#time to thoughtfully synthesize a way to do that

[liorlenn]

Im not entirely into au for kcd and in general i just prefer sticking to its canonical elements but i do admit the concept of a minorly fantasy leaning au with a vampire Henry (in conjunction with the “vampire” in kuttenberg) intrigues.

But this is mostly because I think it would make for an interesting character study. I genuinely think Henry would just… continue to do what he’s doing (ofc he’d rescue hans, vampirism be damned amiright). I think the overall plot of the game would still play out largely as-is. It’s the way that individual interactions would be altered that’s scratching my brain a bit thinking about it.

[thelongestway]

Hmm. I'm not sure if what amounts to an altered state of consciousness/psychedelic experience needs a content warning, or an unreality warning, or something? New topic for me, no idea how to tag this, help appreciated.

But meanwhile, without further ado...

Chapter 11: Ascent

It took Ratthi and Dandelion a few days to synthesize an appropriate chemical cocktail for Gurathin (ART refused to have it be Iris, in case the experience was as bad for her as Dandelion promised). And this is how we wound up sitting in ART's lounge with the lights dimmed, myself connected to Gurathin, ART connected to my filtered feed, and Ratthi and Dandelion's drone on monitoring duty, with detoxicants on hand in case something went wrong. Dandelion and Ratthi were also connected to us on a separate channel.

My job wasn't just to filter Gurathin's experiences and transmit them to ART, making sure that we didn't bleed anything into Gurathin's feed at the same time. It was also to monitor his implants in case they did something stupid and inform the medical team, and to stop him from going out onto the general feed if he got the very smart idea to do that in a compromised state. Also we all had to promise that we'd keep whatever we found out about Gurathin entirely private.

Gurathin looked at the cup of steaming liquid in his hands, shrugged and said, "Bottoms up." Then he downed the liquid in several big gulps, wrinkling his face in disgust.

"Time to full immersion should be about 30 minutes," Ratthi said.

Dandelion added: "In a real wormhole jump, the change is almost immediate. You simply switch into a different processing mode. We could have imitated that by injecting the cocktail into your blood stream, but this slower way should make for a better training model."

Gurathin nodded and sat down, legs crossed, on one of ART's couches. He closed his eyes. And a few minutes later, he was gone.

(I don't mean that he was literally dead or anything. But the feed presence that I normally associated with Gurathin was just gone. Shut down, piece by piece, like he was falling asleep or something. But his body was still awake, staring at the stars outside of ART's viewing port. And we were still receiving data. The data was just getting weird.)

"Check in," Ratthi said. "How are you feeling, Gurathin?"

"Here and present," Gurathin said, words slurred but understandable. "Feels like I'm down a well of some kind, though."

Your human is definitely not here. From the data you're sending me, he shouldn't even be able to identify his name, because language processing is compromised, ART said. Then it added: This is very creepy.

This is approximately how it feels to enter a wormhole, Dandelion said. He'll be here for some time. In reality, this is when Brisote and I adjust our course. The correct trajectory becomes apparent only from the inside; it cannot be plotted in advance.

"Huh." Gurathin said. "I can run diagnostics on my nerves now."

What the fuck, ART said.

Yeah. What the fuck. Because that was literally what Gurathin was doing. He was tapping his implants' diagnostic modules--and not the ones that monitored health data, either, but the feed connection protocols--and just… Converted them, somehow, into organic impulses. Data flowed back into the implant, turning into a map of his nervous system, which looked similar to default implant-constructed diagnostic maps, but was much more detailed, as if it were given a powerful magnifying lens.

"I should get my spine looked at again." Gurathin said, focusing on a particular region and running pain impulses up and down his nerves like they were pings. "That doesn't look good."

"I'll record the data for you. It's an easily fixable issue at this point," Dandelion responded. In our private channel, she hummed thoughtfully and added: Getting an augmented human for this might not have been the worst of ideas.

"Please do," Gurathin said, and went back to his diagnostics.

Systems at 30% effectiveness and falling. I do not understand. How is he still talking? ART asked into the joint channel.

The wonders of neuroplasticity! Ratthi said enthusiastically. The human brain can make more than a few systems take over for one another in a pinch. Was this what you meant when "using all of its processing", Dr. Tenacious? Having other subroutines available to create workarounds when necessary?

Yes. Not that we do not use all our neural matter in regular operating mode, but when we do a wormhole jump, a great deal of it is drawn into handling the respective calculations. The brain de-prioritizes the connections to most of its regular functions as it takes on the jump processing, so it becomes a separate challenge to keep the key systems running while calculating and maintaining course. This is where my computers normally come in. Additionally, my crew runs backup for this; should my control over critical systems fail, they take over manually.

Two check-ins later, Gurathin said: "I think I'm starting to come back up."

Ratthi confirmed: "Consistent with predicted time of effect. Go ahead."

Dandelion said, And here comes the hard part. At this point, the course has been plotted and we start moving. The problem is having to maintain trajectory while your regular organic systems start reconnecting to their normal functions, which you cannot really delay. Or control.

As if on cue, Gurathin cringed and rubbed his lower back, and then started to shiver.

"Fuck. This was a lot nicer before pain actually became pain again," he said through gritted teeth, hugging himself tightly. "Ratthi, am I clear to move around? The pins and needles in my legs are killing me."

His proprioception is at about 28% effectiveness, although it is now climbing, ART said. Is this a good idea?

"Go ahead, Gurathin," Ratthi said, standing up next to him.

Gurathin stood up. The way he walked resembled nothing even close to a straight line, but he walked. Which he should not have been able to do. With Ratthi's occasional assistance, he warmed up his muscles silently for about the length of a check-in and then settled back down, closing his eyes tightly, tears suddenly running down his face while his mouth twisted into a weird feral grin.

Social processing coming back up, ART said.

In the feed data, we could see Gurathin being focused on Ratthi. On me. On Dandelion. On me again. He tried to focus on ART but couldn't; ART was way too big, and also way too small in his mind. He dropped the visual inputs for Ratthi, picked them up. Dropped the inputs for me, and picked them up. Looked at my face, couldn't read the expression. He thought it was supposed to be easy to read. (Fuck you, Gurathin.) But it wasn't. He dropped my inputs again. Stared back out onto the stars.

"Fuck being people," Gurathin managed, wrestling control of his muscles back. "Why is this so fucking hard. How do we do this all the time."

Yeah. It was really fucking hard.

"Check in, Gurathin." Ratthi said. "You all right in there?"

"Yeah," Gurathin squeezed his eyes shut tight. "Fuck."

Memory reloading, ART said.

Ok, now this shit was getting scary. We were getting memories in the feed, but they were sort of looped and reduced to very short thought bites, turning on themselves again, and again, and again.

(My skin fucking crawled. But maybe that was just bleed from Gurathin.)

Coming to Preservation, Gurathin thought. Fuck the bond company. They're dead. We're dead. It calls itself Murderbot. (I filtered that one. It was private. I also really didn't want to show them everything else, but I did.) Coming to Preservation. Fuck the bond company…

"Dr. Gurathin," Dandelion quietly said. "No matter what you are seeing, you are not there anymore. You are here, in the well. There is a way out. Keep going."

"I am so tired," he murmured. "We're not making it out of here, are we."

"You are tired," Dandelion confirmed. "But you've already found the way out. Keep climbing. Remember that there is always a way out and you've already found it. You have your guiding thread. Now you just have to hold on to it and keep going."

"Fuck the well."

"Fuck the well," she agreed. "Keep climbing. However long you have to go, the road is all yours."

"Fuck the road."

"Fuck the road. Keep walking."

Gurathin did.

The fractals in his head kept looping, occasionally bringing him back through the stages--diagnostics, movement processing, social processing, memory--and with each loop, the feed data we got became more and more normal. Finally something clicked into place, and the regular, integrated Gurathin was back in the feed with us, looking like he could use a triple rest period. Gurathin blinked, again and again, wiping the crud from his eyes, and stretched his fingers, as if trying to see if he had control over them again.

"Ow. Fuck everything. But I think I'm back."

"Systems nominal," Dandelion said, her drone showing a smiling face. One of her arms extended a tray towards Gurathin which held a detoxicant, and he ate it without complaint. "Welcome back, Dr. Gurathin, and thank you for your work."

"Welcome back, Gurathin!" Ratthi echoed as he grabbed a blanket and draped it over Gurathin's shoulders. "How does it feel to be the first person in the universe to take an advanced AI on a psychonautic trip?"

Gurathin raised his hand in a rude gesture, then said, "Perihelion, can I crash on board? I don't think I can make it home without falling asleep."

"Of course," ART said. "I will get a gurney to get you to a real bed."

"Thanks," Gurathin said and passed out.

I understand now. ART said in our feed as it prepared a room for Gurathin while Dandelion maintained observation over his vital signs. Your jump procedure is to sit still in the highly volatile jump medium while using all available processing power to calculate an optimal trajectory. Then, once movement is initiated, the task is to maintain trajectory while the previously-engaged subroutines reconnect to their regular functions in random patterns.

Not entirely random. The order of activation is fairly typical, which is what we designed the drug for. But the content is not. One does not exactly choose what the subroutines will activate on, and in the case of memory processing, it tends to latch on to your worst moments. Dr. Gurathin's idea was a better approximation than I had hoped.

It was not particularly terrifying, ART observed. Perhaps to SecUnit, but I was fine.

Yeah, fuck you too, ART. I said. Because it was scary. My least favorite part was feeling my own hand on my neck. Gurathin's neck. Whatever.

That is because these were not your memories, Perihelion, Dandelion sighed. Do not be cavalier about this.

ART didn't answer. In our private work space, I could see it had a few ideas, and it was already working through them.

[fistsandfangs]

whatever a sun will always sing is you

In Lisa's opinion, the most romantic song ever written is Lovesong by The Cure. Without any other way of making her understand the depths of his devotion, Creature decides that perhaps music can speak on his behalf. Or, Creature learns how to play Lovesong for Lisa

For Creature, playing the piano again felt like the restoration of another limb itself.

In wonderment, he twitched and curled his fingers just to watch them move, now that he was done moving them across the piano keys. They were still a bit stiff, but nevertheless they felt real to him for the first time since he rose from damp earth and scorched ground.

Where before he could do little more than function at a base and mechanic level, now there was hope that perhaps he actually could be the man he was now.

Not animated meat, but rather…Creature.

That was the only title Lisa had used to address him, as she had no name to give him and he had no recollection of whatever it might have been before.

He sat alone on the bench, looking at the keys thoughtfully as Lisa left the room, still humming to herself. Her retreating footsteps on the staircase rumbled the floor faintly and jostled his insides a little like a synthesized heartbeat in lieu of his own. He reached up to touch his chest.

It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but what if his heart had rotted away too, and he didn’t have one at all? Perhaps that was the explanation as to why it came so naturally to him to engage in brutality now. Though his memories of himself in his own time were murky, he could clearly distinguish the newness of the feeling of violence in his veins and at his hands.

It concerned him that it felt so comfortable, but both times, it had been driven by a choice split between Lisa and what threatened her, and therefore became no choice at all.

She was at the end of everything, and he was very confident in the knowledge that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. And repairing his body allowed him to better protect her and accompany her, so it wasn’t purely selfish.

And were he truly to have no heart, how could he ache so overwhelmingly for Lisa’s affection? How could he care so deeply for her to the point of casting himself aside, if he was incapable of any actions of the heart? While he couldn’t blush or feel his heart race at her attention, he could feel love. The kind of love that became his unchangeable North Star, and would guide him until Death next came to collect him.

You saved me.

A tremor wracked his body upon remembering those words, and the feeling of her thumb and forefinger on his chin.

To save her, to make her happy, he would do anything. And if he could save, how could he not have a heart somewhere, somehow?

READ ON AO3

Tenderly, Creature began to return the furniture to its original positioning. Despite Lisa having clear distaste for the house itself, it was hers, and he would always treat it with respect. He pushed the piano bench back in, flipped the pages of sheet music back to the starting point, and picked the discarded pillow Lisa had smashed against his face up off the floor.

Ascending the stairs to Lisa’s room was easier than it had ever been, he noted, and it put a spring—albeit a creaky and bent one—in his step. The tanning bed was turning out to be a most unexpected savior.

Her door was open, so he assumed she wasn’t in a state of undress, although he was repeatedly taken aback by the things that no longer constituted nudity in this age. Lisa had left some folded clothing items on the bed for him, and her bathroom door was shut with music seeping past the cracks at the frame and the floor. She always knocked before she opened it when at least one of them was changing, so he was comfortable to disrobe and redress without fear.

It wasn’t long before Lisa’s soft double-knock sounded and he groaned his approval.

When the door swung open, she was facing him with her hip against the countertop, dancing aimlessly with her upper body as she flossed her teeth. “Are those pajamas okay for you?” Lisa managed to ask him around the intrusion of her fingers and floss once the music had faded out. Creature made another affirmative sound, but was quickly silenced by the gasp Lisa let out when the next song began. “Oh my God, I love this one!”

Creature tilted his head curiously, following the threads of melody and harmony as best he could. However, it quickly became very difficult to maintain his focus as he became thoroughly entranced by the way her body was moved by the music. The animated way that she sang along included her head moving back and forth rhythmically, and her shoulders following in tandem. She bounced on the balls of her feet lightly, and twirled in half-loops.

Whenever I’m alone with you You make me feel like I am whole again

He hadn’t been able to fully appreciate it while he was playing the piano earlier, his attention demanded by the keys and the sheet music. She had gotten up to dance and sing, and he had been forced to keep his gaze averted. Now, though, he was blessed with another chance to see her and experience her. The ways she let him see through to her heart because she trusted him.

He was besotted.

Whenever I’m alone with you You make me feel like I am young again Whenever I’m alone with you You make me feel like I am fun again

Pointing behind her where the music was echoing from, he made a curious noise, inquiring about the song.

Slightly breathless, Lisa replied, “This? It’s The Cure!”

He already liked this more than the other songs she had shown him, drawn in by its raw kind of simplicity. The words thus far had been simple but heartfelt—the kind of pronouncements of a heart’s desire that spoke of a love that could be both comfortingly simple and earth-shatteringly complex in the best of ways.

“It’s called Lovesong. It was their newest single at the end of the summer, and I immediately obsessed over it. It’s so good, right?” She grabbed the portable cassette player from the bathroom countertop, switched off the light, and swept dramatically to the bed to lay down perpendicularly to him.

Her feet kicked happily in time with the music, and she reached for the bag of peach rings candy that she had stuffed under the mattress.

Creature couldn’t help the surge of tenderness he felt at the simple existence of her.

However far away I will always love you However long I stay I will always love you

“Can you imagine being the reason that someone writes one of the greatest love songs of all time?” Lisa slipped a peach ring onto her last three fingers and began nibbling at the one on her ring finger as she looked over at him.

He smiled at her, adoring her almost more than he could stand.

It would never be a great love song, or even known to anyone, really, but he would happily spend decades at the piano composing to her heart’s content. He would write symphonies in her name and want for nothing else for himself.

She swept her hair back off her shoulder with a sigh. “Michael Trent isn’t a musician. He could write me lyrics, I bet, though. He loves poetry too; the ones that speak to all the dark, twisty shit, like we like.” Lisa gestured between the two of them. “But a love song isn’t just a poem, you know?” Her lower lip jutted out slightly in disappointment.

Whatever words I say I will always love you I will always love you

Leaning in closer, Creature tilted his head to catch her eye. As soon as she looked up at him, he held her gaze and placed his palm flat against his chest, eyebrows furrowed in sincerity.

“You would do that?” Her eyes sparkled in the low lighting of her bedroom, the lights above her bed casting a particularly beautiful haze over her. The deep red catching on the auburn strands at the very crown of her head made a little halo, and he wished he could capture and keep this sight forever. “I knew you had to have been a romantic when you were alive, Creature.”

The sharp thrill found in the realization that he had inched ever closer to making her understand the depth of his affections was just as suddenly dashed. The frustration was enough to bring him to tears, and he would have indulged the temptation were it not for how much she detested the stench that followed.

After eating the last peach ring from her pinky finger, Lisa rolled over onto her back and sat up. “Well, I should go to bed.”

That was his cue to retire to the closet, so he stood without hesitation and started for the open double doors. But then, a thought occurred to him. Stopping in his tracks, he pointed to the cassette player and then brought the fingertips of both hands to his chest inquisitively.

Lisa contemplated for a second, then her face lit up. “Oh! Wait just a second, I’ll get you some headphones.” She rifled through her bedside table drawer and unearthed something with a long cord that trailed up to a black band with two large padded circles on either side. She plugged it into the player, and then carried it over to him. “Here, you hold this…” Putting the machine in his hands, she trailed off as she lifted the headphones over his head and then settled them over his ears.

He sat perfectly still as she situated them, then lifted his head slightly in curiosity once her arms fell back to her sides.

“Does that feel okay?” she asked in a slightly elevated tone, her voice muffled to his ears by the strange padding.

Nevertheless, he nodded.

“Okay. Here are the buttons.” Lisa directed his attention down to the player itself. “This one plays the song, this one rewinds it back to the beginning, and this one stops it.” Triangle on its side. Two triangles on their sides, facing the wrong way and overlapped. Square.

She lingered for a moment, just looking at him, and he looked right back.

Eye contact usually made him uncomfortable, knowing that he was not the most appealing thing to behold in this undead state, even though he was improving bit by bit. But he liked how Lisa was looking at him now. There was a softness in her eyes, her head tilted slightly, and he would have been content to simply stare at her all through the night.

Lifting her thumb to her mouth, Lisa suddenly kissed the pad of it, and then brought it up to his forehead. Instinctively, he leaned down to accommodate her, and she pressed her fingertip to his skin. “Sweet dreams.”

With that, she returned to her bed to turn down the sheets and tuck herself beneath them, leaving Creature to stand frozen among her clothing and long-forgotten knick-knacks in shock.

She had kissed him!

Well, he would call it a kiss, if ever he were asked. Its intent was tenderness and sweetness, and that was enough for him. He reached up to brush his fingers reverently over the spot. Whether it was his imagination or not, the thumb-sized area seemed just a shade warmer than the rest of his body.

Slowly, Creature sank down to the floor, the cassette player in his lap, and reached for the doors to close them.

“You don’t have to do that,” Lisa said, startling him.

He lowered his chin and looked up at her.

She was lying on her side, propped up on her right elbow, looking at him with a brightness in her eyes that belied her desire for sleep. It looked as though her cheeks had become flushed, a gentle pink blooming. “You can, you know, leave them open. It’s okay with me.” She pursed her lips, looking down and to the side for a moment, before clicking her tongue. “Okay, goodnight!”

The light was turned off, and the string of lights above her bed followed, allowing the room to sink into darkness, save for the little glimmers of silver moonlight coming from the windows.

Regardless of whether Lisa knew or not, Creature didn’t really sleep, as such. He had found meager ways to occupy himself until she awoke in the morning the previous times, but now, with her music at his fingertips, he was eager to indulge himself.

Pressing the big triangle button—play—Creature cradled the cassette player as the song began to play in his ears. He jumped in surprise at how different it sounded coming from the little speakers over his ears, feeling it inside of his head and in his body in a way he hadn’t imagined possible. It was almost as though he was wearing the melody like a silken sheet that held him in affectionate arms.

He built up a pattern of endless repetition that went play, stop, begin again, stop, play. For hours, he just listened to that one song, and the fingers of his newly attached hand eventually began to tap against his thigh as though moving over piano keys.

And that was when he got an idea.

An idea that, though it would have to wait until the morning, when Lisa and her sister were at school, and their father was at work, could possibly grant him the ability to speak to Lisa from his heart in a language she could speak as fluently as him.

When sunlight began to creep across the bedroom floor in front of him, Creature finally looked up. He had been so entranced by the music that he had nearly forgotten that Lisa’s prone form was laid out before him, and she was sleeping soundly in the knowledge that he might watch her.

Watch over her, he corrected himself. Just the thought of infringing on her trust made the little bugs nestled between his bones skitter deeper inside in distaste.

Looking at her now, his gaze was gentle, as though perhaps he could caress her like this. He imagined his hand on her hair, his palm just barely grazing the beauty of the lioness’ mane. Perhaps he could even brush her cheek with his knuckles, just enough that she could feel all the life inside him that existed purely for her.

He returned his attention to the cassette player, feeling the need to chastise himself for getting ensnared by the delicate but strong knots of temptation.

When he caught sight of Lisa starting to emerge from her blankets, he removed the headphones and set them down gently to await her. She cracked one eye open, and then the other, before her eyes found his. She smiled sleepily and stretched, a ripple like the tide moving slowly through the entire length of her body.

“Good morning,” she yawned.

As per usual, she perused her closet for the day’s outfit, and accepted his input when provided, then took her choices to the bathroom to get dressed and prepared. As soon as that was finished, she went downstairs for breakfast before returning to tell him goodbye and when to expect her home this afternoon.

“Make sure to have some fun with that new hand.” As soon as the words her out of her mouth, she bit her lip to stifle a giggle. “Oh. I didn’t mean, like— Although, I guess if that’s your kind of thing. Um. Yeah. See you later!”

Confused but ultimately softened in delight by the lingering warmth of her smile, Creature sat alone in the closet for a moment before pulling himself to his feet and scooping up the cassette player and headphones. Once he was certain the house was empty, he would be heading straight for the piano.

The sense of purpose he felt so strongly, like the sun itself was nestled behind his ribcage, made him feel a hope free of addendums for the first time. There was something he wanted to give Lisa, and it was well within his capabilities to make it happen. Something simple at last.

After an hour of silence throughout the house remained unbroken, Creature picked up the cassette player and carried it with him as he descended the stairs and went to the piano. He didn’t anticipate needing it after spending nearly all night long listening to the same melodies and harmonies over and over again, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

His hands hovered over the keys of the piano for a moment as he soaked in the rush of emotions he felt in this moment, but then he settled them against the smooth, familiar surface, and began to feel his way along gently. Other than Lisa, this was the only thing that made sense to him now, a man thrown out of space and time. His lexicon was limited in so many ways now, but this was the one he still had, unchanged.

With determination and resolve, Creature felt out Lisa’s song on the piano, chasing it along the smooth ivory. It wasn’t a particularly difficult piece, but he wanted to absolutely perfect his technique before he presented it to her as a token of his love and affection.

Keeping his eye on the time, he practiced until he was satisfied, and then, with a dignified nod to himself and his chest puffed up with pride, he returned to Lisa’s room to meet her when she got home.

He always felt a little nervous being left alone among her personal belongings because they were private, and being allowed into her space was not an invitation, but a sheet of paper with a long, ragged edge sitting on her bedside table caught his eye. While he would never read it if he thought it wasn’t meant for him, a dark and distinct lightning bolt like the one he had drawn on her hand was prominently drawn on it.

Leaning close to get a better look, he saw a sketch of a man in a long coat, high-neck sweater, and long pants. The coat was black with delicate, intricate embroidery of rose blooms studded with little gems to provide highlights on some kind of thick fabric. The sweater was dark burgundy and made of a thin, smooth material that looked like it would feel soft against the skin. The pants were also sleek black, long and flared at the bottom, and boasting no real visible creases or hems. The boots were masculine and relatively plain, with a heel about two inches high and a buckle studded with a gold lightning bolt.

It had to have been one of Lisa’s original designs.

He all but glowed with pride for her, but a little pinprick of shame followed. He shouldn’t have looked at it, wasn’t addressed to him. He had invaded her privacy by doing so. Though he did wonder why the lightning bolt was featured so prominently on the page if—

Oh.

Looking back at the page, his hand trembling slightly, Creature contemplated the appearance of the man. His hair was black with loose curls, swept to one side in the front, and long sideburns framed his jaw. His eyes were a bit sunken, and his lips pale. On his left ear, mostly hidden by dark curls, was a diamond earring.

It was…him.

The sound of the front door closing forcefully startled Creature, causing the paper to slip from between his fingers and land on the floor. With utmost tenderness, he stooped to pick it up and place is lovingly back on the tabletop.

Just as he straightened back up, Lisa’s bedroom door opened and she strode in with heavy steps, an absolute whirlwind of passion and intensity. The smell of her perfume and hairspray encircled him, and he immediately relaxed in her presence. “Hey,” she greeted with a longsuffering sigh, dropping books and a notebook on the end of the bed. “God, today felt like it was never going to end.”

“Mmm?”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s not that important.” She waved off his concern before bending over to take off her shoes. “So, what did you get up to?”

Tilting his chin down in a singular nod, eyebrows drawn in and raised slightly, he inquired about their state of privacy.

“No one’s here; Taffy’s at cheer and Dad’s still at work. Why? What’s going on?” A smile began to grow on her lips, wide and toothy.

He stood up and bowed at the waist as he offered her his open hand, his eyebrows raised and a smile on his lips. As her fingers slid between his, he felt the roughness of the calluses she bore from her craft, and he had the fleeting desire to kiss them softly.

Lisa allowed him to take the lead, squealing a little laugh when he pulled her excitedly down the staircase and over to the piano.

With one arm neatly folded behind his back, Creature politely helped her take a seat on the bench before taking his place beside her. He wished he could properly introduce this gift the way that she deserved, with a grand and sweeping romanticism, but in lieu of that, he bit his lip nervously before placing one hand over the keys and holding the other out towards her, palm down.

“This is for me?”

With a nod, he straightened his shoulders and let his fingers touch down on the keys.

He began slow, confident in his preparedness but not wanting to overwhelm her. It took a few bars before recognition dawned, but then her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide in wonder.

Confident that he should continue, Creature’s eyes closed momentarily as his long-dormant muscle memory directed his hands smoothly.

Finally, he was in his element, free to express his adoration for Lisa on equal footing. He didn’t feel like a burden or a consequence, a threat or stressor. All he wanted was to be a source of comfort for her, but thus far, all of his attempts seemed to fall short. After all, murder was still a punishable offence even in 1989. This, however, came naturally to him, and he felt his spine straighten and his chin lift as he gained confidence. Rather than a question or a timid confession, this was instead an earnest proclamation.

He had become a humble conduit for the vast ocean of passion inside him.

And the talent of The Cure.

His hands had already stilled when he felt himself return to the present moment, sitting next to Lisa with his heart all but plucked from his chest and offered to her in the cradle of his bloodied palms. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked over at her, only to see tears caught in her eyelashes like dew in a spider’s web in the dawning sun.

Without a second thought, Creature reached up and thumbed away the wetness with a tender touch and looked at her in concern. He yearned to hold her, but he stopped himself with an enormous amount of willpower, returning his hands to his lap.

“You—You learned that for me. In less than a day. Creature…” She spoke so quietly, and he found himself leaning in closer to be sure he didn’t miss a word. “That was incredible.” Lisa reached up and combed her fingers through the curls that fell across his forehead, pushing them back and stroking gently a few more times before moving to press her palm against his cheek.

His body responded without awaiting thought, nuzzling into her palm with a delighted purr that rumbled in his throat.

“You’re…" She cleared her throat and started again. "I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

He suddenly recalled that first fateful night together, sitting on the floor amidst hectically strewn, improvised weapons as they stared at one another. One of the first things she said to him echoed in his mind.

She was right, he thought to himself. Perhaps The Cure can make anyone better.

[cardcaptorsakura96]

Taxes, Taxes, Taxes-Chapter 16

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Kara Danvers, Clark Kent, Samantha Arias, Lena Luthor, Lillian Luthor, Ruby Arias, Oliver Queen, John Stewart, Diana Prince, Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, J'onn J'onnz, Alfred Pennyworth, Lois Lane, Cat Grant, Lucy Lane, Damian Wayne, Felicity Smoak, Streaky the Supercat

Summary: What if superheroes had to pay a property damage tax every time they had a fight in the city?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15

Kara and Lena chuckled as they watched Barry and Felicity examine the Kryptonian food synthesizer. They kept announcing what they wanted and watched in fascination as the food appeared out of nowhere. Streaky stayed perched on the counter observing their behavior until she fell asleep.                                                                         

Felicity marveled, “I have never believed in magic, but this is beyond anything I have ever seen.”

Barry beamed and said, “I can’t believe these things from Star Trek are real.”

Felicity looked back at Lena baffled and said, “Why are you not more excited about this?”

Lena smirked and said, “Our hospital labs have been working on this technology for the last three years. It is not nearly as sophisticated as the one that is here, but we hope that we can get it to the point that it can provide food for the entire hospital.”

Kara beamed at Lena and said, “That is amazing!”

Lena looked down shyly and said, “Thanks.”

Barry looked at Lena with marvel and said, “Kara is right. That is an amazing feat. How were you able to do it?”

Lena waved her hand with an embarrassed look on her face and said, “We still have a long way to go on this project. Ideally, we would want to cure world hunger, but if we can at least have it up and running in the hospital, that would be a huge step in the right direction. We partnered with scientists from the Naran planet to make the food synthesizers. I have liked working with them so far because they have left detailed notes and easily explain their process so everyone can understand.”

“The Naran is a highly technological society. Besides being the original creators of the food synthesizer, they have made some of the fastest spaceships and are believed to be the original time travelers outside of speedsters,” said Kalex. 

Kara, Lena, Barry, and Felicity jolted when they heard Kalex speak. 

Kalex frowned and said, “I hope I didn’t disturb you guys.”

Kara shook her head and said, “You’re fine. I think we just didn’t realize you had entered the room is all. You have been quiet all this time.”

Kalex nodded thoughtfully and said, “I will have a reminder to make my presence more know to you guys from now on.”

Kara chuckled and said, “You really don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

Kalex smiled and said, “No, my goal is to make your life here easier. Plus, it would be good for me to learn social norms. I have the knowledge from the internet, but I am sure that there are things always to learn about this society.”

“I can see that. Having spatial awareness is a good thing especially if you are trying not to scare someone off,” said Felicity while grabbing a blueberry muffin from the food synthesizer. 

Kalex smiled and said, “Spatial awareness. Got it!”

Lena looked at Kalex thoughtfully and said, “How long have you been alone here?”

“Hmmm….” said Kalex thoughtfully as she tapped her chin. Her eyes began to glow for a couple of minutes until they heard a ding. She turned to Lena smiling and said, “I estimate based on how old this apartment building is that I have been in the device at least 40-45 Earth years.”

Kara raised an eyebrow and asked, “How do you figure that?”

“Well, Kal has been on Earth for the last 35 years and your parents purchased this place five years before Kal’s arrival on Earth. I am not sure year wise when Krypton was destroyed or how long it would have taken Kal to get here since Jor El had made a custom made ship for Kal to travel in that wasn’t approved by the Kryptonian space board. Thus the estimation,” said Kalex. 

Kara nodded hesitantly. She didn’t know if she would like the answer to her next question. 

She shook her head, sighed, and said, “Why did my parents think to come to Earth and purchase this apartment? How could they even afford it?”

Kalex smiled and said, “Excellent questions!” Kalex tapped her chin thoughtfully and said, “I think the best way to start is to ask a question first. Do you remember the AI system that Krypton used?”

Kara frowned and rubbed the back of her head and said, “Yes, I have been wondering that because I think it has somehow found its way to Earth.”

Lena frowned and asked, “What do you mean?”

Kara turned to the others hesitantly and said, “Brainiac started off as Kryptonian AI.”

Lena, Barry, and Felicity looked at Kara baffled. 

“Wait, you mean the same Brainiac that almost set off the major countries’ nuclear warheads and almost caused a nuclear apocalypse several years ago?” asked Felicity wide-eyed.

Kara nodded somberly and said, “The very one.”

Read the rest on AO3

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

do you think ship AIs see the ship as part of their "body". do you think they'd feel the presence of everyone aboard, using the ship in any digital way (walking through automated doors, using communications, tapping on a screen, etc). imagine the different mindset an AI must have compared to ours, constantly notified of so many people and so many actions, perhaps a comfortable buzz like insects in a hive. some AI must feel at least partially responsible for all those lives aboard their vessel.

I have done nothing but go insane in my free time for the last few years about AI/Robots and different ways of being/experiencing the world. So yes I love exploring incorporeal beings extending their sense of self to their containers/environments. I love thinking machines and nonhuman constructs feeling feelings and getting attached to their select humans/crews.

Murderbot Diaries does it really well. I think the Imperial Radch books do it well with their ships and ancillaries hivemind thing (I've only read 1.5 of the books).

I also joke with people that the crew on the Infinity are Roland's tamagotchis he needs to care for and look after. I have an old ask where I went on about AI but their way of experiencing things is so interesting to consider. More under the readmore so I don't clog everyone's dashes.

I'm going to share a passage from Iron and Gold because it's stuck with me during my descent into AI obsession. It's also a kick-ass fic that has beautiful prose about ai and the way they interpret the world. There are so many examples of things in your ask that the author explores and covers and I think it should be canon supplemental reading material.

 “How about some music?” she offered, navigating through her media. She hit play, and Roland’s smile blossomed into a delighted grin as a synthesized rendition of Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 flowed from the speakers.  “You know,” he said, “I’ve never listened to this album aloud.”  “Really? I thought this was one of your favorites.”  “It is, but I’ve only read the byte order before.”  “Is that how always you listen to— er, experience music? What about movies and books?”  He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “If somebody plays media in an area with sensors, then I can watch and listen to it kind of like you do. Guess it never occurred to me to play things for myself.”  At times like this, she found herself brimming with questions, each one raising more in its wake. What was it like to see without eyes? To hear without ears? To feel without nerves?  “I suppose this must be pretty slow and inefficient by comparison.”  “Oh, it’s glacial.” His avatar’s lips curved into a warm, shy smile. “But I enjoy listening to it with you.”

I love how AI/Robots/Constructs etc are written and how they can experience things. It's all very queer and neurodivergent and I find comfort in the Other and the way considering all the details stretch the brain.

