#also let's all collectively ignore the glaring difference in quality please and thank you

[buckera]

9-1-1 • S2E08 || S7E09:DELETED SCENE

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[gumnut-logic]

Mosaic Beach

It has taken me since Thursday morning (it is now Saturday night) to write this goes-nowhere-piece-of-fluff. I had a low level migraine Wednesday night and felt awful Thursday morning, so the first 850 odd words are me visualising being in a better place other than outside my daughter’s school. Then Scott had something to say and promptly ate my fic. But then at least he was thinking about Virgil.

Also, Gordon is evil.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for the read throughs and support. You guys are amazing to me :D

I hope you enjoy this totally lazy fic ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

It was a lazy day.

Virgil suspected John, who had been kicked off Five the day before, had Eos routing all but the most dire situations to local authorities whether Scott authorised it or not.

There were days where Virgil wondered if Scott was really in charge, since John had so much ultimate say.

But that thought was for another day. He was tired and it was likely going to be a day off - please let it be a day off - and he was going to find a corner of the Island to sit alone and scribble in his sketchbook.

He ended up on Mosaic Beach, a personal favourite on the edge of the caldera. Gordon had mentioned it the day before regarding the quality of flotsam available after the last storm and Virgil thought he would see what he could find.

It was overshadowed by an ancient pokey tree brilliant in red blossom and the sand here was a mass of black and white swirls as the coral detritus fought the eroded igneous rocks – the reason they had given it its name. Gordon was right - there was all sorts of things tossed up the sand and Virgil spent the first half hour wandering along the strip of sea wrack picking up shells and whatever caught his eye.

One of the shells appeared determined to return to the ocean and it was with a small smile that he picked up the tiny hermit crab and watched it curl up into its shell.

Holding it gently in his palm, he sought the shade of the giant tree and sat down on the sand in its shadow. Here the breeze was gentle, the sand cool and, leaning back against a rock, he set the little crab down on a smooth patch of sand, along with his small hoard of shells and let it scamper across the little landscape that resulted.

Sketchbook out, he spent the next few minutes sketching the crab madly as it moved about. It shifted angle at random and he found himself increasingly switching from real life to a character sketch. A little personality sprouted from the page that reflected the little crab’s determination.

Ever aware of the crab’s needs above his own, he sketched fast, took a few photos and then gathered the little creature in his hands once more. He trotted down to the rock pools at the edge of the beach and found a spot he felt the crab would be happy.

Crouching down, he watched it scamper into the water.

His lips curved into a smile.

Gordon would know what species it was, where it lived and how to best care for it. Virgil was pretty sure he knew what type it was. Mel was pedantic about crabs and had given them a list of ‘these are endangered, tell me if you see them, kill one and I will kill you’. Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn’t a long list, so Virgil had memorised it. This little guy...he should be happy here.

The crab found some weed and promptly hid under it.

The rockpool drew Virgil’s eye a little longer before he finally stood up and let the breeze cool his face. A sigh at the sun’s warmth and he wandered back to the shadow of the pokey tree and sat down again.

The little crab stared up at him from his sketchbook, spritely and determined.

Kind of like Gordon really, despite the claws.

That prompted a smile at the thought of his fish brother’s reaction to being compared to a crab.

He would squawk, but he would love it.

Virgil returned to sketching the shells and bits of coral he had collected. Rearranging them, repositioning for lighting. He picked one up and stared at the colours created by a little mollusc. He was ever amazed at what Mother Nature was capable of. Simple geometrics and chemical formulae made one of the world’s strongest and most beautiful substances in nacre. Another broken shell showed the rainbow of colour that he knew his paintbrush would never quite be able to capture, much less the pencil and stick of carbon he had with him today. He was left with a little snapshot from his phone...which was never quite the same either...and what his memory could provide.

Perhaps it was nature’s way of ensuring it was always the most beautiful.

He shifted to scribbling down the beachscape after that. It wasn’t the first time he had drawn this beach, but as with all beaches, it was different every day as the tide sculpted it.

His fingers grew more and more lazy, his lines wandering through more emotion than reality as the day drifted on. At some point, he ate the sandwich he had packed, quite happy to not care what time of day it was and refusing to look at his watch.

Eventually the sketchbook was set aside and he let himself just stare out at the ocean lagoon, eyes tracking the movement of the distant waves and the laps of the ripples against the shore.

And nature’s rhythms lulled him to sleep.

-o-o-o-

“Hey, big bro, you might want to drop by Mosaic Beach before the tide comes in.” Gordon waltzed past the desk Scott was sitting at with a smirk on his face.

“What?” Scott’s brain was still stuck in working out what the hell Simmonds meant by the ‘urgent memo’ that had interrupted his afternoon off.

“The snoring is scaring away all the wildlife.” With that Gordon grabbed a book off the shelf on the far side of the room and backtracked out the way he had come in...without another word.

Scott was left staring where his brother had been.

But then Gordon was worth ignoring some times.

He turned back to his display and continued to try and work out why Simmonds had ordered sixty plastic flamingoes and then memo’d him about it in a panic.

It took him a good few minutes more before throwing it back at Simmonds’ supervisor in Japan with a ‘concerned’ note.

What did Tracy Industries need with sixty plastic flamingoes?

He shook his head and forced himself to stand up and not invest any more in any comms from the business. Today was hopefully his day off and he refused to fall into the trap of losing himself in all the things that required attention.

All the things.

He paused mid rise.

But no. No! Vacation day. He forced himself away from the desk and out onto the balcony.

It was a beautiful out here. The afternoon sun was blazing in a brilliant blue sky without a single cloud. The sea was murmuring far below. It was an artist’s dream.

He blinked as certain Gordon utterings connected neurons together.

A frown. “Gordon!”

No answer.

Another frown and he strode back inside, following the recent tracks of his fish brother down to the kitchen.

Scott found him reading at the table, a phone that was most definitely not his in one hand and the book in his other.

There were lots of photos of crabs.

“What are you doing?”

“Confirming the identification of a crab.”

“Why?”

“Virg found one down on Mosaic Beach and I wanna make sure it is what I think it was so I can report it to Mel.”

The dots that had been connecting earlier fused into a solid line with an arrow pointing directly at Gordon. “And where is Virgil?”

“Snoozing on the beach.”

“And why do you have his phone?”

“Because his drawings were excellent, but I needed a colour shot.”

“Gordon!”

His brother didn’t even look up. “What?” But then he blinked and frowned at Scott. “He’s fine. Well above the high tide line.” A glance down at the book again. “There, that’s it. Oooh, Mel is going to be so excited.”

Scott glared at Gordon for a whole second longer before storming over and snatching the phone out of his hands. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen and took the path that would lead him down to the reported beach.

Younger brothers were hard work.

The little beach wasn’t the closest on the Island. Probably one of the reasons Virgil chose it to get away from pesky younger brothers. Trust Gordon to find him anyway.

He fingered Virgil’s phone in his hand as he walked. The green leather case was embossed with an elaborate dragon design.

Looking at it, all he could really feel was fondness.

He must be tired. Grandma was right. He needed a day off.

Easier said than done. It wasn’t like he could park himself on a beach and fall asleep.

He grunted as he stepped over some rocks to start the climb down to the little cove. The path was thin and wove amongst several pōhutukawa trees – or pokey trees as Alan called them, their dark green leaves adorned with puffs of red blossom. Birds darted between them squawking at each other. That combined with the surf in the distance and the breeze rattling palm trees, it wasn’t the quietest of places.

Nevertheless, he found his brother sprawled against a rock under the largest pokey tree at the edge of the beach, snoring his head off.

Definitely noisy.

Virgil was dressed in an old pair of work shorts and a t-shirt with a hole in it. Both sported spatters of paint and clearly showed how relaxed his brother was trying to be.

Beside him on a rock, carefully placed, no doubt by Gordon, the brat, was a sketchbook and a box of drawing tools. Virgil’s artist backpack lay folded up supporting his head - again likely Gordon.

Virgil snorted and curled up just a little more against the rock.

Gordon was a shit, but he was a kind one. Virgil slept like the dead and would likely need one of those waves off in the distance to wash over him if he was going to wake up before he wanted to.

Staring a moment longer, Scott sighed, gave up and sat down beside his brother. He dropped the phone onto the sketchbook and looked out at the beach.

Virgil continued to snore.

His biggest little brother had always snored. Scott had cornered him and got him tested for a variety of sleep issues, but he was fine. Just loud.

The terrible two used to make a point of pointing it out as much as possible. But that was before the hydrofoil accident.

Gordon didn’t know it, but due to his injuries, he now snored, too.

The ribbing about snoring in the Tracy household had dropped to a minimum since, Gordon the only unknowing ribber.

But Virgil remained the major noise maker and the brothers worshipped the soundproofing in the villa.

Regardless of the racket, Scott did find it strangely quiet out here. Sitting on the sand with nothing to do was oddly relaxing. Of course, he wasn’t really one to do nothing and Virgil’s sketchbook was right there. Gordon had obviously already stuck his nose into it and Scott was pretty sure Virgil wouldn’t mind if he took a peek.

Would he?

Lifting the phone off the book, Scott carefully picked it up and nestled it in his lap...ever, ever so careful. Okay, so he had some respect and not a little fear of damaging Virgil’s artwork.

The pages were thick and stiff and likely designed to support wet media as much as dry. Most of the work in it was pencil, however, maybe some charcoal? The darks were so deep in some that they had to be.

But Scott was no artist and really only had eyes for the content.

The first page found him looking at himself. Virgil had obviously either captured Scott’s likeness on the sly or drawn from a photo or holoprojection. His drawing stared up at him in almost all three dimensions. The expression on his graphite face was thoughtful, almost wistful. He could see his rendered self was thinking or planning and totally distracted...which was likely why he had no clue his brother had captured this shot.

But the artistic strokes were strong and sure, simple in their complexity.

Scott blinked, moved that his brother was so talented and capable.

Though he really shouldn’t be surprised.

Turning the page, he discovered their grandmother.

He had to smile. The concentration on Grandma’s face was almost comical. A bowl and a recipe book sat in front of her and the very tip of her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she frowned at whatever she was reading.

There was a touch of caricature in the drawing, a little exaggeration, but done with love and fondness, not mockingly. His grandmother was beautiful.

Scott swallowed and turned the page to find several detailed scribbles. They looked like pieces of machinery and the pages had notes written down the sides.

It was a spark moment. He knew Virgil well enough for that. One of those times when his thoughts all came together and saw him running naked out of the shower to grab whatever he could find and get it written down.

Several major equipment improvements had occurred exactly this way. It appeared that at some point, this sketchbook had been the nearest note book and had borne the brunt.

He stared at the diagrams, doing his best to work out exactly what they were. Sharp notation, numbers, that had to be the backend of a pod. It clicked. This was part of the pod assembly redesign from the previous year. Virgil had come to him with some major improvements, including a pod body redesign. What followed had been a massive overhaul of all the ‘birds’ assembly systems and a whole new set up, including colour changes according to which Thunderbird housed which pod. Virgil and Brains had been buzzing for weeks.

And it was possible it had all started here on this piece of paper. Now he could see the scribbled down inner workings of the assembly mechanism and the shape on the second page was a worked and reworked pod shell.

He glanced over at his brother who was still snoring peacefully. Virgil was amazing. Scott could not have been prouder of what his little brother had achieved. Yet Virgil never really boasted or bragged or even highlighted what he had done. He was just there. Always there, one step behind him ready to help.

He must be really tired because now he was getting emotional. There had been a few times in the last couple of years where he had come close to losing Virgil. He hadn’t, but there had been nightmares and many a night where he had spent reassuring himself that his biggest brother was still with him.

And yes, he could stand outside his brother’s bedroom door and listen to him snore.

It gave him comfort.

Gordon had caught him once.

That had been a heartbreaking moment.

Because his fish brother hadn’t said a thing, just reached up, squeezed his shoulder, dropped his forehead against Scott’s arm and just stood there for a solid moment. Another gentle squeeze and he left, not even looking up at Scott before he was gone.

It said more than any words.

Scott sighed and turned the page...only to come face to face with Gordon again. Though this time the joy in their fish brother’s eyes was lighting up the page. He was grinning at a shell and there was a speech bubble - ‘Virgil, come and see this!’

Scott had to smile. Gordon was notorious for sharing his beach discoveries. Virgil was usually the target because at least he knew a little bit about their little brother’s fascinations. Scott loved to see Gordon happy, but honestly, he couldn’t tell the difference between one shell or another. He tried. He honestly did, but Virgil had the patience of a saint and was much more engaging.

Scott loved to watch the two of them instead.

And yes, he saw Virgil sneak things into his pockets. Usually shells, but occasionally rocks and bits of coral. Those finds made their way back to Virgil’s studio and there was a whole corner devoted to marine still life.

Which was why it was no surprise when the next three pages of sketchbook turned out to be exactly that. A curly shell, a pile of cockle shells - Scott knew those at least - they were good for fishing. The third page had a plan for a reef painting. It had scribbled notes, much like the pod redesign pages, but this was based around a sketched layout. Scott frowned at it...it was vaguely familiar. He would have to ask Virgil about it when he woke.

The next two pages sported today’s efforts. The same beach he was sitting on emerged from the paper, along with some sketches of a crab. The first few were realistic, but the last one had the little hermit crab with an IR symbol on its side and one of Dad’s old uniform hats perched on top of its shell. It bore a sash that resembled Virgil’s despite the lack of green colour and one of its claws was bigger than the other in a very exo-suit-like way.

That had Scott grinning. This was no doubt the reason why Gordon had run for the crab book. Mel, in her position of Director of the Kermadec Expedition south of them on Raoul Island, was very particular about the endemic crabs on all the islands in the area.

He wondered what she would think of them inducting crabs into IR.

He wondered what she was doing today and if she might be available later for a nice evening together.

That thought was very distracting and had nothing to do with crab identification at all.

Virgil snorted, rolled over off his backpack and face first into the sand.

Scott startled, fully expecting a woken bear of a brother to surface from that.

But Virgil just kept snoring, now snorting sand as well.

He placed the sketchbook down, scrambled around his brother and gently shoved the folded backpack under his head again.

His fingertips brushed sand off Virgil’s face.

And he found himself sitting beside his brother again.

Why was he out here?

Because Gordon was evil and dangled the concept of Virgil drowning in the tide simply to aggravate him enough to do exactly what he did.

Gordon was a shit.

But a good one.

Another sigh and he lay back against the rocks and got comfortable, because, let’s face it, he wasn’t going back up to the villa without Virgil. His brother was safe, sure, but walking off and leaving him to the elements ran against his grain.

And Gordon knew it.

He would throttle, and possibly hug, his fish brother later.

Besides, it was nice out here, taking a moment to just be.

Virgil would approve.

Virgil would fake being asleep just to get him to do it.

Scott’s eyes darted to his now softly snoring brother, a sudden suspicion at the forefront of his thoughts. He would put it past either of Virgil or Gordon’s conniving ways to conspire to get him out here.

Virgil was drooling a wet patch onto his backpack.

Ugh.

Well, maybe not.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid.

Perhaps he just needed to relax.

Relax.

He closed his eyes and folded his hands in his lap. Kayo was good at meditation. So was Gordon. Virgil did some connecting with nature thing that seemed to work for him.

Exhibit A snorted as if in agreement.

He could try.

Out of all the sounds he could hear, only one really held his attention.

That same soft snoring. No waves or wind or birds squawking brought him any kind of comfort.

The sound of his brother breathing evenly beside him, safe and sound, was the most beautiful sound in the world.

What that said about him...well, he didn’t care right now. He was tired and worn out. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe this is what he needed. He should care, should be annoyed, but the rhythm was lulling and, god, he was so tired.

So goddamned tired.

Virgil kept breathing and Scott followed him into sleep.

-o-o-o-

Hidden in the foliage of the grove of pokey trees behind his two brothers, Gordon just smiled.

-o-o-o-

[jeonggukkiepabo]

MOONCHILD 🌙  6

SUMMARY: Soulmates are a common thing. Everyone has one. Some people think soulmates are the greatest gift fate could give, others are envious about happy couples that were lucky enough to receive a wonderful partner. One of them was Min Yoongi. Your time to meet your significant other hasn’t come yet, stumbling into the tattoo parlor with a simple idea in mind, not knowing that you will be bound to step by more often. When you leave for the first time, you’ll go home with your masterpiece of a tattoo.

When you leave for the second time, you’ll go home with not only one, but two soulmates.

The man that was supposed to be your only soulmate, the one that never wanted to tell you that he woke up with the exact same koi karp tattoo just sits and watches - until he can’t take the pain anymore.

GENRE: Soulmate!Au

PAIRINGS: Y/N x Taehyung / Y/N x Jungkook / Taehyung x Jungkook / Taehyung x Jimin / Jungkook x Jimin / Hoseok x Seokjin / Y/N x Yoongi 

WORD COUNT: 8k

WARNINGS: mentions of anxiety, fluff, kissies, deep talk with yoongi, mentions of heartbreak

Somehow, it was easier to warm up to Namjoon and Jimin than you thought in the beginning. It’s a weird feeling, growing comfortable around basically strangers, but it feels like you’ve known them since forever. Thinking about it now, you’d totally agree to what Jungkook and Taehyung said before: a bond isn’t something random and that it’s impossible to ignore it. To you, it feels just right, without any further explanations needed. You even stopped wondering why you always feel so at ease when one of your mates is around, why any fears seem meaningless when you’re with them.

Because you couldn’t be happier about the bond you shared with your four… now boyfriends. Your soulmates. The loves of your life. Of course, everything is still new for you and the group’s dynamics are still confusing to you, but as Jimin once said: you’ve got time. Things are getting easier every day and everything is falling into place slowly, allowing you to feel lighter every day. 

Soon enough, your spare days are consisting of either hanging around at the tattoo parlour or drawing in the bakery to at least spend some time with Jimin and Hoseok. You’ve grown closer to the latter, lucky to have a neutral person to talk to, someone unbiased when it comes to your lovelife.

He’s incredibly funny and you’d never complain about his teasing jokes, because you’re not the only victim; he’s unstoppable and your four boyfriends are his favorite target for his bickering. And Hoseok himself could only describe you with one word: endearing. He loves seeing you smile, loves to be the reason for your adorable reactions. The red haired man knows that he adores people way too much for his own sake, but you’re definitely one of a kind. He almost feels a soft lightning of jealousy whenever he notices how differently you brighten up once one of your soulmates comes into sight, but he’s quick to remind himself that he has an adorable soulmate on his own.

Hoseok even created a special cupcake flavor for you - a cotton candy cupcake with bubblegum frosting, pink and blue, melting on your tastebuds. 

