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goblin-jr · 8 months ago

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And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you.

part 4 of 12

Synopsis: New feelings emerge the annual obx bonfire, and maybe rafe makes sense sometimes?

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

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The beach was alive with energy. Shadows danced across the sand as the bonfire crackled, its flames licking up into the night sky. Music pulsed from a speaker someone had dragged down, a beat that felt like the heartbeat of the entire crowd. It was packed, Kooks and Pogues alike coming together under the shared, unspoken Outer Banks tradition: that bonfires were for everyone. Tonight, social status was checked at the edge of the sand, and the air buzzed with freedom.

Y/N took it all in, smiling as she watched the chaos around her. To her left, Pope was pulling a face as he choked down a swig of the lukewarm beer they’d snagged from an abandoned cooler, and on her right, Kiara was doubling over in laughter as JJ finished off the remains of a sloppy keg stand, his grin as wide as it was reckless.

“Twenty seconds! That’s a record!” Kiara declared, raising her cup as JJ landed, somewhat unsteadily, on his feet. He leaned on Pope, pretending to stagger for effect.

“Twenty-five seconds if you count style points,” JJ retorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And that was a world-class dismount.”

“World-class dismount?” Pope scoffed, though he couldn’t hold back a grin. “That was barely even a landing.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along, joining in with the rest of them. This was her crew—her people. Moments like this reminded her that these were more than just friends; they were family. They shared everything, from scraps to secrets, and it felt easy, right. Here, she didn’t have to be anything but herself.

The group continued to cheer JJ on, tossing him mock praises while he bowed with exaggerated flair. Then he shot a challenging look over at Pope. “Think you can beat that, Pope? Or is Mr. Honour Student scared to take on the keg?”

Pope rolled his eyes, but Y/N could see the glint of competitiveness sparking behind his usual calm. “Step aside, amateurs,” he said, striding toward the keg. “Prepare to witness a true display of keg-standing grace.”

Kiara snorted. “Yeah, you’ll need all the grace you can get to beat JJ’s ‘world-class dismount.’”

Y/N watched as Pope set himself up, bracing his hands on the keg while JJ and Kiara took hold of his legs. The group counted down as Pope lifted up, holding his own surprisingly well. JJ and Kiara kept the playful jeers coming, while Y/N joined in with cheers, laughing so hard her sides hurt. When Pope finally came down, he shook his head with mock disgust at the crowd’s over-the-top applause.

The group quickly settled into their usual rhythm, passing around drinks, teasing each other, and laughing so loudly they drew a few curious glances from the others around the bonfire. Kiara passed Y/N a drink, winking as if sharing a secret. Y/N took a sip, enjoying the taste of freedom mixed with the slight saltiness of the ocean breeze.

Then, as the night continued, something shifted. It was subtle at first, a glance, a small change in the atmosphere. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed a figure entering the firelight, carrying herself with an effortless confidence. Sarah Cameron, arriving with her own Kook crowd. She seemed to glide through the sand, her friends moving aside to let her through as if they’d choreographed the whole thing.

Y/N watched her for a second, noticing how, even among the crowd, Sarah looked almost… untouchable. There was something magnetic about her, even if Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She glanced around, curious if anyone else had noticed, and saw John B watching Sarah with a look that wasn’t just casual curiosity. For a brief moment, he locked eyes with her as she passed, the kind of look that felt more like a question than a glance.

The thing was, John B hadn’t looked away right away. And Sarah, too, held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before giving him a small, unreadable smile and moving on.

Y/N felt a small flutter of curiosity, but she quickly brushed it aside. It was probably nothing; John B was just noticing Sarah, like everyone else was. If he was intrigued by her, that was no surprise—everyone seemed to be.

She turned her attention back to the group, pushing aside any thoughts of Sarah Cameron and the strange little moment she’d witnessed. The Pogues were deep into some new joke, Pope recounting a mishap from a surf lesson he’d tried to give a tourist last summer, everyone laughing so hard they could hardly breathe.

It was all familiar, all part of their dynamic. But as Y/N looked around at them—JJ, leaning back with a confident grin; Kiara, always quick with a witty comeback; Pope, rolling his eyes good-naturedly—she felt a faint pang of something. A sense of being surrounded yet slightly apart. They were all laughing, all connected in a way she was part of but also… maybe not entirely. It was subtle, something she couldn’t quite name, but it was there.

–

The bonfire crackled on, casting warm, flickering shadows over everyone as laughter and stories echoed into the night. Y/N stretched her legs out on the soft sand, her eyes dancing over her friends as they chatted and laughed around her. The atmosphere was alive, a tangle of music, firelight, and easygoing conversations. She could almost forget the weight that had been following her around lately, the quiet sense that something was off.

JJ was in his usual element, animatedly telling a story about some wild, yet exaggerated, run-in with a tourist and a local cop. His hands flew through the air, mimicking the cop’s serious tone and his own escape from the situation. Everyone laughed, even Pope, who was the least likely to show much amusement.

“Bet you didn’t get off that easy, though!” Kiara teased, nudging JJ with her foot.

“I got off just fine, thank you,” JJ replied with a wink, his grin wide as he glanced over at the crowd. “And speaking of getting off, there’s a cute tourist over there who might need a tour guide tonight.” He gave a sly smile, turning his head toward a group of vacationers by the food table.

John B. shot JJ a mock glare from the other side of the fire, his voice loud over the chatter. “What is it with you and tourists, man? At this point, I’m just concerned for their safety.”

JJ laughed, throwing up his hands in defense. “I’m a professional. Trust me, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, right,” Pope chimed in, shaking his head as he passed around another beer. “JJ ‘Tour Guide’ Maybank at it again. Should we be concerned for our reputation?”

Kiara rolled her eyes but smiled. “Some things never change.”

As the teasing continued, Y/N joined in, her laughter light and genuine, but underneath it, something else simmered—a slight discomfort she couldn't quite shake. She watched JJ eye the tourist again, clearly sizing her up. It was nothing new, just JJ being... well, JJ. He’d always been carefree, always found someone to flirt with, to connect with, even if it was for one night.

But something about it hit a little harder tonight.

Pope leaned in, his voice intentionally loud, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “Hey, when are you gonna find someone to hook up with? You’re, like, the only one here who hasn’t.”

Y/N froze for a second, then forced a laugh. “I’m just… not in the mood for that stuff,” she said, not quite convincing herself. She could feel her friends' eyes on her, even as they all laughed it off.

“Yeah, Y/N,” JJ added without missing a beat, his smile wide and easy. “What, too busy reading books to bother with that stuff?” The words were lighthearted, thrown out with a laugh, but they landed heavier than he realized.

The group chuckled, but Y/N felt a slight tension building in her chest. It was a joke, sure, but it was the second time tonight that someone had mentioned her "lack of experience." As if it defined her in their eyes.

Kiara, sensing the slight shift in Y/N’s mood, leaned over and threw an arm around her. “You know we’re just messing with you, right? You’re one of us—don’t need anyone to complete you or whatever.”

But the words felt hollow, even though Y/N knew Kiara meant well. One of us. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear. Y/N had always felt like she was one of the group—the sidekick, the buddy. But she didn't want to be just the "one of the guys" forever. She wanted to be seen differently. She wanted someone to notice her for more than her place in the group.

“Yeah, you’re our moral compass,” Pope added with a grin, raising his cup to her. “You keep us all on the straight and narrow, Y/N.”

She managed a strained smile, raising her own drink in response. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment… I think.” But the weight of their words, their easy camaraderie, left her feeling more like an outsider than ever.

But Y/N felt herself pulling further away, her smile fading just a little. The casual remark—that she was more like the friend who held everyone together, the one who didn’t need anything in return—only reinforced the space between them. She wasn’t the girl they saw in the same light as Kiara. She wasn’t the one who could be flirted with, or kissed in the heat of the moment. She was the one who watched. Who held the drinks, who laughed at the jokes.

The conversation shifted again, and Y/N, trying to mask her discomfort, found herself zoning out. She stared at the fire, the flames dancing in a rhythm that felt almost mocking in its carefree energy.

In the midst of her thoughts, she caught John B.’s gaze across the fire. He looked over at her, offering a quick smile before turning to say something to JJ. His presence—his casual nature, his place in the group—was a sharp reminder that, no matter how much time they spent together, she’d always be just a part of the background. He fit in effortlessly. He had a life outside the group, but when he was with them, he was fully there.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice how John B. had looked at Sarah when she arrived. It was subtle, but it was there. A shared glance. And maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a casual look, but it stung all the same.

She quickly averted her eyes, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of being left behind. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t that she wanted to be the one to catch John B.’s attention. It was the realization that, in this group, there were parts of her that no one truly saw.

And that thought settled over her like a cold wave.

JJ’s voice broke through her thoughts, his casual tone making her even more aware of the gap she felt. “Well, Y/N’s too good for that stuff anyway. She’s more about, like, keeping her nose in a book or something. Definitely not the party girl type.”

She froze, the teasing jab landing a little too close to home. She could feel all eyes on her for a moment longer than was comfortable. Their laughter, Kiara’s reassuring arm around her shoulders, the lighthearted comments, all felt like they were circling around her, but not letting her in.

She needed air.

Standing quickly, Y/N excused herself, her voice tight. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked toward the shore, the cool night air brushing against her skin, and with every step, she felt more like a stranger to the group she had spent so many years with. She reached the water’s edge and stood there for a moment, staring out at the ocean, the rhythmic waves matching the turmoil inside her.

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The bonfire crackled in the distance, the warmth and laughter of the group growing fainter as Y/N walked along the shore. Her steps felt heavy, her thoughts swirling with the aftertaste of the evening—the teasing, the offhand comments, the feeling of not quite fitting in. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been part of their jokes before, but tonight it was different.

She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much—the jokes about her never hooking up or not being like Kiara. It was just a night, after all. But it all piled up, and now, standing by herself in the cool night air, she couldn’t escape the way she felt. Invisible.

And then she heard footsteps approaching, the familiar sound of someone walking through the sand with a confident stride.

“Where are you going, bookworm?” Rafe’s voice came from behind her, the teasing tone clear even from a distance.

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes. “Really? You too?” she muttered under her breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of sarcasm. She turned to face him, arms crossed. “I thought we had a truce, Rafe. What do you want?”

Rafe, as usual, didn’t take her irritation seriously. His lips twitched with a mischievous grin, like he always knew how to push her buttons. “Truce? What truce? Come on, you can’t seriously be sulking out here by yourself. The night’s still young, and you’re out here playing emo beachside poetry.”

Y/N scoffed, feeling an odd mix of annoyance and amusement. “Really? Emo beachside poetry? You’re such a pain in the ass.”

Rafe shrugged, unaffected. “Yeah, well, someone’s got to keep you from brooding. So, what’s the deal? You’re just gonna sit out here while the rest of the world is having fun? You’re not exactly the type to pull a disappearing act.”

She stared at him for a beat, trying to figure out why his presence suddenly felt even more annoying than usual. “I’m not brooding,” she said, but her voice didn’t carry the same confidence. “I just needed a break.”

Rafe, sensing her discomfort but not exactly understanding the full extent of it, shrugged and stepped closer. He wasn’t used to seeing her like this, not when she was usually so steady and unbothered. But he couldn’t help himself—he was always itching to push people’s buttons, especially hers.

A long silence stretched between them. Rafe, for once, wasn’t sure what to say. His usual quips felt wrong in the heavy air, and he hesitated, a rare thing for him.

Y/N broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s the comments,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “About me not hooking up with anyone… or not being like Kiara.” She shook her head, trying to make light of it. “It’s just… it’s nothing, really.”

Rafe frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he took a step closer. “What are you talking about?” His voice was quieter now, less teasing and more concerned, though he was still doing his best to hide it.

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know. It just… it felt like they don’t see me the way I want to be seen. Like I’m just some ‘one of the guys’ kind of thing. Like I don’t matter the same way they all do.”

Rafe paused, letting the words sink in. His gaze softened for a moment, but his usual wall of sarcasm quickly came back up. “Is that it? You’re mad because you didn’t get the hookup attention?”

Y/N glared at him, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “That’s not the point, Rafe.”

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to process her words. He wasn’t great with emotions, especially when it came to the people closest to him, but he hated seeing her upset. And he hated not knowing how to help.

“I don’t get you, Y/N,” he said after a beat. “You’ve always been with them. Hell, they act like you’re one of them, one of the crew. And now you’re telling me you’re upset ‘cause you don’t get treated like some girl?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond right away. She could feel the frustration rising again, like a knot in her chest. She had tried to convince herself it didn’t matter. That she was fine with being one of the guys. But she wasn’t fine.

Rafe sighed, his voice softening just a little. “You know, I’ve never been big on feelings or whatever. But I don’t like seeing people hurt. And you... you don’t deserve to feel like that.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by his sudden shift. She hadn’t expected him to be this… serious. For a moment, she almost didn’t know what to say.

Rafe, still a little uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, tried to make light of it. “Look, I’ve always thought of you as one of the guys. I mean, you hang with them more than anyone, right? It’s like you’re part of the crew. But… now that I’m seeing this, it’s like, huh. Maybe there’s more to you than just being the ‘bookworm’ in the back.” His tone had a subtle softness to it, like he was trying to figure out something about her—and maybe himself, too.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat. The words she had been holding in all night slipped out before she could stop them. “I—uh, I have a crush on JJ,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “I think I always have.”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Well, I can see that. JJ’s, uh... JJ. The golden boy, right?” He paused, then added, more seriously, “But JJ’s not exactly the best at noticing what’s right in front of him. So, don’t get your hopes up.”

Y/N felt her cheeks burn. She wasn’t sure why she had said it—maybe because Rafe didn’t seem to judge her like the others did, maybe because she needed to get it out. “I know. I know it’s stupid. It’s complicated.”

Rafe shifted, sitting down beside her, though his usual confidence seemed to have faded a little. “Yeah, relationships are complicated. I wouldn’t know much about them, to be honest.” He shrugged, trying to keep things light, but his tone was tinged with something more—maybe a little vulnerability that he wasn’t used to showing. “I don’t do that whole ‘feelings’ thing. And honestly, I don’t really think anyone should, if I’m being real.”

Y/N turned to look at him, surprised by the shift in his attitude. It wasn’t the usual Rafe—there was something a little more... human in his words.

“I don’t know why anyone gets into relationships, honestly,” Rafe continued, his voice more thoughtful now. “They always seem messy. I’ve seen enough of that in my family. But maybe that’s why I stay out of it. Keeps it simple.”

Y/N nodded slowly, understanding more than she let on. “Yeah. I get that.”

Rafe broke the silence with a half-smile, his usual cocky grin returning. “Look, I’m not saying I have all the answers, but you’re not just some sidekick, Y/N. You deserve more than that. Anyone who can’t see that... they’re blind.”

Y/N stared out at the ocean, the waves crashing against the shore, her thoughts swirling. She hadn’t expected this conversation with Rafe to feel like it was unearthing something real inside her, but here they were. It was the first time in a long while she felt like someone understood, even if it was Rafe—a guy who seemed to care more about being a pain in her side than anything else.

“So, what now?” she asked, her voice quieter. "Do I just keep pretending it doesn’t matter? That I’m okay with being invisible?"

Rafe shifted beside her, his presence solid and unexpected. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the waves and the crackling of the bonfire far in the distance.

