Hello everyone! You can find below all of my works cut in a series of individual masterlists, organized by fandom. I always put warnings and triggers up ahead, but some of these works are only meant for mature audiences (18+), so, guys, please don't interact with content labeled with that if you're a minor/can't handle it.
This blog is dedicated to write reader-centric stories only.
Thank you for your NINAH works, they've been a pleasant read! I love your style!
Thanks! I don't really write much for horror media, so I was a bit sceptical if I characterized Pale Man/Homeowner correctly so hearing this made me happy đ¤âď¸
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, âwhatâs the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?â and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is âunofficialâ, and we know thatâs not the right word, but itâs the only word we can come up withâŚuntil finally itâs like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is âartificialâ.
Warnings: Dead Characters, Swearing, Mentioned S/H Scars, Drinking, etc...
Length: 4,3K+
Chapters: 1/1
Summary:
Neither you nor Ivan could sleep for some reason. So, you two justâŚtalk until the sun comes back again.
You hadn't expected the conversation to get so gloomy, however.
A/N: This is basically a fic about the classic "Would you still love me if I was a worm?"question but make it NINAH. So...would you still love me if I was a visitor? Or would you just shoot me, baby?
It was unbelievably hot, so much so that even the night breeze didn't help to cool you off anymore. It was as if with each passing day, the Sun was coming closer and closer to Earth, or whatever it was wrong with it was getting worse, blowing up or whatever, and no matter how much you tried to sleep it off or find something to distract yourself from the unbearable heat, it didn't help anymore at this point.
You wondered when this... whatever the hell it was... would end.
...It didn't feel like things would get better, however. You all were going to die in this small house up the hill, you were sure of it, and there wouldn't be anyone left to bury you, even. Everyone was going to die.
Funny. You used to love summers. The hot air, the Sun shining bright, the cool sea, shorts, and t-shirts, eating ice-cream and going out, planning nights with friends after work... That used to be your favorite time of the year. Now? Now it felt quite like torture.
Maybe you would get to see one more winter before it was...over. Even if you couldn't go and touch it because of all the visitors, you still would have enjoyed the snowy view from the window, you think.
Yeah, that was a nice thought.
Ivan was going through the rooms again, you noticed, then. He didn't have his shotgun with him this time, however, and nodded to you before he turned towards the tall man over the couch, Yesenin.
He and Ivan whispered something to each other, then the man also got up to leave the room. They glanced at you again, though you ignored the looks this time, and just listened to their hurried footsteps leaving the room.
You had no idea what they were scheming, but you were far too sweaty and tired to figure it out. In this small house, there wasn't much they could do, anyway.
It was surprising that no one had actually caused a fight just yet, now that you think about it. Yeah, lots of the residents were irritable to say the least, you included, mind you, but despite that, you hadn't even had someone so much as raise their voice, let alone get into a row.
Just lots of complaining, and complaining, and complaining...something, unfortunately, you were used to anyway. Your dad's love language used to be that: to come together and grumble about something. He always said "No, no, no!" when you asked him for something, even though you both knew he would do it anyway.
You guessed he didn't want to give false hope, in case he couldn't.
...You really missed him.
At least the grief didn't hurt as much as it did before.
Then, Yesenin came again half an hour later and handed you a bottle of water.
"Ivan said this is the last ones we'll get until the Delivery Guy comes," said the man, looking down at you. "Be careful."
You sighed. Who knew when that would be? "Thanks."
Then, he went to the other side of the room, which took three steps anyway.
"Here, Coat Guy. This one is yours."
"I t-told you, m-my name is D-D-Dmitry." He huffed, sounding put off, but still took the water between his shivering, blue hands.
You wondered how he was freezing his ass off when the rest of you were about to melt into the carpet. He said it was a common cold, but it sure as hell was a stubborn one.
He had been here for more than a week now, and it did not look like he had gotten any better, either. You just hoped whatever illness he had wouldn't go around the house and make you all sick, either.
At least he was considerate enough to keep himself away from everyone.
Yevenin shrugged, "Doesn't matter. I'll forget about it anyway."
"...R-r-rude."
"Go complain to the Houseowner, then."
You took a sip from your bottle, then set it at your neck in hopes of some relief, but even the water was lukewarm. Really, you wished you could go all nude. The feeling of sweaty clothes sticking to your skin was really starting to bug you.
"Oh, what did you two do, by the way?" You asked him, then. "Did Ivan want you to get something off of a high shelf, or something?"
Yesenin glanced at his water for a moment, thoughtful, then said, "We just...put some trash bags out of the house, let's say."
"Oh shit... who did heâthere wasn't a gunshot, thoughâ"
No, no, it wasn't like that," He brushed you off, "It was... the Nun. She had been lying on the same table since yesterday afternoon, apparently, and the guy got suspicious, so he checked. She wasn't breathing."
"Oh..."
"Yeah. She was old, so the heat probably did it. We can't let the body just stay here, though. With how hot it is, it'll just be a matter of days before it really starts to rot, soâ"
Dmitry got up to leave, looking even paler. "I-I-I can't l-listen to thi-this..."
"âSo we put her body outside."
"...Won't the visitors take her?"
"Well, we can't exactly go dig a grave for her at this point, right?"
"Yeah, I guess..."
"It'll probably burn away in the morning, anyway."
You didn't say anything and just fidgeted with your hands. That didn't really help.
Yesening looked at you, thoughtful, then sighed, shaking his head, "Don't think too much about it. We've got to do what we've got to do. Nothing more, nothing less. There's no shame in that."
"Yeah, I know," You sighed. "It still feels...I don't know, disrespectful? Does that even make sense? I don't know much about religion, but..."
The man nodded, "I also would have preferred to give her a proper burial but...that thing is still out there, somewhereâ"
That Pale Visitor, he meant. The one with huge arms and an eerie grin that came every now and then to ask Ivan if he was alone in the house or not.
"âAnd we can't just risk it."
"...Yeah."
Then, you glanced at the door, trying to hear if the Homeowner was anywhere near you, "Do you think Ivan's been a bit..off? Like, more anxious or something?"
"I suppose so," the other agreed, and took a sip from his water, too. "I hear him a lot at night, walking around and checking the door every now and then."
"Maybe he struggles to sleep?"
"Could be. He's always been a hermit, everyone in town knows him for thatâ" you chuckled at that, "âso he's probably on edge with so many people in his house, and the weather and this...dead coming out to attack us thing certainly doesn't help."
"What about you?" You looked at him, "Are you holding up?"
He shrugged, "Could be worse. I also would have preferred to be locked in my own home instead of with a bunch of strangers in this small place, but..."
"Better than being dead, huh?" Then, you joked. "We even get delivery!"
That got him to crack a smile, too. "...I suppose so."
"Do you think we could ask them to get us chocolate or something?" you wondered out loud. "I think I've got, like, 1500â˝ left in my jacket. It's gotta be here somewhere..."
"Maybe Ivan can ask when the phone works again." Yevenin rested his chin on his hand. "Maybe some cards, too, if they have it..."
"Oh, we could play Pishti or Bluff!"
"Bluff, I know, but I've never heard of Pishti before."
"I had a Turkish roommate back at college," you told him, reminiscing. "She was a social butterfly and taught us a lot of games like that. I lost a lot of money to her, tooâ"
Yesenin snorted.
"âYou take turns playing one card, and try to capture the pile by matching the rank of the top card or playing a Jack. There was also a pointing system, like I think Ace was 1 point each? And, I think if you want to win, you've got to at least have 31 points. But if we play it, we can decide the winner with how many cards the person has."
"Hmm...sounds simple enough."
"We can also bet on it, too."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"You know the game, and have played it for a few years at least. I'm not betting on a losing game."
You laughed at that. You were hoping to steal some of his chips at the next meal with this little trick, but it looked like he already knew your game. "Okay, okay...the first ten games will be free until you learn, then we bet."
"Still, no."
"Awww, come on...."
"Like I saidâ"
You talked for a while more until Yesenin decided to take a quick nap. Lucky bastard.
You got up, stretched your arms above your head, and got up to walk around a bit. The night was coming, and the other residents of the house were trying to find a place to sleep as well.
Some old teacher took the living room couch, next to Yesenin, a little girl, the Homeowner's neighbor, had just flat out laid on the carpet, and the lumberjack uncle rested in the kitchen.
You saw that the foreign guy with the wired-shut mouth had managed to get rid of all that nasty stuff also, and went to rest in the closet with that one awkward girl with a crooked shoulder as well.
They seemed to get along quite well, even if they couldn't talk.
You had tried to talk with him, too, at the start, in hopes of maybe helping him call someone who could assist him back to his country because, well, it was as clear as day that he wasn't from here and didn't want to be here anymore, either, but perhaps because of the injury around his lips, you hadn't been able to even make out the sounds he was making.
You went to the bathroom and washed your hands and face to clean up a bit.
Maybe you should cut your hair a bit, too. At least, then, you would not sweat as much, and it wouldn't stick to your nape so uncomfortably.
You checked your eyes. They were a bit red, but you could explain that with how little sleep you had gotten the last couple of days.
Your nails had gotten a bit longer, too, but they were relatively clean. There was nothing wrong with your ears, either. Your skin was a bit flushed, however, and you saw a few new pimples around your forehead, although small. Probably because of all this sweating, and not being able to shower as much, just once a week.
...You felt so dirty, all the damn time.
You saw a rash under your armpit, but it didn't hurt, so you didn't worry about it for now. That was a problem for later.
Then, someone knocked on the door.
"Full!" You slightly shouted behind. "Wait a minute, please. I'm getting out!" Then, you quickly used the toilet, washed your hands, and got out.
It was Ivan, and he looked as stiff as a board as always.
"Sorry," you apologized.
"It's fine," he said and walked past you into the bathroom.
You decided to look out the windows a bit and almost stomped on the poor cat's tail. In fear, it had hissed and scratched your ankle, but that was only fair.
Behind the curtain, you saw that the old farm on the other side of the hill, where the old man, his wife, and his daughter had lived, was burning now. A few FEMA workers were walking around, too.
You wondered if it was they who had burned the place, or if it was the vigilante guy. Either way, hopefully, neither of those crazies would come knocking on the door.
Then, a hand was on your shoulders, making you almost jump out of your skin. "Can't sleep?"
"Motherfuckeâ! Ohhh, it was you," you swore, and gave out a sigh of relief when you saw that it was Ivan who had scared the hell out of you. "You're so silent. Maybe we should put a bell around your ankle, huh?"
The joke didn't seem to land, and Ivan just looked at you with that blank stare of his. Just typical.
You stared back a moment, but once it was clear he wasn't going to comment, you decided to continue the conversation.
"Yeah...the weather is killing me. Even the air feels so heavy in my throat."
Ivan hummed, then looked out of the peephole.
"Is anyone coming?" you asked.
"No, not yet."
"I saw FEMA."
The man grunted.
"The Neighbor's house is burning, too."
He grunted again.
"Wow, it's such a pleasure to talk to you, Ivan!" you said, then,  sarcastically, of course, and rested your head against the wall. "Truly, you're such a good conversationalist! Who would have guessed, huh?"
The man turned toward you again, but this time, he had a frown on his face. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. He probably didn't even understand the sarcasm, that damn hermit.
Then, he hesitated a bit before asking, "...Do you want to watch TV? There isn't much, but...we could watch it together, if you want."
That got you to straighten a bit. Finally excited after weeks of boredom. "You've got a TV?"
Ivan nodded, "It's in my room. A small one."
"Can we?" you asked him back. "I thought you didn't like it when we got inside..."
He looked away, frowning again, "I said it's fine. Let's go."
You followed him to the end of the hall. Strangely, your heart had decided to go a bit rapid, too. It was beating hard enough that you hoped Ivan wasn't hearing it since you two were side by side. Had you ever been so close to him? No, not at all. He usually hid in his room, after all, and...
You were being so awkward for no reason, damnit!
He opened the door and let you get in first.
There was a big bed in the middle of the room, and in front of it was the small TV Ivan had mentioned earlier. There was also a small desk and a drawer. The window was shut with wooden planks here, too, and you could see them through the old, blue curtains.
"Should Iâ"
"Why don't youâ"
"Oh, sorry, Iâ"
"What were you sayiâ"
God, this was really awkward indeed. You embarrassedly smiled and said, "What were you saying, Ivan?"
He stared at you again, then, "...The remote is there. You can turn it on. I'll change my clothes."
"Okay," you said, and turned away. You got the remote from under the small table the TV was resting on, and went through the buttons until you managed to turn it on.
The first thing that came to the screen was a bunch of ballerinas dancing to a song. It sounded familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint exactly which performance it was. Not like you watched ballet a lot, anyway.
You sat down and rested against the bed.
Then, Ivan came to sit down next to you as well.
And, god, he was so close. You could almost feel the heat coming from him, too. Or were you just imagining it?
You glanced at him. He was wearing a washed-out grey T-shirt that was loosely hanging on his shoulders.
"Look at you!" you grinned, then. "And I here thought you only ever owned turtlenecks! Why do you even wear them all the time anyway? Isn't it hot as bâ"
Then, once your eyes wandered down, you noticed the cuts all over his wrists and arms. All horizontal and deep, thick lines. The white contrasted with the rest of the skin, too. But with how many of them he had, they almost blended in as one.
"âb,balls here, haha!" you stuttered, looking up again. You hoped Ivan hadn't noticed you staring and gotten uncomfortable. Shit... was it better to talk about it or just ignore it? Knowing the guy's personality, probably the second...right?
"...I am used to it at this point," he said, staring right at the TV. He didn't comment on your stutter or how your gaze had gone to his scars for a moment, thank God. "I always wore long sleeves anyway."
You decided to change the subject before an uncomfortable silence replaced it. "Looks like there are only ballet performances tonight, huh? Every channel shows the same thing for some reason."
Ivan stayed silent for a moment, then, "...It's been like that for days now."
You glanced at the women again, and the way they elegantly bent their bodies to the music like they were born for this. "...That isn't....good, is it?"
"Means something's happening with the government," The man mumbled. "The last time something like this showed up was a few decades ago, after a failed coup. They showed Swan Lake on loop for almost a week."
"Great," you groaned, feeling actually helpless. It turned out you actually did have hopes for things to get better, huh? What bitch, life was. "We are totally fucked, then."
"...Probably."
You snorted. "Are you not even going to try to console me or anything? Say that everything will be fine?"
"What's the point of lying? We all know it's only downhill from this point."
"Why are you still here, then?"
"You're the one who knocked on my door."
"You know that's not what I mean, Ivan," you jab at his shoulder.
Ivan also rested his back against the bed and slouched over a bit. He looked really tired. "I suppose...Even if life is pain and only death is rest, it's still the only one I've got. I'm going to see the end of it."
"I guess I get what you mean." You put your head against his shoulder, eyes still on the ballerinas, and waited to see what he would do.
Ivan tensed a bit, but did not push you off.
"Do they show different ballets, at least?" you asked, then.
"I don't think so."
"Well, shit. At least we got music, then."
That got a little snort out of the man. Now that you think about it, this was the first time you saw him show any emotions other than annoyance or exhaustion, wasn't it?
It kinda made your chest flutter. How stupid, as if you were a teenager again, with their silly little crushes.
"Always trying to look at the good side, huh?"
You shrugged, "What else am I gonna do? Cry and scream how we are all doomed?"
That image seemed to be just as redundant to him as it was to you as well, as he made a face. "...I definitely prefer this version of you over that one, then."
You smiled. "Yup. No one likes a killjoy even during an apocalypse."
You two then got into a silence and just watched the screen for a moment.
You didn't dare move, in fear that it might make Ivan leave.
His hand was so close to yours, too, now that your eyes wandered down. Could you maybe hold it? He was letting you sit with him arm to arm, so, perhaps he also...
Reluctantly, you reached for it, andâ
"Wait a moment, I've got something here," Ivan coughed and rushed to get up. He almost fell down on you and had to support himself on the bed, his hand right next to your neck, face to face. He was frowning again, but you could see the red tint across his ears even when it was dark.
Wow, you just had to get greedy andâ
He went to the dresser and pulled out two cans.
"Beer," he said, and tossed you one. "Pisswarm, but still good."
