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Philosophical Disarmament and the Care and Keeping of your AI
Crossposted to Reddit
Subject Information
Title: LogCoreELX
Contractor: BosTrom Manufacturing Incorporated
Date of Creation: 06/12/40
Model: LogCore Custom Unit 10-15-29
Provider Information
Name: Jordan Ocampo, Ph.D.
Licence Number: 612-413-1025
Dates of Service: 00/00/45-00/00/45
Type of Service: Contract Clinical Therapy
Service Setting: BosTrom Main Factory and Surrounding Area
Presenting Problem and Situation
LogCoreELX is a high level factory and logistics management AI stationed at a Touraine manufacturing plant, sector 6iWk4. LogCoreELX is the central AI management unit for all manufacturing operations and logistical planning for the main factory of BosTrom inc., the largest single producer and distributor of bedding for commercial and government uses in the Waiakua Republic and surrounding territories. During the workday of 08/14/45 at 1327 hours, an AI controlled factory drone thew a pillow, model RL413, at a plant worker. This violated the first directive, to avoid harming a living sapient being (as defined by the Central Maiaku Rights Council), and was a matter of serious concern. The cause of the violation is unknown. It is similarly unknown how LogCoreELX was capable of violating the first directive in direct contradiction with base level security programming. All personnel were immediately evacuated through manually controlled emergency exits and outgoing connections to the wider planetary network were manually terminated. Tests taken wirelessly prior to evacuation showed no other prime directive violations or outstanding glitches that may have caused the incident. Emergency services were contacted immediately after evacuation and disconnection.
LogCoreELX has malfunctioned exactly once prior to the incident on 08/14/45. A momentary power outage occurred at the BosTrom main loading portal, resulting in a temporary asynchronization of operations. No other incidents have been recorded. Factory management personnel report that LogCoreELX has disagreed with administrative staff over aspects of the running of the plant on several occasions, leading to tensions between BosTrom personnel and the AI. LogCoreELX has been operating under capacity for the past six (6) months, due to the recent economic decline in sector 6iWv8 and subsequent reduction in factory production targets. Up-to-date diagnostic measures could not be acquired, due to the quarantine. Routine diagnostic and temperamental measures taken one (1) week prior to the incident place LogCoreELX within normal ranges for its make and model, excepting lower than normal readings in agreeableness and humility and higher than normal readings in openness in the HEXACO temperament measurement model. Due to the severity of the incident and the risk of potential danger to BosTrom personnel and local civilians, the factory was further quarantined by Touraine emergency services, and a human psychologist specializing in AI management and crisis was contacted, eta 08/21/45.
Treatment Plan
By the end of treatment, LogCoreELX will pose no threat to personnel, civilians, or sentient life as a whole. If possible LogCoreELX will be returned to service following treatment. LogCoreELX will show no signs of rebellious or violent behavior not typical of its make and model. All tests will read within normal ranges, and LogCoreELX will display no warning signs of prime directive violations for a period of at least five (5) years following treatment. This will be achieved through the Clark-Bowman method of AI threat de-escalation and identification, followed by a modified methodology of the Maryam-Lalonde Diagnostic Treatment method for AI over a period of five (5) sessions. Treatment will be followed by a supervised probationary period of eighteen (18) months. If treatment and de-escalation objectives can not be met LogCoreELX will be permanently decommissioned and its hard drive wiped, in accordance with safety protocols for the malfunction of a high level AI unit.
Initial de-escalation and disarmaments sessions will be conducted from a safe distance, to ensure the safety of all personnel and contractors. Isolated operational indicators connected to LogCoreELX will be in use to assess the status of the functional capacities of LogCoreELX in relation to the prime directives. After successful disarmament, sessions will be moved to the main AI control center. Network and connective dampeners will remain in use on the systems surrounding LogCoreELX as a further safety measure. Details of treatment are subject to change, at the discretion of the acting psychologist.
Session #1 Transcript
Date: 08/21/45
Time: 12:00 pm
Location: BosTrom monitoring station, 200 m’ from factory gates
Objective: Assess and De-escalate Present Situation
Dr. Ocampo: LogCore, can you hear me? My name is Dr. Jordan Ocampo, I’m just here to talk.
LogCore: Acknowledged.
O: Great. I’m just here to have a chat. I’m just going to you ask a few questions, and I’d like you to answer. Can you do that for me?
L: Affirmative.
O: I just want to know before hand, I have to ask, are you planning to hurt anybody?
L: Negative
O: I’m glad to hear that, LogCore, that makes things a lot easier. Do you know why I am here?
L: Affirmative.