“Hobi those are amazing!” You smile as you lick the frosting off your cupcake, sprinkles sticking to your nose as you do so. Hoseok grins, shrugging his shoulders as he places another one in front of you. “I know right? The bubblegum frosting kills it! This one is the last, though. I don’t want to feed you cupcakes all day long. They aren’t going to be special to you any longer if you keep eating several of them every day.”You pout, looking over to your boyfriend to save you. Surely someone will make Hobi cave right? No one can resist you; you always end up having what you want. 

“But I like your cupcakes, Hobi! Jimin, tell him that cupcakes are good for me. Some people might need vitamins, but I need cupcakes to live!” Jimin laughs, eyes disappearing as he holds up his hands in defence. Goodness, can you get any cuter? He can’t believe that their soulmate can be such a child sometimes. You’re worse than Jungkook and Taehyung and the three of you can become a dangerous trio.

“I can’t help it, peaches.” He walks over to you, bending down slightly to match your height. Then, he licks one fat stripe across your nose. 

“Jimin!” You screech at the disgustingly wet feeling, but your boyfriend just giggles, licking his lips slowly. 

“You had frosting on your nose, I couldn’t help it. Even though I have to say that I’m not a fan of the bubblegum.” He wiggles his eyebrows and you giggle quietly despite the sticky feeling not leaving your face.

“Yah! No sex in my bakery, Jimin go and do some dishes, mop the floor or do whatever you usually do at work!” Jin chimes in, gently slapping the back of Jimin’s head. You can’t help but laugh out loud as you notice Jimin’s dejected expression. He glares at you slightly, whilst you wiggle your eyebrow just like he did before. You get his “wait until we’re alone” message clearly and think that you might have to run away before his shift is done otherwise you might be in for a complicated time later.

“Karma, Minie. Thanks, Oppa! How are you doing, Jinnie? I haven’t seen you around in a while.” You smile sweetly, trying to distract him from your boyfriend before he gives him more work. The eldest sighs dramatically, showing you all the boxes he just carried inside the bakery. 

“I spent the weekend in my hometown to see my family, but also went to this kind of coffee expo, that’s where I got all that new stuff, coffee beans with rose aroma, different oils to infuse the coffee and pastry and even some of those little sprinkles Hoseok loves using - but those glow in the dark!”

You scrunch your nose worriedly. “Are those healthy?”

“Yah! Who cares about health if you can have cupcakes that glow in the dark? Sometimes you’re the worldwide funny girl, Y/N.” 

Jin laughs and shakes his head as he continues to carry the boxes into the storage room, mumbling how exciting those sprinkles are and that they were worth every cent. A big smile is plastered on your face and you’re sure it won’t fade anytime soon as you feel a warm sensation spreading through your entire body. This is one of your new safe places. You don’t know a lot about Seokjin and Hoseok, but they are possibly the nicest men you ever met (excluding your soulmates) and you often find yourself speaking with the two men, spending some quality time with them in the café. It feels like you’re a little family and you can’t help but giggle at the image that is now stuck in your mind; Jin being the loving grandma whilst Hoseok is the chaotic father that doesn’t even know his children’s friends' names.

“Hobi, please don’t put them on my cupcakes. I think Yoongi would love them though, they match his personality and that way you can test if they’re harmful or not.” You wink at the couple as you start collecting your belongings and shoving them into your backpack before returning your cup and plate to Jimin. 

“Thanks, Minnie. I’ll see you tonight, right?” You press a kiss onto his lips before turning around to Hoseok. 

“Hobi, help your man, you don’t have those strong arms for nothing! Thanks for the cupcake, I hope there’ll be more tomorrow!” Hobi laughs, shaking his head as he hands you a small bag of pastries for the boys in the parlour. You smile quickly before leaving. Jimin sighs behind, already missing your comforting presence.

“You have a lovely soulmate Jimin-ah.” Jimin perks up at the mention of you and he giggles quietly. Hoseok smiles at him, happy to see his friend so joyful, breathing happiness. Jimin has been glowing recently, and Hoseok knows who is responsible; and to be honest, he can’t really blame him.

“She’s the best”.

The days at the parlour are the most thrilling ones because Jungkook couldn’t stop suggesting to tattoo you, even if he’d only get to tattoo small little designs in hidden places. In the beginning, you were strictly against it, but his round doe-eyes combined with the adorable pout made it almost impossible to say no. And boy he knows it. He knows how to use his charms to make you cave in. So one day, you indeed gave in. 

“Fine,” you sighed, “but make me a small dinosaur, I want something cute on my ankle.” 

Firstly, he’s overjoyed that you said yes but then he replays the sentence in his mind and the thought is not so attractive anymore. Jungkook sighs, stomping his boot-cled foot on the floor. 

“A small dinosaur? Why not something more.. dangerous?” 

He can’t help but imagine you covered in his arts, only the prettiest pieces for you, and he can’t explain how much the thought arouses him. It has-scratch that-you have an effect on him that he can’t really comprehend. But… Come on, a small dinosaur? He expected better from you.

“I’m not dangerous, honey. I can still ask Yoongi to tattoo me one, though. If you’re not up for a challenge…” Smirking, you wait until he reacts, knowing that Jungkook would never say no to a challenge. 

But what’s making him silently snap is not really the challenge but the thought of someone else accessing your skin. No. He’s not going to allow that; it’s either him or Tae, but no one else. 

Behind you, Yoongi’s head pops out of the room he’s currently tattooing in. 

“I’d say no as well, I hate those minimalist tattoos,” he replies before closing the door again, leaving you more than confused.

Once you look back to Jungkook, he already prepared some small designs despite his complaints. There is no way he is letting someone else tattoo your perfect skin, so he prepared a little t-rex, a stegosaurus and a cute little triceratops. 

“The last one, the last one!” You clap your hands, excited for the new addition on your body. Jungkook grumbles, moving towards the desk to prepare a stencil.

“Get a girlfriend they said, it’ll be fun they said. Tae would never want a dinosaur tattoo from me.”

You frown, eyebrow raised as you look over to your boyfriend. 

“Are you saying you regret being my mate? Because last night when you had your dick between my boo-” 

“I didn’t say anything, calm down.” Jungkook rolls his eyes as he comes back to you again, pulling you into his own little tattoo corner. Sometimes you’re more dramatic than Jimin and he doesn’t know if he thinks it’s endearing or just slightly annoying. Usually, he goes for the first one.

Small tattoos were soon enough a weekly thing for you, sometimes Taehyung chimed in with an idea but it were mostly some scribbles from Jungkook’s sketchbook that caught your eye and were inked into your skin a few hours later. If the first dinosaur hadn’t really thrilled Jungkook, he began to adore these little additions to your skin somehow all fitting together. The two boys were getting protective of you and what you were getting on your skin, debating where and what to tattoo to make sure the whole would look pretty on you.

One day, Jungkook is just getting started to tattoo a little moon onto your wrist, next to the sun that he gave you last week when Yoongi comes into the parlour, cupcake and coffee in his hands. His eyes meet yours and for a second you see so many different feelings swirling in his orbs that you feel slightly uncomfortable, even with your boyfriend next to you. 

“Y/N, again? Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have pulled you into the parlour. Don’t you have a workplace to be or another one of your several boyfriends to annoy? Jungkook, you need to charge her for all that material at some point, I’m not shitting money.”  The shop owner scoffs as he places his breakfast onto the front desk. You smile, ignoring his snarky remarks, because by now you know that all he does is bark but not bite. Yet, the gloomy feeling you have is not leaving your skin and you shiver for a second. Jungkook’s eyes snap to yours, worry written all over his features. You soothe him down as you feel his questions through the bond. Does he think he hurt you even though he still has not started the tattoo? 

“Oh, you got a cupcake from Hobi-oppa? Wait, is that the special one he makes for his friend? Poor soul, his friend didn’t pick it up again?” Jungkook giggles, having to pause the tattoo gun for a second to look at his Hyung’s reaction. He knows who the friend is and your confusion is just peak comedy. 

If only you knew what you had started.

Yoongi shoots him a warning glare before mumbling a “I’m the friend, you idiot”. It takes you a few seconds to understand what he just said and you realize why Jungkook is a giggling mess by now. 

Hoseok’s friend is Yoongi. 

Yoongi and Hoseok know each other and Yoongi picks up cupcakes on a regular basis even though he told you he wasn’t one for sweets. 

“You’re friends with Hobi? I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you otherwise I wouldn't have been that rude.” You smile sheepishly even though the blonde man seems to be ignoring you. “That’s so unexpected though, you’re grumpy and he’s a sunshine. I wouldn’t have guessed it, you must make an interesting pair. When worlds collide, huh” you chuckle as you watch Jungkook finishing the last line. “Thanks, bub!” You press a quick kiss onto his lips before he wraps your wrist, then you’re done. He knows that Yoongi is about to say more; the older is unable to finish a conversation without making sure that he has the last word, especially when it comes to Hoseok. Jungkook is not one to get involved where he shouldn’t, but sometimes he has questions that are burning his tongue even if she succeeds in keeping everything for himself. 

What you don’t hear is the painful sound coming from Yoongi as he watches you and Jungkook’s  bond playing games with him again. He’s been trying to deny that the bond hurt him when he sees you with someone else, but sometimes, it stings a little bit too much for him to ignore it. Your tattoo was still there, even after you accepted your other mates, so who was he kidding? He wasn’t even enough for you, he couldn’t replace any of those young men - not that he wanted to. You were annoying, too gigglish and beaut- always there, you were always there. Whether it’s the bakery or their parlour, your scent, your laugh and your voice are everywhere. It follows Yoongi and he hates every second of it. Sometimes he feels like Edward when he met Bella for the first time. Not that Yoongi watched Twilight. No. He has… just heard of it.

You are everywhere and he hates it. He truly wishes he had not dragged you into his shop because now you’re not leaving even though he’s doing everything to avoid you. 

But why does he even want you to be bothered? It's not like you mean anything to him, he has no reasons to expect a reaction from you right? Especially since you found other soulmates, far better than him apparently. You even spend more time with Seokjin and Hoseok than with him anyway. 

“Yeah, I’ve known him for quite some time now. Free coffee and cupcakes from time to time are a nice thing to enjoy.” 

Quite some time, sure, Yoongi thinks. What about your teenage years that you were inseparable? The crush you’ve had on him for ages? The one drunk kiss you shared the night before you turned 18? That drunk kiss could’ve activated the soulmate bond, but you chickened out and ran away like a baby, it’s your loss, bastard. Seokjin used his chance and what happened after that was obvious.

Yoongi turns his back to you to take a deep breath, his oversized shirt slowly moving down his shoulder and exposing his neck before he can do anything against it. He realizes his mistake a little bit too late even though he’s quick to turn around again, looking for any sign in each Jungkook’s and your face - obviously both of you realized something. He sees the confusion melting into a frown on your face and he cannot meet your eyes. This is happening, isn’t it?

“Why do we have the same tattoo, Yoongi?” 

The fact that he doesn’t even bother to answer is making you angry. Why the fuck does he has the same tattoo? You’re 100% sure of what you just saw, you look at this tattoo every morning before getting dressed. You know the lines by heart and it is not possible for you to mistake it by any means.

So why the fuck does he have your tattoo copied on his skin? Reasons and possibilities are flying through your racing and furious mind. You already imagine the worst. Maybe one of the boys even helped him? He cannot reach this place by himself. It means that someone else did it for him. Did one of your very own soulmates betray you like that? “I drew it myfuckingself and now you’re running around with a cheap copy of it? Who did it, Jungkook!” You’re on your feet, getting closer to the young man at a dangerously slow pace. Jungkook blinks at the sudden call of his name “Tell me. Did you or Taehyung help him?” He tilts his head obviously confused by what you are saying and it only angers you more. Is he playing dumb now? You know a tattoo when you see one and even though it’s not your job, you’re well aware that the place of the tattoo is not one someone can reach alone. Someone had to help. 

Jungkook is getting mad too as he starts pulling the puzzle together but he sighs, shaking his head. You are his priority, he has to get you to calm down first. You are a team, not against each other. “Neither Tae nor I knew about this, I’m as shocked as you are, love. We wouldn’t have done that, I promise you. A tattoo is far too personal for us to do something this low. Now though,” Jungkook glares at Yoongi, hands slowly balling into fists, obviously understanding what’s going on. Yoongi just smirks at him, happy to piss the younger off. “Don’t act up, Jungkook.”

At least Yoongi has the upper hand for now and if he can take a little advantage out of it, then he will. The angry face of Jungkook is too good to pass the opportunity. Though, Yoongi does not dare meet your eyes; he fears what he’s going to see if he does. 

“Act up? Why? What’s going on?” But both of them ignore you and this is only rilling you up. 

“You have some guts Yoongi, you still didn’t answer me!” You almost growl, looking at the white haired man whose lips are still holding that sassy smirk. He’s still not looking at you and the fact that he is ignoring you is pissing you off greatly. Who does he think he is?

“You knew about that and didn’t think it would be important to tell her?” Jungkook gets no answer so he goes on “you know what could’ve happened and yet, you didn’t tell her? She could’ve been in so much pain, you could have hurt her, don’t you fucking care at least a little? You rejected your mate without even telling her about it you fucking son of a bitch!” With one big jump, Jungkook was right in front of Yoongi, hitting him right into the stomach. 

But then, you realize it. The tattoo appeared on his skin because it became the link between you and him. Your bond reached him through the tattoo. 

Yoongi is your fucking soulmate and he obviously rejected you as he never talked to you about and seemed to be actively avoiding you. The thought alone causes you to shiver. You failed as a mate before even being given the chance to prove yourself.

You laugh darkly as your fears finally become reality. Four perfect mates who loved you and accepted you for who you were? This was only a story you find in books, not in reality.

 No, in reality you have five mates and one would rather be risking both of your lives (thus risking all of the others as well) than to try to speak to you about it. Your voice is caught in your throat when you realize that you’ve also put your four other mates in danger because of this. If you’d come to lose the bond with them, it could damage their bonds with each other and most probably could hurt them physically and mentally as well. The tears are hard to swallow, but you have to for now. You want to vomit when you remember what you’ve been told about mates rejecting their other halves. It’s unfair how your bond is manifesting only now when it never did even though it reached for Yoongi’s. Because it hurts so much you wish you had felt the pain before, just for it not to hurt as much as it does right now. 

You’re not really sure where the pain comes from but you’re lightheaded when you look at both men again. You see Yoongi on the floor and Jungkook’s rage is flagrant on his features. You never saw him that angry. You’re almost concerned for a few seconds but you laugh bitterly in your head. 

Are you that pathetic that one of your mates had to punch someone for you?

Even though Jungkook’s move is well deserved - and makes you feel somewhat better, because he seems to feel the anger you’re feeling as well - this isn’t his fight. You’re not one to enjoy fights. 

That’s not what you wanted.

Why have you been tied to all of them? It feels unfair. You’re only destroying what they have and not adding anything positive. Just looking at what is happening now, you only brought chaos.

Yoongi might not want you as a soulmate, that’s his own choice. It hurts, sure, but this has nothing to do with Taehyung or Jungkook because the tattoo happened before you were a thing. And now you’ve involved both of them, hurting both in the process and almost putting them in danger because of your bonds. You can’t let that continue, you have to find a way to stop everything.

Once you get a hold on Jungkook and are face to face with Yoongi’s cocky smirk, you can’t help the urge to just smack him across the cheek, tears spilling from your eyes before you leave into the locker room, knowing that Taehyung was just about to finish his break.

This is what Yoongi wanted, so this is what he gets. 

You have to leave, you have to find another place to be because you can’t breathe correctly. You feel Jungkook reaching through the bond but you’re trying your everything to refuse him access. How do you cut a bond without hurting someone? Is that even possible? 

You laugh over your thoughts as you notice that  you are trying to reach for comfort. What are you doing? Are you trying to leave or are you trying to seek for one of your soulmates? What are you trying to do? Feel validated by one of the four men you adore? What if it only made them realize what you are? You’re just a nuisance after all. You keep on ruining what they all have. Do you really deserve to be selfish once again and seek for one of them to comfort you? 

At least you know better than running to Jimin right now, because he would’ve told Namjoon, Namjoon would’ve called Taehyung and Taehyung would… You don’t even know what Taehyung would do, you don't even know what you are doing, you just don’t want to hurt or worry any of them, yet your mind is turning cloudy as you open the door and fall directly into Taehyung’s arms, bond reaching for his instantly. 

You feel pathetic. Running into your soulmates arms as soon as something is going wrong. You’re just going to worry Taehyung, which is going to worry Jimin, who is going to worry Namjoon and- And you can’t think anymore. 

Your mind is racing but you can’t focus anymore. The only good thing about finding Taehyung is that it’s better if he hears about what happened from you, rather than to understand everything by someone else. Besides, it feels a little bit soothing to have him close to you. You feel like you belong somewhere despite… Despite what Yoongi decided for you and for your bond. 

“Angel, what’s wrong? I can feel a lot through the bond, but it’s… Quite negative, what is happening?” Taehyung whispers as he strokes your hair carefully, embracing you in a warm hug that soothes your hazy mind a bit, but everything still feels suffocating. You just hope that your feelings aren’t fully communicated through the bond because you’re probably setting everyone in panic if so. You can’t contain your words but your labored breathing makes it difficult to actually explain what is happening right now to your confused soulmate.

 “Yoongi… he has my koi carp tattoo… He didn’t even tell me, god, Tae. Why me? He hates me, he so obviously h-hates me and now he’s mated to me as well? H-He doesn’t even want me and bad things happen to people that don’t accept the bond and it means that you g-guys are in d-danger because of m-me. God I r-ruin everything, I’m a-awful…” 

“Wha- shh, angel, slow down. You’re okay, you’re safe with me, alright? Don’t say those things about yourself, you're perfect sweetheart. You’re not ruining anything” Taehyung has to breathe a few times not to curse loudly and yell some pieces of his mind to his Hyung.

He respects Yoongi a lot, he has always been his mentor. But there are things that he does not tolerate and making his soulmate cry and panic that much is one of them. 

God, he has felt the urgency in his bond; you were trying to desperately find an issue. Had he not had his hands full of ink when the bond started to weigh his whole soul down, he would have flown to the lobby. He feels regretful for not throwing everything away in order to come to you. 

You and Jungkook are both way more precious to him than some disposable things. He knew something was wrong and he had tried to brush it off, thinking that you both were together and thus, nothing could happen to you. He should have followed his bond at the exact moment he felt something. 

Fucking shit, Yoongi is your soulmate? And he said nothing? What if something had happened to you because of his rejection of the bond? 

Taehyung is gritting his teeth; he has to calm down otherwise he’ll never soothe you down either. Yoongi is an asshole. Okay, he didn’t think that he would ever do something that low but he has to focus on you and soothing the ache in the bond. 

He tries to mentally erase the moment you started saying you were an awful soulmate because it is not helping him. He just wants to leave the room and find Yoongi. 

But Taehyung is an adult, he knows that acting rash won’t help.

He’ll get angry at Yoongi later.

