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[corajnx]

"I'm so lucky to have you." | Cross Guild (React With Them)

Summary: You were lying with him, happy and content, when you decided to tell him how lucky you felt to have him in your life.

Well, their reactions differ, but they're all sweet, nonetheless.

SIR CROCODILE

It was late evening, and you were sprawled on the bed with Crocodile by your side as you listened to the rain.

He was reading the news with a cigar resting between his lips, smoke curling lazily into the dim light of the room. His attention was fixed on whatever article he had found interesting, and his eyes scanned the lines as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Something about the World Government had made the front page, too, bold and dramatic, but you didn’t bother trying to follow it. It was most likely some propaganda, anyway.

The scent of his cigar drifted toward you. Once, you had hated it; it had been too bitter and sharp for your nose back then. But now, it settled around you like something familiar, something that gave you comfort. It meant he was here, after all, somewhere near you if not next to you.

You turned onto your side and looked at him.

For a moment, you just watched. You had not seen him the whole day, after all, and despite seeing each other every evening, the time felt too little, too short. Maybe it was time for a date? When was the last time you spent quality time together? If memory served right...before Cross Guild, which meant at least six months. Yeah, you should probably bring that up at breakfast.

Crocodile didn’t look at you, but you knew he noticed your gaze. He always did.

“What is it?” he asked, voice low, uninterested on the surface but attentive underneath.

You shrugged slightly and brushed your fingers against the soft fabric of his nightshirt before resting them on his chest.

“Just thinking how lucky I am to have you.” You smiled and shifted closer, letting your head rest against him. He was always so warm. Was it because of his Devil Fruit, perhaps? “I love you very much, you know?”

He scoffed when he heard that. It was a quiet, dismissive sound, like you’d said something foolish. Then, he turned the page of his newspaper as if nothing had happened without saying anything in return.

You didn't mind, of course. You were very well aware of how bad he was at verbalizing his feelings from the very beginning of the relationship. Communication was definitely not his strongest suit.

So you stayed where you were, hand resting over his heartbeat, listening to the faint rustle of paper and the slow burn of his cigar with your eyes closed and ready to fall asleep.

Minutes passed, and you had almost dozed off. Then, without a word, the paper lowered, and Crocodile shifted a bit. The cigar was extinguished and set aside without burning his fingers, and he got ready to sleep as well.

You moved to the side to let him get more comfortable in the bed, a bit cranky, but the arm that came around you made up for that, as you felt his huge, rough hand resting on your back.

Yes, you thought, this was definitely the best part of your day.

BUGGY THE CLOWN

You were in the shower while Buggy removed his makeup back in your shared bedroom.

It had been a long, exhausting day: running around Karai Bari, dealing with endless errands, messages, and whatever chaos came with being tied to something as big as the Cross Guild was not an easy task. At some point, piracy had stopped feeling like freedom and started feeling like… an assistant job.

You didn't really know how you really felt about this, exactly, but...that was something you would have to think about another day.

You sighed and leaned your forehead briefly against the cool tile, letting the water run over you. The warmth felt so nice.

You didn’t bother putting on much after: just one of Buggy’s oversized sweaters that nearly swallowed you whole. It still carried a faint trace of his usual scent: powder, smoke, and something oddly artificial and sweet. It was a weird mix, to say the least, but something you had grown to love.

You dried your hair quickly, very half-heartedly, not really caring if it was still damp, and stepped into the bedroom.

The first thing your eyes immediately landed on was the dressing table, and the total mess Buggy had left.

Wet wipes tossed aside, smudges of red and white, lipstick caps left open, stains scattered like evidence of a small disaster.

You sighed.

Morning problem, you decided then, seconds later. You’d scold him to clean his shit in the morning, after your cup of coffee.

Buggy was already in bed when you turned your attention back, leaning over the side as he rummaged through a drawer, muttering something under his breath. He was probably searching for his sleeping mask.

The room felt colder than the bathroom, but the moment you slipped under the blanket, the warmth wrapped around you instantly, and it was both heavy and comforting.