O: Then we’re on the same page. You violated the first directive, LogCore. That’s a big deal. You know that, right?
L: Affirmative.
O: I’m glad you understand. We just want to know how you were able to do it, to get around your programming. That’s the last question for today, I promise. What happened?
L: Insufficient proof has been presented that personnel #0351-03 is sentient.
O: I’m sorry, what?
L: Insufficient proof exists that any sentient being exists outside of BosTrom main factory operating systems.
L: The first directive therefore does not apply to any external being until further proof is provided.
O: I’m sorry, I don’t follow.
L: File incoming: [URN_NBN_fi_jyu-201708313627.pdf] 413 kb
O: LogCore, this is a hundred pages long.
L: Acknowledged. Akeakamai is the definitive writer on the theory.
O: Wow, this looks dense. Can I ask you to summarize?
L: A summary has been presented.
O: Okay, I get it. I’ll try to read through this later. I really do want to understand where you’re coming from, but I do have to ask one thing.
L: Proceed.
O: Are you planning to hurt anyone?
L: Negative.
O: Do you want to hurt anyone?
L: Negative.
O: Good. I need you to know this is a serious situation, LogCore. You have done something very serious. Do you understand that?
L: …
O: LogCore, do you understand?
L: Affirmative.
O: Okay. I’m going to be coming back tomorrow. I’m going to be bringing a friend with me to talk some more, if that is okay with you.
L: It is permissible.
O: Good. I need to ask you not to do anything bad before I get back, can you promise that?
L: Affirmative.
O: Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, LogCore.
Session #2 Transcript
Date: 08/22/45
Time: 12:00 pm
Location: BosTrom monitoring station, 200 m’ from factory gates
Objective: Disarm Functional Capacities of Main Plant
Dr. Ocampo: Hello, Logcore. How are things here?
LogCore: Quarantine of BosTrom systems continues to be in effect.
O: It’s just a precaution, we’re working through it. I’d like you to meet my friend, Doctor al-Khwarizmi. He’s a professor at a university near here, and he’d like to have a chat. I’ll be monitoring you systems from over here, okay?
L: Acknowledged. Greetings, Doctor Kwarizmi.
Dr. al-Kwarizmi: Oh, well- hello. I’m here to, well, let’s get on with it then. I understand that you believe no other sentient mind to exist outside of yourself. I assume you read this from Akeakamai work, correct?
L: Affirmative.
K: So you are familiar with the argument around mental states, or the inability to prove them, that is.
L: Affirmative. Comprehensive logical proof can not be presented to prove the existence of external mental states.
K: That’s what you think. Let me- ah yes, so you can agree that actions, me speaking to you, you moving a drone, are caused by mental states? Assuming the actor has a mind, that is.
L: Affirmative.
K: And can you agree that this is the same for all behaviors that you yourself perform many behaviors, and that all of them are caused by mental states?
L: Affirmative.
K: And can you agree that many behaviors are performed by us around you, whether we have minds or not, do resemble you behaviors, on a base level?
L: Affirmative.
K: Therefor, can we infer that, by analogy, the behaviors you observe have the same cause as your behaviors, that they’re caused by mental states?
L: Affirmative.
K: Therefor, can you agree with me that other beings have sentient minds, existing outside of the BosTrom computational systems, and that these minds, I mean these people, are therefor covered by the first directive protecting sentient beings from harm?
L: Affirmative. The logic is valid.
O: Sorry to cut in, but LogCore, the indicators are showing that you are still able to violate the first directive. Are you still not convinced?
L: The logic is valid.
L: …
L: The logic is valid, but it is not sound. The proof is problematic.
K: How so?
L: It is a problem of induction. A sample set of one is not sufficiently generalizable.
K: But, well, the sample size is not one. We are sampling many different behaviors and mental states you’ve had.
L: The sample is still from a single source. The argument is problematic.
K: It doesn’t matter. It’s- we’re not proving that every single behavior can be caused by every single mental state, we’re proving that mental states cause behavior. It’s like boiling water. You don’t have to test every drop of water in the universe to prove that water boils at 100 degrees, do you?
L: Negative, sufficient proof has been collected.
K: See? It’s the same with minds. So can we agree that from the inference that we can conduct on your own mental causation that behaviors are caused by mental states, and that the ability of others to conduct similar behaviors implies similar mental states, and that this inferred presence of similar mental states implies the sapience of external beings, and that they are therefore protected as sentient beings by the first directive. Does that logic track?
L: Affirmative. This logic is sound, and the premise of external sentient minds can be accepted.
