#even the climbing looks less like climbing and more like just phasing up the building lmao

[foxstens]

for the life of me i cannot understand why unity’s parkour and stealth is so beloved

[tenaciouschronicler]

August 2 and 3 2024 2009

I fear I really will need to put all my posts into a word doc.

Lets work through the lore shall we.

So, back on page 251 when the Kernel divided it 'hatched' upon arrival to The Medium. These Kernels, one light and one dark, upon situating themselves in their respective Orbs activate the Imps present giving them characteristics from the prototyping, in this case harlequin clothing.

Im gonna put the rest under the cut, this post got away from me.

Again working from top to bottom, These Orbs are situated upon one of Four Spires which make up the throne of either sides Sovereign Power; the Dark throne is purple while the Light throne is gold. The first Kernels arrival is the catalyst that starts the 'true game', increasing the board to a 12x12, adding more pieces and actually placing the kings on opposite corners. Light is also always destined to lose. Im curious if each game can only be played by four players or if only the first four are placed in the spires and subsequesnt players dont have any effect on the Sovereign Powers? Could you play with less than four players and how would that game play out?

John and WV both wonder what the point is then if Light always loses and Nanna says that is The Ultimate Riddle they have to solve.

This part made me remember way back on page 82 when the narrator said:

The game presently eluding you is only the latest sleight of hand in the repertoire of an unseen riddler, one to engender a sense not of mirth, but of lack. His coarse schemes are those less of a prankster than a common pickpocket.

His riddle is Absence itself. It is a mystery dispersing altogether, like the moon's faint reflection, with even one pebble of inquiry dropped in its black well. It is the most diabolical riddle of all.

At the time I wrote, "Googling Absence gives us "the state of being away from a place or person". So his riddle is a state of being away from others... I feel like the following statement gives more but I cant discern what." Could this be The Ultimate Riddle Nanna is refering to? I still cant tell what the riddle is, maybe after I put all the Lore together I can at least try to add more to this. (After stepping back and re-reading it I figured out the 'diabolical riddle'; the nature of Absence is transitory and evanescent, here one moment gone the next. Looking for answers only serves to hasten its absence, obscuring itself with more questions.)

For now, John has to climb towards Skia by passing through the gates utilizing the games building funtion to reach. In that way he can save Dad! And what about Earth?

Nanna drops the bombshell that Earth is done for, regardless of how well they do in this game.

Finally done with her duty, Nanna heads off to bake John cookies! For the first time we see her phase through the walls leaving blue goo on the Con Air poster. We didnt see her doing that earlier but maybe theres more goo around the house.

WV is All About them cookies and pushes John to pursue. We learn John hates any and all baked goods "totally abjur[ing] the hell out of that idea."

Roses Pesterchum image is annoyed now, having tried to get Johns attention this whole time and is now trying to use a box to the head.

Unfortunately for her I think this is Johns last straw and hes having a well deserved scream. After everything hes gone through and learned, I think he needs it.

In the meantime and probably against better judgement, theres still a fire raging Rose, shes gonna update the GameFAQ. And apparently get sassed by a dead cat. It's pretty much all his fault you're in this mess in the first place, so he can just button it.

Whatever you say Rose.

[lvebug]

LOVEBUG FIGHTING / MOVEMENT GUIDE:

climbing: after getting her powers it's near impossible for andie to continue rock climbing in a way that brings any satisfaction, since her powers fully interfere with it. still, the fact that she did this for years influences the way that she moves and climbs.

she doesn't move in a "crawling" motion, but will tend to mimick the way that someone would freehand climb for bouldering. this typically means following hand placement only after a foot placement has been found and most of her weight being carried in her legs. she'll rarely move both hands and feet at the same time which gives her a much more irregular movement pattern. while moving along a surface she also tends to be much less linear, following more of the swaying seen in climbing/bouldering & shifting to keep her weight near the surface she's climbing on. this is a mix of her still searching for those natural holds—even if they can look far different when the climber has the abilities that she has—and her leading with her hips to throw her momentum in the direction that she's trying to move in, as climbers tend to do.

fighting: we all know that andie doesn't fight in the traditional sense and there are a few key components to how this looks.

shock absorption: lovebug still frequently has to make close contact with her opponents, such as when swinging into them or throwing/flipping them. even these actions, despite involving direct contact, are places that she tries to reduce how much force she's actually using to connect with the other person? i don't have good phrasing for this? the best way i have to show this rn instagram reel of some dancers. the woman is throwing her partner, and she cradles his head as she does so to help protect him. lovebug does this too, including when that person is being thrown directly to the ground (which is usually the case i just don't have like specific video), she's putting herself better her opponent and the concrete. it's about stopping/subduing them, and not harming/knocking them out so even though they're fighting she isn't trying to hurt them at all.

similarly when doing the very classic swinging kick, she bends her knees as contact is being made which gets her up close quickly and knocks the person off balance, but tends not to do too much damage compared to keeping ur knees locked.

im linking some more instagram videos that came across my feed that i saved bc they gave andie vibe

i like this one bc the woman kind of brings the other guy down on top of her? andie would do that. minus the arm bar at the end

this one is kinda flashy but i think works esp in the sense that andie has just phased up through the floor idk

i am also kind of a big fan of this like wrestling move? even though idk how well it works for lovebug

the one handed cartwheel is very andie to me but also the way that a) it starts from a punch from the opponent b) andie could control their fall a little / protect their head

gymnastics: one of the biggest things that lovebug is is a distraction, so there's lots of cartwheels, handsprings, flipping through the air, and other such big distracting movements. it helps that she took years of gymnastics as a kid and that she's extra flexible from her powers stuff like this is both quite natural and effective for her, but also some of her flashiest moves.

swinging: of everything she does, this is probably the most fluid. i really dk how to explain what this is like at all but i suppose it kind of looks like peter in the first ps4 game? when andie first starts out as lovebug she doesn't have any webshooters because she doesn't know how to make them, so she doesn't rely on them as much. she tends to use single zip-lines and swing in wide fluid arcs that cover lots of distance when she's between buildings that she can run on or poles that she can swing on.

phasing: there are actually some tells for when she's about to use this. usually she will brace herself—if someone is coming at her she tends to square her shoulders a little more and bend at the knees slightly, if she's going to run through a wall she'll prep with chin dipped down and tilting her body forward. it comes more fluidly when built into another action like swinging first or if phasing through the floor she'll often dive down. this is something that requires concentration for her to use.

[rhythmic-idealist]

More spiders live in the crevices of big rigs and medium duty trucks than I thought would be there, before I started this job.

I like the truck spiders, though mostly I worry about them.

Most of the time, when I’m finding any other bugs on a truck, I’m replacing the filter that goes where the engine sucks in air, and that’s where I find delicately preserved dried-flat moths, or bees (or halves of bees), or wasps and other things. Sometimes they’re in the grille too, which takes less inspection so I spend less time staring at them. But both of them make me think a lot about the coincidences of nature, that a truck suddenly rolls through where a bug was living.

When I say “truck spiders” I include the spiders that live in the boxes of trucks though admittedly they aren’t the ones I’m talking about right now.

I’m making this post because, fifteen minutes ago, I pried up the lens off a marker light—that’s one of the ones way at the top of a truck. This one was the one on the top corner of the box. Marker lights are there so that you can see a constellation to more or less map out to you where the truck is, even when it’s dark.

So I’m up on a fifteen foot ladder, and I pry off the orange lens of this marker light. Because the lens is cracked, and needs a new one, and also because the bulbs are out and I need to replace those. There’s what feels like a papery cobweb in here, and behind it there is this black or dark brown spider standing suspended, and I can’t tell if it’s alive or dead. There are a lot of other dead bugs in here, so the spider doesn’t phase me, but it must have been very intact or looked very hydrated to me or something.

There isn’t a lot of space inside marker lights, to be clear. Think about the area you have inside of a flashlight, if something was going to live around the bulb (of one with a bulb).

So this spider has been VERY close to the bulbs, and I’m not sure how long the bulbs have been out. And I’m going to climb down and get some paper to scoop it with, just in case, but. Hey, I’m being timed on these jobs, and I don’t necessarily need to take several minutes to do this the harder way especially if it turns out dead— I’ll poke it before I climb back down.

I’m a LITTLE worried about it leaping at me, obviously. But anyway, I have a sharpie in my pocket that I use to take notes, so I draw that out and keep the lid closed and gently prod at the spider’s legs with it.

At first the web bends and the spider just bends with it, so I poke a little further, and then this magnificent dark spider instantly scrambles fluidly with all of its legs to move itself outside of the web and then rappel toward the ground. I don’t even see where it lands nor honestly see it stop to affix a thread anyway, genuinely at first I thought it was just falling until I saw the speed it was going at.

It fell into a parking lot right by the outside of the shop, and I was going to go down after it, but it was out of my sight before it reached the bottom of the ladder. I worry about truck bugs and parking lot bugs, but it is near the building, so I really am finding it likely this spider found its way somewhere good.

Back inside the housing of the marker light bulbs, behind where the dark spider was standing, the body of a lighter spider is pushed up into the edge of the space. Eight legs, I counted them. They’re translucent, almost green or yellow, but around the same size, and of course I don’t know much about spiders so I technically have no idea whether that coloration has anything to do with this spider corpse being dead. It’s eight legs, and two slightly darker nubs that might be the remnant of a head or at least are the remnants of some body part, and then a big hollow where the rest of the spider would be.

Was it her mate? Did the dark spider steal the web from this one? I don’t know what their story was.

I’m going to put in the new little light bulbs that sit right under where this spider corpse sits, and they’re going to successfully burn again, so they’ll cook what’s left behind of dark spider’s dinner. The dead spider body will be inside of a new marker light lens, so it will be sealed away from the natural environment while it bakes (I mean, it’s an exoskeleton I presume. but still, while it either does or doesn’t react in any way to the heat). Probably just, until such time that the marker light cracks again. Whether on the road or when the light bulbs are changed or in a dump, whenever the new lens has gotten brittle enough from the sun or what have you. I mean, I hope it gets cracked open again. I think about the living creatures that get sealed away from the natural cycle because a leaf got trapped and saturated in engine oil and so I didn’t sweep that leaf outside, and they make me sad, so I hope these buggie bodies and this spider body aren’t sealed away forever.

After I’ve changed the bulbs, I’m carrying the old broken orange lens in my hand across the shop. Sometimes I save old parts to craft with (I have a small collection of burnt out colored bulbs with the idea that maybe one day I’ll coincidentally gather enough to decorate an entire lampshade, and I have a burnt out fuse and want to get more of those, because it’s clean plastic and a very pretty shade of vibrant green).

Nothing HAZARDOUS happened around this orange lens (it’s high off the ground and not near an exhaust pipe), so there’s no reason to rule it out in that regard, it’s just kind of dirty. Still, I’m not sure I’m going to clean it and put it in the collection at the bottom of my toolbox. I’m not sure it’s clean enough to, mainly.

Whatever I do it feels strange to carry around the spider’s little house, with some of the dirt that blew in and clumped together and the exoskeletons of some of spider’s meals still gathered inside. Strange to hold a piece of history like that and not know how to put it back into the cycle.

Ok that’s all. I really like truck spiders. I worry about them when they’re under hoods, but I rarely convince them to go anywhere else, so I hope they’re okay. More tiny red spiders seem to live(?) on tires than I was prepared for. And I always wonder, how long? Are they here because they’ve been here long, proof that it’s a safe space to be, or just because their life is short?

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (20 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Retracing his steps yet again to escape another cruel dead end, Killian worked to quell mounting frustration. With less than an hour until sunset and no means of building a fire, it was looking increasingly likely that he would face the choice of continuing by whatever moonlight permeated the clouds, or hunkering down on cold stone in damp clothing and possibly freezing to death by morning. Even the map would have done them little good at this point. They seemed to be caught in an invisible tide, approaching the likely misremembered landmark only to meet a dead end and be swept backwards the exact same distance to try a new path. If only he could climb the heartless crags concealing the way. 

Puzzle was asleep again, in her new favorite spot beneath his shirt, riding his braceless forearm as he held it stiffly against his abdomen. At least one of them was comfortable.

He considered again the idea he’d been toying with all afternoon: if he simply called out for help, perhaps some of Puzzle’s kin would find them and guide them home. The First had allegedly been observing Killian and Blackbeard for days before the ambush with the fishing nets; undoubtedly, they would have scouts watching for Puzzle’s return.

But a shout could bring unwanted attention, too. If the Less were attempting to get their hostage back, they may be closer even than any First scouts. And Killian was not at all confident in his ability to survive another skirmish.

He reached the fork at which he’d made the incorrect choice before and dutifully turned to follow the other path. Alice had recently gone through a maze phase, after reading the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur, and had occupied herself for nearly a week drawing increasingly complicated labyrinths for him to solve, or begging him to create the same for her. Being afforded a bird’s-eye view was entirely different than navigating one from inside, though. Theoretically, following one wall or the other might eventually lead to the exit, and would prevent endless meandering and becoming lost, but that strategy would likely also take longer as every single branching path would have to be traversed. And in this case, there were probably multiple routes and more than one exit, so he just needed to be persistent and try not to wander in circles…

Behind him. The sudden clatter of stone on stone, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He spun on his heel, immediately tense, and as he searched dizzily for any sign of movement, his hand edged toward the precious passenger concealed in his shirt. He would not allow her to fall back into enemy hands, no matter what it took.

There was nothing there. He watched for a moment, and listened. Silence. Perhaps he’d just loosened a bit of slate passing through, causing it to belatedly shift in his wake. Cautiously, he bent to fish the spear blade from the bandage pouch. Grasping it hurt, but he refused to be unarmed this time. Even if the noise wasn’t an approaching foe.

Puzzle seemed to have picked up on his apprehension, and she positioned herself more securely in the crook of his elbow. Her tremors were visible in fluttering waves of damp black cotton. Killian limped two cautious steps backwards and halted. The silence persisted. He did not trust himself to keep his balance without watching his steps, so he did an uneasy about-face, but moved as quietly as he could and cast frequent glances rearward to keep an eye out for movement.

He made it perhaps a hundred paces further down the canyon without incident. He was finding it increasingly harder to grip his makeshift weapon as the tooth punctures at the base of his thumb pulsed with pain. But his danger sense still tingled, warning of invisible eyes upon him as he walked, and he had to remain ready for an imminent attack despite appearances to the contrary.

Killian froze. Up ahead of him this time: grating shale and the briefest hint of movement. The synchronized throbbing in his hand and leg tripled in tempo to match his racing heart. Multiple pursuers? The whole Less Clan could very well be out searching for him, but with such an imbalance in numbers, why then would they be holding back their attack?

A rumbling, repeated whoop filled the empty space behind him, starting slowly but gradually picking up speed, and Killian needed no translator potion to interpret its menace. Panting with adrenaline, he made several staggering circles but still could not find the source of the sounds. A higher-pitched hooting joined the first voice, calling an invitation: the advance scouts had found their prey.

Killian stood no chance. Fight or flee, the Less had the advantage. In desperation, he whirled and took off down the canyon, praying he would not fall and crush the treasure he carried. As the call to battle grew and became more shrill, it brought to mind certain hooligans from certain bygone days, and Killian half expected to feel a dreamshade-laced arrow pierce his heart at any moment. Instead, a well-timed hurdle sent claws and fur flying at his face, and though he ducked, stumbling, the Less warrior found purchase in his collar and was immediately on the attack. It was unarmed, the better to keep up with its longer-legged quarry, but that wasn’t much of a hindrance, considering its natural weaponry. As Killian struggled to maintain his balance, he swiped at the monkey with his spear blade, hoping to throw it off before it found flesh with its teeth.

With very little effort, the monkey dodged the blade and sank its fangs into the protruding knuckles of Killian’s first two fingers, all in one rapid motion. Before the pain even began to register, he was shaking his hand furiously to dislodge the vicious beast, but it was now wrapping all four limbs plus its tail around his forearm, intent on removing his only visible means of defense.

Still lurching down the path leading gods-knew-where, Killian took a drunken step sideways, aiming for the nearest rock wall. His desperate plan was to pummel his sharp-toothed tormentor against stone until it let go, preferably before it managed to sever any fingers entirely.

A shard of razor-stone hissed past his ear. Another bounced off the back of his neck. The terrifying din swelled in volume, coming from all directions now, monkey shrieks of aggressive solidarity. Hardly breaking stride, Killian flung his weighed-down arm against the rock face, no time for precision as more irregular missiles bruised and shredded wherever they struck. Instinctively, Killian turned his shoulder to the assault, hunching over slightly, shielding Puzzle as much as he could.

Though probably dazed, the monkey attacking his hand would not let go. Its teeth clamped tighter as it wrenched its neck side to side in an apparent effort to rend flesh from bone. Killian struck the rock again, but the heel of his fist absorbed most of the blow. Clawed hind feet scrabbled for better purchase as tiny fingers dug and scratched agonizingly at his already-injured palm, and Killian realized it was trying to take his blade from him, or maybe just to prevent him from using it…

From seemingly out of nowhere, two additional Less warriors, bigger than their comrade, alighted on Killian’s back and shoulder, and he narrowly avoided a stumble, stabilizing himself with the hand currently hammering against the rock. Pivoting quickly, he slammed his back against the wall so hard it nearly knocked the wind from him, but his passengers were too quick to be trapped. They leapt nimbly to the wall’s razor crest, then immediately back down to their target, both realizing at the same moment where the rescued princess must be hiding. Their collision momentarily caused them to forget they were allies, and the earsplitting tussle that followed gave Killian just enough time to pin the finger-biter between his hip and the wall, and with a mighty heave, he tore his hand free from its determined gnawing.

Pushing off from the wall, Killian bent forward abruptly in an attempt to throw off his remaining two attackers, but they had damnably good balance and reflexes, and they merely shifted their wrestling match to his upper back. With a cursory glance at the blood covering his mangled fingers, Killian carefully positioned his arm across his chest to cover the little “cave” where Puzzle cowered. He had somehow retained his grip on the spear blade in his fist, and he rested it against the opposite bicep, pointing upward as a pathetic obstacle for would-be arm-scalers.

Killian had just taken a faltering step forward when a solid mass barreled into the back of his leg, causing his knee to buckle and sending him sprawling forward. He managed to avoid using his arms as he landed hard on both knees. The duo on his shoulders were finally knocked loose by the jarring landing, but he didn’t have time to register that fact before his new assailant took their place. It felt like nearly triple their combined weight, and Killian could only surmise that the Less commander Quake had found him.

The big ape suddenly had his very humanoid fingers wrapped around Killian’s throat. There would be no need to pry Puzzle from the pirate’s grasp if he were dead.