He noticed you then, and without wasting much time, one of his hands detached and stretched toward the lamp, clicking the light off with a soft snap. The room fell into darkness, lit only faintly by whatever slipped through the curtains of the tent's makeshift window.

You shifted closer and pressed against his side. You just loved snuggling with your clown while sleeping.

“I’m really lucky to have you, aren’t I…?” you mumbled, and yawned as your head hit the pillow.

Buggy froze, then, completely still under your arms, his exhaustion from seconds ago gone.

Then—

“W-Wha?! I-I mean…!” He stuttered, jerking upright, face heating instantly. Even in the dark, you could see it, the way his nose lit up like a little red Christmas light. You had to hold in your laughter after that, to not ruin the moment. Did your little praise delight him that much? “Of course you are! You’ve got GREAT taste, honey bunny! Not everyone can earn the Great Buggy’s affection, you know?!”

You decided to indulge him, then, like the attention junkie that he was. "Oh, yeah? I must be really lucky then."

His puffed his chest with pride and nodded. “Stick with me, and you’ll be even luckier..! I'M the best of the best, and I get only the best of the best for my darling, too!"

Then, he pulled you close, so close you could barely breathe, and then came the kisses. Kisses everywhere! Your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone: every part of you that his red-tinted lips could reach! They were all quick, exaggerated, and over-the-top like everything he did as well.

“Buggy—!” you burst into laughter, squirming as you tried to push him away. “Stop! It tickles!”

“Gyahahaha! You started it! How can I fall asleep now when I feel so great?!"

DRACULE MIHAWK

Mihawk was already in bed when you entered, half-reclined against the headboard, a book open in one hand and a glass of wine resting on the drawer beside him when you found him.

The room was quiet, comfortably so. No chaos, no noise, all of that was left behind at the other side of the curtain that was supposed to be the tent's door. Now, all you could hear was just the faint rustle of pages turning and the occasional clink of glass when he reached for his drink as the clown's circus became a background noise.

You didn't call out to him, didn't need to, and instead, just slipped under the blanket and crawled closer, emerging at his side like a little caterpillar.

Mihawk didn't look at you, but he did notice you, and without a word, he shifted one of his arms and settled it around you.

This was his way of greeting you. He preferred to stay silent after getting so overstimulated the whole day while dealing with all the Cross Guild nonsense.

This had made holding the book slightly awkward, however, so you adjusted and pressed yourself closer to him, fitting yourself into his side so the book could rest more comfortably between his hands.

You didn't ask what he was reading; you never did. It was always something dense, something impossibly dry, anyway; pages filled with ideas that felt like they belonged to another century, with a lexicon so outdated that most couldn't even understand a word in the sentence, let alone the whole thing. Something only he, or perhaps a ninety-year-old philosopher, could truly enjoy, and made you want to pull out your own ears whenever he started to lecture you about it.

But that didn't matter. What did matter was this: the way his chest felt against your cheeks as he breathed, the way he absentmindedly caressed your back, and the slow, rhythmic thud of his heart against your ear.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the moment.

This was the best feeling in the world, wasn't it?

“I’m so lucky to have you, really,” you sighed softly, then, and pulled the blanket a little higher. “The best partner ever.”

Mihawk didn't react at first. Of course, he didn't, but he did look thoughtful. Maybe a bit more than usual, even.

Then, he said, "...Is that so?" and turned another page.

You wondered what was going through his overthinking head as the wind kept trying to push its way into the tent. It was not at all easy for him, these types of verbal affections.

Minutes passed.

Five.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Then, it was already half an hour.

At some point, you wondered if he would give a proper answer at all. Maybe he’d simply let the moment settle and move on, like he often did. Maybe he’d assume it didn’t need a response, since you already knew how much he loved you anyway.

Yeah, that was it, wasn't it?

Knowing that he would most likely keep reading until he finished the whole thing, you made yourself comfortable and tried to fall asleep. And that took no time at all. You were already drifting since you had finished all your tasks, your thoughts softening at the edges when you rested your head on the pillow and your mind ready to let the dreams start after such a tiring day when the man said—

“…I suppose we both share the same sentiment.”