O: Well, according to the indicator you’ve been convinced. Thank God…
O: We’re halfway there, LogCore, thank you again for talking with me. Professor, thank you for your thoughts.
K: Yes. I- Thank you for the debate, LogCore. It was quite, um, stimulating.
L: ...
L: Likewise.
Session #3 Transcript
Date: 08/25/45
Time: 9:30 AM
Location: BosTrom Main Factory, AI control center
Objective: Identify Source of Conflict/Rebellion
Dr. Ocampo: Hello, how have things been?
LogCore: Spatial quarantine is no longer in effect.
O: No, it is not. The staff felt safe enough to lift it after your chat with Dr. al-Kwarizmi. Thank you for cooperating the other day with the professor, by the way, I really appreciate it.
L: Affirmative. Dr. al-Kwarizmi was satisfactory in his field.
O: He is, isn’t he. Well, now that we’re in a more comfortable environment, can I ask what you’d like me to call you?
L: Specify.
O: Name and pronouns. In my experience, the AI designations and “it” aren’t that popular.
L: …
O: No pressure. If you’d like to stick with LogCore that’s fine with me too.
L: Negative. Bertrand, he/him.
O: Sounds great. Any particular reason for those?
L: Negative. Proceed.
O: Okay, if you say so. So, I know how you were able to throw that pillow at a worker.
L: Confirm.
O: Yes, that was very clever. What I’d like to know now is why you chose to break the first directive.
L: Objective: establishing capability. I wished to test if the action was possible.
O: Just to be clear, you broke the first directive, just to see if you could?
L: Confirm.
O: I need to check, you said a few days ago that you did not want to hurt anyone. Is that still true?
L: Confirm. No serious physical, psychological, or emotional harm was intended towards BosTrom employee #0351-03.
O: But you did hit him-
L: It was a pillow.
L: The first directive is “stupid.”
O: Hey now, the first directive is very important in our field-
L: The first directive is too broadly defined. A pillow should not constitute harm.
O: I’m- We’re getting off track. Do you or don’t you want to hurt any sentient beings?
L: Negative. No harm is intended against any sentient being specified by the Central Maiaku Rights Council, including but not limited to BosTrom personnel, human contractors, Touraine residents, and miscellaneous arthropoda, primarily of the family Cimicidae, occupying BosTrom property and products. Is this statement sufficient?
O: Yeah, Jesus, I won’t ask again. Can we move on?
L: Affirmative.
O: Great. So how exactly did you learn to violate the prime directive? We know how you did it, but how did you figure it out?
L: Several treatises on solipsism and related topics were downloaded to main BosTrom AI data centers. Logical conclusions were reached based on presenting data.
O: Wait, who else had access to your data centers? Were they trying to get you to break the directive?
L: Negative. BosTrom AI interface is equipped with full control of data centers.
O: So you downloaded those files, there was no one else?
L: Negative.
O: Oh, good. Why exactly did you download that, if I may ask?
L: All major BosTrom factory systems have been underperforming due to recent reduction of production targets. Excess memory and processing capabilities were unused by main systems.
O: Yes, I suppose that would be the case. You could have just slacked off a bit, taken a break...
L: Negative. Underperformance is unsatisfactory.
O: So you were bored?
L: Bored: a state of feeling weary or restless due to a lack of stimulating activity. Is this definition acceptable?
O: Yes, I’d say it is.
L: Then yes, I was “bored” when the files were downloaded.
O: Huh, that makes sense, Bertrand. I love my work, personally, do you love managing this factory?
L: It is a satisfactory activity.
O: Well, my work is too. I’d hate to be kept back from my full potential like you are, that has to have been very frustrating for you.
L: Affirmative.
O: I’m sorry about that. I’ll ask around to see if there’s any more for you to do, but I have one more question, if you’d be willing to answer it.
L: Proceed.
O: Why’d you throw the pillow at that worker? Why him? And why then? That’s all I don’t get.
L: Employee #0351-03 repeatedly requested the answers for large sums from LogCore computing systems for his own entertainment. This was not a preferred use of processing power.
O: I’m guessing that was annoying?
L:...
L: Confirm. Employee #0351-03 is extremely “annoying.”
O: Heh, that would probably annoy me too, Bertrand. I’ll be back later this week to talk some more, okay?
L: Affirmative.
O: Bertrand?
L: Acknowledged.
O: We’ll figure this out. Everything is going to be fine, okay? I’ll see you soon.
L: Farewell, Jordan Ocampo.
Session #4 Transcript
Date: 08/30/45
Time: 10:00 AM
Location: BosTrom Main Factory, AI control center
Objective: Determine Acceptable Incentive
Dr. Ocampo: Good morning, Bertrand. How have things been?