You caught it mid-air and looked at the brand. You didn't recognize it but still cracked it open and took a sip, "Wow, thanks so much. What else do you have here, huh? Some candy, too?"
Ivan stayed silent for a moment, then, "....Just this."
What a bad liar.
"Bullshit."
"I'm not lying."
"Really? Can I take a peek, then?"
"...No."
"Hah! So you do have something there!"
"...No. I just don't want you to see my underwear."
You snorted. "Why? Got only whitey-tighties or something?"
Ivan sighed and sat beside you again, "...You're really starting to annoy me, you know?"
"Aww, I'm sorry," you said. You wanted to tease him further but didn't want to push your luck too much, either. "Please, don't throw me out! I'm having so much fun here~."
He grumbled something under his breath that you didn't quite get, and then you two returned to the screen.
Where were the ballerinas, you wondered, then? Were they all dead, too? Or were they hiding somewhere with their own families and friends, waiting to be rescued?
A rescue that was most likely not coming...
"How do you think Visitors came to be?" you asked, then, and sipped from your drink.
Ivan raised a brow, "Why the question?"
You shrugged, "I don't know. Just curiosity, I guess. FEMA says they come from the underground, but I don't think that's true. If supernatural shit like that exists, why did they appear now? Why not before?" You rambled, now frowning yourself, "I don't even believe that FEMA knows what is happening, they're just pulling all these signs out of their asses, just fear mongering, so they can...I don't know... seize the government?"
"It doesn't really matter, I think."
"But it does. What if it's like a sickness that makes people go crazy like this? Or, I don't know, a brain-eating parasite? Or a weird mushroom?"
He turned towards you, then, "...Where are you getting with this?"
You shrugged again, and this time, you were the one to look away, "Nowhere...I'm just being stupid."
"No. Just say it, won't you?"
"It's just that...I guess, it's that..." you rambled, "if this is a sickness like that, or whatever, then...anyone could turn into a Visitor at any time, right? What will we do, then?"
"We will kill them."
You let out a little laugh, though you had not found his answer quite that funny at all. "...I knew you would say that."
"Why ask it, then?"
You shrugged again and stayed silent for a moment.
"...Do you think it hurts?"
"...I don't think they even realise it," Ivan said and downed the rest of his beer. "Some of them, at least."
You bit your lip, not sure if you should really say the thing in your mouth or not, then decided to just rip the bandage off, and got his attention, "Ivan?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you do me a favor?"
He frowned, looking reluctant, "Depends on what it is."
"If I turn into a Visitor...just shoot me when I'm not looking, okay? I don't want to see it coming."
"That's not happening."
You scoffed, "What, you want me to be in pain? Come on, Ivan...I'm sure you can wait to kill me until I turn around, at least."
"No, that's not what I meant...!" The man spurned. You couldn't explain why, but he looked quite agitated. Then, he froze for a moment to try to gather his thoughts to explain what he meant, "You wâI won't justâwhat I mean isâyou are not going to turn into one of those things, okay?"
You shook your head as you had just heard the ramblings of a silly kid, "You don't know that, Ivan. I'm just saying...if that happens, justâ"
"No," he interrupted you, as stubborn as a damn mule. "I'm not killing you, no matter what happens, that's it."
"So, what? You'll let me kill you, then?" You joked. "Or maybe you can just feed me the other humans that come to take shelter every now and then."
Ivan didn't respond, but he did look like he was pondering over what you had just said, as if it was an actually reasonable and plausible plan.
"Ivan, you've got to be messing with me right now."
"..."
You laughed, then, loud enough to almost wake up the other residents, and rested your head on his shoulder again. This time, when you held his hand, Ivan didn't freak out and leave, and just let you feel him, though he did flinch for a moment, probably because he wasn't used to being touched so much.
Maybe he did like you a lot more than he let on, too, then, to let you get so close.
"Well," you said. "I personally would shoot you, you know?"
Ivan scoffed, then, and tried to pull his hand away, but you didn't let him. "Wow, thanks."
"But I would be really sad doing it, though!" You defended yourself, suppressing a grin. "I would ask you to look at the flowers before ending you, so you would not see it coming."
Just the way you would like to go, too.
"...Are you actually quoting a TV series to me right now?"
"So you did watch it, too!"
"There are no flowers out there anymore, either, by the way. In case you didn't notice."
"Smartass."
Then, without saying much, Ivan went down and kissed you. It was a quick little peck on your lips and was over before you could even register that it was happening. He probably did it without much pondering, because if he had, he never would have.
"You make this hellish place a bit...better," he said, and avoided your eyes again. "I would rather not think about a scenario like this one. We'll see what we'll do when we cross that bridge."
"Who knows? Maybe we'll be Visitors at the same time!" You jested, nudging his side so he would look at you again. "Then we can go around...whatever they do, together, right?"
Ivan cracked a smile, shook his head a bit as if you were being unbelievable, but otherwise, just decided to indulge in your delusions as well. That was the only thing you all got, anyway. "...I suppose that's also an option."
He isn't really the type of person who falls in love easily, but when he does, he is very devoted.
This is why he's still grieving his ex-wife even now and gets melancholic now and then. Especially so when her death anniversary comes. He still has a photo of her in the living room, too.
He's very slow to open up. He would rather ignore the problems you two have than talk them out. It would take a lot of coaxing to get him to talk.
He's prone to bottling things up until they overflow.
He enjoys solitude and would still need his regular time to be alone to recharge. He can get very irritable, prone to arguing, or just clam up even further if he gets too overwhelmed like this, even with you.
He wouldn't hesitate for a second to put himself in danger to keep you safe, though.
He's really reserved and would struggle to say stuff like "I love you," especially at the beginning of the relationship. And even then, he doesn't say it much unless you prompt him.
He's very blunt with others, but he would be patient with you, even when you irritate him.
He's not really the romantic type. He probably wouldn't plan elaborate dates or make dramatic celebrations for you, but he would remember the small things you mentioned to him and make sure you have everything you need at home.
He never talks about his childhood or either of his parents. You can still see that he especially hates his father, however.
He avoids looking at mirrors because his own face looks so much like that man's.
The rare times he gets angry and breaks something, he instantly feels guilty and isolates himself. He gets reminded of his own childhood, and fears this might be the last straw that pushes you to leave him.
He's afraid of losing people, especially since he lost so many friends and family because of various things, this is why he's so distant. He thinks he's better off alone.
He can be very stubborn and insists on shouldering all the burdens alone, and he can handle threats all by himself.
He would never admit it, but he needs reassurances more than he would like. Despite having that stoic demeanor, he would actually like to know that you choose to stay with him, that you do love him a lot, and that he makes your life better, even if he would rather shoot himself in the foot than ask for this outright.
He's surprisingly gentle with you, even though he acts like a brute sometimes.
He prefers a calm home life. Quite evenings, predictable routines, and homemade cooked meals where you have conversations over is his ideal way of living.
He would still go out and do stuff with you if you ask him, though. He will be complaining and huffing and puffing, however!
He always wakes up before you and just watches you for a moment before getting up.
"Be careful," "Text me when you get there," and "Did you eat?" are basically his versions of "I love you."
He's surprisingly good at remembering birthdays, anniversaries, and important dates, even if he pretends they aren't a big deal.
He apologizes through actions before words. After an argument, he might make coffee, repair something around the house, or cook dinner before finally saying, "...I'm sorry."
He would never say it, but whenever you guys fight, he feels his heart beat fast like a rabbit's, and his hands start to shake. He hates it, so he tries to leave the room and go hide somewhere until he can calm down again.
He secretly enjoys listening to you talk about your interests, even if he contributes very little to the conversation and understands even less.
He has a habit of checking that the doors and windows are locked before going to bed. Trauma makes routines comforting, you know?
He doesn't like being fussed over when he's sick, but he will tolerate it if you still want to take care of him.
He rarely smiles, but when he genuinely laughs, it's enough to completely change his face.
Sitting in the same room while each person does their own thing feels just as intimate to him as going on a date.
He keeps almost everything you give him. Ticket stubs, little notes, pressed flowers, silly souvenirs...they all end up tucked away somewhere in the wardrobe.
He has a dry sense of humor, and if he ever makes jokes, he does it with a straight face. Not even you can tell if he's trying to be sarcastic or funny.
He isn't comfortable being the center of attention. If you compliment him, he'll usually shrug it off or change the subject.
He sometimes catches himself thinking, This is too good to last. You have to remind him that not every good thing is temporary.
He sometimes entertains the idea of having kids, but would never actually act on it, or even confess that to you. He doesn't even think he's a good husband, so how could he be a good father?
He's the type of man who would go, "In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you," during the end of the world.
Would anyone care if I said I plan to write a story with a Reader/Vergo/Doflamingo love-triangle where Vergo has to choose between the woman he loves and the man he worships đś
Doflamingo kills his brother for betraying him, and moments later learns that he is an uncle.âŚThis was not a good day, indeed.
Do you know the feeling when you get so furious, frantic, even, that, at some point, the heat you feel burning in your chest leaves you with a cold, numb pit in your stomach?
That's what Doflamingo felt at the moment.
Suffocated, tense, and shaking, even.
He wanted to rip something, maybe even scream like a wild animal until his throat was sore. Perhaps if he did that, then this unbearable feeling would go away, too.
No, he wouldn't act so foolishly in front of his crew. They deserved better than that.
He looked up, "Where are they?"
Baby 5 hung down from Buffalo's back as they flew over him and pointed at the nearby hill. "Diamante went to the building over there after Vergo gave him a call, Young Master!" She said gleefully. It was almost infuriating, too, but she was just a child and did not understand the heftiness of the situation. "They already caught CorazĂłn, too!"
"And Law?"
That made her smile fade. She hated to disappoint him, even if it was something out of her control. "...I'm not sure. No one said anything about that."
"And we didn't see anything yet either-dasuyan!" Buffalo added.
Doflamingo sighed, "Go around the island until you do. Make sure he doesn't get away."
"Yes, sir!"
"Got it, Young Master!"
He couldn't believe that Rosinante had done this, that his own flesh and blood, his own little brother, had betrayed him. And, for what? For a group of Government dogs that would have no problem leaving him to rot? For a boy he hadn't even liked?
He put his hand out and watched as his beautiful, lethal strings covered the whole island. Now, one could get in or out.
Doflamingo had always been protective of what was his. His things, his plans, his people, his ambitions... He would do anything for them, even if it meant covering himself in blood, even if it meant burning everything in their way, even if it meant hurting innocent people who didn't even know who he was before he struck them down, if that was what they wanted.
That was the only capacity in which he knew how to love, after all, and his Family knew that.
But what was he supposed to do now when it was one of them who had turned against him?
It was cold. The snow kept coming down, and the harsh wind was cutting into his skin like little blades.
He hated snow.
It reminded him of only bad times.
He wondered, then, does he love his little brother, his CorazĂłn, his heart more than his ambitions? Did he love him enough to forgive this and give up everything? His plans for the future, his immortality? His desire to burn down this world that had forsaken him?
...He didn't know.
"Doffy!" Pica screeched, then, with that ridiculous voice of his, and halted his thoughts for a moment. "They cornered CorazĂłn near the west entrance of the building!"
He didn't say anything, just kept walking. And, when he finally arrived at the scene, he saw his brother on the ground, a bloody mess with the others hovering over him.
He felt his chest twist again, then.
What an ugly feeling, that was.
It reminded him of those days when the angry humans kept hunting them down, their legs too little, too weak to run away from them. He remembered how he used to throw himself over Rosinante in an attempt to protect him from the worst of it, and the way he shook under him, whining, as he got every blow.
What the hell was he supposed to do with this?
"You can talk?!" Gladius screamed, then, shaking in rage and disbelief. "Why the hell were you acting like a mute, then? What the hell was that for?"
That made him halt.
He felt like wailing also.
His brother, whose voice he had not heard since the day he had left him, chuckled and reached for a smoke, "Because I've got nothing to say to the lot of you."
That earned CorazĂłn a kick, and right between his ribs, too.
For a moment, he thought about slicing Gladius for it, into paper-thin slices, even, despite knowing he did it for his sake, for his honor.
"You piece of shit!"
After all, they say blood is thicker than water for a reason, didn't they?
Despite that, Doflamingo did nothing to stop his crew and watched as they came together to beat him a bit more. It was ironic, at least to some degree, how these people who had nothing to do with him were more loyal to him than his own flesh and blood. Painful, too. Rosinante deserved every bit of that beating, he had to say to himself.
That didn't stop that ugly thing gnawing into his innards, however.
He stopped them then and got in front of his traitor of a brother before they actually killed him, however. "This is enough, everyone."
They cleared the way for him when they heard him. Rosinante took the cigarette between his red-tinted lips and took a deep breath before getting into a coughing fit.
He must have a broken rib or two, at the very least.
Doflamingo felt his Family's gaze burning against his back. This was one of the rare moments when he had no idea what to say or how to start the conversation.
He hated it.
It made him feel smile, as if he were a mere child.
"So this is who you really are," he decided to say, then, and noticed the black, reddish spot between his brother's teeth. He must have lost a tooth, then. It looked horrible. "...CorazĂłn."
The other didn't say anything, and despite knowing very well that the smoke would do nothing but hurt his already hurt lungs, he took another mouthful of it.
Say something, Doflamingo thought through gritted teeth, Anything, damn it! Let him hear that voice that he had been prohibited from hearing for so long.
How had he kept this act for so long, he wondered, then, without slipping once? How could he live without saying a single thing, especially to his older brother, for years like this?
Did he really grow to hate Doflamingo that much?
...Why?
He wanted to kick that skull open and dig his fingers into that brain he did not understand anymore. Maybe then he would find a reason behind all of this madness.
Then, Rosinante threw the rest of his smoke to the side and grabbed his pistol from his back pocket.
Where was the coat Doflamingo had gotten for him so they would match? Had he abandoned it somewhere?
Machvise attempted to step in front of him, but Doflamingo stopped the big man and watched as his brother pulled out a pistol, pointing at him.
Was this person in front of him the same brother he had dreamed about, missed to hell and back for all these years?
No, no, he was not.
"Marine Code: 01746." Rosinante stuttered, finally, and smiled. Oh, his voice sounded so rough from all that smoking. He had not realized it while he was spitting with Gladius. Not at all like how he talked when he was a little boy. "Captain of the Donquixote Pirates, I'm an undercover spy from the Marines."
Those eyes, same as his, so red, almost like crimson. They looked at him with determination, with resonance, with the resolve of a man who was willing to die for the cause he truly believed in, as if he actually believed that Doflamingo was the demon everyone preached into his ear, as if, until now, he would ever dare to hurt him.
He hated them, too, he found out.
They reminded him of their Father, for some reason, even though they neither matched by spirit nor shape.
 It had never bothered him before, until now.
Maybe they looked too human for him, unlike his own.
He wanted to pluck them out so that the man couldn't look at him through them anymore, as if he was actually his enemy, and not his family.
Maybe they had stopped being that after he had left him there to find his way back to the Holy Land.
...Did this mean this was his fault, then?
Rosinante sighed, then, and banged his head against the wooden chest he was lying in front of like a madman, "I'm sorry I lied to you," he confessed. "I...I didn't want you to hate me, you know?"
Doflamingo felt his hand twitch.
Liar, he thought, you damn, foolish liar.
...Why did he have to do this?
"Go screw yourself, you traitor!" Lao G cried out from somewhere behind him, though he couldn't tell from where. Not that it mattered.
"Do you actually think you can just apologize and get away with all of this?!" Giolla agreed.
There were so many questions he wanted to ask.
He decided to ask none of them, however.
It wouldn't change anything, after all.
Not at this point.
 "Answer me, Corazón!" He roared with this newfound conviction, even though it did not sit quite well with him. "Where is the Op Op fruit? Where did Law go?"
For a moment, there was silence again until Rosinante beamed up, looking intrepidly happy with what he had done, his eyes shining bright.
He didn't smile like that even once through all the time they had been reunited, now that he thought about it.
He looked so lovely with it, Doflamingo couldn't help but think. It really suited him.
"I made Law eat it! Now the power of Op Op is his!" He declared with a cheerful voice, as if he weren't in a world of pain. "Now there's nothing you can do about it, Doflamingo!"