“Maybe don’t pretend,” he said after a beat. “But don’t expect everything to change overnight, either. You can’t force people to see you differently, even if they’re close to you. If they don’t get it, that’s on them. And if they do—well, then that’s when things get messy. But I think you deserve better than being invisible.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brow furrowed. She wasn’t sure what to make of his words, but she felt like she might be seeing a different side of him for the first time. Not the brash, cocky Rafe, but the one who understood what it felt like to be lost in the crowd.

"You're kind of making sense, you know?" Y/N said, half-laughing, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe gave a small shrug, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I do that sometimes."

For the first time that night, Y/N felt like she could breathe a little easier. Maybe she wasn’t completely alone in feeling invisible. But the night was far from over, and Y/N knew that her place in the group—and the way she was seen—was something she’d have to face sooner or later.

"Thanks, Rafe," she said quietly, almost as an afterthought.

He gave her a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. "Don’t mention it, bookworm. Just don’t go getting any ideas, alright?"

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Don’t worry. You’re the last person I’d ever have ideas about."

They both stayed quiet for a while longer, watching the waves, the firelight casting flickering shadows over the sand. It wasn’t the end of her internal battle, but for a moment, it felt like maybe she had a little more clarity. Just a little more understanding. And that was enough for now.

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Next up: morning confrontations and coffee mishaps

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Taglist:

@hockeybabe87

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A/N: never underestimate the power of a uni student during midterms. she will write multiple chapters of a fic in 24 hours

#obx4 #obx #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outer banks #outer banks rafe #outer banks fanfiction #jj outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj x kie #jj maybank #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine

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demaparbat-hp · 2 months ago

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Hi! I saw your latest post on your Vampire x Bloodbender AU and wow, amazing work as always! This one in particular really got into my head and I think I got a plot for a new fic.

When you get a chance, do you mind taking a read and telling me what you think? Is it ok if I eventually post a fic based on the piece? I will most definitely give you credit, but please don’t feel pressured to say yes if you got your own plans for writing a fic!

Thanks again for all the amazing art!

Air, Water, Earth, Fire…

Long ago the four nations lived in harmony.

Then everything changed when the Fire Lord broke the taboo…

In Fire Lord Sozin’s insatiable quest for power, he slew the last of the dragons, the original benders of flame…

And the Sun itself turned its back on its chosen people.

Bound to never again walk in the light of day, those who were born with the ability to bend flame were cursed with the need to devour the life force of the living.

The nomads of the air temples meditated, and departed these lands…

The kingdom of earth built up its borders to towering heights that only the foolish would attempt to scale…

The Tribe to the north, prayed to the moon and the spirit pulled up the ocean and covered the people of the north with a frozen shield, leaving their sister tribe…

Abandoned

My people believe that in order to gain something from the spirits you must first be willing to give…

For the last hundred years my tribe has sealed our waterbenders, an offering to the ocean in return for our tribe’s safety during the long nights of the south.

But I believe… that there is a way to break this curse and set the world right once more.

Even if that means I too must break a taboo and undo the seal placed on me.

My people have a story, of when the full moon turns blood red and the spirit lights dance about the night sky, if a Waterbender makes an offering…

I believe that the world can be set right…

For I can now command what the cursed ones covet.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

I! LOVE! THIS! SO! MUCH!

I'm obsessed! This is so amazing and epic and intense and it's just the prologue! I'm aching to read a 90k fic about this concept—it's just *screams into the void*.

That being said.

How would Katara and Zuko meet? Would he be searching for a way to end the curse as well? What's the Gaang's fate in this AU? I am so utterly in love it's difficult to describe my thoughts. I'm not even thinking at all, dear Agni.

This would mess with the entire worldbuilding of ATLA and that's amazing. How would the story change? How would the Fire Nation's culture and politics be affected?

I'm obsessed with everything about this and would love to know more about the AU!

#dema answers #atla #zutara #Blood AU

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cheralith · 3 months ago

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hi, love your writing and ive just wanted to say pirate reader and siren rin has been rotting my brain for the longest time imagine he’s been watching them from the ocean for a while and saves them from drowning

sorry about the blurb it was just been in the back of my mind for a bit

feat. itoshi rin (with itoshi sae) || wc: 1.1k wc: gn!reader, no pronouns used, siren/mermaid!rin, prince!rin, sailor!reader a/n: god nonnie u came to the right place because i have been truly itching to write something for rin for the longest time and you've opened a door for me to do so thank uuu, i hope this blurb is alright since i didnt rly know how to incorporate the pirate part in so i just made reader a regular sailor :')

The water embraces you within its grasp as you collide with it, a quiet sound that only Rin can hear from the distance he's been observing you.

It's worked, his cantabile song luring you into him like a moth to a flame. It wasn't his fault that you lead yourself to your own doom, you were getting much too close to his peoples' abode. Rin was just simply trying to protect his people on his patrol out this early evening, when he had spotted you and your ship sailing too close to his waters.

A determined human, you were, given by the look on your face that was scrawled with resolve as you steered your boat on steady waters that seemed to almost glide you along without much effort from your own end—shame that you didn't know it was Rin's doing, controlling the waves of the water to bring you closer to him so he could properly get rid of you.

Humans tainted everything they touched; from the land to the ocean, Mother Nature's creations she made from her own two hands would be soiled by the undoing from humans like yourselves. The second prince did not play into the idea that not all of them were bad—a foolish idea brought upon by Isagi and Bachira—because all he had ever known was the destruction and messes brought into the ocean by human hands. It didn't help his case that many of his people in his kingdom were captured by humans like yourselves to be considered some sort of trophy.

Rin didn't know who you were, and didn't want to take the chances had you been one of them, so before you were able to get rid of him or one of his people, he decided to get rid of you first. Nothing he wasn't used to—he's collected his fair share of drowned human corpses from the past. Just another to add to his aggregation.

He had watched from a safe distance in the small cavern his song lulled you into a trance, one that made you take your hands off the wheel of the boat and come closer to the edge of the boat, where you had eventually toppled over and into the depths of the sea, a hushed splash echoing.

Rin jumps from his place on the rocks and into the water, where the ocean greets him again. His tail propels him forward to where your ghostly figure floats like a phantom in the water, motionless and still, the last bit of sunlight still in the sky almost glorifying you with a spotlight in the empty sea.

He swims around your unconscious figure, his song still reverberating from him to ensure that he properly spellbinds you into the arms of death itself, where your body will run out oxygen without knowing and water will fill your lungs, pulling you into the dark depths of the ocean to rot away like the rest of the humans Rin had bewitched.

But as Rin comes closer to you, he realizes you're nothing he's seen before. There's this... allure about you. You're not like the brutish men he's lured to their death, the ones with contorted wrinkles and matted hair both on their heads and on their face. Your face is calm and smooth, eyelids closed, your separated limbs gently swaying in the water as your hair splays out. He squints, bringing his face closer to your own to examine you and your features. You look almost tranquil within the water, like you belong here.

He's fascinated. You were a rarity. A human, yes, but you were, dare he say it, seraphic in appearance—you almost rivaled the beauty of the ocean herself, though Rin knows better than to say that aloud.

This beauty that was as hypnotizing as his song being possessed by you. Rin's gills flutter as a webbed hand goes to press your pillowy lips, murmuring in surprise at their softness. He leans in, his own that frame jagged teeth nearly grazing against yours, ready to slither in his venom from his mouth to yours to temporarily paralyze you so he can properly take you back to his kingdom to present to Sae—this divine beauty of a human he can display somewhere as an early coronation gift from his little brother.

Suddenly, just as Rin's venom glands opened, your eyes shoot open and your consciousness gains back into your body. Rin pulls back in surprise, hissing when you blearily make out his appearance in the water, a strange fuzzy figure before with a long, shimmering purple tail despite half of him being human-like. A screech fails to erupt from you, and the water suffocates your throat.

Rin seethes as you thrash about the water, not knowing what to do until you choke out and the last bit of bubbles pulls the air from you, your body paralyzing. Death will come to you early, but now, Rin doesn't want that. Sae would want you alive so he could properly toy with your humanness. The imperial prince had always been fascinated by the workings of the human body, so Rin is sure that he needs to bring you alive to ensure Sae's satisfaction.

So Rin pulls you up, where the air meets the sea, where you can breathe properly. But when you remain in your current state within the pressures of the water, Rin ventures back to the cove where he had hid himself from view, pulling you onto the cool rocks, your body free from the chains of the water.

Irritation grows on his face when your chest refuses to heave again for awhile, but your body suddenly spits out the water held captive in your throat, spilling over and making you cough harshly from the lack of air. Rin jumps back from the harsh movement, watching as you regain your breath. Your eyes flutter close again from the exhaustion, but your breaths return to you, indicating you were still alive.

Rin hovers above you curiously, watching as you moan from the pain from your chest and hiccup, his hands brushing away a wet piece of hair so he could properly examine you again to make sure you were ripe enough to present to Sae in full, ensuring the water didn't make some sort of false visage.

Your eye squeeze abruptly and Rin takes away his hand in caution, freezing when he sees your eyes pry open hazily again. He watches warily as your bleary eyes take him in—the alien-like figure from before now pure and clear.

Oh, what a heavenly creature... those teal hues in a haunting pool of grey are especially enigmatic... framed by long black lashes that add a certain bewitching to them... you can't help but be so entranced.

Your vision blurs again, haze going in and out as you try to focus on Rin, and you unconsciously reach out to pull away a long noir bang from his face so you can properly see him in full. You don't notice the way he winces at your oddly gentle touch. A soft smile displays on your colorless lips, this peacefulness upon you.

"You're so beautiful," you murmur out to the creature, just before your world turns to black again.

#🖋 ; alice in writingland #✉ ; letters to wonderland #blue lock #bllk #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader

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crystalrabbit246912 · 5 months ago

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Do You Ever Think About (Pokemon Edition)

Do you ever think about Red, atop Mount Silver, keeping himself away from everyone he knows and loves except for his Pokemon, forever trying to keep getting stronger because of the terror that Mewtwo incited in him? About Blue, stuck watching his friend and rival shut himself away and work himself into the ground to face a threat no one but him knows about?

Do you ever think about Ethan, the Rainbow Wing in his pocket, chasing the sun and Ho-oh, not knowing what the tugging feeling in his chest is? About Lyra, clinging to the Silver Wing, seeking the darkest depths of the ocean, looking for the Guardian of the Seas, yet not knowing what she's searching for in the end?

Do you ever think about Brendan, heat building under his skin, fire erupting in his mind whenever he touches May, a sudden awareness of where every landmass begins and ends? Do you ever think about May, constantly moving, the ground beneath her making her feel restless, the air feeling to dry when she flies, eventually seeking sanctuary in the ocean, refusing to set foot on land unless she has to? Do you ever think about Wally, always searching for a higher place to be, always aware of the oxygen and how much of it there is, always looking upwards and towards that green in the sky, always longing for it but unable to reach it?

Do you ever think about Lucas, aware of every single second that passes by, a clock in his head that's never off, something that he can't ignore or brush off that he has to get used to, never late to anything anymore? Do you ever think about Dawn, newfound spacial awareness making her know the exact sizes of everything around her, an overwhelming new sense that she can't do anything about except try to adjust to? Do you ever think about the one that went into the Distortion World and fell in love with it, in love with all of its oddities and different gravity and time and shape and doesn't want to come home to the world that now feels so unfamiliar to them?

Do you ever think about Hilbert, unable to lie, always calling out other people for their untruths, driving away so many friends and making so many enemies because of it? Do you ever think about Hilda, trapped forever chasing an ideal that she knows will likely never come true but still always searching for it?

Do you ever think about Calem, wandering eternally, like AZ, searching for Yveltal to finally put an end to his life because it's stretched on for far too long? Do you ever think about Serena, cursed to die far too young and leeching the life energy out of everyone and everything around her in an unconscious attempt to prolong her painful life?

Do you ever think about Elio, rising and falling with the sun, reaching upwards for that child that he knew for so little time, oddities surrounding him from the extended time he's spent in and out of Ultra Wormholes? Do you ever think about Selene, living a nocturnal life, away from everyone she loves, always awake when they're asleep and asleep when they waken?

Do you ever think about Victor, gripping the Rusted Sword in his hands as he fails to fall asleep thanks to the faint pink glow around him from being so close to Eternamax Eternatus? Do you ever think about Gloria, staring at the Rusted Shield, remembering those moments when she and Hop came oh-so-close to death, all for a madman's fear of what would happen centuries from now?

Do you ever think of Rei/Akari, trapped in a time far from their home, not knowing what to do so that they can be happy, torn between their new life forged in Hisui and all of the friends they've made, and the future that holds their true home, where everyone they used to know resides?

Do you ever think of Florian, terrified of what the future holds after seeing all the dangerous and hostile Paradox Pokemon from way forward in time, even knowing that he'll never live to experience them? Do you ever think of Juliana, rushing ahead as much as possible, always looking forward and never turning back, trying to erase the thoughts of what could have happened in Area Zero from her mind?

Do you ever think about the children that these main characters are? The children who are standing between Legendaries who could unravel the weft of the universe itself and the world? The ten-year-olds who are the only reason why everyone isn't dead and gone?

Do you ever think about the children who are pushed into these situations and don't get thanked for it because that's the way the plot goes?

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 1 year ago

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w.count: 2k - he who is the most patient also yearns the most

zhongli met you for the first time when you came to the harbor on a extensive, work-related trip. some sort of negotiation at the port with certain shipment partners and possible trade opportunities. you had come from port ormos in sumeru, so he imagined you would get moving onto inazuma for the same thing before long. as luck would have it, you never made it that far before the nation of electro closed its borders. so, at that point, you were now essentially stuck in land of geo for the foreseeable future.

he had run into you when you were appraising some goods that had come in with a group of merchants ; those specific good were on your list to inspect to see if they would offer anything worth decent mora. perhaps it was fate that when he had passed behind your back, he heard you murmuring something about not knowing enough about a certain vase's story painted it on with aged, chipped paint. zhongli was the walking know-it-all of liyue, so of course without prompting, he flit over to your side and explained what you were looking at for you (after scaring you since you didn't hear him walk up beside you and instead of a proper 'hello' he just jumped straight into the explanation).

from then, he would often see you at the docks. clipboard in hand or a ledger of some sort that you would be reviewing. on the rare occasion, he would just see you strolling around with nothing on your hands so he took it upon himself to occupy the free time you seemed to use by relishing in the sea breeze.

you had been in liyue for over a year when zhongli's heart dropped deep into his stomach. his very core filled with dread as you inform him that since inazuma had finally lifted their restrictions, your work would soon resume as usual. you would soon be relocated to the far-off islands of electro. the tea he had been delightfully sharing with you previously now tasted too bitter on his tongue to continue drinking at the news.

"will you ever return?" his voice was quiet, not nearly as confident and proud as he usually was. it resembled a child asking if their best friend who was due to move away would ever visit them again.

the relationship you grew into with zhongli was special to both of you. he treated you so well and educated you in things you were clueless about. you confided in him and when liyue was at risk of drowning, you were the one who he ran to first when all was settled. you still remember that night so vividly.

you were at the harbor- as usual- but instead of working, you were helping pull stranded milieth out of the sea or helping people getting further inland as the waves violently warned you of doom. when the ocean calmed and the storm clouds that plagued the sky dissipated, you felt a weight off your chest. as you checked around to make sure people were alright, you were quickly snatched away by your wrist. being dragged off to a more secluded corner of the harbor docks behind a stack of, now storm weathered, crates.

zhongli had never understood the phrase 'word vomiting', but what he told you behind those damaged and rain-soaked crates was most definitely so. his gnosis had just been traded, no longer in his possession, and he could finally, finally tell you everything. it definitely wasn't how it was supposed to happen. his whole identity spilled in the span of a several ramble while shakily holding onto your wrists like you'd float off to sea if he didn't anchor you down next to him.

