#now to Deal With the binoculars

[wantonlywindswept]

By virtue of having only two figures that actually have heads under their helmets:

'give it back, wolffe' 'nah' 'the only reason i'm not shooting you right now is because i don't want to damage my helmet'

also, arc captain rex! painted the pauldron, coulda been smoother, i have no patience, story of my life. it's decent enough for now tho.

it doesn't really fit properly with the helmet, but what's a headshot versus getting to wear a sexy arc pauldron??

[thebibliosphere]

Hope this isn't offensive (feel free to ignore if it is) but what illnesses do you have? I always see very detailed posts from you about different types of hyperspecific injuries or illnesses and I was wondering if you're just super well informed or have all of them.

Which is very helpful and cool for people who need the info, and I'm sorry if you are experiencing all those.

Oh, Christ. Right this is going to be a lot 😅

Conditions I have been diagnosed with as of 2024:

Ehlers Danlos Syndrome

Mast Cell Activation Syndrome

Dysautonomia/POTS/autonomic failure (they all mean a similar thing. I just have them all listed in my file because no one can decide what I actually have beyond “nervous system broke”)

Chronic Migraines

Hemiplegic Migraines

Cluster Headaches

Cranial Instability (caused by my EDS + neck injuries)

Trigeminal neuralgia

Occipital Neuralgia (caused by the cranial instability)

Binocular Vision Disorder

PMDD (likely linked to the MCAS)

Probably endometriosis but it’s unconfirmed.

Interstitial cystitis (definitely caused by the MCAS)

GERD (a symptom of my MCAS)

Pernicious Anemia (likely linked to the EDS and MCAS. I don’t absorb nutrients from my food as well as I should which is common when MCAS damages the GI tract.) which lead to hemolytic anemia in 2019 aka the “Almost Died For Real” year.

ADHD.

cPTSD

Dysthymia or “double depression”

“Probable ME/CFS” is in my file, but with everything else going on chronic and debilitating fatigue is pretty much unavoidable so my doctors are like 🤷🤷‍♀️

I had an intestinal perforation a few years ago that lead to severe diverticulitis that took about a year and a half to heal, but that’s healed now save for the occasional bout of nerve pain.

Uuuh… I think that’s it… (wait and see my spouse/friends chiming in with “you forgot about x”)

So yeah.

Chances are if you see me talking about it, I have it. I do sometimes talk about other conditions that I’ve learned about over the years of navigating my own stuff, but I will always defer to the lived experiences of others when it comes to their own conditions.

It’s a lot to deal with. Most of it links back to the MCAS/EDS/Autonomic failure.

Or as we like to call it: the generic trifecta of bullshit.

[unstable-samurai]

First Light

Shuhua x Male Reader

Word Count: 16k

one-shot

You're in the lifeguard tower, a cubicle that smells of sunscreen and snacks, arguing with your supervisor about carburetors. He's talking about his Chevelle, and you pretend to understand, but all you can think about is the roar of the engine and how much you'd rather be on the road than here, where the warm breeze seems to glue your skin to the fabric of the chair.

"I’ve got some paperwork to deal with," he says, patting his pocket as if that would make the paperwork more real. "You got this?"

Of course, you’ve got this.

Nothing much is happening right now. The day will repeat itself quietly, like the previous ones—maybe someone will step on a jellyfish, but that’s about it.

For now, just sun-kissed bodies scattered like shells and the sound of the waves repeating the same eternal monologue.

Minutes pass.

Maybe five.

Maybe fifteen.

You see something at the edge of the beach. A crowd. People running to the same spot, like ants in a panic. You grab the binoculars, focus on the scene. Screams. Hands waving desperately.

Okay, maybe things would deviate from normal today.

You know what's happening before you even see the guy's head bobbing up and down, like a miniature castaway.

Your heart speeds up in a "it’s now or never" way. Adrenaline starts to boil in your blood. Without thinking, you grab the jetski and go. Each wave is a slap in the face, the sun a fluorescent lamp frying your neck.

You barely hear the voices around you. Everything is muffled, as if you’ve dived underwater. But you keep moving, your body acting on reflex, instincts forged in drills repeated to exhaustion. The jetski cuts through the water like a blade, spraying droplets that glisten in the morning sun. In the distance, the crowd huddles on the sand, small silhouettes blurred by distance and heat.

The man is floating, face up, but the waves keep pulling him down, away from where he should be. His body moves awkwardly, arms flailing in the water with the desperation of someone who knows time is running out. And you? You’re just an extension of the jetski, muscles and nerves automated, your mind cold as ice.

There’s no time to think. Only to act.

You slow down and approach from behind, tossing the buoy towards the man, who tries to grab it, but his movements are uncoordinated, sluggish. The current is stronger than it looked from afar. You need to be quick. One mistake, and he goes under. Without hesitation, you dive into the water, the cold impact enveloping you, but your mind stays sharp, focused. You feel the resistance of the sea against your body as you swim towards him.

"Grab the lifebuoy!" you shout, your voice lost in the wind and waves, but he finally manages to hold onto it, his fingers white from gripping so hard. You feel the weight of his body as you start pulling him towards the jetski. He doesn’t struggle, but he’s heavy, as if the water itself is trying to keep him.

You lift him just enough so he can lean against the side of the jetski. He’s gasping for air, coughing up water, his eyes wide with fear, but still, conscious. You climb back onto the jetski, keeping a firm hand on him as you steer the vehicle back to the shore. The return trip feels longer, the waves seeming to conspire to pull you both further away, but you don’t slow down.

On the sand, the crowd parts, creating a narrow path to where you’ll land. They’re silent, the kind of heavy silence as if they’re waiting to see if this will have a happy ending. You steer the jetski onto the shore, jumping onto the sand before anyone can react. With the help of a pair of arms you barely see, the man is pulled out of the water, his feet dragging in the sand as he tries to catch his breath.

The supervisor, the great major of this beach, is already there. From somewhere, he appeared, arms crossed, a smile on his face barely containing his pride.

"First rescue, huh, son?" He claps you on the shoulder as if you were a war hero. "Kid, you did a good job. One day you’re going to be better than me."

But the words don’t penetrate the layer of indifference you’ve built around yourself. You just shrug, looking at the man now sitting on the sand, supported by other lifeguards, his breathing finally returning to normal. People start clapping, soon becoming more intense. People taking pictures, a commotion to remember later, something to tell over dinner or post on social media.

Curious eyes, pointing fingers.

They say: "Hero," "Savior," "Blessed."

But you barely hear it, it feels distant, like background noise, like a TV in another room. All you can think is that this is your job. There’s nothing extraordinary about it. You did it because you had to, because it was either that or let a man drown.

Your father's hand is still on your shoulder.

"That’s my boy!" he says. You just nod, pretending to accept everything that’s happening.

But you look at the sand. Look at the sea. The sky. Anything but the faces, anything but the eyes of the people watching you. Because deep down, you know there’s no heroism in this. Just the inevitability of duty.

The man on the sand looks at you with eyes full of gratitude, but you just turn away, not wanting to feel the connection, the responsibility he seems to place on you with that look. Your father says something else, but you barely hear it, already starting to move away from the scene, feeling the weight of what you just did dissolve amidst the unwanted attention.

And then you walk away. The noise of the beach, the applause, all of it fading as you head toward the tower, trying to leave it all behind, but knowing that, somehow, the weight of it is still there, even if you pretend it’s not.

—

You're sitting on the steps of the lifeguard tower, and the sunset is the kind of show that nobody pays to see, but everyone stops to watch. Seagulls circle above you like little white demons, the waves crash against the sand with a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound, and you feel the salty breeze cooling the skin that’s been under the sun all day. The air carries the scent of salt, of the sea, of a day that's dying.

You hear footsteps in the sand. Slow, as if each grain were an obstacle. And then you see her. The long dress floats around her legs, the wind playing with the fabric. The Polaroid camera hangs on her shoulder, as if it’s part of her. Something about her seems out of place, as if she’s stepped out of a different time and is now trying to fit into the present.

She stops a few steps away from you, her eyes scanning the horizon before they land on your face.

"Could you take a picture of me?" Her voice is soft but firm, like someone who’s used to getting what she wants without needing to ask twice.

You stand up, somewhat embarrassed that you didn’t realize you were sitting until now.

"Sure." You take the camera, and she positions herself so the lens can capture her alongside the vastness of the sea. She doesn't smile for the photo. It’s as if she's lost in some thought that the sun is trying to steal from her.

The flash pops, and the photo starts to materialize, the outlines emerging slowly as if painted by hand. She takes the image, studying it for a moment before smiling slightly, satisfied.

"Thank you," she says.

You can’t help but think of how beautiful she is. Not the plastic, symmetrical beauty of a magazine, but something rawer, more real. Her face has that shape you only see in classic paintings. Large, dark eyes, as if they want to see more of the world than it’s willing to show. Porcelain skin, long dark hair that catches the golden light of the setting sun.

"You're a tourist, aren't you?" you ask, more to fill the silence than out of curiosity.

"I am," she replies, without taking her eyes off the photo. "Just passing through. I leave on Monday."

It's Friday by the way.

"Ah, that's a shame," you say, and realize you sounded sadder than you intended. "Is it your first time here?"

She finally looks at you, and her gaze is something you didn’t expect. Like she's studying you, trying to understand something even you don’t grasp.

"Yes," she says after a pause. "And you? Do you spend your days here, saving lives?"

You shrug.

"More or less. It's my job."

She tilts her head slightly, her hair falling over one shoulder.

"You didn’t seem too happy when you saved that man today."

"I was just doing my job," you repeat, as if that could end the conversation.

But she doesn’t let it go.

"Is that all? I’d imagine saving someone would be something worth celebrating."

You hesitate, your eyes searching for something to focus on that isn’t her.

"It’s not like that. My dad runs everything here. He kind of pushed me into it."

She’s silent for a moment, as if processing what you said. Then, with a slight smile, she asks:

"And why don’t you want to be a lifeguard? Any guy would love to have a dad who's, like, ripped and cool, making a living on the beach, being treated like a hero."

You let out a small laugh, but it comes out more bitter than you intended.

"It's not just that. I wanted to play football instead of being a lifeguard."

She takes a step closer, curiosity growing in her eyes.

"Football? What do you mean? You wanted to be a professional player?"

"That was the plan," you admit. "But life happened. And here I am."

She nods, as if she understands perfectly.

"It’s funny how things don’t always go the way we plan, right?"

You agree. The sun is almost completely gone, and the colors in the sky fade, as if they’re tired of shining so brightly.

"Do you always travel alone?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation to something less personal.

She smiles, but this time it’s more challenging.

"And why not? I like discovering the world on my own. With no one to get in the way. Can’t a woman do that?"

"I think it’s admirable," you say, and you mean it. Something about the way she talks, like she’s always two steps ahead, makes you want to know more.

"I study philosophy," she reveals. "I’m on vacation, trying to see as much as I can before reality pulls me back."

Philosophy. Of course. You should have guessed.

"That explains a lot," you say, smiling for the first time in a while—long enough that you didn’t even realize you hadn’t been smiling.

She smiles back, and for the first time, it feels like she’s really here, in the present, with you.

"And you? Are you going to tell me more about yourself, or leave me to imagine?"

"Maybe I’ll tell you more if you come with me later. I’m going for a walk along the boardwalk. If you want company, we can meet near the broken statue at seven."

She pretends to think for a moment, but the smile on her face already gives the answer.

"Maybe I will. Who knows?"

You both fall silent for a moment, listening to the waves, the seagulls, the sound of the world turning. And then, with one last glance, she walks away, leaving you with a sunset that’s already turned to night.

A night that promises to bring something more than just stars.

—

You're sitting on the bench, waiting. People walk along the boardwalk, laughing, chatting, living their lives as if you weren't there, alone. Every passing minute, every step you hear that isn't hers, feels like the whisper of a tiny little devil saying that maybe you got it all wrong.

Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she remembered something more important. Maybe you're not as interesting as you think. You start calculating how long it's acceptable to wait before getting up and leaving without seeming desperate.

Then you feel the touch. It's light, almost as if a breeze had turned solid for a second. You turn your head, and there she is. Shuhua. As if she had been materialized by your thoughts. Her dress, now shorter, clings to her body with the same ease that night clings to the sky. Her dark hair shines under the streetlights, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

"You look beautiful," you say, because nothing else makes sense in that moment.

She smiles, as if she already knew, but still likes to hear it.

"Thank you."

You begin to walk side by side, the sound of the waves in the distance sometimes pulling you back to the moment of the rescue again, though you don't show it.

"What's it like studying philosophy?" you ask, because the silence between you seems fuller than any conversation. And because you want to know more about what makes her who she is.

She looks around for a second, as if someone passing by might hand her the answer.

"It's like trying to understand life as it happens. Like you're a spectator in your own movie."

"Then say something philosophical," you ask, half-joking, but half-hoping she'll reveal something that will change the way you see the world.

She stops for a second, and you think maybe you've asked too much. But then she smiles, a smile that doesn't quite light up her whole face, but brings a small light to the night.

"All we know is that we know nothing."

"That's Socrates, right?"

"That's right."

"Oh, come on. You can do better than that."

"So, what do you want to know, Mr. Deep?"

You keep walking along the boardwalk, your steps slow, almost synchronized.

"Do you believe we're really free to do whatever we want?" The question comes out of you before you have time to filter it.

"Nietzsche said that desire is what drives us. It's not just a choice; it's what we are, what makes us act. But the problem is that desire is never simple, never pure. It always comes with a shadow. And that shadow is guilt."

She turns her face to you, a slight smile on her lips, but it's a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, and she continues:

"We can do whatever we want, yes. But do we really want to? Or does desire just push us toward what's inevitable, toward what we try to resist but deep down know we'll end up giving in to?"

You try to process what she's saying, but it's like trying to catch smoke with your hands. It feels like her words carry more weight than the moment.

"So, desire always comes with guilt?" you ask, trying to sound more curious than worried.

"It's not guilt that accompanies desire," she says, her eyes returning to the path ahead. "It's that desire makes us go against what we should be, what we've been told we should be. And then guilt arises, not because we've done something wrong, but because we desire what we've been taught to reject." She lets out a small laugh, but it's a dry sound, without joy. "Deep down, desire is a rebellion against morality. And every time we give in to it, we're challenging the world, the rules, what's right and wrong. But no one comes out of a challenge unscathed. There are always consequences."

"And you? Do you feel guilty about anything?" you ask before you wonder if maybe it's too much, but you don't regret it. You want to know who she is, to understand what's going on behind that face that seems so impenetrable.

She's silent again, and for a moment, you think she won't answer. But then she looks directly at you, her eyes dark and deep like the sea at night.

"Guilt? Of course. But guilt... guilt is proof that we're still alive. That it still matters, that we're still human." She smiles, but it's a sad smile. "I feel guilty because I desire what I shouldn't. Because deep down, I know I'm going against something bigger than myself. And it destroys me a little more each day."

And you realize, at that moment, that Shuhua is talking more about herself than any philosophy. That what she's saying isn't just theory, as real as the ground beneath your feet.

When you pass by a street artist, he observes you for a second, the pencil twirling between his fingers as if looking for his next masterpiece.

"You make a beautiful couple," he says, his tone casual, as if he already knew he was right. "How about a drawing of you two?"

You open your mouth to correct him, to say that no, you aren't a couple, but Shuhua is already agreeing.

"Sure," she says, pulling you to sit next to her on the bench.

The artist smiles, as if he knew the battle was won before it even began. He starts drawing, the pencil moving with the precision that only excessive practice can provide. You try to stay still, but you can't stop looking at Shuhua. The way she's relaxed, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Her scent, a soft perfume, mixes with the breeze entering your lungs, and it's an addictive sensation.

Time passes, but you don't notice. Only the sound of the pencil scratching the paper, the distant waves, and her scent.

Finally, the artist stops, gives the drawing a final touch, and turns it to show you both. The paper reveals the two of you sitting together, but there's something more there. Something the artist captured, something you hadn't noticed until now. He drew you looking at Shuhua with an expression you didn't know you were making. Admiration. Fascination. As if she were something more than just a girl.

As if she were a muse, and you, an artist trapped in her beauty.

"You, my friend, look at her like you're trying to decipher a mystery," the artist says, handing you the paper.

Shuhua takes the drawing, and you pay the artist, still feeling that strange weight in your chest, as if something important had been revealed without your permission. You both stand up, thank him, and continue walking.

She looks at the drawing again, a subtle smile on her lips.

"I like it," she says, and you realize she's not just talking about the drawing.

The sound of the sea never stops, not for a second. It's always there, in the background, a constant reminder that you're close to something bigger, vaster than anything you can do or feel. The waves break, one after another, like the sound of a clock ticking in a time that no one can control.

The kiosk appears ahead, with its yellow lights that seem to blend with the color of the night sky. The tables are scattered around, some already occupied by couples and small groups chatting in low tones, laughing about something only they know. You choose an empty table, away from the others.

The waiter approaches, young and cheerful, wearing a casual floral shirt. He hands you the menu and disappears, leaving you alone. Shuhua flips through the menu as if she's looking for something she already knows she wants, but still enjoys seeing the options. You choose something simple, a random drink that won't make you seem out of your element.

"Do you always hit on tourist girls?" The question comes from her naturally. But there's something more there, a curiosity she's trying to hide, but you notice immediately.

You smile, one of those smiles that's hard to decipher.

"No."

She raises an eyebrow, as if not entirely convinced.

"Then why did you call me? The beach is full of girls much hotter than me, with tanned bodies and everything."

The waiter returns with the drinks, placing them on the table skillfully. Shuhua takes hers and sips, her eyes still fixed on you, waiting for an answer that makes sense in the world she knows.

"Because I don't care about that," you finally say. The drink is cold in your hand, and the taste is strong, but you don't look away. "It's been a while since I went out with any girl. The thing is, you're different, Shuhua, you caught my attention."

She pauses, the glass halfway between the table and her lips, as if waiting for you to say something more. But you don't. Because there's nothing more to say. And, for some reason, that seems to be enough for her.

Shuhua puts the glass back on the table but doesn't drink. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if she's trying to see something beyond what's in front of her.

"You know," she says, "that almost sounds true."

You shrug, as if it wasn't a big deal, but you feel like something has changed in the air between you. As if the conversation had entered another territory, something deeper, closer to what really matters.

"Think what you want," you say, pretending not to care.

"Are you messing with me?" she asks, but now her tone is different. Lighter, almost playful.

"No," you reply, sincerely. And that's enough for her to believe you, at least for now.

You continue talking, about trivial things, about life, about what it’s like to study philosophy and what it means to work in something that isn’t your passion. But with every word, with every exchange of glances, you feel like you’re diving deeper, sinking into something more than just a night by the sea.

And her? She seems to relax, seems to accept what you’re offering, even though she’s still not sure exactly what that is. But there’s a sparkle in her eyes, a spark of interest that wasn’t there before. And that’s enough for you to keep going.

The waiter comes back to see if you two need anything else, but you don’t. Everything you want is there, on the table between you, in the air circulating around, in the words being spoken and those yet to come.

—

The boardwalk stretches out casually, Shuhua always by your side, her steps in sync with yours, as if you’ve done this many times before. But it’s the first time, and you’re still trying to figure out exactly what it means. The streets around are relatively quiet for a Friday night, with the distant murmur of other conversations floating in the air, but none of that matters much because, at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

“There’s a nice restaurant nearby, what do you think?” you ask her.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Shuhua replies. “Tell me the truth, were you nervous when you had to save that man?” she suddenly asks, curious to uncover what’s behind the tough lifeguard façade.

You glance at her sideways, a small smile on your lips as you respond.

“Actually, I was waiting for it. Patiently.”

She seems surprised by the answer, as if she expected something more heroic, something more dramatic. But the truth is much simpler.

“Since I completed training, I’ve never allowed myself to relax. I knew that, sooner or later, something like that would happen. It was just a matter of time.”

Shuhua lets out a small laugh, a soft, light sound, and shakes her head.

“That explains why you always seem so tense. I can see the tension in your shoulders.”

You raise an eyebrow, and there’s a playful note in your voice when you reply.

“Maybe if you gave me a massage, I’d feel better.”

“Maybe I will,” she says, and you know that part of her is really considering the idea.

The boardwalk unfolds ahead, a paved path that leads to anywhere you both decide to go. But before you can reach the restaurant you mentioned, something different catches your attention. A soft melody floats through the air, a mix of guitar, saxophone, and that unmistakable bossa nova beat. The kind of sound that makes you stop and listen, that reminds you there’s beauty in the world, even in the simplest things.

“Did you hear that?” you ask, but you don’t wait for an answer. Instead, you follow the sound, taking Shuhua with you until you find the source: a small band set up in the middle of the boardwalk, with simple instruments and an energy that doesn’t need a big audience to thrive.

And that’s when you do something that maybe even you didn’t expect. Pulling Shuhua by the hand, you lead her to the center of a small clearing among the people, a space that seems tailor-made for what you’re about to do next.

“You said I seemed tense,” you say, looking directly at her, a spark of challenge in your eyes. “Let’s see if I’m really that tense.”

And then you start dancing.

It’s nothing elaborate, nothing you need to think too much about. Just you, Shuhua, and the music. Your bodies move together as if there’s an invisible choreography that you both know but have never practiced. The rhythm of the bossa nova is smooth, easy to follow.

Shuhua watches you, her eyes shining with a mix of surprise and admiration.

“You dance well,” she says, and there’s a tone of genuine amazement in her voice.