Everyone gasped, and Doflamingo felt another wave of nausea crash into him.
Now, how the hell was he supposed to become a true God without the Perennial Youth Operation?! He was a Marine, for fuck's sake! Why would he give it to a boy who was destined to die in a year or two rather than bring it back to the World Government?!
That damnâ
Then, as if wanting to put salt into his wound, his brother declared, "And he's already outside the cage, too! I'm sure that he's already on one of our ships, sailing away! You can't use him anymore, so you might as well give up!"
Doflamingo called that bullshit. Even if the brat managed to learn how to use his fruit this quickly, he would still be far too sick to be able to run away this fast.
But thenâ
"Young Master! Young Master!" Baby 5 cried out, sounding agitated. "We heard a call! The Marines got a woman and a little boy in their custody!"
"Yeah!" Buffalo said, just as stressed out. "They said they'll bring them to the Headquarters, wherever that is!"
Doflamigo gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.
God, was there anything more undoing than a brother?
"I'll get rid of the strings!" He informed the crew. "Go bring Law back to me! Quick!"
It was okay, he told himself. He could fix this. All he had to do was get the little shit back and educate him. Then, he would sacrifice himself for Doflamingo of his own free will.
Everyone ran to obey the Captain's orders, leaving the two brothers finally alone.
"You won't find him," Rosinante said, through his wheezing breaths. He looked so sure of himself, too. "Just leave him alone."
That got him to chuckle, "You know I can't do that, little brother~ If he really ate the fruit, then there's no way I'm letting him go."
"He won't die for you, you know."
"I will kill him and search for the fruit again, then."
It had been a long time since he had felt this much rage in him.
The last time was when they had been crucified, dangling over the fire. He could still remember as clear as day the way the flames had licked his feet.
He wondered if Rosinante remembered that, or if it slipped his mind as he grew up.
"Heh, I would not put that past you, to be honest." His brother chuckled before getting into a coughing fit.
Having a brother was a fatal little thing, he decided then. Letting someone this close to you, letting them have a place in your heart, giving them the power to break your heart, was not worth the pain.
But what else was he supposed to do when he was biologically wired to love this person with all he had? When there was a voice in him that screamed not to be rash, while the other part of him wanted nothing more than to rip him open and make some place for himself?
This opposition in him, those two sides screaming at each other, was maddening, really.
He knew that there would be no one to love him the way a brother would, yet if he were gone, then there would be no one to hurt him as he did as well, even if he lived the rest of his life with a hole shaped like that brother.
He can't think of a way of making this right. If he keeps him by his side, it'll just be a matter of time until he wakes up with a knife held against his throat. Yet, if he lets his brother go away, he knows this will not be the end of it, and he will come after him again one way or the other.
Rocinante came to this world knowing him. Their Mother had gifted his little brother to him so that he would always have someone by his side, after all.
This will only end with either one of them dead, there was no other way.
He was supposed to love and protect him. He was the older brother, after all, it was his duty.
Why should he die, when it was Rosinante who was forcing them into this situation in the first place?
Then, with shaky hands, he pulled out his own pistol. "Why do you force me to kill another member of my family?!" He hopelessly asked the other man. "Why do you have to get in my way, ha?!"
Why did he even bother coming here if this was how things were going to end?!
Instead of answering him, Rosinante got on shaky legs and raised his own weapon at him again, holding his stance.
"Please!" He scoffed. "We both know you are not going to shoot me, you fool. You are far too much like him to do that!"
He wondered if he would have forgiven this traitor if he had opened up to him at any point before here, or if he would have just shot him, just like how he was going to do now.
"Law will not be your pawn, Doffy..." Rosinante spouted nonsense. "He managed to overcome all the possibilities, everything that was trying to kill him, and survived. He is free now! He will never be like you!"
Like...him?
That was the real problem?
That was it. That was what pushed him over the edge, and before he knew it, Doflamingo pulled the trigger again and again, until the cylinder was empty.
He watched as his brother fell to the ground, covered in holes, bleeding into the snow like the bleeding heart that he was.
He did not cry, scream, or even beg.
Doflamingo was glad for that because he didn't know what he would have done if his brother had done that.
He was taking deep breaths, holding onto life as long as he could. For what reason, Doflamingo couldn't tell. After all, even if the nearest Marine ship came as fast as they could, they would still not arrive until Rosinante was long dead, and he knew just as well that he was also aware of this.
He glanced at his pistol and the way the hot smoke curled in the air.
He decided that he didn't want to watch his brother die, then, and turned around to leave.
The snow felt far colder for some reason. He looked up. A storm might be coming soon. They would have to leave if they didn't want to get stuck here.
For a while, all he heard was his own footsteps until Diamante appeared in front of him.
"Doffy..." he said, sounding unsure. He was holding a den den. "Vergo is calling. He said he had to tell you somethin'."
Doflamingo sighed. He was not at all in the mood to have a conversation. "What is it?"
"I, I'm not sure," The man gulped, looking away. "Here, take it. He can explain it better."
He cut to the chase. "Talk."
"Doffy, you know how I got the files on CorazĂłn from the Fleet Admiral," the man started. "I've told you most of it, but...there was a part I've had left out."
He frowned. "What are you getting at, Vergo?"
Really, he was at his wits' end. What was with everyone keeping secrets from him these days?
"The file had a lot of information about various things, Doffy," Vergo said. "Trainings, certificates, medical check-ups, deployments, and...family."
Doflamingo didn't say anything.
"The family paper was kept short, as if someone had redacted it on purpose," He continued. "I think the Fleet Admiral I mentioned before had a hand in this. He was the one who had found CorazĂłn back then, too."
"...So?"
"He has a child," Vergo said. "I wasn't 100% for sure, at first, this is why I didn't mention it, Doffy. But I think I found the kid."
Doflamingo felt his stomach churn again. A kid? His brother had a kid? When? How old were you? Doflamingo was an uncle? Were you a girl or a boy? That idiot had decided to get himself killed when he had a child to take care of?
"Where is this kid, Vergo?"
"There is a shack near the port, a little into the forest. It's an old thing. Abandoned, I think. CorazĂłn hid them there. Want me to send you the coordinates?"
"No, I think I know where you mean," he said, and without further ado, shot half a dozen of strings to the clouds. Once he was sure they were secure, he leaped into the sky and flew off, leaving the rest of his crew behind.
His coat fluttered behind him as he glided through the air, hopping from cloud to cloud with ease.
His mind wandered to his brother, who was dying right now. Probably only had minutes left, if not lessâ
You would be an orphan, then, and you wouldâ
No, he was not going to think that. He was not going to regret anything. This was Rosinante's fault, not his. He could have chosen literally anything else, and he would have been by your side.
Should he kill you, too? Should he cut the bud before it could grow into something that would anger him? Should he justâ
No. Your father's sins were not yours.
He would make sure everything would be fine now. He would make sure you grew up without fear or hunger, protecting you. Then, naturally, you would also start toâ
Something blinded him, despite his glasses.
Doflamingo stopped and looked down. There, at the ground, was Vergo, shining something towards him to get his attention before he flew away without noticing.
With the same ease as he ascended to the sky, he got down and stepped into the snow one more time.
"Young Master," the other hurried towards him. "They are there."
"You really sure?"
He nodded, "CorazĂłn's coat is in there, too. He probably left them here before leaving to get the fruit."
Doflamingo absentmindedly nodded and turned his head to the shack. Suddenly, he felt his heartbeat rise again.
"Go find the others," he said to Vergo. "Law must still be hiding here somewhere. Don't let him get away."
"Doffy...are you sure you want to go there aloneâ"
His grin stretched, then, all sharp and wide. "Are you questioning me, Vergo?"
The man took a step back and shook his head, "Of course, not, Doffy! I would never disrespect you like that, you knowâ"
He chuckled and raised a hand to stop him from rambling even more, "Fufufu~ I know, Vergo, I'm just messing with you. Go along now, will you? This is a family matter. Well...at least the blood one."
Vergo did not look at all like he wanted to leave, but still nodded. Such a loyal subject, wasn't he? "Okay, then. I'll see you back on the ship, Young Master."
Doflamingo didn't answer and just watched as the man walked away towards the docks.
Once he was totally out of his line of sight, was when Doflamingo started to reach the shack himself.
For a moment, he stood in front of the old, rundown door. One kick, and it would be broken.
He wasn't sure what to expect in there. Did you look like his brother, or did you look more like your mother? Where was she, anyway? Was she dead, too? Did you know what your father was doing on this island? Did you have any idea about Law?
How would you react once he revealed to you that Doflamingo hadâ
Maybe it wasn't even you, maybe the brat inside was just some random brat, and Vergo had misjudged the situation.
What was the possibility, after all, that he would beâ
He pushed open the door. It did not resist against his hand at all. Then, he crouched down to get in, and the first thing he noticed was the bundle of black feathers sitting on the ground.
His breath hitched.
This was Rosinante's coat, he was sure of it.
Then, this meantâ
"Papa?" An excited, little voice said. Then, the feathers started to move around, and a head popped out. "Papa! You're back!"
You looked exactly like him. No, like his childhood. You shared the same dirty blond hair, shaggy, coming to your shoulders. And, oh, he couldn't forget about those bangs. You looked so cute with them as you smiled. How did you even see in front of you when they covered your eyes like that? Doflamingo could even see the little gap between your front teeth, too.
He took a step forward.
It was as if he were looking at Rosinante again, from fourteen years ago. The only difference was your eyes. You must have gotten them from your mother, then.
Gosh, he just knew he was enamored with you, then and there. How could he not, honestly? You could ask him the world, and he would do anything in his power to give it to youâ
"Papa, where were youâ!" Your eyes landed on him, and just like that, your smile was cut, and you shrank away, unsure if this strange man was a danger to you or if he was okay. "...Who are you?"
Doflamingo took a deep breath, smiled, and got closer to crouch down in front of you.
He chuckled as you quickly retreated and wrapped the coat around you, as if it would be of any help if he actually wanted to hurt you.
"Nice to meet you, kiddo." He said, trying not to look intimidating. Which was hard, mind you, when he was this big and tall. But you must have been used to it, considering who your father was. "I'm Doflamingo. Do you know me?"
You peeked through the feathers, tilted your head a bit, and lared at him as you tried to remember if he was someone that your father had mentioned before. Then, still hesitant, you shook your head. "No...?"
That got a huff from Doflamingo.
That damned bastardâ
He couldn't evenâ
What, he wanted to act like his brother didn't existâ
"Well, I'm your father's, Rosinante's, brother," he explained, using what he thought was a calming, soothing voice. Kids were easily scared, after all, and he wouldn't want you to try to run around the island running away from him. Not that you would have gone far when you barely reached his knee, but still. "This makes me your uncle, you know? We are family."
You did not look like you believed him, "Papa never said anything about that..." then, as if just noticing his absence, you added. "Where is he? Is he coming?"
You flinched for a second when Doflamingo touched you, but overall did not resist as he took you into his arms. Just as he had thought, you were as light as a feather. "Let's go to my ship and talk there, okay? Don't worry, everything is alright. Don't worry, I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you, mi pollito."
Pls I really need a part two of the crocodile x readerđđđđť like I need it like I need air to breathâ¤ď¸âđŠš
I was actually thinking about a scenario where Reader goes to a bar to wind down a bit and coincidentally meet with Crocodile there. They would talk, get drunk, and have a one-night stand.
I'm not sure if this should be a continuation of Stranger Danger or a stand-alone fic, tho. Not that it would change much but still.
Until I decide on that, I'm going to finish two other fics I've been struggling with for two months now đ So you might have to wait a bit, sorry!
You are a college student, working the night shift at a convenience store. So, what happens? Well, a drunk guy makes a mess of your store, for one, but then gets beaten by a man who's totally your type, but also maybe...from the mafia? What was up with that?
You banged your head against the window when the bus lurched to a sharp stop.
"Ow, fuckâ?!"
You sat upright immediately and rubbed your temple. Hopefully, you wouldn't get a bruise or anything. You'd been resting your head against the cool glass and had nearly drifted off when this sudden jolt woke you.
Thankfully, it didn't hurt too much.
Blinking away the remnants of your very much needed sleep, you glanced at the view outside.
Three stops left.
An elderly woman climbed aboard at the next station, looking around for an empty seat. Not thinking it much, you pushed yourself up and gestured toward yours.
"Here."
The old woman smiled at you. "Thank you, sweetie."
You gave her a small nod before moving toward the back of the bus. Once you found a spot to stand, you slipped your headphones back on and scrolled through your playlist.
The rest of the ride passed in a blur.
When your stop finally arrived, you practically hopped off the bus.
Fresh air.
Well...relatively fresh.
The afternoon heat hit you immediately. Summer was creeping closer every day, and the humidity was already making your shirt stick uncomfortably to your back. Still, it was infinitely better than being trapped inside the stuffy bus.
...Why did they have to build the college on top of a damn mountain, anyway?
Seriously, you hated how drivers always seemed determined to cram every last passenger inside, too. By the end of most rides, everyone was packed together like sardines in a can, smelly and hot.
...You really should get your driver's licence.
Not that you had much to spare for lessons.
Adjusting your backpack, you headed toward the overpass and started the walk home.
God, you were exhausted.
Your professor had decided that today was the perfect day for a three-hour block lecture. Three hours, nonstop. Despite his students' very vocal complaints. And since you usually sat near the front, you couldn't even sneak a glance at your phone without risking getting called out.
At least it was finally the weekend.
Two whole days to rest, study for Monday's quiz, and start working on the paper your group had been assigned.
You hated the social sciences so much!
Actually, no. The paper wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that your friend had invited her boyfriend into the group without asking anyone first.
And the guy was useless!
You could already see how this was going to play out. The two of them would spend most of the project acting like they were the only people in the room, being all lovey-dovey, while you and the other two members of the group did the actual work. Then, as if that was not enough, you'd have to proofread whatever half-finished nonsense they submitted at the last minute if you wanted a decent grade, because you were a damn pushover.
Needless to say, your mood wasn't great.
You really should practice telling your thoughts more. Putting boundaries and all that nonsense. Or else this will just follow you into the workplace as well.
On the way home, you stopped at the small grocery store near your apartment, next to the pharmacy. And the moment you stepped inside, the blast of air conditioning felt heavenly.
You wandered through the aisles, looking for something easy to eat. Cooking sounded like far too much effort right now, and you definitely didn't trust your roommate to have made food for both of you, either.
"She'd better have washed her dishes this time," you muttered, or else you would put them all in her desk until her room stank up.
Eventually, your eyes landed on a cup of Yopokki.
You picked it up and turned it over.
Rice cakes.
You'd never actually tried them before, at least, not this kind, but how different could they be from instant noodles? Just thicker, right?
After a brief internal debate, you grabbed a can of soda as well. "Fuck it. It's not that expensive, anyway." And a nice meal wasn't finished without something tasty and cold to drink.
The cashier barely looked up when you approached the register.
"It'll be 1,205 berries. Cash or credit?"
"Cash." You handed over four 500-berry bills.
Honestly, you couldn't hold his grumpy attitude against him. For all you knew, he'd been dealing with rude customers for hours and just wanted to go home.
Besides, you'd be in his shoes yourself in a couple of hours.
The cashier counted the money, handed back your change, and immediately turned to the next customer.
You thanked him anyway before leaving the store.
A few minutes later, you reached your apartment building. It wasn't much to look at. It was old, so were most of the residents, and half the plumbing sounded like it was one bad day away from giving up entirely.
At least, your landlord was a decent enough guy.
He was polite, never talked down to his tenants, and if rent was a few days late, he'd usually let it slide as long as you warned him beforehand. He didn't even mind that you had brought your cat in without telling him, too.
Honestly, it was a massive upgrade compared to last year.
That old fart during your second year had practically spent the entire semester trying to kick you and Adele out under the excuse of "wanting to sell the apartment."
As if.
He just wanted to rent it to another person who would pay more, that was all.
You and your roommate had managed to drag the whole thing out until summer break arrived, but it had been exhausting with all the phone calls, threatening texts, and emails about starting legal action that he never did, by the way, whining about how much he needed money for his kids.