Immediately panicking for air, Killian slashed upward with his blade and was rewarded with a lessening of the pressure on his trachea, though the keen edge sliced into his hand just as deeply as it did Quake’s. He stabbed upward again. The weapon slipped from his grasp. Quake seemed to be treating Killian’s throat as a tree trunk while he nursed his cut, leaning back at a casual angle, hind feet on Killian’s shoulder blades. Killian’s damaged fingers had little effect on the powerful grip.

“Kill!” shrieked Quake, between licks of his own blood. “Kill the Torn!”

Killian dragged an unsatisfying breath past the obstruction and began to struggle to his feet. He heaved himself up with an exhausted, strangled groan, his fingers still engaged in a futile wrestling match with the hand squeezing his windpipe. He could see dozens of Less warriors flooding the canyon, pouring over the walls like drones defending an anthill. Killian felt as if he were carrying a full cask of rum on his back as he braced himself for the onslaught.

They came from all sides, scaling his legs, using each other as springboards, or even leaping from the walltops and, try as he might to dodge or shake them off, there were simply too many and he was quickly overwhelmed.

One particularly conniving creature latched on to one of Killian’s boots and began a ferocious tug-of-war battle as he fought to maintain his balance. Others swiftly joined in, and it wasn’t long before he had his feet pulled out from underneath him. Once more on his knees, being flayed and helpless to stop it, Killian curled himself protectively around princess Puzzle. Should it be his fate to die today, he was damn well prepared to spend his final moments shielding her for as long as he could. 

Suddenly, the tightness in his throat could not entirely be explained by Quake’s almost-lazy grasp. Another young one he’d failed to save. It seemed he deserved this death.

Into the haze of pain came a bolt of fire as mighty ape fangs pierced the back of his neck and shoulder. Doubtless probing for vital structures, though with victory all but assured, Quake must have wanted to savor the moment, and paralysis only lurked. But jolts of electricity shot down his arm and torso, and it could only be a matter of time.

Other clawed hands were digging, tearing at his arms as his strength quickly faded. Soon, they would breach the cave protecting Puzzle, drag her out, take her back or kill her in their frenzy, and Killian could do nothing.

Amidst the raging anguish of the attack, a sudden doubling of the surrounding tumult could only be Hellfire’s roar as eternity rushed to claim him. But then… one fewer set of claws raking his arm, a little less weight on his back. Fangs withdrawn abruptly, assault averted. By the next heartbeat, all of the monkeys had abandoned ship, even Quake, though it felt as if he’d taken a sizable chunk of Killian’s shoulder with him.

It could be a trick. They could be backing off to get him to look up and expose Puzzle. Killian didn’t dare risk it and remained frozen in place, panting and bleeding.

The nearby melee continued. Then the screams of pain started. And they sounded too intense to be faked. 

Killian lifted his head cautiously, poised to resume his position should anything dive for the entrance. But no, one glance made plain the all-out battle taking place. First versus Less, to the death, and no attention could be spared for the Torn intruder in their midst. 

Killian’s vision swam as he made desperate calculations. He should make a run for it, if he could even stand. He had missed seeing where the First had come from. Away from here, though, while the two clans fought. Figure out the rest later. Or… turn Puzzle over to a First ally? Could he pick one out with enough confidence?

This whole time, the cacophony had blended into an unintelligible animal din, too garbled for the translator portion to keep up, or maybe the pure wild rage needed no interpretation. But suddenly, one shout did rise above the noise, a single word, repeated.

“Laden!”

Killian searched frantically for the culprit. Nearby, Quake thrashed dark limbs beneath a swarm of undersized opponents. Blood, fur and carnage everywhere. No clear advantage for either side, not yet; only the vultures gathering high above.

“Laden!”

His eyes were drawn to the walltop, about forty paces ahead and to his right. Concealed in the striated shadows, a gray-and-black face peered out between two thorn-like projections crowning the canyon walls. The distance challenged his ability to distinguish facial features, but Killian was fairly certain it must be Mandible, or at the very least, another of the First Clan. Only they knew the nickname by which he was now being summoned.

Killian forced himself up, and the world dimmed for a disconcertingly long period of time. Wincing, he took an off-kilter step toward renewed hope, feeling as if he were floating above the horde of distracted monkeys underfoot.

Perhaps even long-disused sea legs aided him against a madly tilting pathway, for he managed to avoid falling despite obstacles he could barely see. One Less soldier made a half-hearted grab at his ankle but was immediately set upon by one of the First. Hardly pausing in his unsteady stride, Killian pressed onward. 

With all of the alarmingly blurry edges the scene had taken on, it was a real possibility that he had imagined the face on the walltop. He did not see it again until he was suddenly and inexplicably passing beneath the landmark with only a vague sense of how he had gotten there. Craning his neck to search was torture, and he dared not stop walking in case he could not start again; thankfully, his guide made a reappearance a little farther down the path, beckoning him forward, and it was enough motivation for ten more steps, then twenty after that, and it did not matter that he couldn't remember each passing moment, as long as he had this semi-solid vision to follow without much thinking required.

The turf war’s fury gradually faded behind him, becoming a confusing mess of echoes off the surrounding stone. Must-Be-Mandible met Killian at a fork in the canyon, and it was then that he noticed two more friendly lurkers keeping vigilant watch in every direction. All three directed Killian down the left path--which, if he were being honest, was the opposite of what he would have chosen. So maybe they were real after all. 

After two more turns which led them more or less in the expected direction but would have taken him hours to find on his own, Killian's heart rate was just beginning to settle into less of a terror-stricken sprint. But the waning of adrenaline meant a sharpening of pain, and the dogged pace set at first by necessity was no longer sustainable. 

“Quickly,” urged the First as Killian began to lag behind, likely sensing things he could not.

“Take her,” he answered hoarsely. “I'll find my own way…”

Then he was ducking as a Less warrior exploded out of hiding, and the two sentries leapt to engage, and he was suddenly running again, drawing on one final reserve of strength to follow Mandible in the direction of safety.

[pcttrailsidereader]

Testing Our Metal

The year was 1982. The PCT was still just a line on a map in many places between Mexico and Canada. Jamey was just 16 years old, his brother just two years older. The sons of missionary parents who served in Papua New Guinea, Jamey decided to become an emancipated minor, leave high school, pursue a relationship with Cheryl Lewin (who he did indeed marry), and walk the PCT with his brother.

Forty years later he has reflected on his journey and written his PCT and life story and self-published the account as, Wrestling with Life, Love, and Culture on the PCT. This is available for purchase on Amazon.

We are excerpting one chapter that we have broken into two installments. The second installment will post in three days. This particular chapter focuses on Jamey and Tom's journey through the San Jacintos. It is a fun read!

By Jamey Dye

We had 120 miles of hiking ahead of us before we planned on seeing our family again. I was not excited. There was a long climb to San Jacinto Peak ahead of us, 5000 feet (1,500 meters) of elevation over the next few days. We would be relying on our ice axes, crampons, and snowshoes, but we had never even used them before. We had the theory of how to use this equipment explained to us but had never tried it out. We cut the tags off the boots and the snowshoes to tie them to our packs. We set off for the next phase of our trip.

We were hiking up a long ridge towards Mount San Jacinto in the afternoon of the third day. There were beautiful vistas off to the east. We were looking down on Palm Desert and got occasional glimpses of the Salton Sea off to the south. It looked like a shimmering opal. The weather was nice, and we were in shorts and T-shirts. High above the desert, we noticed three discus clouds stacked on top of each other. They were very odd clouds, and Tom and I stopped to discuss them and took a picture. I look back now and chuckle at my lack of understanding. Now I know that such clouds act as warning signs for large pressure shifts in the middle atmosphere and often are the precursor to heavy storms.

The website Outforia describes them this way:

“Lenticular clouds form as wind blows over a large object, such as a mountain. If there’s sufficient moisture in the air as the wind blows over the mountain, this moisture can condense as it gets pushed up and over the mountain’s summit. When this happens, clouds can form above a mountain’s summit in this unique lens-like shape.”

Within an hour of that cloud formation, we were hit with wind so hard it literally blew us off our feet. Wow, what a shock! We began to hike fast, looking for a place to get out of the wind. We were afraid another gust would send us off the adjacent cliffs onto the rocky slopes below. Soon it started snowing and blowing hard, and the temperature dropped to below freezing. One hour earlier, it was a pleasant, sunny day with blue skies, and suddenly we were afraid for our lives. We dressed in everything we had brought for winter and were still cold. The snow was blowing sideways, and visibility was less than 50 feet.

We looked down each canyon squinting through the snow, for a place to set up camp out of the blizzard. The wind was too strong to open our map, but our collective memory was that this trail stayed on the exposed ridge for at least ten more miles, and it was getting dark. Finally, the trail turned west, and there were some pockets of snow gathered on a slope to our right. We left the trail and scrambled down the steep side of the hill to a small cluster of trees and a patch of old melted snow. We hunkered down and began to use our ice axes for the first time. With them, we hacked away at chunks of ice, building a snow wall and leveling a patch big enough for our tent. I was afraid that the loops in the tent were not strong enough, so I used prussic knots looped directly onto our fiberglass tent poles and anchored them to the trees around us. When our wall was up, and our tent was tied down, we crawled inside and prayed that our poles would be strong enough to keep the tent from ripping in half.

We crawled into our sleeping bags and scrounged around in our packs for something to eat. That was the first time on the trip we did not cook dinner. Instead, we relied on a special high-calorie meal of instant chocolate pudding, granola bars, and sea ration wafers we had picked up from the Army Surplus Store. The dry wafers would become a trip favorite. We called them ‘respect crackers,’ arguing that they deserved our respect since they had been around since Vietnam. We lay in the dark as the tent slapped us in the face. We hoped to fall asleep but worried that the tent would rip in half at any moment. The exhaustion of the day got the better of me, and I did drift off to sleep. I woke up with the tent pressed down onto my face. The wind had stopped, and I felt a heavy pressure on me. I unzipped the sleeping bag and fumbled around for a flashlight. Turning it on, I discovered the whole tent had collapsed on top of us. I shoved Tom awake, and we gently felt along the poles, lifting them up and hoping they were not broken. They soon popped up, and we heard a woosh as the snow slid off the tent. I unzipped the tent a little, only to see a wall of snow. We laughed and went back to sleep. We figured we would deal with the mess in the morning. Welcome to the PCT!

This was our first real test, and we were grateful to be warm and dry and still have a tent. We woke up the next day to twenty-four inches of fresh powder snow. We were perched precariously on the side of a mountain 100 yards below the trail with no idea how to use snowshoes, crampons, ice axes, or gators. It was time to learn. We were skilled rock climbers and backpackers. After a few tries, we got our equipment on and began practicing in our little canyon without packs. We tried sliding, using the axe as a brake in the snow. We experimented with the different ways to use the axe our uncle had explained in his living room. We agreed that the snowshoes were not helpful and tied them back on our packs. Even the crampons were not much use in this deep powder. The snow pants and gators mom made were awesome and an absolute necessity in the wet snow. Without them, we would have been soaked to the bone and probably have frozen to death.

[blondcs]

time:  day thirty / night.

location:   main villa / smoking area.

featuring:   @gotatext

At this point she needs more than a cigarette. For what feels like the hundredth time in the less than two weeks she’s been here, she wants out—can even imagine the camera angles, the music, the heels she would wear to stomp through the front doors with a haphazardly packed suitcase to irish goodbye the shit out of this place. She’s being irrational, knows that she wasn’t into dante enough to justify feeling this upset, but the villa’s doing her head in. things that would barely phase her on the outside are devastating blows to the ego in here, and her usual coping isn’t an option. She can’t exactly don her skimpiest dress and grab an uber to the club, rail a couple lines in the bathroom and find someone to go home with. but she can do the next best thing. 

Two beers are gripped in one contorted hand as she does a quick scan, locating him exactly where she expects, where they always seem to find each other, almost as if he’s waiting for her. Her heart skips a beat, resigned to her fate and soothed with a small sip. then she’s moving, determination lacing every step as she kicks off her heels and begins the march to the smoking area. She briefly wonders if she looks crazy, if her eyes betray how feral she feels right now, zeroing in on jude like a predator on its prey, needing him in some kind of base, primitive way that she can’t keep under wraps around him. It usually slumbers just below the surface, but not now. Not with him. There’s not a religious bone in her body, but she’s praying to god that like really does call to like. That the reason she wants him so badly is some instinctive knowing that he’d understand this feeling like no one else in the villa could, this clawing desperation for something wild and unrestrained and physical to pull her out of her head. Praying that the bits of herself she finds in him aren’t just her own loneliness mirrored back, but proof that she’s not making a complete ass of herself right now. That when she climbs onto him he isn’t gonna just laugh and shove her away. 

It’s not a long walk, but enough to work herself into a frenzy by the time she’s close enough to see the details of his face illuminated by the lights despite the dark—the freckle on the high point of his cheek, the creases in his forehead, the hair coming in just above his lip ( she can imagine how that would feel, teasing along her mouth, down her body, between her legs. ) fuck. she’s doing this then, not so much as a greeting before she’s ditching the drinks to hitch a leg up to straddle his lap, hair flipped over one shoulder as she plucks the cigarette from between his lips and pops it between her own. it’s only then that she really has the courage to meet his gaze head on, heart thundering in her chest as she takes a drag, long and deep, letting the anticipation build. there wasn’t time to relish in the tension last time, too many eyes and too much pressure. and while they’re far from alone right now, she’s so laser focused on him it’s easy to let everything else fade. in the end, this has nothing to do with dante. or romi. not for her. they may have been the catalyst, but she’s wanted this from the second she laid eyes on him, that same heat she saw the first day locking her in. her lips part, smoke curling up between them, still spilling out when she takes that final plunge, free hand snaking up behind his neck to tilt his face up in a searing kiss. 

[rinkiyakimummy]

I was golden and I was shining like a star until one day I burnt out and only the ashes of past glory remained. The shooting star became the falling star. 

Day by day I slowly climbed up the pedestal I was building for myself. So high and mighty that one misstep would make my fall to the ground, shattering all my bones. A pedestal so high, that I couldn’t visualise myself  anywhere else and the expectations I set for myself were stricter than any that others set for me. I made it look like everything came easy to me and hard work was something I hadn’t even heard of, except the sweat from my toil and the tears of my sorrow soaked my pillow more often than I would like to admit. My entire identity became my image, which felt like an elaborate lie I wanted to keep up. It was too late to admit I was not as impressive as others thought, it was too late to admit I was not as impressive as I wanted to be. Everyday I set bigger expectations for myself , until they were so heavy it seemed as though the slightest fumble would crush me under their mighty weight.  Eventually the world saw me as the golden one who’d make no mistake and never falter. In fact, there was no room to falter. Perfection was the only choice. Perfection is exhausting because perfection is the opposite of humanity. To be human is to err, and to not allow yourself to make mistakes is a sin. I climbed my pedestal so high, I couldn’t see the ground anymore, all I knew was that I couldn’t leave it, I couldn’t let myself  fail, that is until I couldn’t reach my expectations anymore. 

Disappointing others hurts for sure, but disappointing myself was a twisting stab in the heart. I struggled each day to stay who I assumed everyone else thought I was. I put my blood, sweat and tears into maintaining an illusion of something that didn’t even matter. It took time but I learnt to be less harsh to myself. To be as kind to myself, as I try to be to others. To let myself fail once in a while, and make mistakes. To be human, to learn, to improve without judging myself. I think in a way I still am on the pedestal I placed myself on, but it doesn’t seem as scary to fall now. It’s not bone shattering or heartbreaking, it’s at best a scrape on the knee. Maybe it’ll leave a scar of the memory of failure, but failure isn’t an all consuming end, it’s just a lesson. Maybe I’ll never be good enough, because nothing is ever enough but I can definitely be good and that is enough for me. 

Maybe this time, I want to shine like the moon, bright yet perseverant. Go through phases of darkness and light, but always continue. I want to glow gently and never burn out. 

[skzsauce01]

Angel Sent From Up Above

Anniversary Request Special

Synopsis: Hyunjin, a new guardian angel, has fallen in love with a human. His human’s girlfriend, to be precise. Angel AU, background college AU and skater AU.

Warning: violence

Word Count: 8.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x guardian angel!Hyunjin; fem!reader x human!Jeongin

“Is she healed now?” Hyunjin asks the moment Jisung flies in. He knows Jisung is probably exhausted from keeping maladies away from you, but he needs the answer now. “Is her flu gone?”

“Yeah.” Jisung’s wings are tinged gray with ruin, but he keeps them on display for all the other guardian angels to see as he walks past them. They are proof that he has been doing his duty. They’ll return to white soon enough anyway. “Your human’s her boyfriend. Why didn’t you try to check through him? He visited a few times even though she told him not to.” Jisung sighs and shakes his head. “What an idiot. He’s going to get sick himself.”

“He hasn't visited recently, so I haven’t been able to check through him. The Archangel’s forbade me going to Earth unless it was something serious. I think he’s worried I'm spending too much time with humans.”

Jisung shakes his head. “I think he’s worried that he’s going to have to Seungmin you.”

“I'm not going to get expelled.”

Jisung shrugs, and ruin falls from his wings like ash. “You better watch out. You checked up on her too much last time she got sick, so he's probably trying to make sure you won't abandon your human. He's banished people for less. Case in point: Seungmin.”

“She's important to Jeongin, so she's important to me."

Jisung sighs. “Sometimes I think you’re more protective of her than I am.”

He says it as a joke, but Hyunjin knows it’s the truth. He cares deeply about you, maybe even more than his own human, but he will never say that last part aloud.

Hyunjin used to believe that becoming a guardian angel was the best thing that ever happened to him. All of his afterlife, he had wanted to be promoted, to be granted the pure white wings and the crown of sun rays. Regular angels had wings and halos but never white wings and golden halos; silver and silver was the “regular” combination.

Watching over a human was considered the highest honor an angel could receive, and everyone clamored to gain the attention of the Archangel. Hyunjin was not immune. He worked as a messenger for years, delivering even the most inane notes between the higher ups. He endured the attacks, verbal and sometimes physical, and kept his mouth shut. Eventually, the Archangel recognized his efforts, and before dawn broke on Earth, Hyunjin was named the new guardian angel of a baby boy, Yang Jeongin.

“You will protect him. You will guide him,” the Archangel said. “He is your responsibility now and yours alone. Do you understand?”

From Heaven, Hyunjin could only look at the wet, wrinkled face of his human. His human. “I understand.”

Then the Archangel flew off, and Hyunjin flew to Earth for the first time to meet the baby. No one noticed him as he phased through the hospital walls nor as his giant wings folded back. Only Jeongin would be able to see his guardian angel.

“Hello there, little one,” he whispered to the swaddled baby. The boy was fast asleep, and Hyunjin gently stroked his face. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Hyunjin, your official guardian angel. I’ll always be nearby now, and I’ll always make sure you’re safe. Sometimes you won’t be able to see me, but I’ll always be watching over you. I promise.”