“I did theater in school,” you reply, spinning her gently, as if proving there’s still more for her to discover about you. “I was in a few musicals. Nothing major.”

She laughs, her head tilted back, her hair falling like a black cascade that seems to absorb the light around. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

“I’m a guy full of surprises,” you say, and you know it’s a little true.

The music continues, and you keep dancing, lost in this moment that belongs only to you two. Every move, every step seems to free her a little more.

When the music finally ends, you and Shuhua stop, a bit out of breath but with smiles on your faces that don’t need any explanation. The small crowd around you applauds softly, and the band moves on to another song, but for the two of you, this moment has passed, it has fulfilled its purpose.

“Shall we go to the restaurant?” you ask, and she agrees, still smiling.

—

The restaurant is a hidden gem, the kind of place you only find if you know exactly what you’re looking for. It's near the boardwalk, just a few steps from the beach, where the sound of the waves mixed with live music creates an atmosphere that makes everything feel lighter, simpler. The tables are made of worn wood, coated with a thin layer of varnish that doesn’t hide the years of use but instead gives each one a kind of rustic charm. The chairs match, creaking slightly every time someone sits down, but no one seems to mind. Everyone is here for the same reason: good food, a fresh breeze, and a night that doesn’t seem in any hurry to end.

The outdoor tables are filled with couples, friends, and tourists who stumbled upon this place by chance. The lights strung between the posts sway gently, bathing everything in a golden glow that makes people’s skin look warmer, more alive. In the center of the restaurant, there's an outdoor grill, where the chef, a robust man with agile hands, flips fish and seafood over the flames with enviable skill.

You and Shuhua choose a table in the corner, close enough to the grill to feel the warmth but far enough that the smell of smoke doesn’t overwhelm anyone. She looks around, taking it all in as if she's absorbing the details to store them in her memory, and you realize that she does this with everything—every moment, every detail is important to her, which only heightens the sense that she’s just passing through.

The waiter, a middle-aged man with an easy smile, brings the menu, and you order without much ceremony: grilled fish, shrimp seasoned with garlic and herbs, and a white wine to go with it. The conversation flows naturally, filled with laughter and glances that last a second longer than necessary. The food is good, simple, and flavorful—the kind of meal that satisfies without pretense.

As dinner progresses, you can’t help but notice how completely comfortable Shuhua seems in her own skin, how she has a keen awareness of who she is and what she wants. She talks about her philosophy studies with a passion that makes even the most abstract concepts feel tangible, real. And as you listen to her, a part of you feels increasingly drawn not just to her obvious beauty but to the depth she reveals with every sentence, every gesture.

At one point, between a sip of wine and a bite of fish, you lean in a little closer, taking advantage of the intimate atmosphere to ask what’s been on your mind since the beginning of the night.

“When you go back home... can we keep in touch? I mean, you could give me your Instagram or something. You’re a cool, interesting girl. I’d like to get to know you better.”

There’s a second of silence, an almost imperceptible pause before Shuhua responds. She carefully places her fork on the plate, and when she looks at you, there’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. But there’s also something else, something you didn’t expect.

“You’re sweet,” she says, her voice almost too gentle—the kind of voice you use when you’re about to let someone down. “And you seem like the type who does everything for the girl you like. But... I don’t want you to get any feelings, whatever we are right now. This is casual, you know? I just want to make that clear so you don’t get hurt later.”

Her words fall on you like an unexpected weight, crushing the small hope that had been growing inside you since the moment she asked you to take her picture on the beach. You remain silent for a moment, trying to process what she said, trying to mask the disappointment that inevitably begins to set in.

“I understand,” you finally say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, a hollow smile that you hope isn’t as transparent as it feels to you. “Of course. No problem.”

The conversation continues, but there’s a subtle shift in tone, a new layer of distance. You make a conscious effort to keep things light, to not let on that her words affected you more than you’d like to admit. Shuhua, for her part, seems relieved to have laid everything out in the open, and she returns to being the same bright, spontaneous girl she was before, as if what she just said didn’t matter in the slightest.

Apparently.

Dinner finally ends, and as you wait for the bill, Shuhua mentions that she’s staying at a nearby inn. You consider her words for a moment, knowing this is a fork in the road, that whatever you decide next will determine the course of the night.

“My place isn’t far from here,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you want, you can stay over.”

She looks at you, her eyes shining under the restaurant's soft lights, and for a moment, you think she’s going to refuse. But then she smiles, a small, pleasant smile that seems like it might vanish at any moment.

“Sure,” she replies. “Let’s go.”

And with that, the night’s fate is sealed. You pay the bill, leave a generous tip, and together, you walk out of the restaurant, back to the boardwalk, which now feels even more deserted, more silent. It’s getting late, and the streets are emptying out, except for a few passersby who are in no hurry to get anywhere, and the sea breeze feels a bit cooler, carrying with it the scent of salt and something else, something indefinable that mingles with the excitement and nervousness growing inside you.

The walk to your place is short, and as you walk side by side, not saying much, you can’t help but wonder what exactly will happen when you finally get there. But at the same time, you know that’s a question that can only be answered when the door closes behind you, when words are no longer necessary.

—

Your home is modest but cozy—the kind of place that reflects the lifestyle of someone who spends more time outdoors than within four walls. Shuhua places the drawing of the two of you on the counter, says it’s all yours, and casually begins to observe the surroundings. The walls are a soft beige, and the floor is covered with a simple carpet. The living room is dominated by a comfortable sofa, a TV that seems barely used, and a similarly untouched video game console. There isn’t much in terms of decoration, but there’s a certain order to the chaos, as if everything has its place. A guitar resting in a corner and some posters of classic bands hint at personal tastes that go beyond the lifeguard job.

You offer her wine, a bottle of red that you’d been saving for a special occasion.

You pour the drink, trying to appear calm, but your movements are deliberately slow, as if prolonging something that shouldn’t be prolonged. Shuhua sits on the sofa, her legs gracefully crossed, the dress revealing a bit more of her pale thighs as she adjusts herself. She accepts the glass of wine, but her gaze is firm, determined.

She’s not here for the details of your decor, to watch that new Netflix series, or to talk about the idiotic lives of celebrities; she’s here for you.

"If we're going to do this, let’s do it now," she says after taking a sip of the wine, placing the glass on the coffee table. Her voice is almost a whisper, but it carries a calculated firmness. "Let's not prolong the formalities."

The sound of her voice resonates within you, making your heart race.

"I wasn’t sure you wanted the same thing as me..."

You approach her, setting your glass aside as well, your hands trembling slightly, but it’s desire that guides every movement.

Shuhua doesn’t wait. She leans forward, capturing your lips with hers, a kiss that starts soft but quickly intensifies. Her lips are soft, but there’s an urgency in the way she moves her tongue, exploring every corner of your mouth. Her small, delicate hands slide to the buttons of your shirt, undoing them with impressive dexterity.

She climbs onto your lap, your bodies touching only through the thin fabric of your clothes. The heat that emanates is good, it’s alive, but you want more. Your hands trace the outline of her hips, sliding down to her thighs, pulling her closer. Her response is immediate: a sigh, a small moan that escapes her lips as she presses her body against yours.

Shuhua pulls back slightly, just enough to remove your shirt and toss it aside. Her eyes travel over your body, admiring what she sees.

"You’re really hot," she murmurs. Her fingers trace invisible lines on your skin, exploring every muscle. "I’ve never fucked a lifeguard before."

“Well, I’ve never fucked a philosophy student,” you say. Your hands slide down her back to her waist, where you hold her firmly, pulling her even closer. The fabric of her dress is an obstacle you want to remove, but there’s something about prolonging this moment, savoring every touch.

The kisses continue for a while longer, until, without warning, she slides off your lap and kneels on the floor in front of you, her hands reaching for your pants, fingers swiftly unbuttoning the zipper with a speed that catches you off guard. She pulls your pants and underwear down, freeing your hard cock. You somehow feel vulnerable as Shuhua wraps her hand around the base of your cock, her eyes never leaving yours, a gaze that’s both intimidating and full of desire. With a decisive move, she leans in, taking your cock into her mouth.

The warmth and wetness are familiar, but there’s a newness to it—you’ve never felt a mouth so small, lips so soft, and a tongue so skilled sucking you off before. She turns a simple blowjob into something divine. You moan, your head falling back, fingers tangling in her hair as she continues to work you. Every movement of her tongue is calculated, teasing. She uses slow and fast sucks to give you pleasure. The pressure in your body builds, pleasure taking over your mind.

You want to fuck her.

But Shuhua doesn’t stop. She quickens her pace, the moans escaping her throat as she dedicates herself to the task with a commitment that nearly destroys you. When you feel like you’re on the verge of losing control, you pull her up, panting, and place her back on the sofa. She smiles, satisfied, as if she had been expecting this exact reaction.

Now it’s your turn to worship her with your tongue. You remove your shoes and fully take off the pants that were hanging below your knees. You pull up her dress slightly, and that’s when you realize she wasn’t wearing any panties. The shock of this revelation only intensifies your desire. She’s completely exposed to you, her skin smooth and warm under your hands. You kiss her again, with more hunger, your fingers exploring the wetness between her legs. Shuhua writhes under your touch, small moans escaping her lips as you stimulate her.

"I'm getting so wet," she whispers, her voice trembling with pleasure. There’s a mischievous glint in your eyes; you’re not willing to stop. You make her kneel on the sofa, turning her back to you. Shuhua pulls her dress up to her waist to reveal her perfectly round, juicy ass, practically begging for you to eat her pussy. You position yourself behind her, lowering your body, your mouth now replacing your fingers, exploring her with even more curiosity. Your tongue slides along her pussy.

Shuhua's moans grow louder, more intense, as her hands grip the back of the sofa tightly. When you sense she’s on the verge of exploding, you pull back, watching her with a desire to make her feel even more pleasure.

Then, without warning, she stands up, pulling the dress over her head and tossing it to the floor. She’s completely naked before you, and the desire burns even stronger in your chest. You sit on the sofa, and she climbs onto your lap, guiding your cock inside her with an ease that makes you sigh.

Her warmth envelops you completely. She lets out a small moan, closing her eyes for a moment, absorbing every inch as she settles. Her hands rest on your shoulders, nails lightly digging into your skin as she begins to move.

She starts at a slow pace, almost as if savoring the sensation, but soon she picks up speed, her body moving with a determination that leaves you breathless. Her tits sway gently with each movement, and you can’t resist the temptation to wrap one of her nipples in your mouth, sucking intensely. Shuhua lets out a louder moan, tilting her head back.

"You like this, don’t you? You like it when I ride your cock," she murmurs, her voice melting with the pleasure she feels. She smiles provocatively, her eyes locked on yours as she continues to move at a rhythm that drives you crazier by the second.

"Yeah, a lot," you respond through gritted teeth, your hands gripping her hips tightly, helping her maintain the rhythm. The feeling of being inside her, warm and wet, makes you crave more, much more.

Shuhua leans forward, her lips almost touching yours, her breath hot and quick against your mouth.

"Then fuck me harder," she whispers, the provocation in her voice as clear as day.

The urgency in her words awakens something wild inside you. Your fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her into a fierce kiss. In response, she rides you faster, moaning against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as you increase the pace. Your hands move to her ass, squeezing and urging Shuhua to ride with even more intensity.

The pleasure makes your head spin, the room around you seeming to disappear, leaving only the sound of your bodies colliding, her moans growing louder and more desperate.

"Just like that," she moans. "Fuck me hard! Don’t stop, don’t stop."

The pleasure is overwhelming, guiding you to a speed that makes every touch feel more intense than it should. Shuhua writhes on top of you, sweat dripping down her skin as she gives in completely to the sensation. Her face is flushed, her eyes half-closed, and she bites her lower lip, trying to stifle the moans that escape her lips, but failing at the task.

"You’re going to make me come," she whispers, the words broken up by moans. Her gaze is a mix of lust and vulnerability, as if she’s at the mercy of the pleasure you’re giving her.

"Then cum for me," you respond, your voice low and laden with desire. Your hands grip her hips firmly. "Cum on my cock, babe!"

Shuhua responds to the command, her movements becoming erratic as the climax nears. She lets out a scream, her whole body trembling as pleasure overtakes her, and you feel the contractions around you, each pulse intensifying the pleasure already consuming you.

"Oh, God..." She gasps, her nails scratching your shoulders as her body writhes on yours. She’s completely lost in the moment, her face a mask of ecstasy as she continues to move, prolonging the pleasure as much as she can.

When it finally seems like she can’t take any more, Shuhua stops, panting, her eyes shining with satisfaction as she gazes at you.

"You made me cum so hard," she murmurs, a lascivious smile playing on her lips.

You smile back and reply:

"But I’m not done with you yet."

Before she has a chance to fully recover, you firmly grab her by the hips and lift her into the air, your bodies still connected.

Shuhua lets out a surprised gasp, her arms wrapping around your neck as you lift her. Her legs tighten around your waist, her fingers digging into your back as she feels you moving inside her again. The sensation is deeper in this position, each thrust pushing you further inside, making her moan loudly in your ear. Your bodies are pressed together, your sweat mingling as you fuck her in the air, your movements decisive and full of desire.

"Oh, yes... like that!" she moans, her voice trembling with pleasure. You can feel how intense the sensation is for her, the way her body clenches around yours, responding to every thrust. "Fuck, you're so hot!"

Each movement is stronger than the last, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room, mingling with Shuhua's moans and sighs.

You keep her in the air, her legs around your waist, as you quicken the pace, your thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. Each movement intensifies the sensation in your body. Shuhua is completely lost in the moment, her face buried in your neck, her moans muffled but impossible to contain. She bites lightly into your shoulder, a mix of pain and pleasure that makes you gasp heavily, feeling her tremble as she cums again, her contractions increasing the pressure around you.

But you don't stop. Even when you feel her body trembling, her breath hot against your skin, you carry her to the table, driven by desire. With a firm movement, you set her down on the ground, still holding her by the hips as she leans against the table. Shuhua arches her back, and without much delay, you start fucking her again, the new position making her let out a deep moan, pleasure once again taking over her.

"I'm not stopping until you cum again," you murmur in her ear, your voice deep and filled with desire.

"Yes! Make me cum again! Mmm, so good," she responds, her voice completely surrendered, almost pleading. Shuhua places her hands on the table, her body leaning forward as you take her from behind. The sight of her in this position, completely exposed and vulnerable, makes your desire explode.

Shuhua moans loudly, her head falling forward as you fuck her hard, the table creaking under the intensity. Each thrust is powerful. She holds onto the table tightly, her moans turning into screams as the pleasure builds.

When you feel she's about to cum again, you turn her to face you. Shuhua smiles, panting, her eyes shining. She climbs onto the table, lying on her back, her legs spreading for you in a sight that almost makes you want to eat her pussy again.

She exposes herself completely, offering herself to you.

"Come on, fuck me until I can't take it anymore!" she says, her voice low and dripping with lust.

You position yourself between her legs, feeling the heat and wetness of her pussy already dripping down her thighs, then you start penetrating her again. Shuhua cries out, her moans reverberating through the room as you fuck her hard. The table shakes under your combined weight, the intense sounds of pleasure filling the air.

You fuck her with everything you've got, each thrust more intense than the last, the pleasure building to a point of no return. The rhythm between you becomes more frantic, desperate, until you bring her to another orgasm. Shuhua is completely lost in the sensation, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a cry of pleasure. The heat of her body, the feeling of her sweaty skin against yours, the sound of her moans—it all drives you wild.

Your hand slides down to Shuhua's belly, feeling her tense muscles, and you realize you're on the brink of exploding.

"I'm gonna cum," you warn, your voice cut off by the effort to stay in control. But Shuhua doesn't want you to hold back.

"Then cum," she responds. "Cum in me, I want to feel you."

Those words are what make you lose control. You let out a deep moan, your whole body trembling as you finally give in to the climax. With one last deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her, and then, with a quick motion, you pull out, jerking off as the pleasure overtakes you.

The first spurt of cum covers Shuhua's belly, hot and thick, spreading across her pale skin. She lets out a low moan at the feeling of the warmth on her skin, her eyes closed as she absorbs the sensation. You continue, each pulse sending more cum onto her, covering her abdomen, the base of her tits, until there's nothing left to give.

When the last spasm passes, you hold the base of your cock, feeling it pulse lightly, still sensitive. Shuhua opens her eyes, watching you with a provocative smile.

"Is there still more in there?" she asks, her voice soft but full of mischief.

You smile, tired but not done.

"Maybe a little more," you reply, leaning down to rub the head of your cock on her thigh, spreading the remaining cum on her soft skin. The sensation is electric, a mix of pleasure and sensitivity that makes you shiver.

Shuhua watches every movement, biting her lip as you spread the cum on her thigh, mingling with the sweat that glistens under the soft light of the room.

"Yes, paint me all over," she whispers, her voice low and filled with desire. "It's so delicious to feel you like this, hot, still turned on by me."

She reaches out, her fingers gently caressing the head of your cock, still sensitive, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

"I could do this all day," she murmurs, her tone a blend of sweetness and malice. "I love seeing how you react to my touch, how you moan helplessly with every caress."

You can't help but close your eyes and sigh as she presses gently, her thumb grazing the frenulum as you continue to rub the head of your cock on her skin.

"Don't stop," you plead, your voice hoarse, almost desperate. Her touch is both torturous and pleasurable, a mix that makes you crave more, even after you've been spent.

Shuhua smiles, satisfied with your reaction, and continues, teasing you until every part of your body is trembling with the intensity of the moment. Finally, she stops, her fingers still sliding softly across your skin, and she looks at you with a gaze that weakens you before her.

"It's been a long time since I fucked someone with this much passion," she comments, her voice soft and filled with complicity. "You really wanted me, didn't you?"

—

You wake up to the barely perceptible sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor, the sun seeping through the half-closed curtains, filling the room with a soft, golden light. The warmth of her body still lingers in the bed, her presence imprinted on the rumpled sheets and on the pillow where her scent has mixed with yours. You’re not sure exactly what woke you—maybe it was the sound of her breathing, or the slow movement of her bare feet, trying to avoid the spots where the floor creaks. Maybe it was the absence of her body’s weight beside you.

She’s there, at the edge of the bed, wearing one of your shirts thrown over her body, long enough to cover halfway down her thighs. She’s not really trying to escape, not truly. But there’s a carefulness in her every movement, a hesitation that screams of an attempt to slip away without making a sound. She’s leaving, and you feel a pang of fear, something you didn’t want to feel, something you didn’t expect.

You watch her for a moment, her loose hair falling in waves undone by nights of sleep, the curve of her back outlined beneath the soft fabric of your shirt. She’s facing away from you, and you realize she hasn’t even noticed that you’re awake.

With minimal effort, you slide out of bed, your feet touching the cold floor as you quietly approach her from behind. And then, before she can react, before she can think of really fleeing, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, closer than you should, as if proximity could make her stay, as if your touch could be enough to anchor her there.

“Stay a little longer,” you murmur against her neck, your lips brushing the warm, soft skin as your hands glide over her waist, holding her with a need that doesn’t make sense to you. “Just a little longer.”

She flinches for a second, her body tense against yours, but then she relaxes, sighing as if exhaling all the resistance she had stored within herself. “I can’t,” she whispers, but her voice lacks conviction, as if she’s only saying it because it’s what she thinks she should say.

“Of course you can,” you insist, moving your hands to her shoulders, massaging gently, while your lips continue to explore her neck, the curve of her jaw, the spot where her skin is most sensitive. “Just a little longer, and then I’ll make breakfast. Like a good host.”

She lets out a soft chuckle as she leans back, surrendering to the warmth, to the moment, even if only for a fleeting instant.

“You know this isn’t right,” she murmurs, but her hands find yours, and she intertwines her fingers with yours, pulling you back to the bed.

“Maybe,” you admit, as you lie down together, her body curled up in your arms, her breath mingling with yours. “But who cares?”

She sighs again, as if giving up on fighting, and you stay there, lying together, exchanging gentle caresses, stolen kisses, and embraces that should mean less than they actually do. Her body fits perfectly against yours, and for a moment, everything feels right, everything feels exactly as it should be. But then she pulls away, just a little, enough to look you in the eyes, and there’s a seriousness in her gaze that you hadn’t noticed before.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she says, her voice firmer, more determined. “I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

You look at her, trying to understand what she’s saying, trying to decipher what’s behind those words.

“I won’t get hurt,” you respond, even though you know it’s not entirely true. “I just want you to stay.”

“And that’s what worries me,” she whispers, before getting out of bed again, the shirt still loosely draped over her body. “Come on, get up. I want coffee.”

You obey, even though part of you wants to drag her back to bed, keep her there, where everything seems simpler. But you get up, wearing only the sweatpants that were tossed beside the bed, and head to the kitchen to make breakfast. The smell of fresh coffee and toast fills the air as you fry some eggs and prepare slices of bread with butter and jam.

When you set the table, she’s already dressed in the dress from the night before, sitting at the table, watching you with a look that’s both curious and cautious. As if she’s trying to decide what to do with you, with what you two are—or aren’t.

“So,” you begin, as you sit down next to her, passing her a mug of coffee. “Tell me more about yourself. What do you do besides studying philosophy? Seriously, where are you from, anyway?”

She smiles, but it’s a fleeting smile, almost as if she’s trying to protect herself.

“It doesn’t matter where I’m from. And I don’t do much,” she responds, shrugging. “I travel when I can. I like to read. Sometimes I write.”