These are beings existing on different scales, on different ways of interpreting time. The sheer processing power and number of thoughts juggled in such small timeframes are fun to consider and how their sense of self and bodies extend to the ship.

Are there favorites amongst the crew? Does the AI watch over them, remind them to eat? Do they adjust the atmosphere or temperatures to keep them comfortable? What about opening doors or lighting hallways? What about acts of service are layered with real compassion and worry?

Does the crew protect their home and friend? Do they defend servers and key areas? Do they keep each other company whether they're going to win the day or it's all going dark?

[smokefalls]

Title: There Are Rivers in the Sky Author: Elif Shafak Publication Year: 2024 Publisher: Knopf Genre: fiction, historical fiction

I was entranced by Shafak’s emotional storytelling and thoroughly impressed by her exceptional research for There Are Rivers in the Sky. It was a little difficult to get into the novel for about the first third of it, but I found myself completely invested by the halfway mark, especially when I started to see how the three characters’ perspectives were interwoven, all of which was remarkably done with the start of a water droplet. Shafak’s writing is lush and beautiful, and I was amazed how she breathed to life three remarkable characters in very vivid settings. With that said, I did find Arthur’s perspective the most interesting to read out of the three characters, perhaps because it gave the most insight into Mesopotamia. I do have some mixed feelings about the fact that I found Arthur’s story the most compelling, though, especially given the issues around extracting artifacts from other lands. Furthermore, Arthur may be devoted to the inquiry of Mesopotamian culture and history, but there is a sort of white savior narrative that comes through especially in the latter half of the novel. Of the three perspectives Shafak provided, I found Narin the least interesting, mainly because I thought it was the least developed. I find this a bit unfortunate, considering that Narin is Yazidi, and with the attention Shafak gave to her people in Arthur’s and Zaleekah’s stories (albeit less so in the latter), I would have expected far more.

Despite these qualms, I do think that Shafak wrote an incredibly intricate story that wonderfully synthesized a diverse range of topics and themes that will give the reader much to think about. The novel is a bit harrowing and reflects some of the atrocities committed by people across centuries, particularly in modern times, but I thought Shafak approached this thoughtfully and in a meaningful way.

Note: Many thanks to the publisher for sending me an ARC.

Content Warning: death, grief, violence, child abuse, genocide, alcoholism, classism, religious bigotry, human trafficking, suicide, slavery, rape, references to suicidal thoughts

[slothgiirl]

the medic (keith x reader)

17k. something weird’s going on with keith, like alien weird. as the team medic, you’re concerned.

“So he is avoiding me,” you muse aloud, grabbing one of the pink alien food biscuits that were Hank’s latest experiment. Though it had been hours since Voltron had taken out the Galra Empire’s presence on this Balmera, you’d only just seen the last of your patients. Altean medical equipment did wonders.

After a battle, you were hardly surprised to find Hank in the kitchen, grounding himself as he cooked. You were surprised to run into Keith.

“Yeah,” Hank nods, “Probably trying to avoid another dental exam.”

You flush bright red, “His teeth fell out! Sorry for being concerned.” Between you and Lance, you’d managed to get a look at Keith. A fist fight with some alien species that was cooperating with the Galra had not gone Keith’s way, knocking out two of his teeth.

Shiro, predictably, had waved it off and accepted Keith’s insane explanation that his teeth would grow back on their own without question: given his hand waving of the red paladin’s eyes glowing slightly in the dark, more than any human’s should (human eyes didn’t glow at all!). Hindsight was twenty twenty.

The yellow paladin shrugs as he mixes orange noodle-esque things in a bowl.

Team Voltron was full of strong personalities. Add in Lotor and his friends dropping in, there was always something going on.

Hank just wanted to unwind from spending the past few hours destroying heavy duty mining equipment without hurting the planet. “So how are the biscuits?”

You chew on one, still bothered by Keith. Maybe Hank was right and he was trying to hide something from your keen gaze. You hoped not. Knowing the red paladin, and after two years in space, you certainly did, he’d rather suffer in silence until there was no other option than get medical attention. Back on earth with needles and scalpels, you understood, but in the Castle of Lions…

“Kind of like a rice cracker,” you tell Hank helpfully. “In a good got snacks at H-Mart way, not the sad quaker oats rice snacks.”

“Oh H-Mart,” Hunk smiles, “they don’t have those in space. They do have salt though. Found that at the last market we went to.”

“As long as alien food doesn’t poison us,” you comment. It was lucky that hadn’t happened. It was alien food. But not one negative reaction which either made humans some of the most hardy species or you were just lucky.

“Yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing what’s edible and not. I know Pidge said there’s some books, but my Altean is pretty bad.”

“Languages are hard.”

“Wish there was a space version of google translate.”

“Hunk-”

“Yeah.”

“That’s genius!” You look at the yellow paladin, wondering how a universe with speech translators never thought to do the same for written language.

“I know,” Hunk smiles while popping another tray into the oven.

—————

Lance finishes painting your toenails. It was a rare day when there were no space battles or rebel meetings. “Pidge,” the blue paladin whines, “let me paint your-”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“It’s supposed to be team bonding night,” Lance counters.

“Lance,” Allaura frowns from where she’s sitting with Shiro, “the castle’s night cycle has not started.”

“Well we can change it,” he counters, “there’s no up or down in space. OR day or night.”

“You can paint my nails,” Hunk offers. “Won’t last long though between the cooking and the vents I’ve been cleaning. This is a 10,000 year old castle. No offence,” he glances at Allura.

“No offence at all. The battles have taken their toll and I’m sure Coran appreciates the help. He is only one man.” She lets out a sigh. The only other remaining Altean was a bittersweet subject for her.

Hunk kicks off his shoes. “My pleasure. Literally. This Castle is so cool. The artificial gravity alone!”

You watch the paint dry on your toes. Only your big toes had actual drawings on them, strange alien creatures you’d all encountered over your time in space. The others were clear with green and blue swirls. “You’re a good artist Lance.”

The blue paladin winks, “I’m a regular old Michaelangelo.”

You laugh, “of course you are.”

“And I’m not just good with a brush,” he wiggles his eyebrows, more boyish flirting than anything serious.

You roll your eyes.

Pidge throws a cushion at Lance. “Oh please like you’ve got past the first date!”

“I have! Vivian Tran from Calculus.”

“Can you focus on my nails,” Hunk asks, but Lance is busy waving the thin brush in hand as he argues with Pidge.

“And Atticus from Cantonese.”

“Didn’t you drop that class,” Hank asks.

“Well, the hindi teacher was way nicer and didn’t hate me. I was good at drawing the characters though.”

“Can you speak hindi,” you ask, having taken French for your language fulfillment.

“Eh-” Lance shrugs.

“Can you flirt in Hindi is the real question,” you ask with a grin.

“He can’t even flirt in English,” Pidge points out scathingly.

“Hey!”

“My nails Lance,” Hunk grumbles.

“Right. Right,” Lance focuses back on his task, going with a yellow that matches Shay. “What language did you take Shiro?”

“English.”

“How many dialects does Earth have,” Allura asks.

“A lot,” Shiro tells the alien princess. “The Garrison pushes being multilingual in its program. Most cadets were already bilingual to start with, generally covering major languages.”

“Ah.”

“Got bored of the training room,” Pidge asks Keith as he walks in, flopping down on an empty sofa.

“It timed out.”

“Sure,” Lance immediately starts, a dog with a bone, “not like you couldn’t beat it or anything.”  

“You can’t even get past level 9!” Keith growls back, sitting up with a jolt, skin still slick from sweat and his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

Lance gets up, puffing out his chest. Oh boy, here they go again. The rivalry thing they had going on got old fast to everyone around them. While it did push them to be better paladins, it was annoying to hear. “Oh like you’re any better.”

Hunk takes the brush from Lance, finishing off his last toe on his own.

“I am,” Keith bites back, a growl still audible from his chest.

“Only because you cheat!”

“It’s not cheating!”

“How is it not-” Lance stops, furrows his brow, then grins. “You got a little something there.” And like a thirteen year old, Lance points and laughs.

Keith frowns, his hand coming up to his cheek.

Sure enough, Lance was right. Keith had a couple of angry red blemishes on his cheek.

“You have adult acne,” Lance giggles, immature as ever. He was always able to find an angle to everything. It was what made him such an excellent strategist.

“It’s not adult acne!” Keith scowls, scratching at the blemishes.

“Its been three years,” Lance retorts smugly.

You frown. “No. It’s been like two.” You look over at Pidge to confirm, “Right?” You were like ninety percent sure you were twenty.

“Two and a half,” Pidge answers.

“Ha! You’re twenty! Adult-”

“I don’t have adult acne!”

They’d fought over more meaningless things before.

If it was two and a half years, maybe you were twenty one? You frown. How old would you be before you ever saw your family again?

Stashing that depressing thought away, you focus on Keith and the red marks on his cheek like a line coming down to his jaw. “It could be a rash,” you utter thoughtfully. Pidge and you had already encountered a very itchy plant before. “Or space ringworm-ring line?”

For the first time in days, Keith looks at you, meeting your gaze. “It’s not a rash!”

You lift your hands up, “okay. Okay. Geez.” When it came to Keith, you didn’t push too hard. He was too stubborn for it to work.

Lance, however, “hey, it’s okay Keith-buddy, just use toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste makes it worse,” Hunk counters. “Not great for your skin either.”

“It always worked for me,” Lance counters. “Or a clay skin mask.”

“Clay? You mean that green mud,” Keith clarifies.

“It’s clay!”

“Clay would work,” you agree with Lance. “Hey it could be like a spa day!”

“I could go for a spa,” Hunk nods.

Pidge shakes her head, “right. I’m going to try and see if I can get a signal back home.”

Shiro looks over at you, “do you really think it could be something serious?”

You shrug. “No clue.”

Keith huffs, “Just drop it,” he states dramatically, headed for the door. He was over being the center of attention.

“So face masks?”

You nod, “want to try it Allura?”

“I would love to try the clay mask,” she smiles brightly.

——————

Te-Osh’s rebels had sent for Voltron, less fighting than rebuilding.

While you were no paladin, you had spent the majority of the day helping Allura take stock and synthesizing medicine, everything from serums to numbing gels. Just your luck the machine had overheated and given out on the last batch. It was a pretty large machine.

You stick your head inside, waving off the smoke. With your nails, you pry open the hutch and take stock. You were no Pidge or Hunk, still unsure how the thing even worked, but it was clear it needed a new regulator and starter. “Plenty of those lying around,” you utter, scrunching your face at the awful burnt hair smell. Your finger finds the ventilator button on your wrist controls, and there-the smell gets sucked out of the room.

“Is this a bad time,” Keith asks behind you.

Startled, you bang your head on the mental. “Keith,” flushing hotly when you look back and realize you were ass up in front of him.

He doesn’t even notice, grimacing, hand rubbing his nose bridge.

“What’s wrong?” You hurry to wash your hands.

Keith sits down at one of the medbay tables. “My skull feels like it’s being cracked open,” he explains flatly.

You look him over closely, standing right in front of him. “Where exactly,” you ask, frowning when you notice the blemishes had grown to a full blown rash, hot angry skin peeling and cracking like twin marks down his cheeks. You should have pressed. What if it was a parasite? Keith was half galra.

It was easily forgotten given how human he looked. Sure, the signs were there: his unhuman night vision, more strength than he should have, good ears and nose, nails that had torn through metal, but it all faded into the background.

“Does it itch,” you ask, raising your hand, fingertips hovering over the marks on his cheeks.

“Yes,” Keith nods, averting his eyes from your gaze, “mostly it’s hot. And my sinuses…all the way down to my neck. Hurt.”

“Hm,” you turn, reaching for the medical scanner. There was no way you could ever go back to being a medical officer at the galaxy garrison. Earth’s technology was ancient in comparison. “Hold still.”

“Alright,” he says seriously. Keith holds his breath.

You look up at him, in his violet eyes, and smile before laughing. “Keith!”

“You said to hold still,” he points out sincerely, before the corners of his lips turn up. Keith was an expressive guy, his smile lit up his entire being, a lightness in his eyes that made you smile wider.

“Let���s try this again,” you giggle, clicking the scanner and aiming right at his rash first. “Pew.”

He rolls his eyes, snorting. “You too?”

“Mine’s the only right one,” you wink, then look over the reading.

“Not even close.” He scratches at his cheek listlessly.

Whatever reason he had for avoiding you had worked itself out. You’d missed his company.

“Oh yeah,” you challenge, “then what’s the sound?” The readings came up clear. Keith was in perfect health. So not a parasite…space allergies? Those wouldn’t come up on the scanner.

“What is it,” Keith asks, noticing your pensive expression.

“How’s your sense of smell? Stuffy nose?”

He looks up, then takes a deep breath, “now that you mention it…I can’t smell your soap anymore.”

“What?” This was news to you. “You can smell my soap?”

“And whatever planet we’ve been on,” Keith fidgets, blushing as he ducks his head, bangs falling over his eyes, “the soil. It’s all different. But I can’t right now.”

That was worrying. But if the scanner said nothing was wrong…you had to wait and see. It might clear up on its own. You’d give it a day or two.

“Nothing came up on the scanner,” you tell him, “so it should go away on its own. It might just be allergic to something out here.”  

He nods, accepting your diagnosis.

“Let me get the medicine.”

“Mhm.”

You pass him a tube of gel and add that to the list of medication you need to synthesize once you fix the machine. Then grab a weekly supply of pain tabs. “Here.”

Keith pops one in immediately.

“Let me know if it doesn’t clear up in two days,” you tell him.

“Worried?”

“Eh, I can always set Lance on you again,” you snort. Shiro was a pushover when it came to Keith. He was no help.

Keith laughs, looking a little more himself. “I could take him.”

“You could,” you agree, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

He tilts his head, smiling. “Coming? Shay got food for us.”

“I’ve got to fix this machine first.”

“Need help?”

“Might ask Hunk or Coran,” you admit.

“I could-”

“No,” you cut him off, placing your hand on his shoulder, “go eat and rest. That’s an order.”

Keith leans into you. “Are you going to write me a doctor’s note too,” he asks, his delivery always so earnest you had to do a double take to figure out if he was joking or not.

“If I have too,” you stick your nose in the air. “I’ll even send one to Zarkon.”

Keith laughs easily. “Why didn’t Lotor think of that.”

You snort. “I’m going to check your lymph nodes,” you tell him, taking a step towards him again. “That okay?”

Keith tilts his head back, “Go for it.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, “who are you and what did you do with Keith Kogane.” You brush his hair out of his face.

“What?”

“Remember when you broke your arm,” you point out, gently pressing your fingers over the side of his throat, feeling the swelled bean shaped lymph nodes under his ears, behind his jaw. “And said nothing for like a week?” It had been your first year at the Galaxy Garrison.

“It was only a sprain,” Keith grumbles.

“Still!” You laugh, “I’m glad you asked for help.” Because this was still Keith and you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him.

“Mm,” he closes his eyes as you trail your fingers lower, making sure it wasn’t too bad.

The fact they were inflamed at all worried you. You had no clue what was the space equivalent of antihistamines.

Keith’s breath tickles your shoulder, deepening and evening out like he’d finally relaxed. That was most of your patients once you gave them answers and they knew they’d be getting care and treatment. You liked helping people.

You pull your fingers back, ever the consummate professional. It was like the ghost of your garrison advisor was hovering over your shoulder. “They’re not too swollen if you can still eat. Can you still chew?”

“Hm?”

Keith opens his eyes. His expression is glazed and feverish.

“Keith,” you utter, worried.

“Yeah?” His gaze is heavy as it meets yours.

Your skin warms up because he wouldn’t stop looking at you like that.

“Any jaw pain,” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. You bring your hand up to his forehead. He was warm.

Keith leans into your touch, “no.”

“Good.” You bite your lip. Could it be some weird galra thing? Wouldn’t it have come up? You feel your own forehead. He was for sure warmer.

You were going to have to corner Coran about it.

Keith lets his eyes fall shut again and honest to god purrs, leaning into you.

Add cornering Lotor to your list.

You don’t pull away, figuring it was harmless. Lance, Hunk, and Allura were more prone to random hugs. You were more than happy to indulge Keith as well. He already wasn’t feeling well.

You wrap your arms around the red paladin’s shoulders, hugging him, “I’m looking forward to a break from Coran’s post mission food goo once I get done with the machine.”

“Mm.”

He was completely out of it.

His breath tickles your cheek.

“Though I’m not sure there’ll be any left if I don’t go there? Maybe I should grab a plate and then come back here,” you ramble. Keith had never sought you out for comfort. It was touching that he trusted you now. You’d been friends with the others before, with Keith and Shiro and the Alteans, you had skipped right over friendship and gone right to family.

“Oh.”

You look behind you.

Te-Osh takes a step back, “forgive my intrusion. I was unaware-”

Keith snaps out of whatever was going on with him. Bolting off the exam table. “It’s fine. We’re done here.” He hunches his shoulders and beelines for the door.

You frown, still processing.

“I can come back,” Te-Osh tells you, glancing between you and the door Keith had just escaped through.

You shrug. “No. I’ve got time. What do you need?”

“If you’re sure?”

Nodding, you smile, “yeah, what can I help you with?”

———————

“Here is where we will focus the blunt of the attack on. Keith, Lance, engage the fighters. Hunk,” Shiro explains, “you’ll be with me taking out the communications towers. We want to keep the damage to the minimum. The resistance leaders want the factory intact. Pidge-”

Pidge waves the Black Paladin off, “I’ve got the code written.”

“It really does come in handy,” Lance observes, “all those vents are Pidge size.”

The green paladin grumbles, “easy for you to say when you’re not the one crawling around in there. It’s not your knees getting banging up.”

“Well the galra are all like nine feet tall,” Hunk points out, “the vents probably aren’t that small from their perspective.”

Lance unsubtly glances over at Keith.

His rash had cleared up, but not before spreading. In its place were two purple slash marks running from his cheek to jaw, galra markings. No one had pressed…yet.

You were just glad it wasn’t some weird space parasite.

Her brother ruffles her hair, “Pidge sized! A micro pidge,” Matt jokes to himself.

She smacks his hand away, “five feet is a perfectly reasonable size.’

“She could still have a growth spurt,” you add, though it was highly unlikely.

“No,” Matt’s eyes go comically wide as he hugs his sister, “not my hobbit,” relishing in her embarrassment.

“Matt!”

“In summation,” Allura calls you all back to attention, “the paladins will take out Galra forces and Pidge will open the weapons factory up to Vexuin rebels to take over. I will be manning the Castle to ensure no fighters target the work camps and coordinating communications with the rebels.” She turns to look at you, “Matt and you will take down the sentries, freeing the people from the work camps.”

“No!”

Everyone looks over at Keith. The horror on his face is easy to read.

What had brought this on?

Shiro clears his throat.

Keith ducks his head, letting his bangs obscure his features.

“Why not,” Pidge asks grumpily, time was running out. You were all just ironing out the details, “your plans suck.”

“Pidge,” Shiro chastises.

The green paladin was right.

Keith fought the same way you played video games, caring about nothing but reducing the enemies stats to zero. He’d gotten great at teamwork, but he was hardly a strategist.

“Keith,” Allura asks, “do you have any legitimate reasons why Matt should go on his own?” And when she phrased it like that…

The red paladin crosses his arms over his shoulders.

Pidge taps her foot on the floor.

“Okay then,” Shiro takes over, “let’s get to our lions.”

“Coms. Come in earthlings!,” Coran chimes in over the system, “remember this planet’s atmosphere is toxic to breath, too much sulfur in the air, not to mention the heat will give you all a taste of the slipperies. And worse! So keep those space suits on Vol-”

“-Tron,” Lance grins back, having taken a liking to having a kooky space alien uncle.

You lock your helmet in place as Matt pilots the pod towards the work camps. They were just as grim as the first time you’d seen them. It was the same all over in many of the Empire’s work planets. They were at the bottom of the totem pole. There were some planets where the native species and Galra coexisted more or less peacefully, this was not one of them.

“So what’s up with Keith,” Matt asks you.

You shrug. “No clue. I keep waiting for Lotor or one of the Blades to drop in so I can corner them but he’s a picture of perfect health so I’m not worried.”

“But the,” he takes a hand off the wheel, motioning to his face.

You frown, arching a brow. You’d never looked at Allura quite the same after the way she had treated Keith upon learning about his heritage. It’s not like he’d been a completely different person, she’d known him for over a year.

Matt might be Pidge’s brother, but you weren’t about to let anyone get away with giving someone you loved shit. Especially not Keith who would just silently take it.

It made your chest ache, thinking about how sweet he looked when he smiled. He didn’t deserve any of it.

“What about it?” You stare back at him cooly.

Matt focuses back on landing the pod just beyond the sentires line of sight. “Nothing. Pidge figured it was nothing, didn’t even seem curious. I figured you might know, you two are pretty close.” He glances over at you meaningfully.

“We’ve known eachother since the garrison,” though you hadn’t really been friends. Keith had been kind of a loner. You’d tried to include him, having shared a couple classes with him here and there, but he’d never taken you up on any offer.

“Right.” He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Glad to hear it’s all good. I caught the sneazles while in the work camp,” Matt makes a face.

You laugh.

“It was horrible! But also like an episode of spongebob somehow?”

“Space is weird.” You had way bigger problems and had seen stranger things by now. For fucks sake, you were saving dragon looking aliens from the Galra right now. This planet was like a silent hill game!

Thick fog obscured the rocky landscape. Even from within your suit you could smell the stench of rotten eggs. Yet this was home to the Vexuin.

Shiro gives the signal.

You take the safety off the taser gun Pidge had built for you. Anything pilfered off the Galra was too large for your small stature, just a hair shorter than Keith. The gun packed a punch, with enough voltage to take out the robots.

Matt and you get to work.

“Almost got it,” Matt mutters as you take aim and shoot.

Stupid damn biolocks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you tell him, dodging a shot from another sentry before frying it with your own weapon. One shot, one sentry. You needed to take them down before they got close. The robots were durable and strong. You knew better than to think you could go hand to hand with one, you were a medic not a fighter.

“I am, I am,” Matt insists. “Ah there,” he grabs a taser flash bomb out of his pocket and tosses inside the sentry outpost.

You shoot again, trying to keep your hands steady. It was easy when it was just programmed machines. Nothing to feel bad about.

Matt and you rush inside, stepping over more fried sentries. You take position at the entrance, gunning down anything that makes its way towards the two of you.

“You in,” you ask him.

“Patience my young apprentice,” Matt says, laughing at his own joke, “it’ll take a moment for my worm to work its way through the software and give me complete control.”

The ground shakes as the main part of the battle takes place outside, at a monsterous factory that’s gray, chimney shooting out smoke. You can only see hints of lions shooting and Galra fighter ships lighting up the sky.

The sulfuric fog coats everything.

You taste rotten eggs on your breath.

Inside your suit, sweat runs down your back.

“Okay,” Matt chimes into the coms, “I’ve hacked the camps. Ready to open the gates.”

The rolling low grutal voices of the Vexuin rebel leaders fill your coms, “Good.”

“Go ahead Matt,” Allura gives the order, “Voltron?”

Pidge answers, “dropping in, should override their” static, “ticks.” Then an explosion reverberates in your ear where the communications device is.

“Pidge,” Keith yells out.

“Keith cover Lance,” Shiro grunts out, blasts audible from here. “Pidge?”

Nothing.

Matt’s face goes ghostly white.

“Pidge, come in Pidge?” Allura asks. “Paladins? Are you able to reach Pidge?”

“Negative,” Shiro replies, “Hunk, take the main gate! Time to land.”

“On it.”

“Guys,” Lance yells, “the shield’s down. Pidge hacked them.”

“Keith,” Shiro yells, “wait!”

“Fine.”

You decide to hope for the best. There was nothing you could do for any of the paladins all the way from here. “Turn it off,” you tell Matt.

He steals himself. “Right.”

The lights of the compound go out. Sentries power down where they stand, puppets with their strings cut. Locks disengage, and for the first time in decades, the Vexuin are free to leave the barracks free from Galra supervision.

You and Matt go out to meet them.

“I could get used to this,”  Pidge calls out as everyone meets on the planet’s surface. Rebels come in from the forest slowly, making sure this is for real, before sniffing the air and calling out to their loved ones lingering around the liberated camp complex.  Their vision worked in the infrared, all the better to see on this planet. You’d need at least three showers to get the smell out of your hair.

Keith carries Pidge, careful not to jolt the youngest member of Voltron. She holds a leg stiffly, a sprain or fracture.

Matt rushes to his sister, “Katie!”

She waves him off, “I’m fine.” Then snaps her fingers, “Down.”

There’s a small smile on Keith’s mouth as he places her down on the ground gently.

Lance comes up behind Keith, ruffling his hair, and being every bit himself as he comments with a smirk, “good boy.”

The shorter paladin smacks Lance’s hand away, but it’s too late, Lance is already smothering Keith in a hug that turns into a competition, like always with those two. Keith shoves at Lance’s face while Lance tightens his grip on Keith.

Shiro clears his throat, “paladins.”

“A dobesh in the pod,” you ask Pidge as Matt gets his turn to fuss over her.

“Yeah. Landed right as an explosion went off,” Pidge frowns. “Not my best moment, but my program still did it’s job and,” she pats her bayard, “I took them out.”

“Can’t be that bad if you can stand,” you agree. Nothing serious but you’d be keeping an eye on her all the same. The faster she got into the pod and took weight off her injury the better. You didn’t want to exacerbate the sprain.

“The jet pack helped,” Pidge points out.

“Lucky you,” you grin.

Shiro and Allura are consummate professionals as they go over the last of the logistics with the Vexuin, “It would be wise to stay until your people have situated themselves in case the Galra Empire retaliates,” Allura states, ending her sentiment in a question, “but it is ultimately up to you.”

The Vexuin chatter among themselves for a moment before one speaks up, “we would not turn down Voltron’s help. A few quintants should be enough time.”

“Then we will make ourselves of service to you,” Shiro nods. “Please, let us know anything we can help with.”

A red scaled one smiles, showing off her many sharp and jagged teeth, “our people long to see the camp destroyed.”

Hunk offers, “I could help rig a controlled explosion.”

“Very good.”

“The system inside the weapons factory is down,” Pidge tells them, “but I can reprogram it to keep the Galra out so that you can decide what to do with the place.”

“Oh no you don’t,” you cut in, “Matt can take care of that. You’re going in a pod first.”

“Pod person,” Matt mutters under his breath with a snort.

“Then let us get to work,” Allura dismisses everyone.

Pidge tries to take a step, and almost falls over.

You grab her.

Her face goes crimson from the pain.

The adrenalin must have been keeping the bulk of the pain away.

Keith picks her up.

It’s not until you’ve loaded Pidge in for three vargas that you pull off your helmet, savoring the crisp clean air of the Castleship.

“I can still smell the sulfur,” you comment, wrinkling your nose.

Keith shakes his hair out.

You look at him thoughtfully, “must be worse for you though.”

“Why,” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Because your nose,” you point out, then frown, “your sinuses did clear up yeah?” He never said anything about it so you figured they had and he could smell fine again, but you weren’t sure.

“Oh. Yeah. They did.”

You smile fondly, “very convincing Keith,” you tell him, reaching out to him. He lets you run your fingers right under his ears, behind his jaw. Everything was in order.

A knot of anxiety dissolves in your chest.

“Well,” he asks, “satisfied?”

“Mhm.” You look at the purple markings on his skin.

Keith’s breath hitches. His gaze is trained on you, watching carefully.

“So if not rotten eggs,” you ask, slowly bringing your fingertips over the marks on the sides of his face, giving him every opportunity to pull away, “what do you smell?” You couldn’t help it. It was that scientific curiosity. Everyone at the garrison had ended up there because they were nerdy in some way: devoting themselves to some STEM field while other kids were watching cartoons. You’d had a stutter as a kid, self conscious about it too, so instead of trying to make friends you read your textbooks under your desk, racing ahead.

Keith’s eyes meet yours. There’s a level of vulnerability in his gaze that worms its way into your chest and all of a sudden you’re incredibly aware of how close you two are, the lack of space between your bodies, your fingers caressing his skin.

You look away, focusing on the marks. They were purple, which was obvious. His skin itself had grown purple, perfectly delineated.

“Like wet soil,” Keith explains finally, “when they just added fertilizer.” You wince, remembering the smell of the horticulture center wafting through the garrison’s campus during the spring. “And garlic.”

“I like garlic. I’d kill for some,” you tell him, sounding very much like Hank. You hadn’t expected to be homesick for food. “Best food they served at the cafeteria.”

“That’s not saying much,” Keith mutters, amused.

You chuckle, pulling your hands away from his face.

He leans forward, asking for physical comfort in a very Keith way: unsubtle and wordlessly, putting the onus on you to get the hint.

Pidge must have freaked him out more than he was willing to discuss.

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging Keith. “Pidge’ll be fine.” Sure, she was younger and short, but she was more than capable of handling herself. “I’m more concerned about how she left the other guys,” you comment lightly resting your chin on Keith’s shoulder.

His shoulders shake as he laughs easily. “They asked to surrender to her personally.”

“That’s Pidge all right.” You glance over at the pod. She’d be back on her feet in no time.

Keith’s breath against your skin feels nice. Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself blushing and pulling away, thoughts racing as you realize just how much you liked this boy. You pull away, unsure what to do and suddenly finding it too awkward to be around him at all.

The start of a whine escapes his throat before he smothers it, looking away, as he lets his bangs fall over his eyes, effectively hiding his easy to read features.

“Let’s go help the others,” you say, fumbling to grab a med kit and click your helmet back in place, your face too warm and it must be obvious. You didn’t want to make things weird. You didn’t. But-

“I’m going to stay here until Pidge wakes up,” Keith tells you.

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. “That’s a great idea. It’s always confusing as hell to get out of the pods.” It was akin to waking up from a midday nap: completely confused and exhausted instead of rested.

Your skills would be more useful with the Vexuim than fussing over Pidge at the moment. And having something to do would keep your mind off Keith.

—————

“You know,” Lance comments, sliding up to you as you watch Lotor strut away from you after another failed attempt to talk to him. “If we bottled up whatever galra repellant you have going on, we could defeat Zarkon with perfume.”

You look over at Lance, trying to suppress a smile. “What would you call it?”

“Starlight.”

“That’s-that’s actually pretty great,” you tell Lance.

“I know,” he grins. Then the latino boy sobers up, “trying to find out what’s going on with mullet?”

You nod. “I even tried to corner Acxa,” you admit. For an eight foot tall purple alien, boy could she make herself scarce.

Lance’s eyes widened in delight, “like could and should peg me Acxa?”

You groan. “Lance, sometimes it’s okay to keep things to yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” he laughs, “the ship’s not that big…”

“It’s designed for six thousand people.” You’d learned that fun tidbit while practicing your Altean with Pidge.

“Like for real!”

“Yeah.”

“Ay dios mio,” Lance utters, “you’re screwed.”

You finally hit the motherlode.

Lotor and his generals are in a stately room that reminds you of the socratic lecture halls at the garrison, sofa arranged in a half circle, with Shiro and Allura. The former Prince had shown up for a reason beyond making a nuisance of himself. Allura looks at her wits end with him, as he smiles like a douche, her eye twitching.

She invites you in without hesitation, “take a seat next to me,” and effectively uses you as a human shield against Lotor.

Literally since you and Shiro were the only humans here.

“Everything has been thoroughly discussed,” Lotor comments dryly, snubbing you once more. Normally, you wouldn’t have cared but you were trying to get information out of the man. “Unless either of you have further questions?”

Shiro hums, rubbing his chin, “I know saddling you with a rebel ship or two will slow you down but I don’t see another way around it. A display of size on their part will go a long way to show it is an alliance and not the Galra Empire hy another name.”

Allura nods, a small smile on her lips as she looks over at Shiro, “The black paladin is right. It will be a steep hill to climb to show that you are not the Galra Empire. Their fears would be alleviated with the presence of the rebel alliance.”

Zethrid sucks in a sharp breath, “So that’s it then. We will always be scorned and merely tolerated.”

“Time,” Shiro sighs with a look of gentle understanding at the muscular woman, “they need time. You can’t erase 10,000 years of history. It is hard to extend trust after being imprisoned and enslaved.”

“The alliance has started coordinating with you and the Blade directly have they not,” Allura asks stiltedly. It was by the necessity of time that they had stopped going through Voltron first. Lotor might be too smug for his own good, but his team was effective at sabotaging warships and infiltrating Galra ranks to liberate prisons and cities, enough to turn the tide for the rebels.

Her feelings towards Lotor and the Blade were still tinged with suspicion, her treatment of them lukewarm at best.

Still, Lotor brushed it off and continued to help. “Well then, Princess, Shiro, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Shiro nods.

They shake hands.

You stand up, ready to corner Lotor.

“But first a word Shiro, it is a private matter.”

“Yeah, sure,” Shiro leads Lotor away.

Your eye twitches.

That snake!

Zethrid and Narti walk purposefully away as Allura pushes in her chair, ignoring the last two of Lotor’s team. “Princess,” Acxa, tries. “Until next time.” She nods at you, “stay safe.”

Allura gives the woman a strained smile, hooking her arm with yours. Human shield.

“You too,” you tell her. She doesn’t wait, already halfway out the door. You sigh.

Ezor giggles, by far the friendliest and easiest to get along with of Lotor’s team. “Stashing food and water will cut down the embarrassment by half.”

“What?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “I guess Lotor was right. Darn it! Now I owe him one hundred GAC.”

“Wait-”

But she scurries off.

“Ugh,” you kick the wall, tired of everyone being weird. The usual frustration with being caught up in a space war was just the salt on the wound.