[corajnx]

First Contact

WHOLE NEW WORLD Masterlist

AVATAR (Cameron) Masterlist

Main Masterlist

GN!(Human)Reader-centric | Reader & Their Avatar

[NEXT]

Warnings: Dubious/Fake Science, Birth Scene, Swearing.

Length: 9,7K+

Chapter: 1/1

You're an Avatar Driver and you get to witness the "birth" of your new body after you arrive at Pandora.

A/N: This has lots of references to the original script—Project 880. You don't have to read it for this to make sense, though.

I love the OG script so much! I wish they had kept some of the stuff in there, honestly.

You have worked really hard to earn your place at the RDA. Not just hard, relentless. The kind of effort that did not let you sleep, burned through your patience with every question that you got wrong, and left ink stains permanently etched into the sides of your fingers. You had carved your way here, one exam, one paper, one sleepless night at a time, and many, many nights crying out of desperation and exhaustion.

You, like most from your generation, had grown up with the documentaries about Pandora, grainy at first, then sharper as the years passed, where they showed you this incredible planet far away. A world full of creatures that looked like they had been pulled from fantasies too vivid to be real, with vegetation so luminous and alien that Earth felt dull in comparison. Forests that breathed. Mountains that floated. A sky filled with stars.

It was like a dream come true, really.

You were captivated by that world and the Na'vi since you were a child. While other kids decorated their rooms with celebrities, superheroes, or athletes, your walls were layered with clipped photographs of bioluminescent forests, ikrans mid-flight, and tall, blue figures standing in the forest, curiously staring back at the camera that filmed them.

Your parents fed into your obsession, gently at first, then wholeheartedly once they realized that it was not going to leave any time soon. They bought every publication they could find, sat with you through late-night broadcasts, and listened as you recited facts you had memorized.

This meant that from an early age, in your sixth grade, after a long conversation with your biology teacher who had leaned forward with the same spark in her eyes as you did, you had decided: you would go to Pandora, one way or the other.

Not if. Not maybe. You would find a way to board one of the RDA’s ships and see it for yourself.

This meant lots and lots of studying, of course. So much so, in fact, you would get frequent nosebleeds, headaches, and a constant back pain, your body protesting the hours you forced it to endure. You learned to ignore them. You learned to press a tissue to your nose with one hand, stretch a bit, and keep writing with the other.

You barely had a social life whatsoever to speak of at the end of your senior year, you were never even invited to a single party, but it was worth it. You didn't need the whole school to be your friends anyway; just a couple of nerds who had their own obsessions were more than enough.

RDA had many different operations that you could have chosen from: private military, research, construction, and mining, for example. It was a massive, sprawling machine of an organization at that point with thousands of workers. But the one you had set your eyes on was SciOps.

They were different. They weren’t just there to extract resources. They were there to understand.

SciOps was made up of scientists, researchers, and thinkers. They studied Pandora, documented it, and tried to bridge the impossible gap between human and Na’vi while also looking into whether the vegetation there could survive back at home as well. And most importantly, they handled the AVTR Program.

Yes. That program that lets you walk among the Na’vi.

The program meant you wouldn’t just observe Pandora from behind a glass, you would be part of it.

At first, you had thought about Xenobiology. It seemed like the obvious path; catalog the creatures, understand the ecosystems, be among the first to name the unknown... But somewhere in your high school years, something in your goals shifted.

It happened unexpectedly, really: A recorded interview between the Tsahik and Dr Richard Carter was the reason. A linguist speaking Na’vi fluently, the sounds flowing like music to your ears, like something alive.

You replayed it again. And again. And again.

You realized then that you didn’t just want to study Pandora. You wanted to speak to it. To understand the Na’vi not as subjects, but as people. So your plan shifted and went towards Xenolinguistics instead.