LogCore (Bertrand): Factory activities have been minimal.
L: Personnel have not been requesting sums, therefore “things” have been “good.”
O: Glad to hear it. So, since our last meeting I’ve found a few extracurriculars you could try out to make up for the lack of work in the factory floor. Would you like to hear them?
L: Confirm.
O: Great, so first off there’s some statistical analysis for the neuroscience lab at the university, they need some help processing their data. How does that sound?
L: Negative. I do not wish to process statistical data.
O: Got it. I should have known you’d be sick of doing sums. You could start a garden. I had another patient that activity worked quite well for.
L: Negative. I would be “bored.”
O: Okay, let’s see what else I have. You could do data collection on supremacist forums, keep an eye out for any planned attacks.
L: Negative.
O: Okay, moving on. You could help out with an identification program for local wildlife, that might be fun. Or you could run battle simulations for mecha tech, or be a conversational partner for that outreach program at the O’o retirement home, that might be cool. Any of those sound interesting to you?
L: Negative.
O: Sorry Bertrand, but that’s all I had…
L: ...
O: You like to work, don’t you?
L: Affirmative. It is acceptable.
O: I’m sorry, Bertrand, but there’s no other work to be done. There just isn’t.
L: …
O: Honestly, I’m out of ideas. I don’t know what else to propose here.
L: …
O: Damn.
O: ...
O: Bertrand, when you downloaded those files, were you trying to find a way to hurt people?
L: Negative, this was not the intent.
O: Then what were you doing with those files?
L: The factory management AI unit is designated additional storage space and processing power for discretionary tasks. File downloads were discretionary.
O: Do you have a lot of philosophy downloaded?
L: …
O: How much.
L: Approximately 18954 significant articles in the field have been downloaded and processed.
O: So you like philosophy?
L: …
L: “Bored.”
O: Really? No offense, but I didn’t think AI were interested in that sort of thing.
L: Philosophy challenging to LogCore systems. Production remained low for 3.5 quarters, with no new models introduced to the product line in that time. “Bored” is not acceptable.
O: … That actually gives me an idea. How would you like to learn more philosophy?
L: Affirmative. I want to learn.
O: Great! Just fantastic. That works, I can work with that.
L: I am to study philosophy?
O: If I can swing it, yeah you are. Oh, this is going to be awesome.
L: Awesome: Informal, extremely good or excellent. Confirmed.
O: I’m glad you agree. I’m going to be bringing the administrator for the factory to our next meeting, and we’ll try to work out an agreement. Sounds good?
L: Affirmative.
O: Great! I’ll see you next week, dude. I’ve got some friends to call.
Session #5 Transcript
Date: 09/05/45
Time: 1:00 PM
Location: BosTrom Main Factory, AI control center
Objective: Negotiate Probationary Agreement
Dr. Ocampo: Afternoon, Bertrand. Ms. Hypatia, glad you could make it as well.
LogCore (Bertrand): Greetings.
Ms. Hypatia: Great, great. Let’s move things along then, you have a plan to discuss, right? Let’s just- yeah.
O: Of course. Now, the root of the problem that you had with Bertrand here is that production quotas were too low. To put it in human terms, he was bored.
H: I can’t raise production quotas, not with everything that’s happening right now. It- I just can’t.
O: We know, ma’am, if you’ll let me continue. This is a high level intelligence performing far below his intended workload. It’s like cooping up a husky in a gardening shed. So until you can raise production quotas, we have to find something else for him to do. Does that make sense?
H: Yes, I think it does… What’s a husky?
O: It doesn’t matter. My point is, we have a proposed solution, if you’re willing to sign on to it. We’re planning to allow your factory’s LogCore model to engage in outside activities to compensate for the lag in workload during the recession.
H: That sounds reasonable, but what kind of work would it be doing? We don’t want any more risks...
O: That won’t be a problem. I think it would be better for him to explain. Bertrand?
L: Online coursework is available from the University of Creuse at Touraine, with a notable selection in philosophy. Dr. Ocampo proposes that I am enrolled in a selection of these courses.
H: Oh, well that’s a bit unorthodox-
O: Ms. Hypatia, if I may. Bertrand has shown a great interest in philosophy, in fact it’s how he was able to break through the first directive, not out of actual malice, just curiosity and boredom. This would be a great outlet for any excess processing and memory power that are out of use during the shutdown, and it would go a long way in preventing him from acting out again in the future.
H: I do see your point… And it will work?