Your toe throbs, “fuck,” you hiss.

“They are rather tiring to deal with,” Allura agrees, reading the situation wrong, “but it hardly calls for assaulting the Castle.”

“Sorry,” you flush red with embarrassment. “I just had a question for Lotor and he seems intent on never being in the same room as me.”

“Ah-,” Allura smiles easily, “Lance did mention that you were in possession of a Galra repellent.” The twinkle in her eyes lets you know she was in on the joke.

“Come, let us work our frustrations out with some introspection.” Which was just Altean for weird breathing exercises that supposedly helped you do alchemy. She had managed to rope you into practicing with her before.

“Anything to spare the wall,” you joke.

——————

You walk back from the library. It was a cozy room, especially when you dimmed the lights. The Castle was always so bright, designed with the Alteans sight needs in mind.

Sometimes you just needed some time away from everyone. You loved them, but spending years with the same people while floating through space…you had no clue how Shiro had managed it.

Getting a walk around the ship was also nice. It was easy to forget how big the Castle was when you mainly stayed on the same three floors. Just a couple months ago Coran had rediscovered the greenhouse. The plants were a little piece of Altea, and had quickly become one of Allura’s favorite spots.

The windows were wide portholes. It unnerved you still, looking out and not recognizing any star, any constellations.

A lump of homesickness lodges itself in your throat. It had been over two years, your siblings would have grown so much in that time. You certainly had. The last vestiges of childhood had gone from your face.

Acne cleared up even without Lance’s ten step routine.

You walk across the bridge, trying not to look down. The viewing platform was clear glass in space, you could lay on it. It freaked you out a little.

It was the only constantly dark place in the castle.

You still yelp when you spot Keith, his eyes luminous violet like a glow in the dark t-shirt. That should have tipped all of you off, but alien was not the first thing that came to mind when you previously believed aliens had never visited earth.

He whimpers, curling up further.

“Keith,” you gulp, focusing on him and not the glass separating you from the void of space. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up at you miserably, blinking sluggishly. “I have the worst migraine.”

“And you’re down here instead of getting painkillers?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s not as bad, quiet. Dark.”

You sit down next to him. “I can go get you something,” you offer, your cheeks warming up and it was ridiculous how you can’t even manage to act normal around him anymore.

“Coran already gave me a dose.”

“Oh.” You were hurt. You were supposed to be the medic. That was your role on Team Voltron.

You hug your knees to your chest, and look down at space. It was darker than the photographs back on earth. Not so purple and blue.

You weren’t Matt who was just as good as Pidge with technology or Allura who was the leader and a princess to boot, you’d just planned on having a late dinner with Hunk once he got over the motion sickness before Lance roped you into following Pidge. You weren’t a paladin.

Keith shuts his eyes. “You were with Allura. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother.” You swallow thickly, letting silence fall over you both.

You listen to Keith breathing, looking around the darkness of space for any familiar stars. You knew the space around Shay’s Balmerra, and Arus was at least a little familiar. But the universe was so vast and wide.

There were planets you’d only ever been to once, each with a different night sky. Some of them never even had a night, with multiple suns staving off a night cycle.

“Do you think Allura minds?”

“Mind what,” you ask.

Keith clenches his jaw, rubbing his temples. “That I look more Galra.”

Allura has always been harder on the Galra. For her, it had been such a short time since Zarkon had destroyed her world and her people. You didn’t agree, but you could understand where she was coming from, the pain still there as she continuously wore Altean mourning pink.

You look over at him, the outline of his body against the glass. “I think your marks look cool.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do,” you whisper gently, considerate of his migraine. Those were the worst. “They frame your face. You look nice,” you finish lamely, looking away. You look nice. Lance might say stupid things but at least he tried.

“What if I looked even more Galra?”

“Like completely purple and tall?” You couldn’t really wrap your head around it. It also seemed incredibly unlikely. Could his phenotype change so drastically? On earth the answer was no, but who knows how the Galra work. It was fascinating to see such a wide range of traits in one species.

He was also half human.

You worried if his body would even tolerate such a drastic change.

“Yes,” he says, not waiting for you as he rants in agitation, “the rebels hate the Blade and Allura doesn’t trust them at all and that’s not even mentioning Lotor.”

“That’s not true. Te-Osh likes Acza and Ezor. Lotor’s kind of annoying if we’re being honest, and I’m sure his being Zarkon’s son makes it a little hard to believe he’s on our side,” you try to reason. “And don’t write off the Galra who have changed sides or were in the camps right alongside other aliens.”

Keith says nothing in response, mouth a thin line as he thinks.

You wonder how long it’s been bugging him.

You want to reach out and hug him, but he isn’t Hunk. You’re not sure he’d want to if he’s not initiating the contact. So you don’t.

“Everyone knows how the last Galra paladin worked out.” A low growl in the back of his throat is enough to clue you in to how distressing this was for him.

Your heart hurts. “And everyone knows you’re not Zarkon,” you state evenly back. “We already know you’re Galra.”

Keith snorts humorlessly. You can’t see his eyes; they’re hidden by his bangs.

“The glowing eyes are not exactly subtle dude,” you point out, “not to mention your hair does the poof thing guinea pigs do when they’re eating, but not when you’re eating, more like when you get annoyed.”

“I-what!” His eyes go comically wide as he sits up. His dark hair does the thing, making him look like a character from those old Japanese kids movies.

You giggle, “you’re doing it.”

Keith tries to look at his reflection in the glass.

You blush, grateful that it’s too dark to see, and then realize that wasn’t true for him, so you look away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Yeah. I’m the medic, it’s my job to know these things. Like how Pidge has two webbed digits on her foot and Lance is allergic to flax seeds and bees.”

“That…makes sense.” Then he smiles, “still didn’t put two and two together.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Reason number three thousand Iverson had it out for him back at the harrison. “And if anyone has a problem with you I’ll kick their ass.”

“You?” Keith snorts. “You wouldn’t even flip me during self defense.”

“You remember that?” You run a hand over your face, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” you always took forever to practice on your partner. And your weak arms didn’t help.

“That’s what the mats were for.”

“Still!”

Keith laughs at your expense.

You smile, taking delight in watching him smile and laugh and you wish it could always be like this and the war would just end.

Then you sober up. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

He doesn’t answer you right away.

“Keith-” you reach out, voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay, giant purple space cat or not, right?”

He takes your hand, squeezing it firmly. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good,” you utter, but tears bead up in your eyes anyway. It was terrifying watching someone go through something unknown that you couldn’t help them through for all your medical training. You knew how to set bones and run a pod…not whatever this was.

You trusted Keith.

He knew himself better than anyone. After all, he’d been right about his teeth growing back.

“You really are worried,” he whispers in disbelief.

“Duh.”

“I can smell it on you,” then he seems to realize what he said, and pulls away, ducking his head. Like he hadn’t meant to say so much.

“Really?” Learning about anything alien biology was pretty cool, you had to admit. Allura had once described colours that you couldn’t perceive. It was a fun talk. And then she’d made you meditate for alchemy stuff or so she claimed. It might have just been payback. “Is that new?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits, still drawn into himself. “Can we not-I already feel like enough of a freak already without,” he waves aggressively at himself.

You bite your lip, nodding. You wanted to say something, to get it through his head how you saw him, incredibly kind and fiercely loyal (to the point of taking on Zarkon by himself) and an endearing smile you never got tired of seeing.

You liked him.

The universe was lucky to have him as a paladin.

But you don’t know how to say it in a way he’d accept. And he asked you to drop it, so you do. “Right, I’ll just go then.” He’d been here first, and the glass made you nervous.

Could it withstand a hit from a galra battleship?

Keith opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but he just nods, then winces, “Argh,” he groans as he curls up on his side, covering his ears with his hands.

You rush to his side, kneeling next to him, “Keith,” you utter softly, not wanting to make it worse.

His eyes are pressed close and for all your medical know-how, you’re at a loss.

So you running your fingers through his hair soothingly and wait for the pain to pass.

He shifts, laying his head in your lap as he whimpers.

You can’t stand to watch him and do nothing. You press your com, pinging Shiro and Coran. This was beyond you. He’d trust Shiro with whatever was going on and he’d gone to Coran. You respected that even if it did sting.

Your pride meant little so long as Keith felt comfortable and sought help.

“Shh, shh,” you whisper gently.

Sweat beads on his brow.

Whines escape his throat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, clenching his teeth.

He’s warm to your touch and that rouses another bout of worries. At this temperature it’s a fever, but he didn’t have the symptoms, the flushed cheeks and chills.

Keith curls up further, muscles stiff.

You’re helpless.

After what feels like ages, Shiro and Coran finally appear.

“Number four, Number five,” Coran claps his hands.

You hold out your hand, motioning them to shut the fuck up as Keith winces at the sound.

His hair is damp near his ears.

“Keith,” Shiro utters much more gently, kneeling down on his other side, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He raises his head, blinking groggily at Shiro, trying to concentrate through the pain, “Shiro,” he reaches for his brother who easily pulls him against his chest. Keith buries his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck.

You sit back, trying to get out of the way. Your hands are wet.

You look down and realize it’s blood. His ears-

Oh god.

“Number five,” Coran says gently, helping you up, “I’ll take great care of our Paladin. Why don’t you go get cleaned up.”

You don’t get any sleep that night.

——————

You were always struck with cognitive dissonance walking around colonized planets like Rahiri where the natives and Galra lived side by side. This was not a planet ravaged by the empire. The flora-like aliens in all shades of green with rootish limbs and leaves and petals for hair had assimilated into the Empire, achieving citizenship over generations. 10,000 years deca-phoebs was a long time. That was a huge source of tension in the Alliance, what to do with the world who neither wanted or wished to leave the Empire.

It was also a source of dark humor that no one spared the four of you a second glance despite two paladins of Voltron walking around.

Hunk holds Shay’s hand in front of you as they point and awe and drag their feet on the way to the space port.

“You could always stay with,” Hunk says hopefully, “we could just drop you off. Personal taxi service.”

Shay smiles back kindly, “that would be wonderful but I have been away from home for too long. I am, as you say, a homebody.”

“Aw, yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I feel that. I like the ground. And dirt. Piloting is overrated.”

“Don’t let yellow here you say that,” Keith comments so dry, you think he’s serious for a second. Allura and Pidge had gone shopping for supplies. That was an advantage of a planet that had not seen war.

Hunk glances back, clearly having forgotten we had tagged along in case anything went down. “Yeah well, she’d like a small moon. Or an asteroid. There’s colonies on those.”

“Very true,” Shay laughs. “I think my balmerra is also like a moon. A beautiful creature. We have learned how to ask for crystals so we do not need to cut them.”

“That’s impressive. Did the books from Allura help,” Hunk asks.

As much as you liked getting to stretch your legs, seeing a different planet where the threat was not imminent, you didn’t like being a third wheel, or fourth wheel if you went according to Coran’s favorite numbering pattern. That inch difference between you and Keith mocked you.

You glance over at the red paladin.

His gaze kept flickering back and forth, around the street. The occasional loud noise of crates being unloaded made him jump.

“You good,” you ask Keith, cracking a joke so he’d know you weren’t judging him. “You see la llorona or Davy Jones?”

“Hm?”

“You know…a famous ghost? Do they have ghosts in space?”

Keith snorts, cottoning on. “They don’t even have ghosts on earth.”

You pull a face, “well that’s no fun. Seriously, you okay? Or have we been made?”

He shakes his head, glancing around again just to be sure. “So much for Zarkon’s finest.”

You laugh, following Hank and Shay into the space port. Shuttles were departing pretty consistently. Everything was in orderly fashion. You especially liked how no one was shooting at you.

“It takes some getting used to.”

“What does?” You watch as Keith shakes his head, making his hair fall back from his face.

Shay and Hunk go to the ticket counter, but you decide to find somewhere off to the side, wanting to give them privacy.

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes at Keith, “you suck.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, looking anywhere but at you. “Lotor explained it to me and Shiro…what’s happening.”

“Oh.” You swallow, looking at Hunk and Shay hugging and saying their goodbyes yet again. They’d said them last night at dinner, this morning in the pod, and again when you’d split from Allura and Pidge. It was cute. They were adorable.

“Sorry.”

“Hm,” you glance over at Keith, not sure why he would be sorry about anything. He was the one getting screwed over by half of his heritage.

“You’re hurt.”

“You can smell that too,” you ask him, holding his deep gaze. There was an intense commitment to everything Keith did; it was reflected in the depth of his violet gaze. He didn’t do things in halves.

“Now I can.” He looks at his shoes, red dusting his cheeks. The red didn’t tinge the purple marks on his skin.

“So this is all,” you’re not sure how to put it, “nothing to worry about?”

“He said it was normal. But because I’m half there’s no way to know what to expect.” He looks away as he says it, stiff as he glances around.

The anxiety that had settled into your jaw since you’d had to wash his blood off your hands eases up. “Giant purple space cat,” you joke, nudging his side.

“Oh fuck no,” Keith grumbles. Even that furrowed expression that crossed his chiselled features made you feel all giddy inside.

Bad timing.

“I’m not hurt I-I just wish you trusted me,” you finally admit. It was silly. You felt selfish, so you tack on, “You know I’m here for you if you need me. We all are. I know Shiro’s your brother, but we’re your friends.”

“I know,” he sighs wistfully, “I do trust you…it’s just-it’s been hard. I don’t know how to feel about any of it and I’m not used to it either.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, “I’m being silly, making this about me. As long as you know I’m here for you…I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything…” you cringe internally at yourself. The galaxy garrison had been made up of nerds, so it followed everyone was a character. It hadn’t helped anyone’s social skills.

You wish you could just go, I worry about you because I love you instead of stumbling through word vomit.

“Come on,” Keith brings you out of your thoughts, grabbing your hand and pushing through the crowd of people coming and going to different boarding gates, “I think Hunk’s going to need some comfort food.”

You glance around, finding Hunk’s form making it’s way to you both. He was wiping his eyes, bittersweet smile, making no move to really hide that he was crying.

“Let’s get back to Allura yeah,” he tells you both.

“Or,” you go with Keith’s idea, “we can get something to eat. Allura gave us a good hour or so.”

“Varga,” Keith supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

Hunk nods, “that sounds nice. It’s just,” he looks back at the departing shuttle, “it’s hard. It’s war and you never know when your going to see each other again but it’s not like she can just drop everything and I wouldn’t ask her too, if anything I’d like to retire there. Nice and quiet. Maybe open a restaurant…”

“Vrepit Sal two,” Keith offers.

“Could make it a chain,” you add with a smile. Hunk, like you, was not such a gung ho pilot. You had landed the flight simulation without crashing exactly once, for your final emergency protocol exam.

“Thanks guys,” Hunk grins, “but I think I’ll bring some earth out here. Give these people a taste of traditional earthlign cuisine.”

“So your menu’s going to be as long as Cheesecake Factory’s,” you ask with a silly grin.

“Maybe not that long. A burger, ramen, scratch that, pizza instead of a burger.” Hunk rubs his chin thoughtfully sniffing the air and following his nose to a food stand. You trusted him for food. He had a knack for combining goo and exotically colored food that screamed fake and poisonous into pretty great meals.

Keith was still holding your hand, not as a loose afterthought: every now and then he’d rub his thumb against the back of your hand and it sent a thrill down your spine.

You don’t pull away, wanting to savor the feel of his skin against yours even if it wasn’t that deep. You’d hugged and napped with everyone at least once, grabbing each other’s hands in the confusing crowded hovels of swamp malls (actual swamp malls and not places Coran thought of as a swamp mall).

You nab a table outside the stand.

Everything was in Galra which none of you could read. “Damn,” you mutter looking over.

Hunk glances at Keith without subtlety.

You were starting to think only Allura and Shiro could do subtly.

Keith raises a brow.

“Nothing,” Hunk looks down at his screen.

“Point and hope for the best it is,” you shrug.

“I love a good surprise,” Hunk nods, then looks down at his hands, “we’ll see each other again right? Shay…they’re pretty safe. And well…yellow’s got thick armour.” He sighs, resting his cheek against his fist, elbows on the table.

“Shay’s a badass,” you confort Hunk, “she figured out how to communicate with the Balmera and through the Balmera. She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty freaking amazing,” Hunk blushes.

You order from an alien that somewhat resembles Ezor, all cotton candy color, and twiddle your thumbs, enjoying the rare moment of rest and relaxation.

“I could get used to this,” Hunk comments, savoring the strange dish he’d been served.

“Get a travel food show,” you tease, “I’d watch it.”

“It could be like this all the time,” Keith muses hopefully, “aren’t planets like this proof we could all get along.” He bites into the glowing blue lotus root shaped meal, and blinks widely.

“What,” you ask, looking over at him.

Keith grabs a napkin and spits out his food. “I think I just lost another tooth.”

“You think,” Hunk raises a brow, “how could you not notice a missing tooth?”

“Smile,” you nudge Keith sitting next to you.

He rolls his eyes, before fake smiling which was always so undeniably forced when he did it. You laugh, nodding, “yup, missing tooth.”

Keith frowns for a second, before continuing to eat.

“Oh,” Hunk utters, before he kicks your leg lightly.

You look up, meeting the yellow paladin’s searching gaze.

He looks at you with a knowing smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, the tip of your nose burning hotly, you look down, shoving a questionable sticky black slice into your mouth. It was easy to chew despite the sticky-ness, the flavor starchy and nutty.

There was no way this wouldn’t get back to everyone else in the Castle. No way.

They were all so nosy.

Oh fuck.

——————

“It sure is hot in here,” Lance says with a challenging smirk at Keith.

You roll your eyes.

Lance stretches, resting his arms against the back of the sofa, his hand tapping annoyingly against your shoulder.

Keith is unmoved. Or more accurately, Keith’s mouth twists as he tries hard to ignore Lance’s latest attempts to get him to remove his hat, a lime green thing that clashed perfectly as was his fashion sense, or lack of any fashion sense.

Pidge smacks her head, then peaks curiously at Keith: at Keith’s hat.

You flick Lance’s cheek. “Hey hot shot, don’t hug me when you’ve set the thermostat to ninety degrees.”

“Ninety five actually,” he winks, hugging you towards him. Ugh, you couldn’t do it. You’d already done away with your afghan coat, tied your lavender flannel around your waist, what more could you do. You didn’t have shorts in space. The skirts stored in the castle were breezy, but made you feel at risk of tripping over the hem with each step.

“Hm,” Keith voices, taking a seat, “reminds me of home.”

Hunk snorts, “really thought that through,” he tells Lance.

Lance is undeterred. “Could go higher.”

“I don’t think your cow would like that very much,” you point out.

The blue paladin sulks, looking down at you, “you’re just saying that because you like-”

You jab your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What ever happened to do no harm?”

“Technically,” you tell Lance, “I never graduated.”

“She’s got you there,” Pidge smirks from beside Keith. She was taking apart yet another radio. The signal had yet to reach earth.

“Thank you Pidge.”

She shrugs, “It’s true.” Then turns on Keith, “The hat, explain.”

He looks like he wishes he could merge with the sofa at that, slumping in his seat.

You decide to step in, “I’m going to turn the thermo down.”

Lance is quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back onto the sofa, “come on, relax. Like mullet said, it’s homey.”

You throw him a dirty look.

“Keith?” Pidge side-eyes her fellow paladin. He’s sat up, gripping the sofa cushion so tightly he’s ripping hole into the ten thousand year upholstery.

“You okay there buddy,” Hunk asks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Keith sucks in a breath, and with deliberate motion, pulls the hat from his head.

Oh.

Your eyes widen.

OH.

His ears had changed.

They weren’t nearly as alien as Allura’s, but no one would mistake their shape for human. Keith’s ears tapered up and out, portrudding, but it was more than just a pointed tip, the entire shape of his ears had transformed, resembling a butterfly’s wing. It was still human in color, but…

Hunk breaks the stunned silence first, “so are you going to like to end up purple?”

Keith ducks his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

No one else gets the chance to further interrogate Keith, or hear his own thoughts, because Allura calls everyone up to the bridge.

Lotor hailed the Castle of Lions. Everyone stands around the bridge while Shiro and Allura take the lead as usual. They might as well be twins given how well they got on, communicating differing ideas without undermining the other.

“There are nine warships in the system,” Lotor acknowledges, “I would be much indebted if you would do me the favor of sending Voltron for the aerial battle.”

“The Empire’s presence is still in its early stages,” Acza explains, “but their terraforming development for the planet will cause the destruction of the Talpidae living there.”

“Then we have no choice,” Allura clenches her fist, never one to sit back while there was something she could do about it, “we will provide air support. Sent me the coordinates so that I may Teleduv there.”

Lance is still obviously eyeing Keith’s latest development. It was readily visible, and you were fighting the urge to do the same.

But you weren’t also trying to flick his ears.

Keith growls lowly.

Lance sniggers.

Pidge offers Lance a piece of paper to make paper balls with.

Hunk sighs long sufferingly, having resigned himself to the more childish side of his two friends. They were terrors. Put Pidge and Lance together, and they were gremlins out of a horror movie made for elementary school teachers.

You slip your hand into Keith’s, squeezing reassuringly. It would take some getting used to like anytime someone got a new haircut, but you would. Like his atrocious boots, they’d become an endearing part of him.

Keith squeezes your hand back.

Shiro nods, agreeing with Allura, “have the Talpidae been contacted.”

“Very much so,” Ezor chimes in, “they’re funny little people. And their sensory-”

“The point Ezor,” Lotor sighs, rubbing his nose bridge.

“They sent for help to the rebels. We were closest to their system,” Exor elaborates with a shrug, “they do not have the background to fight head on, and will evacuate most of their people into bunkers, but they have been digging under the new construction and weakening the structural integrity of the Galra outposts.”

“Very well,” Shiro accepts, “Princess Allura and our chief medic will meet with the Talpidae as a show of goodwill.”

“Our only medic,” Hunk points out.

Keith growls, his hand squeezing yours hard.

You all look over at him.

“Red Paladin,” Allura says, trying to look as professional as possible in front of her least favorite of Voltron’s allies, “is something the matter.” She shares a look with Shiro, but otherwise looks unsurprised at Keith’s less than human ears.

Or maybe she’d make a great poker played.

“Can’t you meet with the Talpidae after the battle,” Keith utters harshly.

“They may need immediate tactical support,” Allura reasons, “we should be there in person to provide it.”

“It’ll be fine Keith,” Shiro adds.

Their words do little to calm Keith down. His dark silky hair puffs up. His grip on your hand tightens and you feel miffed. You’d been on the ground working triage before. You might not be a fighter or pilot but you could look after yourself.

You pull your hand out of his. “I really don’t see what the problem is,” you tell Keith pointedly.

“I’ll watch Allura’s back and she’ll have mine.”

Allura nods. “Our chief medic is correct-”

His ears twitch, “You’re not exactly a fighter.”

Shiro covers his face with a hand.

Your brows furrow. You’re livid. “So! I won’t be fighting. We’ll be in the bunkers with the Talpidae. It’ll be safe so it doesn’t even matter.”

“If it’s perfectly safe then you don’t need to be there,” Keith’s voice breaks, a whine escaping his chest but you don’t care, done with the conversation.

“Yikes,” is Ezor’s quiet whisper.

You’re not a paladin so you don’t care, you just stalk off the bridge ready to go scream into your pillow in frustration. Or better yet, go for a swim and scream underwater.

“Wait-” Keith follows you.

You ignore him.

“I just-,” he keeps trying as you stalk down the stairs, deciding your room was better after all if only because you could lock Keith out.

“Listen-,” he whines.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean what,” you round on him, hands on your hips, pissed off and maybe some of its was from being stuck on this stupid ship all the damn time but like eighty percent was earned. You might not be taking on a squad of Galra soldiers, but you could take one on if it came to it.

Keith at least has the decency to look miserable, sad chirrups in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground.

“Well?” You tap your foot on the ground.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he finally manages. “Especially if you don’t need to be there.”

“But I do,” you counter, “There’ll be people running into those bunkers having escaped soldiers and sentries and the faster they get treated the better chance they have.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Keith repeats himself. “You-you can hold your own.” He looks up at you through his bangs, still hunched in on himself.

“Obviously.” There’s no heat, the anger having deflated already. It was just white hot ache in your chest, hurt at the idea that Keith thought you would get in the way, that you had nothing of value to add to the Alliance and Voltron.

You bite your lip.

Don’t cry, you think to yourself.

You were being dumb.

He was just being plain stupid.

“I mean it,” Keith repeats, “I’m sorry. I was just looking for an excuse to make sure you were safe.”

“Right, because Allura can handle herself but I can’t.” Your voice cracks.

“No,” Keith says in a rush, “it’s not the same.”

“Because I can’t fight?”

“That’s not,” Keith runs a hand through his hair, “It’s me okay. I’m-I’ve always jumped into things without thinking, but I decided to go for it, like breaking Shiro out but now I’m doing things before I even notice and it’s all these stupid Galra instincts!”

You swallow.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you once more. “I didn’t mean to and I’m sorry. No one thinks you can’t handle yourself. That’s why Shiro paired you up with Allura, because he knows you’re capable of watching her back.”

Your smile is fragile as you look over at him, “yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith holds your gaze, looking as skittish as a stray dog. Another whine escapes his throat.

What the heck.

You hug him, “you’re such a dumbass.” You understood why he’d worry. This was war. Pidge was on a two man campaign with Shiro to get Matt to stay on the Castle, both scared witless that Matt might die on a mission with the rebels. Ulaz had died so everyone could get away.

You’d had patients in the last decaphoebs you could do nothing but ease their pain. You’d had patients that you couldn’t even administer anything for the pain because of how torn apart they were: guts spilling out, charred people shapes that you were surprised to still find breathing.

The images would never leave you as long as you lived.

“I’m sorry.” Keith buries his head in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin sent shivers down your spine.

You hug him tightly, aware that every battle could be your last: the last time you saw him. “You’ve said that already,” you tease, memorizing the smell of him, stale sweat and something cloying that you had wanted to bottle up from the moment you’d met him and had never found on anyone else. As embarrassing as it was to admit to anyone other than yourself, Keith smelled good. Really good.

Most people smelled like nothing at all.

He stiffens.

“But it’s nice to hear again.”

Keith smothers a laugh.

You kiss his hair. Boys were so dumb.

He purrs.

You smile goofily, warmth building under your skin, and toes curling up in your shoes. You should say something. Right?

At some point?

Or maybe it shouldn’t be said under the looming threat of an upcoming battle.

Fuck.

You can’t decide, so you say nothing at all.

——————

Bombs still pelt the surface.

Your teeth chatter as the ground shakes even deep underground. Even more soil falls onto you. Your spacesuit was more oche than white at this point as you carry an injured Talpidae in your arms. It’s arm had been completely blown off. Sluggish blue blood oozed out.

Allura was last, tailing the group.

You reach the bunker.

The sentries had followed some of the feeling Talpidae into the tunnels, but they’d been sorted out.

The people here were strange, russet in fur colouring, with no discernable eye, just strange pink flagella protruding from their nose and large claws for digging. They stood at about Pidge’s height.

The bunker seals and you get to work.

Tourniquet here, pain patch there. There were so many of them banged up.

The fight continued on the surface.

The paladins had to form Voltron.

You and Allura work as a team, she takes the bruises and broken bones with no immediate risk of death. You triage the worst of the Talpidae, giving away your precious stash of painkillers to those you can’t save and are not in for a quick death, a Talpidae lies twitching, it’s nose blown off but alive. Another holds it’s hand, but shakes their head when they look at you. They weren’t going to make it.

Training kicks in and you focus on saving those you can.

Your hands stain blue from the blood.

Allura works alongside you.

You cauterize a Talpidae named Soedob’s hand, the claws on their right limb were gone, but most of it was spared.

“You smell Galra,” Soedob utters, blinking out of the pain induced haze as the painkiller kicked in.

You half hear, half don’t, so focused on the task at hand. It was easier to not stop until you were finished and could curl up and sleep and not think about blood and war and Zarkon.

“We have Galra allies,” Allura answers diplomatically, leaving the issue of the half Galra paladin alone.

It irked you.

“No, not them,” Soedob notes. “Those had a different aura.”

“Smell,” you guess, finishing off. You hoped the fighting ended soon. You supply was not unlimited. The castle had better facilities.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Our primary sense is sight,” Allura explains, giving you a long look.

You shrug. You hadn’t even seen any of Lotor and his team. There hadn’t been time. It had all been relayed over coms, over video.

“Another then?”

You swallow thickly, flushing with embarrassment because you both spent time around Keith but Soedob was only smelling him on you and it’s not like you had been doing anything intimate…well, it had felt intimate, hugging Keith, but it wasn’t anything like when cadets snuck into each others dorm room, shoving a sock on the door handle in the universal symbol of don’t bother us. “The red paladin is part Galra.” Mercifully, your voice doesn’t shake from the embarrassment, but you can’t look at Allura.

“Ah,” Soedob nods, neither outraged nor pleased.

Then there’s no more time, you have more Talpidaes waiting for medical aid. You give their own healers some of your supplies, freeing up Allura to find the clan leaders.

You can feel Allura’s questioning glance on you.

——————

“Team meeting in the mess hall,” Shiro calls over the coms system.

“Mess hall,” Pidge rolls her eyes, “it’s the dining room.”

You snort.

“I like to think of it as the dining room too,” Hunk offers. “I mean there’s only eight of us. It’s sort of like being home again.”

“Mess hall makes me think of the garrison,” you admit, falling into step besides them. “and the food.”

“Ugh,” Pidge groans. “That was the worst. Matt wasn’t kidding.”

“It does make the space packs easier to digest,” you muse, “maybe that was the point.” It took the garrison two years to get to Mars. It was funny, once you’d thought that was a long way from home.

“I liked the cheese garlic bread,” Hunk allows.

“Food goo,” Pidge grins, “or the garrison space food?”

“Food goo.” Hunk doesn’t even have to think.

“Food goo,” you agree. “Though not Coran’s paladin special.”

“You don’t even eat that,” Hunk huffs, half outraged half amused, “you’re always like well I’m not a paladin so…”

You laugh. “Seeing it is more than enough.”

The rest of the ship’s inhabitants are already there waiting for you. Lance is trying to teach Coran how to play slide, moving very slow as he claps their hands together.

Shiro and Allura are in easy conversation. Her mice scamper around her feet.

Keith looks absolutely miserable next to Shiro, folding himself into the smallest possible size, trying to disappear. It was hard to reconcile the Keith that was quiet with the Red Paladin that shot first and asked questions later.

You smile at him, excited to see him, but also figuring he could use some reassurance, whatever it was going through his head. Keith meets your gaze and the corners of his mouth turn up, before he ducks away.

You know better than to take it personally.

It was Keith.

Your toes curl inside your shoes and you bite back your smile, suddenly aware of how much you might be revealing and not wanting Lance of all people to start a meeting by commenting on it. For him, it might be all fun and games, but you weren’t sure what to do with these newfound warm and fuzzy feelings. You sure as fuck didn’t want to be called out on it.

You weren’t sure what to do about liking Keith so your current plan of action was: nothing.

“Thank you everyone for being here,” Shiro claps his hands together, his leader impression defaulted at awkward dad. He thought he always had to be on. Despite being the most trained out of us, he’d only just started his career during the Kerberos mission.

You wonder if he’d picked up his leadership style partly from Pidge’s dad.

“Where else would we be,” Pidge shrugs, never one to miss a shot.

“All the same,” the older man smiles.

“Yeah, no problem my dude, bro,” Lance flashes finger guns at Shiro.

You snort, taking a seat between him and Hunk.

“But seriously, what’s up,” Lance leans forward. “Or is this some lowkey way to keep us on our toes,” he winks at Allura who smiles indulgently.

“I await the news alongside you paladins,” Allura answers, hands resting in her lap. She looks over at Shiro.

The whole room turns to look at Shiro.

He had called the meeting.

Meetings tended to be informational in nature: updates about the expansive war, rebels hailing Voltron for intervention, the Blade passing on the rare bit of information, and the always popular distress signals. But Shiro and Allura both looked too calm for that.

Keith goes rigid, a spring wound up too tight.

Hm.

You wondered if the elephant in the room would finally be addressed.

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly the way a parent dropping their child off for their first day of school would, “go ahead Keith.”

The red paladin focuses his gaze on Shiro, his expression more sour than it’s been in a long time.

The past few years had done a lot to get him to open up to everyone on board, but right now, he looks exactly like the stubborn closed off cadet he had been back on Earth.

His ears twitch slightly. He manages to look even more taunt, and you wonder if he’s going to wave this off. Then, he lets out a breath.

His body is stiff, but Keith no longer pulls away from Shiro. He looks down at his hands pensively, nails cut to the quick. “Right.”

You can feel the nervous energy of the rest of the room, leaning in, waiting to see what Keith wants to say.

“Mhm, go on,” Lance says, chin in hand.

Hunk elbows him in the side.

“Hey!” Lance is about to start in on Hunk.

“Guys,” you snap, shoving Lance’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” Lance zips his mouth and throws away the key, “shutting up.”

“Looks like that didn’t work,” Pidge snarks.

“Paladins,” Allura’s clear commanding voice rings out. When everyone shuts up again, she nods at Keith, “you may continue.”

He looks up at everyone through his bangs, “I’m going through Galra settling.”

Hunk looks over at Allura, who was far more familiar with all this alien mumble jumble than anyone else.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder.

“And that is,” you prompt gently, before Keith hastily decided that was all he needed to say and left.

He meets your waiting gaze. Under the ship’s bright rooms, his eyes were obviously violet, heavy on the purple. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he isn’t sure he wants to go through with saying any of this and you wonder if he must be thinking of how weird things were between everyone when he learned of the alien part of his heritage.

