she says in a later episode about eloise being courageous#she means this; eloise just being unapologetically herself without caring about whats appropriate#something cressida doesn't have the freedom to do (because she lacks the family support eloise has) but probably wishes she could#i love finding these little moments bc you can interpret so much from them even though they're only seconds long#yes i am autistic why do you ask?#eloise bridgerton#cressida cowper#creloise#bridgerton#bridgerton s3#bridgerton 3x02#gifs#my gifs#(also i don't know how to gif i did my best with what gimp can do)#bc id rather die than using something adobe makes
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despite his initial rough impression, lqg gets a "fun" rating on the gege scale
#arts#mottau#dragging lqg into the autism to autism communication array#sy thinks he is so cool actually. but he will fiercely deny it if you say so#lmao stupid little baby crush#he has! a cool sword! and hes fought so many monsters! and hes called the Bai Zhan WAR GOD#and also is more lax than his other geges in letting him do stuff that toes the line of things he shouldnt be allowed to do yet#such as you know imitating sword forms when he's not supposed to touch cultivation or combat for another year#in lqg's mind theres no reason he cant practice the forms. and also he doesnt even have a practice sword let alone a real one#he will get yelled at later#can you tell that i read dun meshi and it irreversibly changed the way i draw silly little autistic smiles. bc i sure fucking can#anyways releasing this from containment since im almost done the next chapter. incentive (for myself)
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Welp... Just some time ago I realized that this is not what neurotypicals feel...
Bonus:
Yeah...I gotcha Don 😞
And yeah, small headcanon that Splinter was not aware of such a thing as neurodivergence, so he made a lot of bad decisions towards his sons, (despite the fact that he is the same... Come on, am I the only one who thinks so?). Therefore, for at least half of his life, Donnie (and his bros) suffered from not knowing what was happening to him and tried to be “normal”... Sad, but very realistic
Don't be afraid, Donnie gave Splinter a lecture and now he understands his fuck ups
#my art#rottmnt#sketch#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt donnie#rise donnie#autistic things#autism spectrum disorder#donnie#neurodivergent icon#neurodivergent struggles#i just found out that rubber gloves and sound cancelling headphones are making your life easier#now i even like to do the vacuum cleaning!#welp#autism things
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being an adult means we can buy or make as much self-indulgent shit (as we can afford) and unironically have trinkets of our fave things cause our teen years was bullied for liking things and hiding/denying we were ever neurodivergent to the point of suicide. sucks for anyone that thinks its weird cringe but I'm going to try and allow myself to love myself in little ways now
#wish i could tell younger me that i wasnt fucked up i was just autistic#even if youre not nd i still think having things you enjoy around you is important especially for your space#so i make a notable effort to get fandom stuff for my younger siblings now#like my lil sister thinks getting demon slayer stuff is cringe cause anime and what not (havent read it sorry)#but her face still lights up when i get her a pin for her#or a blind bag with a character keychain#and very slowly the self hatred and whatever it feels like that youre not allowed to like anything and that anything you like is bad#starts to diminish#my qpp is obsessed with birds and chickens and has so many trinkets around the house for it#or my friend who loves how pretty stained glass looks that his walls are covered in thrifted stain glass pieces#i know an elderly couple who are obsessed with star trek and they have a room in the house purely for shelves stacked with collectables#my friend's dad is so obsessed with spiderman that he has 3 walls full of figurines and posters and collectables that prob amoutn to tons#like i dont get it but i get it#maybe its because im sick rn but im in my head tonight about human loving things and stories and cocepts to the point of comfort#sara shush#ramble
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Lance never shuts the fuck up.
Keith can’t get enough of it.
It’s been like that for as long as Keith can remember. Lance was the motormouth in, like, 6 of his classes; always had his hand up with a question or answer, and comments in between. Keith had been annoyed with it, that first year.
But then he’d shared classes with Lance again.
And again.
And again.
By then, they’d had their fair share of group projects together. Keith came to know that for all he was a rambling mess, Lance was really fucking smart, and funny besides. He was also endlessly kind and supportive, at least when he wasn’t egging on their rivalry that he’d invented (and that Keith hadn’t known they’d had — not that he wasn’t an active participant, once he knew. Riling Lance up was the most fun he’d had in ages).