"of course i'll come back." you reassure him. his hand releases it's soft grip around his teacup and lays the back of it on the table like it had given up on keep any sort of grip on anything. you understand his silent offer and place your palm on top of his. "i promise. as soon as my work in inazuma is finished and i get everything completed in sumeru, i'll come and visit you as often as i can."

feeling your pulse on the junction under the heel of your hand, he knew you were being truthful. of course, you hadn't lied to him before so he would believe anything you said regardless of the circumstances; though perhaps that was his own personal bias in a way. you could tell him you were the reason the sun rose every morning and he'd believe you- you shone so brightly in his eyes, so naturally that must be why.

you chuckle from across the table and he looks at your quizzically. you tap your fingers rhythmically across his wrist that's covered in brown fabric. your opposite arm comes to rest its elbow on the table and your palm supports your cheek.

"what me to make a contract just so you feel better?" zhongli blinks before he's craking a smile back towards yours.

"you jest too much."

"do i?"

"it's endearing."

your 'contract' is just sealed as an earnest promise he'd keep in his chest until you come back to him. on the day of your parting, zhongli kisses the back of your hand, your knuckles, and your cheek.

"for safe travels, swift work, and my sincerities," he had justified. you returned his affection with a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"for no reason other than i want to." zhongli kisses your lips for the very same reason before you board your ship that takes you far, far away from him. he doesn't account the time he spent watching your ship sail further away with his hands behind his folded ever so neatly back until it was completely out of sight. he stares at the horizon and almost wishes that it would bring you back.

it doesn't.

so, zhongli waits.

the lord of geo has been alive for millennia, so the passage of time was something inane to him now. a few years is attuned to that of a blink in the grand scheme of his long, long lifetime. however, those years he spent without you at his side or in his shadow felt like centuries.

mortals squander their time, fleeting at it is, and they know they will never live forever. they will fill it with new things every day because it could be their last- they would never know when their time would come.

"it's been a long year" or month or day; all those phrases zhongli hears and agrees to in mundane conversations- but mostly just so he can identify and align with the masses as an unquestionable human. he never understood those phrases. yesterday was as long as today and will be as long as tomorrow and so forth.

the years you spent gone with only letters sent back and forth between the both of you made him feel closer to morality than anything else before. the days did feel longer. the years felt dragging. the months felt stretched. it felt like time was slowing down, dawdling and twiddling its thumbs while he was stuck suffering in its demanding sluggish waves.

it made him feel human. the terrible impatience for something or someone to come back home. the agony of the wait and the suspense on if it would happen at all. and while he wishes to feel closer to mortal life and connect to his people in such ways- this way- this game of time just made him irritated.

zhongli didn't remember the last time he had felt impatience so thick, but it began gnawing at his insides with the last letter he had received.

'my work has finally concluded, so i'll be coming back to liyue as soon as i send this letter out to you!'

those were your final remarks penned by your hand before it made it into his. when did you send this? a week ago? two? he didn't know. you neglected to date it. every day he goes to the harbor, checking morning, noon and evening to see what ships have sailed in and if you'd be on one. or perhaps you would be coming from sumeru by means of the west by the chasm, coming on foot and would simply waltz into the city.

zhongli didn't know and each day felt longer and longer.

it turns out, the horizon did bring you back to him. it just took it's sweet time in doing so.

out on the harbor once again, a ship was docking, and he saw you before you saw him. the back of your head moving as you help people unload their cargo and help them off the ship before you dismount yourself. it had been years since he had seen you, but he would never forget what you looked like. the features that wouldn't change.

walking- gaiting- down to the harbor's lowest levels was the giddiest he had probably felt in his whole life. antsy. his chest was a mess, it felt like farmers were tilling into his insides. as he stood off to the side of the dock, mindful not to block anyone's path into the harbor. his foot tapping, and hands opening and closing in repetition just for something to do with all his antsy jitters.

you must've spotted him when he was lost in his own mind since it was his name coming from the voice he memorized years ago that turned his head. you were leaning over a stack of crates that you were previously helping unload, waving so enthusiastically he was afraid you'd swing your arm into someone's head.

zhongli is someone who is very aware of affection in public areas with lots of eyes darting around. he was reserved in a way that he feels his affections were best left to the privacy of him and his choice partner. this day was an exception since the moment you were within his reach, you were crashing into his chest, and he was holding you prisoner there.

he could feel your pulse under his hand that held behind your neck to keep your head pushed against his chest. your warmth from the sun that had bathed you the morning voyage back to him. the smell of the sea breeze against your clothes and skin.

it was evident that you had changed over the years- an evitable happen stance he expected. you were only human after all. but you were still the same as he remembered. you were comfortable and warm and safe and here.

when zhongli finally returned some freedom to your range, which wasn't very far since his hands still settled comfortably on your hips, he mapped out exactly how you changed in comparison to his memories with his roaming gaze.

"how long will you be staying?" he asks.

"how long can liyue put up with me?" you answer and you feel his chest rumble in a chuckle under your palms that rest there. "i'm not sure yet. i plan on staying at wangshuu inn for the time though."

"nonsense." zhongli shakes his head and one of his hands leave your hip to brush the back of his knuckle against your cheek down to the corner of your mouth. "my home has more than enough space to accommodate your presence."

"i was going to ask," you pout and feel your face get hotter, but it wasn't because of the sun, "but i didn't want to feel like i was imposing."

"please do. you're more than welcome to 'impose' on me anytime you wish." you give in quickly much to his delight. you hoist your bags up, which he promptly takes from you without so much as breaking a sweat, and offers you his other arm. "we have much to catch up on."

when hu tao hears that you had come back to liyue, she suddenly isn't so upset that zhongli never returned to work that day.

#zhongli #zhongli fluff #zhongli x reader #zhongli blurb #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fluff #zhongli scenarios #zhongli headcanons

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space-matt · 10 months ago

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Against time

chris sturniolo x reader

summary: many moments, laughter and 'I love you,' but is time on their side?

request: no

author’s note: hello there! I got the inspiration while listening to the song mentioned in the story, I hope you can appreciate it :)

tell me what you think!♡

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

English is not my first language, if you see grammar and typing mistakes, I apologize in advance! I just ask you not to be rude to me ♡

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

The city of Los Angeles sprawled out before us, its lights shimmering like a sea of stars dancing on the rain-soaked streets, casting an otherworldly glow.

It was Friday night, and the traffic moved at a snail's pace as I gazed out the window, enveloped in my own thoughts.

Chris was at the wheel, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, his expression grave. Despite his serious demeanor, I could sense the underlying concern in his eyes. We had been inseparable over the past year, but something had changed in recent months.

The easy laughter had disappeared, our late-night phone calls had dwindled, and the deep, meaningful conversations under the starlit sky seemed like a distant memory. Now, everything felt uncertain.

The tender melody of "Time is Not On Our Side" by The Vamps filled the room, its bittersweet notes weaving through the air.

As the lyrics washed over me, a profound sense of melancholy settled in my chest. It felt as though the song was speaking directly to the fleeting nature of my relationship with Chris.

Time was slipping through our fingers, and I couldn't shake the feeling of irretrievable loss.

"Chris," I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion. He tore his gaze from the road, his expression etched with concern as he looked at me.

"What's the matter?" he inquired, his voice gently carrying a hint of weariness.

I hesitated, the weight of my unspoken thoughts pressing down on me. After a moment, I mustered the courage to voice the question that had been haunting me for weeks. "Do you ever get the sense that we're running out of time?"

Chris gazed at you, his expression heavy with emotion. "Yeah" he murmured, his voice tinged with sadness. "I feel it every single day."

His words landed like a blow, confirming that the feeling wasn't just in your mind. He was experiencing it too.

"I always imagined we'd have more time" Chris confessed, his voice steady but weighted with feeling.

"More time to savor life, to discover new things, to navigate our path. But time keeps slipping away from us."

His words resonated deeply, echoing the truth you both struggled to confront. The whirlwind of obligations and responsibilities had taken its toll, gradually driving a wedge between you, even when you were physically together.

"Remember our time in Boston?" Chris interjected, breaking the heavy silence that enveloped you. "It was winter, bitterly cold outside. We cocooned ourselves under the covers for hours, losing ourselves in movies as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist."

You nodded, a wistful smile dancing on your lips. It was a treasured memory, a time when everything seemed to align perfectly. Time stood still, and you were simply two souls in love, unencumbered by worries or doubts.

But now? It felt like a distant dream.

"I don't know what changed" Chris confessed, his voice quivering with emotion. "But I miss that time. I miss you."

His words pierced through your heart. You longed to express the same sentiment, to convey how much you missed him even when he was right there beside you.

Yet, the words seemed to choke in your throat. There was an ocean of unspoken feelings between the two of you, and time never seemed sufficient to confront them.

"I don't want to lose you" Chris interjected suddenly, his tone tinged with urgency. "I can't fathom my life without you, but..."

"But what?" you murmured, anxiety quickening your heartbeat.

"But time isn't on our side." He turned to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with anguish. "We're being pulled in different directions by so many things, and it seems that every time we attempt to mend things, something else drives us apart."

The myriad of emotions reflecting in his eyes left you feeling overwhelmed, as if the world was crumbling around you, and all your opportunities were slipping away with the passage of uncontrollable time.

"What do you want to do?" Chris questioned, his voice tinged with desperation.

You were at a loss for words. Undoubtedly, you loved him. However, love no longer seemed to be enough. The burden of time, the weight of expectations, and the harsh truth that life waits for no one all crowded your thoughts.

"I don't know" you finally confessed, the strain evident in your voice. "I don't want to lose you either, but it feels like we're helpless against all of this. Time... it's slipping through our fingers, and I don't know how to halt it."

Chris peered out of the window, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “There’s a part of me that just wants to escape from all of this, to abandon everything with you and leave the world behind. But I know we can’t do that.”

The notion of running away together and starting anew, leaving everything behind, had always lingered in the depths of your minds. However, both of you understood that it was merely a figment of imagination. Reality was far more intricate.

You let out a deep sigh and locked eyes with him. "Do you think there’s still a chance for us?"

Chris didn’t respond immediately. A prolonged silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by the gentle melody playing in the background.

Eventually, he turned to you, and in his eyes, there was a glimmer of something that had been absent for a while. "Yes" he murmured softly. "But we both have to desire it. We have to figure out a way to halt time—or at least not let it govern us."

Those words, despite their simplicity, ignited a faint glimmer of hope within you. Perhaps not all was lost. Maybe, if both of you truly exerted effort, you could salvage what you once had. Maybe you could still defy time, at least for the two of you.

"If we both believe in it, we can make it" you responded, clasping his hand.

Chris nodded, and even though you were aware that the path ahead would be arduous, in that moment, with your intertwined hands and the world outside continuing its motion, you sensed that, at least for now, time was finally on your side.

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

Taglist: @xoxo4chrisss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @bernardsbendystraws @tillies33ssss @junnniiieee07 @ivysturnss @sturniolosreads @mayhem-72 @dracoflaco @lyzsaphrodite @ifilwtmfc @c00ch13destroyer

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #space matt #ff #fluff #driving #car #los angeles #love story #Spotify

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accio-victuuri · 2 months ago

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Wang Yibo’s May 2025 issue cover story 📝🪴

The stars in the night sky and the plants in the garden flourish and flicker, or wither and die, just like the cycle of life. A young man stands at the junction of day and night. In the space-time dimension he created, everything is given new meaning. The grand and the small, the reality and the imagination, the conventions and the meaning... collide and reconstruct in his inner sea. Just like the stars and the plants, he feels the deep blue wind and feels alive.

disclaimer: this a short story and not an interview.

At this moment, the protagonist created by the writer Ban Yu and Wang Yibo under the lens of VOGUE quietly reunited in a chapter of imagination.

THE PROMISED LAND

Like all people who have thrown all the good times in their lives on the surface of the sea, I learned the ability to arbitrarily divide the day and night early on. I lay on my back, toothpick on my mouth, slightly raising my head. If the storm bred by the ocean current and the subtropical high pressure has not yet been born, and the deck still retains its horizon attribute, I can order the sun to rise from any end of it, or translate it down, so that I can hide safely in the shadow and get a moment of longer sleep; like all people who waste all the good weather in their lives on love events that will sooner or later disappoint people.

I have never encountered any clear days on the sea. Gray fog floats, waves are fierce, and our ship is like being chased by a team of rats, always getting narrower and narrower, with strong winds and reefs everywhere. The Germans, wrapped in the hurricane, stood like solidified black shadows, circling around, chanting low spells, much like some hypnotic rituals I encountered in South America.

They taught everyone devoutly and lovingly: sleep is almost equivalent to death, but being awake does not mean being alive. For a moment, facing this scene, I thought of the wolves that lingered in the wilderness, patrolling all night without forming a team. A blue jack who lost everything in the tavern encountered these red-eyed beasts on his way home.

When the strong wind flattened everything, the two sides met each other in sincerity. How should we deal with it? Why did he have to cross the wilderness? Often before we could come up with an answer, the sound of a sinking net would reverberate from the inside of the ship, as if something had entered our internal organs, making us not know whether to scream or vomit first. In short, it only takes one lightning-like collision, our boat shakes a few times, as if swallowing up a gust of hot sea breeze, and then it is like an old man with a violent illness, rushing to the shore to rest, so that he can listen to his heartbeat quietly and make sure that his limited life will continue. The generally damaged fetus longs to see the shore, just like a strong man longs for his regrets.

During those days when I was stranded, I lived a dark life. I went to many places and made many friends. Of course, I also had enemies. Sometimes the difference between the two was not so obvious, depending on the situation.

Once, in a tavern on the island, a long-haired Indian told me the origin of the word hurricane. The pronunciation was a bit strange and ambiguous, and it was difficult to imitate. It turned out that it belonged to their language, and they were the first to return this name to this constantly flowing world.

Another wanderer singer who was born in the Caribbean region immediately objected. He said that this word clearly came from his hometown. It refers to one of the gods of creation and can also be extended to a metaphor for an invisible demon. The former was very disdainful of this. He raised half an eyebrow, patted the singer on the shoulder, and told him that the last time he talked about this allusion, one of the listeners around was Christopher Columbus, which was probably a few hundred years ago. I hope you can also become such a great conductor of ocean currents. The singer was silent for a while, drank a glass of wine, and then he sensed the irony in the words. He tapped the table with his fingers, took out the short knife he carried with him, turned around and rushed towards the Indian. His movements were so fast that the afterimage on the ground looked like a hungry leopard. I saw that the situation was not good, so I jumped up and hugged him tightly from behind.

The singer couldn't break free from me, and he shouted and cursed loudly, refusing to give up. The speed of waving the knife in the air reminded me of how sailors waved the white flag when they met a strong opponent. Although the Indian had experienced many storms, he was also shocked. The afterimage of cold sweat dripping on the ground flashed with a faint light, resembling the stripes of a leopard. Afterwards, he lowered his head, showed a cunning smile, apologized to the singer, and said, yes, you may have encountered the hurricane earlier, the words belong to you, but the last time I talked about it, the great Columbus was indeed present, there is no doubt about that.