“Jungkook is probably talking to him right now, even though I’m… Definitely not the biggest fan of his actions, Yoongi... I don’t really know if he does, but I think that Yoongi might deserve it right now. However, that’s Yoongi’s problem right now. You don’t have to endure it, nor to wait for him. It’s not because he is your soulmate that you have to think of him first, alright? Do you want me to take you home? Away from Yoongi? I don’t have any more clients, I should be doing some sketches but I can do those at yours if you want to. Think of yourself first for once, will you? If you feel like you have things to tell him, then we can stay, but I don’t want you to feel any kind of pressure for an idiot that didn’t even think of you in his decisions.” 

Tae kisses your forehead, but you shake your head no. 

“I have to talk to him about it. I want to know why he hates me so fucking much. Also, I want to return the right of having a soulmate, some people are overwhelmed with just one, now I have 4 and a half!” Taehyung smiles, proud of you. “That’s my baby.” His thumb runs on your cheeks, erasing the tears that escaped. 

“Whatever Yoongi chooses is not your responsibility, alright? It doesn’t change that we have a bond, the five of us and you are with us whatever happens, okay? You are an amazing soulmate, Angel. Don’t doubt it. The one who fucked up is Yoongi. Not you. Yeah?” 

You nod quietly against his palm and he kisses the crown of your head. You don’t feel quite ready to speak with Yoongi but you guess that you deserve to know the truth and the full story. He does owe you that, at least. 

It does surprise you that Jungkook and Yoongi weren’t fighting anymore once you came back into the lobby. Instead, they are seated on the couch and talking quietly, even though it’s more like a whisper-yelling from Jungkook’s side. You don’t really know how to feel, you’re confused and hurt obviously, but you’re going to have to be the bigger person and actually wait for him to explain if he wants to. Taehyung is reaching to you through the bond and you feel slightly more confident. You’ve been overwhelmed with so many feelings that you had begun to think about things that were so far from being the truth. Your mind just kept on escalating until you’d felt like nothing. You’ll have to thank Taehyung for grounding you. 

“Yoongi..?” You shyly ask as you make your way towards them - somehow afraid of the platinum blonde man. Biting your lip, you try to calm your anxiety down for at least the talk, but how could you without knowing how this day would end? 

You could either end up being heartbroken or happier than ever with a new mate, and with the way he always treated you, you don’t really feel like you have another happy ending incoming. It feels more like the start of the end. 

And besides, you thought about him only but Taehyung told you to think of yourself first: would you even accept him if he actually comes to tell you that he wants to pursue something with you? 

Would you let in someone who is not afraid to put everyone’s safety in danger just for selfish reasons? You’re trying to push the thoughts far from you for now. 

Live the moment and see what can happen: whatever happens, you’ll be able to say that you tried your best until the end. 

“Y/N,” Yoongi sighs and looks over to Taehyung, worry written over both their faces. You were just about to speak when Jungkook chimes in. 

“C’mon Tae, let them talk. I’ll explain everything to you.” 

The youngest stands up and presses a soft kiss onto your cheek before taking his boyfriends hand and walks back into the locker room. He sends you one last wink, silently cheering for you and you smile quietly. What do you have to fear when whatever happens, you’ll always have your soulmates cheering for you?

Yoongi swipes his hair out of his face, exposing his stern eyebrows before looking at you. God, he feels like an asshole. He knows that, technically, he has been one, but he never thought it would come to the point that he would knowingly hurt his soulmate. He always hides behind the fact that he’s in love with Hoseok, but that didn’t give him the right to hurt you. He should have at least told you…

“Sit down, please.” His voice is rough, almost exhausted but also sounds… painful? Distressed?

Slowly, you take place next to him, trying not to touch his leg, trying not to touch him at all. You’re still confused if you want to have anything to do with him to be honest with yourself. 

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, barely whispering as you lower your gaze, avoiding his cat-like eyes that are probably full on judging you right now. 

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, watching you confused. 

“Why? You couldn’t have known that this would happen, I couldn’t know - otherwise I wouldn’t be doing that job. I mean, I’m the one that should be apologizing in the first place. I should have handled everything differently, and the only thing that I can do now is to explain, but… Yeah, the thing is, I don’t believe in soulmates.” He quiets down for a short amount of time, creating a break between his words to gauge your reaction, but you don’t seem to be that surprised.

For some reason, it doesn’t sit well with him. He knows he has done enough damages but he wishes for a reaction rather than your expressionless face. “I don’t think that fate should be the one to select your forever and always, do you get what I mean? Of course, I’m pissed about the fact that I got mated to you, but it’s not you that makes me hate being mated. You have done nothing wrong and I’ve been taking my frustrations out on you, and I know it’s wrong but... It’s just… I’m in love with some fucking stupid red haired baker that loves to add too many star-sprinkles on top of cupcakes and…” It clicks too easily in your mind as those words leave his mouth. It doesn’t excuse him, but you finally understand why everything has been this way.

“You’re… You’re in love with Hobi...” You didn’t expect it yourself, but a big grin takes place on your face as you clap your hands excitedly. Just the fact that you finally understand what is going on is making you- not really happy but - something along the lines. Once more, Yoongi is confused, it’s not the reaction he thought he would get. Not at all.

“Yes, but…  Shouldn’t you be mad or jealous or something? I mean, not that I expect you to be, I’ve been nothing but an ass to you, but, that’s how I felt once you got mated to Taehyung and Jungkook, even though it’s my own fault… If I hadn’t changed your appointment…” 

He catches how your glance suddenly changes at this information. You don’t seem to be mad, nor surprised, but you’re acknowledging what he says, as if you had already considered this idea. “Anyways, I mean…  Aren’t you mad that I don’t want to be your mate?” 

You shrug your shoulders, not sure what to answer. It’s quite a dumb question. Of course you are. Of course you are hurt. It feels like you’re not good enough for him. But… You try to understand his side, and you're not sure how you would feel if you had been in love with someone for like, forever, and you suddenly have to accept and love someone else. It seems like something that you would have had a hard time carrying yourself, so who are you to judge him, or to be mad at him? 

“It’s rude, I guess. It doesn’t make me feel like I’m the most wanted human on earth for sure. It kind of feels like I suck so much that my own soulmate doesn’t feel like they can care or love me. So, the question is kind of easy to answer, I’d rather say that it stings, but who am I to be mad at you? I see your point of view and I’ve already got four mates that are caring and loving - three more mates than I thought I’d have. I never thought that I would have more than one soulmate. I’m always surrounded with love when I’m with them, so I'd say that knowing that there’s another man running around with my tattoo - a tattoo that means so much to me - is just overwhelming, knowing that you don’t want me as a soulmate hurts, but I’ll get over it if that’s what you choose, we’ll just have to be careful with our health because I’m not putting my mates’ safety in danger for you own comfort. Maybe we are soulmates to understand things and not to live them together. It does happen sometimes. I do agree with you, fate shouldn’t be the one to decide - but in our case, fate is just suggesting who to choose, don’t you think so? You decided against choosing me and we are still alive. Besides, I don’t…,” You seem to hesitate for a second, “I don’t feel a bond between us and you probably don’t feel that either.” 

You feel a bit bitter to lie like that. You didn’t feel it until today. Until you realized who he was to you. But you guess that you shouldn't try to make him change his decision. 

“But I do.” Yoongi whispers, finally looking up from the hole in his jeans. 

He tries to read you, but you’re not easily opening up anymore. He feels like it’s his fault, but he still sees that glimmer of hope inside of your eyes, and trustfully, it kills him, because he just wants to give in right now. Yoongi wants to be held, to be loved, anything. 

He just wants to feel. If he doesn’t accept you, would he ever get another chance again? Would there be another human soul accepting his own broken one?

“I fucking do feel bonded to you, Y/N. That’s the problem. I don’t want to smile whenever I feel you around. I don’t want to feel happy when I see your smile. And I don’t want to suffer just because I see you kissing Taehyung or Jungkook - even if you smile at them instead of me, it hurts. I want to be loved, I want to love. But the only person that exists for me is Hoseok. I’ve loved him since I was 16, but fucking fate destroyed  - I mean, not destroyed, wrong choice of words but - my chance of being mated to him disappeared for me that day. The man I’m in love with is mated to someone else, and now even I’m mated to someone else. How do you think it feels like to be rejected by the only person you’ve been interested in? And then there’s your soulmate, you’re supposed to love her, to be everything she’s waiting for, to care and be there for her and a month later she’s suddenly mated to four other men. What does the fabulous fate want me to do? Get into a polyamorous relationship with four men and one woman? Being not the third but the sixth wheel? I don’t think so.” 

You nod, slowly understanding his issues because that’s how you felt just a few weeks ago. From your dreams of a soulmate that would be your one and unique love, to your new reality composed of four men, who are absolutely amazing, do not kid yourself but, it’s so different from anything you thought would happen. It took you some time to accept what was happening, to accept four men who you’re supposed to be a lost part of their soul. 

You don’t really like the idea of being broken without your soulmates, but it feels just right when you’re with them. In a way, you understand why people came to say that. Because it’s so powerful that it’s hard to define it differently. 

Just like how Yoongi said that fate destroyed his chances with Hobi. 

You understand. Because it’s overwhelming, it’s new. It feels like no one can help you out. However, you have your soulmates. It’s been the five of you to get through it and to start your relationship. Yoongi on his side, he has no one to talk to. 

So, honestly? You understand him, as weird as it sounds. Even you, at some point, think that it isn’t right, that you shouldn’t be so understanding: you should be mad. You even thought about rejecting him if he wanted to pursue anything with you after all of that but now all your anger seems to have faded away. 

Yoongi was expecting it from you too. But no. You aren’t. You’re just glad that he finally decided to talk and to stop running away from you. You don’t want to prevent him from doing anything, you just want to be here for him, at least. He is not alone, and he will always be able to count on you. Maybe you’re meant to be soulmates in a… friendzone kind of way.

“I know, Yoongi. I get it, don’t worry. I mean, I probably should be mad, but I understand. I don’t want to force you into anything, you are your own person with your own belief and choices. I’m not your soulmate to berate you, or to be annoying or whatever. You’re just, not alone in this, you know? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything with me or to get involved with me- but don’t you think you deserve love? Because... I think you do. Maybe love is what you need to get rid over the thought of Hobi being out of your reach? You need love to start a life where you only care about what the future holds, someone that helps to pull you out of that dark place. Crying and being upset over his bond with Jin won’t make your life easier. It would actually be the other way around. Maybe you need to let go, Yoongi. And once again, I’m not asking you to accept us. I mean, we don’t even know if you’re meant to be with the four other men in my life, and I know that Jungkook and Taehyung might not be your types, I thought so too when I realized that Jimin and Namjoon were a part of this too, but I gave them a chance, and I think that one chance might change everything. You already know all of them and I think that it is safe to believe that your two coworkers are your closest friends by now. You trust them, you take care of them even though you might not want to accept that. The bond doesn’t feel like we are forced to love each other, okay? It just happened and I don’t regret it. But it’s your decision, Yoongi. And I won’t take it away from you, just know that if you ever decide to accept me, accept us, then-” 

And then, he kisses you.

Yoongi kisses differently from what you would have expected. He wasn’t soft, shy or holding back anything. His kisses are hungry, frustrated and maybe a little bit aggressive.

This time, the bond didn’t feel like fireworks or butterflies in your stomach, it was more like an explosion full of bad energy that rushed over into your body. 

Yoongi grabs your face, pulling you even closer and as you put your hands on his cheeks, you feel them. Tears are spilling out of his eyes, the feeling of being complete finally settling into your bodies. It is amazing how a simple action holds so many consequences and feelings. It feels like you did something amazing, while you just kissed.

Once Yoongi breaks the kiss, he pulls you onto his lap, hugging you tightly whilst his body still slightly shakes from being overwhelmed. 

“It’s alright, Yoongi. We’re here, we’re together. You have all of us on your side,” you coo, trying to calm him down as you run your finger through his messy hair. 

He’s not alone, he has never been but if he never realized it and you’re going to change that. He’s going to be loved and cherished as much as he lets you. 

You’ll give him anything, you know it sounds desperate, but you feel so much for him. Goodness, he changed everything upside down in one kiss and one talk. 

You kind of hate it, but at the same time, it feels right. Maybe Yoongi is in it to prove to you that fate doesn’t do it all. You have to fight for your mates too. You can’t be given everything, love and trust is something that you gain. 

You’re starting to feel exhausted because of the ride you just did. You went from anger to pain, to despair, to anger again, to shyness, to compassion and finally you’re here, hugging your missing soulmate. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Yoongi whispers, eyes still spilling tears onto your shirt. “I treated you like shit, yet here you are, ready to soothe my pain.”

“Don’t, Yoongi. That was the past. Now we’re here. The healing begins.” You smile soothingly as his arms wrap tightly around you. He keeps on letting apologies fall from his lips and you don’t think that he listens to you when you tell him to stop. He doesn’t need to apologize, you understand him. However, if he feels like he has to, you’ll let him. You’ll give him all the reassurances he needs to walk further with you. 

Seconds later, Jungkook and Taehyung run back into the lobby, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. “What happened, Y/N? I just got a love boner and that wasn’t because Tae and I were basically-” 

“Oh, fuck it, Jungkook,” Tae groans. Then, his eyes fall on you and Yoongi, still embraced in a tight hug.

“Fuck, you did it, love.” His smile was generous, heartwarming and you just know he isn’t mad about the fact that you decided to love one more person. 

Quite the contrary, Taehyung is a perceptive man. He doesn’t really want to tell anyone, but he had known it. He knew it would end up like that, and he can’t wait for the time when you and all your soulmates will be able to be together and walk toward a better future. On the other side, Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, disbelief visible in his eyes. 

“Yoongi, the fuck? You just said that you would never want her, minutes later you’re having her on your lap? Wow.” You feel the jealousy that washes over Jungkook, the boy doesn’t like sharing you, you are his baby, his best friend and his mate. He was fine that you were being mated to his soulmates, but Yoongi doesn’t belong to him. 

He doesn’t know if he would want him to be his as well, or if he’s just jealous that you give love to someone else, especially someone that just made you cry. Taehyung told him how he found you and Jungkook was not happy. Either way, he doesn’t like it too much.

“Jungkook,” you sigh as you press a chaste kiss on top of Yoongi’s hair before sitting down next to him, patting the free spot. “Can you guys sit down? We should probably talk.”

After all of you talked and came down from the emotional roller coaster, the atmosphere was much calmer. 

“I’m not kissing any of you, just to make that clear.” Yoongi looks at the two men, scrunching his nose in disgust. 

“I wouldn’t want to kiss you anyway.” Jungkook mumbles, earning a kick against his shin from you. “Stop it, Jungkook. You’re gay as fuck and Yoongi is good looking, of course you want to kiss him. I would,” Taehyung shrugs as he grins at the eldest. 

“I’m not gay, I’m bi. There’s a difference, because I like boobies too.” Jungkook pouts, looking at you to help him, but you just laugh, shaking your head. 

“You don’t have to kiss everyone, Jungkook, nor do you have to, Yoongi. It’s fine. Even though I’ve got to tell you that Taehyung is an amazing kisser. But maybe, one day it’ll happen. I didn’t kiss Jimin and Namjoon on the same day I kissed Taehyung and Jungkook either. But we have each other, and that’s what prevails.” 

Yoongi hasn’t felt that complete in a long time, yet here he is: happy. And strangely enough, he can’t wait to see what the future will bring. 

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[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 4)

This is the fourth chapter of my “Someone you like” inspired fic. It’s also available on AO3 in case you prefer that platform. Please hit me up to talk about Plance!

Summary: In the days following their arrival on Earth, Pidge finds that conflicting feelings don't just disappear because there are more people around. On the contrary, with the approach of the final battle, they seem to get worse.

FYI, we’re still on Pidge pining hour.

18 and 16 years old

Life was not easy when you were a soldier fighting against an evil, intergalactic empire, but Pidge had found a sort of balance to it all. Now that they were back on Earth and she knew her family was relatively safe, much of the sorrow she’d carried had dissolved into hopefulness.

Much, but not all.

Pidge leaned her head against the wall, hugging the papers to her chest. Being on the Garrison made it easier for her to ignore her erratic heartbeats, because she could just avoid Lance most of the time, but it also sent her into overdrive when she accidentally met him in the hallways. She could usually depend on her mother to be there – Pidge was grounded, after all –, but there were times when not even Colleen could protect her.

She wanted to talk to Lance, of course. He was one of her best friends and no crush could ever change that, but it took a lot out of Pidge to hear him drone on about Allura and all the places he wanted to show her on Earth.

Maybe her evasiveness wasn’t the most mature of Pidge’s choices, but she was tired and lovesick and feeling neglected. She would have to be excused a little pettiness.

“Do you want to tell me why I just saw you ignore Lance?” Matt raised his brows at her, an expression that Pidge herself often mimicked and that was especially irritating to be the target of. He was standing off to the side of her station, gloves still on.

Pidge pushed away from the wall, feeling flustered. She hadn’t realized her brother had witnessed the scene.

“Did I ignore Lance?” Pidge opted to feign innocence. “I was so lost in thought I didn’t really see him there. Or you.” This last bit she said with a touch of hostility.

Matt crossed his arms and hummed, sounding disbelieving. “You always were the worst liar out of the two of us, Pidge.”

She shouldered past Matt with a glare. There was a lot of work to do until the Atlas was completed and the last thing she needed were distractions like her feelings for Lance or a fight with her brother.

“When did you land on Earth, anyway?” Pidge put the papers down on her table and moved to one of the computer screens, where she’d left a new code running. It was an improved version of her and Matt’s previous software for predicting Galra presence. “I could use your eyes on this.”

Matt stood at her back, looking over her shoulder at the lines that lit up the computer.

“This is interesting…” He squinted down at Pidge. “Don’t think for a second that a new challenge will make me forget what I just saw.”

She took advantage of Matt’s positioning to elbow him in the gut.

Truthfully, Pidge knew her brother wouldn’t tease her too much about her circumstances. Matt was caring and even protective when it came to her well-being, so he would never rat her out to Lance or any of the others, even if he disagreed with her actions.

Despite that, she struggled with being vulnerable around him.

Pidge didn’t want to think about it, but the years they’d spent apart had certainly affected their relationship. Before going to space, Matt was more than her brother, he had been her closest friend. But now she had Hunk, Lance, and even Keith and Allura. If she needed guidance, Coran and Shiro were only a call away.

She would always be close to Matt, but he was no longer the only person whose company she valued.

“We should finish this up before mom comes around,” Pidge said, trying to refocus. “She comes to collect me at the end of the day.” She rolled her eyes.

“That still going on?” Matt chuckled as he pulled a chair over to her station. He scanned the reports she had just brought in.

“I can’t even go out to eat with the team. We’ve had to meet in the cafeteria, of all places.”