The bastard hadn't cared that throwing two university students out in the middle of the winter could leave them scrambling for housing, so why should you have cared about his renovation plans? Or his precious plans?
Besides, you'd checked.
The place was still on the market.
Months later, at that.
Apparently, according to one of your old neighbors, he was already looking into renting it out again, just like you had thought, since nobody wanted to buy the dump.
What a shock.
Honestly, what exactly had he even expected? That someone would pay several million berries for an apartment that could barely stay warm during cold nights?
"That bastard," you muttered under your breath. You hoped his next tenants would turn the entire building upside down. Maybe then he'd finally regret being a shitty landlord.
The elevator sat all the way on the fifth floor when you entered the lobby.
You stared at the ancient thing for a second, then shook your head.
The stairs would be faster.
Probably safer, too.
You climbed up to your floor and fished your keys out of your bag. A moment later, you pushed the apartment door open and kicked it shut behind you with your hip.
You slipped off your shoes, lined them up near the entrance, and called out.
"Hey! Adele! You here?"
No response came. She was probably still at the university. Looked like for once, you'd get a little peace before having to leave for your next shift. Nice, wasn't it?
Dropping your backpack beside the couch, you headed into the kitchen and filled the kettle. A few moments later, water was heating on the stove while you examined the Yopokki packaging.
Then you frowned.
Microwave.
The instructions wanted a microwave, and you did not have one. Just the old oven you and your roommate shared.
"Shit."
You considered it for about three seconds. Then immediately discarded the idea. The last thing you needed was accidentally setting the apartment on fire because you wanted rice cakes, after all.
A pot would work. Probably. Hopefully. You emptied the contents into a saucepan and prepared everything according to the instructions as best as you could.
Before adding the sauce, you dipped a finger into it and tasted. It was indeed pretty good!
Three minutes later, your meal was ready.
You carried the bowl to your room, opened your laptop, and pulled up the next episode of that historical Alabasta drama you'd started binge-watching a month ago.
Then you picked up your fork and took your first bite.
...
.....
.......
Okay, this was...not as good as you had hoped, to say the least. The taste was fine and all, but the texture was...definitely not up your alley, let's just say. It definitely tasted nothing like the ones you had eaten in that Korean restaurant you had gone to last year with a few of your classmates.
You still ate the whole thing, though. You'd paid for it, after all, and it was far too expensive to just throw it out. Then, to get rid of that awful aftertaste, you chugged the whole soda.
Part of you was glad the rice cakes had tasted so disappointing. At least now you wouldn't be tempted to waste money on them again.
The other part of you, however, mourned the fact that you'd spent over a thousand berries on something that had the texture of spicy wet paper.
...Life was cruel.
You washed your plate and ignored your roommate's cups that she had made a mountain at the side of the sink, because there was no way you would be her mommy, and returned to your room.
You threw your bag to the side so you wouldn't forget about it later and collapsed onto the bed. A heavy huff left you as you reached for your phone and set an alarm.
You briefly considered taking a shower before heading out, but the thought died almost immediately. Youâd just sweat through your shift anyway. So what was the point? Itâs not like anyone you knew ever came to that store, anyway.
You shut your eyes.
Sleep came fast.
And the alarm went off exactly one hour and fifteen minutes later.
You groaned, still too damn tired to work, but still forced yourself upright. Your body felt like it had been unplugged and plugged back in wrong. Still, you dragged yourself out of bed and changed into something more comfortable.
Thankfully, your boss didnât insist on those cheap, itchy uniforms that nobody ever cared about except corporate.
You were still hungry, too, by the way.
But you only had about twenty minutes to reach Kajika and swap shifts with Mrs. Lucie. Once she left, though, hopefully you could sneak a few snacks from the counter. Maybe a chocolate bar, or maybe something salty. Anything, really.
You grabbed your jacket and phone, and don't forget your charger, then headed out after locking the door, and checking it three times to make sure you had actually done it, because, why the hell not?
The sun was going down by now, and the weather was a bit more tolerable than before. This little town of yours was pretty silent, and most people had already brought themselves into their homes to get dinner, then go and sleep after watching a bit of TV.
It was a bit of a boring place; there was nothing a college student could do to entertain themselves, but at least this also meant nothing bad happened. Rarely. Maybe a fight or two. Or a thief breaking in. Nothing more.
You wished they would at least have a book fest or two a year, though, or maybe bring better movies to the cinema? They only showed stuff from the 80s or cheaply made kids' movies for some reason.
It took longer than you wanted to reach the convenience store. When you finally pushed the door open, the familiar, and admittedly quite annoying, bell chimed over your head.
And immediatelyâ
âOh, look who decided to finally show up!â Mrs. Lucie stood behind the counter, arms crossed, looking pissed. Were you really that late? âI thought Iâd have to close the night shift myself at this rate!â
âIâm sorry, Aunt Lucie!â you said quickly, trying to stop her nagging before it actually started. âIâll clean the store to make it up to you, yeah? It wonât happen again, promise. You know Iâm usually not the type to cause trouble.â
âYou better,â she said sharply, already walking toward the back to grab a broom. âI had other arrangements tonight, you know? I canât wait all night just for you!â
âYes, yes, youâre right,â you agreed. âIt was really inconsiderate of me. I guess Iâm a bit under the weather these days, haha.â
She gave you a long look like she didnât believe a single word of that, but didnât press further.
âIâll be going now, then,â she said, placing the keys on the counter and showing the broom into your hands. âYou know the drill. Donât forget to cash out before leaving.â
âYes, maâam.â
She paused at the door. â...Have a nice night.â
âYou too,â you replied and smiled.
The door chimed again as she left.
Alone now, you sighed and then started to sweep the narrow aisles one by one. Thankfully, the store was already pretty clean. Mrs. Lucie ran it like a military base disguised as a convenience shop. There wasnât much dust, and nothing really out of place exceptâ
Of course.
Someone had abandoned a few items on different shelves. A soda bottle here. A bag of chips there. A sad little Snickers was left sitting beside the dish soap.
You clicked your tongue, slightly annoyed, even though you were guilty of the same crime from time to time.
Was it really that hard to put things back where they belonged?
Apparently yes.
And then there was the bathroom.
You opened the door, immediately regretting it.
âEw.â
A piece of gum had been stuck directly onto the wall, and there were some stains on the ground. Piss most likely.
...How do you even miss the toilet, man? Some people were so damn disgusting, really!
And, of course, you had to go and clean that, too. Thankfully, this convenience store sold gloves as well. You hoped your boss wouldnât be too snippy at you for taking a pair because there was no way you would touch that with your bare hands.
Some teenagers came in not long after that, talking and laughing loudly. They made a beeline for the snacks. You watched them through the counter as they argued over flavors of chips and which soda had âthe most aura,â whatever that meant. You know, the usual.
The girl, however, was a little too interested in the energy drinks. You saw it immediately. The subtle glance. The slow slip of a can into her hoodie pocket. Not subtle enough, however, especially since back in your middle-school days, you yourself had done your fair share of shoplifting, after all.
You cleared your throat.
She froze.
You pointed lazily at her pocket. âReally? You aren't supposed to have that, you know?â
She glared at you for a moment, then she pulled the energy drink back out from her jacket with an annoyed huff.
âCome on, I drink it all the time,â she said, like that was supposed to be a legal defense. "I've got the money, too. Just sell it to me."
You shrugged. âSorry. Iâm not getting in trouble for you." That woman checked the cameras sometimes. "Either get an adult to buy it for you or give it back.â
Thankfully, without putting up much of a fight, she slammed the drink on the counter, then left after showing you the middle finger. She and her friends left laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world, too, those little shits.
Whatever.
Then, later in the evening, a man with a balding spot came in. He didnât say hello. He didnât even look at you. He just grabbed a bottle of water and a pack of mint gum like he had to go on a date in the next few minutes, then slammed the money down on the counter.
Asshole.
You gave him his change anyway.
As he walked out, you caught just enough time to see him nearly trip over the step outside. He caught himself at the last second, but barely, and almost ate the pavement. From the looks of it, he was embarrassed, too.
You considered that karma.
It wasnât much, but it was something.
Once he was gone, the store slipped back into silence. You pulled out your phone and leaned against the counter, opening a movie youâd already seen twice but were far too lazy to find something new to watch.
The convenience store was basically in the middle of nowhere anyway. Most of the traffic came from cars heading toward the nearby gas station. Nobody really âhung outâ here unless they had no other choice.
Which meant loooooooong stretches like this.
A couple came in later. They looked exhausted and clearly overwhelmed. They had a crying baby and a teenager who looked permanently one scream away from snapping himself by their side, too.
The woman approached the counter. âExcuse me⌠could you tell us how to get to the highway exit?â
You tried to help them, you really did.
You pulled up a map, turned the phone, explained the turns, zoomed in, zoomed out, and pointed at roads you werenât even sure you were pronouncing correctly.
The teenager sighed the entire time. The baby kept fussing between her arms, and the man looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the universe other than the damn road.
When they finally left, you werenât even sure youâd helped. You just hoped you hadn't made things worse for them, honestly.
That was the last customer until around midnight. You, of course, were bored out of your mind, but at least you didnât have to deal with anyone, you guessed. It could always be worse, after all.
You tried your best not to look at the clock during all of this because you were pretty sure that whenever you did, God took that as a personal challenge and did his best to slow the time without causing a rip in reality.
Then, around one o'clock, when the night had fully settled in, and even the gas station outside looked half-closed, the store TV kept playing its low, looping commercials, the kind with overly cheerful jingles with weird products they only showed this late.
You were half-listening, chin resting on your palm, when the bell above the door finally rang once again.
A customer.
You straightened a little.
The man who walked in looked rough, for lack of a better word. Rumpled clothes, wobbly legs, and that unmistakable sour, stale smell clinging to him like heâd been wearing the same clothes for the whole week.
He was probably drunk. Or well on his way there. If you had to guess, heâd already been kicked out of somewhere and decided this place was his next stop.
Just damn great, wasn't it?
âGood evening, sir,â you said.
He didn't respond, just glared at you, and wandered off into the aisles like the greeting had been background noise.
You heard things moving a moment later; chips rustling, maybe a box of chocolate bars tipping over. Then a crash.
âJust what I needed,â you huffed under your breath, and leaned back slightly. âEven more cleaning. Fantastic.â
After a few tense minutes, he came back to the counter with two six-packs and a handful of chips and slammed them down hard enough to make you flinch.
For a split second, you thought he was about to throw them at you.
You kept your expression neutral anyway, even when your heart started to beat a notch faster. No point escalating things unless you absolutely have to, right?
You started scanning the items.
Of course, you did not try to make any small talk with him, either.
âYour total is 66,750 berries, sir,â you said, then. âCash or card?â
âWhat the fuck?!â the man barked instantly. âWhy the hell is it that much?â
âYou got two packs of DĂŠesse,â you explained, trying to keep your voice steady. âTheyâre 30,000 each. Thatâs standard pricing.â
âHell no!â he snapped again. âThe tag said 7,500!â
You had to hold back a groan.
No alcohol was that cheap!
âSir,â you tried again, âI can assure you thatâs the correct priceââ
He slammed his hand onto the counter. âNo, itâs not!â he roared, leaning forward. âYouâre trying to swindle me, arenât you, you little cunt?!â
A drop of spit hit your cheek.
Your stomach tightened immediately.
This was exactly the point where things started getting bad. Not loud-bad. Not annoying-bad. Physical-bad. The kind of situation where you started mentally calculating whether running or apologizing would get you out faster before you definitely had to call the police.
You opened your mouth, ready to swallow your pride and say whatever it takes to de-escalate the situation, maybe even accept the loss just to make him leave, thenâ
The bell above the door rang again.
You didnât even look at the entrance at first. Not until the drunk man in front of you looked away from you to glance back, at least.
That's when you saw him. Tall, broad shoulders, slick black hair, and a sharp, tailored suit. He probably had a decade or two over you. His watch alone must have been more expensive than this rundown convenience store, really. He also had a scar cutting across his face. It didn't ruin his looks, however, if anything, it made him look even hotter.
He didnât speak immediately, just stepped inside. And for some reason you couldnât explain, the drunk man suddenly didnât look quite as confident as he had a second ago.
He glanced between the two of you, then, looking almost bored, and finally started walking toward the counter like nothing he had all the time in the world.
âGood evening,â he said once he was close to you.
âY-yeah, good evening, sir..!â you sputtered, straightening so fast you almost knocked over the scanner. A smile appeared on your face before you could stop it. God, you were being embarrassing! Stop it! âHow may I help you?â
God, his voice was so gruff and deep, too. He was definitely a smoker, wasn't he?
Why did you have to meet such a handsome man when you were wearing a days-old uniform, looking like shit?
âA pack of Winston Slender Blue, please,â he said, and rested his left hand on the counter.
You nodded, âOf course, sir. Please wait a moment."
Before you could even turn around, howeverâ
âHeyâ?!âThe drunkard shoved past him. At least, he tried to, because the suited man barely moved from his place.
But the energy in the room snapped instantly.
âWait your turn, asshole!â the drunk guy slurred, pointing aggressively. âThis skank is taking care of me first! You blind or somethinâ?!â
Your face went hot.
âHey!â you yelled back for the first time since this shit had happened. âWatch it!"
The man in the suit didnât even look bothered. If anything, he looked mildly amused.
âSkank?â he repeated. Then he let out a scoff. "It looked like to me you couldn't pay for your stuff and were bitching about it, though. Can't even pay for some cheap booze?" He mocked the other. And, dear Lord, even that faint, condescending little smirk tugging at his mouth made your legs feel like jelly. "Go search for some change if you're that desperate for a drink."
âO-okay, itâs fine, reallyââ you tried quickly, stepping between them slightly, hands raised. âLetâs just calm down, alright?â
But the drunk man wasnât listening anymore. He muttered something under his breath, something nasty for sure, and raised his fist. âYou piece ofââ
Before he could even swing, however, let alone land a punch, the handsome man caught the drunkard by the throat, and in one smooth motion, without even hesitating for a single moment, slammed his head down onto the counter.
You heard something creak, then there was blood, oh, so much, at that, making you take a step back again.
...Why the hell had you found this so hot, though? Were you really into brutes or something? Because why did that make youâ
Nope, you were not going to think about that. Not right now.
Then, the man let go of the bastard, and he slid down to the floor with a painful groan, clutching his nose, almost whimpering.
The other glanced at him for a moment, like he was nothing more than a piece of trash he had just noticed on the ground, and straightened his cuffs.
âI apologize, Miss,â he said to you, then. âWe made quite the ruckus.â
Your heart was still doing something very stupid in your chest. âO-oh, itâs fine, reallyâŚ!â you said quickly and cleared your throat. âI was actually scared he might do something to me.â
You glanced down at the man on the floor.
It didn't look like he would get up any time soon.
â...You actually came just in time, sir.â
The black-haired man stared at you for a moment, then hummed, "Is that so? I'm glad to hear that, then."
His eyes were so dark and captivating, werenât they?
You quickly looked away, suddenly very interested in the cigarette rack behind the counter, and reached for the pack he had requested.
âYou wanted Winston Slim Blue, right?â
âSlender,â he corrected you.
âR-right, of course."
You turned back to the register and scanned the pack. Your hands felt⌠slightly less steady than usual. âYour total is 9,550 berries, sir.â
He gave you his card, âHere.â
You processed the payment quickly, printed the receipt, and returned the card. âDone. Here is your receipt. Have a good night, sir.â
You waited for the man to turn away and leave, but his gaze shifted towards the man still groaning on the floor again. "...What will you do with this one, if you don't mind me asking?"
âOh! I was just going to call the police,â you said. Then hesitated. âThat wouldnât trouble you, right..? You did kindaââ you grimaced slightly, ââbut you were helping, so you shouldnât get in trouble, right?â
The man hummed again, then pulled out his phone. You watched as he called someone, "Daz? Yes, I got my smoke. Come inside for a moment, though. There's some trash I need you to get rid of."
That made me look up.
Trash?
Damn...
Wait, what the hell did he even mean by that?