“Write?” you ask, intrigued. “What do you write?”

“Poetry, mostly,” she replies, but her tone is vague, as if she doesn’t want to delve into the subject.

You realize you won’t get much more out of her, so you change the topic, talking about light things, things of no importance. But you can’t shake the feeling that she’s keeping her distance, hiding something, and that only makes you want to know more.

“I want to see you later,” you say, almost without thinking, as you bring the coffee cup to your lips. “What do you think?”

She smiles again, but this time her smile is a bit more genuine.

“I’ll be the one to see you,” she responds, a sparkle in her eyes. “When I have time.”

That’s not what you wanted to hear, but before you can respond, she stands up, grabbing her bag and getting ready to leave. You follow her to the door, your heart racing, knowing you need to say something, anything.

“Shuhua,” you begin, hesitant. “I like you.”

She pauses, her hand on the doorknob, and turns to you, her eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and something you can’t quite identify. She shakes her head slightly, a small smile on her lips.

“I know,” she says softly. “But you’d better stop.”

And with that, she opens the door and leaves, leaving you alone in what’s left of a morning that should have been more than just another fleeting moment. And as you watch her walk away, a part of you knows she’s right, that maybe it’s better to stop. But another part, the part that still smells her on your sheets, that still tastes her on your lips, knows that you won’t be able to.

—

You’re sitting outside the lifeguard tower, on a wooden stool that always creaks a little, with the sun beating down on the sea and the beer cans stacked in a corner. Fourth? Fifth? Who’s really counting? The salt in the air, the heat. You’re relaxed, or at least you try to be. The sea foam dissolves into small waves, seagulls crying out as usual, and you almost forget everything. Almost. Until the sound of footsteps on the sand makes you open your eyes, and you see, like a ray of sun directly in your eyes, your father, arriving all beaming, that smile plastered on his face that you know well, almost a mask. But you know it’s real.

“Son, how many times do I have to tell you not to drink on the job?” he says, still smiling, but with a tone that can’t be ignored.

“I’m fine, I’m not drunk.” You respond, taking the can from your mouth and looking at him, defiant. You see the shadow of that smile fade a little, but he still keeps the sparkle in his eyes.

“If you have to do a rescue now, there’d be two drowned instead of one. That’s not what you were trained for, that’s not what your mother...”

He stops before finishing the sentence, as if the words dry up in his mouth. You look at him and feel that familiar discomfort. The pain that comes like an undertow, silent, but it pulls you down, without warning.

“I don’t care about drowning, honestly. Lifeguards are also at risk of drowning, you know. It’s just part of the job, I guess.” The words come out easier than you expected, but they hang in the air like cigarette smoke, hard to dissipate.

Your father looks at you, and the smile vanishes completely. He comes closer, crouching down to your eye level.

“What’s happening with you?”

You shake your head, trying to escape, but he keeps looking, with that piercing gaze. And then you give in, just a little.

“How do you do it? How do you stay like this, cheerful, even after she… left?”

He understands immediately, his expression softens, a little sad, but still firm.

“Because one day I’ll see her again.”

You look at him, unable to believe how easily he talks about it.

“And until then? How do you cope?”

“Until then, I look forward to that day.” He puts his hand on your shoulder and pulls you out of the cabin, the sun burning even more outside. He points to the pier, where the waves break gently, the sea calm, almost as if it’s waiting for something. “Your mother took me there one night, when we were young. She told me that if our souls were ever separated, we could meet again there, when the moon was full. Its light would make a silver bridge over the sea, and no matter where we were, we could reunite on that night.”

You stay silent, digesting every word, feeling the truth, heavy and luminous like the sun. That piece of history you never knew, a connection that was always there, but only now you can see. He looks at you again, a small smile at the corner of his lips.

“She never told me that.”

“There are many things we don’t know until we’re ready to know.” He gives your shoulder a light pat, something he’s always done to show he’s there, that he understands you.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel better. Just a little. But it’s enough to face the rest of the day.

—

You're walking along the boardwalk, with that killer sun reflecting off every piece of glass, metal, and tanned skin around. Your sunglasses cover more than just your eyes; they cover any trace of expression you don’t want to show. You pretend you’re just like everyone else, but every step, every movement is rehearsed, calculated to appear as relaxed as possible. The sea breeze carries the smell of salt and fried food, but you barely notice. Your vision is the only sense consciously operating, searching for one thing, or rather, one person.

And then, like a mirage in the desert, you see her. Shuhua, the girl of your thoughts. The wide-brimmed beach hat casting a shadow that draws half her face, her hair falling like a veil underneath. She’s smiling, waving, a vision amidst the chaos of half-naked bodies and hysterical laughter. You raise your hand to wave back, but then, right in the middle of it, the unexpected happens. A group of girls—bronzed bodies, bikinis too small, laughter too loud—bumps into you. They smile, toss their hair back, one of them even does that rehearsed laugh, like she’s in a summer commercial.

They start to circle you, flirting, their eyes lingering and hungry, their fingers almost touching your arms, your shoulders, inviting you to show them the beach in a way only you could.

“Hey, lifeguard, how about showing us where the best spot on the beach is?” one of them says, her voice full of insinuation.

You feel the heat rise, but it’s not the sun. It’s not the attraction you’d normally feel at another time. It’s not desire. It’s discomfort, the urgency to get away, to remove this obstacle. You look at Shuhua, see that she’s stopped, and for a second, just for a second, you think she’s going to turn around and leave. And that scares you more than the thought of having to redo lifeguard training.

“Sorry, girls, but I’m busy.” You spit the phrase out like you’re spitting sand from your mouth. A quick smile and you practically flee from the group, who giggle and make comments around you, but you no longer care.

You hurry toward Shuhua, and when you finally get close enough, she lets out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh.

“You seem to have a lot of fans around here,” she says, teasing, but with a tone that hides a hint of curiosity.

“They’re nothing, less than nothing,” you reply quickly, maybe too quickly. “I was looking for you.” And it’s not a lie. Not at all.

She smiles, her eyes narrowing under the hat, and for a moment, you think she really believes you.

“So, you found me. I was heading for lunch. Want to join me?”

As if she needed to ask.

“Sure,” you respond, with an enthusiasm even you don’t recognize.

As you walk to the restaurant, the tension in your shoulders that you always carry seems to dissolve a bit. Maybe it’s the sun, or the way she laughs at something you don’t even know. Maybe it’s just the fact that she’s here, beside you, and doesn’t seem to want to be anywhere else.

In the restaurant, the menu is simple, but who cares? Her eyes are on you, and you realize, for the first time, that she’s a bit smitten. In a way that makes your chest swell a bit because you know, without needing words, that she’s finding you interesting. Maybe more than she should.

“Do you have plans for later?” you ask, trying to sound casual as the food is placed on the table.

She looks up, that look that seems to pierce through you, but in a good way.

“Depends. What do you have in mind?”

You release the smile you’ve been holding back, the one you rarely use but know works.

“How about an ATV ride? At night. The beach is beautiful at night.”

She tilts her head, the hat almost falling, but it stays in place.

“Is that allowed?” she asks, but there’s a hint of mischief in her voice that says she knows the answer.

“No one needs to know.” Your answer is as quick as the beats of your heart.

She pretends to think, her eyes gleaming with a playful amusement you could almost touch.

“I think I can take the risk. Where and when?”

You already have the whole plan in your head. The meeting point, the path you’ll take. Everything is already planned.

“At nine, at the lifeguard station near the pier. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

She smiles, that smile that makes everything lighter, and you feel… complete.

“Then it’s a date.”

And just like that, with this simple nod from fate, you have the night planned. Something that calms the anxiety churning in your gut. Because this girl, this girl named Shuhua, she’s more than just a summer fling. Even if she never knows it. Even if you never say it. She’s the now, and for you, the now is all that matters.

—

Nine o'clock. The night breeze licks the beach, carrying the scent of salt, and the sound of the waves is the only thing grounding you to reality. The ATV is already waiting, and so are you. Adrenaline courses through your veins, mixed with a dose of anxiety. You wonder if she’ll show up. If tonight will be as good as you imagined a thousand times during the day.

And then, as if on cue, Shuhua appears on the horizon. The beach hat is left somewhere far away, her hair loose, blowing in the wind. She smiles in that way that illuminates even the darkest corners of your mind. She approaches with a confidence that makes the ground under your feet feel more solid, and you realize the wait was worth it.

“I hope this ATV is as fun as you promised,” she jokes, eyeing the sturdy machine like it’s a new toy.

“I promise you won’t regret it,” you say, helping her onto the ATV. She settles in behind you, her hands sliding around your waist until they find a comfortable position.

And then, without much thought, you accelerate.

The ATV surges forward across the sand, the wheels kicking up fine clouds that dissipate into the air. The engine roars, cutting through the night’s silence, and you feel Shuhua press against your back, an automatic reflex that makes your heart beat faster.

As the ATV picks up speed, the wind starts to whip across your faces, and Shuhua, without any warning, lets out a scream of pure joy. A sound that bursts into the night, echoing on the beach, and makes you smile uncontrollably. “Faster!” she shouts, her voice blending with the noise of the engine and the waves.

You obey, because, damn, how could you not? You push the throttle, feeling the ATV almost lift off the sand. The wind cuts across your face, almost painful, but it’s a pain you want to prolong. Shuhua keeps shouting, laughing with a freedom you can’t quite understand but desperately want to feel. And it’s as if, for a few minutes, the two of you are the only living beings in that slice of the world. Just you, the night, and the sea.

Eventually, you slow down because even freedom has its limits. Then you find a spot where the sand seems finer, almost white under the moonlight. You turn off the engine, and for a moment, everything returns to absolute silence. But it’s a good silence, for now, it’s good.

Shuhua climbs off the ATV, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She takes a few steps on the sand, looking around the beach. “Look,” she says, pointing to something on the ground. You move closer and see that they’re crabs, dozens of them, emerging from the sand and scattering across the beach like a small horde of creatures escaping from a nightmare. But there’s nothing threatening about it. Just nature in motion.

You both watch in silence for a while, each lost in your own thoughts, until you decide to break the silence.

“What did you do during the day?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

She hesitates, as if searching for the right answer.

“I went to the aquarium… and to a museum,” she finally responds, but something in the way she says it tells you there’s more she’s not revealing.

“Oh, cool,” you say, pretending not to notice. “There’s an institution nearby where kids learn to play instruments and make crafts. I thought about taking you there tomorrow. It’s amazing what they can do.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, but without the certainty you expected.

“We're talking about the last day,” you reply, and the sincerity in your voice makes her waver. You can see she’s considering it, weighing the options in her head.

She sighs, maybe accepting the inevitable.

“Okay, but only because it’s the last day,” she agrees, and you feel a small victory inside.

But before you can savor the moment, she changes the subject.

“I’m hungry. Take me somewhere that doesn’t serve seafood, please.”

You chuckle because, of course. Just because you’re at the beach doesn’t mean you have to eat seafood until you’re sick of it.

“How about pizza? There’s a pizzeria close by.”

“Hmm, great choice.”

And then, without further words, you help her back onto the ATV, and you head toward the city. The engine rumbles, the waves keep crashing on the beach, and you realize that, for a brief moment, everything feels right.

—

The pizzeria is one of those places that seems to have been founded alongside the city. The kind of place where the floor tiles have decades of history from people coming and going, dragging their feet without caring about what they leave behind. The walls are covered with black-and-white photos from old times, local landmarks, and some faded images of retired football players. Soft yellow lights, encased in rusty metal lamps, cast a tired glow over the wooden tables, where checkered tablecloths are worn from use.

The smell is a mix of melted cheese, tomato sauce, and something you can only describe as nostalgia. An old jukebox in the corner plays a melody no one is really listening to, but that somehow completes the scene. Shuhua chooses a table near the window, maybe to look outside, maybe to avoid having to look directly into your eyes. You're not sure. But it doesn’t matter either.

You order a pepperoni pizza because it’s the safest choice, and she agrees. While you wait, the waiter, who’s probably been there since the place opened, brings two beers without even asking. He must know it’s the only thing worth drinking here.

Shuhua fiddles with the rim of the bottle, her long, slender fingers sliding over the cold glass surface. There’s a nervousness in her movements, but you’re not sure if it’s because of you or because she’s with you.

You decide to break the tension… and ask what's been on your mind since morning.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Your voice sounds more normal than you expected.

She looks at you, confused.

“What do you mean?”

You take a sip of the beer, trying to appear relaxed.

“You and your boyfriend. How long have you been together?”

She hesitates, her eyes flickering from side to side as if searching for an invisible escape. Then, something changes. She gives up the lie she was about to tell.

“How did you find out?”

You lean forward, feeling the weight of the moment.

“I’m not stupid, Shuhua. It’s the only explanation for the way you’re acting. When we’re together, sometimes you look around as if you’re expecting someone to see you. That’s not paranoia. It’s guilt.”

Shuhua smiles, but it’s a humorless smile, something forced.

“Besides being a hot lifeguard, you’re also perceptive.”

You don’t care about the compliment.

“How long have you been together?”

She sighs, as if tired of hiding something that shouldn’t even be hidden.

“Since high school.”

Her words fall heavy between you, like a revealed secret that should never have been shared. You feel a pang of something, maybe jealousy, maybe anger, but you don’t let it show.

“Do you love him?” The question comes out before you can think.

She looks directly into your eyes, defiant.

“What difference does it make?”

You don’t look away.

“Answer honestly.”

A bitter laugh escapes her, laced with irony.

“It doesn’t matter what I answer. You still want to fuck me tonight, don’t you?”

Her bluntness stings, but you stand your ground.

“Why isn’t he traveling with you?”

She looks out the window, maybe trying to remember something good about the boyfriend she left behind.

“He’s taking care of his mother. Post-surgery. She had a mastectomy. It’s not serious, she’s fine, but she needs assistance. He didn’t want me to cancel the trip just because of him.”

You nod, not really knowing what to say. Then, you take a chance on another question.

“Why are you doing this?”

She hesitates, as if struggling with something inside her, and doesn’t answer.

“When did you figure it out?”

You shrug.

“This morning, when you left my place. I spent the whole morning thinking about you, about the night and the conversation we had, and eventually, I realized.”

Shuhua seems to absorb this information, and then she asks you something you didn’t expect.

“What does that make me?” You don’t have a ready answer. But she continues. “Are you still as interested as before?”

You lean forward, your eyes fixed on hers.

“At this moment, nothing else matters. I’m yours.”

She lowers her gaze to the table, the tips of her fingers sliding along the wood.

“Am I bad for doing this? You must think I’m a dirty person.”

You take her hand.

“I don’t care. I just.. don’t care. Shuhua, I like you so much, and if you like me too, that’s enough.”

Silence falls between you. This time it’s heavy, full of things that corrode, but somehow relieved by at least being shared.

Shuhua looks at you, her eyes softening a little.

“Take me to your place.”

You nod, saying nothing more. The waiter brings the pizza, but the hunger has been replaced by something greater. The bill is paid, the exit is quick, and the night air of the beach greets you like a cold embrace.

You realize that what’s happening is something you’ll never fully understand. But for now, you let yourself believe that maybe tomorrow you’ll understand a little better. Because believing is better than nothing.

—

You both enter the house in a burst of desire, your bodies colliding as if drawn together by an irresistible force. The kisses are urgent, hungry, a battle of tongues and teeth that almost makes you forget to close the door. Hands slide everywhere, eliciting moans and gasps of pleasure as they desperately try to rid you of the remaining barriers of fabric between you. Her breath is hot against your face, and her scent—a mix of soft perfume and pure excitement—invades your senses, making your heart pound in your chest.

Wasting no time, you gently push her down to the floor, your lips still locked on hers but soon trailing off to explore her neck, jawline, every inch of exposed skin you can reach. The salty taste of her skin, mixed with the heat radiating from her body, only heightens your desire. You feel her squirm beneath you, her nails scratching your back through your shirt in a desperate gesture.

There’s a brief moment where you both separate just enough to remove the remaining clothes. The sound of fabric being torn off, the muffled moans as eager hands explore each other's bodies, all blend into a cacophony of desire. When you’re finally both naked, the sight of Shuhua lying there, breathless, her eyes half-closed with pleasure and anticipation, is enough to drive you wild.

She lies back again, spreading her legs, offering herself to you without hesitation. The sight of her pussy, wet and throbbing, makes your cock throb with anticipation. Without wasting time, you lower yourself, your hot breath against her sensitive skin, before sliding your tongue slowly between her pussy lips, savoring every drop of pleasure. The taste is intoxicating, something that makes you want more, much more.

Shuhua arches her back, pushing her pelvis against your mouth as her hands tangle in your hair, pulling hard, urging you to go deeper.

“This feels so good,” she moans, her voice thick with need, encouraging you to plunge your tongue even deeper, exploring every corner, every curve, alternating with kisses on the insides of her thighs where the skin is thin and sensitive. Shuhua's moans grow in intensity, her hips moving in a rhythm that tries to guide yours.

“Fuck me,” she begs, her voice interrupted by moans. “Now, please, fuck me.”

You kneel, your hands gripping her ankles firmly as you lift her, opening her completely for you. With a deep thrust, you enter her, and the moan of pleasure that escapes her lips echoes through the room. Shuhua’s warmth envelops you, every internal muscle contracting around you, pulling you deeper, harder. You don’t stop, each thrust more intense than the last, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the space.

“Let me ride you,” she pleads, her eyes shining with a mix of lust and determination. Without hesitation, you lie down on the floor, the carpet almost cold compared to the heat emanating from Shuhua as she straddles you.

Her movements are slow at first, sensual, almost torturous. She moves like a goddess, each undulation of her body perfectly choreographed to maximize pleasure. Shuhua's moans intensify, her hands gripping yours as a point of support.

The sensation of her pussy, incredibly wet and slippery around you, makes you close your eyes. You feel every pulse, every contraction, and listen to every moan with attention. The pleasure is an electric current that runs through both of you, feeding off each other in an endless cycle of desire.

She leans over you, her small tits pressed against your chest, her face buried in your neck as you start pounding into her with force, each movement drawing loud moans from Shuhua. The sounds she makes—a mix of pleasure and agony—only increase the intensity of what you feel.

“Fuck me harder,” she whispers in your ear, the tone almost desperate. “I want to feel you deeper, I want to be completely yours.”

Her words are like gasoline on the fire of your desire. You increase the pace, each thrust deeper, more brutal, as if trying to merge with her, to become one. Shuhua's moans turn into screams, her body writhing beneath you as she surrenders completely to the pleasure.

Then, with a moan filled with pleasure and vulnerability, she whispers in your ear, “I want you to fuck my ass. It'll be my first time, so do it carefully.”

Her request is both shocking and exciting. You watch her as she turns over, getting on all fours, offering herself to you in a way that is both submissive and powerful. The sight of her small, tight ass makes your cock throb with renewed strength. You lower yourself, gently licking around the opening, exploring the texture and taste of her, feeling her tremble beneath you.

Every moan that Shuhua lets out as you lick her, preparing her, is an encouragement to go further. You wet your tongue thoroughly, rubbing it against the sensitive skin until she is completely lubricated. Then, slowly, you begin to insert a finger, feeling the initial resistance and hearing her moan, a mix of pain and pleasure.

“It hurts,” she admits, her voice broken, “but keep going… I like it.”

You move carefully, adding more lubrication with your tongue before introducing a second finger. Her ass gradually adjusts, the moans turning into deeper sighs of pleasure. With each movement, you feel her resistance decrease, her body adapting, opening up to you.

“Put your cock in,” she finally asks, her voice almost pleading. “I want to feel you all inside me.”

You position the head of your cock against the tight entrance, pressing slowly as you watch her every reaction. Her ass is incredibly tight, and you feel every inch slowly being swallowed by the warm, pulsing flesh.

“You're so tight,” you say, your voice thick with desire, as you push deeper, slowly allowing her to adjust.

“More,” she moans, her entire body trembling as you finally bury yourself completely inside her. The sensation is overwhelming, the heat and pressure around you intensifying every nerve, every fiber of your being.

You start to move, slowly at first, but soon Shuhua starts asking for more.

“Faster,” she begs, her tone urgent. “Fuck me faster, please.”

You comply with her request, increasing the pace, occasionally pulling out to lubricate in her pussy a bit before putting it back in her ass, which clenches tightly around you. Each movement brings a new explosion of pleasure. Her moans turn into screams, her voice hoarse as she nears climax.

“I’m almost there,” she warns, her fingers digging into the carpet as she holds on against the pleasure consuming her.

When she finally announces she’s going to cum, you don’t stop, continuing to pound into her with all the strength you can muster. She screams as the orgasm hits her, her whole body trembling violently as pleasure overtakes her, and you feel every pulse, every contraction around your cock.

Soon after, you feel your own climax approaching.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn, your voice tense with anticipation.

“Cum inside me,” she begs, her voice full of desire. “Fill my ass with your cum, babe.”

Her words are enough to push you over the edge. You feel an overwhelming wave of pleasure as you finally explode inside her, filling her with everything you have. She feels every pulse of your cock, every hot jet filling her deeply. The pleasure is so intense that your vision blurs, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears as you continue to move, prolonging the moment as long as you can.

As you’re still catching your breath, she slowly leans forward, spreading her cheeks with her hands. Your cum begins to drip out, a thick white line trailing down towards her pussy.

Shuhua looks back at you, smiling.

“Mmm, you came so much inside me,” she says, her voice soft and full of contentment, as you watch your cum drip from her. “I didn’t know this would feel so good… Fuck, I loved it.”