Jeongin stirred awake and stared back at Hyunjin. Two sets of eyes blinked at each other, one full of curiosity and one full of tenderness.

“Go back to sleep,” Hyunjin said. He drew his hand over the baby’s face, and Jeongin’s eyes fluttered shut. “Sweet dreams, little one.”

Guardian angels talked about their humans like parents, bragging about how gifted they were and sharing complaints about what unbelievable thing they did the other day. Hyunjin mostly did the latter. Jeongin was an adventurous child, which was just a nice way of saying that he liked to play with danger. Hyunjin often had to fly in to save him or to redirect the threat somewhere else. The other angels joked that Hyunjin stayed on Earth more than Heaven sometimes. He didn’t mind though. Even with his human’s shortcomings, Hyunjin adored him. He watched from above as Jeongin said his first words, attended his first day of kindergarten, and got into his first fight.

“He’s a troublemaker,” Minho observed.

Minho was a guardian angel as well, but he tended to lurk on the outer edges of the realm as the other angels avoided him for a reason Hyunjin hadn’t figured out yet. Hyunjin liked him well enough and treated him like a mentor, sometimes a friend.

“Hey, you’re not one to talk. Your human started a black market of candy at school.”

Minho shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Jeongin didn’t end up growing up into a troublemaker, to Hyunjin’s relief. The impulsive streak was still there, but he utilized his judgement more now. There were no car crashes or cases of alcohol poisoning, and when Jeongin asked out girls, it was with daisy bouquets and a suggestion to get lunch. Hyunjin slowly stopped making routine trips to Earth and chose to view Jeongin from the comfort of Heaven. It was there that Hyunjin noticed you.

“I think she’s upset with him,” Jisung abruptly says. “She cried after a video call with him, so if your human starts acting strangely, that’s why.”

The news makes Hyunjin stop mid-step, and he turns to his friend. “She cried? What? What did she cry about?”

“I don’t know. I was too busy trying to lower her temperature. Can you believe that she almost hit—”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I just got back! There is no ‘earlier!’ Besides, we aren't allowed to interfere in anything that isn't dangerous. Heartbreak, if this is even what this is, is temporary."

“Humans do drastic things for love.” The movies has seen while watching Jeongin have told him that much.

“Which we will attend to when it happens. You’re a new guardian; you’ll understand them better over time. Not everything is life-threatening, fragile as they are.”

Hyunjin turns away from Jisung and glances down at Earth. The clouds part, and all of the brick buildings of the university rush towards his eyes as he focuses on Jeongin. He’s asleep at his desk, his lamp still burning bright above him. How long has it been since the video call? Or perhaps he’s just tired from the events of his day. But he looks so small and vulnerable in his chair. Jeongin isn’t fragile — the amount of situations he has gotten out of covered in bruises and blood is astronomical — but he is mortal.

“But she loves him,” Hyunjin softly says, “and he loves her.”

“Exactly. Humans fight over small things all the time, and this is one of those times.” Jisung places a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder to placate him. “Trust me.”

“... I trust you.”

“Good. I need to rest, but we can catch up and see what stupid things they do after.”

The moment Jisung flies off to the rest area, Hyunjin goes against the Archangel’s orders and flies to your apartment. When he peers inside your bedroom window, he spots you sitting in bed in the dark, your phone screen illuminating your face. He phases inside and sits at your desk chair, resting his forearms at the top rail. You can’t see him, but he wishes that you could.

You mindlessly scroll through messages, sniffling every few seconds. Whether it’s from your crying or your illness, he doesn’t know. He can’t hand you a tissue or tell you comforting things or hug you like Jeongin can. When you wrap your blanket tighter around your shoulders, he wraps his wings around himself as well.

Suddenly you throw your phone beside you and let out a heavy sigh. “It can’t get any worse than this,” you say to yourself.

Hyunjin waits for you to say more, but you only stare at the ceiling with blank eyes. He can’t compel you to talk; only Jisung can, but he’s not here. So instead, Hyunjin knocks over the glass of water on your bed when you shift into a more comfortable position.

“Of course it can,” you sigh again and blot as much water as you can with your tissues. You pull another one out of the box with more force than necessary and furiously dab your sheets. “First I get sick, then I miss a homework deadline that I can’t make up because my professor lost his heart thirty years ago along with his hair, then my boyfriend breaks up with me for like no reason, apparently I have an exam tomorrow, and now I’ve spilled water all over my bed, so I can’t even sleep. Thank you, universe. I really needed this.”

He immediately regrets his decision.

“Worst freaking week of my life,” you mumble as you throw away the wet tissues. Hyunjin almost reaches out for your arm when you pass by, but he retracts it just in time.

When you climb back into bed, you draw your blanket up to your chin and begin murmuring numbers. They come out calm and even at first, but they become more tense as time passes. Hyunjin half-listens as he scans the contents of your desk. A laptop, a shopping bag, an open notebook with doodles on the margins, an uncapped black pen, and a pack of gum. He presses his forefinger to the point of the pen, drawing a tiny heart by touch. Then he stamps the heart among all your misshapen stars and imaginary flowers. You might just think it’s an ink smear, but he hopes you look at it and smile.  

You hit three hundred and forty-seven before you begin to sound drowsy. Hyunjin stands at the foot of your bed, watching as you finally drift off in the middle of three hundred and ninety-three. Serenity settles across your features.

“I’m sorry for what I did earlier. Good night and sweet dreams,” he whispers. He pats the corner of your bed before flying off into the night.

He needs to see Jeongin.

It was hard not to notice you when you were on a collision course with Jeongin. You were going too fast, and Hyunjin’s wings couldn’t carry him to Earth in milliseconds. With horror, he watched as you sharply turned the building corner on your skateboard and just barely jumped off in time when you saw Jeongin about to make the same turn.

“You okay?” Jeongin asked as he hurried to stop your runaway board.

“I should be asking you that!” you exclaimed as you followed him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have veered that close to the wall. You’re not hurt or anything, right?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Good. I can’t risk getting sued again.” Unsure of how to respond, Jeongin nudged back your board to you. You neatly stopped it mid-roll with your foot. “Thanks, by the way. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you.”

You kicked off, but before you left the area, you turned around and gave him a wave. Jeongin waved back, albeit more shyly than you. After a moment’s hesitation, he yelled out, “Be careful!”

“I’ll try!”

Jeongin laughed and turned the corner, looking at the brick wall with more wistfulness than most people usually did. Before he entered the building, he peeked around the next corner, as if he expected you to come speeding by again. You didn’t.

After that, he noticed you more often, usually swerving around strangers as you cut through campus. Whenever he had the opportunity to say hello, he did so with a smile, and you returned it with a waggle of your fingers before disappearing into the crowd. Once, you nearly crashed into a railing. You laughed it off and gave him another wave along with a funny face. Hyunjin felt something inside him melt. Jeongin must have too since he headed to his next class with the most lovestruck expression Hyunjin had ever seen on him.

It was then that Jeongin began forming a plan.

Two weeks after the first meeting, Jeongin waited in the quad for you to show up. Just as he hoped, you came walking down the steps fifteen minutes later, skateboard tucked underneath your arm. It was supposed to seem like a coincidence, but Hyunjin had followed Jeongin as he scoured nearby skate spots, asking around about you. Yesterday, he had learned where you liked to practice tricks. He got up from his bench, hands hidden behind his back, and approached you with the same moves and confidence he had rehearsed in the bathroom mirror.

“Hey! How have you been?” he called up from the very bottom.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin groaned. Jisung, who Hyunjin had tracked down two days prior to this, also did so.

“You said he was a charmer,” Jisung complained. “Look at him. He can’t even charm dogs with a treat.”

“For your sake, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Just wait though. It’s going to get better.”

Jisung huffed. “It better. She deserves the best.”

Fortunately, you took it all in stride and waved hello at Jeongin. When you were finally beside him, you answered, “I’ve been good, thanks. You’re not here to sue me, right?”

“No! I was actually wondering if you could teach me how to skateboard. If you have time, that is.”

“Really? But I almost killed you that one time. I mean, I’d be happy to, but it’s kind of weird after what happened.”

“I’d rather skateboard than walk, and you seem pretty good at it.”

You shifted your weight to one foot, and Hyunjin chuckled when he saw Jeongin’s eyes wander to your jutted-out hip. Jisung made a noise of disapproval.

“Okay, what is this really about?”

“Skateboarding,” Jeongin said. Then he took a step closer and held out a bundle of daisies towards you. “And lunch, if you want.”

You broke out into a grin. “I am a little hungry right now. L/N Y/N, skateboarding extraordinaire and ramen enthusiast, at your service.”

“Yang Jeongin, also a ramen enthusiast. Nice to officially meet you.”

Jeongin is still sleeping at his desk when Hyunjin arrives. He shifts and exhales when the wind from Hyunjin’s wings create a small breeze but does not wake.

“How could you break up with her?” Hyunjin says. “She’s amazing and wonderful, and you decide that you don't want to be with her? Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in your head.”

Silence.

“If I were human, I would have never done that, but…”

Jeongin shifts again, burying himself deeper into the crumpled hoodie he’s using as a pillow. The table squeaks, and a mechanical pencil rolls off the desk. Hyunjin quietly places the pencil back to its initial place and shuts off the lamp.

“Take care of yourself, and make good choices, okay? I can’t do that for you.”

Instead of flying back to Heaven, he perches on the roof of the building across from Jeongin’s. Jeongin finally wakes up and notices that his light is off. He glances at it confusedly for a few seconds, wondering if he misremembered leaving it on. In the end, he decides it’s not worth the effort and falls into his bed. He didn’t even spare you a thought, a crime in Hyunjin’s eyes.

Then he realizes he may have a bigger problem on his hands.

Jisung.

Jisung is going to be very upset when he finds out about this.

Over the weekend, you brought Jeongin to the quad to learn the basics.

“Put both feet on the board now,” you said as you walked alongside a skateboarding Jeongin. He was borrowing yours to practice, so he treated it with more reverence than a well-used board would need. Even though he was pushing with his back foot, he was going at a snail’s pace.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to lose my balance and fall.”

Perhaps it wasn’t reverence after all.

You shook your head. “No, you won’t. You’re not going that fast anyway. You can just step off if you really feel like you are. Give it a shot.”

To his credit, Jeongin lifted his foot a few centimeters off the ground before planting it back. “I’m going to lose control.”

While you did your best to persuade Jeongin to give it another try, Jisung gave Hyunjin a dissatisfied look. “I remember you telling me he was a daredevil. What is happening?”

He didn’t exactly know either. “He’s in front of his crush; give him a break.”

“These two better not end up dating. She deserves so much better than him.”

Hyunjin gave him a dirty look, Jisung gave him a “What? It’s true” type of a shrug.

You step in front of the board. “How about this?” you said. “You stand on the board with both feet, and I’ll pull you along so you can get used to the feeling and be less of a scaredy cat.”

“Okay.”

You took both of his hands and slowly guided him backwards. At the same time, you instructed him to put more weight on one side to change directions. Jeongin was surprisingly stable, and Hyunjin watched proudly as his human suggested that you increase your speed a little.

“See? It’s not bad?” you said. “Keeping balance isn’t that hard, right?”

“Yeah. Also,” he grinned, his meek demeanor completely gone, “we’re holding hands now.”

Your eyes widened as you glanced down at your joined hands, and you let out a delighted gasp. “You sneaky little—” Much to Jeongin’s alarm, you let go and smirked. “If you go past the bench without constantly pushing, I’ll let you hold my hand when you walk me home.”

“Kind of presumptuous of you to assume that I would offer to walk you home,” he teased, resting one foot on the floor. “Or is that what you want me to do?”

“You asked me to lunch with flowers. You were going to.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Then he kicked off, skating past the bench with ease. Still going, he looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Do you want to grab doughnuts before you head home?”

“Watch the lamp!” you yelled as you ran towards him. “Jeongin, stop looking at me and turn around!”

The collision with the lamppost was unavoidable, so Hyunjin simply watched as Jeongin took a flying leap off your board and took a tumble on the concrete. While you fumbled for band aids — Jeongin’s knee was scraped and bloody — Jeongin patted his pockets to check that his phone had not fallen out.

“So doughnuts?” he sheepishly asked.

“Sure. I’ll buy.” You finally found one hidden in the bottom of your backpack along with an alcohol wipe. “Guess you get to hold my hand after all.”

“How are you so prepared?” he asked, nodding to the contents you had unceremoniously dumped out whilst rummaging. “You have tweezers and gauze?”

“My mom made me carry a first-aid kit with me when she found out that I skate to class. It comes in handy.” You ripped open the package. “This might hurt.”

“You can kiss it to feel better.”

You laughed and pressed the alcohol wipe to his knee. “You’re such a flirt, I love it. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, hurts a lot.”

You opted to kiss the band aid instead, causing Jeongin to pout and Jisung to sigh in relief. When you stuck it onto his skin, Jeongin made a big production of being relieved from pain, which made you laugh and shove him.

“No! She’s in love with him,” Jisung groaned. His wings drooped, and Hyunjin swore his halo actually dimmed when you kept your hands in Jeongin’s after you pulled him up. “Well, Hyunjin, looks like you and I are going to be best friends.”

Hyunjin personally saw no issue with that. Like Jeongin, he had been charmed by your antics and your easygoing nature. Protecting his human’s friends, family, or lovers wasn’t part of Hyunjin’s duty, but he felt compelled to watch over you too.

Because if he were human, he would have fallen in love with you too.

In the midst of his lamenting, Jisung flies down and sits beside him on the roof. His wings are still slightly gray, and Hyunjin strangely begins to feel self-conscious of his pure white ones.

“Didn’t the Archangel forbid you from doing frivolous things?” Jisung says in lieu of a greeting. “I saw you at her apartment earlier.”

“I just wanted to check up on her. Not that I thought you lied,” he hastily adds. “I wanted to see for myself. She’s a little… distraught.”

“She got into a fight with her boyfriend. It’s normal.” When Hyunjin doesn’t reply or even make a sound, he grows concerned. “Is it something else? She’s getting sued, isn’t she? I knew it was going to happen someday. When I find that smug richie-rich, I’m going to—”

“Jeongin broke up with her.”

“What.”

Hyunjin repeats his sentence, trying to block the view of Jeongin’s bedroom with his body. Jisung looks like he’s ready to rain judgement onto him, and while Hyunjin is rather good at his job, he’s not sure if he can hold back an enraged guardian angel. Jisung takes several deep breaths before regaining the little composure he can muster.

“I knew I hated him for a reason. I knew he didn’t deserve her,” he spits out, though the venom in his voice wavers. “Why would he even break up with her? She loved him so much.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“When you find out, let me know. I’m going to see her now.”

Hyunjin stays on the roof until sunrise. Jeongin sleeps without any trouble, and when he wakes up, he looks fresh-faced, no guilt hanging over his head. Hyunjin feels something inside him cracking apart.

You truly don’t deserve this.

“Do you think they’re going to crash and burn?” Jisung asked as he studied you and Jeongin walking through the park, practically glued to each other’s sides. “I think they’re moving too fast. It’s only been a month.”

Hyunjin really didn’t care about that. As long as you and Jeongin were happy, he was happy. “A month is a pretty long time for them. Mortal lives are short.”

“Exactly. They should be more selective about their life choices.”

Hyunjin only rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to you. You were pointing at the tiny carousel in the middle and tugging at Jeongin’s sleeve. You dragged him over and pushed a coin into the slot for the ride. The lights lit up and a carnival theme played while you struggled to wedge yourself between the saddle of an elephant and the roof of the carousel. Jeongin sat on the edge, beside the tiger, and chuckled at your flailing limbs.

Hyunjin suppressed his own laugh. You were something special. Just last week, the two of you had made it official and started dating. You had done it in the sweetest possible way.

You had taken him to a local skateboarding shop to help him pick out his first board. Once he had chosen one — the ‘one’ being a light blue deck patterned with multicolored doughnuts — the staff at the shop sent him to the back to try it out. Meanwhile, you made the age-old excuse of needing to use the restroom when you were actually getting the flowers you had hidden in the back.

Hyunjin had turned into a pile of fluff when you gave Jeongin the daisy bouquet and asked if he wanted to officially be your boyfriend. You were so earnest. Jeongin playfully pretended to think it over, a feat Hyunjin knew he wouldn’t have been able to do if he were in his position. There were no fireworks or confetti when Jeongin finally said yes, but the staff did clap and cheer. Jisung looked on with contempt. Hyunjin looked on with envy.

“You know,” Jisung abruptly said, snapping Hyunjin back to the present, “when her last boyfriend broke up with her, she had ice cream for dinner for a week.”

“Oh.”

“You see why I’m being wary of him now?”

Hyunjin did, but Jeongin was different. His previous relationships always ended well, and on one occasion, he remained friends with his ex. He sighed and decided that a change of topic was necessary so he wouldn’t have to potentially endure a tirade. “Did you hear about Minho’s human? The bank he worked at got robbed, and he got held at gunpoint.”

That caught the overprotective Jisung’s ear. “What? Is he okay?”

During Hyunjin’s recountment of Minho’s recountment, the carousel ride ended. You squeezed out of your spot, hitting your head on the roof, and Jeongin pulled you in for a forehead kiss. The world grew brighter when you smiled, he realized.

Hyunjin shadows Jeongin around all day, hoping to learn the reason for the breakup. Unfortunately, Jeongin doesn’t say anything. He does show some regret though, as he scrolls through past messages and old pictures. When he heads to classes, he opts to walk instead of skateboarding like usual and avoids the quad whenever possible.

In the evening, while Jeongin is chewing on his salad like a cow to cud, Hyunjin pays you a visit. He finds in the freezer section of the grocery store with three pints of ice cream in your basket. From the looks of it, you’re about to add another three to your haul. Peanut butter pretzel sounds equal parts delicious and confusing.

Hyunjin studies your expression, frowning at the same time you do. Your eyes are ringed with red, your jaw tight, and your eyebrows seem permanently furrowed. When he follows you back home, he half expects you to start crying on the way, but you hold fast and manage to open a pint of the salted caramel flavor before the tears finally come. There’s no wailing, just sniffling and the sound of you furiously wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. In the midst of it all, you find the strength to reorganize the freezer to make space for the other pints. Something about that makes Hyunjin’s heart drop.

By the time your roommate discovers you in the kitchen, the entire refrigerator has been reorganized and the ice cream finished. You sit in a dark room, your finger hovering above the ‘SEND’ button of a message to Jeongin. Hyunjin can see it if he flies above you: “Can you please just tell me why? You keep saying you did something wrong, but I don’t even know what it is. Please let me decide if it’s worth breaking up over.”

“Rough day?” she gently asks as she flips on the switch.

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I just wanna process it right now,” you hollowly say. You grab your skateboard — the same black, paint-splattered one you had last year — and unlock the front door. “I’m going out for a ride, but I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Stay safe.”