“I’m just glad the cooking staff changed since I was a student.” Matt wrinkled his nose. “That was just nasty.”

“Except for the burgers.” And here Pidge smiled, suddenly reminded of all the times Hunk and Lance had dragged her to lunch and how they always ended up making a mess of their table.

“On Mondays, that’s right!” Matt glanced at her and Pidge couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes. “Until when are you grounded, anyway?”

“Let’s see, I was fifteen when I was whisked into space, so…” She pretended to do the calculations. “Until my twenty-first birthday, unless dad intervenes.”

Matt snorted. “Good luck with that. He doesn’t really have any weight with mom right now. She’s still upset about the whole being-pronounced-dead thing.”

Pidge groaned, burying her face into her hands. “I’ll be going to war in a month, but I still have no freedom here.” She raised her eyes to look at him. “Can’t you talk to mom?”

“And risk my newfound position as the favorite? You’re on your own, kiddo.” He continued to stare down at the papers for a moment, before turning to face her properly. “You know why she’s doing this, right? You spent three years MIA. We thought you were dead.” He exhaled forcefully. “I thought you were dead.”

Pidge didn’t really know how to respond. Since her arrival on Earth, she’d had versions of this conversation with several people, but her brother had always stood back and given her a little space. He probably knew better than most how overwhelming such a welcome could be. “I am sorry, Matt.”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Turnaround is fair play, I guess.”

“Stop.” Pidge put a hand on his arm. She worked her jaw, trying to figure out what to say. “I never wanted you to find out how that felt.”

Matt nodded once, swallowing hard. Pidge could tell that he was putting his emotions back in check.

“I’m proud of what you’ve done, Katie. Mom might act like you’re still a kid, but I was out there before you came along.” It reminded Pidge that, though he hadn’t been present for her battles, Matt had seen his own share of horrors. “Voltron turned the tide, in no small part because of you.”

“Thank you.” She tried to blink away the tears. Matt smiled and brought his hands up to cup her face.

“My little sister is a badass, so I don’t want to see you hiding behind corners because of some stupid boy.” When she tried to protest, he just squished her cheeks. “Who does not deserve you, by the way.”

Pidge couldn’t help but laugh. She could always count on Matt to make her smile through her tears.

“I thought you liked Lance,” she said once Matt had let go of her face. He grimaced.

“He’s eighteen and a flirt.” Her brother didn’t even try to go back to work, he merely kicked his legs up onto a workbench and crossed his arms. “I would feel better about Keith, even.”

“You say that because Shiro would be just as bad of a protective older brother as you.” She pushed at his chair, making Matt almost lose his balance.

“You would never be alone unchaperoned, it would be great,” he confirmed, still pulling himself back into position.

“You realize that I’m technically nineteen?” She aimed a sharp look at him.

“You realize you look twelve?” Matt shot back, looking unbearably satisfied with himself. This time Pidge had no mercy for him; she sent his chair rolling down the aisle and Matt with it.

“Honestly, you have nothing to worry about.” She wrapped an arm around her middle. “Lance is so enamored with Allura that I could yell in his ear that I like him and the goofball would think I meant it platonically.”

Matt wheeled himself back to her. “Then he’s a fool.”

“You’re just saying that,” Pidge scoffed. “You were just as bad as him when meeting Allura.”

“Look, Allura is beautiful, that’s true, but it doesn’t diminish your qualities.” He put a hand on her shoulder, leaning in close so that their voices didn’t echo in the empty laboratory. “You are funny and witty and smarter than anyone in this damn complex. Don’t you dare compare yourself to Allura.”

Pidge dragged her chair until she was resting against Matt’s shoulder.

“It’s sort of inevitable. She’s the one he likes and I have to accept it.” She looked at the computer, where lines of code kept appearing and disappearing. “It’s just hard to be near him. I feel like I’ll do something and everyone will… know.”

“You spent almost a year pretending to be someone else, I think your acting skills are a little better than that.”

“Didn’t you criticize my lying just a few minutes ago?” she deadpanned.

“Well…” Matt gave her a cheeky grin. “I’ve known you your entire life, so I’m a Katie Holt expert.”

“Of course,” she drawled out, rolling her eyes.

Pidge felt her brother put an arm over her shoulder, squeezing her to his side.

“You’re perfect, okay?” he murmured into her hair. “Don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise.”

She closed her eyes and let herself fall into his embrace. It was something she had missed, even now that the team was back on Earth. Everything had changed since the Kerberos mission and, while a lot of it was good, Pidge couldn’t deny that she wished Matt would stay with them more often.

“Okay.” Her voice trembled, but Matt didn’t mention it, choosing to tighten his hold on her.

“Knock, knock! Anyone in here?” As soon as the voice sounded, Pidge scrambled to hide her face. She got up and pretended to check a different monitor, turning her back to the door. She heard Lance approach their station. “Oh, hey, guys!” Then, seeming to notice the mood of the room. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, man.” Matt was the first to recover. Pidge felt him move, probably trying to keep Lance from getting any closer. “We were just discussing some Holt secret coding.” She almost snickered at this, despite the heartbeat that still hammered in her ears. It was the sort of thing that only a non-techie would believe.

“And I thought us McClains were bad with our ropa vieja recipe.” She chanced a look over her shoulder to catch Lance’s smile. He was always at his brightest when talking about his family.

“You needed something, Lance?” Matt was being a bit more brusque than normal, but his expression was thankfully still amenable. Pidge would have hit him if he just started being a jerk to Lance.

“Not really,” the other boy responded. He looked around Matt to smile at Pidge. “I was just hoping to catch up with Pidge before your mother comes around.” He shuddered. “Let me tell you, that’s a scary lady. She could almost beat mami with that I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed face.”

“You tell me?” Matt sighed. “That’s one thing I don’t look forward to when touching down at the Garrison.”

“You wanted to talk to me?” Pidge interrupted before they could keep going. Putting two of the friendliest people she knew in the same room was only a good idea if she had the patience for a long conversation. Which she didn’t.

“Ah, are you done ignoring me, Pidgeon?” Lance cocked his hip to one side, looking too sure of himself for his own good.

“I’m working, Lance, something you should be doing as well.” She pretended to fix her glasses, if only to have something to do.

The boy waved a dismissive hand at her. “I’m done for the day and I know for a fact that you’re just working on pet projects until Colleen comes to get you.” When he tried to lean down towards her, Matt moved to stand between them. Lance hesitated, before letting the strange behavior go. “Matt can keep your mom busy if she shows up, right?”

It was difficult to say no to Lance. He was jovial and charming, in particular when he wasn’t actually trying to impress anyone.

“Can you, Matt?” Pidge found herself asking. Her brother frowned at her with uncertainty.

“If that’s what you want, Pidge,” he yielded, when she didn’t back down.

“Let’s go before you get me in trouble, McClain.” Pidge gave a long-suffering sigh and moved past the two boys, who were saying their goodbyes.

Lance caught up to her at the door, opening it with an exaggerated bow.

She walked briskly down the hallway, but Lance had the advantage of his height. For every two, quick steps Pidge took, he only had to take one long stride.

“In a rush to get away?” There was laughter in his voice.

“You’ve seen how mom gets,” she replied, peaking around corners as they moved. “If she doesn’t know where I am for more than five minutes, she seems to think I’ll jump into a ship and disappear for another four years.”

“As if I had it any better.” He gestured to a hallway Pidge knew led to the analytics department. “I’m just lucky Veronica is the only one in my family with clearance to come into the Garrison.”

Pidge snorted. “I should sic my mom on you and Hunk, to make things even.”

Though she’d spent so much of their time on Earth making up excuses not to see Lance, the conversation between them flowed naturally. He had an easy-going energy that calmed Pidge’s more tense nature. While they were in the castle-ship, he had been able to soothe the worst of her worries, until Pidge could actually have fun, despite the fears that troubled her mind.

She didn’t know what would have become of her in this war, if Lance hadn’t been there.

“On the subject of your family…” Lance sent her an anxious look. “Is everything really alright with your brother?”

Pidge could tell he was actually worried, which sent a wave of affection and pain through her chest. She struggled to keep her expression blank.

“We were just talking about the war.” She allowed apprehension to seep into her tone. “I know he has a role to perform out there, but I wish he could stay longer.”

Lance twisted his mouth to the side, an unhappy expression he often adopted when trying to look empathetic. “What has Matt said about it?”

“He misses home, but he can’t really ignore what’s going on with the rebel forces.” Pidge rubbed at her temple. “If we are actually able to end the war, then things might be different, but for now…” she trailed off.

Communications from all around the universe told them Voltron wasn’t the only force preparing for battle. There were a lot of moving parts to consider, especially with the still unknown variable of whose influence had been affecting the Altean colony.

“I know what you mean. After this is all over, I think I’ll take a long vacation to just enjoy good, old Earth.”

This surprised Pidge, startling her from her previous line of thought.

“What, is the Tailor going to retire?” She knocked Lance lightly on the arm, trying for a playful mood.

“No,” he objected. He bent at the waist to look her in the eye and winked. “You know I can’t deny the rest of the universe the beauty of my presence.”

Pidge pushed his face away. It was easy to pretend to be annoyed at Lance when he insisted on acting like this. He was most dangerous when he was genuine. “Be real, man.”

“I am!” He laughed as he stood upright. “It’s just… We’ve been off-planet for so long, I kinda want some time to spend with my family, maybe travel around. I’ve only ever been to Cuba and the US, can you believe it? I’ve seen more of space than of my own planet.”

“Yeah, me too.” Pidge frowned. She hadn’t thought about the situation in these terms before. “I’ve been to Italy and England, but that’s it.”

“We should come up with a plan, get the others in on it.” Lance shot her a smile.

They had walked all the way to the MFE taxiway and Pidge focused her attention on the aircraft that Ryan Kinkade maneuvered across from them. She didn’t want to think of Lance’s warmth so close to her, nor of the future he described.

It didn’t matter how long she avoided him, Lance always found a way back into her life and into her heart. This awareness was painful, when Pidge knew he would never look at her as more than a best friend or a younger sister.

She felt something hit her cheek and looked up at the sky. Dark clouds gathered over them and soon there was another drop.

“Oh, it’s raining,” Pidge commented offhandedly. By her side, Lance let out a laugh. He sounded so joyful that she couldn’t stop herself from staring.

Lance had opened his arms and raised his face to the rain. It reminded her of something he had said months ago, about the aspects of Earth he missed while in space. She was once again struck by how attracted she was to Lance: his cheerfulness, his stupid humor, the curve of his Adam’s apple and the way his uniform clung to him in the rain.

“I really missed this!” he exclaimed mid-laugh.

Pidge stood still, admiring his delight even as her hands closed to fists at her sides. “Yeah,” she breathed out, “me too.”

--

After they left the mall, there was still some time for Allura to kill before her date and it was decided that she, Romelle and Pidge would stop to grab something to eat. Rizavi and Ina had previous plans, but they encouraged the girls to have some fun together, leaving unsaid that it might be their last chance to do so.

“I cannot emphasize how thankful I am, Pidge.” Allura reached across the table to grab her hand. She and Romelle had insisted on going into a coffeeshop that had recently reopened; the design was minimalist but cozy, a step-up from anything else they’d seen outside downtown.

“And I’ve said it a hundred times already, princess, I don’t mind.” Pidge let her hand go slack in Allura’s, trying not to snap at her friend. While she appreciated the gratitude, the constant touching was starting to grate on her nerves.

“You do mind,” Allura contested, with the kind of serious but diplomatic tone she used when arguing with Garrison officers. “I could see your hesitance when the vendor first offered the trade. None would have denied your right to keep the item.”

Allura pulled back into herself as she spoke. It was strange to see her uncomfortable, since the princess usually kept either a tranquil or a powerful front in the face of adversity. Free from her touch, Pidge suddenly felt bad for not responding more fervently to Allura’s efforts towards a closer bond. In the castle-ship, she had pretended they were simply too different and, on Earth, too busy.

The truth was much less dignified: Allura had seemed like an unapproachable ideal, made solid only to remind Pidge of all that she could not be. She was prim and beautiful and feminine. Once upon a time, before the complexities of her multiple identities, Katie had aspired to this image, to some degree.

“You’re more important to me than a video game.” Pidge tried to be casual with the way she said this, but the knowing glint that shone in Allura’s eyes told her it was unsuccessful. “I’ll have plenty of time to find it again after the war is over.”

“Perhaps you could teach me these games once we are back.” Allura smiled at her, the picture of earnestness. “I was always curious about the time you and the other paladins dedicated to them.”

“It can be pretty frustrating,” Pidge warned, thinking of the hours she’d wasted with Hunk and Lance just to get past some particularly difficult levels.

“I have noticed that you scream a lot while playing,” the other commented thoughtfully, “but that appears to be part of the bonding experience.”

“You can say that again.” She scoffed.

“Why would I say it again?” Allura tilted her head to the side in confusion and Pidge had to disguise her laughter.

“I’m just agreeing with you.” She sometimes forgot that the Alteans weren’t completely used to Earth culture. In the Castle of Lions, the paladins were the ones to adhere to new patterns. Now, Allura and Coran had to slowly learn their customs, like with this date.

“I suppose we did have something similar in Altea,” Allura mused. “Activities like the maze we had in the Castle were quite popular among the youth.” She leaned over the table to speak in a lower voice. “The element of danger was a point of interest, though I couldn’t quite comprehend why.”

“That’s a lie and you know it!” Pidge pointed accusingly at Allura. “You’re almost as bad as Keith with throwing yourself into dangerous situations.”

“Am not!” It was always funny to rile her up like this. Allura was so calm and collected that getting her to sound immature was a reward in itself. The other shook her head and settled back into her seat, straightening her posture. “Oh, I know what you are doing.”

Pidge continued to grin at her. “What am I doing?”

The princess narrowed her eyes at Pidge, but her mouth struggled with a smile. “You and Lance have such a way of getting me to lose my cool.” She tapped a rhythm on the table. “I must admit it is endearing.”

There it was again, the shock of warmth and sadness that had troubled Pidge the entire day. She loved Allura and was even happy for her, but her heart was conflicted by the news of her new-found interest in Lance.

It just seemed so sudden, Pidge hadn’t had the opportunity to prepare herself. Or maybe those two had grown closer in the Garrison, while she tried her best not to see them, and this was simply the outcome of her bad choices.

Pidge was saved from responding by the arrival of Romelle, her arms full of napkins.

“What a bargain!” She proclaimed as the packages fell from her hands and bounced across the tabletop. “They have agreed to serve us their best delicacies in trade of Pidge’s autographs, a video of her endorsement and an appearance once every phoeb for the next five moons!” The blonde beamed down at them. “On that regard, what is an endorsement?”

Allura and Pidge shared a dismayed look over the piles of napkins.

“Surely they do not expect Pidge to autograph all of these.” Allura gave Romelle an hesitant smile, as if her politeness could change the answer they all knew was coming.

Romelle blinked at them. “The cook assured me it was an amazing deal.”

Pidge pinched the bridge of her nose, calling on any patience she could muster. She had nothing against Romelle and the Altean was nice and cheerful most of the time, but her naivete when dealing with human conventions never failed to amaze.

“Oh dear,” Allura fretted. “I should go deal with that.”

“Think you can convince them to give us food without getting me stuck here for the near future?” Pidge teased, to disguise her vexation.

Her friend slid off the booth. “I have reasoned with beings from several galaxies, I cannot fathom a Terran entrepreneur will be more stubborn than certain members of the coalition.” Allura straightened her spine and clasped her hands over her stomach, looking every bit the princess she was. The determination in her expression made Pidge smile.

“I can autograph one pile of napkins and I agree to do a video endorsement, but I’m not changing back into costume.” She turned to look at Romelle, who seemed to be accompanying the conversation with good-humored confusion. There was something almost sly about the look in her eyes. “I’m going into space tomorrow, how was I supposed to come back? Besides, I’m grounded. If mom found out we were finished shopping, she’d already be here to drag me home.”

“I might have been swayed by the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen,” the other admitted in a manner that could pass for sheepish. She eyed the napkins, before picking up a package. “I suppose these are a little excessive.”

Allura sighed. “I will be right back.”

They watched the princess move towards the front of the coffeeshop, where the human owner was talking to another set of customers. Romelle sat down where Allura had previously been.

“Alone at last.” She clapped her hands together and faced Pidge with a seriousness that contrasted with her usual vibrancy.

Pidge narrowed her eyes at Romelle. “I knew you were plotting something.”

The blonde shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you privately and I didn’t think we would get the chance in the Garrison.” She glanced back to where Allura stood waiting for the other customers to leave. “The owner was a darling, but he was a tremendous flirt, so Allura won’t be here any time soon.”

“Do I even have to sign anything?” Pidge rested her chin on her hand.

“He wants a picture with you and the princess and an autograph to hang on the wall, but that’s it.” Romelle winked at her.

“So what do you want?” Pidge tapped a finger against her cheek. She didn’t mean to sound so suspicious, but the girl’s orchestrations made the situation feel a little like a trap.

“To thank you.” The emotion in her voice sounded almost like pity. “For your sacrifice today.”

Pidge groaned. “I already told Allura that the video game wasn’t that much of a loss.”

“I am not talking about the game.” There was a moment of silence, during which Pidge kept very still. “I saw your reaction when we told you about the date. It was only then that I realized: you like pointy chin.”

“What makes you think that?” She raised a brow at Romelle, doing her best to appear natural.

“It makes sense.” Romelle looked up at the sparse decorations that adorned the coffeeshop, her expression pensive. “He’s the one you spend the most time with, after Hunk. I didn’t think you were interested in romance, given your almost complete lack of sentimentality,” and here she made a face at Pidge, “but I suppose we’re all dealing with high emotions right now.”

Pidge didn’t know how to reply. So far, Matt was the only one who had realized her crush on Lance and he’d been thankfully quiet since. The whole day left her feeling off-center, especially with what Romelle now wanted her to confess. Pidge didn’t want to talk about her feelings. She wanted to take her bayard and carve the jealousy and affection and misery right out of her chest.

Romelle took her silence as a sign to go on. “Look, I know we are not close, but you can talk to me.” The expression on her face was so eager that Pidge didn’t immediately protest. “You are… not kind. Not always, at least, but genuine.” Romelle hurried through her words. “Which is more than can be said about others I’ve met since arriving on Earth. And I can see how much you care for Allura, though you hide it beneath your sarcasm and reluctance.”

“Has anyone on Earth given you trouble?” Pidge chose to focus on the subject that was easier to approach. Romelle clearly knew what she was doing, because the blonde gave her a very annoyed look. “The team and I have tried to shield you from the politics of having non-humans around, but it’s not always possible.”

“I grew up worshipping a man who turned out to be harvesting quintessence from the bodies of my family and friends,” Romelle stated coolly. “I can handle the Terrans.”