—

You’re floating between sleep and wakefulness, remembering what it felt like to hold Shuhua, her body pressed against yours as if she were an extension of you. The morning light is starting to filter into the room, but you don’t want to fully wake up. You’d rather linger in the haze of dreams, reliving the sensation of her skin on yours, her dark hair splayed across your chest, her scent, her sleepy voice—everything that made up that intimate moment.

You recall how she whispered, almost shyly, “I’m scared to go home.” Her voice was fragile, as if it might break. You didn’t say anything, just ran your hand through her hair, trying to brush away her fear with a simple touch. In that moment, everything seemed possible. Maybe she would stay. Maybe you’d have more time.

But now, on the threshold between dream and reality, you feel the emptiness beside you. You turn your head and open your eyes. She’s moving quietly around the room, putting on the clothes scattered on the floor, just as she did yesterday. And once again, you’re not willing to let her leave like this, as if she’d never been in your home, in your clothes, in your bed.

“Hey,” you murmur, your voice still hoarse from sleep. She stops, her shirt halfway on, and looks at you, her expression a mix of surprise and something like guilt. Before she can react, you get up, slip out of bed, and reach her. Your arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back into the warmth of the bed. She lets out a sigh, caught between discomfort and desire. “Stay a little longer,” you whisper against her neck, your lips finding a soft spot that makes her shiver. “At least until breakfast.”

She closes her eyes, as if trying to find the strength to resist.

“I can’t,” she replies, her voice wavering.

“Of course you can.” You turn her to face you, her eyes meeting yours, looking darker than they did yesterday. “Just a little longer.”

She shakes her head, pulling away, creating a distance that irritates you.

“I’ll eat somewhere else,” she says, her voice firmer now.

You feel the tension rising. Something’s different.

“What happened, Shuhua? Why are you acting like this?”

She turns her face away, avoiding your gaze.

“It’s none of your business.”

Then you remember that, at some point during the night, when you were asleep, a phone rang in the living room, the sound so faint that you almost thought you were dreaming. But it was real. Terribly real.

“Of course it is. We had something here… I know you feel the same.” Your voice rises, you can’t help it. “When will I see you again?”

“Maybe later,” she replies, almost automatically, as if saying what she thinks you want to hear.

You feel nauseous.

“Later, where? What time?”

She moves toward the door, her hands trembling slightly as she tries to grab her bag.

“Anywhere. Anytime.”

“That’s not an answer,” you say, following her, frustration starting to replace what was once concern. “I thought we had something.”

She stops at the door, her hand already on the handle. She looks at you, her expression a mix of sadness and determination.

“We did. But I can’t… I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what? Being happy?” you snap, knowing the words will hurt her, but unable to stop yourself.

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

“You don’t understand. And I can’t explain it to you.”

She leaves, and you stand there, in the living room, staring at the door as it closes, listening to the sound of her footsteps fading away on the street. The feeling of emptiness is like a black hole, sucking all the light and warmth out of the morning.

—

You're back at work, with sand sticking to your feet as you guide a group of tourists, all sunburnt and wearing ridiculous souvenir caps.

“What kind of creature is that, anyway?” one of them asks, curious, pointing at the dead animal on the sand.

“Look, folks,” you begin, trying to sound more authoritative than annoyed, “This is a jellyfish. Under no circumstances should you touch it. We're in jellyfish season, so they’re everywhere, and they’re not exactly friendly. Be careful if you’re going into the water.”

The tourists murmur among themselves, some raising worried eyebrows, others continuing to snap photos of the creature. You shake your head, a little weary of the routine, and turn to head back to the lifeguard station. As you walk, the waves break gently on the shore, a sound you usually find relaxing, but today it’s just another background noise amplifying your anxiety.

You push open the door to the cabin and barely step inside when a voice explodes beside you. “Boo!”

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. You spin around sharply, only to find your dad laughing like a kid who just pulled off a prank. He’s standing there, hands on his hips, wearing that smile that, somehow, never seems to age.

“Geez, Dad!” you mutter, trying not to show how much he really scared you. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack or what?”

Your dad just laughs louder, the kind of laugh that always fills the room with energy.

“Oh, come on, kid. If I can’t prank my own son, who else am I gonna do it to?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your face. That’s your dad, always full of life, always trying to make you laugh, even when all you want to do is dive into the sea and swim until you disappear from sight.

He pulls a flyer out of his pocket and hands it to you, still smiling, like he’s giving you a great gift.

“Look what I found out there!”

You take the paper, giving it a quick glance.

“What the hell is this?” you ask, but you already know the answer before you finish the sentence.

“Tonight’s luau! You remember the luau, don’t you? That town tradition, everyone gathering on the beach, dancing, eating...”

“Of course I remember,” you cut him off, tossing the flyer back onto the counter. “But honestly, Dad, I couldn’t care less about the damm luau.”

Your dad pauses, his smile fading for a second, like you just threw cold water on his enthusiasm.

“What? What do you mean, couldn’t care less? You used to love it.”

“That was when I was 15, Dad. Things have changed.”

He looks at you with an expression of disbelief.

“Changed how?”

You shrug, trying to seem indifferent, but Shuhua’s name is stuck on the tip of your tongue, almost slipping out.

“They just… changed. It’s not the same anymore. I’m not the same anymore.”

Your dad crosses his arms, clearly not ready to give up so easily.

“So what? Doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun. There’ll be a bunch of tourists there, hot girls who love a lifeguard. And let’s face it, you need to blow off some steam, son.”

You sigh, your thoughts still stuck on Shuhua. The idea of seeing other girls, forcing a smile, pretending to be interested, feels unbearable right now.

“I’m not in the mood, Dad. Not today.”

Your dad watches you for a moment, trying to read what you’re not saying. He’s seen this look before, back when you were a teenager trying to hide some secret.

“Does this have to do with that girl I saw with you yesterday?”

You shift uncomfortably, the tension growing.

“Let it go, Dad. It’s nothing.”

But he’s not fooled.

“Listen, whatever it is, you don’t have to be stuck in it. Things are what they are, but you can’t let that stop you from living your life.”

“I know, Dad. But this is different.”

“Everything feels different when you’re in it up to your neck,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “But trust me, kid. Go to the luau, relax a little. You might find some answers while you’re there.”

You nod, but your thoughts are still far away.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, just to end the conversation.

Your dad smiles, as if that’s good enough. “That’s all I ask. Now, keep an eye on the tourists. I’m gonna check on the rest of the beach,” and before leaving the cabin, he adds, “Oh, and no taking the ATV out for joyrides, young man.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.”

He smiles, and you watch him leave, still with that air of unbeatable optimism, like the world is a place where everything always works out in the end. You wish you could feel that too, but all you can think about is Shuhua. Whether she’ll show up at the luau, or if that was the last time you’ll ever see her.

—

Night has already fallen when you finally decide to go to the luau. It’s not so much a conscious decision as it is an automatic reaction. As if your body is pushing you toward where your heart wants to be, even though your mind is telling you to give up. You spent the day searching in various places, trying to find Shuhua, but she seemed to have vanished. And now, with the darkness settling in, the luau is your last option.

You arrive at the beach where the party is already in full swing. The atmosphere is a blend of colors and sounds, like a vibrant painting brought to life. The flames of the bonfires rise against the night sky, casting dancing shadows over the people around them. Groups gather around the fires, some playing guitar, others just laughing and drinking, all immersed in a carefree sense of freedom. The music plays, a tropical beat mixed with the sound of the ocean.

But you don’t belong here. While everyone around you seems light and carefree, you feel heavy, out of place, like a parasite in a foreign body. The laughter and smiles around you hit like acid rain, burning instead of refreshing.

And then you see your father. He’s on the other side of the bonfire, laughing loudly and holding a drink, surrounded by a circle of friends. He spots you and his face lights up with that simple, contagious joy he always seems to carry.

“Hey, look who decided to show up!” he shouts, waving you over to join them.

You force a smile and walk over, but your father already sees the hesitation on your face.

“I’ll stay just a bit,” you say, trying to sound casual. “Unless... something shows up.”

Your father raises an eyebrow, catching your true meaning.

“Something or someone?” he asks, with a look that says he already knows the answer.

You just shake your head, looking down.

“Whatever.”

He doesn’t give up.

“Listen, son, I know you’re going through something. But... wearing that funeral face isn’t going to help. Look,” he says, nodding toward a group of girls by another bonfire, “that one over there, with the short hair, has been eyeing you since you arrived.”

You don’t even bother to look.

“I don’t care. I didn’t come here for the girls.”

“Really?” Your father tilts his head, as if trying to solve a riddle. “Then why did you come?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, more frustrated with yourself than with him. But then he points his chin toward someone.

You finally look in the direction he’s indicating, and your heart stops for a moment. It’s Shuhua. She’s there, as beautiful and carefree as ever, but there’s something different about her. She seems radiant, brighter than you’ve ever seen her. When your eyes meet, she smiles and walks over, her long, graceful legs moving with a confidence that wasn’t there in the morning.

She wraps you in a hug and kisses you, and everything feels strange. Not the kiss itself, but the way she acts, so joyful, so carefree. It’s as if the Shuhua from the morning, the one who was scared and confused, has been replaced by this sunny version, perfect for the luau.

“Hey,” she says, still smiling.

You force a smile in return.

“Hey. You... seem different.”

“Me? No, I’m just enjoying the night. What else should I be doing?”

You spend the next hour at the luau, doing exactly that. Enjoying. You dance to the live music, join a group playing guitar, singing an improvised version of some Jack Johnson song. Shuhua is light, fluid, as if the world was meant to be enjoyed just like this. She grabs two glasses of some sweet, strong drink, toasting with you before downing it in one go. You laugh, drink, dance more. For a moment, you allow yourself to forget the dark cloud hanging over you. For a moment, everything is simple.

But eventually, the fatigue begins to set in. The bonfires start to die down, and the laughter around you grows softer. That’s when you look at Shuhua, and she’s there, leaning against you, still smiling, but with something in her eyes.

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, taking her hand. “I want to show you a special place.”

She looks at you, curious.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise. But trust me.”

She smiles, nodding, and you both leave the luau behind. The walk to the pier is quiet, just the sound of waves and footsteps on the sand. The pier is old, wooden, stretching out into the sea like a tongue reaching toward the unknown. At night, the place is deserted, lit only by the silver moonlight reflecting on the water below.

You walk to the end of the pier, where the world seems to stop. The sound of the waves is more intense here, crashing against the wooden pillars with a hypnotic rhythm.

Shuhua takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

“This place is beautiful,” she says, her voice soft. “I like the darkness... Here, we’re just shadows.”

You watch her, trying to understand what’s going on inside her.

“Shadows,” you repeat, as if the word carries a weight you’re only now beginning to grasp. “Is that what we are? Shadows?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, staring out at the water.

“Maybe. But with the light of the next morning,” she says, her voice low and poetic, “the sun will sweep away the night’s shadows. Forever.”

The silence that follows is heavy, each word a stone thrown into a bottomless well. You wait for the sound, but it never comes. You look at the sea, where the moon draws a silver path across the waves.

“Look,” you say, pointing. “Do you see the silver bridge over the sea?”

She follows your gaze and nods.

“Yes.”

“That bridge,” you continue, your words coming more slowly now, “it can connect us, no matter where you are. Even on the other side of the ocean, there will be a bridge like this. And you can walk across it and come to me. I’ll be here, in this same place. It’s where I belong. And I’ll be waiting.”

Shuhua smiles sadly.

“One day, you’ll get tired of waiting.”

“I learned to be patient from a certain someone,” you say, moving closer to her, gently touching her face. “And I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll be here.”

For a moment, she says nothing, just closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, as if trying to etch this moment into her memory. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice full of a sadness you don’t fully understand. “But... maybe you shouldn’t.”

You don’t respond because, deep down, you know she might be right. And there, on the pier, under the moonlight, you stay together. Shadows that, for now, still resist the morning light.

—

You hold her tightly by the waist, feeling her warmth blend with yours as you guide her toward the bed. The surroundings seem to dissolve under the intensity of the looks you exchange. Each breath is heavy with anticipation, each heartbeat a countdown to something inevitable, yet divinely uncertain. Shuhua is in your arms, so close you can feel the softness of her skin against yours, the intoxicating scent of her perfume mixing with the latent desire you both share. This is the last night you’ll have together, and that awareness is reflected in the intense passion shining in her eyes.

When you finally lay Shuhua down on the bed, your hands move with deliberate slowness, touching every curve of her body with an almost sacred reverence. Your lips find the delicate skin of her neck, delivering kisses that are both gentle and laden with desire. You feel her pulse quicken beneath your lips, a clear sign of the effect you’re having on her. Gradually, you move lower, removing the dress that covered her body, revealing her pale, delicate skin. Your kisses follow the path of the dress, leaving a trail of sensations behind. Your lips touch her tits with adoration, your tongue gently exploring every part, feeling the softness of her skin and her unique taste. You continue your descent, kissing her flat stomach, feeling the muscles contract under your touch until you finally reach the place where Shuhua’s desire is most evident. When your mouth finds her pussy, you suck with the uncontrollable desire you always have, each movement of your tongue making Shuhua moan with pleasure.

“I’m so wet for you,” she whispers, her voice thick with need and excitement, her body arching involuntarily with each new wave of pleasure.

Your response to her desire is immediate. You begin to remove your clothes, your cock already fully hard, pulsing with the need to be inside her. Shuhua, with a look that mixes lust and expectation, turns onto her stomach, her body’s muscles tense and ready.

“Fuck me now,” she begs, her voice husky, almost a moan, as she adjusts herself for perfect access. You climb onto the bed, kneeling behind her, your entire body alert, every nerve pulsing with the desire to possess her. When you finally enter her, the sensation is almost overwhelming. Shuhua’s pussy is incredibly tight, her legs slightly closed, amplifying the intensity of each thrust. You grab her ass firmly, feeling the soft, firm flesh under your hands, and start thrusting with fierce passion. Each thrust is deep and deliberate, drawing moans from Shuhua that fill the room like an erotic melody.

“Spank me... spank my ass,” she pleads, her voice almost desperate, and you obey, delivering slaps that make her pale skin flush with a bright red. The feel of your hand meeting her flesh is hypnotic, and every time you spank her, she responds with more moans, more pleasure.

“Like that... harder,” she demands, and you do exactly what she wants, feeling the connection between you deepening with each new slap, each new thrust.

With your cock now fully lubricated by Shuhua’s wetness, an irresistible desire to go further takes over you. Without warning, you guide your cock to her ass, the tight entrance offering a resistance that only heightens your excitement. The gasp of surprise and lust that escapes Shuhua’s lips is like fuel to the fire inside you.

“So good,” she murmurs, almost breathless, as she adjusts to the new rhythm. “It feels so good... fuck me deeper,” she begs, her voice trembling with pleasure. You lean over her, lying on top of her, your weight pressing her into the bed as you continue to penetrate her. The movements become even more intense, and you feel Shuhua tremble beneath you, her body responding to each thrust with a new wave of pleasure. you give gentle nibbles on Shuhua's earlobe, while your moans echo in her ear, an erotic song that makes Shuhua writhe in pleasure.

“I love hearing you moan in my ear, babe” she whispers, her voice thick with pleasure, and you feel the connection between you intensify even more, a mix of love and wildness that you both share without reservations.

The need for a change is instinctive. You both turn onto your sides, you still inside her, each movement smooth and controlled. In this position, the intimacy between you reaches a new level. With Shuhua’s body perfectly nestled against yours, you feel each of her breaths, each heartbeat, as you continue to fuck her from the side. Your hands roam her body, one holding her waist firmly, guiding the movements, while your mouth explores her neck, with kisses of affection and licks of desire. Shuhua’s moans grow louder, more urgent, and you feel her body begin to tremble as she approaches climax.

“I’m gonna cum, babe... don’t stop... please, don’t stop,” she begs, her eyes closed, her lips parted in ecstasy. You feel her body tighten around you, every muscle contracted in anticipation, and when she finally cums, you watch as she loses control. Her body arches, her moans turn into muffled screams, and you feel the wave of pleasure wash over her body, reverberating within you.

With her climax still hanging in the air, you continue, feeling your own pleasure rapidly approaching.

“I’m gonna cum,” you announce, your voice hoarse with desire and need, and Shuhua, still breathing heavily, quickly turns around, her body moving with feline grace.

“In my mouth... I want all your cum in my mouth,” she pleads, kneeling over you.

Her lips close tightly around the head of your cock, while her agile tongue slides and teases, pulling moans from you that echo through the room.

“Give it to me... fill my mouth with your cum,” she begs, and those words are enough to push you over the edge.

When you cum, it’s as if an overwhelming wave of pleasure sweeps through your body, and Shuhua receives every spurt of cum with an almost indecent enthusiasm. She doesn’t pull back; on the contrary, she sucks harder, her tongue swirling around the head of your cock, making sure not to let a drop escape. You watch, completely spent, as she swallows everything, her eyes lifting to meet yours.

“Mmm... Your cum tastes so good,” she whispers as she licks her lips.

“You’re incredible, Shuhua. Fuck… You’re so fucking hot,” and it’s all you can say at that moment.

—

That night dissolved into fragments, like an old film burning at the edges, the moments flickering and disappearing before you could grasp them. But some sparks of moments were still vivid, like when you both ran along the beach, your feet sinking into the cold sand as the salty wind cut across your faces. Shuhua laughed, the sound escaping her as if joy was something impossible to contain. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to keep moving, because stopping meant thinking, and thinking was something both of you wanted to avoid at all costs.

You two danced without music, moving to the silent beats that only the two of you could hear. The moon lit you up, turning the sand into liquid silver. She spun, arms wide, head tilted back, her hair floating around her like a dark crown. And you followed her, because there was no other choice, because she was the only thing that made sense that night.

The sea called to you, the waves licking your feet, cold like the reality you were trying to escape. She laughed again, a sound muffled by the water, and you let yourself laugh too, even if it was just a pale imitation of what she felt. You walked back to town in silence, just following the lights that blinked in the distance.

The places you passed seemed unreal, like poorly painted backdrops in a cheap theater. There were lights, there were people, but none of it mattered. You were the only ones who existed, caught in a current pulling you toward each other, keeping you together while the world around you disintegrated.

You remember it now as if it were a dream. The blurred faces, the faded neon colors, the distant sounds. Everything fleeting, so fast that you barely had time to realize what was happening before it was already over. Everything, except her. She was real. She was the only thing that didn’t disappear.

Until you wake up.

The room is empty. You’re alone. Shuhua is gone, without a sound, without a goodbye. She slipped through your fingers this time, point for her. Well, maybe it’s easier this way. But you’re left with the feeling of something lost, something ripped away from you without warning. The bed still carries the warmth of her body, but there’s no one there anymore. Just the echo of what was and what could have been.

You remember her crying last night. Out of nowhere, as you were leaving a carousel, the tears just started falling. She didn’t say anything, just threw herself into your arms, as if she wanted to disappear. And you didn’t ask why because asking would only hurt her more, so you just held her, feeling the tremor in her body, the weight of the impending farewell. She cried again later, when you were both in bed after sex. You wondered how long she had been holding it in, if you were the first anchor she found or just the first one she had.

Now, sitting on the bed, you look at the spot where she was lying. The pillow is still a little damp. Secret tears she couldn’t hide, marks of a sadness you couldn’t heal. You pick up the pillow, holding it for a moment as if it could give you some answer. Something slips from it, sliding softly onto the sheet.

The photo. The Polaroid you took of her the first time you met. Hard to say exactly when she put it there, whether it was the first, second, or last night. Not that it matters, anyway. The sea is behind her, her long dress blowing in the wind, her face turned to the horizon as if waiting for something that would never come.

You turn the photo over and see the words written on the back, in delicate handwriting:

“This is where I stay.”

You feel a tightness in your chest because you know what she meant. This is where she stays, where she belongs. Not with you, but with the moment, the memory, the place that will never move.

She said goodbye there, in those simple words.

And you’re alone, holding a photo that’s now all that’s left. The distant sound of the waves reaches you through the window, and for a moment, you imagine a silver bridge over the sea. A bridge that could have connected you if things had been different.

But all you have now is this fleeting memory, a dream that you’ll eventually struggle to recall, already fading like shadows in the first light of morning.

[urinarythreatinfection]

Shoulders

Various x tall male reader. Shanks, Usopp, Luffy, Sanji. You put your babygirls on your shoulders. No relationship but crush.

Shanks

“Ugh..” Shanks gets on his tippy toes to try and look at something, he’s a tall man but somehow not tall enough to get a good view. This cliff is high and he knows it would be awesome if only there weren’t a hill just about blocking it. “So much for being tall..” Shanks huffs and you spot him moping.

“Something wrong Captain?” You ask him, significantly taller. “Woah, the view here is really nice.” To you the hill isn’t blocking anything so you admire it, almost forgetting your captain until you look back at him staring at you.

“Way to shove it in…” He grumbles and you process what he’s talking about before getting excited.

“Captain, are you too short to see it!?” You ask him and he sighs.

“Just not tall enough, not that I’m short.” He has an exasperated smile on his face but he is actually bummed that he’s missing a nice view. Shanks just knows for a fact if he brought this up with any other crewmates or tried to grab something to get higher he would get made fun of, so he’s just been trying to get a good view on his own. He even contemplated jumping, but that would be a temporary solution since he would fall eventually. As he’s thinking he feels his waist being grabbed. “Hm?” He’s being lifted. 