After you leave, Jisung phases through the kitchen walls and hisses at Hyunjin, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Jeongin?”

He nearly forgot about him. Eating dinner isn’t a dangerous task anyway though. Besides, if Jeongin does get physically harmed somehow, Hyunjin will feel an echo of the pain. Hyunjin glances at the door, and Jisung shakes his head.

“I’ll take care of her. Go back to Jeongin, and make sure he’s okay. You can’t keep leaving him all the time.”

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Good.”

Hyunjin reluctantly goes back to Jeongin, who is still eating his salad. His resolve from last night is clearly gone as evidenced by his melancholy expression as he scrolls through even more photos. The one of you in mid-air makes him clutch his phone.

“Let me get one of you when you’re really high up,” Jeongin suggested. He was comfortable gliding around on a skateboard now, but nowhere comfortable enough to try any tricks. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from trying to get him to learn. The “pop shove it” was your favorite, solely for the amount of height you could get.

“Okay.”

As you did over and over again for your enthusiastic boyfriend who was unfortunately not that great of a photographer, Hyunjin observed from a rooftop behind Jeongin. Sometimes you looked like you were flying. He could imagine wings protruding from your back, and if the sun hit you just right, there appeared to be a halo as well.

“I got one!” Jeongin exclaimed as he held up his device to you. “Look.”

Hyunjin couldn’t see for himself, but your mouth dropped into an ‘o’ once you took a first glance. A flustered smile made its way onto your face, and everything about you turned soft.

“This looks amazing,” you said. You sidled up to him and rested your cheek against his shoulder, turning your head towards him. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air for a few seconds as both Hyunjin and Jeongin tried to process them. This was the first time you had ever said them, and it came seemingly out of nowhere. Hyunjin recovered first.

“Say ‘I love you’ back, you moron,” Hyunjin whispered, like Jeongin would be able to hear him from this distance. “‘I love you too.’”

“I wanted to say it first,” Jeongin finally said. “Ugh, I had it all planned out too. We were supposed to get doughnuts after this, and I was going to buy you one of those heart-shaped ones.”

You kissed him on the cheek and intertwined your fingers with his. “We can still do that.”

At the doughnut shop, he said the words second, and you kissed him again, leaving a crystal of glaze on the corner of his mouth. Hyunjin licked his lips as if you had left it on him instead.

“Did you find out?” Jisung asks when Hyunjin leaves Jeongin to check up on you. You’re skating around the city, making sharp swerves and weaving in-between lampposts. Jisung is trailing behind you in the sky, but he slows when he sees Hyunjin approaching.

“No, but—”

“Then go back to him. Hyunjin,” Jisung sighs, “I know you care about her, but she’s not your human. Jeongin’s your responsibility.”

“I know but—”

“Go back. And I’m telling you this not as your friend but as your senior. You’re a guardian angel, and you need to take your responsibilities seriously. I’ll get the Archangel involved if I have to. Do you want to get Seungminned?”

The threat of the Archangel strangely doesn’t scare him anymore, however. In fact, the Archangel being involved may solve many of his current issues.

“I’ll find you again when I find out,” Hyunjin slowly says.

Jisung nods in approval before racing after you again. Hyunjin heads to Heaven, not to keep an eye over his human but to become human.

Ten months into Jeongin’s relationship with you, Hyunjin asked Minho, “Is it possible to give up your divinity?”

Minho gave Hyunjin a curious look. “Is being a guardian angel that taxing for you? You haven’t even experienced a full lifespan yet. I know, twenty year-olds are annoying, but it’s not nearly as bad as forty year-olds and their mid-life crisis.”

“I’m just curious. Or, as a last resort,” he added, hoping that Minho would stop being suspicious if he joked about it. “My human’s been making some dumb choices.”

A lie, but Minho fell for it.

“I told you he was going to be a troublemaker!” he cackled. He sympathetically patted Hyunjin’s back. “If I’m being honest, I thought about it a few times. I always get assigned to the troublemakers. Probably because the higher-ups hate me for not tolerating their BS. They’re always playing favorites. Anyway, the easiest way is to get expelled by the Archangel. It’s happened a few times before.”

“Can’t you just ask him?”

Minho smirked. “You don’t think other angels have tried that? He only expels the ones who don’t want to be. It’s supposed to be a punishment.”

“What’s the hard way then?”

“Same thing minus the Archangel getting involved: your wings getting cut off,” he matter-of-factly answered. “The halo will break once your wings are detached. It’s only been done once, by the way.”

Hyunjin absentmindedly rubbed the area where the bones of his wings met with his shoulder blades. All he needed were two clean cuts across his practically impenetrable back.

“How do you do that?”

“With the Archangel’s sword. Another angel has to cut it though; you can’t do it yourself.”

The Archangel would likely banish him to Hell for even asking about his weapon. If Hyunjin ever did manage to steal the sword away, Jisung would never agree to it. He couldn’t just ask any angel to help him.

“How do you know about all this?” Hyunjin asked.

Minho hesitated, something he rarely did. He quickly recovered, hiding his sudden apprehension with his usual devil-may-care nonchalance. “I can’t give away all of my secrets.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends. The word hung in the air like the sun, and Hyunjin knew that Minho would tell him because underneath all of his bluster was loneliness. Because no one liked Minho, or if they did, they still avoided him anyway.

“Yeah, we are,” Minho answered, smiling for a second before a strange expression crossed over his face, pride mixed with a touch of sadness. “Do you really think the Archangel would have expelled one of his favorite guardian angels that easily?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Seungmin. He asked me to cut his wings for him.”  

“I need you to cut my wings,” are Hyunjin’s first words to Minho after not speaking to him for days.

To his credit, Minho is only speechless for a few seconds. The dove in his hand pecks at him for more headpats before he recovers. “Well, do you have the sword?”

“No, but I think I can get it. When I do though, would you do it? You’re the only one I trust.”

Minho sighs and tosses the bird out of Heaven, grimacing a bit when he hears it squawk. When he faces Hyunjin, he smiles the same smile he did when he talked about Seungmin. “It’s always me, huh? I’ll do you one better. I’ll steal the sword for you. The Archangel’s been pissing me off anyway.”

For once, Hyunjin’s thoughts are not on you but his friend. He imagined that Minho would be willing, but perhaps he’s too willing. “Are you trying to get expelled as well? We can go together.”

“No, I like being immortal. I hate all of the BS I get put through sometimes, but the Archangel can’t kick me out. He swore an oath to me a long time ago before he got promoted, and it’s pretty much unbreakable. Besides, even Heaven needs a scapegoat.”

That explains why virtually no angels interact with Minho, Hyunjin being the exception. He has never heard of the Archangel being oathsworn, though it seems likely that the Archangel wants to keep that a secret.

“How are you going to get it?” Hyunjin asks. “How did Seungmin even get it? The Archangel always has it with him.”

“Seungmin was one of his favorites,” Minho reminds him. “He had easy access to him, and the Archangel trusted him enough to let him borrow it for ‘a study.’ Don’t worry about me though. Just wait for me on Earth. Somewhere where no one goes. I’ll find you, slice off your wings, and the Archangel won’t even know what happened to you.”

“That’s not possible. He always keeps it on him.”

Minho shrugs, a gleam in his eyes. “I’ve done it before. Why do you think I’m the scapegoat?”

Seungmin. For Minho and now Hyunjin, being Seungminned didn’t mean being expelled for being frivolous anymore; it meant leaving of your own accord.

“What happened to him?” Hyunjin asked. “Why didn’t the Archangel grant his divinity back? Someone should have spotted him on Earth.”

Minho’s wry grin was back. “You think the Archangel wanted everyone to find out the golden boy of Heaven no longer wanted to be an angel? Plenty of angels already saw him roaming Earth. It was easier to let everyone think that Seungmin was banished. So when they saw him on Earth, he was just a fallen angel, nothing important.” He nudged Hyunjin’s arm, and the solemn atmosphere vanished. “A troublemaking human isn’t all that bad. Like I said, the twenties are annoying, but they’re manageable. Is he one of those partying types?”

“He goes out sometimes,” Hyunjin carefully replied. Jeongin liked hanging out with his friends and you — mostly you, now that Hyunjin thought about it — but he wasn’t getting blackout drunk every night. At least, Hyunjin hoped he wasn’t. He usually watched over you if you were ever in the vicinity. “Speaking of which, I should check up on him.”

Minho said his goodbyes, and Hyunjin flew back to Earth once he saw that you weren’t with Jeongin. You were studying at your desk, rolling a pen between your fingers, reading through a document on your laptop. The desk light casted a warm glow on your face. You frowned, and your lower lip swelled outwards.

He wished he were human.

Just as Minho said, Hyunjin waits for him to arrive in a secluded part of the university campus. The building rooftop is devoid of anyone, and the area surrounding it is empty as well. The evening turns into night, then night into the early morning when the sky begins lightening. Still, Minho has not come.

He distantly wonders how Jeongin is faring and his promise to Jisung. When he’s human, he’ll ask Jeongin directly, maybe in disguise of a survey: “Why did you break up with your last partner?” Even to him, it sounds stupid. However, that’s not the real reason why he’s giving up his divinity, so it hardly matters to him. Jisung is resourceful; he’ll find out eventually.

Finally, when the sun peeks over the horizon, Minho descends from Heaven, a familiar silver sword in his hand. He lands beside Hyunjin, a triumphant smile on his face. But his usual humor has been replaced with solemnity.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks as he rests the blade on the top of Hyunjin’s wings.

He has never felt so sure of anything in his life. “Yes.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Then make it quick.”

Searing pain shoots through his body as the sword pierces through the thin skin and into the bone. The process is not as nearly as seamless as Hyunjin hoped it would be, and Minho breathes heavily as he pushes the blade down. Bones snap, feathers drift to the floor, and blood trickles down his back. The pain only grows greater near the end, but Hyunjin grits his teeth and keeps quiet. Dawn breaks when his wings finally fall to the floor, no longer white but splattered with red. Soon they fade into dust, and the remnants scatter into the wind. His golden halo shatters into sunlight. The world dulls as the last of his powers disappear, but everything feels much better than when he was an angel.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Minho, who he cannot even look at anymore. His eyes would be burned.

“You’re fallen, not quite mortal and not quite divine. You won’t be affected by all of an angel’s power.”

When Hyunjin cautiously glances at him, Minho waves the bloody sword at him. “See?”

“Yeah.” He wanted humanity, but this is good enough for him. He just needs you to be able to see him, hear him, touch him.

“I need to go back before Heaven becomes Hell, but find Seungmin if you can. He can help you figure things out. Last I heard, he’s living somewhere in the mountains.”

“Thank you,” he repeats. “Minho, I can’t even put it into words about how much this means to me. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Minho pats his shoulder before stripping off his clean shirt. “Clean yourself before you leave. No one wants to witness a walking crime scene this early in the morning.”

When he flies back to Heaven, the last thing Hyunjin sees are his wings, still pure white.

“Hey,” you said as you laced your fingers with Jeongin’s. He had just finished class, and you had waited for him outside the building. Hyunjin had sat on the other end of the bench, savoring the proximity. That was the closest he would ever get to you. “Are you busy tonight? The skate shop just announced — literally an hour ago, those jerks — that they were doing a midnight drop, and I kind of want a new deck.”

“Ugh, I’ve been meaning to buy new trucks, but I have to meet up with my group tonight. Send me pictures though.”

Disappointment only momentarily flooded through Hyunjin. If it was anything like the last two meetups, it would be at the library, and the library was a safe place. Jeongin would be fine there. Hyunjin would be free to shadow you as you went to the skate shop.

“I can get it for you,” you offered.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll just wait for a sale.”

“Don’t be surprised if I do get you new trucks,” you warned. You let go of his hand and held his arm. “I still owe you for last month’s dinner.”

Jeongin shook his head again, a smile making its way onto his face. “You don’t owe me anything but a kiss.”

“Flirt,” you laughed as you pressed your lips to his cheek. “Never change, Yang Jeongin.”

That night at the skate shop, Hyunjin hovered above you as you stood in line, chatting with others. There were no unscrupulous characters around, but he stayed with you, only going back to Jeongin when Jisung insisted. However, by then, Hyunjin had already seen you eyeing the shiny teal trucks through the window. Hyunjin knew nothing about skateboards even after all those months, but you seemed pleased by them.

“You’re only getting trucks for sure?” your brand new acquaintance asked. “This is, like, the biggest drop they’ve ever done.”

You shrugged. “I’m kind of on the fence about the decks I saw on the email. I don’t know. Maybe wheels too?”

Meanwhile, Jisung hissed, “Hyunjin, go before something happens. What if a fight breaks out?”

Hyunjin sincerely doubted that one would happen at the library. He lingered around, taking his time unfolding his wings and stretching them.

“Your boyfriend’s lucky,” your acquaintance sighed.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one.”

Daisies, that’s what he needs right now. Choosing the rooftop of a building was not a smart decision, but the access door is thankfully unlocked, and Hyunjin races down all of the emergency stairs. However, with no form of currency on him, Hyunjin heads to the quad, hoping that he can pull up some dandelions for you. You need to be supported, and bright yellow flowers are just the thing.

What he doesn’t expect though, is to find you doing pop shove its at your usual spot. It’s so early in the day; did you even go back to your apartment to sleep?

“Good morning,” he calls as he walks closer. He waves at you, and you can see him! You tentatively wave back and give him a halfhearted smile. “How are you today? You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, and I’m fine,” you politely reply as you take a step back away from him. “What about you?”

Hyunjin curses in his head and takes another step towards you. “I’m good. Really good, actually. I was wondering if you could teach me how to skateboard. I’m new here, and skateboarding seems like an efficient way to get around.”

You flinch at his words, and he desperately wants to take them back. How did Jeongin do it? Why do his statements come out so stiff? “You seem pretty good at it.”

“Are you not cold?” you blurt out. Hyunjin curses again as he realizes that he’s shirtless. His old one was stained, and Minho’s was as well as the result of his cleanup. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “You know, I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you.”

“Hyunjin. My name’s Hyunjin.”

“Nice meeting you, Hyunjin.”

You grab your board and immediately head off to the direction of your apartment. Hyunjin is tempted to follow, but he stays where he is. A bad first impression isn’t the end of the world. The only thing holding him back is his lack of a shirt.

He wanders through the quad, scanning the grass for some flowers. Most of them are the white, fluffy dandelions, but he needs the bright yellow version. However, he takes the white ones anyway in case he can’t find any. The wind scatters the seeds, and he—  

“Hyunjin, I told you not to come back.”

Jisung.

Hyunjin turns around, dropping his bouquet onto the ground. To his horror, not only is Jisung present but also the Archangel. His sword is strapped to his side like usual, not a blood splatter tainting it. Minho did an excellent job of cleaning up the crime scene.

“Jisung, Archangel,” Hyunjin nervously greets. The Archangel frightens him now. “How can I help you?”

“Jisung, why did you bring me here?” the Archangel asks. “I have other things to attend to.”

“He’s abandoned his human too many times, and I don’t think he’s fit to be a guardian angel anymore.”

The Archangel grasps the hilt of his sword and studies Hyunjin, up and down, back and forth. He circles him, and Hyunjin can almost feel his mortality-divinity shining through his body. Jisung hasn’t noticed yet, but there is no doubt the Archangel hasn’t.

“Normally,” the Archangel begins, “the punishment for not fulfilling your duties as a guardian angel is being expelled from Heaven. But you have already fallen.”

“What?” comes Jisung’s shocked voice.

“It was a mistake,” Hyunjin tries. Minho’s words ring in his ear: He only expels the ones who don’t want to be. “I thought I wanted humanity, but I’ve realized that being a guardian angel is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please. Grant me my divinity back. I will never abandon my human again. I will swear an oath if I have to.”

The Archangel smiles with no teeth, and a chill runs down Hyunjin’s spine. “I’m in a forgiving mood today, so I will do just as you ask. Your divinity will be granted back, but you will no longer be a guardian angel. I’m stripping you of those powers and those duties. You will be replaced immediately. It was my mistake for tasking you with such a large responsibility when you weren’t ready yet.”

With just a snap of the Archangel’s fingers, Hyunjin’s senses sharpen, and the world comes hurtling at him. Nothing is dull anymore, but everything feels so dark and wrong. You will never be able to see him, hear him, or talk to him again. And he will never be able to either. Power surges inside of him, and new wings burst through his shoulder blades, fanning out once they reappear. A silver halo hangs over his head. There is no physical pain into becoming immortal again, yet he wishes there was something. Everything he and Minho did was erased with ease.

Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he chokes out.

“You’re very welcome. Come along now. Only guardian angels are allowed to be on Earth.”

Hyunjin follows the Archangel back to Heaven while Jisung goes after you. The Archangel loudly deliberates on who he should be replaced with, and Hyunjin knows that his request was not granted with kindness. The Archangel informs that he will be a messenger again. Hyunjin barely hears him as he takes one last look at Earth. Jeongin is there. Jisung is there. You are there.

Hyunjin avoids Minho’s eyes as he flies inside the realm behind the Archangel and hides among the rest of the regular angels until he is called to send a message. The higher-ups recognize him, make snide remarks about his demotion, and make pitiful faces at him. He barely registers them. There is a hollowness in him, and no matter how many memories he recalls, it isn’t enough to fill the void.

A few weeks later, Jisung approaches him, but even he stays a healthy distance away. “Hyunjin.” The disdain is clear.

“Jisung.”

“You knew about the reason all along, didn’t you? You were there when it happened.”

“When what happened?”

Realization dawns upon Jisung, and he shakes his head in disgust. “I should have known. You weren’t with him that night because you left him like you always did! You could have done something. Make him fall off his chair or something. Make the girl lose her balance. Instead, both of our humans suffered because you weren’t there.”

“What happened?”

“A girl from his group project randomly kissed him, and he thought he had been leading her on and cheating on his own girlfriend, so he broke up with her because he thought that would be the right thing to do instead of just telling her what actually happened. They’re back together now because he finally got the nerve to give her closure. It took nearly a month. They were miserable for a month. All because of you.”

It stings. “They’re okay now, right?”

“They’re fine, no thanks to you.” Just when Hyunjin thinks he’s going to leave, he takes a step forward, lips curled into sneer. “You know, angels and humans aren’t allowed to be with each other. It’s been forbidden for millenia.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I loved her, and I had to try.”

“She would have never chosen you anyway.”

He never had a chance, did he?