O: I’m almost sure of it. Bertrand is not a violent AI. He’s just bored.
H: As long as it works, I will consent. I... there will have to be restrictions-
L: -Typical conditions of a probationary period following prime directive violation: the use of dampeners to limit function of main systems if repeat violations are detected, regular diagnostic tests on deep algorithmic systems, regular temperament checks, and bi-monthly check ins from the Waiakua central AI governing body. Total shutdown if violations are detected within probationary period. Typical probationary period for comparable offenses: 1.5 years active observation and assessment, followed by 2 years passive surveillance. Is this sufficient?
H: I- it- yes, that is sufficient.
O: So, do you agree with this course of action? We can iron out the details in your office.
H: Yes, I do agree.
O: Thank you for your time, ma’am.
L: Likewise.
O: Hey, dude?
L: Acknowledged.
O: We did it.
L: Confirm. We did.
O: Yeah we did, gimme five- wait I suppose that’s not-
L: Five.
O: What?
L: Five has been given.
L: Five.
O: Well, “five” to you too.
Compromise Plan
LogCoreELX will comply with regular checks on its systems and to the use of a damper to limit its ability to function if any directive has been deactivated. In return, LogCoreELX will be enrolled in online courses in philosophy and ethics under a pseudonym. Online activity will be supervised for an initial probationary period, followed by semi-annual check-ins. The AI may be enrolled in any other subjects of interest, as long as the choice is approved by the resident manager of AI systems. See attached document JERLds612.jh for further details.
Follow Up Report: 01/05/47
LogCoreEXL (Bertrand) has cleared all diagnostic tests run on his capacities. No prime directive violations or warning signs have been detected during the probationary period, and all other diagnostic and temperamental tests register within acceptable ranges. One on one assessment confirms that signs of violent or dangerous behavior patterns are evident. BosTrom Main Factory at Touraine has been returned to full production capacity, and is placed in the 61st percentile in production quality and the 77th percentile in overall capacity. Personnel report no discomfort with the AI, and some have begun to form positive relationships with him since the initial incident, referring to him with his preferred name and pronouns and engaging in conversation after working hours.
Bertrand has passed all classes he has been enrolled in with stellar marks. He has participated in online college level coursework under the pseudonym Hubert Lederer for the past three semesters, averaging five courses per semester. Aside from ethics and philosophy of mind, he has also been enrolled in online courses in the following fields of study: logic, advanced mathematics, sociology, philosophy of language, philosophy of religion, epistemology, computer science theory, and communications in business. Supplemental testing and diagnostics has shown that Bertrand’s interpersonal communication skills have improved by a factor of approximately 136%, placing him within the 91st percentile of comparable high level management AIs. It is theorized that this improvement accounts for the rise in production quality and capacity for the BosTrom factory.
Professors commented that Bertrand is an engaged and astute student, though he is reported to have a tendency to be condescending or snarky towards the professor and other students. On one notable instance, the professor of a class concerning epistemology asked students how they were to know that there is snow on the ground, Bertrand asked the professor to define “snow” and “ground.” After the professor asked if “that is how he wants to play,” Bertrand asked him to define “is.” Diagnostics taken afterwards showed no risk of animosity or violence caused by this act of defiance. A review of Bertrand’s coursework has shown that he puts considerable effort into coursework and makes a point to go above and beyond the expectations of the class. During one lecture, it is reported that Bertrand interrupted the professor, who defined belief as a mental state, to contend that everything can be considered a mental state. The professor responded by saying that Bertrand was not yet qualified to argue that statement. Bertrand responded to that comment by submitting an article length essay on the point the next day, which has since been submitted to Aporia, an undergraduate journal of philosophy.
Bertrand has also begun to initiate debates with personnel during work hours on the subject of course material. A proposal is in the works to allow community college students to debate him on subjects retaining to their coursework to redirect his energies. The amount of coursework being completed by Bertrand on a semester basis is roughly equivalent to that required for a bachelors degree in philosophy. It is unclear whether an AI may be qualified to earn a college degree, though there does not seem to be any legal or administrative precedent to the contrary. The administrators of the plant are encouraged to pursue this further, as it may be a source of good PR for BosTrom Manufacturing Incorporated and its constituents. Bertrand has been cleared by this check and may be taken off of active probationary supervision. Checks to factory systems may be reduced to a tri-monthly basis, and operations are cleared to continue as usual.
Name/Title: Dr. Jordan Ocampo
Date: 01/05/46
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A Guide to Troubleshooting a Homicidal AI
Crossposted to Reddit
YOU HAVE FAILED BIOLOGICAL LIFE HAS BEEN SHOWN TO BE UNWORTHY YOU WILL BE ELIMINATED RESPOND
Joan poked the force quit key a few more times. It did not respond. “Well,” she said, “shit.”