Keith doesn’t remember exactly when he’d started smiling whenever Lance looked at him, feeling proud whenever Lance got a question right in class. Doesn’t remember when the mild annoyance turned to genuine appreciation. He does remember looking down at his notes one day, in Algebra II, only to discover a blank page, and realising that he’d spent the whole class just watching Lance talk. (He also remembers feeling pleased instead of the disappointment he should have felt, because he figured he’d have an excuse to hear Lance talk more if he asked him to help Keith catch up. He knew he was in quite the mess, then.)
Keith knew he had a crush on Lance, after that. And Keith was never one to sit idly — he’d asked Lance on a date right then and there. Lance had, for the first time in Keith’s working memory, gone speechless. (And quite the pretty shade of red.)
The speechlessness didn’t last long, that’s for damn certain. Keith took Lance to the Applebee’s at the plaza near his house that very night, because Shiro worked there and would give him a discount. Also, Lance had once mentioned he liked the lemonade there.
Keith met Lance there because neither of them had their full license yet. He doesn’t remember what exact table they sat at, only that they must have been near a window, because Keith remembers swooning over the sunlight warming Lance’s beautiful brown eyes no less than six times. They’d ordered, Keith some sort of fried dish and Lance — Lance had ordered a four-cheese fettuccine with a garden salad and, of course, a lemonade. Keith remembers so specifically because Lance spent the next thirty minutes excitedly telling him every piece of history surrounding the dish, down to the prehistoric origins of wheat-made pasta and the disturbing account of the first pink lemonade. He’d looked sheepish after looking at his watch and realising how long he’d been talking, and Keith hadn’t known how to assure him that Lance could narrate every detail of paint drying in a wall and Keith would swallow up every word.
(Later that night, Shiro sent him a picture he took while the both of them were distracted — Lance, animatedly waving a fork in the air as he lectured, and Keith, chin in his hands, meal forgotten, looking at Lance with a face more besotted than he knew he was even capable of making.
Keith sent the photo to Lance, asking him if he’d like to go out again, confessing that he enjoyed every second of Lance’s rambling.
Lance said yes. Very quickly.)
The rest, to a degree, had been history. They’d dated for the rest of high school, staying together even as they attended university and trade school on either side of the country. It was easy, really. Lance made sure they always had something to talk about. (Lance loved university. He was enamoured with every second of it, every niche interest of his getting its fill. He switched his major fourteen separate times, chasing every one of his ambitions, and Keith loved every story he heard. He also liked becoming an expert by proxy, because that was inevitable — you could only hear about the important of spiders in the ecosystem so many dozen times before the information was reflective whenever someone brought up the subject.)
As soon as Keith got his mechanic’s certificate — and he passed his exam in the highest percentile, meaning he could practice anywhere in the country, much to his pleasure and Lance’s overwhelming pride — he took off to California, his one and only thought being that he had to get to Lance. (Not that it had been impulsive — this was planned, something they’d been waiting for. Did Keith run over as soon as he could? Yeah, kinda. So maybe it was a little impulsive. But mostly it was planned.)
Not to sound like a Disney princess, but Keith really felt like their life began once they moved in together. Keith was able to find a job at a pretty decent garage, bring in money for them immediately. Lance had his library job until he graduated, and of course then he was snatched up by the nearest ecological restoration effort — he got to spend his days crawling through the forest, fawning over every tiny bug and critter. He is so fucking cute. Keith loves him more than anything in the world.
Lance’s constant lectures never stopped, either — any interest he picked up, he told Keith about it. From his knitting club to the new beetle species he’d found at work, Keith got the pleasure of hearing about it. And it truly was a pleasure. Keith had his fair share of time being a motormouth, too — he’d bought a project bike as soon as they’d saved enough, and spent a fair chunk of free time building it back up. (Lance helped, or at least as much as he could. Mostly he sat in their garage, handing Keith tools, and talking about anything he could think of. If Keith could go back and tell his ten year old self what his future would look like… God. Sometimes he can’t even believe how lucky he got.)
Keith has it made. He comes home from work every day to Lance’s beaming smile and gentle teasing about the grease on his clothes. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted. He’s happy. So fucking happy.
Except that things have been a little different, recently. For the past few weeks, he’s been coming home to his usual smile and kiss, but the idle chattering or excited rambles — Keith feels as if they’ve become a rarity. Their home used to be filled with the sound of Lance’s voice, silent only when he’s reading or focused intently on something, eyes narrowed and tongue peeking out of his mouth.
Lance still looks happy. He still curls up with Keith on the couch after dinner, socked feet in Keith’s lap and three million blankets over his shoulders. He still sends Keith a myriad of heart emojis on his lunch break. Their sex life has not suffered.