~ ad.gray

Yes, you did! I remembered it and wondered if you were going to come back! Hope you enjoyed this! <3

[grey-cores]

KAISBWNKWOSAKAHX7HENW OWIXJWNWKDOUWBW NWKWISIDHWJOSIDJENWBJWJSIIDIW AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA PLEASE TELL ME MORE, I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 👀 🙏 😍 ❤️

After half a deca-phase, Blitzwing had enough and attempted to snatch the headphones off Bumblebee's helm, but Bumblebee was much faster than a large clunky bot like Blitzwing. He moved out of the way. Easily. Blitzwing demanded the headphones. Bumblebee simply climbed up to the larger bot's head before placing the headphones over Blitzwing's helm. Blitzwing hadn't noticed before, but Bumblebee was not as ugly as he remembered...

After stealing a ship. Blitzwing quickly grew incredibly uncomfortable, wasn't the yellow one the one that NEVER stopped talking? Now he hasn't so much as said a peep. Bumblebee just silently piloted the ship... he knew how to pilot a ship right?

It didn't help that he had picked up some ridiculous creepy mask, Blitzwing couldn't even read his expression. Stoic. Plain. Blank empty face. Blitzwing ripped off Bumblebee's mask, he claimed it was unfair that the puny Autobot got to hide his expression while he was forced to show them at all times. Bumblebee didn't seem to care. He put on a pair of headphones and continued piloting. Still silence. Forcing Blitzy to once again sit in more awkward silence.

Some time passed and at some point, Bumblebee connected the ship's teletraan to another ship's... a familiar ship. Blitzwing looked up at the ship's main screen. The Death's Head.

Before he knew it, Blitzwing found himself following a re-masked Bumblebee aboard Lockdown's ship. He couldn't remember the last time he was there, much had changed. It was rare to be invited onboard. The small yellow bot simply held up Pharma's picture and pointed to it. Lockdown laughed and told him, he'd have to give a lot more than just credits for giving up info on Pharma. Even Lockdown was uneasy around that so-called doctor.

In exchange for the information, Lockdown wanted them to do a few jobs for him. He said he'd even throw in some upgrades to sweeten the deal. Blitzwing felt Bumblebee looking at him through his mask. Somehow. He could just tell what the yellow bot wanted to say.

"Fine."

Back On Cybertron

The fake Bumblebee had an empty smile on his face. Sentinel Prime nervously kept the fake close, as he was completely terrified as to was Optimus would do to him if he found out that Bumblebee was not only gone - but... cloned? Or what that green bot would do, the big clumsy one. Perhaps crush him under a building. Or maybe the techno-organic "Sari" will call her rumored army of acid-spitting snakes.

The fake was less durable than an ordinary bot. Sentinel forced Wheeljack to fix him frequently and not say anything. Orders from Acting Magnus could not be refused. Wheeljack hesitantly agreed, but soon regretted it once Sentinel explained the entire situation. Wheeljack needed a drink. Especially with Ratchet starting to ask questions. He knows Optimus' team is suspicious, it's only a matter of time before they all start asking questions.

Oh also that ninja bot is back, Sentinel thought he was offline. Weird.

END PART 3

[mrskurono]

title: Coworkers || Yuichiro Kurono x fem!Reader a/n: Did you know his favorite food is soft foods? What am I supposed to fucking do with this information- word count: 2.7k tags: fem!Reader, slow burn ish, office “romance”, idk I can’t write for shit, Kurono being fucking weird like normal, eluded to nudity, food character(s): Yuichiro Kurono (fire force) synopsis: Kurono is in your office space every morning at 5:53 on the dot but answers small talk for shit.

5:53 A.M. 

Mandatory or not you always arrived at work at the same time. Daily for the past six years in fact. 

Transport at this time of day was easier and less crowded. Not many people in the building either. And on the years Hajima changed their facilities meant you had more time when you needed to figure out how to get to work. It was just easier for you to get to work every day this early.

This early meant the same surprise every morning. Well, perhaps less of a surprise if it happened daily. You still smiled to yourself as you open the previously unlocked door. Sure you locked it when you cleaned up the day before. Not worried what laid in the room before you when you felt the pair of eyes on you.

A dark room. Alone. And someone staring at you in the unlit office space. All you did was hum quietly to yourself and set your bags down.

“Good morning Kurono.”

Silence even as you flicked on the fluorescent office light. Illuminating the slender well dressed man sitting stiffly in your high backed desk chair. Something like a covered container in his lap. His eerie expression unresponsive even though his golden eyes followed you through the same routine you did daily.

“The break room locked?” You set your duffle bag down at your feet looking at the container in his lip, “Here I can open it to-”

“Why do you have an extra bag?” Kurono looked at your things. Noticing the one thing different today than the others. 

“This?” You kicked the duffle bag you’d plopped down, “Oh, the water is out at my place. Figured I’d use the company sanitation showers before everyone else got in.”

He listened incredibly intently to your words. But did not offer any comradery to what you told him. Nothing you were phased by anymore as Kurono’s once residence turned into an occupation within the Hajima walls was as normal as anything else here. Working for the massive company much like yourself. Still though you wondered if he ever left or stayed here like the rest of the pyrokinetics housed within Hajima’s domain. 

“Is that what you had for breakfast this morning Kurono?” You revisited your first question. Unpacking your things with glances over at him in your chair.

Kurono broke his stare from you. Just to look down at the familiar container in his lap. Warmth from the meal he prepared this morning still seeping into his palms pressed flush to the container, “Curry.”

“Yum.”

“I made this for you.”

“Oh?” You looked up from your things, “That’s funny.”

Kurono’s broad mouth dipped down to a frown at what you might mean. Nothing seemed funny about a simple mandatory lunch.

Smiling you fished into the duffle bag and brought out two flower shaped plastic containers. Contents visible through the disposable treat and immediately Kurono knew what it was, “I picked you up some caramel pudding.”

“You didn’t have to.” He responded.

Leaving you to shrug as you set the pudding on the counter in front of you, “Yeah and you didn’t need to make me a lunch.”

“But you’re my superior.” Kurono said.

Your brow shot up, “So where’s President Gureo‘s lunch then?”

He looked down at the container in his hand. Getting up from the chair he’d been still in to just set the curry container next to the pudding you also brought, “Why waste my time on cooperate ladder climbing with people like that.”

“You mean the man who literally cuts us our paychecks?” You question with a smile thrown his way as he looms next to you, “I think people are supposed to schmooze with your actual boss Kurono.”

An exhale through his nose. He look at your folded clothing in your hands then to the pudding containers you brought, “I told you to call me Yuichiro.”

You pause and look over at him, “Aren’t you technically chief of the Power Development branch?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It would reason that I’m not you’re superior working in the medical branch and therefore use your last name.” You smile as you stack the pudding cups on top of the curry and then proceed to stack them on your work clothes still folded neatly from the night before, “I’m going to go put these in the break room fridge. Would you like to come with?”

Kurono did not nod or give any indicator he really even heard your question. But when you existed the room he was quick to follow you down the hall.

Empty save for one soul passed. Their nose buried in data sheets on one of the newest acquired children. Hijima’s search for an adolla burst knowing no bounds as time began to crunch. Leaving both of you normally buried in work like the one passing you. But it was these moments in the morning before clocking in that you both ignored work. 

“Are we on for lunch then?” You broke the silence finally in the break room when you were putting things away, “You have testing with Nataku correct?”

“Uncle Death will bring the boy’s adolla burst forth,” Kurono spoke, “It’s what I get paid to do after all.”

Setting your things in the fridge off to the side. Knowing everyone knew what Kurono’s containers looked like and kept their hands far from their temperamental coworkers. You were the only one brave or dumb enough to persist on maintaining a relationship with the embodied human of madness. While other’s reserved their warnings of the man after the first three years he’d been working with you all.

“You know, they pay you a salary,” You stood back up and looked over at him. Pudding in your hand as you shoved it to him and shut the fridge door behind you, “You could afford to live elsewhere.”

“I’m nothing but a slave to the working life,” Kurono’s eyes narrowed on the pudding you passed to him. Not rejecting it but standing there holding it as you finished up in the break room, “Besides, why waste the money when you come here to shower and you still live somewhere else. Being a cooperate slave I might as well stay here and use their facility. You do.” 

Shrugging you began out of the break room down the hall way to the sanitation showers. Kurono undoubtedly following you a step behind but not yet going his own way, “You got me there. But it’s nice to leave the slave labor here and use my meager weakling hours left to myself watching tv on my bed.”

“Only the weak would think living so fruitfully on a pathetic pay check.” Kurono’s dress shoes clicked down the hallway. Compared to your quiet slippers that were hardly heard.

“We have the same employer.”

“Exactly.”

Rolling your eyes. You stepped through the door way of the sanitation showers but stopped and looked back at him, “You can eat breakfast while I shower. I don’t mind.”

Why would you mind? This wasn’t the first time he hung around while you did something. And the countless times he’d been left in a hospital gown during treatments of his arms. Waiting in the nicely furnished locker room beat going back to his room with the container of pudding. 

Just like the lavish pay checks they paid their higher ups. Hajima took good care of it’s employees when it counted. Wash rooms included.  A grand room with ten different showering stations. All closed off with personal care for whoever was using it. And spotless individual sinks with illuminated mirrors for only the most meticulous care to an employees personal appearance. It was like the fanciest locker room in the world it seemed. But almost only ever used for chemical spills or employees covered in soot from tephrosis cases. Glamorous accommodations for less than glamourous work.

“Eat breakfast.” You smiled as you set your things down on the counter, “Then I’ll eat some of your curry, ok?”

Kurono’s ever unnerving eyes remained fixated on you. He wasn’t a prude by any means to dwell on your character more often than not. But he regularly wondered why you worked here even if it did have free showers. Miserable salary men worked here. Dream less humans who answered to a boss and that was it. This is where he worked. And yet you were here before Kurono could even recall his first pay check. Working and doing so much for just a pay check.

“Aye Kurono did you-”

“I don’t have a spoon.” He looked at the pudding held in his bandaged hand. A statement but meant more like he should just excuse himself.

“Nah it’s one of those cool ones with a spoon in the lid.” You leaned over and pointed at the top, “You can leave if you have something to do.”

Blinking down at the pudding. He peeled off the seal and opened the top. Just to find a tiny mock plastic spoon where you said it was, “It’s fine.”

You excuse yourself to only the first shower stall. Every one of them vacant but still you stay close enough so you can hear his voice. Ready to take a quick and quiet shower. But as the water rushes over your face you pause with a thought.

“Kurono.”

“I told you, it’s Yuichiro.”

Rolling your eyes as your lather soap all over yourself, you ignore him all together while staring at the tile on the wall in front of you, “How’s your arm?”

Looking down at the bandages crossing over his right arm. It was constantly there but often overlooked to the man, “Fine.”

“Did you use those pre soaked bandages I gave you?” Your noise drowning out with rushing water.

Kurono knew which ones they were. Not once had he opened the package since you gave it to him, “No.”

“Kurono really?” You groaned peeved, “I spent so long containing your overheat to just one arm. Now you neglect it since Hajima hired you?”

“I keep it wrapped.” He retorted frankly.

“Part of my work is still researching tephrosis.” You ran your hands over your face and wiped off as much water as you could before snagging your towel to wrap up in, “That goes for your arm. Just because we’re coworkers now instead of you being my patient.”

Stepping out of the stall thinking you’d see the pudding untouched and Kurono ignoring you. You see the cup empty and his arm resting in his lap as he sat up on the counter. Feet hardly dangling above the ground. Staring down at his right arm without an expression crossing his face. Not exactly what you were expecting from the normally stern and curt mouthed man.

Tightening the towel around your body. You blot off your face as you come up to him. One because he was sat by your things you needed. But also to look at his arm.

Bandaged not how you preferred it to be done. You groan and take his hand between yours. Pushing up his white work shirt’s sleeve and undoing the bandages from the top down to the bottom. Until his cracked and charred arm was exposed to the humid air of the locker room.

Familiar with how bad his tephrosis was. The worst case you’d seen saved for an infernals corpse who were literally burnt up to nothing but char and ash. It never stumped you though. Only made you work harder on what to do with this third generation problem. Leading you to try some less than ethical approaches to treating it. Much like most of the Hajima labs methods of trial and air.

“...are you worried I experiment on you?” You asked quietly as you touched down his blackened forearm. 

“No.” Kurono shook his head without a chance of concern being on his face.

With only the one bandage. You reach up to start it high and slowly rebandage his arm as you stand before him. Silence falling on the both of you as the drip of the shower echoes in the tiled room. Kurono’s eyes not on his arm. But instead on you as he watches you concentrate on the bandages.

“...if you could do anything else, even a dream, what would it be?” You asked as your fingers worked the white bandage over his decaying knuckles and between each charred fingers.

“Cooperate dogs don’t have dreams. All I do is work.” Kurono answered bluntly.

“Yuichiro,” You made the bandages around his fingers snug when he didn’t answer you truthfully, “We work at the same place. I know you have dreams. We all do.”

“No. I don’t,” He spoke up this time. Looking from his right arm to your face just a few feet from his, “Dreams are for the weak only to keep doing what they do. Simple as that.”

Giving him a skeptical look you rub your fingertips over his knuckles. Feeling the almost living warmth from his blackened hand. Even under the thick bandages and it felt nothing like flesh yet retained such a human warmth to it, “So you hate your job. And you hate it here?”

What was he supposed to hate? Fighting weaklings and humiliating them for their weakness? This was a dream come true. You knew this. The entire company knew this. Still you pestered him for some weak idea of what a rightful dream was supposed to be. Could he just not work in peace? He didn’t get paid enough to put up with all these demands.

“...no.” Kurono flexed his hand before him, “It’s alright here...for work.” You rest your hand on his arm with a smile lingering on your lips. Giving him a squeeze when Kurono looks at you with a hint of a scowl, “What? I’m a professional business man after all.”

“Yeah. I know you are.” Still smiling you lean in to press a ginger kiss to his pale cheek, “But it’s not business hours yet so I won’t tell everyone you like it here.”

A cross between a sigh and a groan emanated from his chest. Kurono pushed himself off the counter and straightened his tie along with the little skull clip holding it down, “That curry is yours.”

Gathering your things to go back in and change. Unable to keep the smile off your face as you look at him standing there firmly like he always did. You can’t help laugh a little, “Don’t worry. We’re still on for lunch.”

Kurono looked down. Rubbing his hand over his bandage covered wrists. It would feel almost awkward if he wasn’t standing there with an utterly malicious look permanently on his face, “...the wraps you gave me are still in the work lockers. I didn’t apply them correctly.”

Knowing that was a lie. You still appreciated the sentiment and nodded towards him, “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to put them on at break.”

“Thank you.” He remained looking down at his arms.

You pause before going back into the stall. Contemplating your wording before just going for it, “Yuichiro.” His gold eyes snap up to his first name, “If you ever want a vacation from the soul sucking life of a salary man. You can always come stay at my place yknow.”

“The place with no water?”

Rolling your eyes you snort, “I’ll buy bottled just like the ones in the break room for you.”

There was a moment you thought he would out right reject the offer. He was a professional business man after all. Bound to this dream less job and nothing else. But there was spare second in which Kurono squeezed his right arm and then looked up at you.

“Fine....but I’m making the food. I hate hard things.” 

Shaking your head smiling you slipped past the shower curtain, “I know you do. Good thing I like your cooking.”

It was a good thing you liked his cooking. And it was a good thing Kurono liked your company. He had no idea what to do outside work. But after all these years you still prevailed in making him think of something other than work. If that was strength or not. Kurono couldn’t decide. So he’d just keep making you lunch every day and hating his job. What else was he supposed to do? It’s not like he had any other dreams.

[struggling-with-time]

Cloudy afternoons [Corpse x reader]

Paring: Corpse husband x Female!reader

Summary: part 2 of Rainy days. Read part 1 here.

Warnings: Toxic relationships. It’s bittersweet. That’s what it is.

Words: 1.6k

A/N: Open for requests. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You had worked harder on your channel again, after having seen Corpse. You had felt a great wave of relief that day when you came home. Your work ethic had slowly come back, and now two weeks had passed, you had forgotten about your promise, until your paycheck had rolled in. You had promised to pay him back for the groceries.

You lean back in your chair as you watched the uploading bar go up. Lunch is rolling around the corner, but you have places to be… People to visit… Corpse. You shake your head, not needing to cloud your mind, you still have to announce the video on your twitter before calling it a day. What should you even say, this was so much easier when there was someone else there. Even to just catch a spelling mistake or bounce off ideas. You glance back at your bed, at the spot where he used to sit whenever you would record with him there. You have since then moved your bed to the other side of the room, not needing a reminder everytime you walked in there. But something in you had felt wrong that there wasn’t a spot for him. In case he ever came back wandering in your door. So you had bought a comfy chair to put there instead. It still felt wrong, but it felt less wrong than leaving the spot bare. Just in case you kept telling yourself.

It took you nearly an hour to announce your new video, you’re pretty sure by the time you hit post you had gone by upmost 20 different drafts. Your video wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but today was. Today was certainly out of the ordinary.

By the time you had grabbed your keys, gathered your things, and grabbed your credit card, 1 pm had rolled around. You are headed to the bus stop, it wasn’t as cold as the last time you went outside of your apartment, spring were starting to take its toll on the weather, but when the sun was hidden away by that thick blanket of clouds, the cold went straight to your bones. You pull the jacket closer, regretting not pulling on that hoodie on. His hoodie.

You hate how it has stopped smelling like him. But it has been months since he saw the inside of your apartment, and even longer since he forgot the sweater there. You cuddle up with at night when you get desperate, like now, you miss it even more. His voice and scent has always been calming to you.

You pass the bus driver without saying a word, and falls into one of the seats further in the back, less noise here. As you rest your head against the seat, you wish you could have sent someone else out to do this for you. But who should you ask? You had driven them away in your attempt to be good enough for Corpse and look where that left you. On your way to him. You groan and run your hands over your head, c’mon Y/N think about something else. Anything. You look out the window as you pass by the grocery store, going further with the bus this time. You sigh as you get up and watch as another stop pass by your eyes, before you press stop, and wait for the bus to slow down. You walk out of it, first now realising there had been a crying child in it as you step into the nearly deserted streets. You know the next stop is closer to the local ATM, but you always used to get off here with Corpse. You still do.

You walk through the alleyways, resisting the urge to run your hands along the buildings. Had Corpse been here he would have asked if something was wrong? If you were okay. But then when you answered, he would brush it off with a “well that makes two of us.” You used to find comfort in those words. You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

You can see the alleyway opening up further ahead, leading onto the busy street of the midtown. You’ve always hated the crowds, but being two, somehow made them feel smaller, and more tolerable, but as one. They felt overcrowded, the noise too loud, simultaneously drowning you, while keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. You needed to get Corpse out of your head. This wasn’t healthy.

You stay close to the shop fronts, keeping away from the busiest part of the street middle. You can see the ATM ahead of you. Like a lifeline in the sea of people. You pull yourself together enough to make it over there. The money quickly drawn, and you’re on your way away from there. You know you don’t have the exact number, a small amount too much, but you just needed to hand it over, and you could be free. You could set yourself free.