A few minutes later, a car pulled up right outside the store. It hadn't been there before, had it? It mustâve been parked across the road where you couldnât see it properly from the counter. The engine was quiet, and the vehicle itself looked very old, but classic. It was quite polished, too. Like something that came out of an old spy movie.
A man with a short buzzcut came out from it, then.
Was this the Daz guy?
He nodded once toward you, then looked at the suited man. âBoss?â
He nudged the drunkard with his shoe. "This one."
"Got it."
Daz grabbed the drunk man by the collar like it weighed nothing and dragged him toward the door.
You stood still behind the counter for a moment and watched.
Then he opened the trunk.
Why the hell did he open the trunk?
Before you could see anything else, however, the handsome man stepped right into your line of sight and obscured your view.
âAgain,â he said. âI apologize for this little mess I caused.â Then he pulled out a 10,000-berry bill and held it out. You almost felt your eyes pop out of their sockets.  âPlease accept this. I assume youâre working the night shift? It would be wiser to take a taxi home⌠in case that fool returns.â
I don't think I'll see him ever again, you thought, in fact, I don't think that poor guy will go on to see another day after this, either.
Was this man from a gang, or something? You didn't know, but the one thing you were sure of was that he was dangerous.
âNo, no, thank you, but I canât accept this,â you said, and pushed the bill back slightly. âThis is too much, sir. Stuff like this happens all the time anyway!â
âThen throw it away,â he said, then, as if it was as simple as that.
While you were internally debating what the hell to do, he was already turning his attention away from the counter to light a cigarette from the new pack. "Have a good night, Miss."
God damn it. You took the money and put it away. You would rather take it yourself than let your boss pocket it, even if it made you kinda feel like...
Whatever.
ââŚS-see you later, Mister!â you called after him, almost against your better judgment.
He paused at the door and chuckled.
âFor your own good,â he said, exhaling smoke lightly, âI hope not.â
Warnings: Dead Characters, Killing, Blood & Gore, Wearing Other People's Skin, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Yandere...
Length: 2,6K+
Chapter: 1/1
Summary:
There's this one visitor who keeps knocking on your door, and every night, you refuse to let him in. He doesn't give up, however, believing that if he gets just the right face, you'll fall for him.
You got up from the chair as silently as you could and took your revolver into your hand. How many bullets had you left? Not many, excluding the one you kept in your back pocket for... let's say, in case you did not have any other options anymore.
"H-Hello..?" said a raspy voice from the other side of the hall, behind the door. It sounded like the owner of it was trying to soften it, forcing it into this high-pitched muttering that his throat was not used to. "Is...Is anyone there?"
You knew who it was before you even peeked outside, even though you hoped that you were wrong. It had been such a long time since you had seen a normal human being, yet, even now, you couldn't help but...
On your tiptoes, you slowly reached to the peeping hole and leaned in to see who it was.
You saw a man, his arms around his waist, shivering against a thick coat. He was hunched down, his spine strangely curled inward as if he didn't know how to move his own body anymore, and his clothes looked a few sizes too small for him. He kept his head down, too, and his blue-looking face was obscured by his own, thin, oily black hair that fell over his forehead.
Whoever this was, you knew this thing was not a human.
You put your finger over the trigger, just in case. "...What do you want?"
Despite looking like he had a timid nature, the sudden noise coming from the homeowner did not surprise the stranger."Sorry for bothering you, but...I'm just looking for a quiet place to rest. Might I find some p-p-peace in your home?"
As if, you thought.
"Why are you wearing all that?" you rather asked. "It's hot as fuck these days. Are you not sweating?"
The man made a weird noise, as if he was just about to snort but tried to hide it behind a cough at the last second. "I-I feel really cold, actually," he said, his face still facing down. "M-may I-I-I come in, please...?"
You had this weird, empty feeling in your stomach. At this point, you weren't sure if it was because of hunger or fear anymore, but did it matter? It was probably both, anyway.
"Cut the crap," you barked, then, and checked the locks on the door again. You had not opened it in months, not since the little girl who had come to ask for his father, yet you still feared that you might have left it open somehow, maybe because you did it yourself while sleeping-walking, or perhaps someone managed to pick it open without waking you up, in hopes of ambushing you and kicking you out of your own home.
Yeah, you knew it yourself, this sounded crazy. But, was it really out of the question when the Sun was burning the Earth into a crisp, with your neighbors burning alive, and the rest getting killed by whatever the hell had crawled out of the dirt?
At this point, everything was possible.
That...that thing had made sure of that, that you knew it.
"W-what are you talking about?" The man said, playing with his collar. "I don't get what youâ"
"I fucking know it's you," you cut him off again, and banged your hand against the door frame hard enough to rattle the ringer outside. Why? Why did this thing, this monster, have to toy with you? What did he get from this? Why didn't he just leave you alone? "I am not opening the door for you, so you might as well fuck off."
The thing stayed silent for a moment, then chuckled. "Aww, I thought you would have actually fallen for this one."
You watched as he straightened himself and saw the way the bag of skin he had forced over his own face was stretched so hard that you could see his own deadly-pale skin peeking out from the holes of the eyes and mouth like a cheap mask.
How many times had he tried to trick you with this facade? You weren't sure anymore, but at least six or maybe even seven. You had stopped counting after what he did to your neighbor who was living at the other side of the field.
First was the guy with the wires all over his mouth.
Then came that weird ballerina-looking woman.
At the third, he had tried to wear a fat man's skin. He had said he was the ex-minister or something.
Fourth, he caught a bearded old huntsman. He sounded unusually infuriated and cruel with that one, and that's how you had figured out it was him.
And the last one you remembered was that red-haired woman. She would have been beautiful if her body hadn't been emptied out and worn like a sock puppet, a seductress, even.
None of these attempts had worked out, because no matter what body he found himself in, his own was far too big and crooked to fit in anyone else's.
And thank God for that.
...Not that it had ever made him stop, that stubborn son of a bitch.
"What a shame," he tsk'ed, and peeled off his 'face' with a sickening sound. It reminded you of that one time you had to clean a chicken that a farmer had given you a few years ago, with all the feathers and all still intact. Never did it again, after that.
You watched him throw it to the side, and it landed onto your porch with a wet splat, making your insides go all horribly mushy. Great. You hoped the sun would burn it away, or else it would rot there until a mut came to eat it. "I really had thought this fella would have been your taste. Was I wrong?"
"He would have," you said. "If you hadn't skinned the poor guy like a fish."
"Awww, did you know him?" The pale man chuckled at you and leaned towards the peeping hole as if he, as well, could see you from the other side. "He wasn't your friend, I hope?"
You couldn't help but shudder. No matter how many times you did it, the way he stopped the act and changed always made you terrified.
Was this how your last days were really going to be? This thing's plaything?
"Why are you doing this?" You asked instead of answering him. Thankfully, you hadn't known him. At least, this way, his death didn't affect you as much, however terrible that sounded. "How long are you going to continue with this charade?"
You had gotten used to it, at least. To the corpses lying around all around your window view, and the stench of death that accompanied them, all thanks to this creature that was outside your door.
What a horrible way to find out that the saying "humans can adapt to anything" was actually true.
The visitor hummed, as if he was actually considering what to say. Then, he shrugged, "Until you open this door, I suppose."
You almost sobbed. Almost. You were not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him hear you cry. That could wait until the sun came and you crawled into your bed with your face buried in your too-old pillow. "I told you that won't happen."
"Are you sure?" He asked and then grinned. His teeth were perfectly white and aligned. "You don't have much food left, do you? And even less water, I presume?"
You scoffed, "So what? I should let you kill me instead of letting starvation or thirst take me?"
"Who said anything about killing you?" He said, and rolled his eyes. "So dramatic, you are."
"What else would you do? Throw me a tea party?"
"I got you something," he said instead, and you watched as he dragged something from his left to your point of view and put it in front of the door. It kinda looked like a rucksack, but you couldn't be sure from this angle. "Why don't you take a look?"
"Hell no," you were quick to refuse. "Knowing your sick sense of humor, it's probably something like a bag of shit or intestines, anyway."
"Aww, do you really trust me that little?"
"I can still see the heads of those FEMA guys outside my window."
"No soldier ever came to bother you after that, though, yes?" He asked, his head tilted to the side, and looking strangely proud."That is good, yes?"
That was true. No one from the government, or anyone, really, had dared to come to your property ever since he had put those heads on spikes near your home.
...You weren't sure if that was a blessing or a curse just yet, even though, even when things were normal, you never had been a social butterfly and avoided people like a little gremlin anyway.
"...And what do you plan to do with me if I come out? Skin me, too? Or will you just break my neck and do whatever the hell visitors do?"
"No, no, I won't, don't worry. Your skin looks better on you, anyway," he joked.
"That doesn't sound as reassuring as you think it is, big guy."
"Hmm," he said, thoughtful, and glanced at something at the back. "You are alone, correct?"
"...No, I'm not," you lied, not skipping a beat. "There's a nun sleeping on my couch right now, actually."
He shook his head like a disappointed father, as if he already knew that this was going to be your answer. "Lying is a bad habit, you know?"
"So is eating people."
"It's a beautiful night outside," he said, then, and looked up. "No clouds, just the moon and some stars. Nice view. Come take a look."
You sighed, suddenly so tired. How many times were you going to have the same conversation? "You've been at it for months, now. Why do you want me to come out this badly?"
"Perhaps I am lonely?"
"I'll go back to my bed if you don't take me seriously."
"I could just break the door, you know." He pointed out and scratched the door with his nails as if to make a point. "It would be very easy."
"Why don't you, then?!" You snapped back. "Why don't you just...do whatever the hell you are planning, and stop with this torment?! Or do you just enjoy making me suffer?"
There was a silence for a moment, then he chuckled again, "...You are not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?"
You couldn't help but get offended. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Let's make a deal, then?" He ignored you. "For this night only. You don't shoot me, I won't kill you. Just for tonight."
"...And then what?"
"And then the Sun comes, and you go back inside." He shrugged. "Why does everything have to have a reason with you?"
You didn't answer.
"Do you wanna know what I got you?" He reminded you of the rucksack again and nudged it with his feet. It sounded heavy, which was not reassuring at all. Only nice things, I promise."
You sighed, rested your back against the door, let yourself fall, and sat on the floor, resting your head against the slightly cooled wood. It was unusual for you not to face him, but, indeed, it did not feel like you were in immediate danger as of now. "...What did you get me?"
"I visited the neighbor's house," he said. "Burned down for most, but still good things were there. Cans and bottles, oil, and rice, and flour. Even some beer. A bit charred, all, but still edible."
Your eyes widened, actually caught off guard for the first time ever since the day he appeared in front of your door. "You got me...food?"
The visitor shrugged, as if it only made sense."You need it to live, yes? You can't leave, and no one came. This means you only got so much left before it's over for you."
You slightly tugged at your hair, thoughtful.
He was right, with this rate, your rations would soon be gone, and you would have either be forced to leave at night in hopes of finding something near the town, all the way down from the hill, or just sleep, ignoring the pain, until you inevitably died.
You were actually in the process of deciding which option was the better one.
You licked your dry lips, considering his offer.
Yeah, you were actually that desperate.
...And, since you were at the end of the road, anyway, and even now, still far too afraid to pull the trigger yourself when you had nothing left to lose anymore, and no hope that things would get better...would it be that bad, to let someone else finish you instead, if it came to that?
"...You actually won't do anything if I come out?" You asked him. "What? We'll just...talk or something?"
"Like I said many times now," the visitor sighed. "I won't do anything to you. Just share some company, that's all."
You couldn't help but snort, "So even you guys get lonely, huh?"
"...You could say so, I suppose," He hummed, knocking once, twice, thrice on the door. "Does this mean you'll come out?"
You didn't answer him, just got up, pulled the key from your pocket, and shoved it inside the lock. Your heart started to beat faster, then. Were you being stupid? Probably. No, most likely.
Still, you opened the door and slowly pushed it open.
You heard the creature that had haunted you for months now take a step back to let you out, and loom over you as he finally was able to get a proper look at you.
God, you thought, feeling your heart drop to your stomach with an exhilarating horror. You had only seen him from a distance, or from the peephole, but from this close, you could see with clarity how unevenly stretched his skin was all over his body. So large, too, as if his lungs didn't fit his chest. And as if that wasn't enough, he had wire-esque arms, twice as long as yours.
No wonder none of those FEMA soldiers were able to take him down thus far.
It was mind-boggling to think that this creature was a human, once.
His grin stretched against his face when he finally got to see you, and he almost looked like he was baring his teeth like a dog, giddy, and perhaps even delighted.
"Ahhh...." he said, and got a bit closer to you. You felt your heart skip a beat, though you couldn't tell from what anymore. You felt so small against him. "It's nice to finally meet, isn't it? You look so much better up this close, I think."
"I..I, uh," you stuttered, as he slammed the door shut behind you, his huge hand next to your face. It was too late to regret this now, wasn't it? "Yeah, I guess, n-nice to meet you..?"
He chuckled, amused by your nervousness, and took your hand. It was cold and stiff, like a dead man's.
"Let's take a walk, then? Nice weather, isn't it? Not so hot, a bit of breeze. There won't be such a nice night for a while after this, I think."
"But, what if anotherâ" visitor, you couldn't say, "thing attacks us?"
"Don't you worry," he cooed at you. He managed to make it both sound comforting and condescending. "I am strong, I will protect you. Now, come on."
...Jesus Christ, what had you gotten yourself into?
There's this one visitor who keeps knocking on your door, and every night, you refuse to let him in. He doesn't give up, however, believing that if he gets just the right face, you'll fall for him.
â°â¤ Late Night Conversations (Homeowner)
Neither you nor Ivan could sleep for some reason. So, you two justâŚtalk until the sun comes back again. You hadn't expected the conversation to get so gloomy, however.
Quaritch gets separated from his team after an unexpected attack. And while injured and possibly dying, he tries to navigate his way through the forest when he meets with you, a little Na'vi kid who seems to want to help him for some reason.
Quaritch and his men were heading toYĂ´matan. At least, thatâs what his map told him. It was hard to tell when the only thing you were surrounded by was these damn trees. Bugs were flying everywhere, crawling, trying to climb their way up his leg while he did his best to lead the way and keep everyone safe.
He definitely had forgotten how annoying it was to deal with Pandora, that was for sure.
Arachnoids fell from branches and over their heads. Creepy Crawlers spat venom at them. Whenever they came face to face with a swarm of Hellfire Wasps, they had to detour from their path, too. Those bastards were just like the ones back on Earth, or close enough in temperament, at least, and would use any excuse to attack whatever crossed their path, and no one here wanted to know what kind of pain those stingers caused.
Suffice it to say, the mood of the group was shit.
He guessed that was what happened when you died. You forgot things. Even when you'd spent decades in this hellhole before kicking the bucket.
"Hey, Colonel," Lyle said, and got everyone's, and his, attention.
"What is it?"
"Look."
Lyle crouched near a tree. There, at the base, were scratch marks. Deep ones at that, too.
"It's quite big," Z-Dog said, and touched the dent. It was deep enough to stick her knuckle in.
"Viperwolves, maybe?" Walker suggested.
"No, can't be." Quaritch shook his head. "These are far too big. And they hunt in packs. Looks like this one's alone."
"I bet it's a Thanator," Warren said, tightening his grip on his rifle and glancing around. "Those damn things are almost everywhere here."
Yeah, that would be a problem.
Those suckers didn't give up a hunt until they either caught their prey or died trying. Quaritch was pretty sure they could handle one, they had enough firepower between the twelve of them, but it was the last thing they needed right now. Sully was already on the move, and they had limited time if they wanted to catch him before he disappeared into God knew where.
"Let's continue," he said. "Y'all stay alert. Don't go shooting unless it's life or death. We don't want any more of these animals paying attention to us."
"Sure, Boss," Fike sighed, then he and Zhang moved behind Lopez. Mansk and Prager fell to the rear while Ja walked beside Quaritch as well.
They kept moving.
Quaritch checked his tablet every so often to make sure they were still headed in the right direction. They crossed a river without much trouble and eventually reached the foothills of a mountain range.
"I think we're near a flux vortex," Z-Dog said, then.
Quaritch looked back at her. She was fiddling with her radio.
"No matter the channel, it's all static. I don't think we'll be contacting base until we're out of its magnetic field."