“How’s this?” You ask as you put him on your shoulders. He grabs onto your head to balance himself and then looks up, eyes widening before he could get a chance to say anything else.

“I can see it now!” He says as he gets comfortable on your shoulders. His eyes sparkle, this is amazing! He looks down at you “I should say my thanks, I’m not heavy?” 

“Light as a feather, Cap.”

“Flattering~ Try not to break any woman’s hearts with that line. Almost got me with that.” He teases and averts his gaze back to the view, gotta keep it cool before he gets embarrassed himself.

…

“Should I keep trying then?” You mumble and he looks back down at you, shocked.

“..Ah?” He processes it then looks back up, patting your head. “..yeah..maybe..” His ears are blending in with his hair, cute.

Usopp

“Dammit.” He holds his binoculars to his eyes, unable to get a good vantage point from this height. He’d already boasted that Zoro and Luffy didn’t need to worry about the Marines and that he could deal with them from afar, but like this he isn’t sure if he could do it. 

“Are you having trouble?” You walk up to him while asking. Oh great, now his crush is here to watch him fail. 

“Not at all, just taking my time you know since I really gotta get this right, of course I could do it anytime I want-” He starts to ramble on and on while you stare at him. Eventually you figure out what the problem is and grab him, plopping him onto your shoulders. “Eek! What are you-”

“Look.” You motion for him to try again and he looks towards the crowd of marines again, realizing that now he can get a good shot, but now he’s flustered because you’re both touching and oh my god his crotch is on the back of your head he needs to stay calm. “C’mon, take aim.” He clears his throat, trying to put himself together as he looks back towards the crowd of marines.

‘Don’t miss this chance and embarrass yourself Usopp, he’s right here.’ He thinks to himself as he aims his slingshot, taking aim before he finally fires a Pop Green, which detonates in the middle of the crowd. Plants shoot up from the ground and start eating the marines, multiplying and taking care of the whole crows without the crew having to run over and do it themselves. “I did it!” He cries happily, slowly going limp until you catch him in your arms.

“You did it! Are you okay?”

“Yeah just nerv- I mean of course I’m okay! That was nothing.” He sits up in your arms.

“Oh I guess I don’t have to carry you.” He freezes and then goes limp in your arms again.

“I have I-can’t-walk-until-we-get-back-onto-the-Sunny disease.” You smile and walk back to The Sunny with him in your arms. 

Luffy

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm..” Luffy stares at the wall above him. They’re at an island and Franky’s building something cool, but is keeping it a secret from Luffy no matter how much he begs since he would be too excited too early and end up blabbing to everyone else. He can’t jump to the other side because he might crash into it, so he stretches up and tries to put his arms on the ledge. Slippery! They slip off and he snaps back to the ground and falls back with a grumble. That means he probably wouldn’t be able to just jump on the wall either. There aren’t any trees or anything around for him to climb on either…. Maybe he could just go gear 4 to bounce up?

“Luffy?” He hears your voice and jolts, turning to face you like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “..Trying to see what Franky’s building?”

“I just wanna take a peek! I won’t tell anyone else!” He whines, trying to stretch up again but slipping off for the second time. No getting to see the cool invention and now he’s failing right in front of you! He’s about to change into Bounce Man when you lift him up onto your shoulders. “Don’t say I did this, okay?” His eyes twinkle, why didn’t he think of this sooner. Convenient and he gets to be on your shoulders. You watch as the captain looks up.. and suddenly goes silent. “...Luffy? What is it?” It’s just an even higher wall that says “Using (Y/n) isn’t going to work either.” 

“Nooooooooooo!” It never mattered, there’s a ceiling too so gear 4th wouldn’t have worked either.

Sanji

“Fuck.” Sanji mutters to himself, he had been shopping with you when he spotted some ladies being harassed. Him, being a gentleman, couldn’t just let that slide; so he beat the shit out of the men. After they were sufficiently beat up and the ladies were sufficiently flirted with he had realized his groceries were gone. At first he was worried that they were stolen but when he looked up he just realized that in the heat of battle he had accidentally flung the bags up and onto a roof. 

“How did you even manage that?” You mumble, staring up at them. 

“This is all those damn scumbags’ fault.” He’s started to heat up again before you put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. The cook sighs. “I’ll get them.” The cook says, but right as he’s about to air walk you pick him up and place him on your shoulders so he can reach. His eyes are wide and he freezes.

“Sanji? Can you reach it now?” He stays frozen, he’s been placed on your shoulders. Your shoulders. Your amazing spectacular comfortable shoulders oh so helpfully despite him being able to have done it himself because of course you would you’re so amazing and kind. 

“L’amour de ma vie.” He speaks before he can stop himself, then turns bright red. 

“You say something?” You ask from below and he panics.

“Nothing!” He quickly says, grabbing the groceries and holding them to his thumping chest. Gods, he needs to control himself now before he gives anything away. Sanji stays there, trying to control his heartbeat.

“Sanji. Uh, are you gonna get off?”

“Merde, sorry..!” He quickly hops off of your shoulders, landing on the ground. You realize something.

“Oh you could’ve just gotten up there on your own, sorry I was so focused on helping you I forgot.”

“It’s fine, more than fine, you can do that whenever you wan- whenever I need it—and you’re willing to give it of course.” Yeah he’s so screwed. You just smile at him, and he immediately freezes before blood trickles from his nose. 

“Hey!? Wha- there’s no girls right here, what happened!?” You fuss over him as he spaces out, thinking of how much he loves his life right now.

××××××

L’amour de ma vie = Love of my life

Merde: Shit

if you guys want any more characters with this send a request or say so

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

11 — COME BACK TO REMIND ME OF WHO I WAS

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I forgot how ugly he was.”

Price, beside you, raises a slightly bemused brow. Taking the binoculars from your easy grip, he too, examines the target standing on the mansion’s balcony. A cigar sits between Price’s lips, mirroring the less sophisticated Marlboro between the Lieutenant General’s.

The man, one of the few higher-ups you were somewhat close with, is a decorated Shadow Company leader. Known for his strategy and persuasion, he was always a good asset.

Shame he was always this side of too touchy, and a general ass to anyone who had a vagina. Or an inclination for the same sex.

Real pity that he’s the one with the information you need, and the one you can’t kill.

“You’re not wrong, darlin’,” Price murmurs under his breath, exhaling a puff of smoke as he slips the cigar from his mouth, the cherry burning in the dark of night.

Ghost, like usual, is found a few buildings down, sniper at the ready. Soap and Gaz were ordered to stay behind for this mission, much to their chagrin. It was the closest you’d seen Gaz fight with his Captain, and Soap was just being generally pouty.

Both you, and Price, had managed to reason that expertise in explosions and protection wasn’t exactly wanted for a quick get-and-grab.

And, maybe, a small part of you needs a break from the two Sergeants. Your night with Gaz has infected your mind, even now, the day after. And seeing him, with his bright smile and dimples and eyes made your heart skip a beat. Especially with how no one could know of your rendezvous, lest you be kicked out of the deal.

Or worse.

You swallow, once, accepting the binoculars once more when Price hands them back to you with another puff of his cigar. He’s surprisingly courteous about it, not blowing the smoke into your face.

“Lt, we have eyes on the target. Over,” you speak into your radio, eyes like a hawk as you watch the Lieutenant General shake off flakes from his cigarette over the pristine white railing. He’s shorter than most, especially considering his rank, and you can’t help a small, private smile growing on your face at that small fact.

“Been around bloody Johnny too much,” Ghost mutters, and you roll your eyes. “No hostiles spotted, you’re good to go.”

Rising into a crouch, Price gives you a curt nod, before gesturing for you to follow him. You do so with quiet movements, the only sound the barely there crunch of dirt underneath your boots.

Your previous Lieutenant General was always an uncomfortably wealthy man, and you see now what he’s chosen to do with such an abundance of money. He lives in an off-the-grid mansion, deep in the middle of nowhere, only hills and trees around him.

Those families in Las Almas, displaced and killed and ruined – they were entirely more deserving of just a fraction of this wealth. Your tongue feels coated with something sour.

Price smells like cinnamon and spice, even in his gear, and it’s a scent that settles in your belly like a warm stew. 

It’s rare, these days, to see daylight. All this recon work done well past midnight, hiding in the shadows and staying low. Not your favourite, but at the same time, it’s kind of… nice, doing this, just you and Price and the moon. No having to tiptoe around what to say around Gaz, or avoiding Soap’s innuendos.

If only it wasn’t for Ghost, too, watching over the two of you.

God, how you hated that man. His snarky comments, the roll of his eyes, his mask he refused to take off. And the way he almost looked down at you, questioned your authority, not unlike all the men you’d known. Worked alongside. Hated, too, in much the same vein.

You wonder, distantly, if he’ll ever come around. If there was at all a possibility of a civil interaction between you both, one that didn’t end in death threats or glares or passing out.

“Somethin’s on your mind.”

Head snapping up, you meet Price’s knowing blue eyes. Calculating, always aware, always ready for the worst case scenario.

“Not really, Cap,” you easily shake off in a whisper, continuing to follow him, until your backs are pressed against the beige, concrete wall. Your assault rifle is pulled to your chest, safety off.

The bandage on your cheek had been replaced just this afternoon, a soothing balm and fresh wrappings alleviating the growing itch that had been forming on your face. What was another scar, even? This one, at least, had somewhat of a neutral memory attached.

Ghost’s chest, his arms, a single threat turned into a promise.

You blink.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you underestimate our smarts,” Price says, low, under his breath. His words have you halting.

“Sir –”

“I know you’re used to bein’ the smartest kid in the regiment,” he continues, not unkindly, “But you’d do yourself well to remember that my boys are here for a reason, too. We know more than you give us credit for.”

His voice is deep, gruff, even in the low whisper he’s reduced to. 

A shiver erupts down your spine as you feel out where to start climbing the wall, trying not to look at the man next to you. His words – they hit a part of you that you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Never said you guys weren’t smart, Captain.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Colonel.”

You have nothing to say to that – an irony, all things considered. Instead, you jerk your head towards the bricks that’ll allow you both to scale the side of the mansion. With your gloves on, the two of you make it to the third floor, shuffling through an open window.

It’s pitch black, except for a lone light turned on in your target’s study, just down the hall.

The air is stale, stifling, potent with old filing and decade-old cologne. It has your throat feeling clogged, your eyes slightly glassy as you move towards the light, gun at the ready.

This is, you realise, the first time you’re working beside the Captain.

You’d worked in tandem, obviously, but never so closely knit like this. With him at your six, his body like a furnace when beside your own, it’s an entirely new dynamic. So different to that of his subordinates – more steady, controlled.

Ghost is silent over the radio, a small mercy, as you two find your way into the study, backs to the wall as you quickly clear the room. You never knew when a surprise could be awaiting you.

“Check the drawers, I’ll look through the shelves,” Price whispers, a direct command delivered in a raspy breath.

You nod, immediately transferring your gun to your back as you rush through the desk’s contents.

The room is dusty, obviously having seen little use in recent years, and the drawers are filled to the brim with knick knacks. Old paper clips, photos, receipts – everything, except for what you need.

“Got anything?” You find yourself asking, a harsh whisper in the still quiet of the room.

Price shakes his head, a stern movement, still searching through the shelves with a stealthy yet quickened pace. You focus back on the drawers, going through each one with efficient and expert ease. Some old gum packets, paper clips. Fuck.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your throat feels thick with dread.

The contract you were looking for – it could be the beginning of the end. You needed this like you needed air, right now, and if you didn’t find it –

“Darlin’,” Price calls, smooth but demanding. You instantly look up, drawn to the man like a moth to a flame. “We’re goin’ to find it. Stop thinkin’.”

It’s, obviously, easier said than done.

You appreciate his sentiment – the way he’s trying to guide you – but that sinking feeling of despair has you gripped in its tenuous claws; unrelenting and powerful and cruel. It feels as though everything is riding on this; like your very existence will disappear as soon as you find out the document has.

A hand on your shoulder startles you out of your thoughts.

It’s Price.

“You need to get your head in, Colonel,” he orders, his voice no longer patient or kind. This is the voice of a Captain. “I am not about to waste my time here if you can’t do your job.”

It’s exactly what you need, right now, and he knows it. You know it.

You take a breath.

And you nod.

He claps your shoulder, a firm glint in his eyes as he jerks his head towards the rest of the room. You’re running on a timer – your mini spiral an unnecessary hurdle. All you have to do is block off that side of your brain, and get the bloody job done.

Although Ghost is still silent as ever, you can feel his looming presence even without being at all in his line of sight.

It’s debilitating.

With more meticulous movements and keener eyes, you look through the drawers. Less desperate, more knowing, because if there’s any doubt that you won’t find it –

“Target is leaving the balcony – I’m ‘bout to lose sight on ‘im,” Ghost’s quick voice starts through your radio. The slight tone of worry has every inch of you on edge. Your wide eyes flicker to Price’s – whose jaw sets.

“Copy, Lieutenant,” Price murmurs, voice low.

The gun strapped to your back feels heavier than before, now, and your hand drifts to the pistol attached to your thigh. The same one that’s come in handy time and time again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps – down the hall. Heading towards –

A hand on the scuff of your neck. A door being pulled open – pitch black.

Your heart thunders in your chest, Price’s hand pressed against your sternum, his chest against yours. The air is tight, and you’re cornered in a…

Closet.

Price pulled you into a closet – and now, you’re stuck with his thigh between yours and his arm outstretched above your head. You feel entirely weak before him, the Captain of the 141.

If it was at all in question, anymore, you would’ve considered that this would be the perfect time to kill you. To be rid of Grave’s right-hand woman, and to cut off any loose ends.

Instead, all you can feel is his warm breath against your forehead.

The footsteps pause, but the creak of the study’s door has your spine rigid all over again. Price presses in closer to you – and you don’t make a single movement. Don’t speak a single word, in case its very syllables are your undoing.

You can’t see, not in this speckled darkness, but price’s very existence feels so strong against your own that you can’t help but shudder a breath.

“Sir – You can’t possibly be serious. Use your damn brain.”

Your ex-Lieutenant General hisses into what you assume is his phone. And by his grating voice dripping with stress? There’s only one man on this Earth that he could be talking to.

Phillip Graves.

You can’t make out what your Commander says in response – not through the small, tinny voice of the phone, but you can pretty much guess his sentiment.

“Most of our men are gone! We can’t take down that bloody Task Force –” He hisses, his voice palpably furious. Without realising it, you find yourself curling in further to Price – his own head ducking down to shield you subconsciously.

The creak of the study’s floorboards, echoing under the weight of the man’s boots, makes your heart pound.

You feel not unlike a small child, hiding from their parents while the sound of yelling and smashing glasses echoes around the room. The long since buried memory of your father – before he left, before he broke your mother’s heart – of dark hair and angry, pulsing veins. The same veins you inherited.

The ones of which you wish you could carve out of your skin, just to watch the fury bleed out.

“Why the fuck is she so important? Good pussy or not –” Your heart, a thud, thud, thud, “ – She’s just a girl. She’s not worth it.”

Price’s hand tightens his hand, unconsciously clasping your throat like it’s a new necklace of yours. It’s oddly comforting, even if it threatens to block your airflow. His chin nearly rests atop your head, so close, but all you get is the waft of cigars and ink.

Graves must respond with something – something that the man just a few feet away from you does not appreciate.

“At this rate, the worst case scenario is that she finds out,” the man starts to pace, the rhythm of his footfalls matching the heaving rises of your chest, “And then what? Get your fucking head in, Commander.”

Your mind’s flooded with possibilities, what could possibly constitute the worst case scenario, when the next sentence shatters you entirely.

“She’s smart, Commander, and she’s gonna want to figure out the truth of dear old mum’s death soon. Don’t be idiotic.”

Silence.

Your ears ring – your throat closes, and your common sense crumbles at your feet. 

The next few moments happen in easy, recognisable steps.

One. You shove Price off of you – not in a way that’d cause him pain, but forceful enough that he can’t push back in time to stop you.

Two. You swing the closet door open, the light flooding your view, along with the large frame of the Lieutenant General.

Three. You slide your trusty pistol from your hollister, flick off the safety, and aim with a shaky grip.

And you shoot.

The bullet slices clean and true through the man’s forehead, blood instantly dripping between his eyes as he falls forward, body slumping, until the phone clatters to the carpet alongside him.

Price yells something. You can’t hear it past the ringing in your ears, the muffled sound that drifts between reality and thought.

Dropping to your knees, you clasp the phone in your grip, blood staining the face of it. You bring it to your ear, hand no longer shaking. Steady as a surgeon.

Graves says something, sounding desperate.

“When I kill you, Commander,” you rasp, and you think you can hear Ghost’s irritating voice through your radio, “I’ll do it the same way I plan to finish Shepherd.”

“You’re gonna regret –” Graves hisses, but all you do is pull the phone from your ear, and press the circular red button.

The line cuts.

A hand falls to your shoulder, shaking you, and it’s only then that the ringing stops, and all of your other senses fall back into place.

The hand moves to the hair at the base of your skull, Price fisting it and pulling your head back to face him. He looks… angry, but it’s softened, somehow, by the understanding in his blue eyes.

“You had one order, Darlin’,” he borderline growls, and your skin prickles, “Tell me what that was.”

A petulant child is what you are. How he’s treating you.

You answer anyway.

“Not to,” you swallow, throat dry, “Not to kill him. Captain, you have to –” His grip on your hair tightens, and your words stop short.

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “If you’re gonna let your feelings get in the way of our mission…”

Even though he doesn’t finish his sentence, you understand the meaning of it. You’re acting reckless, growing impatient – risking yourself and others over petty disputes.

Everything feels so difficult, right now, impossible to comprehend. Like your mind’s on auto-pilot, your body, too.

Price releases his grip from your hair, and you find your gaze moving to the body laid in front of you.

And…

A piece of paper – folded – has fallen just beside his jacket’s pocket. You lean forward, clasping it between your hands without a second thought, and open it up with careful movements.

With every word you read, your mouth falls open wider – until you find yourself standing on unsteady feet, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

It’s.

“It’s not the contract,” you breathe, realising Price is just watching, waiting, looking out for you. You finally look up from the sheet. 

“It’s something better.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @cedar-bees @xvintageghostx @leiaa34 @thigh-o-saur

[your-averagewriter]

"Thinking I don’t love you, ‘course I do, sweetheart.”

Summary: (y/n) storms off after an argument with Cooper thinking he doesn't care about her but she soon realises that someone is trailing her.

Word count: 0.8K

Warnings: Swearing

-

-

“Fuck you, Cooper.” I grab my rucksack

“I’d happily oblige.” He teases despite me being frustrated.

“I’m not joking, Cooper, leave me alone.” I say storming off.

“If that’s what you want, sugar.” His refusal to react with any emotion only makes me more annoyed as I walk off into the desert. 

“I’m serious, I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” I yell, turning back to look at him briefly before heading off into the desert, despite it nearly being night time.

The temperature drops quickly as the sun disappears from the sky but I keep my eyes set on some ruins not too far on the horizon to stay for the night, just to be away from Cooper no matter how cold I’ll be without him.

Getting there, I stay the night on the cold, hard floor, regretting not taking the makeshift bedding from Cooper’s bag when I left so I prepare for an uncomfortable night.

Unsurprisingly, I wake up early in the morning, just as the sun comes up, waking me up as I pack all my stuff up and leave, deciding arbitrarily that I’m heading into town to top up on supplies that I forgot to take from Cooper before leaving.

I stop from lunch, sitting down at the top of a sand dune and pulling a small amount of food that barely equals lunch but it’s the best I’ve got to eat. Ripping open a pack of overly dry crackers, I bite into one of them, regretting not taking more water from Cooper.

I keep watch on the horizon before seeing someone walk over one of the dunes, I take my sniper off my back, using the scope to check out the threat before seeing someone dressed exactly like Cooper. I sigh when he gets closer, his face identifiable.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I mumble, watching as Cooper walks through the desert, the same path as I was walking.

I throw my backpack on, opting to eat the dry crackers on the move to get away from him. Checking back every now and then, he trails me throughout the desert but stays far enough away that I can’t talk to him, barely able to identify him without my scope.

I turn around and stop walking and watch as he gets a pair of binoculars I bought for us out of his bag to look at me and I put my middle finger on both hands up at him, hoping he’ll get the hint but I imagine he just laughs, dismissing me.

He follows me until I reach the treeline where he’s unable to see me anymore, waiting for him to take the bait. Waiting, I use my sniper scope to see how close he gets and as soon as he breaches the treeline I stand up.

“Can you stop fucking following me? I told you I was done.” I huff.

“You ain’t done. You ain’t never gonna be done with me ‘cause you couldn’t handle it.” He smirks.

“You seem to be the one who couldn’t handle it - following me around.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I need you as much as you need me so why are you messing around?” He asks.

“Because you’re a dickhead.” I point out.

“That’s true but I’m a lotta things and if that’s the only one you have a problem with then I’d say you’re dealing with me pretty well.”

“I have more problems with you.” I cross my arms, stubborn.

“Please, go ahead, feel free to list ‘em.”

“You’re mean, you’re rude, you never admit when you’re wrong, you, you, you never wear socks with your shoes.” He chuckles at the last one. “And you never tell me you love me and it feels like I’m just following you around like some lost puppy that you found on the street and felt bad for.” 

“You done?” I take a breath that he takes as a yes. “You’re one silly woman, you. Thinking I don’t love you, ‘course I do, sweetheart.” He scoffs, wrapping his arm affectionately around my neck and pulling me closer to press a kiss to my forehead. “Now stop running away and come back with me.”

