#celestialaeronaut

Headcanon Questions

On himself: Armani’s Acqua di Gio.

“And then - get this - she says she doesn’t like soft rock. Everyone likes soft rock, Shiro, it’s the most palatable genre!” That… probably isn’t the right way to use that word. Not that it even matters; two and a half hours of the right words weren’t enough to win over the latest girl of his dreams.

It wouldn’t have worked out, anyway; he was an aspiring DJ, he couldn’t date someone with terrible music taste. Still, the rejection left Lance crestfallen, with a heavy feeling deep in his stomach that refused to go away. She was pretty, nice, she laughed at a few of his jokes; it seemed like they were off to a good start!

So now, here he was, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, heartbroken and hopeless, venting on Shiro’s couch. Again. It was starting to become an unfortunate pattern. A pattern that feels all the more unfortunate, when Lance considers all of the other things he would rather be doing on that very sofa. But that’s an entirely different issue, and Lance doesn’t have the energy to grapple with both of his problems at once.

What Shiro thought of as a problem, Lance couldn’t help looking at as something to be envious of. It seemed like everywhere they went, someone was looking at him, trying to chat him up, jotting their number down on his napkin... And they couldn’t have picked a more disinterested guy. It just wasn’t fair!

Lance could never decide what was worse; that, or the fact that Shiro always looked at him with that face, when he asked Lance to save him from the spotlight, with that voice that he could never say no to. And now, just like every time before, Lance gives in, closing the distance between them with a half-step, and an arm firmly wrapped around perfectly broad shoulders.

   “Why is your first thought that I stole a dog?”

   Crouched down beside the mixed-breed, James frowns heavily, feeling ridiculous and wrong-footed despite having done absolutely nothing wrong. He straightens, trying to decide if Shirogane is - teasing him, perhaps? - or if he’s asking the question seriously.

   He honestly has no idea. In the entire time they’ve been aware of one another’s existence (considerably longer on James’ part than on Shiro’s, no doubt) they’ve exchanged barely enough sentences to constitute an entire conversation, and most of those had been centered around, well, battle plans.

   Shoulders back, spine straight, he says stiffly, “There’s a lot of strays around here, sir. You feed them once, they keep coming back around.”

   Keith is sprawled out on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands laced behind his head. It’s a rare moment of rest for him, his datapad face down on his chest, because he’s reached the point where even he knows that he has to give up: any further analysis on that project and the flight schematics is going to have to go through someone with a higher IQ than him, and he’s fine with that.

   It means a rare few moments alone with Shiro, so he’s not going to complain.

   He cracks open an eye, studying Shiro’s profile for a moment, and then says dismissively: “I wasn’t trying to be romantic with him.”

   He’s not interested, plainly put, in being romantic with much of anyone. His and Griffin’s tentative truce is mostly centered around outflying each other and throwing one another around on the mats, and that works for him - but is by no means a declaration of any kind of romantic intent.

🍕: What’s your muses favourite food?

Keith actually isn’t that picky when it comes to food. His dad wasn’t a great cook and he isn’t, either; the Garrison cafeteria food always tasted fine to him, though the mac and cheese was, of course, the prize dish of their menu. He’s not fond of super spicy things, because he usually can’t taste the food beyond the spicy factor, but otherwise, if it’s not moving too fast to get away, he’ll probably eat it.

🍸: Does your muse like to consume alcohol? What’s their favourite kind?

Not really? He’ll drink socially but most of it tastes bad, and he’s not one to drink for the sake of getting super drunk -- past the first time he does it, that is. Keith is a bit of a lightweight and, depending on his company, he’s either an extremely fighty drunk, or he’ll pass out immediately out of boredom. 

   “It’s not healthy,” Keith insists firmly, hands braced on either side of the doorway, haloed by the light.

   He’s not sure exactly what’s happening here - whoever or whatever put Shiro in this mood is going to be having a conversation with the business end of Keith’s temper, that’s for sure - but he does know that it can’t go on. 

   Even if Celine’s heart will, damn it.

   Groping along the wall, he flips the light on, frowning mightily.