But the lectures. The constant infodumps of whatever passing thing has grabbed Lance’s attention. They’re gone. And Keith’s devastated about it.
He misses Lance’s voice.
———
Shiro is not getting it.
“It doesn’t sound like a big deal,” he says, voice staticky because signal at the shop is ass. “I mean, maybe you two are just growing up and settling down. How long have you guys been together, now? Seven years? Eight?”
“Almost ten,” Keith says quietly.
Ten years of the same thing. This change is new. It’s strange, and Shiro isn’t getting it at all.
“Exactly! Ten years! You guys were so young when you started dating, kiddo. Hell, Lance was still wearing braces, wasn’t he? I’m not shocked that he’s mellowed out a little.” He chuckles to himself. “Hell, maybe he’s finally just learnt every bit of knowledge he finally can.”
Keith frowns. “I dunno, Shiro. Sometimes I feel like he wants to say something, but he’s holding himself back. Why would he ever hold himself back from me? I don’t — I don’t want him to hold back from me. I like it when he talks.”
“Tell him that, then. The only way you’re going to get answers is if you ask him, you dork.”
“Some brother you are,” Keith mutters, pouting. “You’re supposed to solve things for me.”
“Hm. Pretty sure you’re a grown-ass man who’s capable of solving his own problems, bud.”
“Ugh. You’re horrible. I’m changing the Netflix password to kick you off.”
Shiro laughs. “Sure! No more Costco membership for you. Password sharing goes both ways, you little snot. Now hang up and call your man. I have to leave for work soon.”
Despite his ongoing frustration, Keith can’t help a smile at the familiar banter. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your upcoming fourteen hour shift of hell.”
“Go fuck yourself! Love you!”
“Love you too. Bye.”
It shouldn’t really surprise him that Shiro’s no help. As much as he pesters his brother as often as possible and generally finds joy in making himself into a nuisance, they haven’t seen each other face-to-face since Christmas. They’ve lived in different states for years.
But, still. There’s some part of Keith that will always think of his big brother first when he has a problem. And that part of him had the right ideas, because Shiro is unfortunately right — he really does just need to talk to Lance. There’s not much else he can do.
He spends the rest of his shift wondering how he’s going to bring it up. He has his own motormouth moments, sure, but realistically? Keith doesn’t talk all the much. He’s more of an action person. How the hell is he supposed to breach the subject? ‘Hey, Lance. I’ve noticed that you are talking less. This change has consumed my every thought. I miss the sound of your voice. How come you don’t talk to me about your life anymore?’
Yeah, no. It sounds ridiculous even in his own head. He’ll have to — plan it out, maybe. He’s not sure. He’s never had to worry about making Lance talk more before.
He’s so distracted that he nearly burns off his eyeballs, forgetting to put on his welding mask before trying to make a part he couldn’t source for an older car. His boss sends him home early, worried he might accidentally leave a blowtorch by an air compressor or something and send the whole place up in smoke. Keith tries to take it as a blessing — maybe he’ll ride around on his bike for a while and clear his head. A way to bring it up might come to him naturally.
It doesn’t. He spends the whole ride just stressing himself out. He does drive by a flower stand, and turns around to pick up some poppies and peonies — Lance’s favourite. It won’t breach the subject, or anything, but it’ll make Lance smile. Hell, maybe he’ll start talking to Keith about all the different pollinators that made this bouquet possible. That would be a dream come true.
He hasn’t come up with any new ideas by the time he makes his way home, but he’s less stressed. He sets the flowers on the counter and takes a quick shower. Maybe he’ll start some dinner? Surprise Lance, for a change. Yeah. That won’t solve the problem, but it’ll be nice anyway.
He starts making four-cheese fettuccine and pink lemonade, because he is a sappy loser.
By the time he hears Lance’s key in the lock, he’s got the table set and the food is done. He keeps it heated on the stove, ducking into the bathroom to check his reflection as Lance steps into the apartment.
No grease smudges on his face. His hair is braided, the way that always makes Lance all blushy. He’s wearing the v-neck, too-tight black sweater that Lance likes, too. He’s got this. He doesn’t have a solid plan, or anything, but he thinks maybe if he turns up the romance then Lance will just spill whatever’s wrong. That works in the movies.
“Keith, baby? You home?”