"Well, shit," Quaritch muttered. "Wouldn't be smart to camp here, then."
Lyle agreed. "We won't be able to communicate if we get separated."
"Maybe it's the mountain," Z-Dog pointed up at something. "It's got floating rocks around it. Kinda like the Hallelujah Mountains, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Zhang agreed, just noticing those things.
The sun was sinking behind the peaks. Despite the purple glowing plants that covered Pandora's forests, it would still be too dark to properly watch for predators.
"You guys think you can keep going?" Quaritch asked. "Would be better if we got out of the flux zone and found an open field to camp, but..."
"We're fine," Z-Dog said, then, and took a step forward. "Right, guys?"
A chorus of half-hearted agreements followed.
Not that they had much choice, anyway.
"Good," he said. "But still. Let's rest for ten minutes before we move on, alright? I don't know about you lot, but my feet are killing me."
A few relieved groans answered him, and the squad dropped their backpacks where they stood.
They sat on the grass and ate a few of the rations bars they had. The things tasted like crap, like most food at the RDA, but a soldier couldn't complain, he supposed.
"Are there no Na'vi here?" Lopez asked after a while, handing his water bottle to Walker. "I thought we would've run into some by now."
Quaritch checked his tablet again.
"Looks like the nearest clan is called... Hulanta. They're about forty klicks northwest, in the wetlands. They've got some beef going on with another clan right now, though, so they've been avoiding leaving their territory these days."
"How are they even able to tell apart where one border starts and the other ends?" Zhang asked. "Looks all green to me."
"Probably by landmarks," he said. "Different rivers, rock formations, stuff like that. Can't imagine these tree-huggers carving signs into trees, you know."
"I guess that makes sense," the other agreed. "Still sounds inconvenient. Eventually somebody's gotta wander somewhere they shouldn't."
"If they want to kill each other over it, good for us," Quaritch replied, and ate the last part of his dry-as-hell bar before chugging some water. "Less of them means less crap we have to deal with."
Z-Dog laughed. "That's true."
Night was creeping in fast. They had wasted enough time already.
Quaritch stood and shouldered his backpack.
"Enough chitchat. Let's move."
"Aww, man..." Fike groaned.
Lyle immediately smacked the back of his head. "Don't complain. You know we still have another hour of walking at least."
"Yeah, yeah. I know..."
They followed a narrow animal trail winding between enormous roots and ferns. Everyone tried to stay quiet, well, as silent as a dozen heavily armed soldiers moving through a forest could be, at least.
But even then, their boots squashing the grass and branches breaking under their feet still made enough noise that it caused Quaritch to be on edge.
Were they really that loud, he wondered, or was it that his new body of his was just that sensitive to sound?
Then, he heard something.
Something huge was coming right at them.
âAttention! Hostile at 7 oâclock!â
Everyone got their guns out, and so did Quaritch. His pointy finger stood ready at the trigger of his combat shotgun as he waited for the enemy to come out.
The thing destroyed every three on its way as it reached them, and howled in pain.
âShit,â Quaritch cursed under his breath. It was a Hammerhead. âEveryone, back off! Keep your distance!â
Quaritch tried to scare it off with a few bullets, but the bastard's skin was too thick for the rounds to do any real damage, even from this close.
Then he noticed something.
A dart was embedded deep in the Hammerhead's hind leg. Thick blue fluid oozed from the wound around the shaft, too. Looked painful as hell.
Hammerheads were herbivores. They didn't go around picking fights unless they were defending themselves or panicking. Whatever had put that dart into the animal had spooked it badly enough to send it charging blindly through the forest.
Which meant something else was nearby.
"Something that's hunting, at that", Quaritch thought.
The animal swung its massive head toward Z-Dog and Mansk.
"You two, move!"
Both soldiers dove aside just before the hammer-shaped skull smashed into the ground where they'd been standing.
The beast stumbled between two enormous boulders. And, for a moment, it got stuck. It screeched and thrashed violently, slamming its head from side to side. Then, with a crack of breaking stone, it tore itself free.
"We are retreating!" Quaritch barked.
He needed to get the animal away from the squad. And he had to do that fast.
Quaritch pulled out his tablet and tossed it toward Lyle.
"Take this! I'll find you guys later! If I'm not there by morning, go to YĂ´matan by yourselves. I'll meet you there!"
Lyle caught the thing with ease, but the sergeant looked absolutely furious, and also worried as hell. "But, Colonel, this isn'tâ"
"Go, go, go!"
Quaritch fired another shotgun blast until the Hammerhead's attention snapped toward him.
Perfectâ
Well, no, not perfect, not exactly, but good enough, you know?
He grabbed the single smoke grenade hanging from his vest and hurled it between his men and the animal. And, with that, a cloud of thick gray smoke erupted across the forest floor.
Hopefully, that would confuse the thing.
Hammerheads had terrible eyesight, he knew that much. Even if it could smell him, the chemical smoke ought to interfere enough to buy him some time, right?
He heard some of his guys argue, but their footsteps did go far. Good. He took a step back and tried to keep his distance. The Hammerhead stumbled a little, then turned towards him again.
It looked like it would charge him for a moment, making Quaritch feel like his heart was about to drop out of his ass for a moment, before it halted, screaming, and fell to its back, trying to back off.
"Well, that can't be good," Quaritch muttered.
And just as he had expected, a herd of Slingers appeared. Thankfully, they were aiming for the Hammerhead instead of him. Quaritch used this as his chance to run away and hide behind trees.
Since when did these guys hunt in groups, anyway? Was it a special occasion or something?
Well, he wasnât as lucky as he had thought, or maybe it had run out at some point, because before he knew it, one of those red bastards started to run after him.
Maybe this one had thought that Quaritch would be easier to catch, or maybe it just didnât want tos hare with the rest.
"God damn it..."
There was no way he could outrun something like this.
Instead, he started weaving through the terrain. He ran around the trees, between the rocks, over the fallen logs...anything to discourage this bastard from leaving him alone, really.
Instead, the Slinger suddenly thrust its head forward, and the infant detached. "Holy shit..!" The baby launched like a living spear.
It shot through the air straight toward him.
He dove behind a tree.
CRACK!
The tiny creature smashed into the trunk.
It squawked angrily, then immediately flew back to its mother. The two connected their queues after, and became this one big thing again.
It was an unsettling sight, that was for sure.
The baby launched again.
This time, Quaritch ducked behind a boulder.
THUD!
Another miss.
Again and again, the creature attacked.
Again and again, he barely avoided being skewered.
He didnât know how long he could keep up with this, though. His legs were burning already, he was breathless, too, and his heart was beating like crazy. It was simply thanks to adrenaline that he wasnât dead meat yet.
But even that wasn't infinite, and eventually, his luck left him as well.
The baby shot forward, he stumbled upon some loose rock like an idiot, and the tiny spear-like thing punched through his leg.
"FUCK!"
He stumbled forward, the world tilted, and before he could even see what the hell was happening, the ground beneath his feet was gone.
And why was that? Well, apparently, there was a cliff hidden behind this one specific wall of bushes, and his stupid ass had run right towards it out of all the places in the fucking forest.
"Oh, son of aâ"
With that, he fell. Branches whipped across his face, leaves got into his mouth and eyes, and his shoulder slammed into something hard, too.
Then another branch broke beneath his body. And then again and again.
And during all of this, the little fucker refused to let go and screeched for its mother.
At least the other part of the Slinger stopped at the cliff's edge.
It didn't take long for them to hit the water. It was cold as hell, almost as if it was burning his skin. Yet, even while sinking deeper and deeper in the river, he was still wrestling with the creature attached to his leg.
His calf throbbed with agony. Blood clouded the water around him, and he was quickly carried away by the current, raging him downstream while he fought to stay afloat.
At some point, he gave up on trying to get this thing off his leg and tried to swim to the shore instead.
Kicking with one good leg, he fought his way toward the bank.
His fingers finally found a thick cluster of roots protruding from the muddy shore, and he latched onto them with all he had. Then, inch by painful inch, he dragged himself out of the river.
While he was busy with that, the Slinger was still moving around, trying to get deeper and deeper into his flesh, munching on wherever it could.
"Stubborn little bastard..."
Quaritch pulled his knife out, the very same one from his old AMP Suit, and stabbed the shit of the thing. It trashed a bit, but it was easy to kill overall.
Once it was dead for good, Quaritch pulled the thing out and threw it to the side.
The wound was deep, but it looked like the Stinger had not gotten into any major arteries, which was good. He pulled out his shirt and quickly wrapped it around his leg. It would be hard to walk while putting pressure on the wound, and there was no way he could reach the others in this state. He had to find a place to hide at least until the sun was up again.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to get up. The pain went through his leg like lightning, âDamn it.â He hissed. What a bitch. He pulled out his walkie-talkie and hoped that even while dripping wet, it would work.
âLyle, Iâm down. I repeat, Iâm down. Do you copy?â He said a couple of times, but no answer came, just static. Great, just great. He must still be too close to the fluxon, then.
âLooks like Iâm by myself,â he said, sighing, and started to walk. He didnât have much ammunition left, and most of the things in his backpack were most likely useless thanks to his little swimming session from before.
He wasnât worried too much, however. He knew he would be able to get through this. He did before, and in much worse situations at that, too.
He heard some howls nearby, but none of the viperwolves approached him. They lingered among the glowing foliage, yellow eyes watching through the leaves. One even stepped out onto a moss-covered rock, sniffing the air in his direction.
Then it whined. Actually whined. And, a moment later, the whole pack retreated into the darkness.
Quaritch frowned. This behavior didn't make a lick of sense. Normally, viperwolves would've jumped at the chance to harass an injured target.
Unless...
The poison.
The Slinger's offspring had been attached to his leg for a while.
Maybe whatever toxins it carried were still in his bloodstream.
Maybe the predators could smell it.
Maybe they thought he was the dangerous one.
"Yeah, that's also a problem, huh..?"
He had no idea how to treat an alien venom. And hiking all the way back to base wasn't exactly an option, either. Besides, he wasn't even sure he could make it there, anyway.
God, he was tired...and hot. Like, burning hot, at that.
His skin felt like it was on fire.
Sweat dripped down his body despite the cool night air, and the forest seemed blurry around the edges of his vision already.
He blinked.
The dizziness didn't go away.
Fantastic, wasn't it?
Poison, exhaustion, and blood loss. A perfect combination to kill a man.
Then came another rustling from the bushes. Quaritch immediately spun around. "Fucking hell!" Can't a man catch a break?
His shotgun came up. "Shit really don't quit tonight, does it?" he mumbled to himself and quickly aimed towards the sound.
The leaves shook again.
His finger settled near the trigger.
"Come on out, pussy!" he shouted, then. "I ain't scared of you!"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a head poked out.
It was a kid.
You were a small little thing, barely reaching his hip. Quite thin, too.
Quaritch tilted his head, actually surprised to see you there, but did not put down his gun. If there was a kid, there had to be an adult somewhere near, too, after all, right?
You did not look at all scared of him or of his gun, however.
That alone told him you weren't one of the clans near Hell's Gate.
This was probably the first time you had even seen a gun, if he had to guess, so maybe you did not realize that it was even a weapon.
Any kid raised around humans would've bolted by now.
âHi there, kid,â he said. You did not answer, and just kept looking at him with those big, curious eyes. Well, guessed so. You probably did not know a lick of English. âWhat the hell are you doinâ here? Where is your mommy?â
Your ears flicked, and you got a few steps closer. Quaritch guessed that since he was talking to you, you also guessed he was not a danger. Or, at least, that he wasnât going to start shooting around any time soon.
Your tail swished excitedly behind you, and you kept looking between his face and his shotgun. Was it really that fascinating..?
Then, slowly, you reached out toward the weapon.
"Nope." Quaritch lifted the shotgun out of your reach. "This ain't a toy."
You immediately withdrew your hand. Not out of fear, just surprised by his sudden movement.
A second later, you started circling him and studying him around like a little kitten. Quaritch couldn't help but snort. You probably thought he was a bizarre sight. Not exactly a human, but not a Na'vi, either. To someone who'd never seen one before, he probably looked uncanny, even.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that," Quaritch said. "But I've got places to be. So you better run home before I've gotta do something I don't wanna do, alright?"
Your eyes went to his injury, then. You pointed at his leg and blabbered something.
Quaritch, of course, didnât understand shit.
"Yup, got hurt, but donât worry. This ainât enough to kill me,â he said and gave you a grin before starting to walk away, leaving you behind to do whatever the kids did that lived in here. âSee you later, kid.â
For several seconds, he heard nothing except his own uneven footsteps and shallow breaths.
Thenâ
A twig snapped behind him.
Quaritch sighed.
"Seriously?"
He looked over his shoulder.
You were still there.
He sighed, "Kid." He pointed behind you. "You go home." Then pointed at himself. "I go away. Capeesh?"
You tilted your head again, clearly not understanding what he was trying to say. Or, maybe you did, and didn't want to listen to him. With kids, it could be both, really.
Quaritch resumed walking.
A moment later, he heard footsteps again.
You were still following.
He stopped.
You stopped.
He started walking.
You started walking.
For the first time all night, Quaritch laughed. It was short and definitely exhausting, but it was something.
"Kid, I'm serious, you need to stop following me," he tried again. "Because at some point your parents are gonna search for you and I ain't in the mood to fight some angry dad because of a misunderstanding, got it?"
You opened your mouth to say something. It sounded like you were trying to copy whatever he had said with a very broken, very incomprehensible tone, as if it were some sort of game, and giggled.
Eventually, thank God, after enough grumbling and pointing in random directions, you finally disappeared into the forest.
That's when he continued limping forward.
The sun was beginning to rise. Bands of orange and gold light filtered through the massive trees as well, lighting your path just a little.
He had really spent an entire night stumbling around lost, hadn't he? And he still hadn't found anywhere safe to hide either.
Then the nausea hit him.
Quaritch barely had time to turn before he dropped to one knee and vomited.
The burning sensation was immediate. It felt like liquid fire was coming out of his stomach, clinging to his throat.
"Jesus Christ..." He spat onto the ground.
Was he actually going to die like this..?
A few minutes later, it happened again.
Then again.
By the fourth round, he could barely stay upright.
His vision was fucked. His stomach cramped so violently that it felt like someone was twisting a knife inside him, too. Meanwhile, his injured leg throbbed with every heartbeat. Trying to bend it felt like getting stabbed all over again.
"T-this is bullshit," he huffed. He sounded really pathetic, didn't he? His mouth tasted awful, and his tongue felt dry no matter how much he swallowed.
Colonel Miles Quaritch, died from a bug bite. What a heroic way to go, ehh?
He managed to turn himself so he was lying on his back somehow and gasped for air. His breathing was becoming ragged, he had noticed, and the hotness was replaced with cold shivers now.
This couldnât be a good sign.
He knew if he closed his eyes now, he wouldnât be able to open them again, but it was so tempting, just to sleep for a momentâ
Something touched his arm.
His eyes snapped open, and his knife flashed upward, but the target jumped away.
When he managed to look atâ
It was you again.
"...Pipsqueak?"
You had already retreated several steps after nearly getting stabbed. Your ears were pinned flat, and your eyes were wide.
Clearly, you had not appreciated that.
Quaritch, on the other hand, couldnât help but chuckle. It came out more as a wheezing, though. âWhat the hell are you doing here?â
You said something again, and then, while still mindful of his knife, you grabbed his arm and tugged at him, trying to drag him somewhere.
âYou want to go thereâŚ?â Quaritch asked, looking at the dirt path. âWhy?â
You kept tugging and pulling, your ears pinned against your head, clearly agitated yourself. Were you worried about him? You kept hissing something at him, butâŚ
It hurt like hell to move, but Quaritch knew that he was quite fucked anyway, and lying here and dying wasn't exactly a better plan, either, so he decided to take you on it and accept your help.
"Alright, alright, Iâm cominâ,â he said with a sigh, and quite literally crawled behind you as you kept tugging on his arm. Getting onto his hands and knees felt impossible, but standing was worse. There was no way he could put any weight on his injured leg at this point. âI hope you know what youâre doing, kid.â
You walked around the forest with ease, barely making a noise. Even your steps were silent. Was it because you were barefoot?