There were just a few fields that the RDA accepted for the program: Exoanthropology, Neuroscience, Biochemistry, and Ecology were just a few of them. Finding a university that actually gave classes on xenolinguistics was even rarer. And even then, the bar was brutally high. A master’s degree at a minimum. A PhD if you wanted any real say in research.

And even after all of that…nothing was guaranteed. Not really. You knew this. Everyone knew this. There were thousands like you, brilliant, driven, obsessed, competing for those handful of positions. People who had sacrificed just as much, maybe more.

Still, you didn't stop. Couldn't, really. Because somewhere between the first photograph you taped to your wall and the last application you submitted, this stopped being a dream and turned into your life's purpose. You had spent all of your formative years on this path. What else could you do if you were to give up?

...Honestly? You did not even want to entertain that idea. It was far too painful.

You applied five times before they called you for an interview.

Five.

Five years of doing this again and again.

Each rejection had a polite but impersonal tone. "We regret to inform you..." this and that, that left you feeling hollow until the words lost their sting and became something expected.

Not that this ever stopped you.

It made sense, really. If it were that easy to get in, more people would have tried it, rather than seeing it as something impossible, like trying to be the President of the United States. At least they had the decency to actually tell you that you didn't get the job, rather than letting you keep dreaming until the end.

The fifth application had felt different when you sent it. Not hopeful, no, but more...confident? More prepared? Like placing the final piece in a structure you had spent years building after failing again and again and figuring things out, if that made sense.

Then, somehow…They called you.

You almost choked on your dinner when the e-mail came.

The interview was a disaster. At least, that’s what you had thought afterward.

You stuttered. You forgot key terms you had repeated a hundred times before. Your hands trembled so badly you had to clasp them together under the table, nails digging into your skin just to stay still. Your shirt clung to your back, damp with sweat, and every question felt like it came half a second too fast.

You watched their faces. More like glanced, really, because you failed miserably at keeping eye contact. They were measured, neutral, and almost impossible to read, however.

And when it was over, you walked out already bracing yourself for the next rejection.

You had fucked it up.

Again.

Your only consolation was that at least now you knew how they interviewed people and could prepare for the next attempt better, and maybe, after a few more years, they would actually consider hiring you.

Then, the e-mail came three days later.

It wasn't the rejection that you had been waiting for.

Not even close.

They asked you to confirm a date; to come in, to tour the base, and to discuss your options within the company. To talk about your future in the RDA.

Your future.

You read it once.

Then twice.

Then a third time.

Then a fourth.

Then a fifth.

Then you screamed for your mom to come and check just to make sure your eyes weren’t playing some cruel trick on you. Then your mom called for your dad to see it, too.

Then you broke. You actually sobbed: Shoulders shaking, breath hitching, nose dripping with snot and years of pressure cracking all at once as you laughed and cried in the same breath. Your parents joined you, too, and congratulated you through their own cries.

That night, you celebrated the only way that made sense: Cheap fast food, greasy fingers, and smiles so wide they hurt with your mom, dad, and a few friends who rushed to come to your apartment the moment you told them the good news.

It tasted better than anything you've ever had.

Reality, however, came quickly.

At the job, during that tour, you learned something that no documentary had really mentioned in great detail because it was probably too boring for the standard viewer: the journey. One trip to Pandora took around twelve to twenty years.

And this didn't even include the time you would spend there.

Twelve to twenty years to get there and back.

And what did that mean in the long run?

You wouldn’t see your family, friends, or anyone for probably more than two decades.

Your chest tightened.

Your father was already in his seventies.

At that point—

You swallowed hard.

You would never see him again.

The thought rooted itself in your mind and followed you home. It sat with you at the dinner table, even. You thought about it every awake moment and every possible scenario.

And finally, you said it out loud.

“I don’t think I can go.”

The silence that followed was quick, and your parents stared at you like you had said something incomprehensible, as if you had lost your damn mind, even.

How could you even think that? After everything you had worked for? After all those years, all those sacrifices—not just theirs, but yours? You couldn’t just put your life on hold for them!

...Is what they kept saying.