Perhaps out of respect for this pioneer explorer, the singer's breathing gradually calmed down, and he took the embroidered short knife into his arms. In just a moment, the sun set. The Indian bought three glasses of good wine. After we toasted, we drank it all.

The singer walked to the center of the tavern, shook the bell on his wrist, and sang a sad ballad that none of us had heard before. It tells the story of a young gardener who worked hard in the flowers, waiting for dawn and sunset, and many flowers bloomed gorgeously, but his lover never appeared.

The flowers talked to him every day, but he always said nothing, neither comforted nor sad. Little gardener, little gardener, can you also listen to my dream. It's a good song, but it's a pity that I only remember this sentence now. After the song, the singer retreated to the door, bowed and greeted, and then left.

When I saw him again, it was another story many years later. But before singing, he gave me the short knife and told me that we would meet again. If you recognize me and no longer need it, please return it to me. Of course, as the price of keeping it, I will also keep something for you at that time, in this long world, in our long and humble life. Then, he went to hug the Indian tightly, like a pair of close old friends who were about to part, and it was completely unimaginable that they had drawn their knives against each other before. While the two whispered, I put the short knife between my boots.

The winter chill rushed from bottom to top towards my head. I suddenly felt that I had become a brave person, wanting to defend something, for the song, or a word, a person, for the great direction, or a basket of flowers.

The tavern closed, and the Indian took me to the garden on the island. On the way, he told me that the singer had just told him quietly that he let him go not because of an apology or an obstruction, but because he saw the yellow flower pinned on his chest. The singer recognized it at a glance and said that it was planted by his friend and there would be no other origin. The Indian was very excited. The gardener was also his close friend and might become yours, he said to me.

Let me put it this way, he said again, if there really is the ship you mentioned, and it was indeed hit by something, then, I think it could only be this night that may not exist. I was puzzled by this, and he didn't say anything more. What I didn't tell him was that this night was fleeting, and there would be no other one.

My ship and I have rested. At sunrise, I will set sail again, for the song, the great direction, or a good person who makes me sad, and also towards the next round of stranding. But at this time, I just said to him, the night has one advantage, which means we always have the same amount of time. The Indian laughed and laughed until midnight.

Then, like a magic trick, the ruins of a large ship appeared beside him, which was very inconsistent with the color of this quiet and monotonous night. I stopped and looked for a long time. How to describe such a small and rich plant paradise? It seems to be parasitic in the body: all the branches are trembling, as if writing stories in the air; all the leaves extend to different directions, sparse and dense, like frozen ancient ice, and all the flower keys fully display complex patterns under the moonlight, which reminds me of the deep whirlpool in the sea or the sky in the evening always opposes the moment when the universe keeps blinking with root red or dark blue.

Perhaps I have been at sea for too long. Before this, I had never thought that plants were such vivid beings. I could even sense their breathing, appearing and disappearing. Under the denser night, the plants were whispering, forming waves of gentle noises like waves, transmitting to the distance. When I was shocked, the Indian rang the door knocker and called the owner's name.

Now I think his name does not seem to belong to this century, and has a similar origin to words such as hurricane, comet, and continent. Not long after, an elegant figure stood up from among the plants, responded to the Indian's call with a sharp whistle, then shook his shoulders and walked towards us. I looked over and saw that many flowers made way for it, like the desert rising and the sea water pouring in, and a proud swimmer with a slender figure floating on the waves.

I think the Indian was really tired after such an incident and talking for almost an entire night. Soon, he fell asleep on the grass, and a handful of banana leaves automatically covered him like a swaddling cloth, trying to protect his sweet dreams.

Next to the honeysuckle, our gardener friend, yes, at this moment, looking at our common sleeping Indian friend, I think we are close friends, and a natural trust has enveloped our hearts - like talking to ourselves, we began to talk about the names and habits of the plants. The starry garden, he said to me. Every plant is equivalent to a star in the sky, flourishing and shining, or withering and extinguishing, all like the cycle of life. You know, I have spent too much time at sea and read a lot of books, from ancient times to the present, so this argument does not seem special to me.

After that, he continued to talk about the origins of these plants. For example, the bunch of white geraniums did not come from South Asia, but from West Africa. There was only one piece of land there that produced flowers of this color. They covered the tropical back like snow and never melted.

A friend brought them back for him from afar. The red and yellow Lantana grew on the beach by the sea and was moved here. It is poisonous and has a well-developed root system. It must be carefully cleaned to prevent invasion and expansion. As for the half-human-high thorns on the side of the column, they are named because the leaf gum has thorns. They stand upright like swords. They are the loyal guards and brave warriors here, guarding all the noise and silence. No one can easily bypass them. The more he talked, the more confused I became, because here I could not feel the time and season at all.

The plants that are usually seen always show different appearances: the flowers that overwinter bloom on the same branch with the fruits of midsummer, and the leaves that stretch towards the day are curling up at night.

It covered the back of the tropics like snow, and it never melted. A friend brought it back from afar. The red and yellow Lantana grew on the beach by the sea. It was moved here. It is poisonous and has a well-developed root system. It must be carefully cleaned to prevent invasion and expansion.

As for the half-man-high thorns on the side of the porch, they are named because of the thorns in the leaf axils. They stand upright like swords. They are the loyal guards and brave warriors here, guarding all the noise and silence. No one can easily bypass them. The more he talked, the more confused I became, because here I could not feel the time and season at all.

Those plants that are usually seen always show different appearances: the flowers that overwinter bloom on the same branch with the fruits of midsummer, and the leaves that stretch towards the day are spending the time curling up at night. After I asked my question, the gardener did not answer, but fetched a bucket of water, bent down to water, and stared at the watch.

He turned the wheel repeatedly to calibrate it, then another plant, and repeated the process. I bent down with him and thought for a long time before I realized that it was like a secret hint of magic or hypnosis. He used this method to make the plants recognize the era and time they were in. The banana leaves covering the Indians belonged to the Age of Exploration, representing a new and strange distant place.

The people sleeping on the ground seemed to be resting on the seashore. The trees with new leaves belonged to the 19th century, like solemn saints, giving great comfort to the suffering people after the wind and snow. The Scutellaria baicalensis at my feet belonged to my hometown. In the meadows and swamps, every July and August, it would bloom with crystal purple flowers, like gems or fireflies. Even at night, it would point out the direction of the water for the lost stars.

I missed everything there. It was also my only dream. As I was thinking, the gardener gestured to me, and I followed him.

When we reached the empty land, I found that during the long period of stranding, the ship had obviously outperformed the mud and sandbanks. At this time, most of the water had penetrated, making the whole ship look like it had grown out of the soil, similar to some ancient plant, huge and silent, with a strong and sturdy root system and lush branches and leaves that covered the sky.

When the few moonlights shone down from above our heads, I finally saw the gardener's clothes and appearance. He looked like someone I knew, but because I drank too much or too many years had passed, I couldn't remember it for a while.

The gardener looked at me, his expression as if he had seen through some mystery. Well, well, I thought at that time, he knew it a long time ago, and he knew that I would always carry some private seeds and leaves with me. Every time I reach land after a sad moment, I will talk to a plant about my worries for half a day, and then I will take its leaves, or sometimes its fruits, and carefully place them on my body, close to my heart.

This is the method a South Asian wandering poet told me - tell your story to those flourishing unknown things, and it will keep it for you for a long time, until some end. Now, they seem to have arrived at their promised land. The gardener, my friend and my guide at this time, has been cleaning the dirt and debris on the ground for me. Of course, the short knife on my boot also came in handy. I used it to dig down and split the warm soil.

After the work, I left it to the gardener, and he didn't thank me. The posture of putting away the knife was like putting away an object that belonged to him. In short, with his help, almost all the memories that were retrieved were distributed here in sequence.

I leaned down, whispered to the plants, and turned the wheel on the watch, with a serious and meticulous expression, as if checking every tiny vibration.

The sky became brighter, my eyes gradually moistened, and everything became almost transparent. At this time, at the bottom of the cabin, I heard some sounds of sea water, which I was very familiar with. Every time we left the shore, the waves always made such a beautiful invitation to us travelers.

Looking at the busy gardener, I thought to myself, so time passed like this, and at the same time, it also went backwards, the shuttle wheel went forward and backward, towards the four seasons, and towards the century that had just passed and had not yet come.

The gardener and the plants stayed in the same moment, forever here and there. Just like the prophecy that has not yet disappeared, a precise collision at night; just like the oath that was made, as a price, it will always keep something for us, such as those people and things that have been forgotten now.

Anyway, before I had time to say goodbye to this mysterious gardener, the long whistle sounded, getting closer and closer, the compass and the ocean were calling me. This gardener friend was still listening to other people's dreams, selflessly calibrating the seasons, memories and essence of life.

I thought, maybe I should leave quietly, without blessing or saying goodbye, there will always be a part of me that stays here, stranded, decaying, born, wandering, rotating back and forth between flowers and leaves, and our big ship has already set sail.

source

#wang yibo #accio victuuri translation #v interesting writing

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ghostiedoesherbest · 2 months ago

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Despite Everything, It's Still You: Prologue

A/N: Hey everybody! It's been a while since I posted anything on this account. Invincible has been scratching an itch in my brain that had my creative juices flowing! This will be cross-posted to AO3 once I get my account set up, but until then, this is where everything will be. I'm not completely happy with this prologue but I'll let it pass. Shout out to @batsovergotham for their Mark Grayson character analysis rants. It really helped me get this fic from a thought bubble to something concrete.

“Ready son?” Nolan asked, watching his son buckle his riding helmet and kneepads.

Mark Grayson beamed up at his father, practically vibrating with excitement, “I was born ready!”

Debbie watched from the driveway, smiling softly. She readied the camera around her neck when Mark climbed onto his big boy bike, fully trusting his father to keep it steady for him. “You’ve got this Mark!”

She’d just gotten a good picture of them. Mark hadn’t even started peddling by himself when Nolan straightened up, his face stony, Debbie felt her heart sink. She knew what that face meant. It’s the same face he made every time he had to leave. She sighed and took over supporting Mark, like she’s had to do so many times before. She gave Nolan a reassuring smile that she hoped didn’t show any of the bitterness she felt.

“Go, I’ll take it from here.”

Nolan looked conflicted, glancing up at the sky, seeing something that she could never see with her human eyesight. “Are you sure? I can always stay…Let the Guardians handle it?”

“We’ll be fine. Go save the world,” Debbie pressed a kiss to his cheek, her smile more genuine now.

Nolan’s expression softened. He quickly pecked her lips and changed into his Omni-man costume in the blink of an eye. He promised to be back soon before flying away.

Not long after taking flight, Nolan was met with GDA drones. Cecil Stedman’s voice crackled over the speaker, “We clocked an unidentified space craft entering earth’s atmosphere. We predict it’ll land somewhere on the Ivory Coast. The Guardians have already been deployed.”

Nolan grunted and picked up the pace. The sooner he can get this over with, the sooner he could get back to his family. In the minute it took him to fly to the crash site, he vaguely wondered who’d dare invade a planet occupied by a Viltrumite? Not even the Coalition of Planets would be so foolish.

It didn’t take long for him to find his target. He found a kaiju first. It was rampaging across the beach. No, not rampaging, running. Upon closer inspection, Nolan noticed that the creature was heading back towards the water. Typically their destination is the nearest high population city unless Omni-man or the Guardians beat them back into the ocean. Nolan watched the kaiju desperately close the distance between it and the water. It made one final desperate leap to dive in, only to be halted mid-air. That’s when he saw her.

She looked like an ant next to the kaiju, but she was strong. Her grip on the kaiju’s tail was firm. Despite the monster’s size and its forepaws desperately scrabbling at the sand, it was dragged away from salvation. When the person holding it hostage lifted it up and brutally slammed it into shore, it exploded in a spray of blood and viscera. That’s when he saw it. The black hair and brown skin could have belonged to any humanoid race, but the black armor, the full-body compression suit, and a furry brown tail extending from her spine made it clear who she was. The green pelt around her waist was likely some sort of trophy.

A Saiyan.

“Cecil, tell the Guardians to stand down. They’re not equipped to handle a Saiyan,” Nolan warned, trying to assess the best approach for this situation.

“It’s a child,” Cecil argued, watching from the control room in GDA headquarters.

“Be glad its not an infant. That means they’re trying to wipe out the entire planet,” Nolan explained. “We can talk to a child. Saiyan children are never without an adult. We keep the kid calm and they won’t kill us all.”

He looked back down at the beach to see the child in question sitting cross-legged on the beach, chowing down on the slain beast. “Oh, there we go. She just wanted a snack.”

“You call an entire fucking kaiju a snack?”

Nolan shrugged, “A Saiyan would. Just let me handle this alright.”

He didn’t wait for Cecil to retort before tossing the drone away. Nolan knew the child was probably already aware of his presence, so he floated down to stand in front of her. He warily scanned the child for injuries, not willing to admit to the way his heart clenched at the big brown eyes that met his gaze. Before he could find the right words to say, the child grabbed a fist full of kaiju flesh and offered it to him.

“You want some?” she asked.

Nolan hesitantly accepted the offer and bit into it. It was bland compared to the food that he’d been eating for the past twelve years, but it’d do in a pinch. “What’s your name?”

The child puffed up her chest with the Saiyan pride that was so well known across multiple galaxies. Her grin was wide and bloody, “My name is Oka! I’m a Saiyan! What’s your name?”

“The people of this planet call me Omni-man,” he answered honestly. “Where are your parents?”

The child shrugged, “I dunno. Ahpa said that they’d be right behind me.”

“Ahpa? Your grandfather? How did you get separated?”

“Our ship got attacked. Mama and Papa needed me out of the way for their fight, so they sent me away,” Oka reminded him so much of Mark with how honest and trusting she was. “I just need to wait here until they come back.”

“You got any idea how long that’d take?” Nolan already knew the answer to that question but he wanted to hear it out loud.

Oka shook her head, her grin never faltering. Nolan sighed in exasperation. Of course, she doesn’t know that. “Well, until your parents come to get you, I can take you somewhere to do some special training –“

“Training?!” Oka leapt to her feet excitedly. “You can teach me how to get stronger?”

“In a sense,” Nolan shrugged. Oka leapt into the air, far higher than Nolan expected. Her laughter carried on the wind as she did many nonsensical loops before swooping back down to tug on his cape. Nolan yelped in surprise when he launched upwards. The world flew by him in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color before he was able to right himself. Oka had followed him, her hands over her mouth in shock that she managed to throw him so far.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I didn’t mean to throw you. I didn’t know you were so light!”

“That’s okay! I’m fine,” Nolan assured her, resting a comforting hand atop her wild, curly hair. “That leads us into our first lesson. Strength control.”

“Yes, Teacher.”

#mark grayson #original character #saiyan oc #mark grayson x oc #mark grayson x original character #invincible #invincible x oc #invincible x original character #despite everything its still you #nolan grayson #debbie grayson #saiyan original character

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swiiivet-screamathon · 12 days ago

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The ocean splashes in accordance to the great speeds that Smilk is flying trying to catch up to the airship.

A soul piercing stare at the destination before him, with such a focused expression you'd be forgiven to imagine that he had nothing but a singular thought in his head.

Exerting as much magical power as possible he dashes around the propellers and reaches the back of the ship, planting himself firmly on the captain's balcony.