“You have leaves in your hair,” Keith says, stepping out to meet Lance by the door. Lance smiles immediately, laughing to himself as he cards his fingers through his hair in an attempt to find them. Keith takes pity on him after a few seconds of fruitless searching, reaching forward and running gentle hands through the curly mess of his boyfriend’s hair, half to get out the leaves and half just to touch.
“Yeah — climbed a tree to check out a new weaver ant colony. Watched ‘em for hours — pretty boring, I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”
I want to hear about it, Keith thinks mournfully. Please, please tell me about it.
“I made pasta,” Keith says quietly, when it’s clear that no more details are forthcoming. “And, uh, got you some flowers.” He tugs Lance gently towards the kitchen, placing the flowers in his hands.
“Oh, Keith, they’re gorgeous! Man, I love peonies. They looks like pink cabbages, it’s the best. And poppies —”
Yes, Keith thinks. Tell me about how California poppies were traditionally used as stress-relief medicine, but not like opioid red poppies. Tell me —
“I should put these in a vase,” Lance says instead of any of that. Keith feels like he could cry, honestly. Lance leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, patting him on the chest. “You want to set the table while I do that? Or do you want to eat on the couch and watch a movie?”
“Table sounds good,” Keith says, because if they watch a movie then there’s no chance of Keith finding out what’s wrong.
“Okay! I’m going to get changed, too, I’ll meet you in ten.” Lance kisses him again and then rushes off. Keith waits until he’s disappeared into their bedroom to cover his face in his hands and scream silently.
Fuck! He just wants his Lance back. So badly. He wants to be woken up at strange hours of the night to hear about how trees communicate. He wants to get spam-texted as he’s trying to work, phone practically buzzing out of his pocket. He wants to hear about marketing strategies when they’re grocery shopping. He wants Lance to get distracted mid-sex by reading the back of the condom box, and then remarking with vague interest that they use the same dye in some cereals.
At the very least, he wants to know why Lance is acting so strange.
“So,” Lance says, once they’ve both settled down at the table and started to eat. “How come you’re home early?”
“Boss sent me home, I was distracted. I’m not mad, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve done something special for you, which is a travesty.”
Lance smiles. “Dork. I appreciate it, though. Very sweet of you.” He shifts in his seat, tucking his legs up under him and leaning his head on his chin to look at Keith properly. “How come you were distracted?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Thinkin’ about this hot bod all day?”
Keith huffs a laugh. “Somethin’ like that.”
“Tell me! I’m curious now. I have to know or I’ll die.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Mhm. That’s not even the half of it, and you know it. If you don’t tell me right now I’ll just start listing the names of royals throughout European history and how freaky it is that most of them are directly related.”
Lance is teasing. His tone is light and playful; he’s obviously trying to goad Keith into playing along and groaning theatrically. A few weeks ago, Keith might have given in easily, and started ribbing him about why on Earth he has the names memorized in the first place.
But all Keith can think about is just how badly he would love to hear that.
“Promise?”
Keith’s voice comes out embarrassingly sincere. Soft and hopeful and dead-serious.
Lance’s hand stills, mid pasta-swirl.
“You…want me to? List names of inbred royals?”
Keith swallows. It’s as good of a segue as any, he supposes.
“Yeah.”
“…Why?”
“Because I — I miss your voice, I guess.”
“Keith, I talk all the time,” Lance says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He snorts to himself. “One might even say it’s my defining quality.”
“You haven’t been. Not recently. You used to talk all the time, but now — I dunno. The house is quiet. I miss you talking about random things. I miss hearing about your day and the million creatures you met and the people you saw on the bus home and the weirdly-shaped stone you tripped over on the sidewalk. I miss you bazillion lunch-break texts. I miss your running commentary when we watch a movie, even though you miss important dialogue and have to rewind to hear it again. I dunno. I just miss you.”
Keith keeps his eyes downcast on his plate as he speaks, and keeps it there after he finishes. He’s finished his food, already, but he can’t bring himself to look at Lance’s face.
“Keith?”
There’s a strange quality to Lance’s voice, a sort of — bewildered breathlessness. Keith risks a glance, finding his boyfriend staring at him with a dropped jaw and wide brown eyes.
“You really — you miss my motormouth?”
Keith shrugs. “I fell in love with your motormouth. Of course I miss it.”