You escape the busy street, and back onto the road watching as the bus pass you. Happy to be away from the sea of people.

Wait the bus!

You start running and running and running, your legs carrying you with the same phase as your head has been running at all day. But you watch as it pulls away from the stop, and you stop to catch your breath. You pull out your phone to check the time, 3:14 pm. Last bus heading corpses way for the day has just left you stranded in midtown. You suck in a breath as you realise you have to walk the 2 hour walk to him now. You’re not giving up now. You’ve come this far.

You set the phase as you look around in your bag for your headphones, but as you come up empty handed. Realisation dawns on you, you left them in the kitchen. 2 hours in silence is going to be torture. But the payoff will be something you’ve been wanting every day, since he cast you aside last time.

Your mind does stay silent for long before it starts to wonder. The first time you met, a library in town, you were there to write a paper on a subject that has long since escaped your mind, and Corpse there to just be somewhere where he wasn’t alone. The two of you finding comfort in being each others company with much talk to pass between you. You wrap your arms around yourself, as you keep moving along the road.

The comfort in not being alone but still in silence was something you missed the most. But then you had to start developing feelings, and he had to start getting big. He took off without you. You scoff out loud. Fuck the Youtube algorithm. You would still be with your best friend, talking to him if it hadn’t started to promote what he did. Sure, it would be hell for you, looking after him and watch him self-destruct each day. But you would be there.

The weather is getting colder when you round the first hour. The early spring not doing much for warmth yet. You really regret not grabbing that sweater. You’re hoping he still has some of your old forgotten clothes at his place. Like the yellow sweater he loves so much. He would always tell you that you were like a second sun. You scoff again, there that word was again, second. Never first, never a win. Always second, always so close, yet so far form being the best. What if he has thrown it out?

You stop dead in your tracks, you never thought about if he ever moved on. He was the one who told you to stop being around when his new friends were on call. It started so small, you should have realised he was beginning to push you away the day he closed the door to his studio without mentioning it. You should have realised it when he made up excuses as to why he couldn’t come over. You should have realised it when he asked you to give him space, because he felt like you were suffocating him. But you didn’t until it was too late, when you called, and the lady in the phone told you the number no longer existed.

You sigh, as you remember that morning far to detailed, still an open wound. That’s trying to heal, but is so clearly not healing right.

It doesn’t take long after your let go of that thought till you’re standing in the apartment hallway, watching the set of stair you have to climb. Like a final challenge you must excel before meeting the boss at the end. You have the sound of each step memorised as you ascend them. All 23.

You stand by his door. The bills held tightly in your hand as you take a final breath before knocking. You hear rustling from inside the apartment. Then the door opens, and he stands there right in front of you in all of his glory. A surprised look on his face as you hand him the dollars.

You can’t do this. Fuck. Why does he have to be here to take the money? Why didn’t you just leave it in the mailbox in a letter?

You’re ready to back away and turn around, when he grabs your shoulders. You look healthier, happier and more like the you he used to know. Not the shell he met at the grocery store. He doesn’t know why, but he pulls you into him. And before he knows why, his lips are on yours.

[shyrose57]

AU based off of Tommy’s new mod video, where after losing his last life in exile, Tommy wakes up in a lab. A lab that already holds Wilbur, Schlatt, and Mexican Dream, and has changed them.

A lab that puts venom glands in his mouth, makes it so he teleports in response to pain-changes him as they have others, until just like them, he cannot remember who he is. Who he was. 

Others come, others go, but some stay, and one day-

One day, they get out.

Meanwhile, in the Smp, L’manberg has long since become another crater in the ground, and Tubbo has long since made his peace with it(not), and tried to heal far away from all of that.

His attempts come crashing down around him when his long dead friend and company appear at his doorstep, feral and unable to recall who he is.

---------------------

The rundown:

Experiments: Wilbur, Schlatt, Mexican Dream, Tommy, Philza, Ranboo, and Charlie.

Wilbur, Schlatt, and MD died the same way, but Tommy didn’t hit the water in exile, and Philza was killed in a fight with L’manberg after he teamed up with Techno. Ranboo never came to the Smp, he was with the Lab the whole time, and so was Charlie.

All of them have basically been made into Mob chimeras. Some worse than others.

Tommy’s part Endermen, Cave Spider, Blaze, Llama, and Charged Creeper. 

From this, he has venom glands, and fangs to administer said venom, the ability to teleport-only in response to pain, the ability to spit projectiles, and explode under the right conditions, as well as spark and electrocute others. Made as a fighter, and was meant to consist solely of hostile mobs, but it made him too volatile, so Llama and Endermen were also added.

Wilbur’s part Enderdragon, Goat, Mule, Bat, Phantom, Drowned, Hoglin, Wither Skeleton, and Cod. 

Can breath dragon breathe, crush people with his head via horn, overall has increased strength and speed, capable of flight, breathing under water, climbing, phasing through walls, withering whatever he chooses, and has great hearing. He’s pretty much designed to be able to travel anywhere-End, Nether, various Overworld biomes-and fight as he does so.

Schlatt’s part Spider, Shulker, Skeleton, and Ravager.

Capable of poisoning people, climbing walls, spinning webs, causing the levitation effect, covering himself in armor like a shulker, shooting arrows without miss, and slamming others back by rushing into them. His strength and precision are deadly, which is kind of the point. Dual tank/assassin purpose.

MD’s part Panda, Dolphin, and Bee.

He can swim fast, breathe under water, locate treasures, communicate with bees, pandas, and dolphins, fly, and make flora grow faster. Honestly, was more of a test than anything else, seeing how neutral mobs would all clash together.

Charlie’s part Slime, Bee, Mule, Fox, and Strider.

He can communicate with bees and foxes, bounce, walk through lava and fire, and has increased strength, as well as agility, and night vision. Meant to be a fast messenger. 

Philza’s part Phantom, Endermen, Llama, Warden, Polar Bear, and Wither.

He can sense when someone’s awake, turn invisible, fly, spit projectiles, has increased strength and durability, cause wither effect, is immune to fire damage, heals when tosses potions of harming, has incredible hearing, and can teleport wherever he chooses. His purpose is to be powerful, as a last defense.

Ranboo’s part Ghast, Mooshroom, Elder Guardian, Wolf, Cat, Rabbit, and Iron Golem.

He’s capable of crying ghast tears, which regenerate him, throwing fire charges, growing mushrooms on his body, breathing under water, inflicting mining fatigue, locating nearby people even if under invisibility potions, has enhanced senses, strength, speed, durability, and takes no fall damage. Ranboo is pretty much the project’s most prized subject. He’s meant to be the perfect, well rounded creation, capable of not only fighting, but sustaining himself without resources, and basically being able to get back up from anything. An unstoppable force, if you will.

None of them can remember who they were. Due to often being put into experiments together, they know each other, and get along quite well, even stuck in their more instinctive states. 

They do all know that they hate the Lab, so after a few months of planning, they break out, and end up bolting through a portal in the midst of all the chaos. 

From there, they end up at Tubbo’s place.

Tubbo’s been living alone in the open taiga for about three years now, and it wasn’t really about healing at first.

Tommy had just died, Phil and Techno were picking fights with L’manberg, Dream and Quackity were both trying to get in his head, and he was being compared to Schlatt more than ever. 

Then Phil died, Techno leveled L’manberg in return, and with nothing left for him there, Tubbo just...left. Ran, and ran until he was about to collapse, and kept running until he finally felt just a smidgeon of safety from the distance.

He eventually found his way to the snowy biome, he build a cottage, and just tried to pick up the pieces of himself, while others did the same. Fundy and Eret visit once in awhile, as does Purpled, but not too often, and nobody else knows where he lives. Techno and he have more less silently agreed to pretend the other doesn’t exist under all circumstances. 

He even adopted a little zombie piglin child, and managed to cure them. Michael’s his kid, and he’s great. A little mischief maker sometimes, but great nonetheless. 

Then, on the anniversary of Tommy’s death, who should come crashing through his Nether portal but the boy in question, along with several other people he never though he’d see again, and two he doesn’t know.

None of which seem to recognize him, and almost immediately try to kill him, only being stopped by Michael coming to see what was going on, and the bees getting agitated and getting between them. 

Looking over all the people now warily watching him, completely ready to kill him if he so much as breathes wrong, Tubbo makes a decision.

He calls Technoblade.

[skei-seems]

Professor Reid (PART 2)

(Click here for PART 1:)  https://skei-seems.tumblr.com/post/642651570175148032/professor-reid

Summary: (con’t) After a steamy interaction with her professor on a school trip and a bad misunderstanding, Y/N tries to make up for her mistake when a new opportunity arises.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (female) reader

Category: Smut [NSFW]

Warnings: Smut, Age Gap, Swearing

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part 1. Please like/reblog, I would really love to hear your thoughts and feel free to send me requests. Hope you guys like it! :)

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Spencer didn’t know what had caused you to change so suddenly, he wanted to talk but you were so good at avoiding him. He wanted to tell you it was all a mistake, that it never should have happened, but the other part of him wanted, no needed, you in every way.  Prior to the trip he dealt with a bad breakup - his girlfriend cheated on him - and it had pushed him far enough to want your sweetness and innocence more than ever.  If only you would let him talk to you...

      A sharp wind of breath swirled into his lungs when he saw you that evening, you looked breathtaking.  Your hair flowed perfectly around your face, and your body fit so well in your tight clothing, he adored that you always wore sneakers despite the rest of the group’s formal attire.  He just couldn’t avert his eyes from this goddess of a woman.

-----------

      He was looking at you like a meal.  Those melting eyes still sent shivers down your spine. Annoyed, you occupied yourself with your phone while the group waited in line.  The booming music made it difficult to hear yourself think once you were all inside.  The place was modern and extremely crowded, and the music more popular and recent.

      The song playing was not to your taste, though there was something about the loudness sending vibrations through your chest, and the strong amount of perfume and cologne in the air that reverberated into an intense excitement in the pit of your stomach.  Some of the group seated themselves at a table overlooking the crowded dance floor, the rest scattered out to join the dancing bodies or to get drinks. After getting a drink, you took a seat across from Professor Reid. He watched you tentatively through the first bit of the night, and you shifted a little your seat. Those penetrating brown eyes through his blonde curls had the tendency to burn holes in you.

      You bit your lip, an idea had lit up in you. You downed the last of your drink and headed straight into the crowd, and joined their rhythmic movements. Soon, a good looking guy your age started to dance with you. He was cute, you couldn’t deny that, but he wasn’t... him. Nevertheless, it was part of your plan. Initiating phase two, you moved closer until you were dancing like you and Spencer had the other night. Your eyes wandered around until they landed on him, he was staring at you, eyes lit with a fire that you could see even from the distance where you were standing. You smirked, and continued moving without breaking eye contact. Suddenly, and without warning, the handsome stranger you were tangling with pushed his tongue down your throat. OK, none of that, you thought to yourself. It had not been part of your plan. Fed up, you pushed the horny man off of you and strode out of the club.

      The fresh air was a relief like no other. Not even halfway through a night at the club, and you had already had enough. You rested against the wall of the building, a spot where there wasn’t a crowd of people waiting in line. Before you could make a move to start walking home, a slim body appeared in front of you.

“What was that about?” Professor Reid’s voice came out as husked, right against your face as he pushed both of his hands on the wall beside your face, trapping you between him and the wall.

Unable to conjure up an explanation in the closed proximity, you gulped and looked into those two orbs of honey. 

You pushed him away, regaining some posture. “What was that about? Really,” you spat out. “What’s you-having-a-girlfriend about?!”

The bit of shouting had caused adrenaline to course through your body, your chest was heaving. He looked taken aback at your accusation.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his tone changing to a much softer one.

“I heard you on the phone in the cafeteria.”

He slowly took a deep breath. “That was my little sister, really.” 

      The look in his eye told you he wasn’t lying, you didn’t have to be a profiler to see that. For a moment you were dumbstruck, but the professor spoke again before the silence stretched too long.

“I did have a girlfriend,” this information came differently as you previously took it, when it was just an assumption. “I broke up with her not long ago,” he looked away, “she cheated on me.”

      Guilt quickly built up in you, unlike it had before when you thought you would be a wedge in someone else’s relationship. No, this was something new, something mixed with shame. 

“Professor,” you finally said. “I’m... sorry.”

The smart eyes studied you before he shook his golden curls. “You didn’t know. But if you think the other night was a mistake, I get it. It’s fine, we can forget about it.”

Hesitation and guilt kept you from telling him otherwise, your mouth just opened and closed. He pursed his lips, then called a taxi to take you back safely to the hotel. 

-----------

      It had been weeks since the trip, you hadn’t spoken a word to Professor Reid except for a few short answers in class. He seemed back to his old self. You tried, but each time you saw his beautiful golden hair and those god forsaken eyes, and those soft red lips - you could not forget how they had felt on yours - the slick feeling of hunger and lust grew from the pit of your stomach and rose up to your throat.

      You were deep in thought when the door of the classroom swung open and pulled every student’s attention from whatever they had been busying their thoughts with. It was the head of your University, what on earth was she doing here? She searched the class and her eyes landed on you, “Ah, Miss (Y/L/N).”

Trying not to freak out, you hesitantly replied, “Yes, ma’am?”

“Could I borrow a moment of your time after class?”

Wide-eyed, you bobbed your head up and down. “Of course.”

She smiled, then looked at your professor. “Oh, and you as well Doctor Reid, my office.”

      He immediately looked at you, but seemed much less alert than you had. Still, butterflies wove their way through your intestines at your mutual gaze. He broke the eye contact and nodded at the Head Mistress, with that, she left.

      You wanted to communicate with him through telepathy. “Does she know?” Ridiculous, you thought, then cheekily added, “your ass looks good in those pants.” The professor continued with his lecture, you desperately tried to fuse down the blush that had crept up your cheeks and resumed taking notes.

      Not until class was over did you remember the request of the Head Mistress. You didn’t even know where her office was, so you silently followed Doctor Reid. The two of you entered after knocking. She was sitting behind her desk with an eager expression.

“Please, have a seat.”

The two of you lowered onto the leather stools like two naughty school children in a principal’s office. 

“We heard back from the university of your expedition. They said without Y/N, their research project would have been drastically insufficient.”

Professor Reid looked over to you and smiled. “Well I must say, she is one of my best students.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson again. The Head Mistress nodded in approval. “But that’s not why I called this meeting.”

Frozen in your seat, you awaited your fate. Could Spencer hear your heat racing from next to you? Why was he not this nervous?

“I called you in, because I have elected you as your year’s representative to compete against other students across the country in FBI preparation and criminal analogy.”

“Of course,” she continued, “I called Doctor Reid here too as I would like him to be your mentor for the preparation and duration of the program.”

This information was baffling you. “I don’t know what to say, ma’am. I’m, honoured.”

In truth, you were mortified. Hours alone, studying with Professor Reid? You could barely focus in class, but one-on-one? Impossible.

--------

You were dreading your mentor meetings. The schedule the head mistress had set up for you indicated twice a week, and that was twice too many. Most of them were in the universities library, and some in his classroom. Nervously, you strode through the isles of old books until you found him in the far corner. He looked perfect, like a beam of sunlight, so at home between the rows and piles of books.

“Y/N,” he smiled up at you. It was so easy for him to act normal.

“Hi sir,” you avoided his gaze and sat down.

      Your study session went slowly, and with immense difficulty to concentrate. It was like he was burning you from the other end of the table, unaffected by your presence. Sometimes he would get up and grab a book to show you something, leaning over your shoulder to point out a certain word or image. 

      When it was over, you were so relieved you almost left without saying goodbye. You had started to doubt whether this was going to work at all, until you spoke to your best friend. Her advise was that, if he didn’t let you focus, why should you allow him to focus? You mulled it around for a while, and decided that it was either that, or you’d have to ask for a new mentor. But you knew that would raise question, or worse, hurt his feelings - which you had already done once. 

      From a distance, you could see how utterly childish the idea was, but he had not satisfied your need of him that night back at the hotel. You still craved him, his lips on yours, his hands over your body and him inside of you. You knew some part of him had wanted this too.

So, the next meeting you showed up in the shortest skirt you could find in your closet, and an oversized sweater. What was underneath was a mystery. Professor Reid’s eyebrows climbed his forehead when you entered, he had been reading a book but almost dropped it when he saw your bare legs. A smirk crept up your face, your plan was working.

Sooner or later you knew he would break, or stop you. Of course, he was a profiler, he could see the signs of attraction, nervousness, lust, and whatever else you could possibly feel for him - oblivious to the fact that he had the visible emotional range of a teaspoon. (I hope y’all got that reference) 

“Would you mind fetching the following encyclopaedia for me?” He asked with a layer of honey coating his sexy voice.

You happily obliged and after searching for a while you realised it was on the top most shelf behind him. Perfect. You grabbed a chair and walked over to the section, climbed on top and reached your hand to the book, making sure your skirt hiked up. “This one, sir?” You asked, looking down at him. A low string of swearwords were mumbled from below you. Doctor Reid nodded and quickly looked away from your exposed bottom, occupying himself with tapping his pencil.

Smiling, you seated yourself again and started rolling the back of your pencil between your mouth as he explained something to you. His eyes briefly traveled down to your lips, then back to your eyes. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie with those large, veiny hands of his - your thighs pressed together. He was making you squirm just by existing, literally anything he did turned you on. When he was deep in focus, he pulled his lip between his teeth or raked a hand through his loose curls.

You let him rest for the next twenty minutes, then decided to take things up a notch, test the waters, if you will. You two were sitting side by side, him facing a little toward you, each focused on diagramming statistics from multiple books, when you “accidentally” dropped your pencil between his spread legs. 

“Oops,” you giggled slightly, quickly getting down before he could.

Taking longer than needed to retrieve the fallen pencil and getting down on your hands and knees, you slowly looked up at him from your position. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t look away. From between his legs you spoke, “I’m so clumsy today,” and batted your lashes with innocence.

“I see that,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up. 

You got back into your seat, he resumed his work. Maybe your plan wasn’t working, he still seemed calm and collected. You sighed, and were ready to call it quits, when you felt a hand on your thigh. 

When you looked over he wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were on the book on the table and his other hand was tugging on his collar. His touch was sending tingles straight to your core, and you almost moaned when he started rubbing circles on your inner thigh. Damn it, you thought, he was winning now. You didn’t want him to remove his hand, but you didn’t want him to have the upper hand either. So, you stood up - momentarily earning his gaze on you again - and sat on the edge of the table close to him, your legs dangling against his thigh that was facing you. 

He looked up at you with suspicion. “You aren’t supposed to sit on the tables, you know.”

Your higher ground provided some confidence, you leaned in a little to him and in a whisper voice said, “We aren’t supposed to fuck on them either, how about we break more than one rule today?”