After having made it his attention finally wanes and the glare instead shifts to the landmass they had just been on. The propellers spun slowly enough to block the view occasionally but that didn't stop the glare, not even the chattering that had soon begun above him took his gaze for even a moment. Simply watching everything that he had just lost and abandoned, sailing away from everything.

The few minutes that passed could've been mistaken for hours or even days, and each silent breath he took lasted years. Surely closing his eyes for just a fraction would take even longer, to doubt that notion was foolish.

Eventually though, the conversation above them seemed to near its conclusion, in which he finally managed to break free from his thoughts for just a moment.

With a wave of his wand he-- he...

He...

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

It passes across his eyeline with a glow of its orb, and that is all it does.

He takes his deep breath as quietly as he can manage; the ships engines might cause enough noise to let him relax, but best to risk as little as possible on this horrid ship.

He waves his wand again, seemingly with different intention this time, and this new intention did indeed cause something to happen, the summoning of a small paper puppet appears before him, wafting violently in the wind. He quickly disperses it as the fluttering was, as paper normally does in high winds, flapped loudly. Though fortunately it seemed to bring no unwanted attention.

He stares back up to the stern, the hands of that traitor dangling off the edge.

That........ Traitor...

He takes another breath and diverts his gaze, there's no winning with dangerous impulsivity-- any more impulsivity.

With a good look around what's available to him there wasn't much to work with, but there was one option that wouldn't risk being spotted, though it's far from something he'd define as 'ideal' by any means. A seemingly decorative set of railing that went around the hull.

With an annoyed grimace he does his best stretch in the scenario given to him, and then with a moment of concentrated anticipation, flies up and immediately grabs onto the rail, immediately regretting his action but persevering anyways, clawing onto the fixture to the best of his ability. The power of flight does help, but with the ship flying as fast as it is the arms of a poet is not one you want to rely on in this kind of exercise.

But he continues anyways, utilizing his flight to assist as much as possible when looping around from the back to the side of the ship.

With spite, anger and determination the journey from the back all the way to the front is an arduous and terrible one, but that's what he gets for believing that gnat.

But eventually, as gruelling and tiring as it was, as much as his arms sting from the exertion, as much as holding even his wand became an impossible task, he made it. Fortunately for him at the front there was a spot he could recoup at, simply let the wind blow him back into the hull with no risk of falling off. watching the sun set ahead of them.

He massages his sore arms as well as he can whilst relaxing every other muscle in his body. He might be on a timer but there's no land ahead yet, he's got the opportunity to take as long as he needs until the next step of his plan.

The sky was still bright, the light blue transitioning gently into the yellow sun that shone wonderfully in the sky...

He grimaces once more and rolls his sleeves back down, getting ready to enact what he came up here for. With the mimicking of clearing his chest he then belts out a perfect recreation of a whales call, heard loud and clear across the generally quiet ocean. Immediately the pitter patter of the cookies above to check on the noise erupts: 1... 2... 4-- where he then swiftly summons a massive paper puppet, a dark blue whale, and lets it float across the water below. With the plan executed he quickly but carefully returns to the side of the ship he came from, lets the wind drag him backwards and then uses the last of his energy to fly back to the balcony.

Not a lot of time to spare-- The balcony door is of course unlocked, so that's no hurdle. He of course couldn't stay outside as he'd be spotted by any random passenger when they reached their destination, but without any ability to get smaller being inside isn't much better. As he entered he immediately got a glance through the window on the entrance's door, seeing everyone at the head looking at his creation.

After darting out of view of those filth he instinctively raises his wand once more, but realizes quickly the his thought process was flawed, and with a twitch of one eye he scans the options available to him inside.

The most ideal place to be would be a spot where he doesn't risk being spotted by anyone who's either on or off the ship and has a decent enough exit strategy that he can take advantage of quickly once the ship does dock. There are two small windows he should be able to fit himself through once the time comes, though figuring out which direction the ship will dock in is going to be a risky one. All that leaves is somehow ensuring that either no cookies enter into the room or that he disguises himself as to not be spotted... He prefers the former, a little more.

He grabs whatever looks the most like a sturdy thin object and discretely hides himself under the window, sliding it into the handle, hopefully keeping it locked enough for his needs.

After all that, it's now just a waiting game.

#waffled au #crk #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #tag for reach #pure vanilla cookie #shadownilla #pureshadow #puremilk #how'd this for un-woobifying him? /lh #mby the issue is w how ppl view him is that I really havent emphasized just how long he spent just not interacting w anyone #if you remember the design notes its around a *whole ass year* of just stalking the kingdom #but given ive found the redemption part more interesting compared to him sulking and isolated it seems like so much less time took place #so i gotta just bulk up the early game of the story ig to get across that he didnt just chill out overnight lmao #also if youre curious about what the two spells he was going to try to do ill start w the second #the second was using the eyes to discreetly look outside #but given the one power we canonically know he shared w pv is access to the other realm #and the eyes are deeply connected w the other realm #it'd be incredibly risky to use the other realm or the eyes at all in case pv was also using it at the same time #or even just the risk of finding out if he had an intrinsic sense of when it was being used #so no using that #and the first spell is me kinda just running the one thing we know to the extreme #if pv now has some of smilk's powers... why not say he took even more of his powers?#so what he was trying to do was disguise himself #a bird or a bug would be able to hide away easily w/o being caught #but it seems that too has for the moment also been taken from him #idk i dont think that extremism of a canon conclusion suddenly makes this super canon non-compliant and ruins any sense of immersion #idk it is kinda the premise of waffled anyways i hope youre not too bothered lmao

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healingfairy000000001 · 8 months ago

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Minnie series, witch straw hat, we can spend the night in my dealers house.

Ahh yes, Alabasta the land of sand, belly dancers clothes given to me by sanji and Vivi's country!, but most importantly lizards! tail's for distracting potions maybe a smokey corpse smell, it's eyes for and limbs for stealth ohhh~what I will do~

Ace was looking at her creeped out, she had a creepy aura around her as she looked around the ground,

"Don't mind her she get's like this sometimes" said nami patting his shoulder before continuing walking.

"she won't boil us alive, right?" he asked to conform his suspicions.

"don't worry ace, Y/N is my friend!" comforted him luffy, before they continued there march.

Y/N ignored them but focused on her hunt as chopper stayed by zoro, but vivi got dragged into helping her.

and though vivi was creeped out by decapitating lizard she couldn't bring her self to refuse helping her.

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

As the sun sat down and the wind's slowed down the night sky came with the light of the moon and a bit of cold, they found a spot to camp, sanji was cooking a warm meal, zoro was napping by the rocks, nami was comforting a crying vivi from cutting lizards tails and limbs all day, while ussop helped sanji out, Ace and chopper on the other hand were curious about Y/N need for the creature.

"What do you plan on doing with this?" asked Ace looking at her storing them in jars.

"Lot's of things! smoke screens with a heavy smell, it's limbs for a scripture to walk on walls" she explained holding different jars for each purpose chopper seemed more curios about magic looking at her jars before pointing at something

"what's that?"

"dried bat brains" she answered with a huge grin as everyone twitched a bit, except Ussop who looked scared as hell

"WHY DO YOU NEED THAT!"

"greater hearing and night vision"

silent fell before luffy broke it "can I eat it?"

"why would you want to eat it!" scolded both nami and ussop

Y/N was having a good laugh while the rest continued on their work, with vivi trying to calm down nami and chopper helping in storing everything.

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

As dinner was eaten and everyone was ready to sleep under the star light having a moment of tranquility cut short by Ussop, "DAMN COLD!" he stood up shouting gerly being fed up with the cold, vivi tried to re-explain "the desert is Hot as fire in the morning and cold as Ice in night"

"that doesn't make any sense!" he protested, while nami and sanji tried to deescalate the situation

"well what other choice do we have? suck it up" nami said tierdly

"we can sleep in a whale" Y/N said standing up while opening her bag, her words struck the crew as a joke but her seriousness was evident

"you do realize were like, far away from the ocean?"said Nami as the rest agreed but luffy and chopper got exited,

"YOU CAN SUMMON WHALES!"

"that's so cool!"

as she looked at them she got out a crystal ball blue in color and smooth in texture, "it's my dealer, I buy stuff I can't gather there" this seemed to gather the two interest even more, while the rest had one common thought 'what are those ingredient's?'

"Yeah I can you come here? I need a favor to ask" she spoke to the crystal as it glowed a soft light, "here we go"

a few moment's later a sudden ripple split the air, and with a thunderous splash, a starry-blue whale materialized out of thin air, casting shimmering reflections from its body.

While nami and Ussop were panicking, zoro,sanji and Ace being on guard, the rest were curious

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

"Gernario mardo evou" she yelled and the while opened it's mouth the woman simply walked in, "WOAH! Y/N why didn't you show us this before!" yelled luffy following in, and though the rest felt reluctant Ace zoro and chopper followed closely.

The inside of the whale was like stepping into a dream; a flat surface of shimmering water stretched beneath their feet, while tiny fireflies flitted around, casting gentle reflections on the liquid ceiling, this seemed to put everyone in awe.

"WELCOME travelers" said a man's voice from deep inside, "what might you need" he asked

"yeah, uncle goerg can me and my friends spend the night here? it's cold outside" using her best puppy dog eyes the man appeared in front of her, with a bold head and a long beard with bare feet he looked at her un-amused

this 'uncle george' was walking and smelling everyone, some pushed him away while some hid behind the other, "those are....Human's" he said the word human with disgust before going back to his customer

"how dare you bring strangers into my domain here, this ain't a hotel, shoo"

as he started to push her and the crew out with strong winds coming from inside the whale with a snap of his finger looking at the witch in displeasure, she pulled out her final card, "I'll pay!"

"no we won't!" protested nami

"I don't need your worthless berries humans"

"no! it's two jars of high quality lizard limbs collected by the princess her self!"

he raised an eyebrow, before she looked at her semi flying before giving up, "and my prized bat's brains!"

taking a moment to think, he looked at vivi and nami then at luffy before agreeing, with a snap of his fingers the wind stopped letting everyone fall to their face as a bedroom was dragged in with a hand sticking out

"You and your lizard limbs, kid. Fine. But keep your humans away from my stash, now give me the jars"

"here" she gave in reluctantly, satisfied with his prize he left them alone, "Y/N-Chwaaannnn~you got us a room for free~" said sanji swooning over the depressed girl

"tell me if you want anything Y/N-chan" even nami was swooning a bit for the 'free' room

soon everyone looked around in peace with the disappearance of the old men with the jar, there were enough bed's for everyone a table of fruit's and a bathroom.

"wait you could've done this before?" asked nami

"yeah, I knew him since I was 7"

"why didn't you do this before!" nami, ussop beat her up in anger "I could've died of the cold!" adde'd ussop

"hey! I lost two of my prized stuff! have some decency!"

"shut up!!"

it was rowdy and chaotic but soon everyone found some comfort to fall asleep.

#one piece #monkey d luffy #one piece x reader #ace #portgas d ace #black leg sanji #cat burglar nami #tony tony chopper #op x reader #op nami #op chopper #op sanji #op vivi #alabasta #op alabasta

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nanamikentoseyebags · 2 years ago

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i'm nightcrawling to you

how come that every night he finds himself at your doorstep? why do all the ways lead him to you? how is it that in the pounding heart of this bustling metropolis, you are the only person he can come to?

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

content: extremely satoru-centric, hurt/comfort, just satoru turning up at your door every night in an attempt to feel something again

a/n: i love him so much i need to get inside his head and sweep all the bad thoughts out :(

At night Tokyo is mired in the noise of cars, loud voices of people who fill its streets at this late hour and argue about their trivial, insignificant problems, irrelevant to what is now happening in the heart of this metropolis. The city is suffocating in smog and soot, writhing, riddled with road lines, silently crying out for help, flashing muffled blueberry-colored store signs that are scattered across the map like sores on the body of a sick man. People rush home, causing it to itch and make it squirm. The city waits. It waits for all the commotion to die down, for the streets to sink into darkness and emptiness, for only then can it breathe. One more hour and...

A frantic inhale.

The multicolored night lights, the countless illuminations, a myriad of car headlights fade, melt into a kind of haze, like under a misty veil, and again as if from the depths of a deep blue ocean, emerges a mass of thousands of people, who believe that this place is the root of all their misfortunes. They move swiftly toward their dwellings, cursing their jobs that leave them unsatisfied and exhausted, but which allow them to live a relatively normal life. Need to last another hour…

A frustrated exhale.

The eerie shadows cast by the houses and the feet of the passersby slowly turn into a lingering inky darkness of the night that swallows up the entire city. The last person stranded on the road crosses the threshold of their house, closing the door behind them with a rattling thud. The motley signs, once pulsating in the center of the city, darken, revealing the faint glow of stars floating in the sky. The golden iridescence of random car headlights no longer makes it squint. The tired city takes that much-needed greedy breath of air...

A sharp inhale.

The harsh chilly air burns Satoru Gojo's lungs, as he slowly strides through the now empty streets of the weary city. His hands, stuffed into the pockets of his black jacket, involuntarily clench into fists in an attempt to warm his freezing fingertips. He shivers, pressing his head into his shoulders, trying to hide from the piercing wind that so mercilessly ruffles and tangles his snow-white hair and uneasy thoughts. Left all alone, he muses with a slight melancholy about his fate, written by someone's ruthless hand in the book of life…

An exhausted exhale.

"So strange," he thinks to himself, looking with unfathomable sadness at the soft inviting light coming from the windows of the little apartments in these big anthills of the concrete jungle, "in all my life I've never had a place I could call home. Where am I going? Where are my feet leading me? Is someone waiting for me?" A sad smile appears on his face as memories, like the pages of an album, begin to turn over in his head. Moments when he lost his home in the form of his best friend. Moments when he found it again in the form of his students. The moments when you helped him rebuild it from the scratch, replacing the burned out pieces with the solid foundation of your care. Moments when, for fear of destroying everything, he left again, leaving you there, safe, because with him coming, the chances of losing everything in an instant seemed to be infinite...

A sorrowful inhale.

Light slanting rain begins to fall from the dense clouds floating in the sky, beating on the curtained windows and blanketing the shivering city like a thin cloth of invisible threads with pearls dangling on them. Satoru let the occasional drop land first on his disheveled hair, and then drip in small trickles from his glasses, covering his already frozen face with chilling moisture. He does not turn on his infinity, allowing himself that rare weakness of feeling human. Heavy droplets come down from the roofs, drumming on the iron awnings, water grumbling angrily in the rusted gutters. Wet, gloomy houses stare at the lonely and lost man with their weeping windows.

…

A new gust of wind whips another batch of memories into his face, the irrepressible longing reverberating in his heart when he thinks about them for too long. The scraps of conversation brought by the raging weather play a faint melody in his ears. Satoru chuckles bitterly, as if right now he can hear the students calling him a bizarre, annoying, lanky sensei, who used to insert his ridiculous comments here and there. He never takes offense; on the contrary, he does everything he can to be one, the odd teacher who would do anything to make his students' youth look like the spring of their lives. Even though it makes him seem like the biggest fool on the planet. Somewhere within himself, he hopes they'll never have to find out how utterly tattered his soul is. And now, convinced that all of his students were sleeping soundly, he goes outside in an effort to find the way to his own sanctuary.