I pretend like I’m even gonna make the choice not to go with him, I didn’t take all the supplies I would’ve needed and I can’t even lie about the fact that I love him and probably wouldn’t last that long without him. “Fine.” I sigh. “But you’ve got some making up to do.”

“‘Course, ‘course. If I didn’t make you feel loved then I’ve definitely got some making up to do.” He says. “Now, get your bag, let’s go.” He says and I grab my rucksack, throwing over my back before he takes it off of me carrying it for me. “Least I could do.” He says, when he sees my slight confusion but I don’t complain. “Now come on, sweetheart.”

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

Thank you for reading!

[irisintheafterglow]

i'm having many thoughts about bf!satoru playing pretend with little megumi so bear with me.

"oh no, we've been hit by a sudden lightning storm! get down, buddy!"

"no, we haven't! your yelling is going to scare the tigers away."

"tigers? i thought we were in africa."

"we were in africa yesterday, but we took a ship to india and now we're looking at tigers."

"oh, you're right. sorry, i'm not good at keeping track of our travel itinerary."

"it's okay; that's why i write it all down in your passport."

the vague sounds of your boyfriend and your unofficial son ring out in the apartment. you shake out your umbrella and hang your coat by the door, the sounds of incessant rain pattering against your windows. your boys are nowhere to be found.

"megs? 'toru?"

"in here!" you follow your boyfriend's voice to the room that you've designated as megumi's room, a place for him to call his own whenever he wasn't staying with family. it was sparsely decorated because you'd only moved into the new space a few days ago, but it was already cozier than the stale dorms at jujutsu tech. "we've decided to adventure into the jungle," satoru says from within the tent pitched in the middle of the room.

"mhmm," you hum in amusement and slight confusion, "and where did you get the tent?"

"stole it," megumi pipes up, his face sticking out of the zippered door flap. he unzips the entrance all the way and you give your boyfriend an incredulous look. "satoru said it was okay."

"you stole it?" megumi snickers at your tone that makes satoru raise his hands defensively.

"you think yaga's gonna be camping in this weather, sweetheart?"

"you're teaching him that stealing is okay," you argue with a hand on your hip.

"if it's from yaga-"

"satoru," you chuckle, dragging a hand down your face. he really was an idiot when he tried to be. you can't say that megumi's smile wasn't making you happy, though. "look, just make sure he gets it back without him actually knowing it was gone."

"deal, now get in here," satoru says before grabbing your hand and tugging you into the tent. it's so small that his shoulders pull forward because he can't sit up straight and his hair brushes the top of the tent. it becomes even more cramped when you crash into the various pillows and blankets they'd pulled from the closet. "look at what we did." his finger points up at the string of lights they'd successfully strewn across the top perimeter of the tent, making your faces glow in soft hues of yellow and orange. "what time is it out there?"

"what, in the jungle?"

"in the real world," satoru corrects. "this explorer is getting a little hungry."

"it's almost 5:00, so we can grab something for dinner soon. but, first, i wanna see these tigers you're looking at." you run your hand through satoru's hair and he leans into your touch. megumi enthusiastically shows you his binoculars toy that changed pictures of different animals with the flick of a bright blue switch. as he plays, you lean back into satoru's chest and his arms wrap around your body. "what were you thinking for dinner, love?"

"i was thinking soup, but i'm good with whatever you're craving," he murmurs in your ear. "i'm just glad you're home."

"me too. maybe we can go furniture shopping tomorrow if the weather lets up," you suggest. his body is warm like a space heater and it's a nice contrast to the chilly winter storm raging on outside.

"i'm also just as happy to sleep in this tiny little tent with you and the kid."

"i love you, satoru."

"i love you more. also, we should get him more pictures for that little toy."

"or, i just portal us to see some actual tigers." you feel him laugh softly against your body. "i could portal us to africa, too. just depends on your itinerary."

"you're very funny," he deadpans lightheartedly.

"i know i am. it's why you love me so much."

"very true. i'll go anywhere as long as i'm with you."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[swanimagines]

HEARTS | KAZ BREKKER

Summary: You have fallen hard for Dirtyhands himself, and Nina knows just what to do about it.

The clink of glasses and chatter of patrons fade into the background as you found yourself fixated on Kaz, sitting across the room, admiring his every move. His eyes roamed the parchment in front of him, and a part of you told you to go to him, sit across from him and… offer him your help?

Then he’d arch an eyebrow at you, asking why would he need your help. Maybe he’d call you a needless distraction or something worse. You’d just embarrass yourself. So you settled with sitting there and admiring him from afar, fantasising what could happen if he’d have feelings for you too. That stupid fantasy had been stuck in your brain for months, and you knew it would never be true. 

“I have something for you.” Nina’s voice stirred you out from your thoughts and you took in a deep breath as you shifted your eyes on her, then on the brown package in her hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, frowning as Nina handed the package to you.

She huffed. “I bought you a pair of binoculars because now you get to look at Kaz better… or you could go talk to him.”

You felt how all the blood decided to take a trip on your face and you immediately started shaking your head. “W-what? What are you talking about?”

Nina snorted, “I can hear your heart. And it’s written all over you anyway.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it and closed it one last time as your shoulders slumped. “Is it that obvious?”

Nina smirked, taking a seat beside you. “Pretty much, yeah.”

You were silent for a moment, staring at your hands. Then you sighed. “I know it’s stupid. Kaz will never reciprocate.” Nina let out an amused huff at that, and you looked up to her. “What?”

“If you’d hear Kaz’s heart when he looks at you, you’d disagree with what you just said.” She grinned, her smile just growing wider when your heart skipped a beat and you blinked at her.

She never played around with things like that so you had no doubts of whether she spoke the truth. But still, you couldn’t help but think about alternative options.

Maybe he had someone else. Someone who was often around you, and Nina had just misinterpreted the situation. Even the thought of it made you miserable.

“I know that look. He doesn’t have anyone else.” Nina interrupted your thoughts again and you raised your eyebrows at her. 

“Okay, maybe not. But like, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the most ruthless crime boss any of us know, would have feelings for me? Nina, do you even realise how ridiculous that sounds?”

Nina shrugged. “Ridiculous of not, it’s still real. Just go to him and see what happens. He might not show it, but he’s going to be glad you joined him. Even if he tries to push you away. He just doesn’t know how to deal with feelings yet, give him time.”

You took in a deep breath, your eyes again shifting at Kaz as something still held you back.

“Oh, for Saints sake…” Nina mumbled and pushed you forwards. “Go on already.”

So you forced your legs to make you move forward, leaving Nina sit at the table, smirking at herself as she saw Kaz looking up to you, his heartbeat quickening a little as your heart was going crazy. After a few moments, you sat across from Kaz, looking at the blueprint in front of him and Nina congratulated herself for finally managing to make you take the first step.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[syrupfog]

The first time Penguin sees him, it’s in the auction house at Sabaody, standing on the opposite side of the room. He’s hard to miss; tall and imposing, a mess of blond hair and a LOUD polka dot shirt. 

He leans over to Shachi. “Does this boiler suit make me look cool?”

Shachi smacks him upside the head. “No,” he says. “Stop making eyes at the enemy.” 

“He can’t even SEE my eyes,” Penguin sulks.

The second time Penguin sees him, it’s in Wano. And it’s, like, a whole thing. There’s a lot going on, and Penguin’s a bit BUSY, honestly, he’s got some other things to deal with. 

But he notices that the guy’s, like, seriously bulked up. It would be hard not to notice, really.

Penguin flexes his own muscles. He can’t see much of any change. Especially under the boiler suit. 

Shachi squints at him. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks. 

Penguin smacks him. “Shut up,” he says. “And give me those binoculars back.”

The THIRD time Penguin sees him, things are a bit different. 

And by a bit different, he means “SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK SHIT WHERE DID BEPO GO? SHACHI— FUCK WHERE IS SHACHI—“ 

It’s HOT on this island, boiler suit stripped down and tied around his waist and Penguin is still sweating buckets as he runs down alleys and side streets with the sun beating down on his back. There’s only about twelve people running behind him, yelling angry-sounding things that Penguin doesn’t bother deciphering because WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYONE?

The bundle in his arms isn’t helping the heat stroke quickly approaching either. He’s gonna need Law to give him a rehydrating IV or something after this and then he’s going to be in trouble for wasting resources. 

Racing around a corner leads him to a crowded market street — a good sign, maybe he can get lost between the stalls. Or maybe not— the angry mob behind him seems to be gaining and they’re yelling honestly very rude things. WHERE the FUCK are his CREW— 

That’s when he sees him. HOW they ended up on the same island is a mystery, but—

“Hey! Oi!” Penguin yells, making a beeline straight for him. 

Killer, of the Kid pirates, is at a stall perusing mangos. He looks up, blue and white stripes zeroing in on Penguin. GOD the guy has some wide shoulders. 

“Yeah, you!!” Penguin yells. “Offense or Defence??”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Killer says, tilting his head. Very calm for a guy who MUST see the mob behind Penguin. “Depends on the game.” 

“Now!!” Penguin shouts, getting within throwing distance. He can practically SEE the question marks popping above Killer’s head. 

“…Defense?”

“Then CATCH” 

Penguin throws the bundle at him and turns on a heel, skidding into place mere feet in front of Killer and facing down the approaching mob. He sticks his hands deep into the pockets of the boiler suit and draws out two brass knuckles, because god these outfits are NOT good for hiding larger weapons in. 

“Uhhhhh,” says Killer behind him, voice echoey under the helmet. “Maybe I should be offence, actually.” 

“TOO LATE,” Penguin yells, charging toward the mob that has been quickly thrown into confusion now that their target has turned around.

Honestly, there’s not even any burning pitchforks or anything. It’s just a dozen or so citizens with sticks up their asses (and in their hands), and Penguin, well, he’s had to fight Clione for the last ice cream bar. 

He comes away with one nasty scrape to the cheek and a bunch of blood splatters on his outfit that Law will enjoy testing for STDs. When he finally shoves the brass knuckles back in his pockets, he turns around to find Killer still standing in front of the mango stall (although the seller has long since run for it)

And the bundle squirming around in his hands. 

“You good?” Killer asks. 

“Are you holding her upside down?” Penguin asks. 

Killer looks down at the bundle in his arms. He flips it over, and the squirming stops. A head pops out. A small child with an unnervingly large mouth full of triangular teeth, and a head of shockingly blond hair in two messy tails, is looking bright eyed at Penguin. 

Penguin gives the small child a thumbs up. 

She giggles, showing off her many unnerving teeth. There’s a second set behind the first.

“So,” says Killer, conversationally. “She yours?” 

“Oh god no,” Penguin says. “Found her chowing down on some offering to a local god and the townspeople were getting all angry at her.” He walks over, picking up a mango and holding it up to her. She neatly bites through half.

“Cool,” says Killer. 

“You got parents, kid?” Penguin asks. 

The small child shakes her head, mango juice dripping from her mouth. 

Penguin frowns. “Family?” 

The small child shakes her head again. She doesn’t seem sad. She probably didn’t know them.

“Aww,” says Killer. Penguin looks up at him. He’s oddly expressive for a man in a helmet. 

A chill runs up his spine, though, and he turns away, recognizing the feeling of conquerors haki. Sure enough, the captain of the Kid pirates is walking through the center of the now deserted market street. 

“Killer!” He yells, stalking over to them and ignoring Penguin entirely. That’s fair. Penguin likes it that way. “What’d you fucking do??” 

Killer tilts his head. With both hands he holds up the fishchild. “Got a baby,” he says brightly.

Kid blinks at the child. “What the fuck,” he says. 

Killer lowers the child and then points with one hand at Penguin. “His baby,” he says. 

“Well,” Penguin hedges. 

“What the fuck,” says Kid.

“I’m keeping it,” says Killer. 

“Her,” says Penguin. 

“That makes you a grandpa,” says Killer. 

“FUCK no it doesn’t,” shouts Kid. 

The child laughs. 

“You can’t have a BABY with the ENEMY,” Kid yells. 

“Well,” says Penguin. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, Mom.”

“Fuck you,” spits Kid. 

“She has her father’s eyes,” says Killer. 

Penguin’s not sure which of them is supposed to be the father. 

“My hair, though.” 

Ah, Penguin is the father. 

“We’ll have to work out custody agreements,” Killer continues. 

“I’d like a date first,” Penguin says

Honestly it’s fitting that that’s the first full sentence he gets out, somehow. 

“You can’t date my second in command!” Kid yells. 

“I mean, we have a kid together,” Killer points out. “You’re a bit late.” 

Penguin is halfway to a genius response of some kind when he sees  blue light wash over them. It’s all he can do to mime “call me” at Killer before he’s shambled back to the ship. 

“You’re late,” Law tells him. 

“I’m an unwed mother now I think,” Penguin says. 

Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to know.

[munson-blurbs]

PLEASE MAKE MY MEET CUTE DREAMS COME TRUE BUG!!

What IS my personality? Hm... Generally I'm pretty upbeat, fun-loving, and compassionate, but around Eddie?! 🙈 I'd be a lil shy I'm not gonna lie haha

Hobbies include bird watching, thrifting trinkets, and graphic design (oh and writing FILTHY SEXUALLY EXPLICIT STORIES, can't forget that). No need to incorporate all of this, just giving you ✨variety✨

My pronouns are she/her.

And I'll just leave you with some emojis I like 😌

🪻🪺🐀🪿🐞🫐🥨🏕️🪕

As meta as it would be to have Eddie reading the smut you wrote about him, bird watching was what caught my eye. Hope you like this!

CW: mention of drug use/dealing WC: 628 Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

It had stormed in Hawkins for a week straight. Seven days of dodging raindrops and spending your free time cooped up in the house. You were on the verge of going stir-crazy until the sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds this morning. 

Plucking your binoculars from their spot on your shelf, you head out into the woods. Before the storms, a pileated woodpecker had made a nest in one of the trees, and you were anxious to see if it had survived the lousy weather. 

Mud squelched beneath your boots as you trudged towards your favorite picnic bench. There wasn’t anything special about it per se, but it stood out from the others because of the JH+JB carved into the table. Whoever JH and JB were, you hoped their love was still strong. 

You adjusted the focus on your binoculars, aiming your gaze at the tree where you’d seen the nest just over a week ago. A soft sigh of relief slipped through your lips when you saw that it was still intact; in fact, there were now three little eggs inside of it. 

Hours felt like mere minutes as you soaked up each moment outdoors, following the calls of the sparrows that populated the tiny forest. Hawkins wasn’t a bustling city, but it was still nice to have a reprieve from the normal sounds of the suburbs. Out here, there were no car horns honking, no tired parents scolding their mischievous children, no—

“You here to buy or sell?”

The sudden noise startled you; if you didn’t have the strap looped around your wrist, you almost certainly would have dropped your binoculars. That would have been embarrassing. Just like the yelp you let out when the man spoke. 

“Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you.” He gave a sheepish grin and held up his hands in surrender. “Just figured if you wanted to buy, I could offer you a sweet deal. But if you’re selling…well, you’re kinda in my spot, so…”

You collected your thoughts, trying to keep from getting lost in his deep brown eyes. “No. I mean, neither. N-Not buying or selling. Just, uh, birdwatching.”

He cocked a brow. “Birdwatching?”

“Y-Yeah.” You scrambled for more words, unused to being tongue-tied. “Y’know, just…watching birds.”

“I gathered that much.” He sat next to you, placing a tin lunchbox on the table. “So what kind of birds are we watching?”

You explained the whole nest-surviving-the-storm saga, expecting him to roll his eyes or get bored. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at you with those beautiful doe eyes and gestured to your binoculars. 

“Mind if I take a look?”

You nodded and handed them over, hoping that the time he spent looking through them would afford you the chance to conjure up some actual conversation topics. 

He peered through the binoculars. “I see the nest! Holy shit, there’s about to be some bird babies.” He looked at another tree. “Here we’ve got some sort of brown bird just kinda…doing its thing.” Keeping the binoculars pressed to his eyes, he looked directly at you. “And here we have a really pretty girl who’s gonna let me treat her to ice cream.”

“Sure. Yeah, um, that would be great.” You felt your body tingle with bashfulness. An insanely cute guy was asking you out. “I love ice cream.”

The guy looked surprised, like he couldn’t believe that line worked. “Me, too.” He stood and held out his hand to help you up. 

You accepted it gratefully, but before you stood, you looked at him. “I just realized that I don’t even know your name,” you mused. 

He laughed. “That would be good information, huh?” He shook his head at his own blunder. 

“I’m Eddie Munson. And you are?”

--

[ckret2]

One of my wishes in this fic is that Bill is forced to watch a movie with his family using 3D glasses, and that the movie includes a scene where Venetian blinds are shown, and when a character in the movie rotates them, the signal goes away and shows static. I want Bill to suffer the biggest scare of his existence.

u didn't expect a serious In Depth Writer Reply but ur getting a serious In Depth Writer Reply, sorry anon.

It's been a while since I wrote about this so there's no way I'm gonna be able to dig up the posts again—but I've got beef with the phobias listed on TINAWDC. Mainly because I can't figure a way for them to all make sense.

The TV static makes plenty of sense—we know from the deluxe version of TBOB that Bill hears voices in the static, it wouldn't be a stretch to guess that the messages hidden in the noise and in the visual static and in spectrograms on TINAWDC and the Lofi album might be the kinds of things he sees/hears in TV static. Hearing the Euclidean Massacre and seeing messages and songs from his parents and people is a damn good reason to have a phobia.

(So I plan to do a lot with the static in the fic. Multiple times. I have an entire plot arc around the static. Rainbow Brite is there. It's gonna be great.)

On the other hand, 3D glasses make less sense. The most obvious connections are "oh, 3D vision, 3D stuff is a big deal to Bill" and "the lenses are red and blue—like his parents!!" Except that's not sufficient for them to make sense as a phobia.

On the 3D front, 3D vision doesn't work like that, "3D glasses" don't give you "3D vision"—what 3D glasses do is make specially-colored 2D images have the illusion of depth due to how your binocular vision works. They're called anaglyphs, you can learn the science here.

A) Bill doesn't have binocular vision, so 3D glasses wouldn't have any affect on him anyway, because he'd only be able to see through one lens at a time, B) what we typically mean when we say "3D vision" is actually "depth perception" and Bill can already see depth just fine—he can see things that are close to him and he can see things that are far from him, that's what depth perception is, he can perceive depth, he wouldn't need the glasses for that even if they did work, and so C) the only way "he's scared of them because 3D vision" could make sense would be if... he was scared of them because they don't successfully let him see anaglyphs as an illusion of 3D? Which is goofy. He'd be frustrated, not scared.

We already see how Bill reacts when he's told there's an image that lets you see an illusion of depth if you have binocular vision. He talks about magic eye/autostereogram images in TBOB. He's not afraid of them; he says that people who claim they can see things in them are liars. He publishes an autostereogram in TBOB himself!

So much for the 3D vision theory.

And if he were scared of them JUST because their colors make him think of his parents... then why would he be drawing a bunch of red and blue triangles in art? Logically, he ought to be scared of a bunch of red/blue things, oughtn't he. But he isn't.

As it happens today I did think of a way for the Theraprism staff to have gotten the impression Bill has a phobia of 3D glasses that makes sense with canon and that I'm satisfied with... but, operating under the headcanon I've got now, "wearing 3D glasses" in general wouldn't trigger the phobia, and Bill can't be triggered by it as long as he's stuck in his current situation. For Reasons That I'm Not Going To Tell You. The right conditions don't exist to trigger it. (Might draw a comic about it.)

And the Venetian blinds thing I can't make sense of at all. I've yet to see a single theory for the Venetian blinds phobia that isn't either proposing it triggers him for a reason that would cause a lot of other things to trigger him too (ex: "maybe seeing narrow slits of light in the dark makes him think of how vision in Euclydia works"—if that's the case, then why isn't he also triggered by the slit of light under the door when you're in a dark room and the room outside the door is lit?), or just wholesale completely making up an explanation (ex: "maybe the jail he was locked up in after his post-breakup bender had a window with Venetian blinds"—okay, you can headcanon that, but you did just make it up).

I don't believe that "Venetian blinds" would've been listed as a trigger unless it was for a reason that we're supposed to be able to logically deduce (like the TV static). So I don't wanna just make up something unfounded.

So how can I write him being triggered by Venetian blinds if I don't know how they trigger him, why they trigger him, or how he reacts to them? Like, if (made-up example) he's scared of Venetian blinds because seeing the white slats with strips of black night sky between them makes him think of black and white striped prison uniforms, then if I wrote him getting scared of closed brown wooden slats on a sunny day... that wouldn't make any sense.

Without knowing how & why the blinds trigger him, writing him getting triggered would just be going "AAAUGH OH NO IT'S VENETIAN BLINDS AAAAH!!" with no depth.

So until we get the truth and/or somebody comes up with a theory I like, I'm just not including Venetian blinds in the fic at all. Everybody has beautiful curtains or quaint old-fashioned shutters now.

[alwerakoo]

'Keep the car running'

TMNT 2012 Leonardo & Raphael & Donatello & Michelangelo Written for @tmnt-secret-santa-2024 PROMPT: Rainstorm

AO3

---

It's April who first finds the box.

The attic of the Farm House is a dusty place - full of sheet-covered furniture, old lamps, and cobwebs.

The winter air brushes past the small window - unfinished and bordered with yellow foam and insulation.