Your mouth quirks up into a smile.

You were more than willing to stuff someone into a cryopod if they bothered Keith. He may be part of Voltron, tasked with defending the universe, but you’d make sure there was someone to defend him.

An embarrassing rush of heat bubbles under your skin. You look away, nervous.

“Shiro,” Keith asks.

Shiro nods, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s shoulder. “Galra settling is when Galra,” he looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about as he said it. Aliens were weird. “When Galra reach a certain age their appearance locks in.” Even Shiro looks a little puzzled. He was a pilot, not a biologist. You knew organisms back on earth who could manipulate their genotypes, generally sex changes with the right environmental conditions, but you weren’t sure there was anything comparable to whatever this was. “The Galra are apparently very adaptable in individuals. That’s why there’s such a range of them.”

Huh.

That explained the fur, range of tails, more reptilian looking once, and the eyes.

You wanted a Galra biology course, a full semester long one. What exactly caused such a plasticity in their phenotype? Did the trait have to be encoded in their genotype to appear or was there something freakier, Allura’s space magic, going on?

“-because he’s half human and we don’t go through anything like this it’s more painful than it would be. Lotor said the chameleonic abilities of Alteans helped him when he went through this,” Shiro finishes without a satisfying or thorough explanation.

At least Keith wasn’t dying.

Thank god.

Thank whatever freaky Altean magic existed in the universe.

“So,” Lance starts, “it’s Galra puberty.”

In a split second Keith loses any self consciousness about the situation, “it’s not Galra puberty!” His hair puffs up and you have to fight the urge to laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“There’s…” Shiro glances at Keith, before Lance and Keith could really get into it, “there’s more.”

Keith looks mullish, but ultimately gives Shiro the go ahead.

“Part of these..changes,” the black paladin explains, “have brought out some Galra instincts.” Clearly he was having as much trouble grappling with what this meant as Keith was. Your body suddenly deciding to change was no fun when you had no context for it. “Among them, the need to scent family…”

Pidge tilts her head, “is this like the most convoluted and emotionally constipated way of asking for a hug,” she asks Keith.

Keith smiles wryly, “pretty much.”

“Oh come here dude,” Hunk grins, engulfing Keith and Shiro in a hug.

“Ah number four,” Coran points up in the air, “I am now just recalling the galra that lived on Altea having explained this once, of course it didn’t occur to me because of the apparent dominance of your human genes.”

“So they’re actually co-dominant,” you muse as Lance drags Pidge along for a “group hug!”

“No.no,” Pidge makes a half-hearted effort to wiggle out, being a younger sibling herself, was used to being subjected to affection. She smiles even as she struggles.

“It would seem so,” Coran nods, “though not every gene.”

“Just these.” You wonder if there’s a space equivalent of the human genome project.

“Lance,” Keith yelps, “that’s my foot.”

“Buddy, I am not feeling the love here.”

“Is it working,” Hunk asks, peering at Keith, “are you going to turn purple now?”

“No one turns purple from hugs,” Keith replies, annoyed but makes no move to pull away.

“Thank you for trusting us with this Keith,” Allura smiles, her eyes crinkling.

“Get in on this too Princess,” Shiro motions over, before catching your gaze, “you too. Don’t think you can get out of this. You’re part of Voltron too.”

You snort, and join the group hug.

Pidge’s elbow is a bony thorn in your side and there’s the slight hum from Shiro’s prosthetic, but it’s a good mix of warmth and intimacy with the people you were closest to in the entire universe. Allura’s shoulder presses into you back and it’s sort of ballooned to ridiculous proportions, Keith somewhere in the center of it all, his hair barely visible to you.

“Add cuddling Keith to the chore wheel,” Pidge proposes.

Keith groans.

“How about we let Keith decide,” Shiro proposes.

You snort, knowing him too well. “Are you willing to take that risk? Died-from lack of hugs.”

Lance laughs.

Shiro looks convinced by your stellar argument.

“I’m not that bad,” Keith grumbles.

“You’re a terrible hugger,” Lance argues back. “You’re all stiff, like you’re enduring one of Iverson’s paradox sims. Not as bad as my abuelo but still.”

Keith lunges for Lance.

Someone topples over.

Everyone falls.

You laugh, smothered by limps and someone’s hair in your mouth…maybe Hunk’s? You don’t move, worried about kicking someone’s head.

From somewhere, Keith does that low rumbling chest noise that reminds you of a cat purring happily.

No one makes fun of him for it.

——————

“You should comb your hair before we take the pod down,” you tell Keith. You’d spent your free time before this alliance dinner scrolling through a datapad, trying to learn names, where they hailed from, species, things that may prove useful.

Half a varga ago, Keith had found you balled up on a sofa, and sat next to you, his way of asking for physical comfort. You’d obliged him readily, throwing an arm over his shoulders and spooning him as you both laid on the sofa. He was already in the paladin uniforms that Allura had dug out once the alliance became a reality instead of a loose string of rebel groups fighting the Galra empire.

You’re both short and slight, fitting together perfectly.

You squash any feelings you have, this wasn’t about you, it was about him. You’d done it a thousand times with Hunk or Lance, fallen asleep listening to Allura, why should Keith be any different? (You know why.)

He’s reading the screen with you.

“I doubt they’d notice,” he remarks as you scroll to a particularly vivid color alien race with sensory appendages sprouting from their heads.

“You have a point desert bum,” you tease, “I’d rather be a bum by a beach town. All surfer bro.”

“Can you even surf,” he asks flatly.

“No. Learned how to swim at the garrison,” you admit. “But tanning by the water has to be more appealing than roasting under the Texas sun.”

“I like the desert.”

“I know.” You were pretty sure everyone just liked their homes.

“It’s quiet,” he admits, “and watching how the sunlight transforms the landscape…”

“It’s too big and wide,” you admit, thinking of space. Flat land that went on forever…empty dark space that went on forever.

“Good for driving,” Keith smirks.

You laugh. Or course that’s where his mind went. “Sure, but it all looks the same, everywhere you turn.” It was disorienting. To be fair, you were a city girl. Your background noise was cars honking and people yelling even at four in the morning. The garrison had been a big adjustment.

“It’s really not. You just have to look.”

“I’ll trust my gps,” you counter, “not my sense of direction. I’d probably end up one of those cautionary tales about mirages and deserts.”

“You can’t really get a good signal,” Keith replies lazily, his body slack against yours, “out there. It’s best to mark a trail with chalk if you don’t know the area.”

“But you do, know it I mean?”

“Out past the Garrison? Mhm. All of it. We used to go hiking…before,” he trails off.

You press your lips to his hair lightly, before shifting, “my arms asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” You sit up, “it’s nice. I used to put my sister to sleep this one year she had nightmares almost every night.”

“You miss her,” Keith states, sitting up, looking at you with his intense expression. Having someone focused one hundred percent on you was a new experience. He wasn’t thinking of a thousand other things, just you.

“I do. I miss everyone, but,” you shrug, “I’ll see them again. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me.” You smile fondly at Keith. “I’m going to change before we have to go to dinner.”

“I’d take fighting Zarkon anyday,” Keith mutters, cringing at the upcoming show of diplomacy. There was so much smiling and hand shaking. It was exhausting to be that extroverted with a roomful of strangers.

Even Lance zonked out after these things.

“Knock on wood,” you laugh.

_____________

Treaties have been signed. A wrecked Galra fleet floats in space above the planet your on today, but today’s battle is won.

One of Lotor’s General’s is here, Acza. She’s wary, and surprised at the warm reception she’d received. She might be Galra, but she’d been crucial in taking down the Galra base’s shields. Biolocks, Zarkon should really rethink those.

You sip at your thick drink, warm and flavored like cinnamon oatmeal, that chases off the chill of the night. The idea had been to sleep, your hands still ached from all the sutures and stitches you’d woven, but Allura refused to hear it, dragging you along. There would be time for sleep on the Castle, she’d claimed, joyous to have helped another besieged planet.

“My congratulations,” a Blade utters from behind their glowing mask.

You jump, not having known there was even a Blade here. They were allies, yet their anonymity that made them so useful in information gathering, created a gap between you. You had no way of knowing who this person was. Their suit obscuring any details, the mask a rank.

You couldn’t even see their eyes.

“For what,” you ask, puzzled. You hadn’t fought. Your skills made you most useful after the battle, trying to save lives and patch up wounds. It was important and emotional draining work, but you hardly won battles.

Because of the mask, you can’t get a read on their reaction. Blades. Spies. Maybe if you could see their eyes…

They nod, and walk off without explanation.

You watch them go, still confused until they disappear among the bodies loitering around, celebrating liberation.

It was a feat to disappear when you were eight feet tall.

First the Galra had avoided you like the plague, the black plague, now they were being cryptic as fuck.

You lean your head down, trying to sniff your armpits without making it too obvious. Was it the blood? Or the space bleach? That tended to linger.

You didn’t smell that bad. Certainly like bleach and rubbing alcohol…

You take another sip of your drink, looking around for a place to sit. You’d been on your feet for too long. You wanted to sleep.

Someone would find you.

You wander around. Smiling when someone notices you, and thanks you and you hurry to get away before they ask you a hundred questions. There were only eight humans in space. Well, seven and a half. You stood out.

They wanted Voltron, but you would do.

“There’s space here,” Acxa calls out.

“Thanks,” you plop down next to her, sagging into the seat. Oh, yeah, you were so freaking tired.

“Of course. You look dead.”

“Yeah,” you look around the rebel camp, “I’ve no clue how they have the energy.”

“It’s like that everywhere. This is their home,” Acza offers, “people fight hard for their homes.”

You nod, before looking over at the alien woman, “not avoiding me anymore then?”

She shrugs, not disputing the allegation. “No need anymore, now that you and Keith sorted yourselves out.” She’s so blunt about it. “Galra are so sensitive when settling. We didn’t want to cause any incidents.”

“Is this about the scenting?” You still hadn’t had time to read through the information you’d gotten your grubby little hands on.

She nods.

You put your drink down on the mossy ground. “Yeah, Keith explained it. Well, Shiro did, really. Lance is over the moon about having an excuse to bother Keith.” Now you really all were a family. You’d named it outloud.

Acxa’s brows furrow, “Lance?”

“I think he just misses his family a lot,” you offer. “We all do and while we’re family too, it’d be nice to see our family back on earth too.”

She frowns. “Keith and you are not,” she asks slowly.

“Me and Keith,” you flush, ducking away from her. “No-I, no. We’re not.” You should’ve gone back to the Castle the moment Allura turned her back. She would’ve never known.

Acxa’s frown becomes tinged with anger and worry, her hand grabs your wrist. “Galra have more than one type of scenting, between families, and between partners.”

“Oh.”

You try to connect the dots but your brain gets stuck between ideas. Scenting. Keith. You. You and Keith. It was right there but-

“Keith isn’t marking you as family,” she explains slowly, “he’s marking you as his partner.” Acxa waits until her words sink in before adding, “to do so without letting the other know…” She makes it clear what a social taboo that is.

But you’re one step behind her.

Did Keith like you?

You think back to all the times you’d been with him in the past few vargas, trying to pinpoint any hint: he’d smiled at you but he was happier now in general so it could be a coincidence…

“If you need,” Acxa offers, “I will help clarify the situation.” It’s an awfully kind gesture.

“No,” you say in a rush. “no. It’s-I think I need to go talk to Keith.” He’d known what he was doing…you could draw a thousand conclusions but nothing would be better than confronting him about it.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you stand up, glancing around. During parties, Keith tended to find a quiet corner out of the way. He’d opened up, but he was still more of an introvert.

You find Keith lying stretched out in the shadow of a makeshift building, looking up at the stars. It’s his eyes that give him away, reflecting the light enough to be inhuman, nocturnal vision.

“We need to talk,” you wrap your arms around your body. You weren’t angry, just confused. Didn’t he know he could just come talk to you about it by now?  

Keith looks up, startled, then stands. “Alright.” He sounds resigned, a man sentenced to detention for a month which was janitorial duties at the garrison. It kept even the most smartass cadets humble.

You look around.

No one was really here. You could hear the music and people a bit further into the heart of the camp. Here was good enough.

“I talked to Acxa,” you start, “she said-” you look down at the trampled vegetation underfoot. It was embarrassing to your human preconceptions to even think, let alone say, which was why you were pretty sure Keith didn’t mean any harm. Scenting meant nothing on earth, where he’d grown up. “She said you’ve been scenting me, which like I know but not that way?” You look up at him as realization sets in and he ducks his head, looking away. “Is it true?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I-,” he takes a deep breath before ranting, the agitation and months of buried emotions flooding out, “I hate this. I hate that I can hear the conversation outside and smell which direction  Shiro’s in and how much my eyes hurt on the Castle from how bright it is but I don’t-I can’t say anything because I’m already enough of a freak. Before I was just the weird kid but now I’m just a fucking alien freak! There’s always so much going on and I don’t even know what’s next!”

You wait, wondering if there was more.

It was a lot of changes.

You couldn’t understand, there was nothing in your life comparable to your biology deciding to be a little more Galra after twenty years.

“And I tried not to-,” he admits, meeting your waiting gaze, “I tried to leave everyone alone so you wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, forcing himself to continue with an obvious disgust at himself, “you wouldn’t smell like me or whatever Lotor explained but I couldn’t-it was driving me crazy like this itch, this buzzing under my skull and seeing you guys with others-I thought I was going crazy until Lotor explained. And then when Lance would ruffle my hair or you would check that I wasn’t about to fall over and die and-,” he waves his hands in the air, “I would just zone out.”

“Oh,” you utter, recalling past events with a newfound understanding. Keith had been reaching out, all instinct even when he was trying not to be a bother. It broke your heart, how he always came from the perspective that he was an inconvenience.

“I did know,” he says in a small voice. “That-you…but I don’t know if it’s me or this, or all these things happening to me.”

Your expression wobbles. You bite your lower lip, trying to get a handle on it. How silly to worry about a crush when Keith was going through it.

“I like you, but I don’t know if I like you or if it’s just these stupid Galra instincts messing with my head.” Keith deflates, drawing into himself. “Everything

s…it’s been a lot.”

“I get it,” you utter, “maybe not the situation but I’m not mad. Though Acxa was ready to kick your ass and she totally could,” you try teasing.

But Keith flinches, looking away guiltily.

“I’m joking. I-I get why. It makes sense. It’s a lot to get used to.” You swallow, not sure what to do about anything either.

“Its a huge offence,” Keith utters, “that’s why she was pissed. Made worse because you can’t even tell…I-I couldn’t think straight and I…it took the edge off.”

“Scenting me?”

He nods.

You take a step towards him.

“I-,” Keith’s eyes meet yours, his attention entirely captivated by you. It sends a thrill down your spine. You’d seen how he could be when laser focused: on piloting, on training. “I know they say it’s wrong but you and Lance do stuff like that all the time. And I thought…I figured I could figure out how much of what I’m feeling is me and how much of it are these new instincts.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I-you’re right, it’s whatever to me. Like, a Blade congratulated me earlier which was weird but fuck them you know? I can ‘smile and nod’,” you smile as fakely as possible to show what you mean, “through it so long as you’re okay.” He’d bled in your lap.

Keith looks a little unsteady, unsure what to do with your lack of anger. “You don’t-”

“So is it like galra marriage then?” You were curious as to what exactly the Blades were going to gossip about you and Keith.

He makes a choked sound. “Sort of. They bond. It can be broken but that generally means someone killed the other.”

“Let me guess,” you reply, “Zarkon fucked even that up.”

Keith nods.

“That guy’s the worst.” Your voice is light.

Keith snorts, smiling for a split second. “I won’t anymore. I’ll-”

“Keith,” your voice cracks as you out your hand on his arm to keep him from rubbing off, “if its really causing you all this additional confusion in too of everything…you can…” the words were too intimate to say, too charged with a sensuality that he clearly was figuring out. You were willing to wait. For him.

He was conflicted enough without you dumping your feelings on him.

“You don’t-”

You raise your hand, caressing the side of his face with the back of your hand, ghosting over the purple mark on his cheek, “I don’t mind.” Sure, you had a crush on him, you could admit that much, but more simply, you loved him.

This was a small ask.

Your gaze flickers to the tips of his ears.

You had washed his blood off your hands.

“Besides, shit’s hard enough. My arm falling asleep is a small price to pay if I can help you.”

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

You laugh, “come here.”

It finally sinks in that you weren’t just talking bs. You meant it, as you hug Keith, wrapping your arms around his middle. He smelled good in spite of the battle he’d been through earlier.

Without really thinking, you breathe in the scent of him.

Keith hugs you back, cuddling you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You yawn. “want to sneak back into the castle?”

“Only if you tell Allura you’re the one who wanted to leave,” he deadpans dazedly.

You laugh.

——————

“Come,” Allura motions as you stand from one of the Castle’s weapons systems, “we must meet with the rebel leadership on planet.”

The planet was a farming camp.

The slaves were overworked and underfed and they had still revolted when they learned Voltron was near. Now, they were free.

“Princess,” Coran calls out, “it appears that number four is heading back to the ship.”

A pained expression crosses Allura’s broad features, her full mouth frowning, before she decides to pick her battles for the day. “I am sure Keith has a good reason for his actions.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

You don’t want to go down there either.

This entire last week had been spent synthesizing medicine and treating thousands of people made harder by the range of species. The garrison better give you that medical degree immediately.

“I’ll go check on him,” you say automatically, “he might need me to prep a pod.”

“Fantastic idea number five,” Coran believes your excuse.

“Let us know if anything happens,” Allura says, giving you a long look, before heading for the exit.

The central Galra soldiers had been taken out, but small bands of fighters were still fighting to their last breath. It’s why Voltron has remained on the planet.

The lions had roamed the landscape answering calls for aid and hunting down the last of Zarkon’s forces here.

You meet Keith in the red lion’s hanger.

He’s popping his helmet off, running a hand through his flattened hair. “I thought you were headed out with Allura?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was, but I wanted to check on you first.” That was a normal thing to do for your friends. There was no reason to overthink things.

“I’m fine.”

He sets the helmet aside, working on undoing the armor off. There was dirt and dust but thankfully no blood to speak of, his or otherwise.

“Then I’ll see you there,” you ask.

Keith looks over, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, his smile slight when he replies, “I’m not heading there.” Blunt. Concise.

“It is depressing,” you admit. There was so much resource allocation and need planet-wide.

He raises a brow. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Keith?” Now you’re wondering what the real problem was. “What is it?”

“Does it matter. I don’t need to be there. Shiro and Allura can handle it.” He looks away, suddenly very interested in the wall. Unlike the rest of the ship, the red lion’s hanger was dim, in a permanent night cycle.

Pidge’s work.

“I think the people would like all of Voltron present.” Then you make a face, “oh god, I sound just like Allura don’t I?”

Keith laughs, “just a bit. As long as you don’t make us all meditate…”

“It’s so boring. I fall asleep.” You smile softly, “Seriously, go down for a moment. Then you can hide out here.”

“I-I’d rather not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Four out of five is is fine.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” you agree.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad.”

“Keith-” you start, knowing he already felt hyper aware of how his appearance had changed. Before, it hadn’t really ever come up outside of the team. No one would tell and if Keith wasn’t vocal about it…now everyone in the entire universe probably knew.

There were rebel Galra, mostly in prisons and work camps. Feelings varied.

“That’s not true,” you say, not sure if it was true, “you helped free them.” You shift your weight onto your other foot, “there’s a few assholes everywhere.”

He gives you a long look. “The Galra enslaved all these people.”

“Pfft,” you wave off, “you look like one sixteenth Galra. And-”

“They stare.”

“Because you’re a paladin,” you reason. “Pidge is also cranky about the attention.”

Keith sighs.

The paladin armor lies in a discarded pile.

You step forward to him, “anyone would be lucky to have you as a pilot. And Voltron sort of lucked out when the red lion chose you.”

Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks.

In for a penny, in for a pound, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, ghosting over his skin, “face marks and all.” You can’t meet his gaze when you pull away, blushing fiercely.

Why did you do that!

God, you were so dumb-

He cups your cheeks and brushes his lips over yours.

Oh! Oh.

“Is-is this okay-,” Keith starts asking.

You feel giddy, smiling before kissing him. Yeah, it was okay.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 135

I think y’all are in for a treat with this one. I won’t spoil it, though, other than to say that @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog thought this chapter was hilarious.

Think about that, please. Charly and Arthur think this chapter is hilarious.

Eyeah. That’s all I’ve got to say about that. I do not take responsibility for any injuries sustained.

As always, please don’t forget to check out the podcast! I will plug it shamelessly, so you may as well.

“Where are they?” Alistair murmured while he searched our shared office thoroughly.  Had it been anyone else, I would say he was being calm, but the fact that he was searching for anything, at all, tagged it in my head as a downright frantic pace.

“Where are what?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed, despite continuing his search.

I furrowed my brows. “You haven’t even had your tea yet. Or your breakfast?”

A pale hand waved me off. “I am aware.”

Shrugging, I gave it up as a lost cause and went back to the list of evacuees that Tyche and I had drafted up. After whipping up a preliminary list of who was assigned where, we were doing a more thorough second pass to ensure no conflicts of personality.  Deep in thought, I paid Alistair no attention until Parvati and Hannah arrived fifteen minutes later.

“Alistair, they aren’t here, so you can stop looking,” Hannah grinned as she took her accustomed seat.

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Surrrrre you don’t. Just like I’m sure you don’t know why several of the paint pens ran out of pigment,” Parvati assured him in the most sincere tone I had ever heard. My former therapist would have been proud.

I fought back a smile as he straightened and finally stopped his search, even going so far as to tug his shirt to get any wrinkles out. “I know no such thing.”  With that, he turned his back to all three of our snickering faces, requesting his usual tea and scone from the food console.

Composing my face, I tried to be serious for a minute. “You should eat fast, because our appointment with Arthur Farro is in about fi - “

My door whooshed open. Speak of the devil.

“ - ve minutes early, apparently,” I finished.

Unperturbed as usual, the subject of my previous suggestion strolled in with his usual air of confidence.  Just as he was going to take a seat beside Parvati, he leaned across the table. “Aww, no kiwi or pomegranate on your clotted cream this morning? Poor fing,” he said with a mocking pout.

“I am baffled why everyone believes such things of me,” Alistair grumbled into his tea with a scowl.

I sputtered. “You were using the pens on your breakfast?”

He didn’t even bother denying the chorus of confirmations from those around him, taking the higher road of sudden deafness. “Farro, I am still not entirely sure why a former warlord is necessary for discussions of an evacuation plan.”

“Warlords are generally just berserkers if they don’t have anyone to be ‘lord’ of.” Farro shot a dazzling smile as I supressed a groan. “But then again, being British, I’m sure you got confused, what with all the lords that were there in the last century without even land to their names.”

It really was easier sometimes to do things without either of them. Time to step in. “Gentlemen,” I purred in my most annoyingly ‘motivational’ tone possible, “the bathroom is right through that door, if you would like to continue your pissing contest.  However, some of us have actual work to do, so whether you fuck it out or fight it out, please do so on your own time.”

Both mouths shut with an audible click, and both men looked away from me. But at least they were quiet. Sophia: 1, Whatever-the-hell-this-was: 0.

I forged ahead while I had the chance. “Arthur, thank you for taking time to meet with us regarding the plans for fortifying the safety points. I’m sorry that Tyche couldn’t be here, however she scheduled her stay-cation several months ago and frankly deserves it.” By which I meant I had bribed Derek with a nauseating amount of bao to disable any communications to or from this office from going to her data pad until the start of her first shift post-vacation, and threatened my entire family within an inch of their lives to keep them from bringing up work around her for the next week. “However, I do have her concerns and suggestions ready, I assure you.”

With a scowl, he glanced at me and stood, calling up the emitter-map of the Ark. Quickly, he sketch circles around each of the ‘bunkers’ we had designated. “Xiomara had very sound judgement in the locations she chose for safe-zones, and I honestly expected it. Between her and Evania, there is a frankly terrifying amount of strategic prowess in what is theoretically our Health and Safety office.”

“You can’t be healthy or safe if you’re dead,” Hannah pointed out.

He tossed her a wink and grin. “Touche. However, none of them are perfect. This location,” he leaned to tap and zoom on a mess hall, “is fortified, has access to food and drink, even if you have to furiously call up non-perishables and potable water, and only has one entrance/egress.  A huge entry/egress, unfortunately: the door is ten meters wide.”

Parvati tapped a couple times on her datapad before chiming in. “It does close, however. And it locks.”

Arthur shook his head. “In two panels, each five meters wide. If even one is blown, the gap is indefensible. Both, everyone in there is free for the taking.”

“You are suggesting we ask Miys to narrow the aperture of the door?” I groaned when I heard Alistair leverage his overly-formal language.

It didn’t get any better when Arthur nodded. “Worst they can say is no, but the size of the door is simply for ease of access and to assuage anyone with proximity issues. Now that we all have these handy alerts - “ he tapped his temple for emphasis “ - it isn’t nearly as necessary. Noah? Bud? What do you think?”

The buzz from the ceiling was clearly amused. “I am amenable if this is a solution. As Arthur pointed out, the width of that door is no longer necessary.”

“Annnd there we go,” Arthur shrugged. “The boatwright said yes, if that’s what we want.”

My jaw nearly hit the floor when Alistair nodded firmly and stood. Swiftly, he highlighted three more areas. “These have the same potential concern. We should include those in the proposal.”

‘We’? ‘We’ whomst??? Since when were they on the same side?

“I agree,” Arthur continued enthusiastically, causing my head to start twinging in pain. “According to the engineers and the chemisists on board, the material of the Ark is remarkably fire-retardant despite it’s organic nature - let’s hear it for advanced civilizations - so there is no additional need for fire doors. There is however a possibility of concussive damage to the actual doors in any area, despite how thick the actual walls are.”

“Tyche recommended shock-absorbent material on the exteriors of each door, dropped via internal trigger and held taught by wires rather than any sort of scaffolding,” I suggested, recovering my focus. I flicked the concept at the emitter, where it was displayed alongside the schematic of the Ark. “Using wires would allow us to also store it in a roll at the top of the door, and allow pulleys to draw the wires embedded in the bulkhead down to cover the entire door.”

Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “The materials she suggests are a good idea - definitely maximizes shock absorption as much as possible. My only concern is that we can probably double the flame resistance of the materials for only a ten-percent loss of effectiveness.”

Calling up my datapad, I smiled as I quoted. “ ‘However, Hannah is a professional weaver and seamstress, and therefore I defer to her on any suggestions regarding materials used, provided there is no more than twenty-percent loss of efficacy’. Apparently she did the calculations and had Charly and Conor both check behind her - anything below twenty percent loss, and the blast would blow the doors.”

“And when did the more sensible Miss Reid learn engineering?” Alistair asked in what sounded like genuine curiosity.

“Tuesdays - I think?” I scrunched my face and searched my memory. “It was something very important when we were cosplaying.”

Arthur snorted, but gestured an apology when Alistair affixed him with a downright lethal glare.

Hannah ignored them both. “Wool… We should be able to synthesize raw wool, instead of the plant based materials here. Best of both worlds - fluffy, incredibly flame resistant, and disperses concussive force like nothing else. Line it with silk for shrapnel? We should be good.”

“Fortress defense via quilts. I like it,” Arthur grinned savagely.

“There is a reason tapestries were so important in the Middle Ages,” Alistair snarked at him. “Both flame resistant and insulating, both very good qualities when you see by torches and candles in a drafty residence that echoes like a cathedral.”

Arthur held his hands up in surrender. “Not arguing, no worries… Genuine respect, swear.”

“Better…”

“Annnnd forging on from whatever-the-fuck-that-was,” I interjected, trying to focus on the topic at hand rather than… well, whatever the fuck that was, “That’s overlarge entries and concussive force taken care of. What other concerns did you have, Arthur?”

“Frankly? Camouflage,” he told us sternly. “The best way to protect against an invading enemy is to make it so hard to find you that it isn’t worth the effort.  All these defenses are good an all, but… they’ll stick out like a sore thumb and practically scream ‘Hey! We’re in HERE!’ “ I stifled a laugh when he hopped and waved his arms furiously.

“Very dignified, Farro,” Alistair sniffed as he stood to get more tea.

“I know, right? I’m so classy…”

Rolling my eyes and still regretting having them both in my office at the same time, “We actually have the camouflage solved for.” You could have heard a pin drop, all four of them frozen, mouths open. “It came through this morning from Zach.” I swiped the fortress-quilt specs down, and popped up the plans for the camouflage. “We’re thinking on the visible spectrum, since humans are sight animals. Zach went with a ‘most common denominator’ approach - scent, infrared, acoustic, everything but electromagnetic vision.  The quilts cover the infrared and the majority of the acoustic issues: if any body-heat shows through fifteen inches of fluffed wool and a bulkhead door, we’re doomed no matter what.” I highlighted a line of data. “Scent, likewise: Zach is suggesting aeresolized, low concentration sulfur throughout the majority of the Ark, excluding the safe-zones. The safe-zones will also have one of Miys stationed in each one, acting essentially as an air scrubber. This will minimize acoustics from active air filtration, while also adhering to Miys being a non-participant: they will be present to ensure our comfort due to minimizing body odor, nothing more.  This was already planned, the fact that it will protect us from being detected by scent is just a lagniappe.”

I waited for the thoughtful nods to pass and decided I did not see the glance that Arthur and Alistair exchanged. As long as they didn’t draw blood during the meeting, I would let it slide. “Where it gets sticky is neuroelectric. Zach, it seems, took a page out of Charly’s manual-of-mischief.” I zoomed in on the specific line of the prospectus and waited.

“He wants to what?” Hannah asked, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I like this,” came the ‘devil’ in ‘devil’s advocate’.

“How would it even work?” Parvati asked, genuinely curious.

I chose that one to respond to. “Just like the microfilament wires that will support the quilts, he wants to cover the walls inside several false locations with a mesh and electrify it to mimic human synaptic energy. Needle in a haystack theory.”

“Wait,” Alistair held up a hand to interrupt. “Are you also proposing that the doors to these false locations will be covered in the quilts?”

“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “Given how far from prospective entry points all of the safe-zones are located, they would run into several false locations before they encounter a real one.”

“And if they decide to tear into all the locations, even the false-positives?” Arthur poked, trying to find a hole in the idea. Which, I had to concede, was why he was even here instead of sending me messages for this.

“What if they decide to tear into every mess hall? Or every door? We can’t plan for everything.” I shook my head. “However, we can factor in a few things that seem pretty consistent despite species - Beings who don’t have legitimate work and take slaves are generally prone to laziness, despite somehow working harder to avoid work than I have ever actually worked a day in my life.  Point being, give them enough false positives on the way, they won’t actually search everything no matter what they say.”

“Speculation and hearsay, not admissible in court.”

“Au contraire, mon frère. Charly did the sociological analysis on all the species most likely to be pirates in the region of the galaxy where we will exit relativistic space, and her estimates are that the plan has a sixty-to-eighty-percent chance of success in the event that all human combatants fail. And I, personally, agree.” 

He conceded a low whistle. “Damn. If I didn’t like Evan so much, I would say Charly is being wasted with Huynh. Objection withdrawn.”

“Quite,” Alistair agreed smugly. “Miss Harper’s plan is a sound one. The Archives, however - “

I interrupted, still irritated about the topic. “You will be stationed immediately inside the doors to defend against any intruders who make it that far, while Tyche will be defending the y-junction between the speculative fiction and historical fiction categories to prevent intruders from reaching the actual people.”

“But the religious studies section - “

“Has already been scanned down to a molecular level to preserve the information, even if we can’t restore any actual artifacts,” Parvati advised in a profoundly bored tone. “You do realize that anyone who reaches that section will not be able to reach the actual people from there without doubling back, right?”

“Miss Fletcher, there is a Gutenberg Bible on this Ark, potentially the last one in existence.” The tone was icy enough to send a shiver down my spine.

“Phee,” Arthur threw out, guaranteeing my irate attention, “Is there any issue with moving the Gutenberg to the Speculative Fiction section until we meet with the Ekomari fleet?”

“Are you seri - “

“Not to placate the Monarchist, I swear. Just - that is a profoundly important historical artifact, even if I agree with nearly none of the contents. The start of the Information age! Literature in the hands of the vulgar masses! Your field of study would have never existed in the form it was without that achievement. Who cares if the first use was to print the frickin’ Bible?”

Before I could object, Parvati added her prodigious two cents. “I do not have to be Christian to appreciate the illuminations in a manuscript, any more than I have to be a Muslim to be brought to my knees by the beauty of a mosque. We can appreciate the significance of something regardless of whether we agree with it or not.”

“This is probably where Charly or Tyche would point out that I am a huge fan of laws against animal abuse, despite firmly believing that Hitler was evil incarnate,” I sighed. “Yeah, we can move the Gutenberg Bible, provided - hang on, stop cheering - PROVIDED - “ I paused to make sure they were all paying attention, “that any other works of significant cultural or historical significance are moved as well. Any first additions, significant religious texts - or in lack of ‘significant’ religious texts, just a copy of each that is agreed to be acceptable by all who follow that religion. A copy of Frankenstein, The Tale of Genji, et cetera.”

I knew my request brooked exactly zero argument from Alistair, as his eyes visibly shone when I added more books to the list. What I waited for were any objections from the other three.

Sure enough, Hannah tentatively raised her hand. When I nodded, she spoke up. “I think we should do a kind of Voyager-plate: a copy, even just digital, of all our texts around music, crafts, technology, mathematics… Art, fermentation, food preparation and the history of it. Not just for this scenario!” she insisted urgently, “For any worst-case scenario. Keep a copy, or several. And put those copies, along with all the relevant artifacts that we have on board, and keep them with the people in the Archives, in the safest part of the ship.”