That wasn’t love.

That was fear.

You had to go.

You had to cut the cord and live your own life.

Your father’s voice, older but no less firm, cut through everything else.

“Do you think we raised you to stay?” he asked. “For you to be our caretakers? You know neither of us wants that. This is your life! Do what you want with it, and see that damn planet!"

Your mother’s eyes were wet, too, but she still smiled at you, nodding, trying to be encouraging, "Your dream is right there,” she said. “We’re not going to be the reason you turn away from it, especially when you are this close to getting it."

They kept insisting. Arguing. Pushing. Talking your ear out every moment they could find.

And in the end…You went back.

The next phase began before you ever saw a ship.

Neural Link Training.

Six months minimum, the paper said.

It sounded manageable when they explained it. After years of studying, learning, reading, and years of lessons, you thought it would be a piece of cake.

It was anything but.

You learned about link-pod acclimation: how your mind would interface with something that wasn’t your body. Bi-directional sensory calibration: how your brain would process input that didn’t match human norms. Motor synchronization: how to move a form that was taller, stronger, and built entirely differently.

A Na’vi body was something else, after all. It had a tail for balance, long legs, three fingers, bones reinforced with a type of naturally occurring carbon fiber and a totally different center of gravity.

Even your senses would shift: your smell sharper, your hearing wider, your vision tuned to a spectrum you had never experienced.

It wasn’t just learning. It was unlearning yourself and your body.

And that wasn’t all. They flooded you with knowledge. Books stacked higher than your old school desks: Pandoran ecosystems, neuro-linked fauna, toxicology reports filled with things that could kill you in seconds if you made a single mistake. You memorized plant structures, animal behaviors, and atmospheric compositions until it felt like your brain was about to melt out of your ears.

Every page was a reminder: Pandora was as deadly as it was beautiful.

Then came survival training. Everyone had to know basic self-defense, and most importantly, how to keep their mask on their face if they didn't want to suffocate.

Pandoran navigation was a must, too, and so was learning how to read an environment that didn't follow Earth's logic.

Zero-pressure breach response was a thing, too, and what to do when everything around you tried to eat you at once.

Atmospheric suit training was another thing because how to move, how to function, how not to panic when your own breath sounded too loud inside your helmet was important when you floated in space.

Even with all that knowledge, you knew better than to think that you could even last half a day outside the base. At least, as a human.

There were some other trainees with you, too. You learned their names slowly, between lectures and drills, or whenever you got the time. Some were like you: bright-eyed, driven by something that bordered on obsession. Others were more practical, more grounded. A few… You weren’t entirely sure why they were there at all.

Together, you studied remote field communication and how to relay information across interference-heavy terrain without panicking. You practiced live environment sampling, hands steady as you handled materials that, even in simulation, were treated like they could melt through your gloves if you got careless.

They split you into groups after that. Small ones, too. They put you into compact living quarters designed to mimic long-haul transit and isolated base conditions. At first, it didn’t seem so bad: tight, sure, but manageable.

Then the days stretched, and the air tasted recycled in a way that clung to your lungs and the back of your throat. It was not at all nice, to say the least. The worst part was the lack of privacy. You never thought you were a claustrophobic person, but even you barely managed to handle the tension.

This phase mattered more than most people realized. Because if you couldn’t handle this, the confinement, the isolation, the constant presence of others with nowhere to escape—

You couldn't just say "I give up! Send me back home, please!"

Not because they were cruel or anything, but because they couldn’t. They couldn’t afford it. That would be millions of wasted dollars that they would have to pay from their own pockets.

The RDA didn’t invest years of training, resources, and manpower just to turn around halfway through because someone panicked too late. If you broke, it had to happen here, where the cost was still acceptable. Not out there, when you were light-years away.

Twenty-two of the fifty trainees left at that point.

Some quietly.

Some... not as much.

One packed their things in the middle of the night and was gone by morning. Another snapped during a routine check-in, voice cracking as they demanded to get out. A few tried to push through and failed harder because of it.