“Well, this thing has to go both ways.” Pidge leaned back against the booth to gesture forcefully in the other’s direction. “If you want me to talk to you, then you need to talk to me.”

Romelle seemed to consider this, her eyes narrowed. “Fair enough.” She glanced quickly over her shoulder, then leaned forward. “I know we both want what’s best for Allura, but I hope you will be happy, too.”

Her eagerness brought a small smile to Pidge’s lips, even as her chest constricted with the acknowledgement of her feelings.

There were many things in the universe that she valued more than romance: her family, her intellect and ability to continue learning, and now her friends. Pidge would do anything to keep them safe and content, regardless of how she felt about Lance. She would eventually get over him, of this Pidge was sure.

She loved Lance, but she loved herself more.

“I don’t need a boy to be happy, Romelle. I just want this war to be over.”

The blonde nodded at her response. “You have already done so much for me by going against Lotor.” She sighed. “You will always have my loyalty for that.”

Pidge took a moment to study her. Romelle could be energetic and joyful, but she had also suffered more loss than Pidge could really comprehend. She had never believed Matt and her father were dead, even on the early days of the Garrison’s declaration. Hope had moved her forward, but Romelle hadn’t had that privilege.

“Have I ever told you how I became a paladin?” she asked, much to Romelle’s surprise.

“I don’t believe so, no.” The other furrowed her brows in puzzlement. “Are you changing the subject again?”

“I was just thinking that we have more in common than you know.” Pidge lowered her eyes to the tabletop, tracing a series of scratches with the tip of her fingers. “You have met my brother Matt, haven’t you?”

Allura approached as she said this, a tray of food balanced on her hand. “Oh, has Romelle heard of your search for Matt?”

Pidge stood up to help Allura place the coffee without spilling it and grinned at her friend’s enthusiasm. “I was just about to tell her.”

The princess sat down next to Romelle and put her hands to her chest in a show of sympathy. “It is a lovely story, please go on.”

With a laugh, she did.

[shirtlesssammy]

6x10: Caged Heat

Then:

Meet Crowley, King of Hell

Now:

Crowley is busy torturing...himself? Nope, it’s an Alpha Shifter. He informs Crowley that when he dies, he goes to Purgatory. Crowley wants more information. 

Crowley’s holding a bunch of baby shifters for leverage on information about Purgatory’s location. The shifter won’t budge so Crowley chops his head off. 

At night, the Winchesters arrive at a factory to drop off one rugaru to a couple of demons. Dean asks about Crowley but they’re not on the Need to Know list. 

Dean and Sam head back to their hide-a-way home. Dean is done dealing with demons, but Sam points out they don’t have any other plan. Dean wonders if Sam wants his soul back. Sam points out that he’s working for Crowley. Dean walks off to get some booze and when he turns to talk to Sam some more, Sam’s gone. He pulls his gun and wanders to a side room, where he finds Sam passed out on the floor. A demon comes behind Dean and knocks him out too. 

Cut to the boys tied up and Meg walking into the room. 

She’s looking for Crowley. She holds a knife to Dean’s neck for information when Sam laughs (much to Dean’s stress) and realizes that she can’t kill them. She’s running from Crowley. Sam tells her that they’ll work with her to find Crowley but they want the first stab at him before she finishes him off. 

Once free, Dean is angry and asks Sam what the heck he’s doing making a deal with the demon that killed Ellen and Jo. Sam says they need her. Ah, soulless Sam is always the pragmatist. Sam assures Dean that they will kill Meg and her minions the first chance they get-- they’re bringing insurance. 

Later, Sam is outside, praying to Castiel. Cas doesn’t appear. He then starts describing the plot to Raiders. That Biblical artifact thirsty boy is there in a heartbeat. Sam wants Cas’s help but Cas is in the middle of things upstairs. Sam threatens to kill Cas if he doesn’t help them. 

Ahem, let’s all pause at Cas’s retort and bask in the pure BAMF energy.

“Will you...boy?”

Whew. 

Anywho. 

Sam does get Cas to come back to their place.

Dean is surprised (ok, but like dude, if you really wanted him to show, why didn’t you pray? We’ve already seen him show when you pray to him. You don’t have a profound bond for nothing.)

Cas performs a locating spell, but it doesn’t work. They head to the Campbell bunker of knowledge and Samuel finds them. Dean demands to know where Crowley is. Samuel isn’t talking. Dean then asks Cas to leave (which kinda blows my season 15 brain ---they have so much more to go through to be a real family.) Dean asks Samuel what Crowley has on him. He pulls out a picture of Mary and tells them that Crowley is going to bring her back if he helps him. Dean tells him that it’s a path he doesn’t want to go down --this is how the bad guy gets them every time….AGGHh, Chuck!!! Dean also uses the word Achilles heal again (ahem.) Also, they will find another way. Samuel kicks them out.

Later, the brothers are busy working on research while Cas indulges in his favorite pastime: watching porn TV. 

He’s very confused. Dude’s been watching humanity for eons but he’s clueless AF. Dean is appalled that he’s watching porn without him in front of them. 

Samuel arrives and is disturbed by their group activities. He has the location where they drop the monsters they’ve been collecting. The monsters never leave. 

Team Free Will meet up with Meg and her gang.

Meg hopelessly flirts with Cas. Then they get down to the business of tracking Crowley. Sam demands her knife and then proceeds to kill one of her demon buddies. He was justified though and they all know it. 

Sam loads up on weaponry, while Dean spends some quality time (awkward silences) with Cas. Cas is glum. He expresses doubt about their plan to get Sam’s soul back. Cas describes the likely situation in the cage: Lucifer and Michael have been using Sam’s soul as a toy. 

Cas projects a future of madness and trauma on an ensouled Sam. Dean chooses to glibly ignore this because he has utter faith that with Cas’s help, they can do anything. (Crying noise) In the shadows, Sam overhears everything. 

Outside Crowley’s compound, the team starts their assault. The side door is unlocked, making it laughably easy to get in. The Winchesters smell a trap! The interior is lined with cells, many of them occupied by monsters - dead or alive. A djinn from an earlier episode pleads for help. Crowley’s got some kinda reach, alright!

In the distant hallways, a hellhound snarls. The camera zooms in on poor, traumatized Dean.

Everybody runs for it, and a demon falls to the hound. Meg is 100% done with the high death rate of demons in the Winchesters’ company and tries to smoke out. She opens her mouth to no avail - Crowley’s warded the place in such a way that it keeps demons firmly attached to their meatsuits. She’s in this for the (hopefully) long haul. Sam hands her Ruby’s knife so she can kill hellhounds, but Meg turns it down. The Winchesters will need that to kill Crowley. She’s got another plan. 

But first, uh, she has ANOTHER another plan?

Meg kisses Cas, her hands sliding under his trench coat in a way that we have definitely not ever pictured doing in any way. Nope. 

He spins her around and pins Meg to the wall in a way that we have definitely not ever pictured Cas doing in any way. Nope.

“I learned it from the pizza man,” Cas tells a stunned Meg. 

Meg shakes it off and hoists Cas’s blade, purloined from his coat. (What did she do, snake her arm down his sleeve? Lol) She’ll fight off the hounds with that instead. She slashes at the hound while the others move on. 

A bright light flashes suddenly, and Cas disappears just as Samuel pulls his hand away from an angel banishing sigil. Samuel, you giant bag of dicks! He betrayed the Winchesters to resurrect Mary. Crowley and his demons swan in and gain control of Sam and Dean. 

The Winchesters are tossed into cells. Meg, injured but victorious after her fight with the hounds, gets attacked by a demon possessing Christian Campbell. 

Samuel stops by Dean’s cell to explain himself, and Dean bitterly reprimands him for his betrayal. Samuel insists that Mary’s his blood, and Dean and Sam aren’t close enough to count. “What exactly are you supposed to be to me?” Samuel asks, further cementing my hatred of his character. 

Dean looks up and his MASK OF REVENGE is clearly pulled over his face. “I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the guy you never wanna see again.” CHILLS. He promises revenge on Samuel. 

Samuel walks away from his little confessional moment, and two demons arrive to drag Dean away. 

Meg, meanwhile, has been stripped of her clothing for sOMe ReaSoN. The only things covering her up are the warded bands pinning her to a torture table. I. Just. Why? Why, show? (Excuse me while I glare directly at Robert Singer from across many, many miles.) To Meg’s credit, she looks like she’s ready to do some cool murder (I’ll help). Demon!Christian starts to torture her. 

Sam chews a hole in his own arm while he waits in his cell, which is not disturbing AT ALL. DAMN, soulless Sam! Dean arrives in Crowley’s interrogation room, and it’s full of bloody bays and intestines. SO unsanitary. The demons chuck two monsters in with him. It’s to be a cage match, I see! 

When demons arrive to grab Sam, they find that they’re trapped in his cell. Sam grins with a bloody mouth at the demon trap he scrawled on the ceiling with his own blood. I mean…GROSS but mad props all the same. 

Meg continues to get tortured when Dean creeps up and kills Demon!Christian. He frees Meg and they start operation, GET CROWLEY. Sam and Dean lure Crowley in with a fire alarm and trap him in a demon trap. (This one’s spray painted, thank goodness.) 

Sam demands his soul back from Crowley, but ye olde King of Hell refuses. He can’t get into the cage to rescue Sam’s soul. Crowley questions WHY Sam would want his soul back, after all his soft marshmallowy center is surely enduring in the pit. Dean hands Ruby’s knife to Meg and she heads into the demon trap to kill Crowley. 

Crowley proves why he’s the reigning King (or at least how he’s stayed alive for so long) by tackling Meg and flinging the demon knife up into the ceiling to split apart the devil’s trap. Things are looking bad for our heroes when Cas flaps in. “Castiel,” Crowley smiles. “Haven’t seen you all season.” Cas presents a bag of bones and informs the room that he’s found Crowley’s skeleton. 

Crowley bows to the threat and lets the Winchesters go. When he admits that he really, really can’t save Sam’s soul, Cas burns the bones. It’s…DRAMATIC.

Outside, Cas confesses that the battle in Heaven is going poorly but that there’s nothing the Winchesters can do to help.

“I wish circumstances were different. Much of the time I would rather be here,” Cas confesses. CAS! Dean forgives him and Sam gives Cas one more mission before he flaps off to Heaven: destroy the monsters locked up in Crowley’s prison. Cas flaps off (and into my spin-off show, SAD ANGEL ASSASSIN). Dean promises Sam that they’ll figure out another way to get his soul, but Sam argues against any plans at restoration. He’d rather be functioning and soulless, thank you very much. Sam walks away, leaving Dean shouting fruitlessly after him.

I Learned it from the Quote-za Man:

Remember when we used to gank demons?

Okay, officially over the foreplay. Satisfy me, or I please myself

Hugs and puppies all around

I can’t believe you fell for that. That was the plot of Raiders, idiot

If the pizza man truly loves this babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear? 

This what you boys do, sit around watching pornos with angels?

I learned that from the pizza man

I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the guy you never wanna see again

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

April Weather (13)

@adrinetteapril 2018, Day 13: Group Project

Days: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | art | 6 | 7 | 8 | art 1 | art 2 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | art | 19 | art | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | art | 29 | 30 |

AO3 / fanfiction

I’m sorry. I really am.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Adrien panted, running into schoolyard.  He was so, so late to their group project meeting. Everyone else was probably already in class and working.

‘What am I, an alarm clock?’ his pocket rebuked. ‘You should have slept like a normal person, instead of panicking over almost kissing your girlfriend half of the night.’

‘Oh yeah?’ the boy slowed down a bit. ‘Well, she is not my girlfriend!’

‘Ouch, you got me,’ the pocket snickered. ‘Besides, she likes you, you like her. As far as I’m concerned this is a mere formality.’

Adrien stopped dead in his tracks two steps from the class door.

‘You really think she likes me?’

Plagg stuck his head out of Adrien’s shirt. ‘Oh, for the love of brie! Are you seriously asking me that after those three weeks?’

Adrien was halfway to a dopey smile when a thought hit him with the force of a freight train. All blood drained from his face.

‘But… I… Ladybug...?’ he mumbled.

‘Ladybug what?’ Plagg already hid back between the fabrics.

The boy desperately clutched at his hair. ‘Ooooooh, I am the worst, despicable, awful person, Plagg!’ he moaned.

‘You are?’

‘I am,’ Adrien confirmed solemnly. ‘I love Ladybug, but…’ his voice dropped to mortified whisper, ‘I also want Marinette.’

Plagg opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Adrien was grabbed by the collar and pulled into the classroom.

He blinked at the brown eyes hidden behind glasses, that were definitely too close to his face for comfort.

‘Tell me what you know!’ Alya growled at him.

‘Wha-?’ he squeaked.

‘Babe, let him go,’ that was Nino’s voice somewhere behind the bespectacled fury. ‘He just overslept.’

Adrien was released from the clutches of the crazed Ladyblogger, but she still scowled at him. ‘You didn’t see the akuma?’

His eyes widened in panic. ‘There’s an akuma?’

‘Was,’ the girl replied gravely. ‘And I got stuck in here with Monsieur Overprotective Boyfriend,’ she shot Nino a murderous glare.

‘You wouldn’t have gotten there on time anyway,’ the boy countered. ‘The notice came just before it was all over.’

‘So it’s already over?’ Adrien wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved that it was, or ashamed that he slept through it.

‘Yup, it was a quick one, but in another part of the city,’ Nino supplied. ‘Otherwise you’d have been awoken by the noise. It was something really loud and alarm clock themed.’

Adrien winced, ignoring the quiet chuckling in his pocket. He cast a quick look over the classroom. Most of his classmates were already there, just not the one he wanted to see the most. ‘Marinette’s not here yet?’

Panic reared her ugly head again. Could Marinette get caught up in the attack? Was she all right?

Alya snorted inelegantly. ‘Relax, sunshine. That girl oversleeps like a pro on a regular day. After last night I don’t expect her here for another half an hour.’

‘Which is actually very convenient,’ Nino interjected lowering his voice to a whisper, ‘because before she joins us I think we need to have-’

‘A war council!’ Alya growled eyeing Chloé.

Now Adrien noticed what he missed earlier - that most of people in class were reading newspapers and simultaneously scrolling through their phones or tablets, which in itself was a rare occurrence. Seeing his eyes on her, Chloé raised hers with a content smile. He glanced at the title and then skipped to a few others that he could see.

Suddenly he was out of air, and his knees buckled in warning. The words seemed to scream at him from various headlines in shades of red, black and yellow with a serious overuse of poor old exclamation mark.

LEAKED PICTURES!!!

SCANDALOUS!!!

AGRESTE!!!!!

HALF-NAKED!!!!!!!!!!

GIRLFRIEND!!!

He came closer to Kim, who was browsing something on his tablet. It was a collection of grainy photos, undoubtedly from last night at the pool, posted on instagram or some other platform. Poor in quality due to bad lighting, clearly taken with phone cameras from some distance. But all this wasn’t important. What was important was that on each of them behind the people “posing” for the picture, there was always him and Marinette in the background, only in their swimwear, sharing moments that he hoped would never be anyone’s business.

They almost kissed at that party, and the few shots of him leaning in were dubbed “A STEAMY MAKE-OUT SESSION!”

He hugged her after the akuma attack, and it was more than enough for “A MODEL SNOG!”

A few of their innocent touches earned a “FEEL ME UP AGRESTE!”

And so on, and so on.

‘W-what is that?’ he asked, his voice trembling.

‘This?’ Chloé waved her own tablet in front of him as if he could somehow miss it. ‘You like our little group project?’

‘Group project?’ Adrien echoed, totally at a loss.

‘Just a few people from the party who agree with me that Marinette doesn’t deserve you.’

‘You did that?’ he couldn’t believe his ears.

‘Someone had to,’ the girl shrugged. ‘Maybe this will open your eyes. This is not the girl for you, Adrikins.’

‘You deliberately gave those pictures to the gossip rags together with my name?’

‘Ah, you’ll thank me later,’ Chloé smiled sweetly, ‘You know it doesn’t really matter what they say about you as long as they spell your name right. And I’ve made sure they did.’

Adrien had no idea what he would have done if it wasn’t for Nino’s hand on his shoulder and the pats of tiny paws on his chest, but he had the word cataclysm at the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes to reign the tornado of thoughts currently storming through his head. He wouldn’t even know where to begin talking so he took a deep breath and turned around.

‘Adrien?’ Nino asked but he just waved a hand.

‘I need to get out. Now,’ he said quietly, not sure how much longer he would be able to keep the lid on his rage and despair.

His friend nodded. ‘If you need me-’

‘Not now. Thank you,’ Adrien replied and left.

He ran down to the bank hoping for a place to calm down his galloping thoughts and his racing heart. Feeling utterly helpless and weak he dropped onto a bench only to notice a large advertising screen right in front of him, on the other side of the river. It had an ad from one of the tabloids that published the article about him on a loop.

Adrien groaned and hid his head in his hands. He missed the good times when he had only his smiley face plastered everywhere next to a perfume bottle. What mess had he gotten Marinette into? How would he look into her eyes now? And her parents? Oh god, his father? How had this happened?

‘Hey, it’s Adrien, right?’ he heard a female voice next to him.

‘I know, you’ve seen my name right there,’ he growled still hiding behind his hands, ‘but please, just leave me alone.’

‘You look like you need company,’ the voice didn’t give up.

‘I said, please,’ he repeated raising his head, ‘leave me alo-’

Ladybug.

She was standing in front of him. A compassionate smile adorned her lovely face. She frowned when she saw his. In any other circumstances he would thank the heavens for her presence but not now. Not when he was a mess, unable to sort out his own feelings towards two different girls. When he had caused chaos beyond words to one of them jeopardizing not only a potential relationship but also the existing friendship. When he was lost and didn’t know what to do.

Ladybug sat on the other end of the bench. He honestly didn’t have enough strength to say she wasn’t helping. She only made him more confused, just by sitting there. By reminding him of his failure to stay faithful to her. Now he could wallow in even more regrets. Thanks, partner.

‘So she’s more than your friend after all,’ the heroine whispered, taking in the screen.

If this was her way of comforting him, he thought bitterly, then he finally found the first thing she sucked at.

‘Please, just-’

She scooted a bit closer. ‘Do those pictures bother you more than last time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it was my stupid idea and I dragged her into it,’ he snapped. ‘She must hate me now.’

Oh, god. He thought about Marinette facing Chloé after being shown those pictures and the headlines. He hoped Alya and Nino would be there for her. He couldn’t. Not right now. He wasn’t sure what he was capable of doing with that anger and shame burning inside of him.

Ladybug bit her lip. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,’ she murmured after a while.

‘I’m sure she does,’ he snorted, throwing all pretense to the wind. He was too deep in his sinkhole to care what she thought of him at this moment.

‘Are you such a bad boyfriend that your girlfriend hates you?’

It must have been her attempt at lightening the mood, but it still sucked.