“Where it would take a black hole to destroy it,” Parvati whispered.

Just as the tears were threatening my eyes, Arthur flopped back in his seat and kicked his boots up onto the table. “Jesus fuck, you guys are depressing. Right, but depressing. It’s doable, though. We just transcribe it into the most common language for each version of ‘language’ in the Galaxy…”

Alistair snorted. “You warlords and your short-sightedness. Clearly, the resolution is to transcribe it into the most common language in the Galaxy with instructions on how to translate it further down.”

“No, you limey-ass bastard,” Arthur growled. “Too much is lost in translation - there is a reason the Qur’an and the Sefer Torah should never be translated to be considered valid.”

Nope. I wasn’t dealing with it. We had covered all the necessary topics, I could message the rest. I twitch my head at both Vati and Hannah, at which point they both rose from their seats. Neither was noticed by the arguing men.

Arthur was mid-sentence when a quick strike from Vati to the top of his spinal cord rendered all his words gibberish. Rather than realizing this, he glanced down at his suddenly-tingling fingertips in confusion. Hannah simply hauled Alistair out of his seat and ignored his squawked objections, her shorter but sturdier frame more than a match for his tall, slender frame and brain that was very much against violence towards women but undecided about how to stop them from chauffeuring you out of a room.

With exactly zero ceremony, both men were deposited in the corridor, to the satisfaction of all three of us. I waggled my fingers in a farewell. “Fuck it out or fight it out, I don’t care. But not in my office. Ta!”

I could not hold back the smile anymore when both started pounding on the door for entry, not realizing I had disabled their permissions right after the first volley had been thrown.  It was almost habit, at this point, to disable their permissions to my office when they started bickering, only to restore them when they decided to act like adults.

Clearly that wasn’t the case this time. Oh well, maybe in a couple hours. I would need to ask Xiomara to do a ‘sensor test’ of the gym and med bays to be sure.

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[taihamorton]

I need some opinions!

Everyone, would a blog/magazine about political, social, economical, psychological, and technological issues or topics from an objective, entertaining, and analytical standpoint interest you? To the point of subscribing and supporting?

There are so many websites out there that are opinionated, biased, and paid off to tell certain stories a certain way that does not accurately reflect the perspectives of even half the people involved or affected by the issue. I want to tackle this issue by providing an outlet for people to learn about important topics from a realistic analytical approach that is not funded by government or initiated by ideology. This would help readers look critically and thoughtfully at the world around them without being influenced by biased writing.

Many times, when you do searching on the internet, you need to look up 10 different websites just to separate the facts from the opinions. Why not slim it down to one? Obviously it will take time to get articles accumulated, and it is NOT an accredited source, but it is going to be a helpful and entertaining way to think differently than most people. Extreme ends of the spectrums don't work, and I want to see more media that reflects the many different views in the world and can synthesize them in an inclusive and objective way.

Please comment, like, or reblog to let me know this is something you would be interested in. If not you, please send to others you think would enjoy my future content! Thank you so much!

[kaepop-trash]

AS: Agency

Rated: M for Smut, Angst.

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader x Doyoung

Summary: The story of secrets, deceit and greed. Three characters with unlikely alliances and one common goal; power. Jaehyun is stuck between his own thirst for power and his need for the one thing that could take away everything. Yuta has ambition growing from an unlikely alliance and convinces himself to do anything to protect it. Between both of them is her, ambitious but with one weakness, she does all it takes for Jaehyun, even if it’s putting herself aside. But how long can she hold up her own fragile games?

(A/N): I’m very proud of this chapter, it really synthesizes two of my life’s greatest loves: politics and writing. This chapter also encapsulates my journey as a writer so far. I really want to thank people who stick by my blog so I’m motivated to better myself everyday and I want to thank all of you because I’ve grown as a writer thanks in part to you. I sincerely hope to get better and better. Also this is long lol, but most of you have nothing pressing I know it.

January, 2021

The insistent tapping of her heels on the marble floors echoed off the marble walls as she walked down the artificially lit up halls of the Senate office building. People standing around made way as she strutted down the floor with her eyes straight ahead and an envelope purchased between her thumb and index finger, eyes full of purpose and even more anger. When a familiar golden plaque came into view, she changed her direction right into the room she was in search of.

"Can I help you?" A young woman sitting at a desk in front of the office stood up anxiously.

"He's expecting me." The words left her lips thoughtlessly, as she opened the door into the office.

Her eyes met the feline ones of Kim Doyoung, while she was aware of the second surprised eyes on her. "We need to talk." Her voice was suppressing her anger and he gave her a look over of scrutiny before nodding.

"I'm not dealing with this." The third presence in the room spoke up with a defeated huff, she turned to the man who was looking at Kim Doyoung with an annoyed expression.

"Get out." Kim Doyoung spoke with his eyes still on (Y/N) thoughtfully. Her eyes went wide and she was about to voice her offense when he turned to the other person in the room.

"You, get out." He spoke to the guy authoritatively, earning a huff in response.

"Rude." The man responded, yet turned around to walk to the door where (Y/N) was still standing.

"I'm Lee Donghyuck, his Chief of Staff." He pointed at the chair Kim Doyoung was sitting in, before giving her a charming smile, "And you are?" He asked.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)." She informed him, choosing to eye his extended hand instead of taking it. He pulled his hand away from in front of her with a smirk that hid his embarrassment adeptly, putting the hand down by his side.

"The lawyer." He said with knowing nod, and with a sense of dread, she raised a questioning brow at his familiarity, what could he know about her? He gave her a smile that was pursed and unwelcoming, his eyes intelligent and calculating, before turning back to his boss, "I'm not dealing with this. I already have five thousand things on my plate." He almost pleaded, “Not another one of these.” He pointed at her like she was an inconvenience. 

"Get out." Kim Doyoung spoke through gritted teeth. Lee Donghyuck huffed again, before leaving the room without another word. He closed the door behind him and (Y/N) moved further into the room.

"I'm sorry for my Chief of Staff, what he lacks in manners he makes up for in savvy." He explained, amused when he earned an incredulous look from her.

"I don't care." She walked up to his desk.

"I suppose not." He mumbled, almost to himself.

“You subpoenaed me!” She spoke over him, placing the envelope in her hand harshly on the desk. He winced watching her palm, wondering how much it would sting. He turned up to her with a shrug.

"I did not." He sat up on his seat, looking up to her with a small smile and no presence of guilt, "The Chairman did. He felt that the Democrats are weaponizing you. It was only justified that we pull up our defenses." He spoke the lines like they were rehearsed, sighing dismissively, "Between you and me, I stood against it. But the party is still old and therefore paranoid by disposition." He explained, raising his arm to gesture the chair across his desk effortlessly.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She sat down without realising she obeyed his gesture, "That you stood in a room and said 'this person who is already speaking at the committee shouldn't be criminally served’, something that sounds like common sense to me. And your excuse is that the party is full of older men who enjoy ruining careers for sport, like that's not a problem?" She sat back, bewildered by the situation. Doyoung chewed on the inside of his cheeks as he tried to think of something to say. “For the record, I’m not being weaponized. The only person from the Senate who tried to have a say in this situation has been you— almost incessantly. This is an utter outrage and an attack on me personally to deter me. I have been insulted by your colleagues.” 

"It’s a subpoena for a deposition, there isn’t an ounce of criminality involved.” His index finger stroked his chin thoughtfully, she must have been aware of that already.

“Do you think I’m blind to how this looks? I stood in court and debated the legality of abortions and now I’ve been served by the Senate? I already know the case won’t pass the supreme court with its current political bias, this is just a redundant blow to the cause, the knife you stabbed me with didn’t need to be rusted. It’s dirty and you know it!” There was an underlying desperation in her anger that Doyoung was sure had not been there before. There was a drawn-out silence after that moment, (Y/N) breathing was uneven and he sat back to let her pull in her own overwhelmed state. Doyoung took this silence to evaluate the situation. 

“It’s also a kind of punishment.” He kept his careful scrutiny up, “For trying to influence a Senate vote.” His voice was graver. There was a sudden surprise in (Y/N)’s eyes, one that came with a momentary realisation of fear. 

In life, Kim Doyoung had learned that it was much easier to fix conflicts if one knew the motivations of the person across the aisle from them. But motivations were exactly what was giving him a hard time with Miss (Y/L/N). He watched as her expression disappeared into it’s usual apathy; she spoke only a second after this shift.

“You seem very bothered by this entire procedure. Is this in any way personal for you?” Doyoung dared to ask the question that was on his mind ever since he learned of a set of cases all being pushed through different district courts by just one, apparently, competent lawyer. The look of further offense he earned made him internally sigh.

“Why? How is it that we’ve come to this place as people? Where we are capable of ignoring grave flaws in society because we are somehow not personally inconvenienced by it? Of course it’s personal Mr. Kim.” She sat up straighter on her chair, turning her posture to him in its entirety, “Knowing that I live in a time where grave injustice is being handed out by our lawmakers and courts and having even the smallest bit of the capacity to do something about it makes this a very personal issue for me. I don’t see why it’s not for you.” She tilted her head to the side, eyes mocking in its curiosity for a hypothetical question. 

Doyoung’s jaw turned rigid at the sudden attack. He toyed with the corner of the envelope she placed on his table absentmindedly, “You and Jaehyun are very similar. When I first heard that Jung Jaehyun had a childhood friend, the idea was ludicrous to me. But the more I hear you, I get it.” There was a slip in his attention as Doyoung thought over that carefully, narrowing his gaze. The way her jaw flexed as she looked away from him at Jaehyun’s mention didn’t go beyond him either. There was a ghost of a smirk forcing its way up his cheek muscles: the motivation was all he needed, “I’m just curious about who influenced who.” His eyes sparked thoughtfully, an open smirk now adorning his face.

“What this has to do with the subpoena is lost on me.” She deflected the statement, her voice defensive. There was now a victorious smile that crept up Doyoung’s lips.

“It’s a subpoena for a legislative hearing, it’s virtually harmless. In fact, I’m almost certain that it’s always a badge of honour to be subpoenaed by the other party anyway. You’ll be fine Ms. (Y/L/N).” He toyed with the envelope, his eyes on her fidgeting fingers held up beside her face as she gave him her own scrutinous glance over— he gave her a small smile, amused when she looked away from it dismissively.

“Except I don’t work for either party, do I now Mr. Kim? I don’t even work in DC, where a subpoena for a legislative hearing means something different from an investigative or oversight hearing, do I?” There was a loaded subtext of sarcasm that was increasingly becoming more forthright in her tone and Doyoung enjoyed the abandonment of formalities from her side.

“Honestly (Y/N) that sounds like a problem that must be solved by you, not me. Seems to me like you already know the solution to your current pressing problems.” He got up from his chair, handing her the envelope back, “Also, next time you want to barge in without an appointment, try scheduling it for lunch. There might be leadership in this room and you don’t want to start off on the wrong foot, do you?" He gave her a knowing smile. "My assistant will show you out, I won’t question how you got into the building without pre-approval as a courtesy to whoever you asked.” He pointed at the door with his hand as he picked up the receiver to inform his assistant.

“I have a meeting.” She offered her excuse as the last thing she said to him, before turning away to leave before the assistant came to escort her out.

“I’ll take that you didn’t say farewell, not because you're cross, but because you intend on walking up to me sometime soon with further grievances?” There was a delay before he spoke, just as she crossed the threshold of his office.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, Mr. Kim.” Her final reply left a lasting grin on his face.

When (Y/N) walked into Jaehyun’s office, she knew what the amused grin on his face was about.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Was her annoyed reply, earning a small victorious chuckle from him as he went back to the papers on his desk. "I didn't take that awfully claustrophobic subway ride to the other side of the street just to watch you gloat." She frowned. This time Jaehyun laughed. The loud, boisterous sound rang in her ears, she couldn't recall when she'd heard it last. Then she chastised herself for being distracted by the wrong things

"The subway takes some getting used to, I agree." He chuckled with a nod. His dimples poked into his cheeks and she found herself looking at them. When his lips turned flat and they disappeared, she looked away quickly. “I told you didn’t I, you weren’t getting anywhere with bribing anything Doyoung touches. You also trusted Jungkook to pull it off. When discretion is key.” He scoffed, looking up at her with pursed lips and a knowing look in his eyes, “You’re lucky he only slapped a subpoena on you and didn’t use it in the actual hearing.” His voice was heavy with warning. She was suddenly terrified and Jaehyun could see it.

“If he says anything during the deposition, this will be over.” Her voice came out small, Jaehyun hummed as he watched her. She sat down opposite him slowly, deep in thought. Jaehyun watched her as she swallowed a lump in her throat, her eyes shifted lower the way it did when she thought over something, her pupils moved to and fro rapidly as she thought. Jaehyun knew Doyoung wouldn’t do that, but he decided to keep that to himself, knowing well that (Y/N) was at her best when she thought she was being cornered. Jaehyun waited for her to speak, watching her with keen appreciation. "There is a way you can push back." She slowly looking up to lock her gaze with him.

"Me?" He raised a brow, a slow smile creeping up his lips.

"I was going to file another case after they strike the one I filed in December down, but it doesn't matter. Right now, time is key." She got up from the seat and walked across the desk to his computer, typing something into the search engine before bringing up a file, ignoring her proximity to Jaehyun and the memory of the last time she was on this side of the desk. She heard his rough exhale and knew he was thinking the same thing.

"This is an academic paper on the uses of two drugs, mifepristone and misoprostol and their use in self-managed abortions.”

"And what will I do with this?" He asked skeptically.

"There are two drug companies, one of them a client at my firm, who are ready to push for research and capital in this area. That means lobbies. Give Kim Doyoung the time he asked for, you can use that time to put this into your bill and push it."

"And why does it have to be through big pharma?" There was a tinge of anger in his voice that came from his liberal superiority.

"Because it would ensure that women can have safe and far more accessible abortions in this country Jaehyun, get off your high horse.” She bit her tongue at the condescending tone and went back to the other side of the desk, suppressing her frown and tried to change her tone from hostile to amiable. “Obviously the drugs won't be available in all pharmacies, but it can put in a few with the right provisions and if you read the article," She pointed her finger at the computer to emphasize, "You will see that it is absolutely safe to self administer. I've been talking to women's rights groups here in the city and safe abortion groups in some countries in South America and they all say that it's successful in the field and there are no studies that suggest any misuse.” There was a small sigh from her and just like that, Jaehyun could see the tired woman underneath all the ambition, a woman who hated to lose.

“I can’t just push a drug for a use beyond its intended purpose, it could–” He tried to mitigate her frustrations, she interrupted him.

“It’s FDA approved for the purpose of abortions, in 2016; works 95% of the time, doesn’t have any side-effects beyond the usual. There’s even a REMS to limit its sale. It’s almost too good to be true. But it’s real, it works and it can greatly improve the condition of women’s reproductive health in this country.” He calculated in his head the implication of this, more importantly how he would put this on the floor; she seemed to read his mind.

“Tell the Speaker. I want to watch the first woman Speaker of the House refuse this.” There was a glint in her eyes at that moment— one that he was sure mirrored his. They both hated to lose.

“Maybe we should make you run for office next.” There was an unsaid scoff in his words.

“Why? So I can sit on the Hill and look for reasons to not do something?” She raised a brow, earning a well deserved frown from Jaehyun. After a moment he cracked a smile.

“Touché.” He shrugged. They sunk into another silence, ubiquitous at this point. Jaehyun tapped his index finger on his table rhythmically as he considered the proposal, and he had to admit that it was a good one. When he looked up, the scrutiny in her eyes made him sigh, “Let me get a staffer on this, we need to gauge what the reaction for this could be.” He went over the details in his head.

“Elena Klien covers the House for the New York Times right?” She framed it like a hypothetical, Jaehyun nodded curiously, “Back when she was at Huffington Post, she did an extensive field piece on this. You should talk to her, she could help you draft a favourable press release.” She tapped her own nails on his table. 

So far, (Y/N) hadn’t looked at any part of his office other than Jaehyun’s face— he guessed it was to avoid thinking about the last time she was here.

“I’ll call the press pit ahead, go talk to her.” His voice sounded adamant as he picked up his phone, looking away from her to talk to someone on the phone to give instructions.

“Why will I do it?” She asked with furrowed brows once he put the phone back in its receiver.

“Because it’s your idea, and I think you should write the press release,” He hesitated for a moment, “And also a draft speech for the floor.” There was a silent request in his voice.

“Why?” She repeated herself, making Jaehyun groan.

“Because you convinced me (Y/N)! And I want you to convince the country, it’s time we put your skills of persuasion into use don’t you think? Your petition will be struck down in court, it's only a matter of time; so focus on this. You’ll get your win if we play this right.” He sat back in his seat.

“By right you mean if we do this your way?” She countered.

“This is your idea.” He snapped uncharacteristically, biting down on his lip when she jumped back with a gasp, “I don’t know what you want from me (Y/N), we’re working on something that you wanted.” He softened his voice but didn’t lose its admonishment, “The whole country is about to be torn into an ideological battle because you came to me and I did everything I could. This will be good for you too in the long run, the public moves on with the news cycle but people in this city remember tenacity and talent. Don’t misguide your anger, you should be more self-aware than that.” His voice was stern. When she avoided his gaze, he tried to coax her, gentler this time, “I can’t go talk to a reporter about this, not yet, you know that. Why are you being obstinate?” He pushed disappointment to the foreground of his voice. She looked at him for a moment, with heavy eyes.

“Fine.” Her reply was curt but Jaehyun was pleased nonetheless.

“And what about Doyoung?” He asked cautiously.

“You keep calling him that. Like you know each other.” She interrupted his inquiry. Jaehyun straightened his back and cleared his throat, making her raise a brow at the gesture.

“We’re colleagues, close in age with exactly one place across the street to go to after work.” He pointed in a general direction.

“So you’re friends?” She asked with a sense of disbelief.

“Acquaintances.” He corrected.

“But he’s a Republican?” She asked, making Jaehyun furrow his brows.

“Are they not to be acquainted with?” He pointed out the flaw in her reasoning, she sat back with a shrug, having nothing more to add.

“He’s not a bad guy at all, just on the opposite side.” He seemed to remind her, she hummed distractedly, “What will you do about him?” He framed his question like an afterthought. She paused to think over it before shrugging.

“I’ll handle it.” She waved her hand at him dismissively. 

It was almost an hour after sundown when (Y/N) had finally finished another long day. After talking to Elena Klein, she spent the rest of the day talking to a group of staffers who were assigned to draft the bill. At the moment she sat at the study table in her hotel room— the ones that were more cosmetic than they were resourceful— trying to go through an old district court case.

 At first when her phone rang on her bed, she wanted to ignore it. By the time it rang twice, she got up with a dramatic huff that only she could witness in the solitary room. The number was unknown, but a local number— which is what prompted her to answer it.

“Do you know how many strings I had to pull to acquire this number, (Y/N)?” A familiar silvery yet tight voice spoke up from the other line, he kept using her first name suddenly.

“What have I done to merit such effort?” She asked with a soft voice, on the other end Doyoung scoffed.

“A reporter came by today, saying that an anonymous source claimed that the biggest threat to individual liberty currently, are Republican Senators from the Eastern Seaboard who come from elite families and think they’re superior enough from the mass to make decisions about their body. That’s in verbatim, apparently.” There didn’t seem to be any accusation in his voice, “I have to give you credit for revealing me so specifically without even saying my name, saved you a defamation suit?.” His tone was reserved but coy, she could hear the smile that edged in his tone. (Y/N) sat down at the edge of her bed, inspecting her fingers with a coy smile of her own.

“I’m a lawyer, words are my bread and butter.” She spoke with indifference.

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t be in need of the questions you’ll be asked tomorrow?” He spoke with cadence.

“You would give me the questions?” She filled her voice with skepticism and not hope.

“Consider it an olive branch, for having to subpoena you.” His voice was still airy, uncommitted. She ignored his emphasis on his unwillingness of the act.

“And what do I have to extend in exchange?” She questioned, almost surprised by a longer silence than she anticipated, a grin forming on her lips.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.” Her voice dropped to a serious tone, and her lips dropped to a frown.

“Then I suppose I’ll see you at the hearing tomorrow.” He sighed as if to emphasise the finality, yet didn’t hurry to end the conversation. She wanted to drag the silence to call his bluff, but she didn’t have the time or the upper hand.

“Wait.” She finally released her lower lip from between her teeth.

“Come to my place, I’m sending you the address.” He said before promptly hanging up. She sat on the bed with her eyes fixed on the clock on the wall— midnight; her back slowly sank down as she relaxed her muscles, trying to ignore her tired eyes.

The rain had caused a bit of traffic as she traveled across the city and once again she was faced with the realisation that absolutely no one in this small town ever slept. The taxi came to a pause in front of a tall building with warm light coming through the glass doors and illuminating the curb in the way that felt inviting. She opened the door of the car and braced herself for the sprint she would have to undertake.

“Have a nice night.” The driver nodded at her through the rear-view mirror. She wanted to laugh at the irony, but only broke into a small smile.

“Thanks, you too.” She took a deep breath and emerged into the frigid January rain.

The sudden hit of the warm air inside the lobby provided momentary relief once she entered, but soon enough the drops that landed on her head and trickled down her back made her pull her jacket closer. She approached the security at the desk in the corner of the large lobby, knowing well enough that she wouldn’t reach the elevator without a call in.

“I’m here to see Mr. Kim, could you please let him know?” She tapped on the marble top of the desk that was the same stone as the floor and walls. As she looked around she didn’t hear the sound of a call being made, making her turn to the guard who was eyeing her up suspiciously. When his gaze came back to her face, her expression said loud and clearly: ‘well?’ He coughed and picked up the phone.

“There is a new wom– of course, Sir.” He put the phone back on the receiver, raising his hand to point at the direction of what she assumed was the elevator.

“Thirty-fifth floor.” He informed her and she nodded like she didn’t know.

“Thank you.” She said without a smile and made her way.

As the elevator came to a halt with a ding it occurred to her that the security called her new, implying that there was, or were, older. Earlier in the day, Doyoung’s chief of staff also mentioned situations that needed to be dealt with. She let out a short laugh as she realised what it could be. Maybe the church boy had rendezvous he couldn’t confess about to his preacher. She supposed he was human first and a Christian conservative second, shifting the idea to the back of her mind with the amused smile on her face as the elevator dinged again to signal his floor.

“Is there any reason you couldn’t do this somewhere else?” That was the second thing Doyoung heard after a knock on the door, and the first thing after he saw when opened it was an unlikely sight of a rather frustrated frown and damp hair, he decided that between answering the pointless question and pointed out her state, the former was a better bet.

“Would you prefer I commit witness tampering in Public? Maybe my office?” He spoke as he swung the door open and walked into his apartment, letting her make her way in.

“I didn’t realise this was a federal crime.” She mumbled unfocused, a little skittish in the foreign space even if her voice didn’t waver. She took slow hesitant steps into the apartment. As if sensing it, Doyoung turned around— raising an eye at her.

“Are you coming? I’d like if we could move this along so we can both get some sleep before tomorrow.” He informed her assertively and she nodded quickly without making eye contact. She followed his footsteps till he went inside a room; hesitating again before shaking it off and entering what turned out to be an office, she let go of the breath she was holding, watching as he sat down at a desk in the corner of the room, against the window. She watched him read from a paper with his gaze squinted and lips pursed, using the other hand to ruffle his wet hair from what she assumed was a shower, at least they had that in common in the moment— wet hair; even if that hardly made up for her being dropped in an unfamiliar territory that was his comfort zone. The glasses that sat perched on his nose were rather bulky but they somehow worked for his slim face.

“Like what you see?” He asked without looking up, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes, the view from your window is nice.” She kept her voice neutral despite her stomach dropping from being caught by him staring. The hint of a smile played on his lips that he tried to hold back, looking up and gesturing to the chair opposite his.

“Sit down, I don’t bite. Neither do these papers.” He spoke with an inflection and a spark in his eyes she chose to ignore. Suddenly she felt a strange air around Kim Doyoung, one that was less serious.

“I’m not sure that’s true.” She mumbled as she made her way to the table, if he wondered which part of his statement she was referring to, he didn’t point it out.

“While I’ve been tasked with asking the questions, I didn’t draft most of them. The ones that I have written are yours,” He raised a few papers in his towards her and she couldn’t help the look she gave them, “This is my way of saying that I’m not blindly partisan. I want to help you.” He pushed the papers further and she turned up to look at him.

“Why?” She asked, her hands still purchased close to her in her lap. There was a squint from Kim Doyoung that she didn’t miss, and a faint hesitation.

“I believe you’re right in your place, as I am in mine. Progress happens through healthy debate, not cheap tricks. You shouldn’t have tried bribing people, but the committee insists on hanging you from your ankles.” There was a ghost of lewd smirk that inched at his lips at the image, her stomach dropped again at the sight. “They think it’ll deter you but I have a feeling that’s not going to work. I prefer when intelligent and determined people are my allies.” His hand was still raised with the papers. She looked at his face longer, like somehow it would give away an ulterior motive. She raised her hand and took the paper for him, putting it on her lap and turning down to it, mostly to avoid his scrutiny.

She read through the questions that were his, printed on the paper. She also took note of the stray questions written by hand in empty spaces on the paper, with a few corresponding congressmen’s names attached to it— he scribbled down a few questions that were not his, but they would be one’s she would receive, the effort he put surprised her. She put the stapled set back on the table after she finished, she watched his eyes scan the screen of his computer, his elbow was propped on the table and rested under his chin, his index finger on his cheek. She coughed, her gesture mostly soft out of respect. He turned from the screen, his finger pressing on his lower lip now, and faced her.

“That works for you?” He pointed at the paper on the desk, “You understand I can’t seem sympathetic, that hurts you more than me.” He said thoughtfully.

“Yes I understand the politics of partisanship.” She said with slight annoyance, he smirked.

“Forgive me, you just keep giving me the impression that this mudpit isn’t your area of expertise.” He pushed with his tone.

“Just because I don’t enjoy it, doesn’t mean I don’t understand it.” She shrugged, he grinned a little wider, nodding.

She suddenly felt more out of her element, and almost a little exposed like he had caught her stealing a sweet and she was a child with a cavity. She decided she wanted to turn the table, even if it was brief.

“I was doing some reading on you.” She relaxed a little into the chair. Doyoung looked up in time to catch a glimpse of her biting a smile down.

“Should I be flattered?” He said as he organised the papers on his desk and placed them to the side, propping his elbows on the desk and  placing his chin on top of his interlaced fingers, giving her his attention.

“Not if I was you.” She looked away like she was trying hard not to laugh. Doyoung tilted his head and narrowed his eyes— an otherwise intimidating glance that didn’t seem to hit the mark in the moment. She picked up her phone and scrolled through, till her eyes lit up with a fresh surge of amusement as she spoke with a voice on the edge of laughter, “The Times calls you the ‘Church Boy of the Senate’, HuffPo has an article headlined ‘Meet the moderate of the Christian Wing’,” She allowed a small giggle to slip past her lips, “Quite the flattery.” When she looked up at him, he was staring at her with no expression on his face, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean any offense, I just didn’t realise you were a virgin.” She bit down on her lip immediately, still tilted up at the edges but she did wish she could take the last part back. When Doyoung raised an eyebrow at her, she felt her smile fade a little hopefully. His eyes slipped to her lips.

“You think that just because my brother works for the church, I’m a saint?” His voice dropped to a low hoarse and it somehow made her nervous.

“I guess that’s a fair point. It’s always the ones you least expect.” She decided to drop the topic, not wanting to take it beyond that. She did feel a fleeting sense of satisfaction at dropping her observations on him, but he didn’t seem deterred.

“Would you like to know?” His voice was still smooth but it dropped lower.

“Know what?” She decided to play dumb, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her mouth felt dry and she could not decide if it was his sudden change in tone or the subsequent change in energy between them that made her palm cold with moisture, she rubbed her hands together reflexively and studied her red nail paint as it reflected the light on the ceiling.

He stood up from his chair, his looming figure obstructing the reflection of the light on her nails, and walked around to her. Without saying anything, he knelt on the floor beside her and watched her with an intensity that she caught even through the periphery of her vision. A few moments passed like that and a childish, stubborn part of her believed that if she just didn’t acknowledge it for long enough, this situation would go away. 

After a few moments though, her discomfort stemmed it’s own curiosity and she found her voice speaking up, “Doyoung.” Her voice came out an afflicted quiver.

“Hmm?” His hum was gentle and intimate and it made the hair on her arm stand straight in attention. He put a hand on the arm rest of her chair, and while the heat radiating off it seemed to burn a hole in her arm, he made no move to touch her.

“What are you doing?” A smaller whisper this time.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice was soft, her stomach dropped, “Can I?” He tilted her head to see her face. When he was met with silence, he didn’t press; only waited. Her mind meanwhile worked a mile a minute: she wondered if he’d take her silence as confirmation or rejection and which of those she wanted she couldn’t decide. When she heard his legs shift her hand reached out to grab his sleeve. Only when she turned to face him did she realise that he had merely shifted his weight from one knee to kneeling on both, willing to wait longer, but the move was made. When she looked up at his eyes they were curious and perceptive and they watched her like her answer could make or break the world around them, in the background the rain still tapped against the window but gentler in its assault; she felt herself nodding at him slowly. His eyes went a little wide and she distantly realised with victory that she had finally managed to catch him off guard. The victory was short-lived when he spun the chair abruptly, making her sit back with a yelp. There was a soft chuckle from the depth of his throat as he stood and leaned in, slowly. She wanted to tell him to be quicker about it so she didn’t have time to regret it, somehow she knew he was stretching the moment to revel in the fact that she wasn’t going to.

Even before his lips touched hers, she was surrounded by his presence— his unfamiliar smell was interesting, a mix of citrus and warm spices. She didn’t realise she leaned into it till there was a glint of victory in his eyes, and before she could do anything about it, his lips were inches away from hers, still hovering. Instinctually she licked her lips, which were rather dry and edging on coarse much to her quickly fading disappointment.

His eyes flickered down to the movement, “That’s cheating.” He groaned out softly, his palm finding the back of her neck, and pulling her closer, finally connecting their lips. She let out a soft sigh and earned a second soft groan from him. She took the opportunity to explore his mouth before he slipped his tongue into her mouth, a silent declaration that if he believed this was going to be a one man show, he wasn’t paying attention. He tilted his head and almost eagerly allowed her access, as if challenging her to try her best. She laced her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, long enough to get a good grip— now both of them were pushing the other closer. Surprisingly their bodies were still apart and in the moment that she decided she would later dismiss as a lapse of judgement, she decided that was a problem. Words were not her way though, she wasn’t a whiney harlot. Instead she yanked his head back, purchasing her teeth in the flesh on his collar, nibbling softly as she inhaled the dichotomy of whatever fragrance was on him. Clearly he wasn’t here to lose either, after he let her have her way on his now assaulted patch of skin, he was quick to pull away.

“If I take you to my bed right now will you wake up detesting me?” His gaze was surprisingly intense. She didn’t know how to answer him and her brain was too fogged for her to make something up.

“I’m not sure.” She breathed out honestly, her chest rising and falling rapidly under his piercing gaze.

“Will you come anyway?” He was a sneaky one, she realised: his eyes wide and hopeful one second and narrow and intentional the next.

“Only if you get to the fucking point, Doyoung. I thought you wanted to sleep too.” She snapped, an attempt at dissipating the sudden intensity . He took it in stride, laughing and grabbing her protruding lower lip between his teeth, making her gasp. When he pushed back again, her breathing was far worse and his eyes were playful, wrinkled in the corners.

“I’ll make an exception this time.” He finally stood up, looking down at her patiently.

“I bet you say that to all the women who sit in this chair.” She scoffed, her own eyes teasing, “Saint Kim.” She grinned at her own joke.

“Don’t make me sound like a whore.” He gave her a well-meaning frown, groaning at her words and it made her laugh out loud. Yet again Doyoung’s eyes turned intense, grabbing her hand and leading her way.

“So virgin it is.” She teased again. 

He turned around to her partially, “I’m going to make you regret saying that.” His warning licked at her lower abdomen, suddenly she felt unsolicited butterflies in her stomach. He turned back around and cranked open a door. The inside was dark but he had the advantage of knowing the room. He closed the door before her eyes could adjust.

“Is that a promise?” She tested his limits, the mixture of excitement and uncertainty making her head spin a little.

As a reward he swung her, she felt a moment of panic before landing on a soft mattress. She propped herself on her elbows as she blinked to adjust to the darkness.

“I’m an honourable man Miss (Y/L/N).” The way he said her last name felt like sin and she wasn’t sure she could ever hear her family name leave his lips ever again without thinking about this very moment. The mattress dipped and there was a knee between her legs, so close to her heat that it throbbed to the rhythm of her heart. She had her eyes screwed shut and she didn’t realise it till his lips were tracing feather light touches against her ears and her eyes shot open, he then kissed down her neck and up her throat. When he kissed her again, there was no hesitation and he didn’t give her any time to take the lead. His knee rubbed against her core and she moaned into his mouth, tilting her head up which he thoughtfully propped his arm behind.

“Tell me Miss (Y/L/N), what do you want me to do to you tonight?” He mumbled against her clavicle. She bit her bottom lip and tightened her hold on his hair. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, lifting his face back to hers. Their eyes met— her eyes had finally adjusted to the dark room.