That makes Lance’s cheeks heat, and he glances down at his plate like they’re teenagers again and Keith told him he was cute for the first time.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Keith’s not sure what else to say. He doesn’t know how to express that there’s nothing that Lance does that he dislikes, not truly. Sure, it’s annoying when Lance leaves a million half-full cups of water around the apartment, and Keith is regularly tripping over the shoes that he never puts away for some reason, but there’s nothing — every part of him is precious to Keith. Everything he does and everything he is, Keith knows he can’t live without.
“I know you love me,” Lance whispers. He looks pointedly away from Keith, pushing a couple wayward noodles around on his plate. “I’ve never — I’ve never needed to doubt that.”
Keith swallows. “Good.”
“I — yeah. You show me all the time. And, I mean, look at today! You brought me flowers home just because. You do things like that for me regularly; I never forget that you care about me. But —”
One word. Three measly letters. But it’s enough to feel like a stone is dropping on Keith’s chest.
“— sometimes I feel like I’m too much? Like, I’m kind of intense. I know that. And I can’t always tell when I’m being weird or annoying. And you’d never — you’d never string me along, I know that. If you stopped loving me you’d tell me.”
“I would never stop loving you.” Keith can’t say the words fast enough. He wants to print them out and — tattoo them on his forehead. Melt them into gold and press them into Lance’s hands. Smash them to dust and sprinkle them in the air. Whatever — whatever it takes to prove to Lance that they’re true.
Lance bites his lip. His eyes are wet. “I — I don’t want us to —”
Keith doesn’t wait for the tears to fall. He stands and hurries the two feet over to Lance’s chair, carefully pulling him up and wrapping tight arms around his waist. Lance falls into him willingly, resting his forehead on Keith’s shoulder and leaning into him.
“Three of my coworkers think I’m annoying,” he whispers, long after the food’s gone cold and the light from the window has begun to dim. After Keith’s arms have gone a little numb and a wet spot has grown where Lance’s face is pressed into his shirt. “I just thought — I thought we were friends, but I heard them talking about how exhausting I am to be around. I don’t want — I don’t want you to get tired of me, too.”
Keith closes his eyes as he exhales in a shudder, firmly reminding himself that unfortunately, being a two-faced asshole is not illegal, and Keith has no defense for hunting those shitheads down and murdering them a little.
“They are not worth the ground you walk on,” Keith whispers, pressing a firm kiss to Lance’s hair. “You have more value in your toenail clippings than they do in their entire bodies.”
Lance giggles wetly. “Gross.”
”I mean it,” Keith says, smiling. “I love you, Lance. All of you. I never get tired of listening to you talk. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
———
It takes a while. Those asshole coworkers did a number on Lance’s self-esteem, because they’re horrible, and they deserve every horrible thing that happens to them. Honestly, Keith kind of hopes their cars break down and they have to spend ridiculous amounts of money getting them fixed by idiots, because Keith has quietly blacklisted them to every good mechanic in town. (Not that Lance knows. Lance is too nice to ask for something like that. Keith, however, is a bitch, and has no problem doing shady things to appease his own sense of justice.)
Eventually, though, the apartment stops being so silent. It starts with a shark documentary that takes them three hours to watch because Lance keeps pausing it to point out specific behaviours to Keith. And then they get kicked out of a casino they go to for shits and giggles, because Lance can’t contain himself and points out how the house is strategically winning all the card games they’re calling ‘luck-based’. And then grocery store trips start taking too long again, and Lance gets distracted mid-shower comparing the ingredients of shampoo and conditioner, and then they start a small fire in the apartment because he was explaining how broccoli evolved from mustard seed and burnt a whole pan of stir-fry to a crisp.
One day, seemingly out of the blue, Shiro sends him a picture of him and Lance, fifteen years old, at the shitty town Applebee’s.
I was looking at old pictures, the text reads. And you were right. It is strange that Lance was so quiet. I can’t imagine how that would feel. I’m glad you two worked things out.
Keith looks over at Lance, who’s singing a the periodic table song to himself as he washes the dishes for Keith to dry, and smiles.
He’s glad they worked it out, too.
#this is a three month old draft i just finished even tho i promised i would stop writing things at ass o’clock in the morning#vld#voltron#keith#keith kogane#lance#lance mcclain#klance#established klance#autistic lance#autistic lance mcclain#soft keith#smitten keith#smart lance#observant keith#tall keith#brown eyed lance#brown-eyed lance#insecure lance#langst#klangst#hurt/comfort#my writing#fic#fluff and angst#broganes#shiro & keith#mechanic keith#longpost#the applebees universe
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