…

The weeping sky brushes away the leaden clouds from its blanket as if they keep preventing it from observing the unfolding of a story that has long been written. With a sinking heart, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, Satoru Gojo reaches for your door, stopping for a moment, unsure whether you should be bothered at this late hour. At the last moment, allowing himself to be a little selfish, he makes a few quiet knocks on the door and awkwardly hides his hands behind his back. For a few seconds, nothing happens. He heeds, not knowing for sure what he's hoping for: that you've been asleep for a long time and won't catch him in this miserable state, or that you were waiting for him after all, feeling this strange connection between the two of you. Suddenly the door swings open, revealing your small figure. The bright light emanating from your apartment on this dark night does not dazzle him, but rather cradles him with its invisible hands, trying to give him its warmth. The smell of homemade food fills his nose, beckoning him to peak in. Satoru stands motionless, looking at you with a fluttering heart. So familiar, so homely, with a smile stepping away from the door, inviting him to go inside. And he thinks, "It's so strange, in all my life I haven't had a place I could call home, it seems... it's always been here."

A relieved exhale.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

tags: @shamelessperfectionhideout @margumis @vagabond-umlaut @4sat0ruu @a-nuisance-called-sam @strawberrystepmom @rossithepixie @suckonlimes @jazminetoad @nikokopuffs 💛

art and dividers aren't mine <3

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #satoru gojou #gojou satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo imagine

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say-hwaet · 3 months ago

Text

That's the Way it Is

Chapter 32: Old Habits Die Hard Next Chapter: Thirty-three Summary: You open your eyes to find yourself in an unfamiliar land. Is it heaven? Is it hell? Or is it a different place entirely? Warnings: Mature themes, language, violence, oppression/implied slavery Word Count: ~7,800

Something cool laps against your face, a contrast to the heat pressed against your cheek. Your body aches all over, muscles taut and limp all at the same time.

You hear water. Birds. Wind. The color a bright red beneath your eyelids.

You smack your lips, the taste of salt on your tongue.

You have the sudden urge to cough, so you do, and water expels from your lungs. It burns your throat and your nasal passages, causing you to gasp for air.

Air. You’re breathing.

You’re not dead!

You open your eyes, and quickly squint to adjust to the brightness. The sky is a beautiful blue. You see a white bird fly overhead. Seagull. Lifting your head, you feel something stick to your face. Touching your cheek you feel something fine and grainy. You wipe it off and bring it in your line of sight.

Sand. Beautiful, white sand. You turn your neck slowly, feeling its ache, your skin hot and tight. You look to see the ocean rolling into the shore. Large rocks like mountains line the cape.

Where are you?

And as you ask yourself this question, a sharp pain pierces through your skull, the remnant of your memories flooding in.

You remember.

You remember it all.

The day Antek was born. The day your parents died. Every song you used to sing. Every performance. Every animal you’ve ridden. Mac. Davey. Jenny. Bessie. Annabelle. From every bottle of tincture to every incendiary bullet you crafted.

Every exchanged glance that you shared with Arthur across the campfire, every subtle brush of the hand as you both served yourselves some stew.

When you taught him a dance from your home country. He’s been holding out on you.

Dutch was right, your memory is like a steel trap.

Oh no. Dutch.

Blackwater.

The Schofield revolvers.

Everything is in linear order now. The patches and pieces are all embroidered together with golden thread, never to be severed again. You remember the end from the beginning, and what was now confusion is replaced with certainty.

And now you realize the true danger. The enemy that was always closer by. The man who you thought was family, but only saw you as less than. Only wanted you for himself.

And then you think of who you may never see again.

“My God,” you gasp and you struggle to rise to your feet. “Arthur…” You feel a sting in your eyes, an ache deeper than any pain you’ve felt welling in your chest. “My husband…” Your voice is hoarse, you barely recognize yourself as you speak in a lower octave. You must have been screaming for hours during your spell, or the saltwater has dried your throat greatly to the point of damage.

You look out to the ocean. Wherever you are, you are nowhere near the spot where the boat sank. There are no lifeboats on the coast. No sign of human life anywhere.

Is he dead? You pray not. You aren’t sure how you can carry on.

But you made a promise. You told Arthur you would.

You need to live for him. To get off this island and find your way to John and Abigail. Hosea and Jack. And any others who might have decided to go out in courage and leave the world of thieves behind.

Easier said than done.

Now it’s your turn. You don’t want to be a widow. You don’t want to be alone.

Your legs feel weak, but you manage to stand, pausing to catch your breath. You need water.

You know that freshwater is inland. You remember. California was the same way, despite the ocean flanking its spine.

You’re out of strength, but you must press on.

Taking hesitant steps forward, you focus on the task at hand. The island isn't familiar, yet your instincts from days roaming wild terrains with the gang guide you. The sun beats down harshly, reminding you of the many afternoons spent under the open sky, planning escapes, or setting up camp.

As you make your way through the beach, each step sinks deeper into the soft sand, forcing you to exert more effort with every movement. The grains of sand cling to your toes, tugging at your feet and slowing your progress. It's like walking through deep snow, each step a struggle against the sinking grains beneath you. But you press on, determined to reach your destination despite the challenging terrain.

Every few steps you have to pause to catch your breath. You try to keep track of your surroundings. Of course, you don’t know where you’re going, but you know where you’ve been. If you had a way to scribble a map, that could help you keep track of specific landmarks or spots where there’s food or water, but you will just have to rely on your memory to keep track of it all.

Now that you can really use it to its full capacity.

You run your hand through your hair, wishing that you had a way to tie it up, like Javier’s hair. When you bring your hand down, you notice how red your skin is. Like boiled crawfish in Pearson’s stew.

How long were you lying in that sand? Days?

It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Somehow, you continue to cheat Death.

You remember what Sister Calderon had said of you. Maybe there’s something to her words and you let yourself smile. Just a little.

You support yourself on a nearby boulder as you nearly lose your footing. You exhale sharply, frustrated that you’re too weak to really function like a normal human being, just as you’ve now come back to who you are.

You find an opening in the trees as there are fewer vines hanging low, forming an almost curtain-like barrier that you push aside. The foliage is dense, a stark contrast to the open, sunlit beach you've just traversed. The change in environment is immediately cooling, a small relief from the relentless sun.

The shade of the trees envelops you as you tread cautiously into the dense undergrowth. The air grows cooler and damper, the sounds of the island life more pronounced in this secluded area. Birds chirp overhead, unseen but ever-present, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of running water teases your parched senses.

You follow the sound, your mind fixated on the fresh water that grows louder and louder with each step. You’re grateful you don’t have to travel too far for water. Maybe if you can replenish yourself, you can find a sharp stick and fish on the cape. Or maybe there’s fruit.

If you’re in Cuba or Tahiti, you just might find some mangoes.

It wasn’t too long ago that you’d laugh at that, but now you’re hoping that Dutch was right.

You keep walking, pushing away large plants, and carefully watching your step. You aren’t sure if there are snakes or other creatures that could just as easily kill you as look at you, and you aren’t looking to be a predator’s next meal. It wears you down, being vigilant while trying to keep track of where you are and to make sure you keep moving.

What a mess you’ve found yourself in.

Pushing through a large bush, you come to a clearing and a small pool with a waterfall. At your hurried movements, a large creature, a monkey, spots you and quickly makes itself scarce, hollering as it hurries away in the opposite direction.

They don’t look exactly like the drawings you’ve seen in the encyclopedias you’ve read.

You wonder if you might see zebras and tigers, too.

But that would be too far east to travel. You couldn’t possibly have traveled that far across the ocean…

Could you?

You shake the worry out of your mind for now, making your way to the water. If the monkey had been drinking it, then there’s a higher probability that it could be safe.

Well, it’s either you die of thirst, or you die from some illness.

Pick your poison.

You quicken your steps, nearly stumbling as relief washes over you. You go to your knees at the edge of the pool, scooping your cupped hands into the cool water and bringing it to your lips. There is a taste to it, but it isn’t awful, nor will cause your instincts to alert you. You swallow it slowly, letting it soothe your dry throat and cool your insides.

After drinking your fill, you scoop your hands and splash the water against your face.

That’s when you hear a subtle snap behind you.

“¡No te muevas, muchacho!”

You understand him. He ordered you to stay still. Given the aggression in the voice, the unwavering tone, you know he’s serious. You don’t move, but sit up straight and raise your hands when you hear him cock back his gun.

“Por favor,” you say, speaking low and raspy still. “Estoy desarmado.”

There is a pause and you desire to turn around to see who is willing to shoot you, but you remain still.

“¡Señor!” the man calls. “¡Encontré algo!”

There is a larger rustling behind you and the soft whinny of an equine. With the extra noise and distraction, you turn at the waist, keeping your hands raised and see the source of the new noises.

There are several men on foot, all wearing distinct uniforms. Their hats, assorted styles, are straw or canvas, but they all carry some sort of weapon.

Their skin is tanned and all have dark hair, some mustached, some clean-shaven. They don’t look tired or hungry, so it is clear to you that they must occupy this beach.

The equine that you heard, a mule, carries a white man, his outfit different than the men that flank his sides. He is the Señor .

You need to play your cards right. You can’t mess this up.

The white man eyes you for a moment, lifting his chin. “Speak English?”

You swallow before answering, keeping your low voice. “Yes.”

He eyes your clothes, your body. You feel exposed, never liking anyone forming an opinion based on looks alone, but you wouldn’t expect anything more from the life you’ve lived. “You don’t look like one of my men,” he says pensively. “Where did you come from?”

“A boat,” you answer. “A storm sunk it.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He gestures to your clothes. “You were part of the crew?”

“This is a police uniform,” you explain. You know that a yarn is better believed when you share part of the truth. “Saint Denis Police.”

“Saint Denis? That far?” The man’s brows lift in interest and he nearly smiles. “Didn’t think they hired young boys.”

You tilt your head. “I’m old enough. But I…I am not police yet.”

“And how’s that?”

“I wanted to make a good impression. Snuck onto the boat to chase some men.”

“Who?”

“You haven’t heard?” You slowly rise to your feet, eyeing the guns pointed at you. “I suppose word hasn’t reached this place.” You look around. “Where are we?”

The man grins. “Guarma. My boss owns the sugar plantations. I run them and this militia.”

Guarma. You remember Bronte speaking of it, and you remember the people he wanted you to spy on.

“You mean Colonel Fussar?” you ask.

“You know of him?” The foreman nods to his men, who slowly lower their weapons.

You feel more relaxed, but you still keep your hands up. “Yes…the police work with him and Mr. Bronte.”

The foreman nods. “I know the name. Fussar has taken a great interest in him and Saint Denis as of late.”

You try not to grin. “Has he?” Boy, is he about to be disappointed.

“Yes…” He goes quiet for a minute, studying you. “What’s your name?”

And the name comes naturally to you, your wit quick and ready now that you’ve been restored. “Romauldo Cortez, Mister…?”

“Levi Simon.” Then he goes quiet again. “You know…you have an odd accent for a Mexican.”

“I never said I was Mexican.”

He raises his brow. “My mistake,” he replies with a hint of sarcasm. “Where you from, then?”

“I’m from Europe. My familia came to America when I was a boy.”

“You speak other languages?”

“Some.”

He seems to like your answer, nodding softly. “We’ve been running into some pirates lately. Been smuggling goods and workers off the island. Haitians. Speak French.” He nods toward you. “We get some of these mongrels, you can tell me what they’re sayin’.”

For a fact, you don’t know French, but you aren’t about to tell him that. “No offense, but I intend to get back home.”

“So soon?” His tone says that’s not a genuine question. It’s more of a threat. A challenge for you to even have such a thought.

“Mi padre died. I’m the man of the house now. Someone needs to put food on the table.”

“When was the last time you had a meal?” At his question, you’re reminded of the emptiness in your belly and put a hand over your stomach without thinking. “I thought as much.” He turns to his men. “El chico viene con nosotros. Dispara sólo si intenta correr.” He looks back at you. “At least stay for some food…but I think the colonel can convince you of your opportunities should you decide to stay with us.”

The audacity to lie so boldly. It is clear as to who holds the power on this island and it appears that you’ve traded one tyrant for another. You watch as some of the men raise their guns, not directly pointed at you, but ready to shoot should the need arise.

Levi Simon gently kicks the mule’s barrel. “¡Vamos!” The mule begins to walk steadily and with a sharp nudge of a rifle, you walk alongside the mule, keeping your eyes on your surroundings. You will bide your time, and let your performance continue until you have your own opportunity for escape.

“Welcome to Guarma, Mr. Cortez,” Levi says smugly. “I think you’ll like it here.”

***

You wish that this island was uninhabited. You feel like you might have a better chance of survival if it weren’t for the armed men escorting you into their settlement. There are some ruins of a civilization long gone, but there are newer buildings that they’ve erected. Made with plaster and wood, it is clear as to which ones are for the workers and for the enforcers.

With a simple command, the militia breaks off, leaving only one fully armed man to walk with you and Levi Simon into the nicer-looking vista, which has potted flowers at the window sills and vines growing elegantly on the building.

No doubt, Fussar lives here.

You brace yourself. He has seen you before. Not up close, thankfully, but you can’t risk giving yourself away. You have to be quick-witted and unassuming, he can’t connect Romualdo to Dáma motýl.

The door opens and Mr. Simon takes you by the arm, escorting you inside. The armed guard follows close behind.

“Don’t touch anything,” Simon orders quietly.

As you enter the room, the scent of tobacco and something floral lingers heavily in the air, mixed with the jungle air that you just left from outside, as it has managed to creep its way inside through the open windows. The interior is spacious, adorned sparsely but with an eye for intimidation—paintings of a stern-looking man—a likeness to Fussar himself.

Even though the decor is simple, it is not cheap.

The floors are polished wood, gleaming under the sparse but strategically placed lamps, and the furniture though minimal, is heavy and ornate, suggesting the importance of appearances here. You keep your eyes scanning every detail, mentally noting exits and potential weapons. Old habits die hard.

You are led down a hallway and are made to stop in front of two large wooden doors.

Simon turns to the guard, letting you go for a moment. “Míralo. Voy a hablar con el Coronel Fussar.”

The guard nods, holding up his rifle. “Si, señor,” the guard eyes you, and without another word, Simon turns and lets himself into the next room.

You know it’d be stupid to try to create small talk with the guard. The less amount you have to talk, the better. You also figure it would be good to look away, to avoid giving him the chance to study your face. You don’t have a fake mustache or makeup that you can use to alter your face, just the red in your cheeks from the sunburns and cracked, chapped lips. You fold your arms, reminded of the bandaging that you had done and you try not to smile. For all intents and purposes, you look like a teenage boy.

You lean against the cool wood of the corridor, your gaze fixed on the intricate patterns carved into the doorframe opposite you. You can barely hear the muffled voices beyond the wooden barrier—Simon’s low murmur and a deeper voice that must belong to Colonel Fussar. Your heart beats a nervous rhythm against your ribcage, your curiosity as to the content of their conversation worrying you.

But you keep a calm expression on your face. This is all part of your act. One of the greatest cons you will ever pull.

After a few minutes longer, the large wooden doors swing open, revealing Mr. Simon.

“El Coronel Fussar quiere hablar con usted, ” he tells you.

You nod. It is showtime.