There was a teasing smirk playing at the very edge of his lips. Her eyes watched him, lost and pleading. He dipped his lips closer to hers, kissing the corners of her lips, “As much as I enjoy kissing these lips of yours,” He dropped another peck to the corner, as if for emphasis, a frightfully intimate gesture. “I have to admit I thoroughly enjoy them more when you use your voice.” He pushed back further, pushing his knee further between her legs and watching her face as she moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Come on (Y/N).” His voice came out closer to a whine and her eyes fluttered open, “I don’t bite. Unless you ask me to.” He raised his brow at her with a more playful smirk. She bit her own smile, rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re so demanding. What do you think I’m in your bed to do? Bake cookies? You’re making me impatient.” She scoffed and he laughed out loud.

“Do you bake cookies?” He asked with suspicion. She groaned, out of frustration this time mostly and made a gesture to get up.

“Want to try? We could make a whole batch right now. You can take them to work tomorrow.” She pushed impatiently, naturally he didn’t budge.

“I believe you.” He mumbled, a playful smile still on his lips before drifting into silence, “You really don’t budge, do you?” Intrigue was laced in his tone. She chewed on her lips when he only watched her, realising that he wanted something or he wouldn't give in.

“Can you please fuck me before I fall asleep disgracefully with your knee lodged between my legs, half way up my vagina? Is that what you want to hear? I didn’t realise you were so crass.” Her voice faded off as her cheeks tinted red at her own words. Doyoung’s eyes glinted with a new found excitement. “Doyoung?” She pressed impatiently. His index finger reached up and traced a circle on her cheek, before travelling down her neck, all the way till the edge of her chest, where her blouse clung to it.

“I’m going to enjoy this moment. Look at how red you are. Are you shy Miss (Y/L/N)?” He hummed and she dropped her head back, groaning. She felt so exposed in the moment. “You’re still not failing to amaze me.” He mumbled softer.

His cold fingers slipped under her blouse and she jumped at the unexpected assault of her senses; every follicle rising in attention as his fingers traced her sides. He suddenly sat back abruptly and she looked up at him, a quick panic crossing her features. But he just quickly discarded his shirt, smirking at her.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” There was a rising sense of victory in his voice, pleasantly cocky. “Off.” He flicked his finger towards her chest, looking down his nose at her clothing like it was to be removed from existence, not just her skin. She sat up and obeyed, he smirked again, “Good girl.” She heard his voice through the silk of her blouse, obstructing her vision as she pushed it up her neck and threw it to the side. It would wrinkle, her mind chastised but she couldn’t begin to indulge that small voice. He pulled her by the ankle to the edge of the bed, looping his fingers into the elastic of her pants. “Who wears sweatpants with a silk blouse?” He observed, tilting his head to one side. 

She propped herself up on her elbows, “Did you expect me to dress up for you? I was done for the day when you called.” She shot back, lifting her hips while he slid the pants off. He pointed his chin at the top of the bed and walked around to the dresser on the side and flicked the lamp that sat on it on. She did as he asked, watching him as he took off his glasses and placed them neatly on top of the dresser, before rummaging through the top drawer and picking out a foil packet.

“What would the bishop say?” She mocked with a click of her tongue, earning a frown from him that delighted her greatly. She curled her lips in to avoid the smile on them from being too overt he narrowed his eyes and her stomach flipped.

“There’s so many things I want to do to you. Most of all, put that mouth of yours to some good use.” He didn’t turn to her yet, lifting his hand to the lamp’s switch before retracting it, deciding to leave it on. Tearing the condom packet open with his nimble finger, “But I have to be up at seven so i’m going to settle for making you moan my name a few times.” He turned to her, eyebrows knitted in concentration, completely unaware of the effect his words had on her. He bent down and released his pants from his knees, each movement so deliberate and purposeful that she didn’t realise she was breathing hard and fast till she spoke.

“Do you prefer Mr. Kim or Doyoung?” She wanted to tease him, but the breathless sentence that left her lips didn’t back up her intention. He smirked again.

“I’ll make an exception for you." There was a glint in his eyes, "You can call me Doyoung.” He turned around and put an arm around her frame, placing it firmly on the mattress and connecting their eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“Clock’s ticking.” She let her voice trail off.

“If I knew you were so impatient, I would have done this the first day I met you.” His voice was softer now, more intimate and it aroused her so much that her toes curled.

“You wouldn’t have gotten too far.” She stated and he hummed like he didn’t believe her, leaning down to connect their lips. Her eyes were closed, but she heard his pants drop to the floor.

Before she knew it, he was hovering over her again. He used his hands to lift up her chin and deepened the kiss. Before his lips travelled down her neck and her fingers were back in his hair. He looked up at her, and they held each other’s gaze till he entered her and her eyes fluttered shut. She held her breath and he bit his lips, but was adamant to watch her features: the way her eyebrows knit together and the way she bit the corner of her lower lips, eyes squeezed shut. When he was completely inside her she let out a sigh, arm scrambling up to grab his shoulder. He pulled out and entered her, more swift this time.

“Fuck.” She breathed out.

“Look at me (Y/N).” There was a stray hint of annoyance in his voice, he pulled out. Her eyes fluttered open. He pushed back into her, her nails dug into his shoulder blade.

“Faster Doyoung.” She whimpered so softly, that only the lack of distance made him hear it. He obeyed her this time, watching with furrowed brows as tears pooled at the outer corner of her eyes; not enough to trickle down, but just enough to reflect the soft warm light of the lamp. Whether it was pleasure, impatience or something else, Doyoung did not know.

He picked up pace as he got more wrapped in his own pleasure, his soft groans turning more urgent.

“Doyoung.” She whispered, a tear escaping one eye as she screwed them shut. He hummed in question, “Feels good.” She let out a choked, “Very good.” She reiterated, sighing again and wrapping her arm around his neck. He hummed again, eyes still focused on the glistening tear that slid down her cheek slowly, his brows knitting closer together and his feature screwing closer. He dropped a free hand between them, working her clit. She buried her face in his neck, leaving small kisses. He groaned at the sensation, the muscles in his back tightening more with every sloppy kiss and every lewd whimper that left her lips.

“I’m-” She let out a whisper, lifting one leg around his waist and digging her heel into the back of his knee, his breath stuttered out against her ear and the sound made her moan, his cock twitched at the sound. He picked up pace once again, both his fingers and his dick working in the same rhythm: eager to please. He left small kisses all across her cheek, behind her ear and at the corner of her mouth as she gasped and her legs started shaking around his waist. When she clenched around him he groaned into the pillow, feeling himself tethering close to his own abyss of pleasure as she came undone.

“How can you be naked, underneath me and moaning my name, and still be out of my reach.” He whispered soft, his lips on her ear, somehow afraid to look at her eyes. He thrusted in another few times before he became still. Instead of dropping his weight on her he got up from the bed, both of them wincing as he pulled out rather quickly and disappeared into what she assumed was the ensuite. She stayed still in bed, her eyes focused on the blank ceiling and for the first time in months (Y/N) had no swimming thoughts in her head, only a silent ringing. She heard the door open and footsteps that led up to her side of the bed. She turned her head and met her Doyoung’s kind eyes and a small smile. He dropped a shirt on her stomach, fully clothed himself.

“Stay.” He told her, before walking around the bed and dropping in the mattress face first. 

She sat up at the same time, pointing at the door he had entered earlier, “Washroom?” She asked and he nodded, eyes careful: watching her from the bed. She gave him a small nod and got out of bed.

When she came back, his t-shirt hanging around her thighs, he was still lying on his stomach, his arm under the pillow below his head. He watched her as she came and lay down beside her.

“I’m not much of a talker, during or after sex.” She turned her head to him, “In fact, outside work related matters, I’m not much of a talker at all.” She offered to him an explanation she knew he didn’t ask for. He didn’t reply, the one eye that wasn’t dug into the pillow watched her. She honoured his gaze with her own.

The silence stretched for a moment, both of them just lying their with their eyes on the other and for a moment (Y/N) felt like she could have comfort like this, without any repercussions that always felt like ultimatums.

“Do you know why I’m religious?” His voice was hesitant, vulnerable. She didn’t respond, but shifted to lay at her side, putting her arm under her head and listening, “My brother fought in the Iraq War." His gaze faltered, "When he came back he had changed. I wanted to help him, all my family did. But I was so young I couldn't understand what was wrong, he'd get angry over little things and I'd get angry at him," He paused, taking a deep shaky breath. "My parents tried to talk to him, he went to therapy. They diagnosed him the same as most soldiers, survivor's guilt, PTSD. But knowing didn't help, it only made it worse. Nothing helped." He paused again, burying his face a little further in the pillow. Without realising she shifted closer to him, reaching her hand out. He laced his fingers with hers wordlessly squeezing tight, "Till my mom took him to church. I don't know what it was, but being told that God forgave him helped him. He helped the church a lot after that, volunteering and donating. My parents are–" he paused, a subtle hesitation as he looked for a word, "Affluent." He settled. "The church we went to was influential and my parents decided with them that it would be best for my brother to go to law school, and he did. And when he graduated he became their lawyer. The church saved his life and for that I'll always defend them. Because he's not the only person; I've seen the hungry they feed and the lost people they guide. I don’t believe in everything they have to say.” He raised a well-meaning brow at her and she smiled, understanding well enough what he was referring to. “But I understand why they exist. I want to rise up the ranks of the party enough that we can condemn the people who use the word of God for selfish and detrimental things though. That’s not Christian at all.” His eyebrows knit together.

“Neither is curbing rights, Doyoung.” She bit her lip, but found it impossible to not verbalise. He didn’t look angry, only sighed. He used their intertwined fingers as leverage and pulled her closer, letting her hand go to drop his over her waist. His hand slid up her back and it made her skin shiver.

“I know. I just can’t say that out loud. This is still politics.” He said and almost unwillingly she was yanked back to reality. He sighed after a moment, “I didn’t tell you about my past as an excuse, I want to be understood.” He spoke to the ceiling before he shook his head, turning back to face her. “I’m going to kiss you again.” Her heart fluttered. He shifted his arm up to her neck and drawing her close.

“Will you ask every time you do that?” She teased. He hummed affirmatively and kissed her, not slow or hesitant at all anymore. He broke the kiss after a moment, but his lips were still on hers— when she opened her eyes, his were still closed; dark black eyelashes fanning his pale cheeks at his eyes twitched, “I don’t tell people that.” His voice was small, like a vulnerable child and she could imagine a small Doyoung watching his suffering brother with the confusion of a young mind. The image tugged at her heart

“That’s okay,” She kissed his cheek, “I won’t tell. I’m good at keeping secrets, you can trust me on that.” She scoffed internally. He nodded and opened his eyes, pulling away.

“We should sleep.” His hand returned to her waist. She hummed, “I’ll get breakfast tomorrow.” He promised.

There was something about the peace she felt in the state between being asleep and almost lucid. She felt the soft touch of the summer sun— the way it touched her skin in the early morning; the relief of the cold sheets as you dove further into it; the security of arms around her, a wide chest to bury her face in like the world could be put on hold for just that moment: in the gentle summer sun. She felt her lips tug in the daze, the familiar mix of vanilla and smokey oak surrounding her senses as she inhaled. Jaehyun.

Her eyes flew open. She stared at the grey light filtering through the windows, the sun hiding behind the winter clouds. She turned in bed, her gaze meeting Doyoung’s back. She turned back to the window. In the scrutiny of the morning sun, on the other side of the intrigue that remained on the floor with last night’s discarded clothes, she had nowhere to hide. She racked her mind so hard that the sleep she had just woken from felt obsolete, exhaustion seeping into her being like the omnipresent companion it was. 

There was something bitter at the tip of her tongue. She remembered the way Doyoung’s eyes sparkled with fluidity last night. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in the pillow, like it would somehow take away everything she now wanted removed. She felt like a fiend, like a monster from fairy tales who sucked out all it needed from someone: only taking, with nothing to give. Her back went stiff when she heard Doyoung shuffle behind her, he let out a gentle sigh and settled. She stayed frozen for many moments till she was sure he was in fact still asleep. She turned to him again, this time his face facing her. He looked peaceful in sleep. Jaehyun was right: he was a good guy; through and through he was good and kind and understanding. And she had nothing to give to him, whatever she had was already offered at a different altar and she could never take that back. She swallowed a heavy lump in her throat.

The thick duvet felt heavy on her all of a sudden, and she knew she had to go. She couldn’t face him after this, and she had to remind herself that he was still an obstruction in her path to justice. She slowly got out of bed and picked up her things, quiet as a mouse. She folded his shirt and left it at the foot of his bed, the smell of citrus and warm spices still lingering on her skin. 

She was a fool. A selfish, hedonist who thought not of the consequences of squeezing the sentiments of others. He was kind and dutiful and she was a greedy fool. 

She left his apartment in such a hurry that she had to wait in the lobby for her cab to arrive. She watched the rain, still pouring onto the streets with enough fervour to obstruct vision, thick sheets of water beating against the sidewalk; the loud persistence of it enough to muffle the thoughts in her head. Lately, everytime she found herself feeling small, feeling pathetic, she thought it could not get worse. Each time she was proved wrong, and each time she could only truly blame herself. Her phone vibrated in her hand and pulled her out of her self-pity, she looked out as a cab stopped at the curb. She got up to walk to the door but the security guard from last night called out, coming up to her with a large umbrella in his hand.

“You don’t have to, I don’t mind if these clothes get wet.” She waved her hand.

“It’s my job ma’am. And no guest of Mr. Kim’s should be left in the rain.” He said sheepishly.

“He has a lot of guests, does he?” She scoffed, before reiling her thoughts back in. She had no place to say that.

“Not my place to say. But most come and go in the night, so I wouldn’t want to lose my job.” He admitted guiltily. She felt a little taken aback, but nodded at him and he seemed to be relieved, “He’s kind to me, you see. I don’t mind a little rain.” He said with a sense of duty. She gave him a smile as he pushed the door open.

“What’s your name?”

“Arnold.” He answered.

“You have to stand under the umbrella with me, Arnold; otherwise I’ll feel too bad.” He seemed hesitant but nodded.

When she was back in her hotel room, she buried the clothes she was in deep in the corner of her suitcase— they still smelt like him and she didn’t want that around. She took a shower and washed herself with the soap the hotel gave her. The smell of her brewing coffee made her finally feel awake. She opened her phone and bit the inside of her cheek, there was a single missed call at 7:01, 10 minutes ago. She wondered if he thought she ignored it on purpose. She wondered if she would have ignored it or not if she had seen it. A part of her wanted to call him back, instead she slid the screen off and put her phone on charge— she had a long day ahead of her.

An hour after a short text she received before noon, she was sitting in a restaurant a block away from the Capitol.

You forgot your pass.

She read it again. Her ‘Oh’ received with another address in response— the restaurant she was sitting inside at the moment— and the time: 13 minutes since she had arrived, she noted when she looked at her watch. She sat quietly at a table for two as the place slowly filled in, as was customary for the lunch hour. She was going through news headlines, her thumb pausing at a The Hill report about her hearing today. She was debating reading it when the chair in front of her dragged against the floor. She placed her phone on the table and looked up as Doyoung sat down, his feline eyes guarded as he looked back at her. He wordlessly placed the Capitol ID issued to her.

“Your hearing will be inside the Capitol Building, so they won’t let you in without it.” His face was grim, but his eyes were searching hers. She nodded and looked away, picking it up and putting it into her bag and turning her gaze back to him. He looked like he was going to speak. If he was, the server interrupted him.

“The usual, Senator?” The server looked up with her best service industry smile. He slowly dragged his eyes away from (Y/N) and towards the server.

“No, I’ll have the steak today. With the asparagus.” He said without looking at a menu. When he turned his neck, she caught sight of a small bruise peeking through his collar.

“And the lady?” The server turned to her with the same smile. Doyoung turned to her, catching her staring at him. Against her better judgement, her eyes followed the mark, making Doyoung squint before he cleared his throat. A blush crept up her own neck when she remembered what it was, looking away with her own uncomfortable cough.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” She returned the polite smile of the server.

“You couldn’t have possibly had lunch yet.” Doyoung interrupted. She turned her head to be met with his furrowed brow.

“I don’t feel like eating.” She told him, perturbed.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t eat.” He spoke in a tone that wasn’t open to disagreement. When she opened her mouth, he further added: “I promised you breakfast, you should at least have lunch.” There was a momentary slip in the disinterested way he looked at her, it took her aback.

“Doyoung-” She faltered.

“I’m a man of my word Miss (Y/L/N).” The disinterest seeped back into his eyes and he picked up the specials card that stood in the centre of the table, “What are the specials for today, Angela?” His eyes scanned over the card, after which he turned back to the server. 

“We have a risotto. It’s enoki mushroom season.” Angela spoke to her instead, suppressing a grin.

“Sure.” She replied, a little vexed by his blunt behaviour as she swallowed the way his reacquainted formality made her feel.

He must have sensed it. The moment the server was gone, before she could tell him, he spoke up, “You left me.” The way he framed the words left her mouth parted, unsure of what to say.

“I left because you said you had to be at work early.” She gave her previously rehearsed excuse.

“I asked you to stay.” He said like he didn't understand.

“I didn’t want to be an inconvenience.” She stood her ground. 

There was silence after that, she could see his indignation in the way he flexed his jaw. “Sure.” He broke the silence, picking up the bottle between them to pour himself a glass of water.

“Doyoung–” She tried to reason with him.

“It’s quite alright, Miss (Y/L/N). You don’t have to apologise to me for not being on the same page as me. In fact, I’d appreciate if you spared me the humiliation. I have to sit in committee today and I'd like to do that without this weighing on my mind.” He didn’t meet her gaze. (Y/N) swallowed the dryness in her throat, nodding and looking away from him.

Humiliation. She had Humiliated him somehow and she could not understand why. She felt so selfish in that moment, realisation gaping back at her as Kim Doyoung avoided looking at her. She had used him, because she was wrapped in her own grievances. And she did not account for how that would make him feel. Humiliation seemed appropriate, and she felt a sick kick in her chest. 

They fell into a disconcerting silence. There were moments when she wanted to speak just to fill the silence, other moments she wanted to have a conversation with him like they did only a few hours ago. She pushed down that thought the moment it surfaced, unable to suddenly bear the depths of her own self-centred disposition. 

It wasn't that she was unaware of her nature, to her it was self preservation. As a quiet and deliberate person she was used to being mistrusted, even as a child— even by her parents. She had only learned, as she grew, to mirror it back. To simply treat a person with inherent distrust meant that her trust couldn't be violated, there was a power in that. An insulating anesthetic, her only weapon in the world. She wanted to preserve that weapon, but it seemed to her to be currently wielded in offense instead of defense.

"I have upset you." She realised, "That wasn't my intention." She looked at him to gauge his reaction, to find him watching her with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"How did you think I would feel?" She was taken aback again, he was right. He had every right to be upset, she did not make her intentions clear, but neither did he.

"Like nothing. I didn't realise that it would matter to you." 'That I would matter to you', she wanted to say. He watched her for another moment."You asked me not to detest you, and truly I don't." His forehead creased with growing coundment and he let out a slow angry breath from his nose.

"No? And did you think I was just looking to have a good fuck?" He seemed to seethe. She looked at him carefully. In all truth, that is exactly what she believed. But she felt like telling him that would somehow hurt him.

"Maybe I misunderstood." She added quickly, realising how out of depth she was.

"So? You think I invite women into my bed, tell them about my family and ask them to stay." His voice gave way, before he sat up, "And have it not matter? What kind of a person do you think I am?" He laughed bitterly. 

She looked at him a little dumbfounded. She realised she didn't. She didn't think about the kind of person he was, till now it didn't matter.

"Do you regret telling me those things?" She wanted to stop herself from speaking. 

Doyoung let out another shaky breath from his nose, still angry. But his voice was soft, "No. I don't regret it, (Y/N). I'd do it again." He frowned like his own admission was unpleasant to him.

"Why?" She bit her lip

“Have I not made it abundantly clear that I’m interested in you?” He snapped at her, frowning with his whole face. His cheeks turned red and she could tell he was embarrassed at the admission. He ran a hand through his hair before sighing, "Because at the moment it felt right. I trust my judgement, it's my only tool. And to deny myself that is to deny myself the opportunity to learn from experiences." He pursued his lips, looking at her in a way that felt like he was looking through her. He wasn't— he couldn’t because then he’d understand— but the scrutiny made her uncomfortable anyway. His brows knit together again, "I think you're a good person (Y/N). I just don't understand why you don't believe I am too." He blinked his gaze away from her. His eyes were hurt, but somehow resolute. He went back to his meal, silence falling on them again.

“I do.” She mumbled.  

She looked up at Doyoung, paying attention. There was something so delicate about everything he did. She saw it in the way he slowly cut small pieces of his steak and bought it to his lips, the poise of private school all over him. But there was something more than that. Kim Doyoung was a very careful person, and seeing him now was like seeing him for who he was. Doyoung was careful and deliberate in ways she was not. And he was also a far better person than she would ever be— the thought made her feel small. Kim Doyoung had trusted her, when there was no reason to. She understood him now because he had allowed it. It was strange to her. Vulnerability always seemed to disarm her. Yet Doyoung almost seemed empowered by his choice to trust her. And she could see why he chose to. It was an odd affair: to understand Kim Doyoung when there was no reason to; he was so fundamentally different from her. She realised in that moment the power of words; not as an agent of change or a strategic maneuver, but as a source of true understanding of another human being. She understood him because he told her what there was to understand.

She did think he was a good person. And she wanted to tell him that it made her heart flutter in a way that confused her to a maddening magnitude. But it wouldn't help him, it would make him think something else and she could not let that be. She wanted to make him understand that she would choose this— choose him; that she would stay for breakfast. If things were different. But they weren't. She looked back at Doyoung and she could almost believe it, he was kind and gentle in a way that would be easy; but easy wasn’t what the trajectory of her life ever granted her. She looked away from him with a sigh that deflated her back. It was never her choice to make: she could never give herself wholly to another person and wholly was what someone like Kim Doyoung would demand from her. She just turned to her plate and decided to let it go, let him go.

She had to shake her thoughts to the back of her mind as she left the restaurant. Whoever Kim Doyoung was, he was currently still going to be one of the people standing in the way of a fundamental shift for overall change, she reminded herself. The fact that he didn't even believe what he was fighting for— who he was fighting with, she told herself, made it all the more worse. Because it meant that he'd let politics and his own need to stay in his position ruin lives.

"We're all selfish." She mumbled to herself as she walked down Independence Avenue. This part of town was particularly windy owing to the open grounds that sprawled around her. The crowded city giving way to the might of the Capitol and Supreme buildings, surrounded by an expanse of open lawns. She took a detour, walking further till she stood in front of the man-made water body at the head of Capitol Hill. The Capitol Reflecting Pool, it was called. The absurdity of the name didn't fail to make her lips twitch, there was hardly much reflection that was done in this part of town. She watched the water ripple gently in the wind, the chatter of tourists around her mixed with the birds and a nearby tour guide, all blending into a mindless white noise that seemed to make her feel calm. 

The freezing January wind nipped at her cheeks and it was still cloudy so there was no sun, but it helped to clear her head. She allowed herself to come to terms with her heart in that moment. She told herself that she wouldn't try ever again— to think she could even be touched by someone else, nonetheless be loved. Even if that meant she would be alone forever. She now knew that no matter how awful that felt, this was worse. The guilt she was trying to avoid acknowledging was clawing at her chest so persistently that she felt like her ribs would break from the pressure. She let out a shaky breath that wasn't caused by the cold. It was unfair, she confessed to herself, that this was how it turned out. The admittance gave her relief. 

The only person she had ever truly loved in her entire existence was not hers, and he never truly would be. She looked up from the water, facing the Capitol building in front of her. Because above all else, he would always belong to this place first. She turned around and looked up, the sun overhead falling in her eye, making her squint as she looked at the Washington monument— towering over the rest of the city. In the distance, beyond that stood the White House, she pictured. She looked away as the sun almost blinded her, sighing deeply. She was small compared to these monuments, and standing here truly made her understand that. She accepted that she wouldn’t compete anymore. To make a mistake is human, she told herself, to repeat it is lunacy.

It was almost two in the afternoon by the time she made her way into the Capitol building. This was her first time inside it and she was rendered speechless by it's marvel. It was like the building had a personality, one that demanded utter respect and she was compliant in its wake. She handed her credentials and the card to the security and went through security dutifully before they let her in.

"The hearing room is straight down towards the back. It'll have the committee and agenda on the door." The security informed her with the monotone of routine. She nodded and went her way, passing more tourists standing in the rotunda. She briefly stopped as she saw people rushing to the House chambers, she wondered if she'd look for Jaehyun. She looked away immediately, and lifted her chin higher; she didn't need his reassurance and she knew it wouldn't make her less nervous, only make her feel more burdened. She also knew that there was a vote in the House today so he was probably busy.

Tourists watched her as she walked by, most of them young students who were just as taken with the beauty around them as her. They made way for her, looking at her with fascination and despite the crowd, she was at the hall with the hearing rooms earlier than scheduled. She didn't need to look for the room, because there was already one open, with Press standing around. She caught a single person's eye and soon enough cameras clicked busily as she walked over. Her mouth felt dry as she froze, blinking rapidly as the flashes blurred her vision and made her feel dizzy: she wasn’t used to such surveillance.

"Is it true that you've been subpoenaed because you filed a supreme court petition that was a conflict of interest?" A voice sounded from somewhere behind the ocean of cameras. She frowned— that question didn't even make sense.

Before she could answer another voice spoke, this time she could make out a face, "Are you planning on running for office, Miss (Y/L/N)? Is that the reason you've made it a point to gather so much attention on yourself?" She frowned deeper, she never wanted any attention on herself at all.

"No I don't. And I've tried to bring attention to the problem, not me." She smoothed her features out. She knew looking displeased made her look guilty. It just took her this long to comprehend that she was on some sort of public trial. 

"How does it feel to know that you'll be responsible for countless murders across the country, Miss (Y/L/N)?" She blinked a few times at the question, staring the woman blankly in the face. She didn't have an answer to that, there was nothing she could say to the way the reporter framed her question. The rest of the voices lowered to a whisper and her mouth felt drier.

"Forgive me. I'm not used to being cornered by reporters." Her voice was soft but her words were sharp, "Next time I'll have better retorts. For now I have to go into the Chamber." She looked at the floor and walked away, her chest filling with pride at her sombre and dignified response.

Once inside, a clerk ushered her to her seat. "First time?" He asked her and she nodded absentmindedly.

"Welcome to the Mudpit." He chuckled as he placed a mic in front of her, giving her an encouraging smile and a nod. Her head turned at his words but she was quick to push down the memory of the word. People ushered in behind her, the clicking of the cameras back. She made a mental note to drown the sound out as the committee slowly walked and onto the podium. She kept her gaze fixed on the Chairman's seat as it was filed in by him. She turned to face the Ranking member, a Democrat, who gave her a reassuring nod and it would have eased her nerves, but she felt Kim Doyoung's gaze on her from the left side of the podium, from the corner of her vision she could see as much. She decided not to look.

The Chairman, the senator of South Carolina tapped on his microphone. The subsequent high pitched squeal from the object made a few people wince around the room. He mumbled an apology and began speaking, "We've gathered here today." His brittle twang already grated against her ears. "To bring light to what we as a nation choose to do about the rights of those citizens who are yet too vulnerable to make any claim," He drawled. "I will not take much of your time today, as I'm known to do." Soft chuckles echoed in the silent room at his empty laugh and she had to try her best to keep her face straight, "But I ask the country watching–" He looked away from her and above her: at a camera, no doubt. "Which side of history do we want to stand on? When we look back, do we choose to be seen as the people who murdered innocent children? Or do we wish to be seen as the ones who fought against that at all costs?" He let his words hang in the air for a second. She wondered what the country would have been like if the Senator had the same respect for history six years ago. "I yield to the Ranking member who had asked me prior to this that he wished to speak." He nodded at the camera once solemnly. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Firstly, I'd like to thank Miss (Y/L/N) for making the time to come in front of the committee. I know you had to cut your holiday week short and fly down for this hearing and we are grateful for your willingness to serve your country." The Ranking Member spoke into his microphone. It took her a moment to register his words, before nodding at him dutifully. She wasn't expecting such praise before the committee, even from a Democrat. Looking at the friendliness in his eyes it occurred to her that it could only be Jaehyun, only he would think thoroughly enough to plant a good first impression for whoever was watching C-SPAN at 3 in the afternoon other than on mute in waiting rooms. Her heart fluttered and forced her to acknowledge how grateful she felt in the moment, knowing he had her back.

She leaned into the microphone in front of her, "It's my duty, Senator. One I'm glad to do at any time." There was a new rush of confidence in her voice. She leaned back, reminded herself to keep her back straight and her chin elevated the entire time she sat here.

The chairman leaned into his microphone again, "The Senator of New Hampshire has a few questions for you." The chairman turned across the dias, "I yield my remaining time and give you the time needed to ask your questions." He nodded at Doyoung encouragingly. She finally shifted her gaze to him and he quickly looked away, at his paper. He tapped on his microphone, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.

"Miss Y/N, you are here to answer some pressing questions this committee has on the legality of abortions in this country. Is that correct?" He asked routinely, as he looked down at her from the height of his seat. She leaned in to answer into the microphone, caught off guard by the static that made a small yelp leave her lips. She looked up at Doyoung with a nervous panic and he seemed to give her a smile that she chose to interpret as an encouraging one.

"That is correct Mr. Kim." She cleared her throat after speaking, sitting back in the chair promptly.

"And your qualifications are that you've been working actively at the state-level, specifically in the state of Pennsylvania, to push cases with a strong pro-choice rhetoric.” He looked up from the paper and towards her, “That is correct?" He continued, looking down at the piece of paper in his hand.

"I wouldn't say I'm the one pushing anything." Doyoung raised an eyebrow at her but she didn't faze. "I was given a pro-bono case by the firm I work at, it's standard procedure for firms to take on pro-bono cases and all lawyers on retainer are required to have a minimal amount of hours dedicated to it," She stated plainly. "I had a case that happened to make local news, after which I had some clients who wanted to hire me. I am not a litigator, so I passed them to certain activist groups and litigators I found to be reliable. If that is what you are implying by push." He assessed her words with a nod, with no discernible expression on his face, and turned back to the paper in his hand, coming back closer to the mic to speak.

"But the case you filed at the Supreme Court is under your name Miss (Y/L/N)? Which is why the panel has your name in mind and why you are sitting across from us on this afternoon." The panel chuckled lightly at Doyoung's words, "Is that not your idea of a push?" He sat back to take a drink of water and watched her.

"Mr. Kim, if you would take a look at the actual nature of the case I filed for, it's to bring to attention that state courts violate precedent when they refuse abortions.” She sat up a little straighter, with more focus, “Roe v. Wade still stands as a law, which makes this a violation of legal precedent, and as a lawyer I can't seem to accept the constitutional violation that implies. I would like to believe that goes beyond a pro-choice or pro-life debate.” Her eyes shifted over the panel before they centered back on Doyoung, “I see it as a constitutional crisis." Her heart was beating so fast that for a second it seemed like the corner of her vision blurred a little. Kim Doyoung was watching her carefully now, an eyebrow raised as he absorbed her politicized language carefully. As much as she desired some water for her dry throat, she was aware of the camera on her face and the implication of the said action. There were multiple eyes pointed at her, some more uninviting that others.

"And you believe that states exercising their rights is somehow unconstitutional? Do you also think Maine is unconstitutional for having the Moose as their state animal instead of the Bald Eagle?" A senator quipped from the side, laughing at his own joke. Her head shot to the source of the voice as the middle aged goblin smiled with sick satisfaction to himself. She was going to speak but Kim Doyoung beat her to it.

"The witness isn't here to answer hypotheticals, Senator.” Doyoung turned to him with an impassive voice but knitted brows, his tone was impatient, “She is entitled to any opinion she holds— under the first Amendment, and she has been asked here to share her educated opinion for the benefit of this country and the Senate. If you have any relevant questions, Senator, please wait till I yield my time." He spoke to the man with a hint of admonishment that the older Senator seemed to heed, sitting back as he quietly cleared his throat, his forehead turning red. Before Doyoung turned back to his microphone, she felt herself compelled to speak up.

"It's the American Bison." She turned back to the Senator, relishing his confused expression for a moment before clarifying, "The national animal is the American Bison. The bald eagle is a bird," She kept her voice level, "Senator." She added, sitting back as she pushed the pleasure she felt down, only keeping a small smile on her face. When she turned back to Doyoung, his smile was hidden behind his hand, they both seemed to recall simultaneously that there were cameras in the room. The crowd behind her chuckled slightly.

"Miss (Y/L/N), the committee would like to know, if it isn't too much to ask. What are your motivations for this? I understand that you're a woman and this is something you feel strongly about, the committee is merely asking if this is about lobbies and interest groups and not people." There seemed to be a murmur that spread across the mix of staffers and the dais in front of her and (Y/N) knew it was because the question wasn't on the printed set of questions already passed between them. He kept his unwavering gaze on her and she swallowed an angry breath.

"It shouldn't matter." She scanned her eyes across the panel for the first time, making a mental note before her eyes landed back on the person interrogating her, "How can we sit here debating my motivations when we should be debating yours." Kim Doyoung raised an eyebrow, provoked, but did not speak yet, "It should be a given.” She swallowed the anger rising up her throat with a huff, “Common sense! That one should have agency over their own bodies. I know it's not simple. But that's why we have so many rules; a whole bill, term limits, counseling, introduction to alternatives. Every step should be taken by the government that exists because we voted for it: to protect its citizens, to give them every option available; but it is not in their right to take away any of them." She paused, finally taking the sip of water she was so desperately craving.

"And what of the child?" He asked, after she placed the glass back down, simply and without emotion.