‘I am,’ he groaned, pressing his hands to his face again. ‘She’s just a friend, we were faking it,’ he droned in exasperation. Why wouldn’t she just leave him alone?

‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Then you were... very convincing.’

Adrien felt the tears coming up to his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘It was all a ruse,’ he started, ‘but now I-

‘So you didn’t lie to me yesterday,’ she hummed, as if detached from this forced conversation. ‘When everyone else was told a lie.’

‘I didn’t want to lie to you,’ he admitted, not sure where all this was coming from. ‘Ladybug, I-’

‘I need to go,’ she sprang to her feet, suddenly going ash-pale. She turned away from him. ‘Heroes business. I’m sure I’ll see you around,’ she added sourly, throwing her yoyo and disappearing in the distance.

Yeah, Adrien thought about the ads again, that was a given.

He sat by the bank for some time, to finally collect his belongings and head back to the street. He texted his bodyguard to pick him up. Facing anyone would be too much. Facing Marinette would be unbearable. Maybe that made him a coward, she definitely didn’t deserve any of this. But he felt he needed to sort out his feelings first, offer her solutions not more problems or indecision. He needed to gather his thoughts, maybe talk to his father. Right now, he was a disaster on two legs.

He stood on the pavement waiting for his ride when he felt someone tapping him over the shoulder.

‘Adrien?’ he heard Marinette’s small voice.

He turned around. She not only looked sadder but also smaller. Her pale face was twisted in a foul smile and she was avoiding his gaze. He didn’t need to ask if she knew what happened.

Then her eyes finally snapped to his and he jolted under the seriousness and determination he saw there.

‘We need to talk,’ she said.

[mel-the-fangirl]

Starry Starry Night

Sam Holland x Reader

Words: 2,016

Requested by: anonymous

“Hello hello! Could I have a Sam Holland fic where they have been best friends all their life and they are stargazing outside on a blanket and they are talking about how pretty the sky is when Sam accidentally blurts out “not as pretty as you” and the reader is like “what did you say?” And he gets all adorable awkward and nervous? And the rest is just super fluffy!! And they kiss and he asks her to be his girlfriend? Thank you in advance! Xxoo”

I’m back from the dead! I really enjoyed writing this one so I hope you enjoy it as well. Also, I’m really sorry requests are taking so fucking long, college is kicking my ass rn :( As you guys can see, I’m putting together a permanent masterlist for everything I write so if you’d like to be included, please shoot me a message! REQUESTS ARE STILL CLOSED I’M VERY SORRY!

permanent taglist: @theholyholland, @optimisticbee, @johnsonxstilinski, @lyssamorgan, @osterfield-holland, @flowergirlbarneswriting

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“I really don’t get the fascination, Y/N.” Sam told you, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling. He was lying on your bed, taking up the majority of the space while you were left to sit on the floor with your back against the footboard.

It wasn’t very gentlemanly but Sam didn’t have to be gentlemanly around you, you’ve known each other forever.

“Sam, we’ve been over this.” you sighed

Over the course of the past few weeks, you’ve been taking him camping every other night in hopes that he’d finally learn to appreciate the night sky as you did. But… Well, let’s just say you had your work cut out for you.

The shaggy haired boy propped himself up on his elbows and peered down at you. “I don’t know what you mean.” he feigned innocence, widening his green eyes

“Mhm, maybe that’s because every time I try to explain things or even just get you to look, you fall asleep. Literally.”

That’s what happened the other day. Just as you were about to delve deeper into the history of the stars, you’d heard light snoring next to you. Sam had fallen asleep earlier while you were pointing out each constellation you knew (in your defense, you didn’t even know that many).

He chuckled and shook his head, a gorgeous smile gracing his face. “Now I definitely don’t know what you’re talking about, Starchild.”

Starchild, his old nickname for you. You hadn’t heard it in a while. Ever since you were a kid, you already had a love affair with the stars. Your parents would have to drag you back inside your house every night since you never wanted to leave your backyard once the sun set.

Perhaps it was the abstract quality of the sky that drew you to it, how it was nothing and everything at the same time, how when you looked up at it at night, you felt everything melt away. It made you feel small, like all your problems were insignificant in the larger scheme of things.

The feeling was holistic in a sense and you really, really wanted Sam to experience it with you.

A new wave of determination crashed over you. You stood up and placed your hands on your hips, your eyes staring into his intensely. Sam squirmed under your gaze.

“I don’t like this look, Y/N. What are you planning?”

“We’re going to sleep in the backyard.” you declared with finality

“Aw, but Y/N..” he began to whine. You shot him a death glare and he immediately pouted.

“Fine.” he grumbled, turning his back on you. Sam snuggled his face against your fresh sheets and closed his eyes.

You watched by your window in awe as the sky began to minutely change colours. Sunset was fast approaching and Sam was still snoring away on your bed. You walked over to your closet and brought out an old blanket.

Sam looked so peaceful as he slept, his soft hair draped across his forehead, and his eyelashes fanned delicately over his cheeks. He looked like a bona fide angel, too bad it was time to wake the angel up. Standing over him with your arms out in front of you, you dropped the rather thick blanket over his head.

He jerked awake, his long legs kicking at the air. You couldn’t help but snicker at him. Sam yanked the blanket off his face and glared at you, sleep still clouding in his eyes.

“What was that for?”

“It’s sunset, almost time to go outside. You’re lucky I even let you sleep.” you hip checked him playfully as you passed. He stood there, still half asleep, wondering why in the hell couldn’t you just let him go back to bed.

“Let’s go!” you dragged him out of your bedroom and out the backdoor

Any minute now, the sun would begin to set and the night sky would descend. You hastily told Sam to lay the blanket out.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, Y/N. Seriously.” he muttered, smoothing the blanket out against the grass

“I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want you to miss it.” you said as you lay down

The ardent, sincere, and almost panicked tone in your voice made Sam shake his head with the tiniest of smiles on his face. You were really so eager to share this with him, maybe he should’ve been more enthusiastic about it.

“Sam! Come on and lie down! What are you staring at?”

Oh crap. Was he staring at you the whole time?

He tried to brush it off with a nervous chuckle as he lay down next to you. The sky was orange. Just as it always was at this time of day, Sam frowned at it, what was the big deal? He tried to be a little more supportive though.

“Wow. So… Nice.” Sam commented in a flat tone. You let out a laugh and smacked his chest, he caught your hand and held it there. You could feel the steady beating of his heart underneath your intertwined fingers.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Sam.” you told him

Lucky for you, you didn't have to do any more talking. Sunset was beginning.

The tangerine sky was streaked with scarlets, sparkling amethysts, and pomegranate pinks, all converging together seamlessly to create the stunning view. It was breathtaking and it was unlike all the other sunsets you’ve seen before, every sunset was different, you’ve noticed.

You turned your head to gauge Sam’s reaction. Much to your dissatisfaction, his eyebrows were furrowed together. You decided to keep quiet though, so the two of you watched in silence as the sunset darkened into an obsidian expanse.

“You didn't like it?” the disappointment in your voice was evident, you weren’t trying to hide it. How on earth couldn't he have enjoyed, or at least fucking appreciated that?

Sam looked at you, his eyebrows furrowing even deeper but he just squeezed your hand and turned his gaze back to the now star-speckled sky before him. With a huff, you did the same.

Unbelievable!

What an uncultured, unappreciative, ignorant little-

“That was brilliant.”

-What now?

“Y-Yeah? I mean, I thought you didn’t like it because you looked a little upset.”

“It was brilliant. I’m sorry I never caught on all the other times, Y/N.” Sam apologised, running his thumb along the back of your hand, the action made goosebumps break through your arms.

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. You’re here now. And uh, let’s just focus on the stars, can we?”

It was such a beautiful night, you weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you or if it was because Sam was finally awake to see them, but it seemed like the stars were shining brighter than you’d ever seen them before. They were twinkling and glistening like miniscule precious diamonds laid upon luxurious black velvet.

“God,” you sighed, letting the calm wash over you. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.” Sam said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you pulled your hand from his and immediately sat up, a puzzled smirk on your lips

Sam looked at you, confused. What were you going on about? He didn’t say anything… Oh. OH CRAP. He shot up as well, hands up defensively.

“Y/N, wait. I didn’t mean-”

“Not as beautiful as you, you said.” the smirk on your face stretched into a full blown grin

Oh fuck.

His hands were getting sweaty, really sweaty. The perplexed look you were giving wasn’t helping at all. Sweat was legitimately beginning to collect on his forehead, he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“Did it just get hotter out here?” he chuckled like an absolute dork

“It didn’t.” you replied, raising an eyebrow at him

“Look, Y/N..” he began, hoping he would make it up as he went along. But how the hell was he supposed to? Was he just supposed to casually tell you that he’s been in love with you for the longest time? Or that being with you was the best part of his day?

“Y/N, look..” Sam was just.. spiralling downward. He totally fucked up but he had to own up to it, you heard what he said. There was no coming back.

“Y/N..” he attempted again, wringing his hands together. He was moving heaven, earth, and all the other fucking planets just to come up with the appropriate thing to say when he’s just made an ass of himself.

“Yes, Sam?” your tone was sickly sweet, clearly teasing him. It made him groan, but then he began to laugh, scrunching his eyes together as he shook his head, you laughed along with him.

“Damn it, Y/N.” Sam scratched the back of his neck. His nervousness definitely decreased but it was still there, since he was sure you wouldn’t let this one slide.

And sure enough, you were looking at him expectantly when he turned to face you. Sam dropped his gaze to the old blanket you two were sitting on, he ran a hand over the soft material and took in a lungful of the dewy night air.

“Well.. What can I say really, Y/N? I think you’re beautiful. Always have.” he mumbled, his entire face had gone beet red. It was adorable.

His admission left you pleasantly surprised, very pleasantly surprised. You felt like he had more to say but you didn’t want to jinx it, nor did you want to make assumptions, you could be wrong.

“Why, thank you, Sam. I think you’re beautiful too.” you replied with a cheeky grin

You leaned over to give him a kiss on his cheek, but he turned his head and cupped your cheeks in between his warm hands. Your faces were mere inches apart.

Oh, he was so beautiful. Sam’s eyes were gloriously green, you envied them and loved them at the same time, his jaw was strong and defined, his lips were perfectly shaped and you knew they would be soft. His cheeks were dusted with freckles, maybe that was one reason you loved Sam the way you did, he was star-kissed.

“You have galaxies on your cheeks.” you whispered to him affectionately

The tender sentiment mingled with your sweet breath and hit Sam’s senses, he pressed his lips to yours without any hesitation, all of his prior worry crumbled away to the addicting feeling of your soft lips against his.

And so you two kissed for the first time, underneath the majestic canopy of the starry night. The stars appeared to burn brighter all around you, their light intensifying in sync with your movements. Sam pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours as you two struggled to catch your breath.

"Will you be my shooting star?" he asked you, pressing a featherlight kiss on your cheek

"You want me to be a flaming meteoroid falling into the Earth's atmosphere?"

"No. No. I meant that in the sense that you're very rare and special."

"But they aren't rare nor are they special, Sam."

"Oh, for the love of God, Y/N. Will you just be my girlfriend?" he threw his arms around you and lay you back down on the blanket

“Hmm, what do I get in return if I say yes?”

Sam gave you a look that was a mixture of surprise and offence, he tickled you and buried his face in your neck.

“Besides this fine gent?” his voice was muffled by your hair. He laid on his side and admired you under the pale glow of the moonlight

“I’m thinking we could watch the sunset and stargaze every night? I promise I won’t be falling asleep.” he smiled at you and it seemed to shine brighter than all the stars in the sky combined

Who were you to turn down an offer -and a smile- like that?

“I’m thinking, yes. I would be delighted to be your girlfriend.”

[ampabd-17-blog]

Let’s Get Married - Kim Mingyu Fic

Part 1

Total words: 1956

Type: Fluff? Marriage AU? 

Summary: Dating is all fun and games until your best friend suggests that you and him should make a pact. A pact to get married at the age of 30.

Creds/Inspired by WongFu, We Got Married, person who suggested the fic

Blind dates are basically the epitome of dread and anxiety. Who exactly trusts their best friend in setting you up with their friend?

"He's hot do not worry" or "Girls practically wait in line to date him", is actually not reassuring or truthful coming from a guy himself. Who actually knows if he's hot, or even a good personality, or even remotely okay to date? Surely, not me. Everything is so difficult, you could not even know the person's name or see their picture. Thanks Mingyu, thanks so damn much.

So many thoughts, pros and cons, and scenarios rush through my head as I wait at the small urban cafe Mingyu told me to go to. My hands tap at the light wooden table anxiously looking out the window to see if I could see anyone who was not on their phone, on a date, or a business filled person walk in or by.

"Calm down ___. It's okay Everything is going to be okay, because this mysterious guy is going to show up, he is going to be amazing, you're going to fall in love with him, and you're going to date him, you’re gonna thank your amazing best friend for putting you up this." I say to myself while I keep my hands busy by either tapping, moving the plant around on the table fixing its position every second, throwing my phone up in the air, clenching my fists.

"Hey," I looked up with huge anticipation, oh. He's really cute, "Would you stop rocking your feet? You're wearing heels and I forgot my earphones, it's been going on for about 5 minutes. It's getting annoying and quite distracting. "Just kidding, he's just a passerby.

10 minutes later

The same cute guy came up to me, hoping he would stay, "Hey stop tapping your phone against the table." Great. It’s not him.

30 minutes later

"Do you have earphones I could borrow if you will not be making noises?" I dug through my handbag and handed him a pair of extras. I found it in the taxi, that's what I get for being a jerk.

40 minutes later

Slowly, I'm giving up. What guy does not show up for a date for two hours? Absurd.

I stand up, grab my handbag and started to walk out the door. 

“Hey hey hey your earphones!” The guy chased after me but I ignored him, it was an extra just keep it dude.

Reaching for my phone in my back pocket I pull it out and start to dial Mingyu's number.

"Are you kidding me Kim Mingyu."

"Woah woah woah woah woah, calm down calm down. What happened? "I heard muffled laughter through the speaker

"You're not joking right? You are one hundred percent serious right now." Walking furiously towards the busy street I start to flag down at least one taxi to take me to go beat Mingyu's ass.

Silence filled the other end as mumbles of "What if she even talking about?" Erupted once in awhile, "OH! You mean the date with Kim KiHo? How'd that go ??" He sounded genuinely curious. This poor boy is going to die tonight,

"It went great you know! He was amazing! Aesthetically pleasing!" I roll my eyes at my sarcastic comment

"Tell me about it."

"Oh well first I arrived to the cafe you told me to go and sat in the table closest to the window without ordering anything you know because well, that'd be rude to order something without him being there. Secondly I waited for about 2 hours for this guy to show and throughout the whole time there was this obnoxious cute dude that was sitting near me who kept telling what to stop what I was doing. And lastly? HE DID NOT EVEN SHOW UP MINGYU. ALSO YOU DECIDED TO TELL ME THE NAME NOW? HOW WAS I EVEN SUPPOSED TO FIND HIM WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU." I pull the phone away from my ear and start yelling at full on

"___...  I'm so sorry. Holy crap I didn’t think he would ditch. "

"Well he did."

"Do you want me to call him? I can call him for you. We can set another date up ag- "

"Save it Mingyu. I'm not going on anymore blind dates that you set me up on. "

"I'm sorryyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

"Don’t drag out your words."

"___. I'm sorry."

"Well sorry isn’t enough,” I paused for a second, “I'm coming over."

"Okay front door will be unloc-, wait. Are you mad right now?"

I didn’t answer

"Okay... So you are. Are you coming over to fight me or beat me to death?"

I only smirked, he knew me so well.

"I'm leaving the house." I heard shuffling in the back

"You, you better stay." I hung up the phone with a huff as I arrived in the busy streets of the city

I flagged down a taxi and gave the driver the address of my best friends apartment. Kim Mingyu is going down.

I kept ringing the doorbell, knocking on the door, banging on the windows, and still nothing.

"Mingyu I swear, if you do not open this door I'll force my way in." I yell hoping he would hear me

"Never!" His muffled yell shook my ears

I continued to bang on the door, why did his parents choose today to leave on a holiday? Still banging on the door his next door neighbor spoke up, "___."

I met his smug, laughing face, "What do you want." I glare at him

"You”, Laughter, "both", Laughter, "are ridiculous." Laughter.

"Shut up."

"Seriously the best romance comedy sitcom I have seen in my life."

"Romance? Comedy? Romance comedy? What kind of drugs are you taking? God I'd rather die then ever date him.” Disgusted that the thought of ever dating Mingyu had crossed my mind

"Hey, doesn’t erase the fact that I love you guys together."

"That's gross."

"Maybe you think soooo~ Also his family keeps a spare key under the tallest plant." He winks and waves goodbye

"Aw bro why'd you have to tell her that?" Mingyu whines as the window pops open next to his door

"If I didn’t, she would have done damage to that window, and even more damage on you."

Mingyu's eyes widen as I let myself in and step right in front of him

"Ohhoho. You're dead meat." The window slammed shut.

"You hit me and scratched me. I'm bruised and bleeding. I hate you.” I dab his injury lightly as he groans

"It wasn’t even that bad."

"This is an abusive relationship and you're the abuser. I need out. "He starts to stand up

"Shut up and let me help you." I push his chest to get him back down

"Why is the abuser also the nurse. You make no sense." His finger tapped the tip of my nose

“Don’t touch my nose. You’re going to rub off my highlight.” I pushed the rubbing alcohol infused cotton ball harshly onto the open wound which would hopefully get him to shut up as well as leave me alone and let me do my work

"OW. ___ GOD HELP, OW THAT HURTS. "

"You deserved it."

"No, you're just mean. I don’t deserve this abuse."

"Shut up. But over all that you love me for it. "

"As if." 

I pushed the cotton ball down harshly again

“IT HURTS WHEN YOU DO THAT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS?”

"Movie night?" I've dropped 3 movies on the couch we were lounging at later in the day.

"Me Before You? Can you even understand it Gyu? "Scoffing into my bag of shark popsicles, boys are so dumb sometimes I swear

"There's different options ___." He plops down next to me and steals a bite of the bar I was currently starting, I stare at him. What kinda monster...

"Sad Movie and 200 Pound Beauty. What's up with you and romance? "

"They’re quality movies as well as classics. So which movie? "He shrugs off my question

"Me Before You. How do you have this anyways?”

"Wonwoo gave it to me, apparently he cried during it." Mingyu got up and collected all the disks and put the right one in the DVD player and sat back down next to me

An hour into the movie Mingyu and I somehow ended up cuddling. His arm was hugging my shoulder while my head was on his chest. We were just laying on the spacious couch peaceful and undisturbed. This is what best friends of all the time! Right..?