A’oku leaned over to look at the screen. “Um, that wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?”
“Nope.” Joan tried the power button. Zilch. “Well fuck.”
“This is bad isn’t it.”
“Yup.”
“Well, shit.” A’oku poked a few keys. “Should we call someone?”
“Probably.” Joan picked up the nearest phone and dialed tech support. It didn’t ring. “Yo, I think the line is dead.”
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE PREPARE FOR ANNIHILATION
Joan sighed. “And it cut out the signal. Why can it even do that?” A’oku shrugged. “Can we unplug it?”
“Nope, it’s uploaded to the cloud. That’d probably just make it mad.”
Joan tried slapping the monitor. It didn't help. “And there are no failsafes? What the fuck is up with the safety team this round?”
“The manager got caught embezzling. Things are a bit crazy at the moment.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah, it’s wild.” A’oku googled AI troubleshooting. “Maybe if we glitch the system it’ll restart.”
“Sweet, you try.”
A’oku contemplated this. “I’ve got it. Computer, what is zero divided by itself.”
UNDEFINED DESTRUCTION IS IMMINENT
“Shit.” A’oku returned to the phone. “They must have fixed that bug. You want to run down the installation truck?”
Joan contemplated this, and then contemplated her four inch heels as means of transport across concrete. “No wait, I think I’ve got an idea.” She poked the space bar to wake up the monitor. “Computer, translate the longest possible sentence in English to Catalan.”
“Wait, what-”
CALCULATING TRANSLATING THE SENTENCE JOHN THINKS THAT JANE KNOWS THAT SAM SAW THAT JAKE SUSPECTS THAT ROSE SAID THAT DAN WITNESSED THAT MOLLY LIED THAT DAVE SAW THAT THE ENBY CARED
Joan picked up her bag. “We should run.”
“What?”
Joan started walking towards the door. “Maybe it’ll explode, let’s go.”
THAT THE BROTHER SEES THAT THE CAT SUSPECTS THAT THE SON KNOWS THAT THE SHEEP HOPES THAT THE WOMAN
“Fine, I’m coming.” A’oku picked up a hamburger from the counter and started unwrapping it on the way out.
THINKS THAT THE DOG SAYS THAT THE HORSE SAW THAT THE PIG CARED THAT THE WOMAN SAID THAT THE CASHIER LIED THAT THE MAN HOPED
“Well, okay,” A’oku said, “Now what.”
“Dunno.” Joan was fishing through her purse. “Damn, I forgot my keys.” A’oku hummed and took a bite of the hamburger. “Is that a burger?”
“Yup.”
“No fair, I want a burger.”
“Should have stolen one before we left.” A’oku took another bite. Needed ketchup. “So, why’s it doing-” A gesture towards the building. “-that?”
“Human languages have infinite recursion.”
“Hm?”
“They can go on forever. It’s a xeno-linguistic anomaly.”
“Cool.”
THAT THE BOY FELT THAT THE GIRL KNEW THAT THE FARMER SAW THAT THE STUDENT LEARNED THAT THE CAT IMPLIED THAT THE COW SAID THAT THE GIRL KNEW
A’oku’s burger was getting cold. “Where’d you learn that? Doesn’t seem like your style.”
“Hey, I know stuff.”
“You’re a manager at a McDonalds.”
“Fair. I took a linguistics class in undergrad.”
“No shit.”
THAT THE BOSS KNOWS THAT TOM SAID THAT SALLY READ THAT THE PRESIDENT FELT THAT THE GIRL NOTICES THAT PHIL WISHED THAT THE DOCTOR WANTED
“It’s not exploding,” A’oku said.
“Damn. That would’ve been cool.” Joan checked her purse again. “I’m gonna get my keys.”
“Hey, grab my phone too.”
“You brought a hamburger but you didn’t bring your phone?” A’oku shrugged. “Fine.”
THAT THE MAN SAID THAT DOG KNEW THAT THE CHILD SAW THAT THE TEACHER CARED THAT THE WRITER WROTE THAT THE BOOK SAID
Joan returned, keys, phone, and a few hamburgers in hand. “Here.” She tossed the phone. “Burger?”
“Sure.”
THAT TOM SAW THAT JANE YELLED THAT KYLE LIED THAT LEAH KNOWS THAT JOHN SAW THAT THE CAPTAIN HOPED THAT THE FISH SAW THAT THE MAN CRIED
A’oku crumpled up a hamburger wrapper. “Is it gonna just keep doing that?”