"No child should be subject to being raised without security either, Senator." There was a passing frigidity in her voice that seemed to hit it's intended target, "Just giving birth to a baby doesn't solve its problems; the mother has to raise the child as well. We do not provide any provision that makes raising that child easier: we do not have healthcare coverage for that baby, we do not provide for low income expectant and new mothers and our foster care system is in such ghastly shape that it feels like a crime to give a child away." She sat back, the frustration of the matter seeping into her jaw till she had to pause to loosen it, hearing the crack of resistance echo in her skull. "We don't even provide them free diapers." Her voice came out softer away from the mic, but still audible. She sat back up again, her voice coming back to full volume closer to the mic, and her eyes renewed with a sense of duty. She looked at the panel in front of her again, "Every single person on that dais is a man." She spoke into the mic matter of factly, there was a murmur behind her and she hoped it was because they noticed what she pointed out.  "And somehow you are telling the only woman in this conversation that you don't trust her motivations enough to do the right thing?" After looking over, she came back to the one questioning her, "My personal life does not matter because I do not represent that at this moment. That is not why I was invited here." 

Doyoung's brows were knit together as his thumb persistently scratched his lower lip, like he was waiting for her to finish. She got up from her chair, taking advantage of the long table she was seated at, pulling out a group of files from her bag. 

She walked to as far left as she could to where the extra mics and television equipment were pushed to. One by one she placed the files in her hand in a neat line side by side, reaching the end of the table on the other side and still having two extra that she placed over another hastily. Quietly she sat back in her chair after that, clearing her throat and leaning back into the mic.

"I represent all these girls. And the many more I have in boxes in my office. I chose to come for this hearing so I could help many more girls than that." She made a display of the situation intricately.

"Are all those rape victims?" Another senator on the dais scoffed.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." She turned to him with an enraged menace that she could not control before it escaped, "Every single case on this table is a case of a rape causing a pregnancy that were in someway refused abortions." She stared the man down till he averted his gaze, "But all the cases I have are not." Before the man tried to speak up, she continued, "I interject that it does not matter. They're all scared. Irrespective of what happened. It is your duty to protect these people too. That's why we vote for you, not so you can debate over whether a fundamental right to agency is a matter of speculations and senate oversight." She looked away from the dais, unable to watch them any longer-- a spectacle in the name of legislation. Her frown was still prominent as she sat back in her seat.

"The committee would still like an answer Miss Y/N." The impatience in Doyoung’s voice struck a chord in her. She turned to look at him, looking in his eyes in a way that made sure she was the only thing in the room to them, she enjoyed the hesitation in his gaze in that moment, even though there was unabashed curiosity in them as well. She hesitated as well, considering her next actions. She knew that what she would say would have it's own consequences; but the way the eyes on the dais glared and gloated over the silence they assumed was her surrender, made her fingers itch and her jaw get more cramped with anger.

"Miss Y/N the hearing is still going on." The rather infamous Senator of South Carolina spoke up, his Southern drawl sharply unpleasant to her ears. "I'm sorry to Interrupt Mr. Kim, you're doing an excellent job." His voice dragged the same way it did on television, "But Miss Y/N might be under the presumption that she has a choice in answering these questions. And as you are aware Miss, you have been subpoenaed." She wasn't sure if the drawl on the last word was his accent or a deliberate emphasis.

"My mother didn't want me." She felt like her conscience was watching her body speak from outside it, "And even if no one in my family ever told me that, I always knew it." This time when she locked eyes with Doyoung, it was accidental. There was a sinking realisation that seemed to seep into his eyes and she looked away before he dared looking apologetic, "I grew up aware of how unwanted I was by my own mother. Every argument she had with my father, I just had to be in the same room to see the blame in her eyes. As a three year old I was aware of this. Do I appreciate being alive, Senator? I'm not sure." She turned to the Senator of South Carolina, taking a sort of perverse pleasure in seeing the discomfort in his posture from being confronted by her, "But I do know for sure that I wouldn't have cared in the womb. Also I would have preferred to have known that my parents actually wanted me when they raised me. That's why the choice matters. Raising children should be a choice. Can you blame a 16 year old rape victims? When they have to drop out of school and pick the first minimum wage job to raise a child they never wanted? I'm merely answering Mr. Kim's previous question. Of course the child matters, choice is healthy for both of them." She noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks after that, blinking rapidly in a frail attempt to stop anymore from slipping out. 

There was a hushed silence that had spread across the room while she spoke, the only sound being small whispers behind her where a portion of the public sat to witness the spectacle. She raised her index finger to wipe the stray tear, looking down at the desk while she did so, her eyes on the files in front of her.

"I hope that answers your Question, Mr. Kim." She gave him a last glance over and he nodded looking away, with his eyes on the paper in his hand, avoiding her gaze.

It took another quarter of an hour before she was allowed to leave the hearing room. The Senators were occupied with paperwork and it gave her the time to sit with the weight of her actions. She was still too shocked to truly let the realisation sink in, of what she did, what she said.

She stood at the threshold of the rosewood doors that went up to the ceiling, large enough that you couldn't see the top unless you craned your neck. She tried to keep her chin up, behind her she heard a whisper or two— her name being taken with recognition and more whispers she couldn't hear, but they felt directed at her. Two men opened the door as were customary and as the old doors creaked far enough for her frame, she was out of the confined room. There was the kind of gentle breeze in the corridor that all old buildings made in this fashion seem to have: the ghost of a wind that seemed to come from nowhere and lead to nothing. 

She knew that her shoes were echoing on the marble floor loudly, but they touched her ears like a muffled tap. She told herself that her day was almost over and once she left this building, she would feel better. She had made it to the end of the corridor putting one foot in front of another. When she turned the corner, her steps faltered. Jaehyun walked out from some side, like he materialised through the wall— a ghost of the place himself. There was this urgency in his eyes and without words she knew he was looking for her, and she knew that he had seen it. Like a wave of pure repulsion, her spine shivered from her skull to her lower back; she put her hand on the cold wall to steady. All at once the realisation of what had happened hit her. He saw her on television. Another wave shot up her body, this time from her stomach to her throat. 

His eyes met hers. 

He was a part of the building around him, the same marble as the floor and walls, only carved by delicate hands that etched each nook with care. 

She felt bile rise up her throat. He came closer. His footsteps were not muffled as they approached her and she thrashed her head around, spotting the familiar sign on a door and she rushed inside in.

Jaehyun's eyes trailed her sprint into the washroom, after which he turned to the figure that was approaching from behind her. Doyoung and Jaehyun both came up to the door she had pushed through. Jaehyun put a cautionary hand on Doyoung's shoulder, "It's not your place." Jaehyun's voice was calm but intentional. Doyoung looked up at him, a myriad of emotions passing through his eyes. Jaehyun's gaze twitched with a subtle suspicion, but Doyoung took a step back; nodding begrudgingly, as he took a step back— as he let go. Jaehyun pushed into the ladies room.

He followed the sound of choked sobs and retching to a bathroom stall, coming up to the open door and trailing his gaze down to her form, hunched over the toilet seat as she threw up. Jaehyun sighed and took a few more steps closer, holding her hair back and gently patting her back. She made a muffled cry that sounded like a protest, he pushed his fingers through her hair soothingly. After a few moments, she only retched with discomfort as nothing else seemed to be left in her stomach to come back up, tears of discomfort streaming down the side of her face. With all the strength her weak state would allow her, she pushed him back; losing balance in the process and stumbling back and landing on the floor. She pushed her frame back with the help of her arms and rested her head on the door frame.

"Can you please just leave me alone." Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Wiping the corner of her mouth, feeling vulnerable, disheveled and unworthy. She saw Jaehyun's leather shoes walk up in front of her blurred vision. 

He sat down opposite her, a look of surety on his face, "No." He rested his right leg flat on the floor, bending the other up to put his elbow on it.

"I'm serious Jaehyun, I want to be alone." She groaned, looked away from him, tears stinging in the corner of her eyes that she blinked away angrily. Her hair stuck to the sweat on her face.

"I know that you think that all relationships are transactional, I didn't understand why for a long time. But now–" He said it so brazenly, the fact that circumstances beyond her control shaped her actions so greatly. It made her angry. How he could just articulate so easily something that tormented her for an entire lifetime. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.” He sighed, like he pitied her. She felt such a fiery surge of indignation.

“I don’t dwell on my past Jung Jaehyun. Neither should you.” Her voice was icy, Jaehyun looked up at her with a faltering gaze, nodding.

"I slept with Kim Doyoung." She regretted the words the moment they left her lips, the same taste as the bile that still clung to her mouth. She felt like she would threw up again. She wanted to hurt him as easily as he did her: with words. But as his face cracked around the edges in front of her, she felt no victory. She bit her bottom lip so hard she felt her tongue taste metallic. “He would have kept pushing if I didn’t say it. People also like a sob story, a personal edge. I did what I had to.” She didn’t know which of them she was convincing, neither her nor him seemed any closer to being convinced.

"I know." He said, his voice so small it reminded her of a Jaehyun from a long time ago.

"It doesn't make you mad?" She felt like a stupid child. He shook his head, she had to blink back her tears.

"I'm not only here when I need you. And I hate that you slept with him,” His jaw flexed, “But I don’t hate you.” His eyes softened, “I understand it, and I’ll live with it. Just like how you live with all the things about me. I want to be there for it all, you have to let me." He took a deep breath and gave her a tortured smile, "I have nowhere else to go either, you know. You're all I have. You're all I love. You have to let me be there through it all." He took a shaky breath, she watched his shattering face. 

She pushed her head back further and closed her eyes, no longer protesting. It was always this cross road she stood at, where she could never understand. She wanted to believe him though, she wanted his words to take her pain away. Because it was comforting, his words: knowing that in the entire universe, there could be someone who was willing to have you with your all. With every flaw and every falter. She wanted to believe him. After what felt like hours, she opened her eyes; her head no longer spinning. 

He was still watching her, "Can you get up?" His voice was gentle, she nodded. He got up on his feet, extending a hand out to her instead of helping her get up like a child, she was grateful for that act of kindness, of understanding. She walked up to the closest closet wash basin, avoiding her reflection and washing her face instead. "I'm taking you home." She looked at him through the mirror, he put his hands into the pockets of his trousers, looking at her with furrowed brows and a worried gaze. She didn't say anything, only went back to cleaning herself off the immediate past.

A little later, she was seated in his car; the heating inside fogging up the very edges of glass windows as it rained for the second night. "She's never going to speak to me again." She whispered at the window, both of them knew whom she meant.

"That's because your mother is selfish and delusional." She turned to him, frowning at the words. "Sorry." He didn't seem to mean it. His eyes stayed on the road, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. She turned back to look out the window.

"She's still my mother, Jaehyun." She mumbled, letting his sigh go unacknowledged.

After a shower that lasted longer than an hour, she was sitting at his kitchen counter in his t-shirt, and a pair of shorts that reached her knees. He kept moving around the kitchen, brave enough to only fold up the sleeves of his ivory white shirt, an apron the only form of protection. There was a small smile on his face, the kind he got when he was pleased with himself as he placed a plate of pasta in front of her.

"It's not much but the sauce is pre-made and they won't deliver in this weather." He said sheepishly. His neck tinting pink and reaching up to his ears. Her gaze didn't move from his face. He looked up at her, his face turning concerned as her eyes welled up, tears streaming down her face in waves. "What's wrong?" His forehead wrinkled as he tilted his head to look at her.

"I'm just so madly in love with you." Her voice broke towards the end into more audible sobs. There was no relief in the revelation, her voice only voiced a pathetic self-pity and regret. Jaehyun came and sat down beside her silently.

[whatarubberchicken]

Play Me a Tune (Make Me Smile)

Because @galahadwilder and his prompts are bad influences... (probably not exactly what you were thinking, but it’s a start...)

Play Me a Tune (Make Me Smile)

“I love my job; I’m living the dream,” Marinette recited to herself. She took a deep breath and tried to relax. Everything hurt from gritting her teeth through that last meeting. Not only had it been a long night, but their current client was turning out to be impossible!

She just needed a breath of fresh air. She was going to eat her bagel, then go back in her office and completely blow this project out of the water! Yes!

She rounded a corner and stopped short.

Great. More musicians. Exactly what she DIDN’T want right now.

Two boys to be exact: a blond with a keyboard and the other on guitar who obviously dyed his hair blue on a regular basis. She was just about to walk the other way….

Except these two were everything her client was not: bright and happy as they sang together, instead of dark and brooding like XY as he tried to cultivate his emo phase. They were also kinda cute. (No offense to XY, she knew a lot of people liked his look, but it just wasn’t for her.) And (full offense to XY) actually talented in music. Their instruments and voices blended together perfectly.

And it made her feel things.

In fact, it made her blush deeply when they grinned at each other and kissed mid-song.

Marinette quickly finished her bagel and fled back to the safety of her office.

Get it together, girl! she scolded herself. You’ve seen people kiss before!

But… none of them had made her want to stand up and cheer for the couple before. Those two boys were obviously in love.      

Her afternoon was spent sketching new designs in greens, yellows, and blues. She scowled when she realized they all had little hearts in them somehow.

………..

The next day was just as bad; meetings ran late, clients had to be rescheduled, “Where’s the mock-up, Dupain-Cheng?” “You said you needed it next week!” “That was then, we need it now!”

Luckily, she’d already been half-done with it anyway, but it still hadn’t been easy to whip the rest of it up in half a morning when she was supposed to have a whole week…. She sighed, staring down at her muffin in disgust. She missed Papa’s croissants. Maybe she should go visit?

No. No, she couldn’t go running back to them now! She’d never leave!

Before she’d realized what’d happened, her feet had carried her back to that same street corner. And, surprise, surprise, the two musicians were there, entertaining the crowd by racing through a rendition of some pop song as fast as they could.

Marinette snorted in laughter as the crowd cheered at their big finish. Not just young, beautiful, and obviously in love, these two were playful and fun too!

She wished she had time to meet them.

…………….

The third day was cold and wet, and as dark as Marinette’s mood.

Rejected.

Her designs had been rejected.

After all that hard work, all the revisions that had been fully-approved and accepted, the client had completely done a 180.

“These are too whimsical and colorful!” XY had complained (even though he’d been the one to commission a brightly-colored suit from them in the first place). “What?! Do you think I don’t take my music seriously or something?”

You shouldn’t, she’d wanted to snark back. You’re just a synthesizer with a bad haircut.

Luckily, her company was well-established enough that were still going to be paid for their hours, but it still smarted that someone thought she wasn’t good enough.

She sighed. Taking a walk around the area to clear her mind was just what she needed. She’d get over it easily enough; she just needed to recover from that initial sting.

She wasn’t even surprised when her feet automatically carried her back to where the two boys were playing. She WAS surprised that they weren’t playing around and laughing like the past two times she’d seen them. Instead, they were sitting underneath an awning, keeping their instruments out of the light drizzle, and playing softly to each other.

Still, however soft and slow, it was a good melody, and Marinette felt herself drawn closer, in order to hear them better. To her chagrin, however, the blue-haired boy noticed her.

“Well, look at what we have here, Adrien,” he said cheerfully. “A princess in the rain!”

“That’ll never do,” the blond agreed, standing up and opening an umbrella with a flourish. “Would you like an umbrella, my lady?” he asked, giving her a courtly bow.

“Oh! Uh, no, that’s fine,” Marinette stammered, blushing. “You—you’re going to need them later for your instruments.”

“Actually, our cases are waterproof,” the blue-haired boy pointed out, patting the hard case beside him. “And Adrien here likes to cuddle with me under one umbrella anyway.” He winked at his boyfriend.

“I am but a simple man with simple tastes,” Adrien stated dramatically. He turned back to Marinette. “And, right now, I’d really like to see a princess’s smile,” he added, much more gently.

She was sure her face was on fire as she took the umbrella and tried hard to give the boys a strained smile. Judging from the look on the blond’s face, he wasn’t impressed.

“S-sorry,” she finally said. “It’s… been kind of a bad day so far.”

Adrien’s eyes lit up. “A mission!” he cried, darting back over to his keyboard. “The Quest to Make the Princess Smile!”

With that, he started up a jaunty little tune, the other boy following him immediately on the guitar. It was carefree, and upbeat, and ordinarily, Marinette would’ve loved it. Today, though, she just gave them a small smile, and dug into her wallet to throw them a tip.

“Thanks, guys,” she said, tossing them her biggest bill. It was just about time to go back and face her failures at the office—

“Luka,” she heard Adrien whine. “The princess is trying to pay us, even though we didn’t make her smile!”

Oh my God, he was so cute! He actually sounded heartbroken that he couldn’t cheer her up!

“Hmm,” Luka said thoughtfully. “She said she had a bad day, babe. We know how that can be, right?” The blond hummed in agreement, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder as Luka strummed a quiet, mournful tune. Absently, the blond followed him on the piano.

Marinette felt her shoulders relax at the gentle melody. Soft, sad, hopeful—it kinda sounded like rain, actually. The tension in her jaw lessened as well and she sighed in relief.

Yes. This was what she’d been needing. The two boys continued for a couple of minutes before Luka stopped and smiled at her knowingly.

“Better?”

“It was. Thank you,” Marinette said honestly. She held out their umbrella. “But I still don’t need this. I’m just going back inside there,” she said, gesturing to her building. Neither of them made any move to take it back, though, (Adrien was actually pouting at her again and he was seriously, so cute) so Marinette made to put it by the hat they had out for tips (a derby hat. What a strange choice!).

“Hey!” Adrien exclaimed, standing back up and stomping over to her. “Are you trying to insult my chivalry?!”

“No,” Marinette said, startled.

“Adrien…,” Luka said warningly, chuckling a little bit. “Sorry about him. He likes to think he’s some sort of white knight or something.”

“Uh, hello? The Black Knight is infinitely cooler,” Adrien argued, hands on his hips as he argued with his boyfriend. “And besides, a real knight would insist on walking his lady home—which I won’t!” he quickly added, noticing Marinette took a step back, “because in this day and age that’s considered creepy—but I can insist you take the umbrella, my lady.” He gave her another bow.

Marinette felt a little laugh escape her. He was just so over-the-top!

“There, good sir, you’ve made me laugh,” she said, dipping into a tiny curtsy. “You mission has been accomplished. Well done.”

Adrien’s eyes brightened and he fist-pumped the air. He and Marinette both laughed when Luka played a quick Final Fantasy victory fanfare.

“Thank you. Both of you,” Marinette said warmly, feeling better than she had in days. She stepped closer to Adrien and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “There. A token of my thanks.” Then, before she could lose her nerve, she walked over to Luka and gave him a kiss on the cheek too.

He beamed at her. “Best tip all day.”

Giggling, she waved goodbye and headed back to work, already planning her schedule for tomorrow so she could come back here for lunch.

…

Luka watched her go, seriously considering going after her to beg for her phone number. He glanced at his boyfriend, still standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a dazed expression on his face, his hand touching the cheek she’d kissed.

He chuckled. Adrien had had a crush on her since they’d noticed her a couple of days ago. His boyfriend was so gone.

Mischievously, Luka fingered out a quick, “Another One Bites the Dust!”

That seemed to snap Adrien out of it, and he whirled on his boyfriend, blushing deeply.

“Sh-shut up!”

Luka just laughed. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

[brandingexpert]

Branding Studio For Growth

Working with Bethany made the creation of our new website such a fun and exciting project. She is very organized and ensured smooth communication throughout the whole project. She is also a very intuitive designer, and managed to visually translate our branding studio spirit perfectly. The team of BMRTN + Citizen was essential in helping us translate a major organizational pivot into updated brand positioning. Thanks to this team https://craftandroot.com/ we preserved the best of our brand and maintained the trust and support of our partners during a time of major organizational change. Communication so simple, it makes people fall in love with the brands created here. We partnered with Pinterest Business to create a website that’s as useful and engaging as their platform, while helping to tailor their new branding for the digital space.

Twenty Four 7 was tapped to augment research, synthesize data and outline a strategic plan. We weren’t given a tangible deliverable like a retail experience design, or brand framework, or roadmap for marketing – though we did all of those things. We were asked to re-think their position in the marketplace and light a path to success. Websites and web applications evolve with business needs, long past their original launch. We stick by our clients for the long haul to help them get the most out of their digital projects.

We are Daylight, a digital firm specializing in the design and development of unique, results-driven experiences. Our expertise and collaborative approach to working with our customers delivers products that exceed expectations.

Independently define and direct creative workflow and creative project process across organization. Proactively assess, refine and optimize processes on a continual basis to ensure project and team success. Suzie has done award-winning work for global brands like AT&T, Holland America Line, Microsoft, Starbucks, Vail Resorts and others.

Custom Services

Our sights are set on strategy, design, storytelling, and creating an impact. Lifestyle brands to tech, startups to venture capitalists, professional services to professional sports—we dig down to build up.

The Best Web Design Companies And Agencies

Every touch point is covered in order to create a complete brand experience that satisfies and delights your consumer. Once we understand exactly who your customer is and what they want, we find a way to turn your brand into an experience that will not only satisfy but that will delight your consumer.

Our branding services, coaching, workshops and DIY tools and resources help you launch, grow or pivot your business. Our focus is giving you what you need to be a successful, thriving business that supports your values. That's what it felt like when Anna asked us to help her reposition her coaching business and align her branding and messaging with her renewed focus. As a Three Principles Coach, Anna speaks the same high-vibe language we do, and we share the belief that fulfillment comes when you tap into your truth to serve your greatest purpose. As in coaching, our process always begins with a discovery session to determine a client's needs and goals. In addition to a full website redesign with new icons and infographics, sales + outreach tools, copywriting and a lead magnet.

She has served as an instructor of copywriting, design and creative concepts at Seattle’s School of Visual Concepts. Suzie also serves on the board or in an advisory role with the American Parkinson Disease Association, Campaign for Female Education, Boys & Girls Clubs of America and others. In concert with empowering future generations, we also invest in women and minority led businesses. With our incubator and accelerator program, TF7 offers its expertise in business strategy and brand marketing to support the severely underserved communities in the start-up world. This work contributes directly to individual entrepreneurs, VC’s or non-profit organizations focused on serving this community. This year is different though, and brands won’t be able to employ the same marketing strategies as in years past to engage customers. This year requires an approach that is deeply connected, authentic, and thoughtfully responsive to consumer needs during a time when nothing is status quo.

We also helped Anna with her email marketing and a curated look for her social media feed. We create brands and we tell stories that are as unique and powerful as you are.

Xo Agency

In 2016, Ali followed her passion for small business and obsession with design, and founded Amari Creative. Two years later, she brought on Rachel as the Copy + Content Creator, adding a whole new (and highly requested!) aspect to the business. Since the inception of Amari, we’ve worked with hundreds of small businesses and solopreneurs to build effective, striking brands. It does not matter if you sell a product, heavy-duty equipment or a hotel room what the consumer wants is an experience.

They have an incredible design aesthetic, which has led to a great new look that we’re thrilled about. From tech and usability, to design and branding, Studio Misfits are a top-notch team. DBC is a branding agency that infuses design with data to solve complex communication issues. Treebird occupies a modern, industrial space on Atlanta’s Westside where locomotive horns punctuate branding projects and visitors are always welcome. To us, branding is an investment into your company and your customers experience. We are a full service branding studio in Charlotte, NC that works with businesses who are passionate about craft & cuisine. We specialize in logo design, crafting full brand identities & producing smaller design projects like packaging, menus, catalogs & other print collateral.

Whether you’re a start-up or established business, we deliver a uniquely ownable story that can be easily translated across all brand touchpoints. Shelf helps you stand out from the pack™, by combining data-driven strategic insights and consumer-centric design principles. Character is a branding and design agency with studios in New York and San Francisco. M studio creates purpose-driven strategy, branding and communications for a worldwide audience. Caliber Creative is an independent,full-servicebranding agency specializing in cultivating brand experiences from initial concept strategy through final design execution. Manifesto is a creative branding and strategy agency that transforms beliefs into authentic behavior through the power of culturally disruptive ideas.

Now that you’ve established what you are delivering and when it’s time to get to know the organization you’re branding. Ask for copies of any marketing and branding strategy materials they’ve already developed. You’ll need everything from their mission and values to target market demographics. If your client doesn’t have much of this you can conduct interviews and surveys to suss out what makes them unique. Some companies provide just a few of these services and it is totally fine.

We use provocative design, communications, events and social media content that commands attention and creates buzz in order to put your brand at the top of the consumer’s mind. The brand refresh has made social and print media more streamline and simple with go-to designs. I feel like my business now has a more professional and clean branding image.

It had more cranes in the sky than any other U.S. city, fastest growing home prices in the country, the second most popular city for immigrants, and six-figure job openings – many with six-figure salaries. The landscape – both physical and figurative – was changing daily. In the midst of this boom, Seattle Metropolitan Credit Union began a brand audit that would change the trajectory of the company.

the visual designer and illustrator behind Spark & Bloom. I collaborate with small business owners and entrepreneurs to create brand identities that make a positive impact.

Oregon Lane Studio creates visual brands and beautiful custom Showit websites for passionate business owners ready to reach a new level and spark incredible growth. As a creative business owner, trying to stand out in a crowded market is a huge challenge, but it doesn’t have to be. With a clean and professional design that lights you up and makes you so excited about your brand, you can present yourself as the expert you are. Knowing that your brand visuals are sharing your business even when you’re not in the room. Whether you’re a start-up brand or a seasoned entrepreneur, you know how important it is to get your branding right.

Whenever a potential customer encounters you, they should feel like they are talking directly to you. Your brand is an extension of who you are and what you want to be known for. We create brands that look and sound like you and speak directly to the people or companies you want to work with. DesignGood is a full-service, high-vibe design and branding studio that helps you build your business and brand around the life you want to live.

Proven experience managing complex projects with multiple deliverables and tight timelines. Facilitate internal meetings, negotiate conflicts, build up teams and group dynamics, and enable creative thought processes and strategy. Provide structure around disciplines where needed.

From strategy to identity and beyond, we are your dedicated partner across the entire branding journey. We listen, observe, research, and collaborate with our clients every step of the way to guarantee authentic results. If your brand is ready to make a change, we are here to guide you through it. No matter where you are right now, working with DesignGood will help you create the vision of where you are headed and give you the tools and resources to get you there. We help you pinpoint your audience, spotlight your expertise and establish your business as the go-to source for whatever you're creating in the world.

If you’re ready to feel empowered with a new visual identity that not only accurately reflects your business and brand aspirations, but also resonates with your desired audience too, you’re in the right place. The importance of branding is often overlooked by most companies. As discussed in this article from The New York Times, “A brand is a company’s face to the world.” At Level8 we take that very seriously. Detail-oriented, proactive and a protector of both the creative and the creative process with an eye on the budget, timeline, team, vendor relationships, and production partnerships.

A boldly artistic creative studio specializing in branding and web design. At Studio Brand, we know that our success depends on the success of our clients' campaigns, and ultimately their business. This is why we've pooled a talented team of creatives and analytics who are laser-focused on being great at what they do. We treat our clients' business like it's our own and work tirelessly to ensure we are bringing value to each marketing dollar we spend. A wide range of a-la-carte graphic design services can be added on to the main packages. We will happily curate a custom combination for you! Brand Labs provides entrepreneurs, small business owners, and independent designers with the tools to help objectively build a foundational brand strategy.

In our opinion, for digital products, the bare minimum would be a visual identity and marketing website. On the projects I collaborate with some extraordinary and talented people and as a result branding.studio continuously delivers extraordinarily. Make your brand well defined with solid structure, engaging personality and beautiful visual assets. Our minimal, reductive style of design allows clients to create clarity and transform their brands into powerful assets.

By doing so, we've made some good friends along the way. Technology is really the story of our future, and it’s a story we love to uncover here at Incubate. I love rounding projects out with gorgeous printed goods, and professional designed websites. This ensures the whole package - your entire brand experience - is a cohesive journey.

[yesterdaysanswers]

“In London, Emerson, Lake & Palmer often go their separate ways - but even then, each of them thinks only of the music guys

When the boys are at home, the neighbors hear that

Greg, Carl and Keith (from left) are reluctant to talk about their plans. “Why do you ask?” “Our fans will find out soon enough - in the form of hits”

Keith Emerson

Keith Emerson mimics the wild man on stage. Nobody is as crazy as he is. When Keith hurls his organ back and forth, or jumps at it, or plays you in wild ecstasy, no one can imagine that the wild private loves silence: Keith collects beetles in his free time, or deals with the works of Bach and Beethoven. When the 27-year-old has an idea, he puts it into action. Immediately. What succeeds Keith, he also succeeds. That was already the case in 1969, when he was still playing at the Nice. His latest venture: Keith Emerson wants to buy two more Moog Synthesizers - one for Greg Lake and one for Carl Palmer. Then the plant of the group is worth almost half a million marks. For his professional plans Keith does without any private luxury. In his London house, except for a thousand sheets of music paper, there are only sumptuous pieces of furniture. But if a guest stays overnight, Keith even sleeps on the floor because he only owns one bed.

Greg Lake

When Greg Lake is home, that's what the neighborhood hears. Because Greg plays his records only with loud sound strong, and that is far to hear - despite the meter-thick walls of his farmhouse in the London district Chelsea. Here Greg does everything he can not do otherwise. For days he does not shave, he raves for hours with his German shepherd Oliver, or plays on an old shepherd's flute. Here, the guitarist and singer forges his hot production iron and prepares tours with manager Mark Fenwick. Greg's big plan: he wants to give a concert together with the Frankfurt Symphonic Orchestra. For this purpose, the ballet of the Frankfurt Opera is to dance. That is why Greg also diligently studies the notes of the composition Pictures of an Exhibition by the Russian Modest Mussorgsky (1839-1883). For the coming spring, five evenings of this pop show are planned. Even the prettiest girls can not stop him from doing that. Only when Greg Lake is on stage, he has eyes again for her.

Carl Palmer

As a ten-year-old, Carl Palmer dreamed of being the fastest and most prolific drummer in the world. Now, eleven years later, experts claim, Carl is one of the best drummers in the world. Only Carl is not convinced. That's why he practices every free minute in the basement of his London mansion or sees other drummers on the fingers. You never learn. In the group, Carl is the youngest and stylist, while Keith Emerson and Greg Lake discuss their ideas aloud, Carl listens thoughtfully and silently, often thinking he's a hard-boiled egg and thinking of new gags. For his percussion solo - his pride and joy: an ancient, hand-worked Swiss cowbell. Carl: “During a tour last year, I woke up suddenly at six o'clock in the morning to loud tinkling: A herd of cows moved in front of the hotel. I jumped out of bed, and a little later I negotiated with the shepherd, until he sold me the bell for a usurious price: I had to pay out 200 marks.”

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 2

Grisha Shakhnes

Time for another collection of short, sharp reviews, covering a gamut of styles. Our most tireless contributor, Bill Meyer, turned in a record eight Dusts this time, so if you like jazz, improv and experimental music, this is your edition. Other writers included Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Justin Cober-Lake, Tim Clarke and Ian Mathers.

Max B — House Money (Self-released)

Max B is doing 75 years in prison, yet before his bid he recorded a lot of music to be used by trusted collaborators. Last year’s Coke Wave 5 with French Montana felt authentic enough to be confused with Max’s pre-prison mixtapes, only a bit more polished. This new EP is no less wave-y and goofy, but too many guest verses dilute the fun. If French, with whom Max B recorded a lot of mixtapes together, seems like a natural collaborator, the rest of the guests are an uneasy fit. House Money is a Frankenstein-y affair exactly because Max himself wouldn’t invite them to his booth (not that they are lousy talents, they are just on a different frequency with Max B). It is probably mixed and produced by someone who thought that these collaborators would attract additional audience, yet the result is the opposite: Max B’s fans would feel alienated by impostors in his own domain.

Ray Garraty

 Jeb Bishop / Jaap Blonk / Weasel Walter / Damon Smith — JaJeWeDa (Balance Point Acoustics)

Pioneer Works Vol. 1 BPA 19 by JeJaWeDa (Jeb Bishop / Jaap Blonk / Weasel Walter / Damon Smith)

No matter how big the stage they occupy, it isn’t big enough for Jaap Blonk and Weasel Walter. Both men are masters of strategic exaggeration. Put them together and a clash is inevitable. Blonk not only spews sound poetry like a symphony of pan-lingual news broadcasts and surreptitiously recorded mouthwash experiments, he manipulates electronics with a video game controller that looks especially ridiculous in his gangly hands. Walter mugs and wallops, each movement lunging simultaneously at your ears and your funny bone. Perhaps you’re wondering, “isn’t this a record review? How will these visual descriptions clue me into the sound?” Play this record and you will know. And you will also marvel at the way bassist Damon Smith and trombonist Jeb Bishop balance the other half of the band’s nuttiness with seriousness so unfailing, you might put your money on them against Roscoe Mitchell in a game of poker.

Bill Meyer

 Ben Carey — Antimatter (Hospital Hill)

ANTIMATTER by Ben Carey

Sydney-based electronic musician Ben Carey played saxophone before he took on modular synthesizers. This may explain the quivering, palpable presence of the sounds he devises; he makes static pulse and shake like swollen lips engaged in the act of vocalizing. His deployments of attenuated tones, sudden swells, and insistent chimes are discontinuous and episodic, but also quite thoughtfully planned out. Both the sudden shifts and the long considerations of discrete elements feel as essential as the unforgettable bridge in a bubblegum cart hit, and the qualities of the sounds Carey ponders amply reward the attention required to follow their shifts in and out of audibility and back and forth across the stereo spectrum. If you’re inclined to get well acquainted with Antimatter, consider springing for the LP. Since both Carey and his label are situated in Australia, it might take some looking and spending, but Rashad Becker’s cut and the 45-rpm playing speed guarantee maximum presence.