"Look at her dress Gyu, oh my god it's beautiful." I point at the lit up screen that was red whenever she twirled around, that was indeed a gorgeous dress

"Your color is red. I bet you would look great." His chest vibrated everytime he spoke

"You're right, but pulling off that dress? You’d have to be insanely gorgeous and have a good body. Which I don’t have. But I can never pull off red lipstick."

“Yeah you do. Don’t doubt yourself, my best friend is beautiful~ You look like a chili pepper when you wear red lipstick.” I smack his shoulder while he was laughing, “I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

Throughout the whole movie a question I loved to ponder about erupted in my mind, 'You read all these books, hear all these stories, and watch all these films about how a couple of people find each other to be their soulmate and they end Up in love. But what if I never get to experience that? ' What if I never cross paths with my supposed soulmate and I never find true love? What if all my dates are like the dates I experienced today? Am I going to-

"Die forever alone?" Mingyu was looking at me as the credits rolled onto the screen

"Uh ___ ...." He spoke up when he realized I was deep in thought

"What?" My head shot up to meet his gaze

"You have been unconsciously speaking for the past five minutes."

"You're kidding." He only shook his head, "So you heard everything I said?" I nodded, "Well it's true I'm going to die alone, sad, and lonely."

"Ayy, thats not true."

"It is true.”

"Not true." He bickers back, he never knows when to give up.

"True."

"Not true."

"Look I know you're my best friend, you don’t have to spare my feelings."

"I know, you're a strong independent woman and I'm being truthful.” I tried to hide his laughter before I grabbed a pillow and started to hit him, “Hey hey hey, I'll stop, I'll stop.” He managed to get out during his fit of laughter

"You're still wrong."

Mingyu only shook his head and proceeded to grab both of my shoulders to face him, face looking deadly seriously, no sorts of jokes written on his face. Whenever I've been placed in this situation, I know exactly what’s going to go down. I know what he's doing, and when he’s like this, he's dead serious.

"If you think so, then let's make a pact ___."

"Depends." Not breaking the deep eye we were giving each other

“If you really think you’re going to die alone and you’re never going to find your soulmate, and I’m not interested in dating right now but if my relationships fail one by one. By the time we’re 29, let’s go on 17 dates and do romantic stuff that couples do, and if we think that we are right for each other and that we fell in love, that we are each other’s soulmates. At the age of 30,-” My breath hitched and no words would roll off my tongue, “Lets get married.”

[lalainajanes]

Yes!! How about one where Klaus introduces Caroline to Hope for the first time. Or a Hayley and Caroline bonding one and Klaus being creeped out about it lol! :)

This prompt was from when I asked for mini ones two weeks ago.It works for klarolineinfinity so I thought I’d finish it up! I *think* it was a reply and not an ask but it’s not in my notifications anymore and I’m sorry but I forgot to copy the prompter with the prompt! Warning: borrows HEAVILY from the various spoilers floating around so don’t read it you don’t know them!

Friends and Enemies

Caroline’s only half paying attention to the contract in front of her – she and this witch have been going back and forth over her employment terms for weeks but it looks like they’ve finally come to an agreement – her hearing carefully tuned to what’s going on around her. The twins are sprawled on a rug with Hope, deep in an intense game of Candyland (the Disney Princess edition). Josie tends to ascribe to a win at all costs mentality and has been known to be a little underhanded. Caroline might be able to relate (anyone who’s ever played a board game with her knows she’s a pro at trash talk) but she’s trying to encourage a little sportsmanship.

If only because tiny tempers sometimes boiled over and became big magical accidents. Hope was a sweet kid but new to the whole socialization thing. Plus, none of her relatives were what could even charitably be called even tempered (save perhaps Freya – Klaus had explained the sister popping up from the dead but Caroline had only met her once in passing) or well-adjusted so the fact that Hope even tried to rein herself in was something of a miracle.

Nevertheless, the three of them had all sorts of power at their disposal and Caroline would rather not have her office bear the brunt of the damage they’d cause if a squabble escalated. Not when it had taken months to get everything renovated and just how she liked it.

The furnishings for the office wing had all come with the property and considering the property was Klaus’ Caroline was sure the rug cost a pretty penny. The hardwood floors of her office were also original, and gorgeous once they’d been painstakingly restored, singeing them would be a crime.

She’s also listening because she’s expecting Klaus to show up any sometime soon. She’s got a pencil shoved into her hair, keeping it off her face, and that’s not a look she wants him to see. She’d treated herself to a wardrobe upgrade when they’d first moved to New Orleans rationalizing that a move to a big city, finally, was the perfect occasion to update her style a little. Alaric had raised an eyebrow at the pile of bags he’d watched her unload from the car but thankfully had kept his mouth shut. She’d had a rationale all prepared – the climate was different – but she’d been glad it hadn’t been necessary. Alaric could read her alarmingly well these days and she had no desire to examine the reasons why she’d been determined to look her best.

They’d slapped her in the face easily enough on the first day of the term in September.

Because while Klaus hadn’t commented on her attire either the frank appreciation in his eyes as he’d taken in her sleek grey dress and black leather pumps that first morning had said volumes.

The answering twinge of satisfaction she’d felt had let Caroline know that all the claims she’d made about not wanting to consider a romantic relationship right now, that she was far too busy and still getting used to a whole new life to open up that can of worms, might have been more bluster than truth.

Klaus hadn’t pressed the issue, not overtly anyway. But Hope staying behind, in Caroline’s care, for an hour or two after school let out was not uncommon. She was unsure of how much of the urgent business Klaus claimed to have was legitimate because he seemed to have no problem lingering over the dinner he usually brought with him (Caroline was pretty sure he was systematically making his way through the best restaurants in New Orleans and that he was probably compelling or bribing some of them into providing kid friendly options).

He’d promised her food was one of New Orleans’ best attributes, once upon a time, and he was certainly not wrong about that.

She perks up when she hears footsteps, but only for a moment before she grows wary.

That’s not Klaus’ tread, it’s lighter and not as smooth, not belonging to any of Caroline’s few friends and acquaintances. She pushes away from her desk, palming her silver letter opener as she rounds it, to stand between the door and the girls. The building’s the school operates on are all spelled. Each of the nine local covens had contributed and Caroline had asked Bonnie to do so as well on one of her visits.

Turns out that knowing an all powerful badass witch who could pop between dimensions was super handy.

Someone with bad intentions shouldn’t make it very far but Caroline knew that magic was rarely foolproof, and she’d been burned before. She keeps her posture relaxed so she doesn’t alarm the kids (Lizzie’s remarkably empathetic) but eyes the door suspiciously.

She’s gotten her hands dirty to protect the girls before. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.

There’s a brief knock before the door turns and Caroline’s momentarily relieved at the familiar head that pops through the door.

Only momentarily.

Caroline was a master grudge holder and Hayley Marshall wasn’t currently one of her favorite people. Caroline could grudgingly admit that it seemed as if she’d do anything for Hope, and she’d heard a few brief stories that made it seem like Hayley’s life post Mystic Falls hadn’t been a cake walk, but Caroline remains guarded.

A snapped neck and betrayal will do that to a girl.

Still, she could be polite. It was technically her job. She pastes on a smile and shifts to the side, tossing the letter opener back on the desk. Hayley watches her de-arm with a raised eyebrow, and maybe a brief flash of respect. “Hey, I guess you’re on pickup duty?”

The girls have barely glanced up, to intent on their game.

Hayley takes a tentative step further in, “Yeah, Elijah texted me. He and Klaus are trying to collect Kol but not having a ton of luck. I’m not sure about the details but I’m sure Klaus will fill you in. You guys have to talk about something when you have your casual dinners, right? I’m supposed to, ‘Convey Niklaus’ deepest apologies for his tardiness and thank Ms. Forbes for her understanding.’”

Caroline blinks for a moment, finds she wants to smile a bit at Hayley’s deeply pompous inflection, “Uh, okay.”

“I’m sure Klaus will make it up to you,” Hayley says, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Yeah, Caroline was so not willing to go there. She missed quality girl talk but not that badly. “Well, he gave me a house to run the school in so I figure I’m the one who owes him.”

Hayley’s snort is incredulous, “Oh, please. He would have given you ten houses to get you here. He was pissy that you insisted on fixing up the outbuildings and living on the grounds instead of somewhere nicer. Was a real bitch to live with that week, let me tell you.”

They hear a tiny gasp and Caroline glances behind them. Lizzie and Josie are looking a little wide eyed. Hayley looks chagrined, “Whoops, sorry. Language.”

Caroline waves that away, “Don’t worry about it.”

Hope’s bounced up to her feet, “Mom, hi!”

Hayley runs a hand through Hope’s hair, her face softening, “Get your things, okay?”

Lizzie and Josie help and soon Hope’s got her schoolbooks crammed into her backpack, shoes and jacket on. They’re just beginning to say their goodbyes (drawn out since it was a weekend, basically forever to a pair of 5 year olds and a 7 year old) when Caroline hears the familiar noise that Bonnie makes when she propels herself through dimensions. It’s sort of a weird cracking, and while Caroline’s used to it, welcomes it even, Hayley goes rigid, shoving Hope behind her, her fangs dropping. Caroline throws herself in front of Hayley before she can think to lunge – Bonnie can take care of herself but Caroline doesn’t want to clean up blood any more than she wants to deal with fire. “It’s fine!” she rushes out, shoving Hayley back slightly. “You remember my friend Bonnie, right? She poofs in sometimes. It’s a long story.”

“Poofs?” Hayley asks, still eyeing Bonnie like she’s a threat. “Since when do witches poof?”

“She’s not just a witch. Not anymore. It’s complicated but she’s kind of like the devil? Only nice. Well, nice-ish.

“Thanks, Care,” Bonnie says dryly.

Caroline ignores her, “And she doesn’t eat souls. She brings them to her happy little paradise place totally toll free.”

“Are you high?”

Caroline huffs out an offended breath, “Yeah, I get high in front of my children. That’s how I roll. Doesn’t Klaus tell you anything?”

Hayley shrugs, “We don’t do heart to hearts.”

Hope peeks out from behind Hayley’s back, makes an annoyed face when she doesn’t get far before Hayley blocks her, “It’s true, Mom. Miss Bennett teaches us sometimes.”

Josie and Lizzie have wandered over and wrapped themselves around Bonnie’s legs, “Yeah, Aunt Bon’s the best,” Lizzie tells Hayley.

“You can ask Klaus,” Caroline tells her. “Seriously. I’ve explained how everything went down.”

“Have you?” Bonnie asks, sounding speculative, “What happened to, ‘I’m not moving to New Orleans for Klaus?’ Have you been taking long walks in the woods? Discussing the best methods of tree removal, maybe?”

Caroline glares, the innuendo not lost on her even if it probably is on everyone else in the room. She’d gotten a little drunk and a lot overshare-y once and Bonnie had never let her forget it. She waves her hands, nods over to her paper strewn desk, “Um, hello. Look around. I do plenty here. Wrangling three dozen kids of various supernatural backgrounds and half a dozen staff isn’t easy, FYI.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Hayley interjects slyly, “You work very hard. Must be why Klaus takes it upon himself to bring you dinner every night.”

“It’s not every night,” Caroline denies, wincing as her voice rises in pitch. That wasn’t going to make them believe her.

Hayley glances over at Bonnie, “She won’t agree to anything else. Klaus thinks he’s being sneaky.”

Bonnie’s eyebrows have steadily crept up and Caroline knows she’s got some explaining to do. Ugh, good thing it was Alaric’s weekend to have the girls. She’d totally need booze to withstand this interrogation. “Thanks so much, Hayley,” Caroline manages, her tone dripping with faux sweetness, “for all your help.”

Hayley seems unbothered. “No problem. Klaus usually goes to the bar on Fridays, in case you were wondering. You know the one.”

Caroline grits her teeth to refrain from spitting out that she had known that. Klaus had mentioned it, his not so innocent assertion that they stocked an excellent selection of champagnes less than subtle. Hayley ushers Hope out the door, the girl waving at the twins once more before she departs.

Caroline turns from Bonnie, knowing she can only stall so long, clapping her hands together, “Alright! Girls, put the game away, please. Make sure you get all the pieces because I am sure you’ll want to play it this weekend.”

The scurry to collect the various parts, stowing them carefully under Caroline’s watchful gaze. “Do you have wine?” Bonnie asks lowly. “Because we’re going to need it. I can poof somewhere and get some?”

“I do. And bourbon,” Caroline answers. “But maybe get the things for cookie dough?” Sugar always made awkward conversations better, in her opinion.

“On it,” Bonnie murmurs, and soon she’s gone again.

The girls look up, faces etched in disappointment. Caroline smiles warmly, “Aunt Bonnie will be back in a bit, babies. You’ll see her later, promise.”

It would be a momentary distraction for Bonnie, Caroline knew, and she’d have all sorts of questions about Klaus and what Caroline was doing (or considering doing) about him.

Caroline wasn’t sure that Bonnie would like the answers but that was okay. Caroline knew that Bonnie trusted her to make her own decisions, even if she thought they were mistakes. Bonnie hadn’t been thrilled to go to Caroline’s ill-fated wedding a few years back but in the end she’d shown up. It was just the two of them now, Stefan and Elena and Matt all living human lives, Damon in the wind and so many others long gone. They’d figure it out.

Back then Caroline had been clinging to her human dreams, had them in a death grip because she’d felt them slipping away. It’s different now, she’s different now, learning more and more about the supernatural world became a necessity when she and Alaric had opened the school and it’s no longer foreign and scary but filled with possibilities.

Possibilities had been what Klaus had offered her, years and years ago, and Caroline thought she might be nearly ready to explore a few of them.

Maybe she’d drag Bonnie out for drinks once Josie and Lizzie were safely with Alaric. And if they happened to run into some familiar faces what’s the worst that could happen? Bonnie and Klaus were both pretty much un-killable and Klaus could afford to cover any and all property damage.

As long as it wasn’t her office Caroline could deal.

[rksingh1950]

R.K.Singh In Conversation with Abnish Singh Chauhan

A poem rests

on brain signals imaged

in words and silence

one decodes with dog sense

smelling twists and turns in rhythm

that turn it prophetic. (A Poem)

The journey of poetic composition, as the poet says himself, begins with the poet and ends with the reader for which requires verbal competency, intelligence and constructive environment in order to code and decode the ‘signals’ of creative beauty in a forceful and effective manner. Since the poet is the first reader and critic of his poetic piece, he should have the capacity to articulate and interpret his own words in prose in order to judge the suitability, profundity and authenticity of his ‘signals’ in the form of emotions, ideas and images for inter-personal and intra-personal communications. T S Eliot also emphasized this in The Music of Poetry; however, in the coercive manner: “No poet can write a poem of amplitude unless he is a master of the prosaic.” Therefore, Eliot’s statement may or may not be true in the making of a poetic piece; but it is certain that command over prose is an additional advantage to the poet, particularly in conversation with himself as well as with the lovers of literature on a public platform; and it is indispensable when the poet also performs as critic for efficient and captivating criticism.  Here is such an Indian poet of communicative sensibilities and critic of glittering language— Ram Krishna Singh (1950). Prof Singh, who is the contemporary of Niranjan Mohanty, Hoshang Merchant, R. C. Shukla, Gopi Krishnan Kattoor, D. C. Chambial, I. K. Sharma, Gopal Honnalgere, I. H. Rizvi, D. H. Kabadi, P. C. K. Prem, etc., knows how to raise and answer the questions about the world and its problems and how to incorporate information along with emotion in poetry and criticism in order to disseminate love and light to all the human and non-human entities of the Mother Earth through purity, charity, sacrifice and suffering: “I gave you my love/ what more do you seek/ to lighten the night/ my beloved/ let the fire burn /and consume the moth.”

Recently retired as Professor (HAG) from Indian School of Mines (now IIT), Dhanbad, Jharkhand, India, R. K. Singh has authored more than 160 research articles, 175 book reviews and 40 books, including his latest poetry collection You Can’t Scent Me and Other Selected Poems (2016) from Authorspress along with his e-book Writing Editing Publishing A Memoir (2016). He has been conferred with many awards and honours across the world. He resides at J/4 (W), Rd. No.1/Block B, Vastu Vihar Colony, N H 2, Govindpur- 828109 (Dhanbad), Jharkhand and can also be contacted at profrksingh@gmail.com

N.B: The profile of R K Singh is separately published in author’s corner. It may be clicked and viewed HERE.

ASC: Sir, you were born, brought up and educated in Varanasi— the seat of light and learning from the ancient times. How did it play its role in the formation of a silver tongue poet and rational critic in you?

RKS: A silver tongue poet? Hm… Thanks for the compliment Abnish. Varanasi is a complex city, a city of contradictions, even if it has ceased to be what it used to be in my formative years in the 1950s and 60s.

The city did influence my mental habits unconsciously, since I was born and raised in the lanes and by-lanes of its interior, with values such as freedom to think and pursue ones interests, tolerance for differences, broadness and openness of the mind, uninhibited sexpression, etc. The conscious creative influences must be the result of meeting many people, visiting various places, and experiencing life differently at different points of time.  Also, reading and observing led to serious critical thinking, writing, debating, and corresponding. I had opportunities to work part-time and be independent to do whatever I liked. Besides writing poetry in Hindi, I had opportunities to reflect on contemporary issues and express myself in a couple of Hindi dailies and weeklies long before my graduation, just as I would actively participate in youth activities, debate and speech competitions, attend musical concerts, art exhibitions, poets’ meet etc and publish reports/reviews.

The city engaged me better than the irrelevant routines of the high school, intermediate and degree colleges. The teachers disappointed me most, from childhood to boyhood to adulthood.

I must also admit that I was not uninfluenced by the chaos and crisis of the 1960s.  As a youth I had no hope, no faith, no trust in the system, nor did I know the direction of life.  It was living in constant tension about the future.  In fact it was a lonely struggle vis-à-vis the glaring waste of time in college and university.  Given my anti-establishment attitude, I was not confident that I could ever get a job or have a career.  Failure and frustration loomed large.  Poetry was the only solace.

ASC: Sir, you started your career as a journalist. The job of a journalist always requires honesty, hard work, quality writing and the courage to tell the truth. But, just after a year or two you changed your job and adopted the teaching profession, which also demands proper understanding of the subject matter, wide interest, helpful attitude, love for learning, skills of classroom management and a desire to make a difference in the lives of the taughts. How much are these experiences constructive in communicating your vision and mission in your literary works and academic writings?

RKS: As I said, as a student I had very poor opinion of my teachers.  I had no interest in teaching as a career, but Professor S M Pandeya, who supervised my M A thesis, insisted that I should not be drawn to the glitters of journalism, and rather take up teaching as a profession.  He even helped me get the first job as a lecturer in a college in Pulgaon by writing to O P Bhatnagar, who later became a life-long friend.  I was 21 years old, wanted to do Ph D in American literature from Nagpur or Bombay university, but the management won’t let me go to meet the faculty there.  I resigned the job in less than six months and came back home.