Being led in by the guard, you both follow behind Mr. Simon as he steps further into the room. When you hear the two large doors close behind you, you nearly jump but you manage to keep your composure. Inside, the room is even more lavishly appointed than the hallway. A large desk dominates the space, piled high with maps and papers, illuminated by a brass lamp that casts a golden glow over everything. Colonel Fussar sits behind it, his face stern and lined with experience, dressed in more casual clothing more fitting for the tropical heat, but still carries an air of authority and power.

Bronte had his own type of power over Saint Denis. He acted as though he were invincible, using people as pawns to get what he wanted, using intimidation and temptation to bribe willingness out of people.

Your task now is to figure out what Fussar’s tactics are.

And once you know them, you can exploit them and secure a way back home.

Fussar eyes you as you stand in between Simon and the guard and he rises to a standing position. He leans over his desk, bracing himself by placing his hands on its surface. Your eyes drift downward for just a millisecond, trying to catch a glimpse of a map that rests beneath his palms.

“Mr. Simon says that you’ve come from Saint Denis?” Fussar begins calmly.

You lift your eyes and nod. “Yes, señor,” you answer.

“He also says you know Angelo Bronte?”

“I know of him,” you explain. “He and the police have an understanding.”

Fussar's eyes narrow slightly, the light from the brass lamp reflecting off his probing gaze. "An understanding, you say? What kind of understanding might that be?"

You feel a bead of sweat trail down your spine, but you maintain your composure. Your voice remains steady as you spin your tale. "One like the understanding you have with Mr. Cornwall.”

Fussar’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, before he grins with a low chortle. “You seem to know a lot, Cortez.”

“I have eyes and ears, do I not?”

He pushes himself away from his desk. Placing his hands behind his back he comes around his desk and walks up to you. “But Simon tells me that you do not yet work with the police…” You feel like prey being stalked by a jaguar, his eyes intently watching you for any slight reaction to his words. “How would you have come to know of my relationship with Mr. Cornwall?”

You need to think. You can’t spin a yarn too long. It needs to be believable. Something so commonplace that it can’t be denied. “Do you want the long or short version, Colonel Fussar?”

Fussar pauses, his calculating eyes still fixed on you, as if trying to unravel your thoughts. "The short version will suffice," he finally says, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

You carefully measure your words, aware that one slip could spell disaster. "I made a deal with Bronte. He got me a job with the police if I helped bring in more…goods. I was merely an errand boy, not where I wanted to be. I heard about Cornwall through Bronte and the police.”

Fussar nods, the story satisfactory for now. He turns away to pace about the room. “Bronte likes to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. He also likes to keep people waiting.”

“He’s wronged you, Colonel Fussar?” you venture to ask.

This seems to get his attention and he looks at you over his shoulder. “Among many things. He’s refused to answer my letters or telegrams regarding a…certain treasure.”

You swallow. “Colonel Fussar, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news…” you begin, putting on an expression of sympathy. “but Bronte is dead.”

Fussar stops pacing and turns to face you fully, the stark surprise briefly unsettling his usually composed demeanor. "Dead?" he echoes, his voice a blend of disbelief and a hint of satisfaction. "How did this come to pass?"

You hesitate for just a moment, choosing your next words with care. "It was a house fire. It lit up the whole city. Scared mi madre something terrible.”

He turns to face you fully, his back against the window. You can see the sun begin its descent in the sky, the day more than half gone. “Nobody knows how?”

“We, I mean the police, were investigating still when I snuck on the boat.” But of course, you know how it happened. That is the beauty of secrets. They can be a great power if you wield them properly.

Fussar nods. “Yes, Simon told me you were after some men.”

You swallow. “Yes. I suppose you don’t hear much of what goes on back there, given that you didn’t hear about Bronte.”

“Who are these men you’re after?”

You aren’t sure how to answer. Well, yes you do. You know what the answer is. But you don’t want to incriminate your husband, to start a manhunt, in the event that he’s still alive or that it will somehow tie you to the mess.

But if Dutch and Micah are alive…

“Two men. Dutch Van Der Linde and Micah Bell. They robbed the bank.”

“Two men? The Lemoyne National Bank?” Fussar cackles incredulously. “I think you were a fool to believe that—”

“You clearly don’t know who those two men are, Colonel,” you interject. “Van Der Linde has been wanted for years. I’ve seen his posters.”

“And Bell?”

“Wanted since he was just a boy. They might have been foolish to try the large bank in Saint Denis, but I’m not foolish for going after them.”

Fussar looks over at Simon and they share a look. Perhaps they’ve already heard of them? You wouldn’t put it past you that this will all connect at some point. It seems that everyone knows everyone except you.

“Describe them to me,” Fussar demands.

You swallow. “Dutch Van Der Linde. A little over six feet tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Moustache. Broad shoulders and very charismatic.”

He nods thoughtfully, gesturing for you to continue with a flick of his hand.

“Micah Bell. Under six feet. long, blonde hair. Moustache. Protruding belly. Violent and smells terrible.”

He laughs at this. “And you got all of this by a few moments at a bank robbery?”

“And their posters,” you quickly answer. “You have to be descriptive if you’re going to get them.”

The Colonel, still chuckling, leans back against the wooden wall of the ship's cabin. "You've got spirit, I'll grant you that. But what makes you think you can catch men who've eluded authorities for years?"

You feel a spark of your old self flickering inside you, the part that refused to be cowed or defeated, even by life’s cruelest turns. “Because,” you say, your voice steady despite the danger in front of you, “I know that courage and strength can be found in the unexpected of persons. No one would suspect a young man to track down two outlaws. They would see me and underestimate me…And hearing them talk on the boat, as I kept hidden…I was close enough to know their weaknesses.”

“And what, pray tell, are these weaknesses?” Fussar leans forward, interest piqued, his skepticism mixing with a hint of amusement.

“They trust no one,” you say softly, your voice almost lost in the memories finally restored to you. “Not even each other. Dutch is paranoid, always looking over his shoulder. Micah was the devil on his shoulder. Without him, Dutch has to think on his own.”

“That's a clever observation,” Fussar muses, tapping a finger against his chin, scrutinizing you as if seeing you in a new light. “And how do you plan to use this to your advantage?”

You don’t want to share it with him. You’d rather keep some mystique about you, otherwise you have nothing to bargain with. You want to go home. You don’t want to be used then killed out here.

Your gaze flickers to the window as the light creeps in. You wish you could just run and leap out of it, hurrying into the jungle before a bullet reaches your skull. “I have to find them first.” You turn to look back at Fussar. “They may have gone down with the ship.”

Fussar nods thoughtfully. “If I find them, then you won’t be making the impression on the police that you wanted.”

You shrug your shoulders. “My loss.”

The tyrant chuckles. “A good sport, too? If only my men were as good-natured as you.”

“I’ve learned to take loss pretty well.”

Fussar grins. “I see.” He then looks to Simon. “Give this young man some food and a place to sleep. We will talk in the morning.”

As Simon ushers you out, you can't help but feel the weight of Fussar's gaze on your back, like the cold touch of a shadow that refuses to detach itself.

“Just a minute—” Simon halts and makes you turn back around and you see Fissar take a step forward. “Did Bronte ever mention a…a woman?”

You blink. “Woman?”

Fussar almost looks bashful even speaking about this to you. “You said you heard Bronte talking. You seem like a stealthy type, yes?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’ve had to be.”

“Don’t be modest, boy.” He grins. “Did he speak about a diamond of Lemoyne?”

You know who he speaks of. You know he is thinking about you. A prize that Bronte tried to barter with. A tool he could use to gain information. You need to appeal to Fussar’s imagination, maybe it could be of use to you. “He said that he had a diamond…hidden away. That it wasn’t going anywhere.”

A smile appears on Fussar’s face, and it almost seems uncharacteristic of him. “Let me make an arrangement with you, of sorts.” He leans against the front of his desk, stroking his mustache. “You go out with Simon and my men. Search the Island. You bring back these outlaws or even some pirates, get information; I will take you back to Saint Denis myself.” He clears his throat. “I intend on going back anyway.”

This is it. This is your way in. If he is going to head back, there is a boat. You find this boat, and you can get on it before Fussar and leave this place. “When do you expect an answer?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

You nod. “Alright.”

Fussar nods at Simon, who turns to escort you out of the room.

***

Your sleeping quarters are meager. A cot with no blanket, and a simple chair. When Simon left you, you heard the click of a lock and you have been left in the silence and a tin plate of food—an offering that provides sustenance but hardly looks appetizing.

Sure aren’t any mangoes.

You don’t have a fork, so you are forced to eat with your hands. The meat is stringy, in some kind of sauce and as you eat it, you hope that it isn’t monkey or snake. But after a few bites, it tastes more like some kind of bird. Gamey, but a bird. The sauce is spicy and you wish that you had some water but beggars can’t be choosers.

There aren’t any windows, but there are fine cracks in between the boards of the shack. After finishing the spicy meal, you stand up and try to peak through the cracks, hoping to get a view of anything that is going on.

You see a group of armed men leaving the compound, and you wonder where they are going. It will be dark soon, perhaps they are heading to their own quarters?

You think about the nightfall. Fussar will be expecting an answer tomorrow.

Do you agree to go along with his conditions? Maybe. You aren’t sure you really have a choice. Your option is to buy some time. Unlike Bronte’s deals, you find it difficult to assess Fussar’s motivation. He doesn’t know who you are, and that is your saving grace right now.

Now that he knows that Bronte is dead, he is eager to claim the lost diamond and who knows what his intentions are with it. With you.

You back away from the wall and turn to the cot. It creaks as you sit down on it, and finally able to sit and rest, you are able to process everything.

You are alone. With only your restored memories and your wits. You wish you had them sooner, maybe you would have seen the true danger. Called out Dutch in front of the entire gang, making the division more visible.

You miss Arthur. You miss your husband. You want to hold onto that small thread of hope that he’s still alive. Hopefully away from Dutch and that mess. There’s no doubt that Dutch and Micah both would do their absolute best to convince him of your demise, as they had tried so hard to before.

Micah Bell tried to kill you on the ship. And you survived it.

It has to be for a reason.

It has to be.

You look at your hands. Your long nails. While like claws, they look odd on the hands of a teenage boy.

You bring your thumbnail to your lips, and using your teeth, you bite it off, gnawing on the edge at first to weaken it, before ripping it off.

It is like Hosea said, you need to become a different person.

***

A splash of cold water on your face startles you awake. You rise to a sitting position, and after wiping your eyes you look to see a guard with a pitcher in his hand.

“¡Levantarse! El coronel Fussar quiere hablar con usted,” he barks. You nod your head and once you rise to your feet, he grips you rudely by the arm and shoves you out the door.

You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t about to ask. All you know is that Fussar is waiting for his answer. Stepping out of the shack, the sun beats down on your face. You want water to drink, your lips still cracked and your throat burning to no end.

As you're pushed along the sandy path, your mind races, trying to piece together a plan. Fussar's compound sprawls out in front of you, a mishmash of old buildings that speak to his makeshift authority in these parts. The guard's tight grip on your arm feels like a tangible representation of the situation in front of you.

Once you see the landscaped entrance to Fussar’s dwelling, you know you don’t have much time to deliberate on what your answer will be.

You haven’t seen Levi Simon anywhere. Perhaps he is inside?

You are shoved inside the house and hurriedly taken down the familiar hallway to the wooden double doors. Only, two other guards watch the door this time.

With a subtle nod, they open the doors and the guard leads you in.

Fussar is, once again, at his desk, with a plate of assorted foods before him. He eats quite leisurely, taking a piece of a fleshy, golden fruit with the tip of a knife and bringing it to his lips. He eats the flesh in one bite, letting the juice run down his chin. With no rush at all, he takes a cloth napkin and dabs his chin, then finally lifts his eyes to look at you.

“Mr. Cortez,” he begins. “I trust that you rested well?”

“It beats the wooden floor of the ship,” you answer candidly.

He chuckles at this, his amusement fleeting as the wrinkles around his eyes tighten with a more serious intent. "Indeed, I would imagine so," Fussar replies, wiping his hands carefully with the napkin before leaning back in his chair. His gaze is calculating, sharp like the cut of the knife he just used. "Now, to business. You’ve considered my request?”

You nod but say nothing.

He waits for a moment or two, before raising his brow. “Well…?”

“You say you will go back to Saint Denis?” you ask.

He nods. “Yes…”

“What boat?” you ask, trying to bait him into divulging details so that you may steal the boat later for yourself.

Fussar pauses, scrutinizing you with keen interest. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he's weighing the sincerity of your question. Finally, he leans forward, resting his elbows on the massive oak desk. "An honest question," he muses, steepling his fingers. "The SS Lamantin. She is how I always travel between here and anywhere else I choose. You would be traveling in style for once, Mr. Cortez. As an honored guest, not a sneaky stowaway.”

“Is it far from here?”

Fussar shakes his head. “It is on the cape. I have a port there.”

You tilt your head, considering your options. “And…it is prepared to leave at any time? Say, if we catch the outlaws tomorrow…?”

Fussar grins. “It would be ready.”

Good. All you need do now is find your opening and take the boat. “I will agree to join you.”

Fussar leans back, a thin smile spreading across his face, satisfied yet still somewhat guarded. "Excellent," he intones, his voice silky with a hint of triumph. "I knew you were a man of vision, Mr. Cortez."

You nod, maintaining a façade of composure while your mind races with plans of your own. “Where is Mr. Simon, the foreman?”

Fussar flits his fingers toward the window. “He went on an earlier patrol. Sometimes the workers make wishful attempts to leave the safety of the plantations in the early hours of the morning, so we go about the island to bring them back.” He eyes his plate and reaches for another piece of fruit. “He will be back soon, and you can join them.” He looks back up at you, eyeing you up and down. “You aren’t very strong looking…can you shoot a gun?”

You nod. “Some. I never really had much practice, being just an errand boy.”

Fussar tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if trying to peer into your very soul. "Well, Mr. Cortez, perhaps it’s time you learn proper. A man should know how to defend himself… and his interests." His tone suggests a thinly veiled threat woven with a mentor's advice. "Provided that I can trust you first, of course.”

“Of course.” You knew it was too good to be true. If you could have a weapon in your hands, that would make your escape that much easier. “And how must I prove that?”

He nods towards the door. “Go with these men. We have a few…dissenters over at the sugar processing factory. See if you can get some information out of them.”

You raise your brow. “You think they’ll talk to someone like me?”

“Make them talk,” he answers, his tone dark and menacing. “You seem to have a way with words. Use them. If you’re successful, you might just earn yourself a gun.” He turns to one of the guards. “Dale al niño ropa nueva. Si está con nosotros, se parecerá a nosotros...”

And with that, you are quickly led away, again, to be used until you are useless.

***

You readjust the hat on your head as you follow the men through the jungle. You can see the appeal for escape, for if one could reach the thick foliage and trees, they could hide for some time. Fussar and his men seem to think they have control over this island, but you are beginning to see that it is like gilded iron, a false sheen that will soon reveal the rust beneath.

Once the jungle opens up, you see old ruins of a kingdom long gone, but a new building or two has been erected down below. You see smoke coming from the larger building. This must be the place that processes all of the sugar that the slaves have procured.

One of the guards nudges your shoulder, pointing to cages. “Allá arriba.”

Your eyes focus on the cages and you instantly recognize one of the figures.

It’s Javier!

You resist the urge to run and free him, as you are faced with multiple challenges. The guards, for one, are armed and you are not. They expect you to interrogate these men, for whatever reason. You can’t risk Javier blowing your cover. You are disguised well enough, but one good look at you and he will surely recognize you.