Leo has never been in an attic before. He wishes it wasn't so cold.

The chill settles in his bones like needles, digging into his muscles and making his knee buckle.

He knows April and Raph saw him limp up the ladder, but she didn't say anything.

He's not really sure why they brought him along.

Maybe to just get him out of bed.

The thought that he's now the type of person that needs to be tricked into getting out of bed makes him want to close in on himself until there's nothing left.

April looks back at him and smiles. It looks genuine. He's not sure what she's smiling about; he has done and accomplished exactly nothing besides staring out the window and turning an old toy car in his hands.

(He's still holding it. Mikey might like it.)

But she looks kind and pretty in the blue winter sun, so he forces a smile back.

It's not like Raph has been any help either.

He's currently sitting on the edge of an old drawer, and he almost has to bend in half to not hit his head on the slope of the roof.

He somehow makes it look almost casual, and if Leo were anyone else, maybe he wouldn't notice his sai, tucked away behind his wrist, carefully carving away at the wood.

“It must be somewhere in here,” April says, maybe more to herself than to Leo.

She reaches for another box, tucked deeper into the corner, pushing a stack of books over in the process.

That makes Raph look up, briefly.

They're looking for an old camera her family used to own, that probably doesn't work anymore but it's still worth a try.

The boredom really is rotting them from the inside out.

April cuts the tape holding the carton box together using a pocketknife - with the precision of a skilled fighter and the carelessness of a teenager.

She cuts her finger, but only a little.

Raph walks to stand behind her, maybe to make sure she doesn't take out a whole hand next - or maybe just to peek inside the box.

“Woah,” he says suddenly, which is an unexpected reaction. Then he laughs, which is more his style. “Is this yours?”

April scoffs, looking behind her shoulder to glare at him.

“What are you laughing at? You're a dick,” she says, without any real vigor, which means she's not really upset.

Probably. Leo doesn't pretend like he always understands his friend. Or girls, for that matter.

He walks up to them, and when his knee swells with pain, he doesn't let it show. If he did, they would start asking why he never uses the cane Donnie made for him, and he'd rather deal with hundreds of needles tearing his flesh apart, than to answer that particular question.

At first, he's not quite sure what he's looking at.

It's maps and books, handmade drawings, journals, something like suspenders, and strangest of all - a dusty pair of binoculars.

“It's my dad's,” April explains. “I think he used to be really into bird-watching when we still lived in the countryside.”

That makes a bit more sense. Leo was wondering why there were so many birds sketched onto the covers.

He goes to kneel down. It hurts, but if he doesn't sit right now, he might just fall over.

He's not really sure why he reaches into the box.

Maybe for something to do with his hands. Maybe he's just bored. Maybe it's already sitting right in front of him, and he'll die if he doesn't stop thinking about the pain.

He takes the first book in his hand.

It's small and heavy, and dusty; with a watercolor-ed bird looking right back at him from the cover.

He doesn't recognize it, which is not surprising because he doesn't know anything about birds.

The small text below the title lets him know it's a mockingbird, which might be a joke. He's not really sure.

“Wow,” Raph grins. “Didn't know your dad was an elite member of the Big Nerd Club.”

“Come up with something original for once, I'm begging you,” April says.

Leo knows he's been a little too silent for a little too long, but he can't bring himself to put the book down.

It's stupid and he shouldn't care, because he's sixteen, the city he left behind is being devoured from inside out, his father might be dead, and this is the last thing that should be on his mind.

And yet.

On days where he wakes early, right before dawn, like he's still being pulled along by old habits, like trying on clothes that don't quite fit him anymore – he likes to sit on the porch.

He likes the cold sharp air, how it fills in his lungs, how it shakes up his mind from the fog he so often finds himself in nowadays.

And when he sits there, he hears birds.

He always liked it, in an off-handed, natural way; the way he likes to hear wood splintering in the fireplace or the rain knocking on a window. Something he and many others have filed away as ''nice'' and simply never thought any more about it.

He looks at the mockingbird on the cover.

But maybe, he thinks. Maybe it would be nice to see them for once.

All of a sudden, Raph quiets.

And then there it is, that small moment where Leo can almost feel him think, his brain too fast to turn back now.

“You know,” Raph says, very quietly.

Leo puts the book down.

“No,” he answers without even hearing the question.

Raph raises his hands in a defensive gesture. Or at least Leo thinks it is; with his sai still held between his fingers it really could go either way.

“I didn't even say anything.”

“You did,” April says for Leo.

She sounds a little more upset now, and Raph looks slightly apologetic.

It makes something in Leo's stomach twist, because it used to be so hard to make Raph look visibly guilty about anything.

He's been walking on eggshells.

***

They find the camera in one of the boxes, virtually indistinguishable from the rest. It's old and smells of rust, but April says Donnie might get it to work.

He probably will.

Leo's muscles tighten when he walks back to the ladder.

That same evening, there's a box left on his bed.

***

He doesn't touch it for the first week.

Mostly out of some sense of pride. And because the thought of walking up a ladder again makes the skin in the back of his knees crawl.

But a week passes and then he's laying wide awake in the middle of the night – mind uneasily blank and the taste of blood in his mouth.

He was granted the privilege of having a whole room to himself – a small guest bedroom with a pullout sofa.

(April wanted to let him have her bed, which just felt wrong in a hundred different ways.)

He and his brothers haven't shared a room since they were little. He never realized this was something he was going to miss.

He sits in his bed, and it’s the first thing he sees.

Leo watches the box for a moment, like he's waiting for something that never happens. He's been doing that a lot lately.

He scoots to the edge of the bed to pull it closer, his fingers shaky and face numb, reaching one hand behind to turn on the lamp.

The mockingbird stares back.

He might get the joke now. It's not very funny.

The paper feels thin in his fingers.

His eyes glaze over the text, too hazy to catch anything. But they stay on the drawings.

Leo sits on his bed and watches those watercolor birds until it's morning again.

***

When he first wanders into the forest, he's not really sure what he's looking for.

Bird, preferably.

There's fresh snow on the ground, and his breath turns into white steam.

He's quiet and soft on his feet after years and years of practice, even when his bones grind against each other in a limp.

When he first sees them, he doesn't really know what to do with himself.

He stands there, his face cold and wet against his itchy scarf, and watches them from afar.

It's just birds: perfectly ordinary; stark against the white of the trees.

It's the first time in his life that he has ever considered mistaking a crow for a raven as anything remotely important, or even of any particular interest.

And yet – here he is.

He can't make up his mind; the vague images from the book too far away in his mind to be of any real use.

He fails. In a soft, gentle way.

He's still there, they're here, and next time: he'll know.

They don't sing so much as they scream, and it's all perfectly familiar and predictable.

He doesn't notice the time pass until his knee buckles.

***

He spots the bird after a few days.

It's not all that surprising; judging by the fact that he's the one stumbling upon what is presumably already a perfectly established routine.

The bird lands on a branch, like it's been doing it its whole life – which is probably true. It ruffles its feathers, all pale blues and grays; wings patterned like stained-glass.

He brought a chair this time. He tells himself that this is the sort of hobby that allows a kind of glamorized laziness, which is true enough.

He watches it sit, thrill quietly like an old wind-up toy waiting to be picked up.

It always made him think a little – how much animals seem to just idle. But they don't, not really.

They're doing exactly what they're supposed to.

He comes back the next day, and there are binoculars hung from his neck.

***

He forgets this is something he should be embarrassed about.

He's always been like this; maybe a little too enthusiastic and explosive about everything that made him the way he is. He wears his love on his sleeve, seemingly much to everyone’s annoyance.

They must've noticed, but it's only after a few weeks that someone asks.

“So, like.” Mikey interrupts himself, stuffing a thick sandwich that is mostly unevenly cut bread into his mouth. “Are you, like, an optician now?”

Leo frowns.

“What?”

He picks up more eggs on his fork. He's going to the forest right after breakfast, and he already learned the hard way how hunger makes the cold stick to his bones.

He didn't even realize how little he's been eating until now.

Donnie puts down his fork, running a hand over his forehead.

“Ornithologist,” he says, a little tired. “Is that what you mean?”

“Hey, give him some credit,” Raph huffs. “I'm surprised he even knows what that word means.”

Leo sits on their words for a moment, absentmindedly watching Casey trying to slip more of his eggs into Donnie's glass.

“I just like going outside,” he says, finally. Then, just to be a little mean: “You should try it sometime, Don.”

***

The next time he leaves, he leaves behind a handful of seeds, shamelessly stolen from April's coop. He's sure she wouldn't mind.

When he comes back, they're gone.

He can't know, but he likes to think the blue bird was at least a bit grateful.

***

“It's a bluejay,” he says during dinner. He knows this now, and it fills him with unreasonable pride. “The bird I keep seeing.”

Raph raises his head, and almost imperceptibly – looks at Donnie. They share a glance, the sort they seem to exchange a lot of lately.

They must know Leo can see it, and that makes something angry and bitter spark up inside his chest. But it doesn't catch tonight.

“Cool,” Raph says.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Mikey asks, mouthful of Donnie's half-raw chicken.

Leo pokes at his empty plate.

“... I don't know. They're hard to tell apart.”

But that makes his brain tick.

***

It's a girl.

He spends hours poring over his books to figure it out, and it makes him wish he could call April's dad.

(That thought makes his stomach hurt until he lays down for the night.)

He tells Mikey over a game of monopoly, where half the pieces are long missing, and most of the rules are made up and change every time.

“That's so cool,” he says. “Can I name her? I'm great at naming things.”

Leo doesn't offer to let him see her, and Mikey doesn't ask.

***

The bluejay they named 'Clunk' likes to ruffle her feathers when she lands.

That's mostly how he tells her apart from the others.

There's a sort of foolish, egotistical part of him that likes to think he'd know Clunk even without it; that he'd be able to point her out in a crowd of others with his eyes closed. It's probably not true.

But he's able to point Clunk out when she sits on her branch and ruffles her feathers, and that's good enough for now.

He started to call her 'his'.

His Clunk.

She's not a pet. He's not sure she knows he's anything more than part of the everchanging background.

He thinks he likes it this way.

The thing is – he's not really sure why birds grab him in the way they do.

He thinks them pretty, sure. But there's also that itch he hasn't been able to scratch for so long; doing something new and doing it right.

Failing makes him want to come back over and over again, just to finally get it right.

There are no stakes. If he fails, there are no broken bones, no failed missions, no disappointed gazes. Her life doesn't weigh down on his shoulders with the force of an entire world.

He cares for her, of course. Maybe unreasonably so. But he could disappear, and her life would go on like always.

She'd ruffle her feathers, aim her gaze where his chair used to be, and maybe, for just a moment – linger.

And that's enough.

***

He measures time in pain.

Or more carefully – the lack thereof.

It's still rare, more of a sudden gasp than a deep breath, but his bones ache just a little less, his shell smooths just a little bit.

He started using Donnie's cane.

It's blue and fits into his grasp like a perfect mold, and he knows they're looking at him.

He knows the worry in their eyes looks deceptively close to pity; he knows they talk about him when he's not there.

But he lays it out for himself one night.

Or rather – Donnie does, rather incessantly, probably resisting the urge to hit him over the head with that cane.

It's this, or it's no cane, no walks, and no birds.

He hates that this is something they can hold over his head so easily now.

(Or at least, for the most part. It feels good to be known.)

April tells him he looks 'distinguished', which makes Raph laugh so hard he almost falls over.

Leo still takes that to heart. His chest is warm.

***

Months pass with winter, and the snow falls and melts.

There are more birds in the forest now. He notes them down, compares pictures in books and sketches, listens to so many new voices.

Clunk keeps coming back.

His heart feels full.

***

The rain starts out soft at first. He feels it coming in his knee.

He falls asleep to its rhythm, and it's still there in the morning, falling down the dusty windows they still hadn't come around to cleaning.

He only starts to worry in the evening.

The wind picks up, and April tells them it might be a storm.

It is.

Leo sits on the couch, rubbing his hands together.

He hasn't gone outside today, and his body itches.

“You good?” Casey asks when he starts to chew on his nail.

“... I'm worried about Clunk.”

Honesty is hard and it passes through his throat like he might choke on it.

His brothers quiet.

They're all sitting in the living room, and he can see their worry lines in the faint light of candles.

“... She's a bird,” Casey says.

April jabs him with her boney elbow for it, and he winces in pain, grabbing at his ribs.

“Yeah,” Mikey adds. “She's, like, built for this.”

Leo twitches.

His leg aches like a pile of old bones.

“She's gonna be okay. She's a tough lady, right?” Raph looks to Donnie, like he would know.

And Donnie nods, like he does.

Bluejays can mimic hawks. It's a defense mechanism. They open their beaks and make a sound that makes every small animal turn its head, fur stand straight on their collars, feathers ruffle.

But they're not hawks. They can bend their wings, break their bones, strain their voice all they want to, and still – they never will be.

Leo looks outside.

They forgot about the chairs on the front porch. The wind pushes them back against the railing, cold and loud.

The wood splinters.

Leo stands.

And then he runs.

***

The ground is wet and soft under his feet, and it's hard to imagine it was ever solid.

It's slippery and uneven, and he falls over himself over and over again.

His knee burns though his flesh.

He must've hit it somewhere. There's mud layering a patch of raw skin, pinkish and ugly.

He used to be the fastest out of his brothers.

Now, they catch up to him before he even gets past the tree line.

It's Mikey who grabs his arm first, pulling him to a harsh stop.

His hold hurts and Leo wants to scream. He wants to shred his throat raw, and he wants to dig into his own skin until he finds the part that betrays him again and again.

He thinks he might be angry.

Just maybe, because when Mikey turns him around to pull him into a hug, he falls limp.

“Dude,” Mikey breathes. Leo barely hears him over the wind. “What the fuck?”

“I'm”

He wants to say something, anything, but his face falls numb, stuck on his own thoughts.

Mikey shouts something over his shoulder. Suddenly, there's something wet and miserable that might've once been a blanket thrown over his shoulders.

“Fearless” Raph says, now in his line of sight. “She's not there, she's gonna be alright.”

“You don't know that,” Leo whispers.

He doesn't think Raph hears him over the wind. He's squinting at the harsh rain, leading Leo back to the house.

He supposes he'll have to trust Raph on his one.

Leo's cold.

He's cold, he's in pain, he's a useless son, he's a bad leader, he's a bluejay and he's so very afraid.

***

In the morning, the sky is clear.

He wakes up on the touch, feeling every muscle and joint in his body simmer like a burned-out cigarette.

Raph sits by the couch and doesn't say anything for a long while. Until he finally does:

“Do you want to see her?”

Raph takes him by the arm, which makes Leo feel like crying for a whole number of reasons.

But they don't get to leave before Mikey runs into them in the hallway, and subsequently – puts the entire house back on their feet.

April hands him tea in a pink thermos, before she even thinks to brush out her hair, and he takes it without a word, but a lot sitting on the edge of his tongue.

He never brought anyone else with him, and he realizes there's only one chair a little too late.

Raph doesn't seem to mind.

He crosses his legs on the ground, picking at his nails with his sai.

They sit and wait for hours.

This part of the forest doesn't seem all that changed, besides a few branches in places where they shouldn't be.

But it's unusually quiet, and Leo doesn't think to drink any of his tea before it grows cold.

Raph puts a hand on his good knee, opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything.

There are things Raph wants to say, want to ask – Leo knows. Maybe he'll let him, eventually.

But now, he feels like his lungs have run dry. He feels like he's been holding his breath for years.

“I'm sorry I didn't take you here before,” he says.

It means a lot of different things.

Raph turns to look at him, and with that – there's a soft whistle.

Clunk lands on her branch, her wings shiny and vibrantly blue from the rain.

She ruffles her feathers.

Her eyes fall to Leo's chair, dark and full of sun. She tilts her head, and it's almost like a nod.

Leo breathes.

***

Donnie does get the camera working, eventually.

Not that any of them had any doubts about it, not really.

He lays it on the dinner table, folding his arms over his chest.

“There,” he says.

April's face lights up, and he just shrugs, like it was nothing.

Mikey is the one to pick it up first, turning it over in his hands.

“What do we wanna do first?” He asks.

He holds up the camera backwards, like his own selfie is the most logical answer. But then he hesitates, and his face turns into something a little more thoughtful but not unkind.

He turns back to Leo and hands him the camera.

“You pick,” he says.

Leo smiles.

And he already knows the answer.

[elizabethsnuts]

can you do winterwidow with twins? Y/n being one of them, of course. Idk what age range you do, but can you do maybe slightly older like 7? ish? When we all go to the zoo with the twin daughters, and we're really excited and more the hyper one than our twin? With lots of fluff obv!

Love ur writing. Feel free to change things up or wtv! ❤️

Double Trouble

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Bucky take you and your twin sister to the zoo

———

Natasha and Bucky had decided to take you and your twin sister Ellie on an outing to the zoo, an excuse to get out of boring paperwork and hopefully tire the two of you out by the end of the day. You were insanely excited to go to the zoo, you couldn’t help it, it was the zoo.

Natasha was busy packing snacks and juices in a small bag for you and Ellie, there was no doubt you two would demand food halfway through. Bucky was just trying to keep you still enough to put your shoes on.

“Y/N, the sooner you put your shoes on the sooner we can go. Ellie already has her shoes on!” Bucky said with a small huff, he’d been chasing you with your shoes for 10 minutes.

“N/N… put your shoes on, I wanna go now!” Ellie whined and huffed.

“Zoo time! Zoo time!” You squealed and took your shoes off Bucky and quickly jammed your feet in them, doing up the velcro. “Let’s go to the zoo now!”

Bucky nodded and put his hands on his hips, looking at the two of you suspiciously. “Did you two make your bed like I asked?”

You and Ellie quickly looked at each other, turning your heads back at Bucky, speaking in sync. “Yes, Daddy!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and let out a long hum. He honestly wasn’t in the mood to deal with getting 7-year-olds to make their beds when they were clearly set on doing something else. “Alright then… let’s get going.”

The four of you eventually arrived at the zoo, you couldn’t contain your excitement and immediately grabbed Ellie’s hand, taking off with her. “Come on, Ellie! Come on! We’re here! We have to go see the giraffes!”

Ellie was a bit surprised when you took her hand and suddenly started running, though a smile appeared on her face as she tried to match your pace. “Okay! But we have to see the flamingos after!”

Natasha let out a long groan, she knew you were going to pull that stunt, she should’ve expected it. “Y/N, Ellie! You two, slow down! Wait for Mama and Dad.”

Bucky shook his head and sighed, suppressing a smirk. “We should dig out the old toddler leash.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and smiled, starting to follow you and Ellie, she didn’t let either of you out of her sight. “If we keep Y/N contained then Ellie will also stay, she just follows what her sister does.”

Meanwhile, you and Ellie were busy looking at the giraffes. You giggled and pointed at them long-necked animals. “Look, Ellie! They’re taller than Daddy.”

Ellie laughed and nodded in agreement, looking from the giraffes to you. “Even taller than Uncle Steve! And Uncle Steve is a tall guy.”

“They eat like Uncle Pietro.” You stated, watching as the giraffe messily ate the leaves off the trees. That made Ellie laugh even harder.

“Y/N, that’s not nice,” Natasha spoke firmly but with a hint of amusement from behind you. Neither you nor Ellie realised your parents were behind you.

“It is true, Mama… he gets it all over the table,” Ellie said quietly, shyly defending you.

You nodded in confirmation. “And he chews with his mouth open like the giraffes.”

Bucky just snickered in amusement, Natasha was trying to suppress a smirk. She placed a firm hand on both of your backs and started to walk. “Alright, let’s just keep moving…”

You and Ellie saw lots of different animals, giraffes, flamingos, tigers, hippos, elephants, meerkats and more. Bucky had bought you some binoculars since you insisted you needed them for ‘better animal viewing’.

“I can see up your nose, Ellie.” You said casually as you held the binoculars on your eyes and stared at your twin sister through them.

Ellie huffed and covered her nose quickly. “Ew! Y/N, that’s disgusting! Gross, stop it!”

You just giggled loudly and squealed, tugging at Natasha’s hand. “Mama! Mama! I want to see the chimpanzees!”

Natasha nodded, smiling as she took a sip from her water. “Yep, we can go see the chimpanzees, dorogoy.”

You quickly cheered in excitement before taking off to see the chimpanzees in action. This just made Natasha groan slightly and picked up her pace so you stayed in her line of sight.

Bucky just laughed quietly and took ahold of Ellie’s hand. “At least you don’t just go running off randomly like your sister.”

You were busy trying to look at all the animals, running around like you belonged in one of those enclosures. Natasha was not surprised in the slightest, her hand would drag you back by the back of your shirt every time you tried to stray too far.

Bucky snickered and whispered to Nat. “I’m telling you, toddler leashes.”

Natasha smirked and shook her head, opting to just pick you up instead. She kissed you on the forehead and rubbed your back. “Alright, I think we’ll call it a day.”

By the time Bucky and Natasha got the two of you back to the car, you were asleep. Most likely due to all the running you did. Ellie was eating some animal crackers that she got from the zoo cafe, looking at you. “She’s fast asleep! It’s not even bedtime!”

Natasha chuckled softly from the passenger seat, turning her head slightly to look at you and Ellie in the back. “All the excitement wore her out… and the running. Just let her sleep.”