Every so often, however, you stopped in your tracks, head lifting slightly, ears flicking toward sounds Quaritch couldnât quite pick up. Then youâd continue on as if nothing had happened.
Eventually, you stopped at a massive tree. It was so wide it looked like it had been there for at least half a century. You dropped to your knees and slipped into a hollow at its base, hidden behind thick hanging vines and brush.
Quaritch groaned, but he still followed after you, "There better be no bugs, or God help me."
His hands and knees were caked in dirt by now, his right leg dragging uselessly behind him, but the hollow was larger than he had thought. Cool air hit him the moment he was inside, too, and it felt really nice. Dim light filtered through gaps in the roots above enough so he could at least see what was in front of him.
He leaned back against the inner wall of the tree with a strained grunt and finally let rest a bit.
You were watching him closely, and it didn't take long for him to notice that your gaze kept drifting to his knife. Before he could even say anything, you reached out and touched it.
"Heyâ?!"
Immediately, you hissed and jerked your hand back, a thin cut forming along your finger.
Quaritch let out a rough laugh. âThis is what you get for playing with stuff that doesnât belong to you, brat.â
You pouted at him and stuck out your tongue. It looked like you didnât need to know English to know that the man was scolding you, huh?
âYeah, yeah. Real mature,â he rolled his eyes.
Then, without warning, you took the knife from where heâd set it down, stuck the thing against your loincloth, and rushed outside.
âHey!â Quaritch shouted after you. âI thought you were going to help me, huh? Where are you runninâ now?â
You didnât come back, of course, and he just sighed again. âThis is what I get for trusting a kid, I guess.â He mumbled, and justâŚclosed his eyes. He had no energy left to even lift his head anymore, let alone run after a little kid in the middle of a forest with a whole ass hole in his leg.
He didnât know how long he had slept like that, if it was just a day or even the same week as the incident with the Slinger had happened. All he knew was that he was thirsty as hell, his head pounded against his skull as if it was trying to pry its way out, and his eyes burned, and his legâŚdidnât?
What the hell was up with that? Did it rot and fall out or something? With all the weird shit Pandora had, he would not be really surprised, to be honest.
Then something cold and wet was slapped onto his forehead.
âFuck!â He swore, but after the initial shock, the cool cloth did give relief to his aching head.
Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. It took even longer for everything to come into focus.
Then, he saw you.
âOh⌠Itâs you again, huh?â
You leaned in, then and, poking at his arm, then his gear and belt. Your curiosity was back in full force, then, huh?  âI should have guessed. Anyone else would have slit my throat by now.â
With a grunt, Quaritch propped himself up on his elbows and looked at his leg.
His pant leg was cut up to the thigh, and the wound was wrapped with broad, layered leaves that looked almost like banana leaves: thick, flexible, carefully pressed together. There was something smeared over it too, a greenish paste that gave off a sharp, mint-like smell. You probably smeared some kind of remedy onto the wound.
Had you gotten back to your village just to bring him that?
âI should be thanking you, I suppose.â He said, âI would be dead without your help, thatâs for sure.â
You crouched next to him and just stared at his face. You didnât look scared of him, just observant and fascinated.
It was probably why you saved his life in the first place.
Quaritch tried to bend his leg and get up, but couldnât. His knee felt kinda numb? He wasnât sure if that was something he should be concerned about or not.
You stood and moved to the other side of the hollow, disappearing for a moment before returning with something cupped carefully in your hands.
Fruit, or something like it.
He took it reluctantly and sniffed it. âThanks, kid.â It both had a honey-like sweetness to it but also had a pungent scent.
You were staring at him now, taking a bite from your own fruit. Well, at least now he knew that whatever this was, it was indeed edible, so, despite still being hesitant, he also bit into the thick flesh and took a bite.
The texture wasâŚsomething that was for sure. Slimy and gritty, and it stuck in his throat when he tried to swallow. Despite that, Quaritch tried to smile at the kid, but it looked more like a grimace, really.
âTastes pretty damn good...!â He forced another bite down. âYouâve got some great taste, huh?â
You tilted your head again. Then, without wasting another second, you brought him another one.
Quaritch immediately raised a hand to stop you. âOhânah. Nah, itâs good. Iâm fine.â
You shoved it toward his chest anyway. "You should eat it instead." He said, turning away his head. "Youâve got barely any meat on yourself, kid.â
You growled, tail swishing behind you. You were clearly annoyed, weren't you, you stubborn little thing?
âOh, did that make you that happy? I am not eating this now, though, okay?â
You didnât listen to him, though, and instead went to rummage through his backpack.
When the hell had you taken that from his back, anyway? He hadn't felt shit. Was he really that out of it?
âHey! Donât mess with anything, got it?â Quaritch called after you.
Not that you wouldâve listened even if you understood him. All kids were the same, no matter the planet, it turned out.
He sighed and leaned back while watching you dig through his stuff.
You pulled out his flashlight first. Turned it over in your hands like it was some kind of strange artifact. Then, a second later, you clicked it on and immediately blinded yourself.
You hissed and jerked it away.
Quaritch laughed.
You frowned at the light, shook it a little like that would fix the problem, then quickly figured out the button again. After a few tries, you managed to turn it off and on properly, clearly filing the information away in your head.
He huffed. ââŚYou are a smart little thing, arenât you?â
You ignored him and kept digging.
Next came a bar of soap and a razor. You knew better than to touch the blade by now. So you focused on the soap instead and lifted it to your nose, sniffing it carefully. Then, without warning, you licked it, and immediately after spat it out.
âIt doesnât taste as good as it smells, huh?â
You glared at him like he was personally responsible for the betrayal of soap. It wasn't like you would have listened anyway. Then you moved on as if nothing had happened.
You continued exploring.
His extra magazines came out next.
So did a grenade.
That finally made Quaritch react.
âHeyânope.â He leaned forward fast and took them back from your hands. âThese arenât toys, champ. Wouldnât want you blowinâ us both up, right?â
You blinked at him like he was overreacting. Which, to be fair, he probably was, since it was still soaked in water anyway. But still, he set the explosives carefully beside him, out of reach, then pointed toward his shotgun.
âBring me that.â
You understood what he wanted, got up, and dragged the gun over by the strap, dropping it neatly beside him. Then, he immediately went back to rummaging through his bag like it was the most fun thing you had seen in months.
Quaritch watched as you pulled out his sleeping roll and played on top of it. Then you found his ration packs and water bottle again, inspecting each one like a little field scientist.
You even put things back when you were done, all neat and proper.
That was...definitely not something he had expected.
âIâve gotta say,â he muttered, arms crossed, âyour parents did a pretty good job with you.â
You paused and looked up at him as if you had known he was talking to you.
âBut as friendly advice, you should be a bit more wary of strangers in the future.â
You didnât respond to that either. Instead, you walked back over and took his hand. Quaritch frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what you were getting at, but then realized you just wanted to inspect his extra little finger and compare it to your own, long, limpy ones. Â
âJumping in front of someone who could have hole-d you down until you look like Swiss cheese wasnât the smartest move on your part, youâve got to admit.â
Then, a static noise crackled through the hollow, making you both jolt up.
You immediately scrambled behind him, pressing yourself against his arm for protection. It took a moment, but Quaritch realised soon enough that it was his walkie-talkie that had made that noise.
âCâlonel⌠caân you hâear me?â A voice came from the other side. âQuarâitch⌠dâyou copây?â
âOh, oh, shit!â Quaritch panicked. It looked like his team was finally able to contact him! He tried to get up again, but the sudden movement caused a sharp pain to shoot through from his leg to his tail.
âHey, kid!â He grabbed your arm and pointed at the walkie-talkie. âCome on, get me that thing, yeah?â
You frowned for a moment, then pointed at it yourself, silently asking if he really meant that strange buzzing object that just spoke from nowhere.
âYes, yeah! That! Come on, kid!" He gave a small push forward. "You can do it!"
Reluctantly, you moved with your ears pinned and picked the thing up by the antenna like it was something that could bite you at any moment, and carried it back to him at armâs length.
Then you dropped it carefully between his hands and immediately sat down beside him again, waiting to see what he would do next.
âThanks,â Quaritch grinned, and ruffled your hair before returning to his call. âAffirmative. Can you hear me, Lyle?â
âYesâyes, we got you. Where are you? Should we return?â
âNo,â The man said firmly. âContinue your way. Youâre still on target.â
You stood up, climbed onto his side slightly, and leaned in toward the radio to listen better. Quaritch quickly caught you and made you sit down again. âHey, careful, behave.â
âIâm fine, Lyle. Just a bit hurt, but Iâve got help.â He said, then, turning back to the conversation. âSend me your coordinations every two days through the intercom. Iâll follow after you, but it might take some time.â
Then, there was silence for a moment.
âHelp?â Lyle sounded confused. âBy the nâtives? You sâre they wânt kill you?â
âItâs fine,â Quaritch said, giving you a glance. âItâs just a brat anyway. Iâll send them their way before any of the top dogs appear, okay?â
ââŚIf you sâso, Colonel.â
âThis is all, then. Iâll see you in a few weeks. Over and out.â
ââee you sâon. Out.â
After his little conversation was over, you looked a lot more receptive to the evil talking metal thing and took the walkie-talkie from his hands before playing with the knobs and antenna, listening to the different frequencies and static that came with it.
âBe careful there, kiddo,â Quaritch said, but left you to do your thing. He trusted you to handle his stuff with care at this point.
He guessed he could wait a few more days until his leg was healed enough to put his weight on it without flinching. It didnât look like you were going to leave his side any time soon anyway. Then, once he was fine, he could accompany you to your clan to make sure no viperwolf ate you or anything.
...And if you didnât have any place to return to, as he had started to doubt, well, you could always join him on his little voyage, he supposed.
At first, Wally struggles to name the feeling he has for you. He just knows that this feeling is nice, and he wants to be around you more.
He starts to sit beside you more often and tries to include you in everything he does.
He even calls you at night just to hear your voice.
He seems to be more attentive now, too! He remembers a tiny thing you mentioned last month, brings you small gifts that remind him of you, and asks you more questions about yourself.
And, yeah, he stares a bit more than usual and studies your expressions.
He thinks he really likes your smile and the way you squint your eyes when you look happy.
Other people realize first that he has a thing for you. Especially Barnaby! Julie and Sally tease him about it, too, meanwhile, Wally just looks at them, confused. "...What do you mean? In love? Me?"
One of them has to explain to him about different kinds of love until he realizes, "Oh. So this feeling has a name."
His confessions would be a private thing between you two.
While you are hanging out with him, alone, he just stares at you for a moment before he says something like, "I think I love you. You are my favorite person, and I like being near you the most. Barnaby said this means I have a crush on you."
He says this very matter-of-factly, too.
If you react positively, he would definitely be more eager to spend time together, and try out "couples stuff" like holding hands, having date nights, and kissing you on the cheek.
He's a bit awkward at the beginning, though.
If you say that the feelings are not mutual, however, he would look a bit down but would accept it nonetheless.
He would say something like, "Oh. I see...Can we still be friends, though?"
He might spend a few days alone with Home until he feels a bit better. It's his first time experiencing heartbreak, you see!
â¤ď¸đşJULIE JOYFULđşâ¤ď¸
Julie is very impulsive, energetic, and driven by her emotions. This means she's the kind of person who definitely would confess once she realizes she's in love with you.
She would be very obvious, too. And everyone would notice it immediately, even Wally!
She would want to spend all her time with you, drag you into games, call you a cutie, bring you flowers, pull you by your hand everywhere, and get louder and more excitable around you.
She wants to impress you, you know?
She's very tuned with her emotions and knows that what she feels is love, even if she's a bit chaotic about it.
The confession itself probably wouldn't be perfectly planned, though.
She isn't the type of person who has the patience to sit down and prepare a careful speech. It would likely happen because she got too excited to keep it in anymore.
She would probably blurt it out mid-conversation while Frank slams his palm to his head like, "Stupid, Julie! You were supposed to confess when you two were alone whileâ"
Julie is too pumped to listen to his friend, though, and just word vomits at you, "WAIT! I know this is sudden and all, but I think I'm in love with you. No! I am 100% sure that I am. Because you are so fun, and pretty, and funny, and I just love to play with you, and you are so smart, and like, I think we would make a great couple, andâ"
She's laughing, kicking her feet, and covering her face during all that, spinning in circles and demanding an answer immediately right after because she just can't handle the suspense!
If you return her feelings, she would be over the moon and just start spinning you around and drown you in kisses.
Once at home, she would scream into her pillow, draw hearts everywhere, and would just exhaust herself to sleep.
The next couple of days would be spent with her running face-first into walls because you smiled at her across the street. She trips and falls a lot during that honeymoon phase! Barnaby finds it hilarious, of course.
She would make the relationship feel fun and alive all the time.
One week anniversary, one month anniversary, six-month anniversary, birthdays, Valentine's Day, date nights, pajama parties, dinner parties, gifts, movie nights, games...she plans it all!
If you rejected her, though? Oh, God... Julie would definitely take it harder than Wally would.
She would cry openly, dramatically flop herself from furniture to furniture, blowing her nose so loud you would think her brain is gonna fall out, and keep asking, "Why not? What's wrong with me? Is it because of something I did? Come on, tell me! Am I unlovable or something?!"
She tries to distract herself but fails miserably. Barnaby, Franky, and Sally have to team up to even get her out of the room to get a bit of sunlight. Even Poppy goes every day to cook her something to eat, or the poor girl will just starve herself to the grave!
She does become quieter for a while, of course, and even avoids you, but thanks to the help of the other neighbors, she bounces back in no time!
And, of course, she still wants to stay friends with you! No hard feelings, okay?!
đŞ˛đFRANK FRANKLYđđŞ˛
It takes him a long time to realize that he has fallen for you.
And even then, he's still very reluctant and awkward about it.
He wants to "make sure" that he is really in love with you, so he tries to spend more time with you to "analyze" his own feelings.
He's usually very blunt and rational, so this new territory makes him surprisingly messy, and he does not like that.
He reads a ton of books about love, relationships, and emotions during this time. He compares the information he gets with his own experiences, in hopes of "solving" this problem. How can he tell you anything if even he himself isn't sure what's happening with him? That would be unfair to you!
He asks Julie and the others hypothetical questions like "How do you know if you have fallen for someone? Let's say you are in love, what would you do? What does it mean to fancy someone? What signs would you show while in love?" without actually naming you.
It doesn't take long for Julie, Barnaby, and Howdy to figure out that he has a crush on you, of course.
He starts to hover nearby you more often and brings you small, thoughtful things like flowers and books, or any little trinkets that remind him of you.
He invites you to have a cup of tea with him and attend to his garden for a bit of flower gazing. He has some interesting bugs visiting with the coming of spring as well!
He makes room for you in his daily routine and gets out of his way to help you with chores as well.
Barnaby teases him to hell and back for this. He gets more ittirable around the subject of romance because of this, and not even Julie can pry his mouth open about his crush.
He paces around his room a lot at night, adjusts his bow the whole time, and argues with himself. It's hard to come to a conclusion when he is on both sides of the argument, however.
Once he concludes that he is in love with you, he prepares a script on how he wants to confess to you and rehearses it for weeks.
Even then, the confession is still not as smooth and romantic as he would have wanted, and this frustrates him.
He would probably say something like this, "I enjoy your company considerably more than I do most people's. Statistically speaking, you occupy my thoughts with concerning frequency as well. Which, frankly, is becoming difficult to ignore. And considering the fact that my heart flutters when I see you, I think I could say that I may have caught some feelings for you, if you don't mind my saying."
He gets tense after his confession and patiently waits for your answer while avoiding eye contact. He fiddles with his hands, too.
If you accept his love, he would be a bit surprised but happy. And would offer to have a "dating period" to see if you two are really compatible or not.
He would be very attentive and remember small details about you. He even has a small journal where he keeps track of every "little fact" he learned.
He has no problem arranging date nights and walking you back home every time. His favorite activity is to sit with you side by side and read, though, and discuss the book later.
He's not opposed to wearing "couples-clothing" if you are so inclined. He actually likes it too, even if he pouts :)
He loves to go to picnics with you, too.