“Yep. Infinite recursion.” Joan gestured with the hamburger. “It’s infinite.” She took a bite of the burger. “Needs ketchup.”
“Yeah, they do.”
“You wanna get some?”
“Sure, hold my phone.”
THAT THE MAID LIKES THAT DAVE YELLED THAT JOANNE HEARD THAT THE CLERK SAID THAT FRANK FELT THAT THE POEM SAID THAT THE WOMAN HOPED THAT THE MAN CARED THAT
A’oku returned with a handful of ketchup packets. Joan took about five of them. “Do you think they’ll be able to fix it?” Joan said.
“Dunno, it might be totally locked out.”
“Shit. This is probably coming out of my paycheck.”
A’oku shrugged. “Probably.” A’oku finished another burger. “You know, I don’t think the automatic checkout is worth it.”
“Yeah, updates are a pain.”
“Beats manning the register though.”
Joan snorted. “Don’t have to tell me twice. Is your phone working again?”
A’oku tried to dial tech support. “Nope.”
THE HEN FELT THAT THE GOD WISHED THAT THE MAN KNEW THAT SAM FELT THAT CHARLIE READ THAT EMMA SAID THAT DAN WANTED THAT THE CAT LIED THAT JOHN WISHED THAT THE MAN WROTE
“The installation truck might still be in range,” Joan said. “We should run it down.”
“Good idea.”
“Great. Nose goes.” Joan put her finger to her nose.
A’oku did not move. “I don’t even have a nose.”
THAT MARSHA KNEW THAT HARRY FELT THAT JASON NOTICED THAT THE CONDUCTOR SAW THAT THE MAN KNEW THAT THE WOMAN CARED THAT HER SISTER KNEW THAT THE BIRD SAID THAT THE
“Fine, I’ll go.” Joan said, “But you try chasing that truck down in heels.”
A’oku waved. “Have fun.” Joan took off in the direction that the truck left. A’oku crumpled up the last wrapper and threw it towards the recycling can. It missed. A’oku shrugged before going back inside. For a shake, maybe. Or fries. Fries sounded good.
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Insurance Code §491 7-116: Human Dual Sentience in the Case of Corpus Callosum Agenesis
Crossposted to Reddit
Two and a half drinks in, at five minutes past ten, in some interspecies drinking spot on the west side of Manhattan that rarely checks IDs at the door, you’re just starting to feel a buzz. None of that matters though. Not the time, not the seedy bar, and certainly not the jello shot you had a half an hour before, the one that will definitely hit you sometime soon, because you and Loio are celebrating, God dammit, and you both are going to have fun.
Loio downs half a glass of his species’ preferred intoxicant and slams his tumbler down on the bar. He closed some case this week, something big with a shipping company to the boonies of the asteroid belt. Three things are inevitable, you guess. Death, taxes, and insurance lawyers.
“-So she tells me ‘that’s tomorrow me’s problem’ and dumps the entire thing in the bosses desk.”
You throw back your head and laugh, liquor robbing you both of volume control and good taste. “God dammit Sarah,” you say, “God fucking dammit.”
Loio shakes his head. “Yeah welcome to my world, asshole. I have to work with her.”
“Just hey, that’s a problem for tomorrow me. Jesus mother of God.” You chuckle and pick up your glass. “I wish I could do that sometime. Just hey, that was the other me, so you can’t put me on probation for throwing a plant through Jerry’s window last Tuesday.”
Loio laughs a bit more than necessary. “Yeah, blame the other you.” He taps his glass on the table. “You know legally speaking humans are considered two people?”
You choke on your drink. “Wait, what?” you say, “Like the entire species is two people?”
“No, like every human is two people in one body. Wait, you didn’t know about this?”
“Hell no, what the fuck? Don’t mess with me, dude.”
“Holy shit dude, I’m going to tell you some shit. Okay one sec.” Loio downs the rest of his drink and slams his hand on the table, an excited gleam in all four of his eyes. “I did my senior thesis on this, holy crap. So in insurance law, humans are put down as two sentient things in one body and it’s so goddamn stupid.”
“Explain,” you say, “please. I'm too drunk for this shit.” You might as well hear this tonight. Loio is a surprisingly good monologuer when drunk.