The excitement really did wear you out, you slept like a baby that night. You had a lot of fun at the zoo and the family picture taken there that had been placed on the fridge would always be a reminder of the fun day all of you had.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 protector: chapter twenty-six

synopsis: " you were supposed to stay a crewate, just another back to watch, " he tightened his hold, " i didn't even notice the change until i woke up one day and realized i'd take a bullet for you "

cw: violence, gore, fighting, mature themes, profanity, MAJOR/MINOR ANIME SPOILERS, follows the plot of the anime, slowww burn.

a/n: reposting from another account

If things went from bad to worse during the argument, then things went from worse to shit during the fight.

Usopp challenged Luffy to a duel for the Merry, which, of course, ended in his defeat.

Though Luffy let him keep the ship anyway.

But beyond that, the crew had gotten word that Robin was the prime suspect for the attempted murder of the mayor.

And now the whole town was after, not only her, but the entire crew.

Sanji and Chopper had ran into her while in town, but she started talking about a situation getting worse and never seeing the crew again before disappearing.

So Zoro devised a plan to capture her during her second attempt on the mayor, hoping to get some answers.

But with Usopp gone and Sanji nowhere to be found, you, Zoro, Nami, Chopper, and Luffy, knew that you would have to go at it on your own.

And as the five of you perched in a large tree outside the mayor's mansion, you couldn't help noticing the looming sense of doom in the air.

Aqua Laguna would not be the only storm coming that night...

"There sure are a lot of people out there," Chopper reported, looking down at the lawn through his binoculars.

"It's a little far, too," Luffy agreed.

"It'll be fine if you rocket through the window, right? After Robin shows up, I mean," Nami asked.

"That's right. If we make a commotion first then they'll just sneak in while we're dealing with the guards," Zoro stated, leaning against the trunk of the tree, "Let's be patient."

You sat yourself a little ways off to the side, criss-crossed, with your eyes peacefully shut, trying to meditate some clarity into the situation.

This overbearing sense of disaster had been following you ever since Usopp left the crew. 

And before your little display clairvoyance on Skypiea, you had never been so fined tuned with auras like you were now.

The fluctuations and shifts, all dependent on where you were and who you were with.

It was too much for your one head.

And being able to sense impending doom, while not knowing how, when, where, or why it was coming, is a power you wouldn't wish on your greatest enemy.

But luckily, your swordsman noticed your distress, resting a hand on your shoulder to snap you out of it.

"You alright?" he asked, voice low so he didn't alert the others.

Your mind was off somewhere else, thinking, quite intently if he took the tightness of your face as any hint.

But being distracted like that, especially with your lives on the line, would be a death sentence.

"We need that head down here."

An easy guess would be it was about your powers, and how you could be doing more to help.

But there was no time to pry, so a guess is what it would have to stay.

You spared him a small smile of thanks, giving a firm nod and focusing back on the task at hand.

'She didn't answer my question...'

But the sounds of shouts from below pulled him away from his thoughts before he could act on them.

"Sounds like something's going on down there," he stated, turning to Chopper, "Whaddya see?"

"They're all kinda standing around now. But..." Chopper sighed, pulling the binoculars away from his face, "they're all huge, and armed, and angry."

"We need to be careful. Those guys have a reputation for being able to handle themselves when push comes to shove. We don't wanna rush in and do anything we're gonna regret later," Nami reminded.

"Yeah, if we try to barge in swingin', we'll just be askin' for trouble," Luffy agreed.

"Says the guy who charged-in in broad daylight..." you scoffed.

"Anyway, don't take your eyes off 'em, Chopper," Zoro instructed, eyes trained on the lawn, "We don't want any kind of surprise down there."

"Right."

"Anything happens, you let us know."

"Okay, you got it."

"I think we're gonna have a really long night ahead of us," Zoro sighed, "But if we blow our opportunity, it's over. We can't let our guard down no matter what happens."

Silence fell over the air, and the wind's sorrow filled wail was only a hint of foreshadowing to the night ahead.

"If we wanna know the truth about Robin, then it has to be tonight, or never."

"Yeah," Luffy agreed, his tone low, "I got a feeling we'll be talking to her real soon."

And as if on cue, a huge explosion went off right on the lawn, blowing most of the carpenters away.

"Whoa! Something blew up!" Chopper exclaimed.

"Yeah, no kidding..." You winced.

An entire section of the house was now on fire, and the workers were buzzing like bees around a hive trying to put it out.

"They all seem pretty worked up," Chopper noted, a little nervous.

"Yeah. There is definitely something going on right now," Zoro stated, eyes scanning over the destruction, "Alright, then. When are we gonna make our move?"

You and Chopper turned to where Luffy once was, only for him to be nowhere in sight.

'For the love of God...'

"Hey, where's Luffy?" Chopper asked.

Zoro and Nami quickly whipped their heads over, eyes going impossibly wide at the captain's absence.

"THAT IDIOT! WHAT ABOUT THE PLAN?! I THOUGHT WE WEREN'T GONNA RUSH INTO ANYTHING!" the two shouted in unison.

You sighed, resting your cheek in your palm as you looked back down at the lawn.

"Too late."

Things had gone wrong fast.

After the four of you, though really you and Zoro, fought through the hordes of Galley-La workers, you eventually made it to the hallway leading to the mayor's bedroom.

Zoro had managed to cut down the door, coincidentally, at the exact same time Luffy burst in through the wall.

Robin, along with workers Lucci, Kalifa, Kaku, and Blueno, were all standing over Iceberg's body.

They went into a long explanation of how they pulled everything off, then attacked a man named Paulie and told Robin that her job was complete.

Though Luffy wasn't too accepting of the woman's farewell.

But Blueno, the fake bartender, blocked his path, and seemed to be able to combat each and every one of Luffy's moves.

"AGH! I said out of my way!" Luffy started, using his Gum-Gum Gatling to attack the large man.

But he dodged each and every hit with ease, as if he was a piece of paper billowing in the wind.

"Whoa! Even though he's big, he sure is fast!" Chopper exclaimed, wide eyed at the sight.

Past the large man's figure, Luffy noticed Robin still making her way to the window.

"Robin!" he called, trying to run after her.

Blueno blocked him once more, distracting the boy by beginning to hop on the air.

'He can fly?!'

"Tempest..." Kalifa and Kaku wound up a kick, before using it to send Luffy flying into the hallway, "Kick!"

But the gust of wind behind it was sharp, almost as if they had swung a very large blade.

You and Zoro's eyes shot wide at the same time.

"Get down! Hurry!" the two of you shouted in unison.

All of you hit the deck together, and narrowly dodged the gigantic slash sent over your heads.

"Luffy!" you exclaimed, turned behind you to check on him.

He had been thrown pretty far.

"They did all that with a single kick? No way!" Nami muttered, examining the huge slash mark left in the wall.

"Technically, it was the sharp gust of wind that followed it," Kalifa corrected, "We call it the Tempest Kick."

Zoro broke into a dash for Kaku, the two of them clashing weapons, Kaku's being a shipbuilding tool.

Taking that as a signal, you went after Kalifa, your mace and her heel clashing as you swung.

"Such an archaic and barbaric weapon," she taunted.

You furrowed your brows, pushing off and swinging your foot instead, which had a sword coming out of it.

She backflipped out of the way, landing in a handstand and sending a kick straight to your face, but you instant formed a shield and blocked it.

"That's a very interesting devil fruit you have," she smirked, flipping upright and starting to hop on air, like Blueno did.

"God's Messenger: Army and Point!" you exclaimed, forming a whip as your feathers popped off, all going to attack her.

She was surprised for a moment as the feathers blocked her vision, and you used the whip to grab her by her ankle, ready to pull her down.

But just as you were about to, you glanced at Zoro, only to see him get punched full of holes by Kaku's finger.

"ZORO!" you shouted, eyes shooting wide as his mouth spat up a ton of blood.

'SHIT! GOTTA GET OVER THERE AND HEAL HIM! QUICK!'

"Eyes up here, darling," Kalifa smirked, using your whip to yank you up to her before turning on Iron Body, making you smash your head directly into hers.

A sickening crack echoed throughout the room, and a single stream of blood poured from your scalp as you dropped to the ground.

"(y/n)!" Nami and Chopper cried, eyes wide and fearful.

It hurt like hell, but you weren't going down without a fight.

You weakly lifted your head, the speech Lucci was giving going in and out your ears until he suddenly began to turn into some sort of leopard monster.

'This just went from shit to fucking shit-storm.'

"No! He's a Carnivore Zoan-type!" Chopper gasped, terrified, "They're the most brutal of them all!"

"Lucci, the workmen are making their way up the stairs," Kalifa warned.

"They won't make it that far..."

With a single kick, the man completely destroyed the ceiling below, sending it crashing down.

"Stupid pidgeon jerk!" Luffy shouted, managing to land a punch on the man's face while he was distracted.

Lucci glared, and swung his arm over faster than you could see.

"Finger Pistol!"

Within seconds, you captain was impaled by the cat-man's claw.

"Luffy!" Zoro shouted, eyes wide.

"No!" you gasped.

Nami's tears could be heard throughout the entire room as Luffy struggled to breath, Lucci grabbing him by his face.

"Have a nice flight!" he spat, throwing the boy straight out the window and clear across town.

"Luffy!" Nami screamed, shaking with fright.

You were at a loss for words.

This couldn't be happening.

Luffy was one of the strongest people you knew.

If he couldn't fare against these guys, what did that say for you?

"Damn you!" Zoro cursed, making a run for Lucci, sword drawn.

"Iron Body."

The swordsman went for the arm, trying to slice it off, but it clashed as if it were metal, and Lucci roundhouse kicked him through the ceiling, dropping one of his swords on the way.

"Protect Nami!" you shouted, ordering all of your feathers to her, "Get her and Chopper out of here!"

They quickly detached, and scooped up the navigator and the doctor, zipping off far away from the scene.

And leaving you as the last domino standing.

You grabbed Zoro's sword and held it close as Lucci yoked you up by your neck, glaring at you so sharp that his eyes would cut down boulders if they could.

You knew he wouldn't be able to go after them.

The risk of being seen by one of the workers was too great, and their plan was already way behind schedule.

So if he couldn't get the other two, then he was going to take out all his anger on you.

"What would you say if I made you feel the most pain you've ever felt in your life?" he asked, his tone icy.

You scoffed, amused by his attempt to intimidate you.

"I'd tell you I'm into that," you smirked down at him, punctuating your sentence by spitting in his face.

He growled, throwing you up and kicking you out the window, sending you careening through the town.

You crashed into a building at full force, knocking it over and landing with the debris on another roof.

"SHIT!" you growled in pain, tightly clutching your shoulder.

You had heard a wet pop the second it collided with the concrete.

It was dislocated for sure.

"Dammit! I don't have time for this!" you hissed through gritted teeth, "I've gotta find Luffy and Zoro!"

Weakly, you pulled yourself up, trying to take a quick survey of where you were, despite the unforgiving wind.

And it seemed to be you were somewhere in the backstreets, the allies below you already completely flooded.

'The boys got thrown pretty far. I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up back here, too.'

You looked down at your arm, its limpness reminding you of the task at hand.

"First things first," you grunted, shutting your eyes and allowing you angelic glow to come over you, healing your arm, head, and neck.

And once your power was finished, the glow left, leaving you as good as new.

"Next," you sighed, turning to glance at your featherless wings.

Waiting for them to completely grow back would take a day or so, and you didn't have that kind of time.

So you'd have to go for the painful, last ditch option.

You dropped to your knees, bracing yourself for the oncoming torture.

'Take deep breaths...'

You began the process, forcing your body to grow more feathers, your grip on your skirt nearly ripping through the fabric.

The pain was similar to that of forcing your nails to grow.

...

By ripping each of them out one by one.

Slowly, but surely, the first few rows had regenerated, but they were not nearly enough for flight.

"Come on! Your friends are counting on you!" You slammed your fist down, your teeth nearly biting through your lip.

You pushed harder, beads of sweat rolling down your temple as more and more feathers grew.

Your breaths were deep and controlled, hoping to breath yourself through it.

'One more push! Almost done!'

You gave your final push, your last few feathers sprouting before your body finally collapsed.

"Done..." you panted, relieved, "Now I gotta... find the others."

Standing up, you grabbed Zoro's sword, only to turn and see a wave almost as tall as the clouds.

It was headed straight for you.

"CRAP!" you exclaimed, unfurling your new wings and jetting off.

You were originally going to head back a little closer to town, but out of the corner of your eye you noticed a familiar pair of boots sticking out a chimney.

'ZORO!'

Without a second thought, you zipped over, the looming tsunami providing a whole lot of motivation.

But as you drew closer, you realized you wouldn't be able to hold Zoro's sword, and give a full-forced bash at the same time.

'Fuck it...'

You closed your eyes and rammed head first through the chimney, completely destroying it.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Zoro exclaimed, wide eyed as the chimney seemed to explode around him.

"Zoro!" you cheesed, catching him bridal style before doing a hard one-eighty, "Hold on!"

"(y/n)?! Did you break that with your head?! The hell were you thinking?!" he realized, noticing the steady stream of blood running down your forehead.

"I couldn't use a weapon 'cause I was too busy holding your sword," you panted, handing it to him, "I snagged it from Lucci before getting thrown out here."

He gratefully took it from you, his face serious as the events started coming back to him.

He and Luffy had been thrown out of the window, leaving you to protect Nami and Chopper all by yourself.

The man could only imagine what you had gone through to keep them safe.

"Are Nami and Chopper alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I had my feathers fly them to safety. And CP9 didn't seem to go after them. They should be good for a while."

"I see," the swordsman nodded, looking down at his blade.

He should've been there.

"I'm sorry for not being there to help you."

You cocked a brow, a confused look on your face.

"You don't have to apologize, Zoro," you assured, looking down at him with a relieved smile as you landed on the bridge.

You put him down, and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

"If I'm being honest," you sighed, resting your face in the crook of his neck, "I'm just glad you're safe."

Zoro's breath hitched, and a tinge of crimson graced his cheeks.

'Fuck...'

It shouldn't make him happy to hear how worried you were about him.

But you were so soft, and so warm.

And the way you were looking at him was making something buzz in his chest.

He knew he shouldn't indulge in this.

He knew that this was a line that once crossed, would never be the same again.

Yet he couldn't stop his arms from looping around your waist.

Couldn't stop himself from pulling you closer.

Couldn't stop himself from breathing you in, accepting his new reality.

"I'm glad you're safe, too, (y/n)..."

[writing1raflesia]

Gravity falls x stealth transmasc reader

Context: Reader is a transitioned trans man who is trying to hide the fact that he is trans, but he is not very good at it.

★★★★★★★★★★★★

Stanford

Honestly he would take a while to notice, if he notice at all. He is too focused on his researches, dealing with his past with bill, saving his family, is not like he pays much attention to you. Even in the few moments where he is forced by his great niece to have a life out of his lab and he's alert for everything that might be wrong he doesn't seem to notice. He is a reserved person and takes some of your attitudes as being reserved as well. If you don't take your shirt of in a hot summer day is probably because you're shy or something, not to hide a scar, the lack of pictures of your youth might just be for the same reason as him, he never cared for pictures, it never crossed his mind that you might be hiding something, but if it does, oh boy prepare yourself, now this man is certain that you're a spy, works for bill, is a threat, something is wrong and he can think of all the wrong options!

Stanley

He's also one that doesn't find out on his on, I mean, he is surrounded by weird people and he himself hide some secrets, it's not his business right? Of course he is curious and you might be a spy from the government hiding the equipment, maybe the lack of pictures and how you sometimes mention some weird situations for a man to go through on your past migh be you getting your false background wrong from time to time...hm ok he might be obsessed on figuring out what you're hiding!

Mabel

She straight up start stalking you when she notice something was wrong and when you accidentally mentioned the feminine nickname you had on your childhood she started connecting the points. Watching you from afar with her binocular she notice the scar on your chest and realizes everything. She has an evidence panel with red strings, determinated to find out the truth, but when she finally does she start feeling bad about it, maybe you don't trust her enough to tell her? What kind of experiences made you want to hide that? Maybe is just not important for you? Well... Maybe one day she'll ask you about it, but not today

Dipper

Dipper is paranoic, the first time he notices something was wrong was in a hot day at the pool when you decided to swim with a shirt despite the hot weather, at first he ask you about it, thinking you might have some kind of insecurity or skin problems and couldn't get direct sun, but when you're answer is not satisfactory and it seems like you're avoiding the subject he start getting cautious about you, reading his journal to look for clues on what you might be or what could be making you act like this, when he doesn't find anything he start asking Mabel about it but she refuses to say anything. He must do some investigations and when he does so everything turns into a clue, the lack of pictures of your childhood, the way you avoid some subject and just seems ...odd... When he finally figured it out he feels dumb for not thinking about it earlier, just like Mabel he tries to think why you would hide such thing, maybe you think people would see you as less of a man for that? Well he understands this feeling, he will just let you be and avoids the topic if anyone question him, talking about it is your decision to make

★★★★★★★★★★★★

Author: thanks for reading!! This one was a request and I'm sorry if is not that good, I was a bit low creativity with that one. Any comments and feedbacks are welcome. Let me know if you want more characters or a transfem/NB version

[noneorother]

By far the dumbest movie reference no one caught in Good Omens is : The League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse

I'm working on a theory that requires many hours of movie watching, so here we are. Many people have already mentioned that the nazi zombies/Furfur is a The League of Gentlemen comedy troupe shoutout. But I'm taking it one step crazier. Remember the opening scene from the 1941 minisode of S2E4, the one with the london bombing and the Angel statue in the bottom right corner ?

Haha sorry my bad. That's the climax intro scene of the movie The League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse. Here's the opening scene of the 1941 minisode:

You can excuse the confusion after seeing both, with how they look pretty much identical (yes this is giving me The Tales of Hoffmann PTSD, thanks for asking) And it's not very coincidental when you know who helped write the minisode.

You know, just the fourth member of The League of Gentlemen and writer of the movie LG Apocalypse. So shall we tease out all the (I'm warning you) EXTREMELY dumb quotes and story beats this terrible movie has lent to the 1941 episode? There are quite a few. But there's also a potential story arc that isn't so dumb... (TW offensive comedy, including mild gore)

In order to understand this you probably have to know a bit of background on British show The League of Gentlemen. "[A] surreal British comedy horror sitcom... follows the lives of bizarre characters, most of whom are played by three of the show's four writers – Mark Gatiss, Steve Pemberton, and Reece Shearsmith – who, along with Jeremy Dyson, formed the League of Gentlemen comedy troupe in 1995." You don't need to know all of the characters or backstory of the show, just that it's a fictional town with many fictional characters played by the same three writers (and an invisible fourth).

(Also known as all these people right here) Want to know who they plays a stand-in for Jeremy Dyson in LG Apocalypse and gets murdered first with black marker on his face?

Say hello, baby Sheen!

So we've seen the bombing scene, what about the car driving through fire and Aziraphale's suggestive line at the beginning?

Yup.

Do the characters make a deal with a Reece Shearsmith character to enter the real world through a church?

HECK YEAH. Bonus points for the green background.

A gag about fake lips with Steve? Sure.

Steve Pemberton seen here as a nazi zombie, and also here playing "Herr Lipp" (also known in the actual script as "the worst pun in the world" in the movie. Groan). What about Mark Gatiss Stealing binoculars from Steve to spy on two important characters? But of course.

Surely not the arm falling off too?

Oh dang. It's a big plot point in LG Apocalypse you say? Then, in the climax, does someone in dark sunglasses who doesn't know how a rifle works fire it at a main character, and the other character who he misses says fuck? Now you're pulling off my arm..

Well I'll be damned. The only difference here being Steve's head exploding, naturally.

I'll admit, I have trouble seeing where a giant 3 headed chimera beast that destroys a bunch of characters fits in at the end of the 1941 miniode, but I don't think 1941 is meant to be a stand in for the whole movie, because at that point in the movie the role of the main characters shifts to become the real versions of Shearsmith and Gatiss, not the characters. But even though the end of the movie doesn't track with 1941, I think the moral at the end is interesting : "In the church, Lipp says he will kill Gatiss. The other characters try to dissuade him, saying that once all the writers are dead, Royston Vasey will cease to exist and they will die. Lipp claims that they will in fact be better off, because as long as they're controlled by someone else they have no free will and can never change for the better. Tipps tells Lipp that because he saved the day and can therefore change, Lipp need not kill Gatiss. He persuades Lipp to hand him the gun, only for Tipps to accidentally fire it and kill Gatiss.

With all the writers now apparently dead, the residents of Royston Vasey prepare for the worst. Instead, everything calms down and The Apocalypse is averted. The characters realise they now have free will. Herr Lipp adopts some orphaned children, the vet, Mr Chinnery, finds a rabbit and is able to take care of it without killing it, and Bernice and Pauline become romantically involved. Tipps leaves the church, waving goodbye to Edward, Tubbs and Papa Lazarou. It appears that Royston Vasey can continue to exist independently of its dead creators." This struggle for free will outside of the plan originally set out by their creators, especially in the context of said creators not really caring about them anymore, really starts sending red flags up for me. Crowley's existential crisis at the beginning of S2E1 seems to be mulling over similar themes. The lack of any God narrator as in season 1 might be a change in storytelling technique, but might also point the the creator being absent, or having moved on without really letting her original creation know it gets to exist on it's own now. Funnily enough, this is the second movie with shot for shot quotes throughout, that places a specific set of characters at the center of their own deeper plot that has a meta level to the storytelling. I'm starting to think there's a pattern here...

_______________________________________ Here's my series on the Tales of Hoffmann, another movie hidden within the series.