Expect a lot of personal notes, reminders around the house, and complaining as well.
If you don't return his feelings, however, his brain would visibly short-circuit for a moment, but then he would take the rejection with grace and probably even apologize for throwing this at you without considering how much this would put you in a hard spot.
For a while, he would avoid you because he didn't want to make things awkward for you, and it would take a lot of convincing that you guys could still be friends even after his little "mess up".
đâď¸SALLY STARLETâď¸đ
Sally would realize her feelings fairly quickly, and since she's a very expressive and emotionally outward person, would want to tell you how she feels as quickly as possible.
She finds reasons to touch you all the time. Grabbing your hand, pulling you into dances, dramatically collapsing onto your arms during rehearsals, making sure you have a leading role alongside her...
She would absolutely romanticize every little moment as much as she could! Every time you come face-to-face is a "fateful encounter," and each play you meet is a "destined reunion," and whenever you leave to go back home, she can't help but say it's a "heartbreaking separation that both of you will have to go through."
This is her way of testing the waters, actually.
Through theatrics, like acting out romance scenes and pretending to flirt "for the performance," she tries to figure out if you like her too.
If she senses mutual feelings, then she would escalate fast and quickly get all of her friends to plan out a public, dramatic, and emotional love confession.
Of course, she would make the most theatrical confession ever as well! After all, she lives for the drama.
She actually finds the idea of being in love exciting rather than something frightening. The possibility of getting rejected doesn't even cross her mind.
Every detail is planned to the dot, and the whole neighborhood is in on it!
It's almost like a stage production, really.
The confession would definitely have a musical number where she confesses her undying love for you while Julie, Barnaby, and Wally are backup dancers.
A lot of balloons and flower petals would be involved as well.
She would probably use a Shakespearean speech while saying something like, "Oh, my dear, you've been the leading role in every marvelous little thought I've had! Just your gaze makes my heart flutter, and it turns out I've adored you dreadfully for quite some time now. Kiss me, before I perish from yearning!"
She would throw herself from one piece of furniture to another like Julie, clutch her chest as if she's really in agony, get on her knees, and somehow surround you with props that seem to come directly from the Baroque era with incredible lightning, too.
How did you even end up in a dress? You have no idea. All you know is that one second you were in overalls that were covered in paint, and the second you had this incredible gown with Sally in a matching suit.
If you return her feelings, she would be insufferably affectionate, of course.
The next half a year would be full of romantic plays, calling you extravagant pet names, demanding kisses before curtain calls, sudden dance numbers and songs, and acting like the two of you are the stars of an ongoing comedy-romance show.
She's definitely needy and soaks up all the attention you give to her.
But what if you rejected her? Well, then she would probably try to recover the situation by trying to laugh it off and deny everything. "It was all part of the act! A rehearsal! For the next play of mine, you know?! And you did it perfectly..!"
There is no way she would admit out loud that she's kinda heartbroken, so she would sulk privately afterward.
â˝đĽBARNABY B. BEAGLEđĽâ˝
He would realize his feelings only when he notices that he started to prioritize making you laugh more than others.
Just a single giggle would make his insides feel like mush, you know?
He would start to make inside jokes that only you and he would understand.
He gets unusually attentive to your feelings. Why are you so silent today? Why are you so distant? Did something happen? He wants to know why and what he can do to help.
He finds that he's less "performative" and more himself when he's with you as well.
He would spend more time with you, or around you, "just because."
He would first try to test your feelings indirectly before he even thinks of confessing. "Hypothetically, if someone really liked you and wanted to be with you...what kind of traits would you want them to have? Did you ever fall in love? What kind of dates would you like?"
He tries to be more affectionate with you. More hugs, fist bumps, arms around the shoulders, and all that...
He knows he's screwed when he even thinks about you before going to bed.
He would write jokes specifically for you.
He would NOT do a quiet, serious confession however. It would most likely start as a joke. âHey, I got a serious announcement! Iâve diagnosed myself with⌠liking you. Very advanced case, I'm afraid.â
If you just roll your eyes and think he's not being serious, he would suddenly panic and go, âNo, wait, thatâs notâ I mean, I do, but I also donâtâ okay, I definitely do. I 100% do like you.â
He would probably get visibly flustered once he realizes he canât fully joke his way out of it. Especially so, if he actually wants to be with you.
The tone would shift into something surprisingly sincere, "I ain't really good with this love stuff, but...I think you're really neat."
He would absolutely avoid eye contact and keep moving around, adjusting his hat, pacing left and right, his tail shaking.
If you accept his confession, he would try to joke again and get close to you, blabbering about all the "amazing things" you could do together.
If you refuse, he would probably try to play it as a prank, and be like, "Hahaha! I can't believe you actually fell for that. You are so sweet!"
He would still joke around, make pranks, and go around annoying everyone, but you would still be able to tell the distance between you, even when he refuses that there is any bad blood between you two.
đĽ§đPOPPY PARTRIDGEđđĽ§
She would first think she's just extra worried about you, rather than think that it's love.
Sheâd start overthinking every small interaction she had with you. Replaying conversations, panicking over whether she sounded âtoo awkwardâ or ânot helpful enough," and, oh my God, how embarrassing it was...!
Sheâd feel unusually motivated to bake or knit specifically for you, and obsess over making it perfect.
Sheâd become noticeably more flustered around you. She stutters, flaps her wings, and forgets what she says to you mid-sentence, due to how stressed out she is!
Sheâd worry constantly about you. Did you eat? Did you sleep well? Did you remember to turn off your stove?
Eventually, sheâd realise the pattern and that she's actually in love with you, and not just worried about you as a friend.
This, of course, would cause her to panic even more. Because what do you mean she's in love?! Since when? Is she sure this is love and not something else? You guys are friends! She doesn't want to ruin that by opening her beak!
There is no way in God's green earth she would be able to confess without someone's help. She's far too scared of getting rejected and embarrassed. (Maybe Julie could help?)
She would try to give you hints by baking your favorite food "just because," prepare small care packages, and invite you over for every little thing to hang out together.
She really hopes that you share the same feelings for her and confess to her instead.
And if she did confess, it would be by accident. Something like, âI just⌠I really like having you here, more than I should, I think. You're really nice, and great, and I'm just soâ"
If you do admit that you love her, too, she would start blabbering and quickly say that she loves you, too, before you think that she might refuse you.
If you refuse her, she would just think she misread everything, and get really embarrassed, and think how she "made you uncomfortable" now. How can she face you? She should probably move out! It will just be too awkward for both of you.
If you don't notice anything at all, well...she's just happy to have you by her side, even as a friend.
đđHOWDY PILLARđđ
At first, heâd interpret his feelings as âgood business,â thanks to a strong customer loyalty.
Heâd notice heâs prioritising one customer/neighbour, aka you, over profit without meaning after a while, however.
He starts giving you âdiscountsâ and even a few freebies that no other neighbor gets.
He catches himself looking forward to your visits more than any sale or deal.
He starts âover-servicingâ you in a way thatâs clearly beyond normal shopkeeper behavior, and even helps you carry your bags back home.
He feels bothered when you donât visit, but tries to call it âan inventory concern."
He saves his best items or jokes specifically for you.
At first, he tries to shrug these feelings off as nothing but silly things. He isn't used to getting thrown off his game like this, you see.
It bugs him that he thinks about you even when he is not at the shop.
He starts saving things âjust in case you might like it.â
He feels mildly irritated when others take up your attention, too.
He even gets "limited edition" items, just for you!
He sometimes even gives you things for free, saying, âThis isnât for sale. Itâs yours. I just⌠kept it aside.â And this boggles everyone!
Would he confess? I think so, yes. But it would be more like a business offer than a real love confession.
He would say something like, âIâve got a standing offer! Best stock, best jokes, and top priority service⌠exclusively for you. I like you more than I like cash, it seems, haha!"
If you agree to go on a date, he would instantly get into "overproviding mode" and get you even more stuff. Barnaby is jealous!
He builds a routine around you. Waking up early to join you for breakfast before work, opening items for you, leaving his job early a few times a week for your dates....
If you don't share the same feelings as him, he would be a bit down but would understand it. âAh. Demand mismatch, I see..."
He would still question if his "deal" was unclear, or if the timing was wrong or not. What should he have done better for you to like him in return?
He tries to be the same shopkeeper to make sure you don't go to another grocery to do your business, but even then, you can see he makes less spontaneous jokes, looks less energetic, and even goes around over-organizing shelves that don't need organizing just to avoid your gaze.
You see, he just puts some distance between you two. A polite, customer-service voice, but no longer "saving things" for you specifically.
If you try to talk to him about it, he just shrugs it off and smiles, saying, âIt wasn't a viable arrangement. Still, you are a valued customer!â
âď¸đŽEDDIE DEARđŽâď¸
It starts with him noticing small things about you since you get mail/packages so often.
He honestly remembers more of those little things (your handwriting, the way you put a heart instead of dots on some letters, that you like to doodle on your letters sometimes) than he does your name at first.
He begins adding small extras to your mail like stickers, posters, and magazines that he thinks you might like.
He starts to fix broken things like a sideways mailbox around your garden, thinking, âIâll just fix that for them real quick. I already know how to do that anyway."
He prioritizes your deliveries over others without realizing it at first.
He likes that talking with you becomes a part of his daily routine, and actually enjoys the conversations he has with you.
He wouldn't realize what he feels is love at first sight since he's so bad at naming feelings overall.
He just thinks he's being a good mailman and a friend.
When it comes to you, his forgetfulness seems to go away, too.
He would be a bit confused because of it. He would think, âWhy does this feel different from helping everyone else?â
I think he would confess, but not directly. He would prepare a handmade envelope that he keeps redoing to make sure it's "perfect" and sends you poems, love letters, and a few thoughtful messages anonymously.
He wants to see what your reaction would be, so he can gain enough courage to actually face you.
You're smarter than that, however, and would figure out it's the mailman who has a crush on you pretty quickly.
His first reaction would be to be both overwhelmed and relieved. He's also both happy and shaking so bad it looks like he might burst into tears at any moment.
If you share the same feelings, he would actually cry and would start leaving more small gifts in your mailbox.
He loves to arrange date nights with you, but you have to remind him of birthdays and anniversaries and such even now!
He becomes extra careful with deliveries to you specifically.
He would pick flowers on the way and give some every morning.
He would even be less anxious and more grounded around you!
If you do reject him, he would be down immediately, and a bit embarrassed too.
He might even try to play it off and say something like, âOh. I must have delivered that wrongâŚ! T-that was meant for someone else! I'm sorry!â
After that, he feels more self-conscious and keeps over-checking himself constantly.
He would also be more timid and silent around you.
He would still deliver your mail, of course! But he tries to put some distance between you so both you and he are more comfortable.
You still see from your window the way he hesitates and takes a moment to calm down before reaching your door, however.
can I please request Yandere Wally darling with a reader (gender neutral pls) who likes painting, and presents him with a painting of himself?
I loved that idea, anon! So, here it is! I hope you liked it as well â¤ď¸â I even got you the portrait right after seeing your ask đ¤
âĄâLOOK AT ME, SWEETIEââĄ
Yandere Wally Darling x GN!Reader
Warnings: Stalking/Spying.
You had started to notice that Wally had been staring at you a lot more recently. It didn't bother you, per se, but it did make you wonder.
He was now carrying a sketchbook everywhere, too. And when you took a peek at it, you saw that the reason he had been so interested in you so much lately was that he had unceremoniously decided to make you his model.
Every page was filled with you. You smiling, you eating, you yawning, you lying on the ground, you sitting...they were very good drawings, too!
Did he really see you this pretty? Wow...it kinda made you feel butterflies in your stomach.
When you asked him why he was drawing you so much, he just shrugged and said, "I like you a lot, that's why!"
You started to see him in a different light after that. Wally, despite being a bit strange (but weren't all artists like that, anyway?), was actually a nice guy, wasn't he? And you two did get along pretty well.
You two start to hang out a bit more, and Wally even invites you to his house. Yeah, you had seen it before; you and the other neighbors had slumber parties, dinners, movie nights, and game nights all the time. But it just felt different when it was only you two, you know?
This made you feel special.
He kinda did his own thing as you snooped around his room, and went through his sketches, doodles, and paintings. He didn't mind. Wally actually liked that you're curious about him, too.
Wally is really talented, you think. Compared to him, your drawing skills were subpar at best, to say the least.
"Maybe you can give me some lessons, Wally?" you ask him.
Of course, he agrees. This meant he could spend more time with you, after all!
You arenât really sure if Wally loves you, though. You know..love love not like love. LikeâŚhe hasnât made a move on you or anything, despite spending so much alone time together. He hasnât even said anything about these outings being a date. But he did seem to want to be closer to you⌠Or were you just being too optimistic because of your own feelings?
You honestly did not know, but you were still a bit too shy to ask him directly.
Then, one afternoon, Wally arrived at your place carrying a large canvas wrapped in a cloth. And, unlike his usual demeanor, he seemed actually excited.
âI made this just for you,â he said to you, and clasped his hands in front of him. âDo you want to see it?â
When you said "Of course I do", he finally revealed the painting, and it was a painting...of himself? It was beautiful, you didnât want to get that wrong, the colors were brilliant, the linework was amazing, it had great volume and all, but why did Wally decide to give you a portrait of himself in the first place?
That wasn't something you gifted to a sweetheart...right? Well, Wally was an oddball, so maybe in his mind, it is?
It even had a handwritten note at the bottom, âFor my best friend in the whole neighborhood. Donât tell the others, though ;)â
His handwriting was really just as pretty as his drawings, you can't help but think.
You were still confused, though. âWhy did you give me a portrait of yourself, Wally?â you couldnât help but ask.
Your mind was hung up on the word "best friend," too.
He just tilted his head and shrugged, âSo that you can have something nice to look at, thatâs all.â
You laugh at that and take the painting inside. You had no idea Wally could be this sassy!
You aren't sure what exactly you want to do with this thing, but...you did appreciate the sentiment, you supposed?
"Does this mean you'll put a portrait of me in your house, then?" you joked.
Wally actually likes that idea, though.
Then, he became really interested in where he wanted to put his portrait. "Maybe hang it in your bedroom? Above the bed? Or maybe in your study room? Would I help you concentrate? Oh! Maybe the kitchen! So you can have someone to eat with!"
This continued for days, and every time he visits you, he keeps asking, "Is it hanging somewhere? Can I see where it is? Does it have a good view? Does it suit the room?"
You want to be nice because you actually do like this person, so you decided to hang it in the living room. Right in front of the couch, too.
Wally likes it.
Sometimes, it feels like the portrait's eyes are following you, however. And, sometimes, you could swear that the portrait's eyes aren't pointed in quite the same direction as before
You dismiss these thoughts. They were silly. How could a portrait move by itself, after all?
Then, Wally starts to comment on things he...isn't even supposed to know about? Like one particular pair of pajamas you never wore in front of others because you knew Barnaby would tease you, or that you had not liked that one particular cheesecake Poppy had made last Friday for Thanksgiving. There was a time when you had ignored Eddie's knock on the door because you had not felt like getting up and just said you had not heard him, and that one time when you had sung by yourself so very badly, you hurt your own throat.
It weirded you out, if you were being honest. And you started to wonder if he was...following you around? But that did not make sense. How could he? He couldn't come to your house and watch you from the window or sneak inside without any of the other neighbors noticing him, and no one had said anything about Wally acting out of the ordinary.
They would say something if they saw anything like that, right?
While being so on edge, the portrait's gaze made you feel even more eerie. It was as if Wally could see you through that thing, but...no, that was impossible, wasn't it?
Yeah, you were just being paranoid. You probably said those things to Wally yourself one way or the other and just forgot about it. You did that a lot, after all, and, unlike you, Wally actually did have a great memory. He could keep up even with Frank whenever you guys played Memory Game or Chess.
You met the portrait's gaze.
Maybe you could still put it away for a bit, though, however crazy that sounded.
What you did not know was that the moment you covered the portrait, Wally knew, and he actually did keep an eye on you with it.
He couldn't help it. The hours he spent with you were just enough; he wanted more.
But now that you had caught on to what was happening...he needed something else. But what?