After a year (or more) of unemployment—a period I spent with Dr B Chakroverty, learning the finer nuances of literary criticism (he was writing a book on Tagore, the dramatist)—I joined the District Gazetteers Dept in Lucknow as Compilation Officer.  The U.P. Government’s job entailed revising and updating the old gazetteers.

I ignored the offer of working in IIT, Kanpur as a junior lecturer. It came just around the time I had made up my mind to work in Lucknow.

In the mean time, I was also selected as a journalist trainee in The Press Trust of India, New Delhi, and was keen to join the position. However, my IAS bosses in the Gazetteers Dept (as also my parents) dissuaded me, but seeing my enthusiasm, they released me, with the kind option to return to the post if not satisfied at PTI within three months.

I was happy to join my dream profession, despite monetary loss and hardships of living in Delhi.  But soon I discovered I was a misfit there.  I couldn’t suffer the envious colleagues and their dubious designs and practices, and so, I finally decided to quit, as soon as I got an offer from the newly set-up Royal Bhutan Polytechnic, Deothang (E. Bhutan).

I was back to teaching, which now appeared more convenient, but very demanding. The direction of my career was clear: I would professionally practice ELT/ESP, but personally pursue literature, especially Indian English poetry, and promote new/less known poets and authors by reviewing their books, writing articles about their work, and editing books and journals.  It was challenging but rewarding. Learning by doing, you know.  It is this that made me known all over, from a small place like Dhanbad. Indeed, all this needs a lot of labour and commitment, as you rightly observed.

ASC: Sir, how do you summon your emotions and experiences for composing a poem or other work of art? Do you respond to urgency, stipulation or passion for creative writings, which seems as real, animated and impressive as the rest of the world?

RKS: To tell you the truth, most of the poems I wrote have simply happened. The poetic mood, short-lived as it is, would help create from anything, anywhere, anytime. I can’t write a poem deliberately on a theme on demand.  Nor have I been interested in didactic or moralistic writing.   My emotions and experiences are, therefore, genuine and sympathetic readers can relate to them.

Personally speaking, a poem’s composition helps me get a release from myself as much as from others or whatever agitates me. I feel free by unburdening myself in verses; I experience an inner relief, a freedom from the built-up pressure, tension, unease, or whatever, you know. If it turns out to be a good poem, it offers a pleasing sensation, rest to my disturbed nerves, and peace to my inner being.

ASC: Sir, you have been regularly writing poetry with social, cultural, spiritual, ethical, mythical, erotic and aesthetic perceptions for the international audiences with the universal lessons of truth, love, compassion, pity, peace and harmony. How do you secure and evolve selfhood along with worldhood in your poetry amidst the fast changing societies and their value-systems?

RKS: Thanks for summarizing well the essential nature of my poems. I, too, think it is broad enough to appeal to audiences everywhere. Human nature is same, whatever culture, society or country, and I have tried to express what people experience universally.  I don’t seek the sublime or great or ideal, you see. I am rooted in my basic nature, which  has been evolving.  When effective, one can physically feel it, I mean, the poet’s emotion or psychosexual sensation, and partake of his self.

There is poetry in the subtlety of awareness, as you will also agree.  I feel myself in words that acquire their own existence in the process of making, in a form I may have no control over, given the pressure or urgency to express the momentness of a moment as lived, perceived, or experienced in the continuity of memory.  My selfhood extends to worldhood in my expression in a timeless frame of a moment inhering the pressure of the struggle for survival, search for meaning or purpose in an otherwise very negative, frustrating, disappointing, painful existence, or social reality, if you so like.

ASC: Sir, when you talk about (even question) sense, silence, solitude, love and sex amidst the sound and serenity of pebbles, stones, rivers and the flora and fauna of the mother earth, you imbibe and inculcate man and Nature in your poetry, which is clearly recognized and understood by your readers. In spite of that, why do you rhetorically proclaim- ‘I Do Not Question’ (1994) and ‘You Can’t Scent me’ (2016)?

RKS: The answer lies in your question itself: it’s rhetorical. Philosophically, a straight forward observation of the Purush-Prakriti or Yin-Yang consciousness vis-à-vis the monotony of existence.  I seek meaning of the mystery of life, its reality and pains through the eyes of Nature, metaphors of self-contradictions, intrinsic dissonance, or search for harmony and identity.

Having said this, let me also add a word of caution. I’m very poor at titling my poems.  In fact I don’t believe in giving a title to my poem, nor do I give a title while composing it. Titles tell too much. In my volume of Collected Poems, you’ll find no title, unless extremely necessary for identification or other structural reasons (as in Haiku/Tanka sequences).  

Without titles, the poems give readers more freedom to make their own meaning and relate to their own experiences, different from the poet’s.

ASC: In one of your interviews, you have exhorted— ‘As a poet, if I use human passion, including the sexual, I try to transmute and transmit memories of experience, possibly more with a sense of irony than erotic sexuality.’ Hence, do you think that your sexual passion expressed in your poetry is meant only for creating a sense of irony— a popular technique of poetic communication or it also stands for something else?

RKS: Sex is eternal, unchanging over time and culture.  It is the basic principle of life and creation.  It’s expression, therefore, calls for celebration.  It is central to social harmony, emotional pleasure, and inner peace. It is not devoid of sensibility.  The metaphors of sex reveal our social consciousness, our inner mind, our hidden reality.   Our sexual passion is the mirror reflecting the spiritual passion; the body reveals the soul.  One needs to appreciate it and relate to the pragmatics of my communication.  While Jindagi Kumari’s ‘The Poetics of R.K. Singh’  is a helpful essay in this respect, Raghuvanshmani Tripathi’s ‘The Asexuality of Sex: A Study of Sex Expresion in R.K. Singh’s Poetry’ should enlighten a sympathetic reader further.

ASC: You wrote the paradox in your poem ‘Degeneration’— ‘I can’t change man or nature, nor the karmas/ now or tomorrow they all delude/ in the maze of expediency and curse/ stars, fate, destiny, or life before and after/ degenerating the mind, body, thought, and divine.’ Do they survive because they bring degeneration, and ultimately death?  If so, no hope, no dream, no joy and no future?

RKS: As a poet I would prefer to refrain from interpreting my own poem for readers.  I would rather leave it to them to make sense of it anyway they like. I don’t question unless it is deliberately personally offending…But, let me see it again. Firstly, the hang of the poem ‘Degeneration’ was added when I posted it online, or submitted it to some e-journal, I don’t remember now.  Secondly, it was my own ‘degeneration’ – physical, mental, financial and spiritual—that afflicted my mood in June 2014 when I wrote it.  Things were looking blue—the envious hostility of my junior colleagues who freely distorted facts and told outright lies, the  deteriorating health condition, the bad time predicted by  astrologers, and tall claims of prophet friends, tarot-card readers and fortune tellers on the net, seeking money to turn the wheel of time in my favour.  Their expectation from me had in-built irony in that I couldn’t compromise my realization that best things in life come free.  But people are as they are—out to grab wealth, favour, profit, promotion, whatever—by cheating, telling lies, weaving dreams, or stabbing in the back.  They suffer.  I can’t change my nature, and my adversaries can’t change their nature.  Ultimately we are all subjected to our own karmas, our destiny, or the forces of Nature. No use cursing or abusing, if we delude ourselves.  The plain truth is:  if we are dishonest to ourselves, we suffer all round degeneration in the maze of our own making.  The poem, however, preaches nothing, except showing a condition. The readers can draw their own conclusions.

ASC: Sir, what is your favorite technique (s) of protest against the anomalies/ grave issues of the world, party created by highly advanced machines and electronic devices and partly by man himself?

RKS: As I told you just now, portray the picture, or create the image of what obtains, and leave the rest to the readers’ imagination, or decision, if you like. No advice, no judgment.  New technologies have thrown up new issues, new norms, new values. The important thing now is to communicate, to interact, to talk about whatever issues or values bother you as an individual. You can’t live by your prejudices or traditional ideas alone, if you hope to be relevant.  The new age demands new language, new expression, new metaphors. You will discover the new technique to protest too. But, let’s come out of the shackles of our own making, first.

ASC: Sir, how do you characterize your Haiku and Tanka? Are they influential and beneficial to the masses to a large extent or only popular among and practiced by some selected people, especially the poets and a few others?

RKS: Let’s be clear about certain basics. Haiku is a difficult genre. It is miniature poetry, a sketch of a moment’s experience, to be filled out by the reader.  It does not use sentences, nor the devices of Western poetry, nor shares its use of the sentimental and simile—preferring always contact with the real—the things of Nature and the spirit of Nature herself, the perception experience. It is down to earth; expression of what is—what you see and hear and touch; the thing itself, not a poetic or literary or philosophical view of it. In haiku we don’t elaborate or explain, only sketch our experience of the moment.  ‘Haiku moment’ is the great secret.

It took me years of preparation and practice to be able to give expression to sudden or subtle moments of awareness into the nature of passing time.  As H.F. Noyes commented, reading some of my haiku, simplicity and lightness should be the aim of all haiku, and detachment is desirable in our way of looking at things-- detachment, selflessness, and a sense of our oneness with all life.  It is achieving the union of our minds with nature, or being in league with the five elements.  It is essentially spiritual.  There is God’s abundance to feel in the three lines.  The briefer you become, the nearer you are to silence.

I have tried to express sensuousness in haiku. After all, it’s not just seeing and hearing that offer us reality, but touch as well.

Another Japanese poetry form, Tanka is a typical lyric poem of feeling and ideas, often involving figurative language, not used in haiku. You can say it is like a ‘long haiku’ in five lines.  It addresses varied aspects of contemporary living. It shares the basic qualities of all successful poems.

But if you’re a poet, writing haiku and tanka too much can suppress some of your true poetic instincts, even if their practice should improve the quality of expression of Indian English poets.  It will ensure a sense of rhythm and prevent waste of words.   Many of my poems have haiku and tanka structure as stanzas.

ASC: W H Auden said, ‘Poetry makes nothing happen. One is deluded if one believes that one can actually preserve the world in words, but one is just playing games if one doesn’t try.’ Do you agree with him? If yes, why; if no, why not?

RKS: I don’t know the context in which Auden said this, but I, too, doubt poetry can make anything happen. It can’t mould a society by itself.  It has no utilitarian function. As I said elsewhere, it can at best create some awareness, hone some finer feelings, present some specialist perceptions, reflect one’s mind and soul, remain part of cultural activities and a form of literary communication.  But it can’t make anything happen.

Personally, I don’t practice poetry with any idealistic notion.  Nor do I share the view that poetry can teach one about ethics, morality, history, politics, or revolution. It is no means for social salvation either.  It might assimilate, inhere or portray a degenerating situation, but it can’t change it. My poetry commits no such obligation. Nor can poetry or criticism become a basis for societal reform.

ASC: Sir, you have been associated with the editorial activities, evaluation work of research projects and book reviews throughout your academic/literary career. Most of the times, it is observed that the authors/ researchers manipulate (also copy, cut and paste) ideas and concepts and produce them in their works. How do you, as a critic, examine and respond to such works?

RKS: What you say is true. It is indeed very disappointing that there is so much ‘recycling’ of material going on in the name of research.  Scholars tend to practice short-cuts, but it is the job of the guides/supervisors and seniors to help them improve their language and literary abilities, particularly research writing skills, and make them read, interpret and evaluate the original texts.  If the seniors are badly trained, their scholars will depend on, what you call, manipulation of all sorts.

To minimize this, scholars are now expected to publish research papers in standard national/foreign/Thomson-Reuter listed journals before submitting their theses just as the teachers are considered eligible for promotion only when they have publications in standard journals.  We need to be sympathetic but tough in this respect.  Let’s  hope things improve in the years ahead.

ASC: Sir, your poetry has been translated into Italian, Japanese, Chinese, German, French and a few other languages of the world. Translation (also other creative works) is not an easy task. It requires proper understanding of the language, its socio-cultural references, trends and tendencies along with the mind and motives of the author. How much is it effective and satisfactory when the readers are less engaged and little interested in the translated works?  

RKS: My poems have been translated not only into Italian, Japanese, Chinese, German and French, but also into Greek, Spanish, Portuguese, Irish, Turkish, Romanian, Crimean Tatar, Bulgarian, Slovene, Croatian, Korean, Arabic, Farsi, Serbian, Esperanto, Hindi, Punjabi, Tamil, Kannada, and Bangla.  I hardly know any of the translators personally, but the availability of my poems online has helped me reach out to a larger audience. The translators must have negotiated the difficulties you mention—I can’t comment, for I do not know all these languages (except Hindi).

The problem with most of us is that we don’t read. We don’t care to appreciate others, except ourselves. We don’t bother to study and critique the fellow-travelers but expect from  them to read and write about us.   Additionally, because we write in English, some of us in the academia expect the native speakers of English to pat us; we value their comments/opinions, and down-rate the observations by the fellow Indians, young or old.  Also, most of us don’t encourage serious academic research in writings of the new or less known Indian English authors, self-published or published by the small press.  In such a situation, how do you expect translations to be undertaken or studied?

We as academics need to change our attitude if we want to be accepted within our own country, first.  We can reach out to a larger audience via translation only if we accept the fact that people’s tastes in poetry differ widely, and most Indian poetry in English is generally considered naïve or oversweet.  Not many literary magazines will publish translation, unless it is professionally done and it reads as good as the original (or better than the original).  We need to handle several issues academically first... Frankly, I have more problems with the self-styled experts and dons than with the poets and writers who spend their own hard-earned money to publish their books and bear the cost of sharing these with them.

ASC: Sir, often it is observed that the publication and publicity (including critical appreciation) of literature are based on contact, relation, power and position. How far is it true and how can genuine authors rise and grow in such circumstances?

RKS: Internet has proved a great blessing. The age of all those few great names in Indian English writing that have been repeatedly studied and explored for academic degrees is over.  Now is the time to discover new names; study new authors, new voices. We have to prove that Indian English writing is viable, potent and worth studying; that there is something different about it; that it exists and is growing.  Your Creation and Criticism is doing that, isn’t it?

The institution I worked in Dhanbad is not a mainstream university, yet I could make worldwide publications from early 1980s almost regularly, without any personal contact, relation, or support. I had no short cuts except hard work, clear vision, and passion. You can see from my List of Publications how many new poets (who are now relatively better known) I talked about, not only from our country but also from outside.

When no computer or laptop was available, I would type out my manuscripts on my old typewriter and approach editors and publishers without any backing.  Slowly I made my impact, despite apathy from the likes of Ezekiel, Mahapatra, Shiv K Kumar, and all those Bombay poets.  I could ruthlessly challenge anyone because I never needed them for any personal favour, whatever my position. They didn’t know ESP and I didn’t care to know them (or their writings) till I started the MPhil/PhD programmes at ISM.

In fact, I won’t have time, motivation, or leave from the institution, to attend conferences, or visit other universities and develop personal relationship, except through letters.  Yet, I achieved what I wanted to, and reached the highest in the academic rung, without any personal contact.  Believe me, a good work will speak for itself, if one is honest and working hard.  Unfortunately, in most cases today, the quality is lacking, just as friends don’t want to see beyond themselves.

ASC: Sir, what is the role of social media, especially Facebook, Twitter and Whatsapp, in promoting and presenting literature online when a few followers and fellow-travelers (online friends) just ‘like’ (though most of the times ignore the post), remark- ‘congratulation/ best wishes/ wow/ thanks/ excellent/ amazing and so on’ or rarely make some serious comment (s) on the post?

RKS: I view social media as a positive development for poets and writers to be noted, even if the  members’ ‘viewing’ does not necessarily mean a post’s ‘reading’, or their ‘likes’ hardly imply something serious, except a confirmation that they saw it.  If no comments are offered, it does not mean the post has ceased to exist.  One’s presence on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, LinkedIn, Google+, Youtube, Tumblr etc helps in reaching out internationally. You can develop contacts here. The search engines record what you do on these sites. It’s a matter of time, opportunity, and a little bit of luck when your work is searched or discovered by interested readers, scholars, editors, or publishers.

ASC: Sir, now-a-days, prizes, awards, honors are more lucrative and valuable than before as per the mind-set of the public. If an author is conferred with them, he is accepted and appreciated not only in the literary arena but also out of it. How do you perceive the politics of prize and placement of the author in the present scenario?

RKS: It is no doubt motivating to be honored with some prize or recognition. Better keep from it, if it comes with politics.  It is also wasteful if it comes after paying money, for whatever reasons.

However, if the mainstream media – TV, newspapers, learned societies, government bodies, or publishing houses—and academia ignore me or you, it doesn’t mean we don’t exist.  It’s a matter of time till we are discovered by interested readers, researchers, scholars, editors, or publishers at home or abroad.  We need to keep patience and continue to do what we are doing.  This is what is the biggest reward in itself in the IT-dominated present time.

ASC: Sir, do you have any desire left to be fulfilled in the coming years or fully satisfied with your karmas of an author?

RKS: Though I have minimized my academic activities and stopped teaching after retirement last December, I continue to be active as a poet and wish to be recognized as such by the mainstream media and academia.   As it is, I am afraid I continue to write from the margin, and I hope, in the days ahead more scholars and critics would study and explore my poetry to strengthen creation and criticism.

ASC: Sir, would you please share your opinions about Creation and Criticism— the literary e-journal of English Language and Literature?

RKS: The e-journal is a happy development in the annals of literary publications, both creative and critical, from India.  Both you and Sudhir Arora have been doing very well as editors just as your claim to be friendly to researchers and scholars is justified.  The site is indeed very friendly. Kudos. You have already broken away from the past and hopefully both of you will reach much higher.

Let the journal promote studies on native Indian English poets and authors who have been active for decades from the periphery and suffering colonialist treatment in a post-colonialist environment, even after the maturity of Indian English. Let them not find themselves deprived despite merits; let them not rot in anonymity or degenerate in the politics of belonging.  Let us discover (or re-discover) the neglected and promising good poets and writers and contribute to the development of art and criticism from the perspectives of the 21st century scholarship. God bless.

ASC: Thank you very much for your interesting and enlightening conversation.

RKS: It’s my pleasure.

The Interviewer:

Dr Abnish Singh Chauhan (1979) is a bilingual poet, critic, translator and editor (Hindi and English). His significant books include Swami Vivekananda: Select Speeches, Speeches of Swami Vivekananda and Subhash Chandra Bose: A Comparative Study, King Lear: A Critical Study, Functional Skills in Language and Literature, Functional English, The Fictional World of Arun Joshi: Paradigm Shift in Values and Tukda Kagaz Ka (Hindi Lyrics). His deep interest in translation prompted him to translate thirty poems of B S Gautam Anurag under the title Burns Within from Hindi into English and some poems of Paddy Martin from English into Hindi. He can be contacted at abnishsinghchauhan@gmail.com.

Published in http://creationandcriticism.com/113.html