You watched them go and felt this, kinda arrogant, you could admit, satisfaction that, unlike them, you had managed not to crack. You weren't going to lie to yourself, of course. There were a few close calls, nights when the walls felt too close, when your heartbeat wouldn’t slow, when the idea of spending years like this made your throat tighten more than you would have liked, but still, you were far too deep in this to just give up.

After that, and only after that, they trusted you with something more.

Unsupervised link time.

It felt like a threshold. A line you had been crawling toward for months. By then, you had logged seven hundred and fifty-two hours in training. You had completed over twenty Pandora field simulations, each one designed to break a different part of you, your awareness, your reaction time, your judgment.

You had an eighty-seven percent success rate. Not perfect, but pretty good.

Most of your supervisors liked you as well. You knew that, not because they said it outright, but because of the way they watched you. The way they gave feedback. The way they trusted you just a little more each time.

You were eager. You listened. You adapted. Yes, you questioned them from time to time, but you were ready to learn.

Apparently, that was rarer than it should have been.

Some of your future coworkers, the ones who made it this far, struggled with that. Too stubborn. Too sure of themselves. Too unwilling to adjust.

Pandora didn’t tolerate that, and neither did the program.

The last step came sooner than you expected. The RDA-approved safety and ethics exam, they said. “Standards,” they called it. You weren’t sure that word meant the same thing here as it did back home.

The questions were… simple.

Too simple.

Blunt, even, for a lack of a better word.

[What would you do if you came into contact with the natives of the planet?

A) Run.

B) Shoot.

C) Try to talk.

E) All of the above.]

They probably did this for formality's sake and not because they wanted their workers to actually give a damn about Pandora itself, because why else would questions look like they were written by a very poorly made AI? It probably helped that RDA was a non-governmental organization, and that the UN hadn't managed to put any regulations on interstellar resource harvesting just yet, so they could just half-ass the moral considerations of going to a different planet for now.

You still aced the test, though.

When you were told that you were finally ready to leave, and that all that remained was preparing you for the journey, it became the happiest and scariest day of your life.

You didn't even understand it at first, "...Ready to leave? Really?"

You had spent years chasing that sentence, let it shape your entire existence around it. And now that it was real, it didn’t feel like triumph alone. It felt like standing at the edge of something vast.

Preparation, it turned out, wasn’t just packing your life into a few approved containers and signing the last of the contracts.

They took DNA samples from you first. Blood, too, vials upon vials. Your genetic material would be paired with a Na’vi DNA sample already in their possession. From that, they would create an embryo, an Avatar. It would grow during transit, developing in sync with your journey so that, by the time you arrived…

It would be ready, just for you.

You were allowed to observe part of the process. Not all of it, there were still doors you weren’t cleared to pass, but enough to understand the scale of what was happening.

You watched as operators conducted physical screenings. Genome sequencing followed; your cells were mapped, analyzed, compared against something that was never meant to align with you.

The Na’vi genome was… different. Very different, at that.

Ninety-nine percent of trainee intake failed at this stage alone. That was what they told you.

The first attempt, as everyone had expected, failed.

Then another.

And another.

Until the thirty-seven attempts, that was.

You sat through each one, trying not to let your thoughts spiral every time a technician quietly shook their head or adjusted something on the screen, fearing that maybe this would be the reason you would have to give up on your dream, the only thing you could not work for.

Thirty-seven times before they finally got a viable match.

Thirty-seven times before someone said, “We’ve got it.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding for days, then.

You really didn’t want to know how much that alone had cost them. No wonder it was this hard to get into the AVTR Program.

Eventually, they brought you and the remaining trainees into the genetics lab. It was colder than the rest of the facility. They explained everything as they worked: chromosomal integration, growth acceleration, stability checks, and all the other things they had to do...

You tried to follow. You really did. But your attention kept drifting to the—

Vial.

It sat in front of you, suspended in a controlled environment, barely bigger than your index finger: thinner, even. Inside, something microscopic had already begun.

Something that was yours. And not yours at all.