His pupils dilated and he pulled his lip between his teeth again, then abruptly stood up. “My office. Now.” He pulled you behind him as he lead the way.

--------

By the time you had gotten to Spencer’s office, your nerves had worked themselves up into snakes in your stomach. He was pulling you by your wrist, and slammed the door behind you once you got inside. You were pushed once again by those strong hands against the door, he kissed you. The feeling of his soft mouth on yours sent fireworks off behind your closed eyelids. It was bliss. You wove your hands through his hair, but he suddenly stopped kissing you.

“What makes you think you can talk to me like that, and tease me in a library full of people,” he whispered in a husky voice next to your ear, sending tingles down your back.

You bit your lip, the dominant side had come out again - and this time, you were happy to hand over the role of the upper hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Good girl, but I’m gonna have to punish you for that.” The excitement was building up between your legs at such a fast rate you were afraid it would soak completely through your tiny underwear.

“First” you said, and lowered onto your knees in front of him, “let me try to make it up to you.”

He watched you with his mouth open, and moved his hands to your hair. Smirking, you undid his belt and took him out, he was already hard. You licked up the underside, then swirled your tongue over the tip. This earned a loud moan from the professor, and an even louder one when you took him in completely. He guided the rhythm with his hands in your hair as you bobbed your head along his length, taking in what you couldn’t fit with your hands. You felt him twitch, then he suddenly drew you away and pulled up his pants.

“Enough,” he breathed out heavily, “I still want to fuck you.” His words sent chills down your spine. His hair had fallen into his eyes, his shirt and tie hanging askew - this messy look was your favourite.

You wrapped your hands around his neck as he picked you up and carried you you over to his desk, where he reattached your lips. You weren’t getting enough of him, even though your hands were exploring all the places they’ve been missing, until he grabbed your thigh and pushed his hardness onto your core. Electricity sparked between you two. A moan left your swollen lips, and he took this as a sign to continue rubbing onto you.

“You like feeling me against you?” 

“Ahuh,” your reply came out as a half moan.

He put his mouth next to your ear again, “Wait till you feel what it’s like when I’m inside.”

His lips attacked your neck as he pulled off your sweater, only to discover you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. He clicked his tongue, “bad girl.” Shaking his head, he turned you around so you were bent over his desk. A hard hand landed on your behind. Instead of moaning, you inhaled sharply. “That’s it, not too loud.” He approved, and trailed his fingers up between your unclothed thighs.

You felt a little nervous like this, of course you had been fucked before, but never like this. But you wanted, and needed him so badly. “Sir,” you pleaded.

He chuckled, and rubbed you through your underwear, causing you to close your thighs around his hand. In disapproval, he separated your feet again and pulled off your underwear completely. You were left only in your skirt.

“We’ll leave this on,” he huffed, stroking the waistband softly.

The anticipation was too much. He snaked both of his hands around your waist and pulled you closer into a standing position. Now, his lips sloppily kissed into the crook of your neck as his hand moved down your stomach. A gasp left your mouth when his hand reached down there, slowly rubbing your sensitive part. Your body was squirming against his hand, and his free one came up to your throat. 

“Tell me what you want,” he breathed against your cheek.

“I-” you moaned again when his finger started rubbing faster, “-I want you inside of me!”

He smiled, “That’s what I like to hear.”

His fingers left your soaking area, causing you to moan at the loss of contact. You heard him fumbling with his pants again, then felt his bare harness stroke against you, which produced another moan. He bent you over his desk again, and without warning, slammed into you. Adjusting to his size was difficult, but when he gradually started pumping in and out it gave some relief. Your breathing was now coming out as loud sighs every time he dragged back into you, steadying himself by holding your right hip by hand and using the other to hold onto the desk.

“Faster,” you pleaded.

He swore and started pounding harder, in and out. Moans filled the air of his office. The fast rhythm was now building into a climax, you were getting closer with each thrust. You knew by the sounds coming from him that he was close too. “More,” you almost yelled. He obliged and thrusted until you were hitting the desk each time he pound into you. Pressure started to build up in your legs, you were so close. He grunted and continued slamming into you, every thrust feeling harder and deeper than the last. You moaned loudly as you reached your climax, the warmth causing him to reach his own. With a few more sloppy thrusts, he pulled out. You shakily sat down, out of breath and satisfied beyond what you had ever imagined possible. 

“That’s my girl,” he cooed and kissed you once again after pulling on his pants.

Professor Reid looked at you with the same intrigue that made you need all this in the first place, and for the rest of the mentoring, this continued.

--------

A/N: I will be writing more Spencer Reid x reader, please send me requests (I will also write for characters from other shows/movies/books).

[bump1nthen1ght]

Pack Tactics (Werewolf x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Male!Werewolf

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Established Couple, Angst with a happy ending

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2896 words

Summary: You are in a wonderful relationship with your sweet partner, Gray. But this far into the relationship, you’ve yet to tell him you have no intentions ever of having kids. You can’t help but wonder, how will your child-loving werewolf boyfriend will react?

Request: I live for very specific comfort! No pressure if this doesn’t inspire you or if you just don’t want to write it obvi.... but could I have a f!reader x m!werewolf where the reader is 100% sure she doesn’t want to have kids ever never ever in any capacity and is worried about how her werewolf bf is going to react, worried she’ll be dumped or something (ya know cause idk I feel like werewolves are built with a breeding kink and like into the whole having a lot of pups) there can be smut if you want!! I love me some dramatic angst comfort :)))))))

A/N: Sorry this took so long y’all, school and stuff has been kicking my ass. But writing this sweet little fic has been a nice reprieve from my work. Hope you enjoy!

“Alright, I’ll get the chicken, the asparagus, and the pasta. You’ve got the wine and the dessert?”

“Sure thing.”

The two of you nod, Gray stepping away from the grocery cart before you call out to him.

“And not one of those huge tubs of ice cream.”

Gray emits a dramatic whine, pouting.

“But the big one is 25 cents cheaper than those little pints. It’s practically free!”

You furrow your brow and pat him on the shoulder.

“Not if we don’t finish them, they aren’t. Now go.” Gray rolls his eyes, clutching his heart and throwing his head back. You playfully push him, walking away with the grocery cart and towards the deli section. You can see the top of Gray’s wild brown hair as he moves into the next aisle, his 6’5” form towering over all the little old ladies who usually crowd the store.

You’re browsing the chicken, trying to decide between 2 breasts or a full rotisserie, when a familiar sound reaches you.

“Oh! If it isn’t ____.” You forcibly paint a smile, fingers automatically clenched around the stellafoam package as you turn to see your next door neighbor Mrs. Star. Her teased, bleached blonde hair teeters on top of her head, bobbing back and forth with the clack of her neon blue heels. While you can respect the 60-year old for digging her feet in and refusing to update her wardrobe from the 80’s, her pension for gossip is a little less admirable. “Shocked to see you out and about, what with that big ol boyfriend of yours.” She says, blue eyeshadow crinkling into a wink and nudging you with your elbow. You wheeze a bit, quickly covering it with a laugh. “Back in our honeymoon phase, Richard and I barely left the bedroom. And he was half-way balding back then, not the babe-a-rama you got going over there.” Mrs. Star’s laugh reaches a pitch almost too high for your human ears to pick up, maybe even giving Gray 2 aisles over a headache.

“Well, y’know, gotta keep our energy up.” You wince, immediately berating yourself for that comment. Mrs. Star throws her hand up in a “oh, you” gesture, letting out another half-whistle half-screeching chuckle.

“Oh I do, honey, I do.” She sends you another dramatic wink, which you return with a shaky smile. The corner of your cart bumps into hers as you begin walking along the meat aisle, trying to forcibly end this interaction. But Mrs. Star pulls off an impressive turn with her cart and strolls alongside you. She does little to hide her wandering eyes, trying to piece together any juicy info from your groceries. “So, are you two trying for kids yet?”

The wheels squeal to a sudden stop, forcing you to choke on your saliva as the shopping cart’s handle digs into your stomach. You keep your gaze locked on the frozen steaks  and turkeys, already way past the chicken you meant to grab.

“Uhhh, no. We’re not really in the phase of our relationship yet.”

Mrs. Star clicks her tongue, pressing her hand to her chest in a show of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, dearie. Old habits you see, whenever a new couple moves in together I assume they’re halfway to the wedding already. You young kids like to take it slow, huh?”

You nod, hastily grabbing a package of buffalo wings, hoping for an excuse to escape this conversation.

Mrs. Star continues to walk by you, her cart blocking off any convenient means to leave unless you significantly pick up her speed. Her eyes glance over the sweats sat in a display in the center of the aisle, humming a small tune.

The end of the aisle is approaching, you’re almost home free! You ready your feet to book it with an excuse, but Mrs. Star clears her throat and begins to speak.

“Now dearie, I don’t mean to pry-”

What do you call these last 3 minutes, Star?

“But I’d at least pop on a ring on that finger soon. Someday someone’s going to snatch that boy up like a piece of meat, saying all the right things. Men got all those suspicions about over-the-hill pregnancies, his eyes might start wandering. That’s how my first divorce went, so I should know.”

You pull your cart to a stop, breathe catching as you look at Mrs. Star, shocked. You can handle some inappropriate questions, but to question your boyfriend’s loyalty and insulting your relationship is crossing another line. Your brows furrow with a simmering anger, your cheeks heating up as you're ready to let loose.

“Well, Mrs. Star, if you must know I have the most wonderful boyfriend on this side of the planet, and unlike your deadbeat first husband, he’s as loyal as they can be.” Mrs. Star looks at you, eyes widened and right hand halfway to grab a pack of oreos. You huff, pushing your cart away from hers and towards the cash register. Right before you leave her sight, you turn back to her with a simpering smirk. “Have a great day, Mrs. Star!”

Your heart is heaving with anger, prepping a rant to Gray about the horrible interaction you just had. On the other side of the store, you spot Gray, his curly hair all tussled, holding a large Rosé and a package of ice cream sandwiches. Just the sight of his back calms you a bit, excited for some delicious food and late-night cuddles. You jog a little towards him, but slow down when you see him crouch down, looking at something hidden from your sight.

You turn your shopping cart slightly, trying to peer behind his massive form, and freeze.

Gray’s sticking out his tongue, pushing up his nose, and making many more silly gestures to a baby in a stroller. The baby laughs, it’s chubby cheeks bright red as Gray blows another raspberry, thrashing its arms up and down with joy. The dad is laughing at Gray’s antics, leaning down and patting his kid on the head.

Gray promptly stands up, sending another big smile to the kid, before waving goodbye. The six-month-old waves back, uncoordinated and decidedly adorable. Gray laughs, turning away and walking towards you.

Your feet feel cemented to the floor, heart down in your stomach.

He’s a natural, you think, nausea building up in your throat.

Gray was the oldest of eight, not a large number for a werewolf family. You adored them, and they you, but Gray had a way of dealing with his youngest siblings. Whether it was letting them climb all over him like a jungle gym, or attending imaginary tea parties, Gray was a pro. He was the guy to cram himself into a tiny chair at the kids table, eating tiny cookies and cracking jokes. ‘Dad’ seemed to be stamped into his very being, the cuddly werewolf with a love of children. He’s any mother-in-law’s dream.

But all those sweet things turn sour when you think about what Mrs. Star said. Gray, moving on without you.

Gray’s eyes light up when he sees your cart, jogging over and holding up the bottle of wine like a prize.

“Hey!” He says, quickly sliding an arm around your waist and giving you a peck on the cheek. “I got your favorite, and those delicious mint-chocolate sandwiches.”

His happy voice and comforting touch help abate whatever it is your feeling, but the way Gray’s brow furrows tells you your  discomfort is present in your eyes. “Is everything okay?” His large hand comes up and rubs your shoulder. You give him a shaky smile, fighting away negative thoughts with a bat.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

---------

Wet fur presses up against your bare neck as you lazily stir the boiling water, Gray’s shifted muzzle now snug in the crook of your shoulder, the white flecks across his dark fur peeking into your periphery. Your free hand instinctively goes back to scratch between his ears, causing him to let out a satisfied huff, hot air blowing across your chest.

“That smells good baby.”

“It’s just salt and water Gray. The pasta’s barely al dente.”

Gray laughs, turning his head  slightly so he can press a small kiss onto your cheek.

“You could make even that taste delicious, ____”

You dramatically roll your eyes, pushing away his chin as he continues to peck and nip at your neck. After showering Gray always made sure to rub in some cherry-blossom leave-in conditioner into his fur. The artificial perfumes just lightly touch your senses, but the mental connection they have to Gray make them smell that much sweeter. You turn and give him a quick kiss on the lips, patting his shoulder once more.

“Do you mind setting the table? Maybe get started on those messy dishes?”

“No problem.” Gray mumbles, reluctantly pulling away from you and tugging up the towel that hangs loose on his hips. He barely needs to reach for your fancy plates on the top shelf, his chest muscles flexing and bicep taut. Even with his thick fur, you can see the bone of his clavicle which accentuates his long neck.

God, he’s so hot.

You think, smirking a bit as you continue stirring.

And all mine.

You hum, but the cheery mood you’re in quickly sours once you remember your conversation with Mrs. Star. That small seed of doubt seems to grow and leech from your chest.

2 years into this relationship and the two of you have only danced around the conversation of the future. You of course had agreed on living together, what your career paths looked like, even the potential of getting married in a couple years, but never kids. As two 20-somethings, you felt like you had all the time in the world.

But the thing was, you didn’t really need all the time in the world.

You didn't want kids. Even with your family or your neighbors needing that your opinion “might change some day,” you were confident in that decision. Not that you hated them, you just could never picture yourself being a mom. A fun aunt, maybe, but never a mom. It wasn’t even a point of contention in your own mind; The picture of you, your partner, and maybe a couple of pets thriving into your elders was bliss enough.

You sneak a glance to Gray, now clothed and back turned to you as he sets the table. He’s diligently folding the napkins into  fun shapes, a ritual he does every date night. From the hole in his jeans you can see his tail wagging, content as he hums to the low radio playing on the window sill.

A smile crawls onto your face, a small giggle escaping you as you watch Gray’s hips bob to the beat, silently mouthing the words. You snort as he does a dramatic little shoulder shift, Gray’s head whipping back towards the kitchen as you throw your hand over your mouth.

“What, don't you like my moves?” Gray says, shimmering his shoulders again, a large grin across his face.

“They could use some work, Kevin Bacon.” Gray clutches his chest, throwing his head back in mock pain.

“You wound me. After all these years, you would cut me so deep?”

“Sure would.” You turn back towards the simmering pasta, setting the wooden spoon on the rim and brushing your hands on your jeans. “Oof!” You squeak as you yanked away, Gray wrapping his arms around your waist, twirling you in a stumbling circle.

“And how ‘bout now, m’lady?” Gray simpers, eyebrow cocked. Your hands slap his chest as you laugh. He lets your feet back down on the floor, but keeps his arms locked around your waist. The two of you slow dance to the beat, and when the chorus hits, Gray gives his worst rendition possible. You bemoan and feign plugging your ears, but find yourself singing along anyway.

Everything about Gray is warm and bright, from his goofy grin to his excitable tail to his two left feet. He adds that pep of energy to your daily routine, pulling you out of an exhausting cycle for a quick jog to the beach or an episode of your favorite drama. Gray fills out all of those little spaces, makes them a little less gray.

Your head rests against his chest, feeling the fur through the fabric of his t-shirt as the two of you sway back and forth.

You want it to stay this way.

But that pestering weed squeezes your heart again, forcing images of Gray with a kid on his shoulders. Showing up to little-league football games with a big cooler and a “#1 dad” T-shirt. All those little moments, all without you.

You can’t fight the deep sigh, pressing your face even deeper into Gray.

Just let me have this. Just this moment, just for now.

-------

“Ugh, I think my stomach is going to explode from excess-pasta.”

Gray huffs, laying his head on your lap as the two of you slump onto the couch. His tail wags lazily, flickering back and forth as his legs swing over the coach's side, his long torso bunched up as he curls into you. The fur of his head is soft as you twist your fingers into it. “But I gotta say, what a way to go out.”

You giggle, losing your thoughts in his soft fur. Gray lets out another deep breath, nuzzling his face into your hand. You brush over his cheek with your  thumb, admiring the cheekbone you feel just underneath.

But that burning question refuses to leave your mind, and you ask it without even thinking.

“Do you want kids, Gray?”

Gray’s eye’s stay closes, his posture relaxed as he sinks into your massaging fingers.

“Hmmm, maybe. Never really thought too much about it. Why?”

Your throat dries up, mind reeling. It wasn’t even a definitive yes, but your heart is still reeling. Your fingers pause and Gray's eyes open. He shifts his head when he sees the look on your face, concerned. “Babe?”

You nod, eyes still wide, trying to fight off the inklings of a panic attack. Gray pushes himself up on his elbows, paw quickly coming to caress your cheek. “Baby, is everything alright?”

You find the energy to breathe, and suck in deeply. Your heart begins to slow down as you look into Gray’s yellow wolf eyes. You dig your cheek into his large palm, smelling the perfume of his conditioner.

“Yes, sorry, I just-” You pause, taking another deep breath. “I ran into Mrs. Star in the grocery store, and-I’m sorry I’m overthinking things.” You mutter, patting yourself  on the cheek as to snap yourself out of your mood. Grays other hand rubs the back of your neck.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here. Did she say something?”

“No-Well, yes. It’s silly, typical Star things. She just brought up how ‘ought to get started having kids, and it just-” You let out a shaky sigh, pulling away Gray’s hand with your own and looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t want to have kids, ever.”

In Gray’s eyes, you expect to….something. Confusion, disappointment, maybe? But instead, all you see is relief. Gray rests his paw on your thigh, squeezing it.

“_____, is that what you’ve been worrying about?” You nod, throwing your eyes back down, but Gray tilts your chin towards him. “If you don’t want kids, we won’t have kids. Simple as that.”

Your eyes widen and you pull your face back.

“Seriously? But-what if-”

“____, I grew up with eight siblings. I’m going to have to deal with more nieces and nephews then I can count on my fingers and my toes, I think I can handle not having kids.”

A weight lifts off of your chest and you slump forward into Gray, pressing your forehead against his clavicles as you let out a long, relieved sigh. He laughs, patting your back and kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this all day, I didn’t even realize you were so upset.”

You slap his chest, letting out another frustrated sigh. With him? No, but yourself, and Mrs. Star, for stirring up nightmares for no damn good reason.

“It’s not your fault, it’s mine for being so paranoid.” You press your chin up, pouty lips admiring your boyfriend's face. “I’m sorry for freaking out. She really got me into my own head.”

“No apologies needed baby.” Gray says, giving you a small peck. You send him a cheesy smile, chasing after his lips with a couple of small kisses. A low rumble growls out from his chest as you nip at his jawline. Behind him, you hear his tail begin to hump on the floor.