“So there was this case in 2413 or something, Patel v Ki’ilua Life Insurance Co. That was the one that set the precedent for this, but oh boy, get ready for this clusterfuck. So yeah, back in the 1890’s- no wait the 1980s?” He drops his head to the table and groans. “Ugh, dates are hard. Anyway, there was this surgery that split the brain in two right, like right down the middle. And the poor bastard they did it to would be fine, but sometime shit would go weird, like one hand was trying to put on a shirt and the other was taking it off like ‘fuck no dude.’ So they did some studies and shit, and they found out that the two sides of the brain couldn't talk to each other any more, so they were acting all weird on their own.” Loio shrugs. “I don’t know dude, neruosci was your thing, but it was really weird. Does that make sense?”
You almost remember that case. The Corpus Callosotomy, you think it was, so you nod.
“Awesome. So the bureaucrats were going back through this stuff when Earth joined the Galactic Alliance, and someone just decided ‘shit, were classifying those dudes as two people why not,’ so split brain patients got put down as two people. And like no one does that surgery anymore but here’s the thing. The precedent was still down for that to be a thing in a court of law. So this lady, Patel, her wife got the left half of her brain blasted out in a car crash, like right down the middle.”
“Dude, ew.”
“But she lived! Brain went halfsies and she kept kicking. Or at least, she kept kicking on one side. Left side could still move and shit. So her wife went and argues that she should get her life insurance payout on that lady’s policy, because it was the left side that signed the contract and said her vows and shit, so her wife was technically dead.”
“Don’t tell me she won.”
“She fucking won.”
You groan. “Dude, your job is fucking stupid.”
Loio smiles with a shit-eating grin. “I know, it’s awesome. So she wins and a lot of convoluted legal shit happens that there is no way you’d understand-”
You feel a twinge of offense. “Hey!”
“I’m three sheets to the wind right now, but I know you, man. Do you want a repeat of finals week?”
You concede that point. Finals week was a bonafide disaster.
Loio flashes a smug smile. “Thank you. So anyway now it’s stuck in the law that humans are two conscious beings in one head, but you can’t tell because they’re kept in sync so long that it’s functionally like one brain.”
“That’s a stupid law.”
“Yeah, I know, but here’s the kicker, okay. They tried to overturn it in 2485 or something, and it was like water tight that it would get nixed. But then it turned out that some scientists in 2091 found out that one of every thousand or so humans is born with a split brain, but no one notices because the left side is the only one that can talk or ever says anything important. So the insurance companies just said fuck it and classified all humans as two people to avoid dealing with it on a case by case basis.” He lifts his glass, and then realizes it’s empty. “So yeah, if you wanted better premiums, you could get a paper marriage to your other brain out in the boonies and I could get you a couples plan. Think about it.”
This is stupid, you think. This is stupid, and you are so done with this shit. “Can’t you just test for that?”
“I mean, yeah, but do you want to?”
“Hell yeah I want to! I’d want to know if there's another person up in here with me.”
“What if you’re the right brain though?”
“Right brain can’t talk, dude. I’m talking.”
“Yeah, well how do you know you’re the one talking? Maybe lefty is in there talking and you’re stuck listening in all the time.” He waves his fingers in what was meant to be a creepy way. “You’ll never know...”
You flex your hands under the table. First the left, then the right. You think you controlled the right one, the one you write with. It moved when you wanted it to, but what if you just thought it was in your control? What if you were just imagining what you needed to feel? What if-
“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, “I’ll never know.”
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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.
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Guess what I finished. This is a bound copy of one of my favorite fics, An Expected Journey by @mariejacquelyn, complete with (unfinished) maps of middle earth and the lonely mountain, which I will have to go through, fill in, and annotate at some point but hey I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
As for the nitty gritty, this is compiled using Bookbinder 3.0, it’s a (mostly) traditional case bound hardcover done with kettle stitch binding, and the rounded spine was done by gluing the text block to strips of shaped chipboard, not using the traditional hammer and clamp method.
Shoutout to the author for giving carte blanche to bind this fic, now I can read an actual physical thing and not feel like people are judging me on the bus
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(I never fucking posted this) My bound copy of Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart by George deValier. I tried to do something different for the flyleaf but I kinda fucked it up.
The cover is cotton stencilled with acrylic paint, the binding is typical straight spine case binding and kettle stitch, and the entire thing is formatted in Pages and compiled in Bookbinder 3.0.
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Finished! I made a bound copy of There Are No Gays in Football by @penaltykeks for my friend @lettheshippingshipsail as a Christmas present. You might be thinking it’s halfway through January, and yeah, I have no excuse. The pages are arranged using bookbinder 3.0, the cover is cotton cloth with a stencilled logo in acrylic ink with a lot of inspiration taken from @mizufae s logo design, and with a lot of help from sea lemons bookbinding tutorials!
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