You see some mud and without thinking, you reach down and start smearing it on your jawline. You’re giving yourself a five o’clock shadow.

The guards watch you with arched brows, clearly thinking you are loco, but you give them intimidating glances. “Un hombre sucio puede parecer loco e impredecible,” you growl, keeping your voice low and gruff, hoping it disguises any familiar tone that might carry to Javier.

The guards chuckle amongst themselves, shaking their heads as if amused by a madman’s antics. But they lead you onwards, through the thick humidity and buzzing insects.

This is so much worse than Lemoyne.

The guards hang back once you reach the large stone steps that lead up to the cages. You’re glad of that, the less they hear from you, the better.

You walk up to them slowly, making yourself look as imposing as possible. The other man in the cage, weak and emaciated, notices you right away and leans into the back of his cage.

Javier is still turned away from you. He almost looks…forlorn.

What has happened to him these last few days? Has he been alone this whole time?

You need to know what has happened.

As you approach the cage, your heart hammers against your ribs, each step echoing the turmoil within. You keep your head low, the brim of your hat casting a deep shadow over your face, amplifying the gruff persona you've adopted. This close, you can smell the tang of sweat and despair that clings to the bars of the cage, a pungent reminder of the dire circumstances you both occupy. Javier shifts slightly, and his movement is sluggish, weighed down perhaps by malnutrition or despair—or both. You stop a few paces away from the cage, your gaze intense and unyielding, your voice a rough thunder as you get his attention.

“Speak English?” you ask.

Javier slowly turns his head, clearly undaunted by a voice speaking to him. His face looks battered, but the cuts and bruises aren’t exactly fresh. His swollen eye looks worse as both eyes narrow with a suspicious glare, but you can still see the sadness behind them. “Yes,” he answers.

You gesture to the guards behind you. “These men don’t. So whatever you say to me will be between us.”

He looks at you with a furrowed brow. “You’re here to interrogate me.”

“Yes,” you answer. “No harm will fall upon you if you tell me the truth.”

He seems to study you, trying to search your eyes, but you keep them obscured under the brim of your hat. “Who are you?”

You need to intimidate him. You smack your hands against the bars of the cage, shouting in Spanish. “¡Quién soy no te concierne, tonto!”

Javier recoils and you hear the guards chuckle behind you.

You straighten, towering over the cage, your shadow engulfing Javier in an ominous gloom. Your voice, when you continue, is icier, each syllable heavy with unspoken threat. "What's important is what you've seen here, and what you've done."

Javier swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. His eyes dart from side to side, seeking an escape that doesn't exist within the iron confines of the cage. With a resigned sigh, he leans back against the cold metal, his voice barely above a whisper as he confides in you.

"I've been left here to rot, or maybe to be forgotten. I saw too much, and said too little until it was too late." His fingers grip the straw beneath him, knuckles whitening under the strain. "They think I'm a traitor to both sides. But all I ever wanted was to keep my head down, survive."

You nod slowly, understanding the precarious edge he walks, the fine line between allegiance and survival in a land where loyalties are bought and sold like cattle at an auction. “Survival is a luxury at times,” you say, your voice echoing in the hollow space between the bars.

Javier’s gaze lifts to meet yours again, this time a flicker of mutual understanding. “It is.”

“Who is ‘they?’” you press, your hands going knuckle white as you grip the bars. “Who are the two sides?”

He nearly snarls with his cut lip at you, leaning further away from the cage. “You think I’ll just tell you?”

You have to convince him to tell you about what happened to the rest of them. Something that will get him to tell you even the smallest bit of information. “They are looking for someone…” you say, trying to keep your voice as low and as quiet as you can. “Someone that goes by the name of Dutch Van Der Linde.” You see a change in his expression as he looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Ever heard of him?”

Javier grits his teeth, the grinding nearly audible. For a moment, the only sounds are the distant calls of birds and the gravel as the guards shift their feet. Then, he exhales sharply, his head lowering for a moment before he meets your gaze fully. A spark of anger flashes in his brown irises. “I knew him. Once.”

Once. “So he’s dead?”

He shakes his head. “Someone is alive, but it’s not him. Not anymore.”

You draw closer to the cage, your excitement nearly betraying you. “Word has it that he ran with another man. A Micah Bell. He with him?”

Javier goes quiet for a moment, and you begin to feel impatient. But as long as you can tread the thin wire between friend and foe, he may be willing to answer. “He’s dead.”

Well. That’s that. You’re glad to hear of it, but you feel miffed that you didn’t get the pleasure of seeing yourself. “And you are all that’s left?”

He nods, turning his head away. “It’s the price I pay for seeing things too late.”

He’s all that remains. Arthur, gone. Bill, gone. You swallow thickly and try not to sob. You have to keep it hidden, your anger sated. You will have nothing else after this.

And what of Javier? You don’t want him to die like this. Even if your paths may never cross again, you want him to find a way off this island. But he can’t leave while being in the cage.

You back away from the cage and turn to look at the four guards who escorted you here. “¡Tenemos que llevarlo ante el coronel Fussar! Tiene información importante para él.”

They look at each other for a moment, either unsure or clueless.

You raise your voice, anger flushing through it. “¿Quieres que Fussar venga aquí y lo deje salir él mismo? ¡Déjalo salir ahora!”

Easily persuaded by intimidation, one of them brings out a set of keys and runs up the steps to meet you. You step aside to let him begin working on unlocking the cage and you eye the man’s gun in his holster.

You know what you promised. But you suppose that you aren’t that person anymore.

For now, you are Romualdo Cortez.

And you want to get home. To whatever is left of it. Left of your life.

Just as the guard pulls back the cage door, you reach down, draw the guard’s weapon, and aim the gun at his head, wrapping your arm around his neck.

There is a brief pause before anyone realizes what is happening. You turn to Javier and yell at him. “If you value your life,” you toss him the keys so that he may free the other prisoner. “run! Survive!”

He’s almost taken aback, but doesn’t hesitate to leave. He fumbles, but you don’t watch him go, for you have three other guards to negotiate with.

Your voice carries with a roaring rage. “Si alguno de ustedes se muda, su amigo aquí morirá, ¿entendido?”

You listen for the clicking of the next cage as you keep your eyes on the guards and you step to the side and away from the cages. If they can keep their eyes on you, Javier can free the other man and they can disappear.

But the seconds stretch into a taut silence, broken only by the distant calls of tropical birds and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Your heart pounds in your chest, a relentless drum reminding you of the danger of your current gambit. The guards' eyes flick between you and their captured comrade, uncertainty plain on their faces. Each moment they hesitate increases the odds in your favor. You tighten your grip around the guard's neck, ensuring they understand the stakes are life and death here.

You turn to watch as Javier frees the prisoner and with one quick glance at you, he turns and they flee. Your eyes follow them until they reach the jungle, disappearing into the dark shades of green.

But your eyes have been distracted for too long, as one of the three guards down below has snuck off, reaching the steps.

And reaching you.

And just as you turn your head, you see the butt of a rifle coming at your face.

Thank you for going on this journey with me!

Tag Requests: @photo1030 @eternalsams

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #fanfiction #ao3 writer #rdr2 #arthur morgan x you #GUARMA #Colonel Fussar #Javier Escuella #You are a master of disguise #You got all these dudes fooled #a rewrite of chapter 5 #separated lovers

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senkusphone · 2 years ago

Text

Dr. Stone chapter 2D trivia post

Spoilers ahead !

Check out too, my trivia post for the previous chapter.

This changes everything, folks! however, we gotta start from the start.

Chrome's drawn this roadmap, and he seems to pretend to build yet another of his silly storehouse towers like he's done around the globe. Next stop, the moon.

This confused me for a while until it was pointed out to me that "EMU" stands for Extravehicular Mobility unit; which is what we normally call a spacesuit (and I call and EVA suit), and notably it doesn't look muck like these simple, yet decidedly comfy and cute looking jumpsuits.

The graphic depicted below actually shows two trips, if you follow the arrows along the lines, you can see the black ones show a trip from earth orbit to the moon, and the white ones show the return trip, landing in the middle of what loosely resembles the pacific ocean, east of Japan.

In other news, Suika joins the tradition of the space elevator, an idea that has been itching in the back of people's minds since the 1890's

The more detailed explanation of this is a bit more lenghty but I'll keep it simple, so buckle up.

The idea of a space elevator is that a weight with a cable tethering to earth, could keep it tense if the weight is moving too fast (so much so that if let loose it would escape into space, or at least a higher orbit).

This cable can support a vehicle going up along it, bringing any cargo within it to space, using much less energy and resources than a rocket.

How to make a cable that can support its own weight over such a huge distance is the main reason we haven't built one.

A problem that arises from this, is that if the weight doesn't match the rotation of the earth, the cable would get pulled around (eventually breaking or winding around the earth, pulling the weight down, as cartoony as that is), so we need it to hover over one spot.

Now we gotta talk about geostationary orbit, to make this easier.

So, when something is orbiting the earth, it needs to move really fast to combat gravity in such a way that the earth curves away from the object at the same rate it's falling towards it (spaceflight really is the art of falling to the ground and missing it, as the saying goes.)

The farther out you go, the weaker gravity's pull gets, and the slower the satellite needs to be in order to find this balance. Eventually it reaches the point where, if its flying around the equator, it will, at one point, match the speed of the ground spinning beneath, this is at 35786 km above.

Such a satellite appears still in the sky, which is very handy to, as a sidenote, aim a small TV dish at it, and just leave it in place, as you may have at home.

However one must notice that in a space elevator, the satellite (our weight) is not only pulled by gravity but also by the tension in the cable.

Since it's pulled in with a greater force, it falls faster than a normal satellite, and so it needs to also travel faster to avoid falling back to earth.

As a result, it also needs to be further away than a geostat satellite, so it needs to travel a longer way around the earth, and again find the balance of speed with rotation, staying still in one spot while keeping the cable taut.

This is why the weight is shown beyond geostationary orbit here. Yes, this was a long winded explanation for just that.

And after all that, here we all are, ignoring the fact that suddenly petrified hair is flexible.

Perhaps it's like glass fiber / glass wool, and it can be flexible when it's thin enough (yes, glass fiber is just glass but thin, if you weren't aware. Incidentally, most glass fiber is made by a process that works the same as a cotton candy machine... wait this was already shown in Dr. Stone, fu-).

This however doesn't explain how this flexibility hasn't been observed in statues before. Maybe her hair is special after all.

Also special is spider silk, although sometimes overhyped by the media. Spider silk has some outstanding mechanical properties, it's very durable, and it can take a lot of tension and deformation before breaking.

Ruri here makes a reference to her previously stated occupation after the main series. A lot of people took issue with the aftermath of the characters in general, myself included. Still mad at Kohaku joining the police, I'm pretending that didn't happen.

This might be an autism 100 take, but the wheels in this cart are backwards. The flanges should be on the inside, and the taper should be towards the outside.

This geometry helps railway wheels stay on the track, go around bends, and not have to constantly abuse the flanges to not fall off the rails.

The silk road... I really am just googling basic things for you, am I? It was an ancient trade route network joining asia with the middle east and europe. Silk was one of the most famous products traded through the network.

yeesh, I've been typing this for ages (tumblr logged me out while I was writing this post and lost like half of it), and I haven't even gotten to talk about induction motors yet.

A linear motor is just an electric motor that rather than making something spin, it pulls itself along some sort of guide rail. These are in use in some trains but they are not common, the infrastructure cost is much higher than a normal railway.

Why am I talking about trains again...

One way to make it work is by induction.

The tl:dr is that when a magnetic field is moving through a conductive object, it can effectively drag it with it to an extent.

The reason this happens is called Lenz's law; the variation of the magnetic field through the metal causes an electric current to flow through it.

This current, just like an electromagnet you may have put together in science class, produces it's own magnetic field that interacts with the one coming from outside, hence making the metal react, but only when the field is moving or otherwise changing.

A big advantage is that there needs to be no contact between the source of the field and the moving metal; this is used in all sorts of electric motors even in homes, you'll find them in fans, refrigerators and washing machines, etc.

The train/motor would have a magnetic field underneath with a north-south-north-south-... pattern, which flows towards the back like a river (made by a lot of electromagnets switching in coordination).

As the magnetic river flows backwards, the induced currents in the rail produce their own magnetic field in opposition, pushing the train forward.

How viable is it to use this on a thin cable that needs to pull itself up is another story, and I have my doubts. The electronics involved would be really complex, costly and perhaps even unwieldy, but at least the conductive cable can also be used to deliver power to the elevator with some tweaks.

The structure they begin constructing for the full size elevator is named after the 1979 novel "The fountains of Paradise" by Arthur C. Clarke, in which a space elevator is also constructed.

So, we've made it to this part. As far as I've seen this one panel has been the focus of like 50% of the discussion regarding this chapter.

We all see what he's doing whether we acknowledge it or not; Inagaki should know that you cannot build a relationship on just standing close and gazing with passion; believe me I checked, multiple times.

Wouldn't mind if he hadn't procrastinated on developing Senku's side, the girl has wanted her vegetables since day two (but not day one)

And now, things get really messy, as some mind boggling events lead Ryusui to ask "why, man?"

Look, I've already added 30 images to this post, and I imagine you have seen how this chapter ends, if you haven't, buddy what the heck are you doing here. Have some emoji, I'm not gonna make a second post about this.

🥨✨🦟 ⁉️👱🏼‍♂️🏴‍☠️ 👨‍🚀☠️??

You may be confused, you should.

But after a while I came to a conclusion that I feel is pretty solid, and you may have seen it in the post from earlier.

To summarize:

Ryusui noted that things were going suspiciously well for them, and the sudden disappearance of mosquitoes in the Kanto region ticked him off to something. He sent people to search and indeed found that mosquitos have been petrified within the region, and questions whyman about it, going as far as accusing them of pretending to be Byakuya from the future.

That's where we are left.

The medusa is fully capable of faking the signal they received from "Byakuya". The receiver only detected bursts of petrification beam presumed to be from the future and decoded them as morse code, and it was noted by Balb on discord that if you trace a circle with the center near Tokyo (where the lab keeping whyman is) and a radius reaching as far as Fuji, where they received the message, the circle covers the majority of the Kanto region as stated.

The bursts of petrification would have been invisible to humans, as only the affected species can see them.

So it is assumed that the mosquitos were petrified as a means for whyman to send the fake signal all the way to Fuji, depleting its diamond battery in the process.

However I believe it's also possible the mosquitos were zapped later to make work easier for the people building the space elevator as noted by Kaseki.

Several months if not more must have passed since the Byakuya message and whyman being caught (enough for Kohaku's hair to regrow), and it would be odd that no one would have noticed the lack of mosquitos, their petrified bodies, or the effect their absense would have in the ecosystem.

So why do any or all of this?

Well we know what whyman is largely motivated by, its survival and the spread of its kind across the universe.

So I think it's trying to accelerate human progress for that purpose, so we eventually get to the point where more medusas can be made, or who knows, maybe even succeed in warning the past ones with the time machine.

I also think it's likely this misunderstanding is gonna fizzle out once some dialog is made and Senku basically says yes to that goal too.

Will we get a triple twist and find that the Byakuya message was real after all, and the mosquitos were a separate event?

Will the sengen and kohasen crowds envelop the world in thermonuclear hellfire?

And will this be the true final end of Dr. Stone? hard to tell, but the answers may come next week.

Goodnight.

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