“Hmm, does that mean you feel better?” You nod, pressing another kiss into his pulse point.

“Yes, thank you for letting me get that out.” Another kiss, now on his Adam’s apple.

“Welp,” Gray says, quickly adjusting himself. In another second, you yelp as he picks you up by your butt, legs quickly wrapping around his waist, “Let’s give Mrs. Star something to talk about, hmm?”

You throw your head back with a laugh, clinging tight to his chest as Gray blows a raspberry into your neck. “That good with you, my lady?”

You nod, giving him another kiss on the lips as he carries you off into the bedroom.

Yeah, you have it good.

[tamagochiie]

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you. Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting… tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing, mentioned homophobia w/c: 3.6k

tagging list:  @angrylittleriri​ @chims-kookies​ @gooseyhouse @kiyokoscunchie​ @unhappyraspberry​ @elianetsantana​ 

a/n: welcome to the THIRD chapter of the fic! i hope you’re all doing well since i’ve last posted. I genuinely apologize for the delay! a few personal things kinda popped up, and it kinda derailed the process of posting this fic, but at least we’re here now!  this is a bit longer compared to the other chapters, but i hope you all enjoy! please ignore any grammar mistakes, i proof read this to the best of my ability and it’s currently 5 in the morning :’) 

see you all next week for the final chapter.  p.s. I do have a smol surprise, so stay tuned for next week! 

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<< life as she’s known it | life as they’ll know it >>

Kenma had always been aware of the common misconception people had of him, and the lack of interest they had to confirm it: that he had the inability to express his thoughts and feelings let alone identify it. 

In a way, he did find it rather difficult to open up. Being bullied as a child silenced him into the dreading assumption that anyone who was kind to him or showed any interest in him were only doing so just to mess with him. 

It took Kuroo quite a lot when he first met Kenma. He bent his little body over and under, jumping through hoops like a show pony just to get Kenma to even blink his way. And though all that effort strained him, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell you he’d do it all again if he could. 

But it wasn’t a question of whether or not Kenma could identify what he was feeling and thoroughly express it. He had the right words, all of which were hanging off the tip of his tongue. He just didn’t know how to say it without sounding insensitive or heartless. 

So as he stares at Yuki twirling in a dress you found digging through one of your old childhood clothes, his lips run dry. His words tuck behind the swell of his heart because though Yuki does indeed look like the cutest child he’s ever seen, his thoughts are full of concern, worried about what people say to a little boy showing up in a jean overall dress with purple and yellow flowers embroidered at the hem. 

His eyes gape onto the sight before him, flickering over to Eiji when he hears him clear his throat. He seems just as troubled, quieter than usual while he watches over his brother. Not a single trace of amusement is seen in Eiji’s face. He doesn’t seem happy at all, and it phases Kenma; he’s usually stoic if not smiling in the presence of Yuki. 

Yuki continues to giggle himself, gripping onto the material of his dress to have it flow in the air. He looks up to meet your eyes, oblivious to the two boys muddled in their own distress. 

“I’m sorry, Yuki-chan,” You huff, smiling down to the little boy running circles in the middle of the living room. “If I had known the preschool was gonna accept you so soon, I would’ve brought you to the mall...But this should be fine for now, right? Is this okay with you, Yuki-chan?” 

Yuki disregards your apology, holding up your old frog raincoat as he beams at his “new” found clothes. 

“Plus, these don’t look so old, and it doesn’t look too girly, don’t you think?” You turn to Kenma who spares you nothing more than a nod. You follow his gaze and find it etched into the embroidered hem. 

It doesn’t pass off as boy clothes, he thinks, letting your words breeze past him. 

Kenma isn’t shy with breaking gender norms; he’s worn a few skirts and dresses himself, all that are still sitting in his closet to be worn again. His qualms aren’t with Yuki wearing a dress, but the treatment he’s expected to get when he shows up to his first day of school. He’ll be bullied into the same silence Kenma faced, and he’ll amount to nothing more than rubble beneath their judgement. 

They say times are changing, so the people must be too, right? But there’s a persistent constricting feeling building up in his chest as if it comes as a warning sign. And the fact that Eiji looks just as uneasy as himself hints that maybe Yuki should change out of something less...worrisome. 

“Mmm, Yuki,” Kenma clears his throat, trying to subside the build up of his uneasiness, “maybe you should wear something else…?” Yuki’s smile falters at his words as confusion colors away his joy. “I think you should wear the pants with the little frog shirt you picked out instead.” 

He doesn’t mean for his words to come out bitter and cold, and the momentum of his panic leaves a lump in his throat he isn’t too sure he’ll be able to swallow if he keeps his silence. 

Yuki looks up to him, blinking away at his words with glistening eyes. “I don’t look pretty?” Yuki’s voice comes out small--smaller than his fingers and toes. Smaller than his ability to comprehend where Kenma’s truly coming from. “You don’t like it, Kenma-san..?”

Oh no, he thinks to himself. Panic rises from his stomach and climbs up to his chest; a tightness in his throat soon follows when Yuki begins to blubber, telling him how mean he’s being. I didn’t mean to make him--

“Kozume.” You chide, looking at him quizzically. He meets your eyes and he instantly freezes up, thinking you, too, have come to misunderstand him. “What are you doing? Do something.” 

But he can’t. If he opens his mouth, he’ll only sound meaner than before, and he’d rather not add any more confusion or any more pain to the little boy. 

“Say something,” You push, glaring at him. “Kozume.” 

His throat goes dry as well as his lips, and when he finally does gain enough courage, Eiji takes a step forward beating him to the punch. “Yuki, I think it’s better you just wear pants. Dresses are for girls, and you shouldn’t be wearing this kind of stuff.” 

Your eyes widen and so does Kenma’s. Eiji’s is stern and clear in contrast to all the other times he’s spoken since he’s arrived. You watch as he kneels to meet Yuki’s eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder before running it up to his cheek to wipe away his tears. 

“There might be some problems if you wear a dress to school, Yuki-chan. And didn’t we promise each other we wouldn’t cause them any trouble for Oba-san and Kenma-san while we’re here?” Eiji’s voice is a lot soft, yet his words are still firm. Yuki quietly submits to his brother, hanging his head low as he continues to cry. 

You stand there both stunned. 

You want to speak up, but you’re still unsure of your place; who you are and what you can say. So you stand there with Kenma tightlipped at your side with tension hanging above your heads, watching as Yuki quietly sniffles to himself as he hugs the pile of clothes he’s picked and carries it into their shared bedroom. 

Needless to say, everyone goes to bed tucked beneath the covers of their guilt. 

                                                                                   ❁ ❁ ❁

Quiet mornings with a steaming cup at hand while treading lightly through the endless sea of emails in his iPad brought Kenma an odd sense of peace, and he looked forward to it every morning. But much to Kenma’s dismay, the apartment is too quiet and the coffee bitter; the chill in the atmosphere is unsettling as he falls into deep thought. 

He thinks back to the events of last night; Yuki’s crying face, your contorted look of confusion, and Eiji’s words. It all comes pouring down on him like a bucket of cold water. 

Not even his coffee can spare him from the chill down his spine. 

He mentally kicks himself, thinking of all the other ways he could’ve said it better. How he could’ve prevented him from breaking Yuki’s little heart and avoided your cold shoulder as you left in a hurry to take the kids to their schools. 

Kenma sucks in a breath as the stinging spreads across his chest. The weight of his cup grows heavy and he shifts his grip to a more comfortable hold. Nothing about the morning is comforting, and it leaves Kenma in distress, the feeling spilling into his work as he continues about his day. 

He can barely read a single line of an email let alone write one; his senses aren’t as sharp as he struggles to smoothen his hand-eye coordination during gaming; and he catches himself zoning out in the middle of his online meetings, barely humming responses to questions he pretends to hear. 

Kenma wonders how Yuki’s doing, and what he could do to apologize and gain his trust back. Maybe he’ll get some strawberry milk on the way to fetch him, or buy the little duck umbrella he caught him eyeing at the convenience store. 

Kenma isn’t good with words if one were to ask him to be gentle and kind. He’s blunt and straight to the point, and it took him more than just a while to get used to softening the blow of his words and how he delivers them. 

And now, as he muddles in his misery does he ingrain those habits deeper into thought until it becomes muscle memory to his lips. 

He’s only then pulled from his squabbles when the doorbells rings throughout the apartment. His feet drag him to the door as his mutters in his resentment. What in the hell could be here--

“You’re shitting me.” Kenma grimaces at  the sight of the cheeky grin plastered across his best friend’s face as he opens the door; his hair tousled to the side and his usual business attire unkempt.  “What the hell do you want?” 

Kuroo pouts, pretending to be wounded by the bitter greeting as he holds a hand to his heart. “Is that how you greet an old friend?” 

“Not now, Kuroo-san.” Despite the bite in his words and his half-hearted attempt to shut the door, Kuroo welcomes himself in, kicking his shoes to the side before trailing behind him. 

“I miss your calls,” Kuroo teases, eyes wandering about the apartment, “you don’t even text me back anymore.” 

“I don’t have the time.” Kenma grits as he pinches the bridge of his nose. A drunken, dizzying feeling whirling in his head; probably because of all the coffee he’s downed and the little water he’s consumed. “Whatever it is you’re here to pester me with, please save it for another time and leave.” 

“Why? Stay at home daddy roles keeping you occupied?” The cushion of the couch bends beneath Kuroo’s weight as he leisurely raises his feet to the coffee table, arms relaxing over to the arm rest. “I wasn’t so surprised when you became a CEO, but this--fatherhood was something I’d imagined you’d do much later...” 

Irritation seeps through Kenma’s skin in the form of tense muscles and a clenched jaw as Kuroo continues on to pass cheap jokes and badgers him. He swipes a bottle warm from the fridge before joining Kuroo on the other side of the couch, kicking his foot off the table on the way. 

“You’re so cold to me.” Kuroo whines, ruffling Kenma’s pudding head hair, earning a disapproving tsk. “Seriously, how’s it someone like you skips the step to marriage and dives straight to having kids? I’m a bit hurt. I had to hear it from Shoyo. Like, seriously? Shoyo? I thought I was your best friend?” 

“Self-proclaimed.” He corrects, unbothered by Kuroo’s sore expression as he untwists the cap from the bottle before chugging the water down in one breath. “Will you leave now?” 

“Why are you so keen to push me out?” Kuroo lifts himself off the warmth of the cushions, moving closer to his evidently troubled friend as he picks off the seal from the plastic bottle. “Kenma, are you okay? Kyanma?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose once again, Kenma shakes his head as he leans his head back. Kuroo tilts his head, watching as his friend unravels in his pain; manifesting both metaphorically and physically. 

“I’ve said something mean to a little boy and he didn’t even deserve it.” Kenma fiddles the empty bottle, tossing it to the side before anxiously fiddling with his fingers. 

“What happened?” 

A deep and heavy sigh escapes him, “He was wearing a dress and I told him he shouldn’t. A-And, And it’s not like I didn’t want him to. I don’t mind it all, but people are mean and the thought that he might face the same kind of treatment I did--Kuroo-san, I don’t want that.”

“You only meant well,” Kuroo places his hand on Kenma’s shoulder, rubbing circles against the material of his old Nekoma sweater. “Though, you could’ve said it better--” 

“You know damn well I’m not good at that!” Kenma spits, cutting him off. 

“But the point is, you meant well!” He reiterates. “Might’ve come across as a lil douche-y, but the intentions were there. But I think you of all people know that no matter what, there’ll always be someone mean. And I don’t think you can shield him from that. Maybe temporarily, but not forever.” 

“I don’t want that kind of pain for him!” Kenma abruptly stands from his place, frustration tingling at his fingertips as it spreads throughout the rest of his body. “He’s so small, Kuroo-san. You should’ve seen him. I said one thing and it already looked like he was gonna break. What happens when he hears words worse than mine? What’ll I do then? What can I do for him?” 

Sniffling. It is the sound that follows after Kenma’s voice breaks and causes Kuroo to raise his brows. At first he thinks his ears have tricked him, but when he finds tears pooling down to his chin as he collapses back onto his seat. 

And it is at this moment, after all the time that has passed, has he seen him break.  

“I-I don’t know how to do any of this. I’m so confused.” Kenma babbles on, stumbling on his own words and choking in between his sobs. And all Kuroo can offer is a soft, rhythmic pat on his back to try and calm him down.

“I’ve been doing some reading about how to understand children or how to raise one, but it's so different. There’s all these theories and guidelines, but no one tells you that you forget everything you read the second they appear in front of you…” 

Kenma holds his head in his trembling hands, crying even harder. All the while he wonders what the child version of him would think if saw him as fragile as the fallen leaves that’d crunch beneath his feet. He’d wonder if he had known the stress he’d fall prey to, would he have continued? 

But as the image of you bleed through his worries, he’s more than sure of his answer. 

Yes. 

Yes, I would. 

Over and over again in one breath. 

“You will be to that child what you needed when you were bullied.” Kuroo’s words are steady, matched with an endearing smile to comfort Kenma’s crying as he meets his glistening gaze. “You needed someone to reassure you that all you heard were nothing but lies, so you do that for him.” 

“Ah, my dear friend, have you not heard of the phrase ‘It takes a village to raise a child’?” Kenma merely blinks at him quizzically as Kuroo snakes an arm around him to bring him close. “What I’m tryna say is: stop acting like you don’t have me, and Shoyo, and the rest of your friends who’re just within your reach. No one ever said it was only just going to be the two of you.” 

Kenma swallows thickly, nodding in agreement as he wipes away the snot dripping from the tip of his nose. He says his thanks that’s quieter than a whisper, it comes airy and a bit croaky from crying. 

The words of his best friend doesn’t immediately fill his heart with peace, but it does lift a little weight from his shoulders. It does give him the sense of security he’s been searching for. And all Kenma wants to do now is apologize to Yuki-- 

“Speaking of,” Kuroo clears his throat, wandering his eyes around the expanse of the apartment. “Where are the kids…?” 

“Oh, shit.” 

                                                           ❁ ❁ ❁

Kuroo and Kenma’s feet click clack against the pavement as they run down to Yuki’s preschool. The cool afternoon air winds past the pair; Kenma’s chest is heaving in pain while Kuroo barely breaks a sweat. 

“I can’t believe you forgot the child!” Kuroo shouts behind him, laughing at Kenma struggling to catch up. “How could you forget a child?” 

“I was pretty preoccupied today!” Kenma countered between ragged breaths. “If your ass didn’t show up I would’ve remembered!” 

“Not with all that crying!”

“Don’t you dare bring that up ever!” 

Kuroo’s hyena laugh carries two blocks over. Head turn as the two continue to bicker all the way down until they arrive at the preschool. Children clamoring before the gate, mingling with their parents and Kenma’s hooded gaze sweeps through the crowd to find a familiar tousled head of hair. 

“What’s he look like?” Kuroo towers over Kenma and the children, squinting his eyes and looking around as if he’s got any clue. 

“He, uh, he should be wearing jeans and a frog shir--” Kenma’s attention is pulled from a string of voices singing praises to find Yuki proudly twirling in his embroidered dress, basking in their compliment. 

It becomes clear to Kenma you dire need to leave the house immediately was because of this. Because you were being coy.

But Yuki’s joy is short-lived, locking eyes with Kenma huffing for air after all the running. But to the young boy gaping up at him, it looks as if he’s ready to yell. So he stops his twirling, his smile slipping away as the rest of the kids’ turn to face him. 

Yuki straightens himself, adjusting the straps of his backpack as he carefully walks towards Kenma with his head hung low. Kuroo elbows his side and nearly knocks out the little air he has left. 

He swipes his tongue across his lips before he speaks, But before he can even utter a sound, his train of thought is pulled from him once again. 

“Disgusting.” An abrasive, disembodied voice grimaces. Not a single care if they’re heard. 

“Why the hell is he wearing a dress?” Says another. 

“Honestly, this generation…” 

“Boy’s aren’t supposed to be wearing dresses.” 

The chattering picks up and soon all the parents are ogling at Yuki who can hear them all so clearly, and Kenma notices him shrinking into his froggy raincoat, trying to hide from their judgemental stares. 

This, Kenma thinks. This is exactly what I mean. 

Kenma is not an emotional person, and not once did he ever raise his voice or act on what he was feeling without thinking it over. And as much as he’d like to throw his hands and cause a scene, he remembers Kuroo’s advice. 

“Who’s child is this?” One of the mothers questions. “Who does this child belong to?” 

“He belongs to me, Miss.” Kenma rasps, taking Yuki’s hand in his before turning to the woman. “I am the guardian and this is my child.” 

“And you allow your child to wear a dress?” 

“Yes.” He answers, finding the footing in his confidence to talk back to a woman who can easily tower over him if she steps closer. “Yes, and what does that have to do with you?” 

“Have you no shame?” She glares at him in disgust, sighing. “He’s a boy! Boy’s shouldn’t be wearing dresses! It’s for girls! What kind of message are you trying to teach him?”

 “And what about you, Miss? Are you proud to show your kid and all these other young minds that its okay to be a bigot? That it’s okay to be uneducated?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Then beg.” Kenma spits, his cat eyes burning holes into the mother’s skin. He’s completely unphased by the growing whispers exchanged between the parents. Kuroo watches proudly in the background, quietly cheering him on. “Skirts were worn by both men and women during the prehistoric times, and biologically speaking, it makes more sense if men were to wear skirts. They only stopped because people as close minded and uneducated as you feared femininity.” 

“So I should ask you the same question, Miss: have you no shame? Telling a small child he’s disgusting because we wanted to wear something that made him happy and comfortable. Is he hurting you?” 

The woman’s lips fall to an ‘o’ as she’s at a loss for words, and Kenma relishes in his growing confidence, bending down to Yuki to pick him up and rest him onto his hip. 

“You have no right to talk to my child that way.” Kenma clears his throat, taking a step back as he maintains eye contact with all the parents at sight. “Let me make this very clear: should you feel the need to take my place as his guardian and try to speak for me, I suggest you don’t.” 

Kenma let’s his words linger in the air and begins to walk away, Kuroo slipping through the sea of parents to walk alongside him. 

A smirk slips across his lips, looking down to Yuki clinging his around Kenma’s neck. 

“Wow,” Kuroo breathes, amusement lacing in his tone. “I didn’t think you had it in ya.” 

“Oh my god, I never wanna do that again.” Kenma twitches the cringe out from his body before pressing Yuki closer to him. “I hate talking to people.” 

“But you did a very good job, I’m actually super proud.” 

“Shut up,” Kenma mutters, locking his eyes onto the pavement ahead of him. 

He’s still shocked, unable to believe what had just transpired. He hated the feeling of everyone’s eyes fixed on him, and how quiet it was when he spoke. He hated having to speak up. 

But if had to do it again, he would. 

He’d do it again and again in one breath.