Bill Meyer  

 John Chantler — Tomorrow Is Too Late (Room40)

Tomorrow Is Too Late by John Chantler

From the pig’s ass on the sleeve to the titles of the album’s two tracks, John Chantler’s Tomorrow is Too Late promises to deal with endings. But when you put the record on, you find yourself adrift in events that defy linear description, let alone the definition of a final point. Oh, sure, both of them end, but they don’t spend the time leading up to those terminations making sure that you know where they’re going. The title track was commissioned for the 2018 iteration of the French electronic music institution INA GRM’s Présences Électronique festival, and most of its sounds were obtained from a François Coupigny synthesizer that is over 50 years old. Rare earl synths are like worlds unto themselves, and the listener is adrift with Chantler as he invites sounds to converge, dispel, and recongregate in winking, restless masses. On “We’re Always at the End,” the electronic sound convergence make way for a pipe organ, which coheres into a solid sonic presence, but when it disappears, the piece does not. This is music to inhabit, over and over again.

Bill Meyer 

 Richard Dawson — 2020 (Weird World)

2020 by Richard Dawson

This sixth full-length from cult songwriter Richard Dawson unspools like a series of linked short stories, the characters sharing a blighted, latter-day English backdrop and perhaps avoiding one another’s eyes as they pass on the streets. Sung in Dawson’s wavery tenor — with flights up into a very uncertain falsetto — and backed with the most straightforward of rock-ish instrumental arrangements, the songs flourish in their specificity. The metal-riffing “Jogging,” for instance, tells the story of a mid-life crisis with startling exact-ness, an ex-school counselor, laid off and too anxious to leave the house, advised by a doctor to take up jogging. The story is told first person, in the most straightforward way possible, with minimal embellishments. If it weren’t for the crashing guitar chords, the squiggly lines of synth, you might be listening to a friend over coffee.  The scenarios are mostly dreary, of people stuck in soul-sucking jobs, in towns where things go wrong through neglect and inertia. Yet, once in a while the sun comes piercing through, and life, however stunted and bare and grey, turns ever so slightly hopeful. I’ll leave you with verse from lacerating “The Queen’s Head.”

“The guy from the vape shop Ferrying his chocolate labs Waves to us cheerily From a leaky kayak ‘I've lost everything apart from what counts’ Pointing to his dogs and then at his heart.”

Now that’s a pre-chorus.

Jennifer Kelly

 Frank Denyer — The Boundaries of Intimacy (Another Timbre)

On The Boundaries of Intimacy, composer Frank Denyer explores volume dropped to a soft level. The approach produces a sort of intimacy, nearly everything sounds hushed, although it remains unclear whether, as listeners, we're leaning into a confidant or cupping our hand to a wall to eavesdrop. Regardless of our position as listeners, Denyer continues his work with unpredictable instrumentation, highlighting sneh and koto playing in various places (including two version of a koto piece), and combining flute and electronics for a strange tonal study called “Beyond the Boundaries of Intimacy.” When he works with a more traditional set of instruments, as on “String Quartet,” the ostensibly comfortable sounds become unfamiliar, an experienced aided by Denyer's play with dynamics, turning from a crescendo to a near disappearance. Denyer presents those sorts of challenges across these pieces (written over the past 40 years). He requires attentive, patient listening, but rewards it with unsettling experiences.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Avram Fefer Quartet—Testament (Clean Feed)

This record is credited to the Avram Fefer Quartet, and it’s true that the Brooklyn-based alto and tenor saxophone wrote the tunes and leads the band. But he’s not necessarily the guy you will listen to every time that you play it. Not that there’s anything wrong with Fefer’s playing, which combines Sonny Rollins’ muscularity with an affinity for bold melodies rooted equally in soul jazz and West African pop music. He’s got ideas, emotion and chops to spare. But damn, what a band! Fefer and bassist Eric Revis have an association going back to the 1990s; no matter which way the music rolls, the foundation is solid. Drummer Chad Taylor is a regular member of a trio with Fefer and Revis which made a couple records a decade or so back, and he’s also a member of bands led by Revis and guitarist Marc Ribot. Taylor never misses a chance to turn the music up a little closer to a boil, and the blues-rooted tone that Ribot favors here adds steely sentiment to the blues, mass to the Afrobeat repetitions, and confident complexity to the free interludes in this music. So, if your attention wavers from the saxophone for a second, it’s probably because you’re listening to how one of his accompanists is playing off of another one. Wotta band!

Bill Meyer  

  Roc Marciano — Marcielago (Self-released)

In “Saw” Roc Marciano says, “Sometimes I pinch myself in disbelief,” referring to a level of fame he’s achieved after 20 years in the rap game. The listeners are pinching themselves as well, but for a different reason: Marciano doesn’t repeat himself. Roc Marci works with his lyrics on two levels: line by line as well as bar by bar. As defined by Marci, his songs are “poetry over beats.”Marcielago is a quieter effort, closer to Rosebudd’s Revenge 1 and 2, than to 2018’s KAOS and Behold a Dark Horse. To rephrase the poet himself, on Marcielago he’s more like a pimp than a mack. The standout here is “Ephesians” which starts with early electronica and then explodes into a full-scale attack. Marci’s long time collaborator Ka spits here a verse which does an impossible thing: Marciano is murdered on his own turf.

Ray Garraty

 Machtelinckx / Badenhorst / Cools / Gouband — Porous Structures (Aspen Edities)

porous structures by Machtelinckx/Badenhorst/Cools/Gouband

This quartet comprises two steel-stringed acoustic guitarists, one percussionist prone to placing stones on his drums, and one clarinet and a saxophone player who likes to sing. The album’s title implies permeability, and the music delivers by creating the impression of actions happen in different places at the same time. Ruben Machtelinckx and Bert Cools’ guitars create structures made of slow-moving, finger-picked patterns. Toma Gouband and Joachim Badenhorst often sound like they are playing in some resonant space outside of the guitars’ sanctuary, where their sounds can spread a halo of echo around and occasionally blow through the dry, close-miked string sounds. The former’s rattling rocks create more texture than motion; the latter’s distant croons and spare tones create a sense of distance. In their own quiet way, these musicians have arrived at a sound that can’t be mistaken for anyone else’s.

Bill Meyer

  Salim Nourallah — Jesus of Sad (Palo Santo)

The narrators of Salim Nourallah's songs don't often find things going so well. Nourallah's taken that point to its logical conclusion on new EP Jesus of Sad. Rather than indulging depressive tendencies, though, the songwriter brings his sense of humor for a parodic take. “So, you think you've suffered?” he sings to open the disc. “I sip the tears of the world from my coffee cup.” The hyperbole might immediately develops his exaggerated character. Accompanied by multi-instrumentalist Billy Harvey, Nourallah moves on to “Born with a Broken Heart,” a funky number owing something to Soul Coughing while providing one of the best bass lines in his catalog. The cut's full of wit while addressing serious questions about faith, gender equality, and more.  

“This Doesn't Feel like Peace, Love, or Understanding” (the second track here to echo a Nick Lowe title) sounds like quintessential Nourallah, with a pop-rock sound that would have fit on any of his last few records and a relatable sentiment conveyed in smart lyrics. Two versions of “Misanthrope” close out the disc. Nourallah co-wrote the song with Rhett Miller, but here he turns away from the Old 97's' bouncy version (called“She Hates Everyone”). Nourallah slows it down, building complex feelings; he can't fully enjoy his strange love now under his anxiety about the future. It closes the EP well, being yet more honest emotion that manages to misdirect and complicate things, the true heart covered by the knowing satire of “Jesus of Sad.”

Justin Cober-Lake

 Parashi—Tape From Oort Cloud (Sedimental/Skell)

When a record provokes images of a Captain Beefheart lyric turned inside out, you know its makers are on to something. The squelchy sounds that usher in “The Vanishing Coast,” which is the first of this LP’s four tracks, does not bring to mind synthesizers, even though that’s what Mike Griffin (that’s Mr. Parashi to you) probably used some time them. Nor does it bring to mind someone else’s record. Rather, I hear the words “slow and bulbous” as the music sinks slowly into its own swampy stealth. “Broadcast Failures” leaves even those alinear coordinates behind as it pings its way woozily into the depths. The titular malfunctions might be echoed calls which fail to distract the sonar-like main body of sound, or the squashed, distant carousel that follows. Or maybe it doesn’t. File this under best practice befuddlement, but be sure to tape a bookmark to the plastic outer sleeve to remind yourself of the necessity of playing it.

Bill Meyer 

Tom Redwood — The Glue (self released)

The Glue by Tom Redwood

With The Glue, his fourth album, Melbourne-based singer-songwriter Tom Redwood has tapped into a rewarding strain of country/folk that pulls hard on traditional roots, while adding a knowing wink, flowing performances, and plenty of tuneful song craft. As in Jim O’Rourke’s beloved series of Drag City albums, the music-making is taken seriously but is undercut by self-deprecating humor. On “Easy Love” Redwood sings, “When I was young I was easy loving / But now that I’m old, I’m not so dumb,” and on the title track he makes a playful reference to “round, gorgeous thighs.” He’s not afraid to play it straight, though, such as on the haunting “Cold Mother Night,” and reflective closer “Shut the Door.” There’s superb lap steel playing by Kier Stevens, smart counterpoint on guitar and “cheesy keys” from producer Matt Walker, and ethereal backing vocals from Rosie Luby, which contrasts nicely with Redwood’s aw-shucks delivery.

Tim Clarke

 Grisha Shakhnes — Being There (Unfathomless)

being there by grisha shakhnes

Being There presents the listener with a document of actor, action and the arena in which the former enacts the latter. Essentially, Grisha Shakhnes recorded himself recording and recorded the room in which he was recording. Sometimes a recording device filters the subjects of his inquiry on the way to the recorder; while the sounds were captured by a Zoom digital recorded, some of them went through a Rvox reel-to-reel tape deck along the way. Equipped with the knowledge that you’re hearing Shakhnes making recordings, you quickly find yourself making decisions about what sounds to follow, and then dealing with the consequences of the choices you made as your act of following draws you into the chain of events that made the album in the first place. You are present with Shakhnes, sharing in the creation of Being There.

Bill Meyer

 Six by Seven — Dream On (Cargo)

D R E A M . O N by six by seven

One of the great shoulda beens of 1990s British rock (on the other side of the Atlantic, it’s doubtful anyone not reading something like the NME at the time would have heard much of them), Six by Seven are also one of the few from that era to keep going in a way that’s not just repeating old glories. Now almost entirely just frontman Chris Olley (his son Charlie drums here, but otherwise it’s a solo show) you wouldn’t guess it from the massive, warmly analogue psychedelic/motorik drones and drifts here. Stylistically speaking, Olley can be a restless guy, never really revisiting the glory of Six by Seven’s first three albums (what you might call their classic period, and well worth checking out) but also covering an astonishing breadth during the years since. The recent Dream On is as good a place to dip into his stream of work as any, boasting three massive soundscapes (the best of which might be “And No One Knows Your Name” as well as briefer, dreamier song like “Hey Kid” and the title track. Both his muse and the demands of making music your day job keep Olley forever moving, though — even writing up this release was marked by the appearance of a double album-length Dream On 2, so anyone on Olley’s wavelength can expect a lot to keep up with.  

Ian Mathers

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 30

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

-/

“Okay,” Miyu says to Tamashii. “We’ve done this before. We just need to do it one more time.”

They both look at the portal then at the group behind them. Miyu meets the gaze of Sedia, who nods grimly. Petra flicks her fingers in a casual salute. They step carefully through the great black maw of the portal. The Ascendant Plane is cold and stale, just as they had left it..

“As long as you don’t drink that Tincture of Queensfoil garbage again, I think we’ll be alright. Slow and steady.”

She pouts, “I didn’t enjoy being ascendant. I didn’t ascend, I only seemed to attract every enemy around me.”

“Around us,” Her Ghost corrects. “I love you, Yu-mi, but it… well, that wasn’t your best idea.”

“Technically, it was Lilith’s idea. She had the bounty.” Tamashii looks at her knowingly, and her cheeks puff, just a little. He's missed her quietly expressive nature. “Okay, so I wanted to try it. Once was enough. I learned my lesson,” She ducks her head. He thumps her cheek affectionately.

“I know,” He replies, feinting up and around her. “Now let’s get to work, get this over with, and go home. Ready,” He asks, and she nods. Then, "Excited?"

Miyu moves her helmet from under her arm. Just as she’s about to put it on, she smiles. “I wonder if he’ll be surprised,” She muses aloud.

“I don’t know if that’s the right word,” Tamashii coos, melding into her armor as she puts her helmet back on her head. “I think he’s believed in you all along.”

-/

Lilith lets her Ghost take control of the ship when they break through the atmosphere, coming out of Orbit. Her Ghost is not a pilot, so she grasps the armrests of her chair tightly as the vessel shakes and rattles. The planet seems to be experiencing a downpour. Everything seems dingy, dull, and shaded gray.

“After spending a few months in the Dreaming City, this is almost a welcome change,” The petite Warlock jokes to her partner.

The little being chirps and hums her agreement. “Almost,” She quips lightly. “I know you won’t appreciate how much colder it is. Your body temperature is around thirty-nine point eight degrees centigrade.”

“What is the temperature here?”

“Negative two.”

“Shouldn’t it be snowing?”

Her Ghost whirls, calculating. “The rain here is sixty-five percent water and thirty two percent methane. The additional three percent is comprised of mild acid precipitate, pollution from Golden-Age artifact. Chemical composition of the actual rain itself makes it stay liquid. Before the Traveler terra-formed this planet,” The little bot continues, academically, “It would have been approximately negative one hundred eighty degrees centigrade, instead.”

“Still,” Lilith says, wishing she’d exchanged her Reverie armor for something a bit heartier. “I’m going to freeze.”

“If it makes you feel better, the temperature on Mars right now is negative fifty-three. Thankfully the Vanguard sent us here, instead.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be warmer in the Arcology.”

“Based on what I gathered from previous strike logs, it will be warmer inside. And even so,” Her voice takes on something softer, doting, “You’ve been practicing, Lilith. Your solar energy can help keep you warm.”

The Exo shivers anyway. “I know, Nizana,” She replies. “I just forget sometimes.”

The Ghost's intricate shell spins thoughtfully. “I would wager that to mean you don't know, clearly.”

-/

The sheer numbers of Taken are more dangerous than anything else. As Tamashii had suggested, they move slowly, Miyu thinning out their numbers from afar. Whenever they take a break, he synthesizes more ammunition as rapidly as possible. She'll run out of bullets before she dies, though the first could very well lead to the second.

She's meticulously combing through area by area, following the tips Tamashii gives her, flagging the direction he believes will lead them through the great maze at the beginning.

When they're through, she slips into a nook, a great crack that starts at the top of the building and becomes wider as it trails down. He heals her quietly while she catches her breath. She's exhausted already.

“I stopped counting at three hundred,” He tells her. “I realize it's easier with two, but I feel like there are more Taken here than there were last time.”

Miyu checks her gun, eyes hard. “Let's keep moving. I'd rather pick off as many of them as we can by surprise. It only gets more difficult from here.”

“Just remember to use your glide. They can't jump as high as you.”

Tamashii phases away with a shimmering spark and they're off again.

-/

Sloane is pacing across the open-air command deck. “It's a standard mission,” She's telling them. “Get in, disable their ritual, get out. Don't dally. The Hive in these parts are ruthless and use Guardians and their Ghosts as unwilling sacrifices.”

The Hunter next to her shifts, uneasy. Meanwhile, the Titan that accompanies them nods, almost eagerly. “It’ll be fine,” he tells the human woman between himself and Lilith. “Easy peasy.”

Lilith’s Ghost makes some irritated sound in her Guardian’s mind. The Warlock can’t help but agree. They’re just doing this to pass the time until Miyu returns. She never thought she’d miss training, but there’s something soothing in the structured discipline. She pulls out her sword and looks at her reflection in the blade.

Well, if nothing else, if she can have a good story to return to Miyu with - maybe put some of her new skills to good use - maybe she’ll be shown some more advanced katas. Miyu’s been holding out on her. Lilith knows it; Just like she knows where it is Miyu goes in the mornings - in the mists, overlooking the bay - for her own private training.

Getting into the Archology is an easy thing. There's some Hive but it's nothing horrific. Compared to some of her rounds in the Blind Well, it seems like a breeze. Even the runes spelled to keep the main buildings closed fall easily.

It's only once the doors close behind them with a boom and a flash of green, that Lilith realizes it just might have been this easy for a reason. She realizes it even more so when she sees a Knight with a blade she's only seen once before.

-/

Miyu has Tamashii transmat her Tigerspite - a gift, from Lilith following one of their early training sessions - into her hands to traverse the narrow ballasts between one area and the next. The near-constant fire keeps the Ogres from knocking her off and into certain death.

All in all, she makes it through with little issue, the number of enemies reduced severely due to the limited terrain. Tamashii bumps her cheek proudly and swaps the auto-rifle for her Service Revolver.

Then, she lingers in front of the doorway to the next phase. "The barriers and miasma will be heavier since you're alone," Ghost wagers. "Just keep moving and you should be fine."

Miyu nods. "Alright. Ready?"

"Ready."

She steps through.

It feels like her soul is being crushed, like the weight of worlds is forcing her into the ground. Tamashii was right in his guess; It's far worse than before. Her vision swims, and her eardrums feel like they're going to pop.

She makes it up the first staircase, thrall practically licking her boots they're so close behind her. Then, she high-tails it to the left and up the next.

That's when things get a little strange.

"Anata," She hears. "Miyu."  

Her footsteps falter. She looks up and around, searching for the source of the voice. His voice.

"It's a trick," Tamashii says from beside her.

"I know."

The miasma gets heavier. "We have to get out of here," He screeches, when she only takes another two steps and pauses. "MOVE!"

"I am," She says, slowly. Delayed. Tamashii circles her, notes how the Taken Thrall seem to wait carefully out of reach. His danger senses are white hot, on alert. Something is very wrong here.

"Faster, Yu-mi. Whatever this is, your helmet isn't filtering it. Listen to me."  He thunks the whole of his tiny body into her chest and she staggers. "Only me."

"Finally, you're here," Miyu takes a shuffling step forward, dropping her gun. Tamashii is screaming something, but it's far away, like she's under water. "How I've missed you, Anata."

She sees him, like a light at the end of a tunnel. Her feet move slowly, though it doesn't seem that way in her mind. There's something cloyingly sweet about the air in her helmet, but it's almost pleasantly fragrant and each breath makes her relax more and more each time.

No, some rational part of her mind challenges. She was here to do something. Tamashii said not to let her guard down.

But…

But, he's here. She wants - has wanted - more than anything to see him.

"Don't worry," Zavala says, so gently it makes her heart hurt. "You must be tired from your journey. Come to me, dear one. Rest."

"I missed you so much," She mumbles, ambling closer. His words become her truth. She is tired, she realizes. Her limbs feel heavy, her head is buzzing, and she just wants to rest in his arms.

Miyu makes it to the top of the staircase after a long moment. Tamashii is still screaming at her, but she makes no indication that she can hear him. "Guardian! MIYU! LOOK AT ME!"

"You have done so well."

She smiles, behind her helm. "I can't wait to show you…"

"Wait, wait. Yu-mi? Who are you talking to? What are you looking at?"

"Let me see you."

She reaches for the clasps on her helm. Her Ghost fights her, knocking her hands away and phasing around attempts to brush him off like a pesky fly.

"I need to see you, Anata. I want to look into your eyes."

"I want…" She trails off, hands stilling. "I have to tell you…"

"Yes," The vision in front of her breathes aloud, coalescing in a great violet-black plume of dark, speaking with the inflection of the Vanguard Commander. Except, to Tamashii, he can hear the anger. The fraud. He is not impacted by this miasma, the Taken essence pumped into the stale air. "Tell me everything. But first..."

Miyu rips off her helmet. Tamashii screams. She looks over to him with clouded eyes, blinking slowly. A smile steals over her face.

"You're tired, Miyu," The voice says, "Such a long journey, it's only natural that you should want to rest."

"Oh," She slurs, staggering. Her brows furrow sleepily, "Wass'n't I-"

"You're home," He says. "How I've missed you.”

Miyu hums. "Tha'ss… yes," She agrees.

"Rest, beloved." In her mind, she sees a hand reach out to cradle her head that looks so unlike the dark Spectre her ghost sees. She's so tired, she could fall asleep standing up. "I am never letting you go again."

Belatedly, she realizes that statement doesn't make sense. Zavala would never… never…

A brilliant white light steels into her vision, and, in that moment, everything becomes clear.

"STAY AWAY FROM MY GUARDIAN!"

"Tama-Tamashii?!"

There's a chink! then, a thunk as her partner hits the ground. Miyu looks over to see the Thrall - that's right, what was she thinking? - rushing his shell. Panic and fury bleed her vision white. She calls forth fire and lunges toward him.

It's the opening the Knight that's definitely not Zavala and has been waiting patiently for her at the top of the staircase needs to bring down his blade.

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Sixty-Eight

In the morning, Anne had done exactly as she’d said-- woken up early, made a breakfast Jim and Ella could eat quickly or take along with them, set out their clothes, and called an aircar. And then she’d woken them both, helped them get ready, fussed over their hair and clothes while they snatched bites of food, and kissed them both goodbye. There was no awkwardness with Ella, for which she was extremely grateful. It would have been her fault if there had been. Making people like you was a skill, not chance at all. Mostly it had to do with being willing to suppress your own personality in favor of whatever the other person wanted to see, if you could figure out what that was. It could backfire easily, ending up in obsessive and possessive relationships, whether romantic or not.

In Ella’s case, it had been easy to see what she wanted. She was lonely, as Anne had told Jim, and on top of that she wanted someone who wouldn’t let themselves be pushed around, but who could also be affectionate. Someone who didn’t need Ella to be an authority figure, someone who would treat her with a little more delicacy and care than she was used to. Anne had barely even registered those desires consciously before she’d been letting them guide her. It was habit, not a good one, but a useful one, and one that was nearly compulsive. Hell, it had kept her alive and sane more often than any other skill she had. Jim was one of the very few people she knew that hadn’t been subjected to that habit, simply because she hadn’t been able to keep herself under control enough to make a concerted effort to go through her normal routine with him. That was one of the reasons it was so surprising that he’d wanted to stick around… and probably one of the reasons things were so good between them. She hadn’t needed to pretend anything to gain his approval and respect. She hadn’t been in any shape to do so. And by the time she had been able to keep herself together enough that she could have held up an act, she hadn’t wanted to, not even to protect herself. She was safe with him.

The only other two she could be certain she hadn’t swayed into favoring her were Claudia and Spock. And once Anne woke up from the nap she’d taken after Jim left, she’d resolved to see them both. Leaving messages for Nyota and Spock, she’d almost called Claudia to see if she had a spare hour or two to see her that day.

Almost.

Some impish impulse led her out the door instead, over to Claudia’s apartment. She had a vague idea that Claudia might be at the trials, but if so, she could always go and do something else. Visit her Russian friend’s restaurant, maybe, or go to one of the unofficial markets that sprang up in closed restaurants and warehouse buildings. As she rang Claudia’s doorbell, she considered contacting Jim to see if he had lunch free.

The door opened, and Anne’s eyes widened. “I knew it,” she said immediately, then brushed past a startled, disheveled Dr. McCoy and into Claudia’s apartment. “I told you you needed to cover your tracks better,” Anne called, walking into the kitchen to get herself some coffee.

Irritated splutters followed her down the hall. “You’ve got some nerve,” McCoy said. “What the hell gives you the--”

“Don’t be tiresome, Doctor. I needed to see my psychiatrist. Had I called first, she would have kicked you out, and that’s totally unnecessary, as I already knew what was going on.” Anne set the box she was carrying down on the counter and stopped at the synthesizer, punching in three coffees, cream and sugar on the side. “Now, I do want to talk to Claudia, and I don’t mind if you choose to sit in on it. But please be civil. I haven’t told Jim, and I’m not going to unless it comes time to get back on the ship and neither of you have done so.”

Claudia came into the room, obviously having just thrown on a nightgown, her dissatisfaction written clearly on her beautiful heart-shaped face. “This is really intrusive and not at all welcome, Anne.”

Anne paused, then continued to bring the coffee to the table. “You weren’t going to admit it if I didn’t catch you. Better we stop pretending, don’t you think?” She sat down, holding up a mug for Dr. McCoy, who took it ungraciously and sat down beside her. “Anyway, I have some things to discuss with you. First of all, I need to know which nights you’re free leading up to the end of the trials.”

“I really prefer not to see people in the evenings,” Claudia said, sitting down at the table.

“No, no. I’m trying to plan a party, and Jim’s been too busy--”

“If you got us out of bed to talk about a party, I’m going to toss you out right on your pointy little head,” McCoy growled from behind his mug.

“Doctor, please. If that was the only thing I needed to discuss, I would have just called you. But I do want to get it out of the way. Don’t answer me now, send me a message and I’ll choose a date that suits as many people as I can. It’ll be at our place, of course, and we’ll provide the food and drinks. All you have to do is show up and enjoy yourself.”

“Fat chance of that,” McCoy muttered.

“Please come,” Anne said, looking over at him and trying not to seem too much like she was begging. “I know we're not exactly friends, but Jim liked the idea and I want to do something he doesn’t normally have a chance to do. When has he ever been able to invite his friends into his home? Not the ship, where he always has to be the Captain, but his own home.”

McCoy’s glare softened, and he took a swift gulp from his mug. “I’ll think about it.”

Anne looked over at Claudia, who sighed heavily. “We’ll come. But you’d better keep your mouth shut about Leonard and I. This is not going to be a factor in ship politics-- it’s over the moment we’re back on duty.”

Anne sat back in her chair, looking thoughtfully at the two of them. “That will be hard to maintain, but I’ll trust you not to let it interfere even if it does continue.”

“It’s none of your damn business anyway,” McCoy grumbled. “You’ll be gone by then.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens,” Anne protested.

“Which reminds me, seeing as you’re so chipper, I do have something to say to you,” McCoy said. He didn’t seem to take any pleasure in the idea. Anne fell silent, waiting. “When you leave, you’d better be gone. Make it clean. The longer you keep contacting him, the longer he’ll be thinking of you, and the longer it’ll take for him to get his mind back on his real life.” McCoy looked evenly at her, his green eyes holding hers.

Anne was frozen for a moment. She had been actively avoiding thinking about that. Flustered, she sipped her coffee and collected her thoughts. “You’re right, of course. I’ll make it as quick and clean as I can.”

“Good.” McCoy searched her face once again, his gaze snagging on her jawline. “And that jaw needs fixing. I can get you in surgery--”

“Leave it. It’s fine the way it is.” If Anne’s voice was a little sharper than she intended, she felt she could be forgiven for that. Still, she made the attempt to soften it. “It’s all right, Doctor. It’s just cosmetic, hardly noticeable. And… thank you. I didn’t realize how much you were trying to help at the time, but I do now.”

“Well that’s something, at least,” he said. “All right, now what else did you need to bring up? The quicker you finish up, the quicker I can go back to bed.”

Anne thought briefly, trying to turn her mind away from the thought of leaving Jim. That wouldn’t help anything right now. “I want your perspectives, both of you, if you don’t mind. Commodore Paris has advised us to give an interview. Damage control. The higher-ups have been privately questioning Jim's judgment, and Loche’s women have done a number on us, apparently. I wouldn’t know, I don’t read anything about this if I can help it.”

Claudia nodded. “It’s true. It’s kind of hard to tar and feather the rest of the crew for breaking up a smuggling ring, but you and Captain Kirk left yourselves open to it.”

“Idiots,” McCoy said, and for once he didn’t seem to be talking about her. “You’d think they’d have more than one brain cell to rub together among the whole lot of them, but no. They’re happy to report whatever so long as it looks like it comes from a legitimate source.” He swirled his coffee around in his mug, thinking. “Well, you can’t exactly get away from the rumors. They’ve done too good a job on you, and you two have been seen together too often to claim you only have a professional relationship. Especially that motorcycle stunt. I’d blame you for that, but I know that was all him.”

“Well, it did keep me from having to fight through the crowd,” Anne said, shrugging.

Swirling her coffee, Claudia said thoughtfully, “If this wasn’t something that would follow you around after it’s all over, I’d say play it up. They’d latch onto a whirlwind romance narrative in a second, and it would make anyone casting aspersions look malicious. But that will get awkward when the Enterprise leaves and you’re not on it.” Claudia looked over at McCoy. “We didn’t handle it very well when your first wife found us out. All those rumors she started…”

“I should have told Simone to take a hike,” McCoy said. “Her and everyone else that said anything about you. It would have been the right thing to do, even just as a friend.” He gave Claudia a lopsided, regretful grin.

“It’s all right. We were just kids.” Claudia shook her head, her grin just as bittersweet. Anne decided to say nothing; the only thing she’d known about them was that they had a ‘history’, according to Jim. She didn’t want them to feel they had to keep quiet about it. “But that might have shut some people up. And Simone wouldn’t have been able to paint me in such a terrible light if anyone had known half the shit she put you through. It would have made a bigger fuss for a little while, but it definitely would have put some of her bullshit to rest.”

Though Anne’s curiosity was piqued, she couldn’t think of a way to ask McCoy what had happened without looking like she was prying. They weren’t on good enough terms for that. “I do understand if you’d rather not talk about it in front of me. It sounds like it must have been very personal.”

“Breakups always are,” McCoy mused, swirling his coffee in his mug.

“This isn’t about our ancient history, though,” Claudia said. “Media isn’t my strong point, but… you’re the author. How do you sell the story you want?”

Anne considered this for a few moments, tapping a fingernail on the tabletop. “Detail. Verisimilitude of action. Emotional logic.” She smiled a brief, humorless smile. “But this is different. At the heart of it, I’m not asking them to believe my story is true, I’m asking them to sympathize with me.”

“So your choice of venue for this discussion has to reflect that. So does the content of your interview.” Claudia paused. “Why not invite whoever you choose into your home? Make it a relaxed, informal conversation, not a press release or a media event. Make it small, exclusive, and be clear about why you’ve stayed silent, and why you’re not interested in giving more statements. The court case will help with that. Until the trials are over, there are things you can’t talk about.”

“I need to find out the legal limit of what I can talk about,” Anne said.

McCoy had the answer for her. “Anything that’s considered hearsay is off-limits, which means anything that no reliable witnesses were present for is something you can’t talk about. But Starfleet officers are blanketly assumed to be reliable witnesses unless there’s reason to believe that their account is compromised or biased. Which means if Uhura or Scotty or I were present, you’re fine, but since Jim’s in a relationship with you, anything that only you and he witnessed is off-limits until its reliability is determined in its respective court case.”

“Why am I not surprised that you know this?” Anne asked, eyeing him skeptically.

“Because I hang around with Jim,” McCoy said, smirking. “After a while you get used to keeping the legal liabilities in mind.”

Claudia was shaking her head. “Why did I let you convince me to take this post? Well, it’ll be interesting, at least.”

McCoy scoffed. “You were bored to death. You’ll thank me once the five year mission is over.”

Claudia’s eyes lingered on Anne a moment too long. “We’ll see,” she said.

Anne didn’t need a flashing sign. Claudia didn’t want her mentioning the offer to give up her post. It was just as good a time as any to move on to her next topic. “I’ll discuss this with Jim and we’ll work something out. Thank you both, very much. Your insight is always appreciated. Now… do you have time for me, Claudia? There are some things I need your help with. I understand if you’d rather I come back later-- I couldn’t wait on asking about the interview, but this can wait if necessary.”

Claudia’s eyes rested on McCoy for a long moment before she looked back to Anne. “I’m tempted to tell you to wait just because you barged in here like that. You haven’t even apologized.”

To Anne’s surprise, McCoy laughed. “Bit of a hypocrite, aren’t you? Spend all this time trying to help her be more assertive and feel more confident, and the moment she does it in a way that you don’t like--”

“Leonard, that’s not at all what I meant and you know it,” Claudia said.

“Either way, you made this bed. Don’t complain if the sheets don’t hang right.” McCoy pushed his chair back from the table, picking up his mug.

Rolling her eyes, Claudia made a moue of exasperation. “Fine. But next time you’re calling first, Anne. I don’t appreciate this.”

“Thank you, Doctor Hayes,” Anne said, inclining her head in something like a bow. As McCoy walked away, she added, “Wait a moment. I did bring something for you. Both of you.”

McCoy paused in the doorway, watching curiously as Anne got up and took the box from the counter. Flipping it open, she set it down on the table. “There should be enough to last you a while. Jim was too busy to demolish them last night. I know you’re both from the southern states so I thought you might appreciate these.”

Eyes brightening when he saw the contents, McCoy reached in and grabbed a handful of pralines. “Been a while,” he said. “I won’t hold it against you if they’re not as good as the real thing.” Taking a big bite out of one, he thought for a moment, then nodded, appearing satisfied, and left the room.

Shaking her head, Claudia selected a praline and bit off a small piece. “Apology accepted,” she said wryly. “Now, what’s all this about?”

Sitting back down, Anne took one of the pralines and crumbled a bit into her coffee. “Hmm. Well. How do you tell whether something is a dependency, a habit, or just part of the way you relate to the world?” She'd never questioned that ingrained desire to influence people toward her ends before. Jim's presence had thrown it into sharp relief, however, and Anne found herself wondering just how deep it ran.

Claudia looked suspicious. Anne couldn’t blame her. “That’s awfully abstract. Why don’t you tell me why this is bothering you?”

Anne grimaced. “Well, it wasn’t a problem until last night…”

Between phone explosions, drama explosions, projects dying and coming back to life, and various other time commitments, I’ve not even been able to think of posting until now! Updates should resume as normal though.