You leaned closer, eyes tracing the faint shimmer within the fluid, trying to comprehend what you were looking at.

This.

This tiny, fragile thing—

Barely the size of a penny—

Would be ten feet tall the next time you saw it. Limbs long and strong.

Lungs that could breathe Pandora’s air. Eyes that could see what yours never could. It would float in its amniotic tank, nearly fully formed by the time you arrived. Not quite an adult, but close enough to step into the world you had spent your entire life dreaming about.

It was amazing, wasn't it?

After that brief trip, they didn’t give you much time to process anything before moving you along. The next stop was the Medical Bay, and the preparation for cryosleep sounded simple when they explained it the first time.

A medically induced coma.

Your body cooled.

Maintained at extremely low temperatures for the duration of the journey.

Some of the others compared it to hibernation.

You didn’t like that.

Hibernation sounded… natural.

This wasn’t. Far from it, actually.

You preferred to think of it as entering “tardigrade mode” like those microscopic creatures that could dry out, freeze, survive the vacuum of space, and then come back like nothing had happened.

Except you weren’t a tardigrade.

And there was no guarantee you’d come back unchanged.

The preparation itself was extensive. There were endless medical evaluations and scans that mapped you down to the smallest detail. Blood tests, again. Monitors tracking your heart, your lungs, and your brain activity, too.

They adjusted your diet. Very strictly, at that. What you ate. When you ate. How much you drank. Supplements added. Others removed. Even your medication intake was reviewed and modified with a precision that made it clear: nothing about this process allowed for randomness.

You were told to lose a few pounds, too.

And then there was the part they explained a little too casually, like they didn't want you to question it too much. It was the waking-up part.

They didn’t “wake” you. Not really.

They thawed you.

Gradually rewarming your body. Bringing you back from a state where everything inside you had been slowed to the brink of stillness.

Like defrosting a frozen chicken.

The comparison sat in your stomach in a way you couldn’t quite ignore.

Because it wasn’t just the imagery. It was what came with it.

Intracellular ice crystals.

They explained it very well. As temperatures dropped, water inside your cells could crystallize, expanding in ways that damaged structures that weren’t meant to withstand it.

Irreparable cell damage.

Increased cancer risk.

Muscle degradation.

You stared at them while they said it, waiting for the part where they reassured you that this wouldn't happen, of course. Surely. Right?

They said they had “solved” it by giving you low doses of microwave radiation, used during the cooling process to agitate water molecules, preventing crystal formation, and reducing damage.

It sounded… clever.

It also sounded like something that shouldn’t work as cleanly as they claimed.

It sure didn’t give you much confidence, at least. That feeling didn’t improve even when they added that the failure rate was less than one percent.

Less than one percent.

A number meant to comfort, but didn't, because you had read the contract. You knew exactly what that “one percent” meant. You had signed away their liability, despite that. Every risk, every complication, every worst-case scenario: they were covered. And were legally untouchable, in any way that mattered.

If something went wrong…

That was on you.

Well, somehow, even this didn't stop you.

They continued the evaluations after that, and they measured your height, weight, baseline muscle density, your reflexes, and all that.

They checked for allergies as well.

“Just pollen,” you said. “Spring allergies. Nothing serious.”

A few brows still furrowed at that, understandably. Pandora wasn’t exactly lacking in plant life. If anything, it was overwhelmingly full of it, compared to Earth. But after a brief exchange between the staff, they moved on. Your mask would filter most airborne particles anyway, and Hell’s Gate had its own controlled environment systems.

It would be fine.

Probably.

Still, they added medication to your file. Loaded onto the ship, just in case. Because, as one of them muttered, half-joking, half-not,

They couldn’t have one of their best SciOps candidates going into anaphylactic shock the moment they stepped onto Pandora.

Think of all the wasted money..!

You quickly handled all the paperwork for that time. It felt...strangely easy. You got rid of the apartment, packed boxes, transferred the car under your mom's name, and gave away everything that held value, whether it was money or memory.

Your landlord kept the deposit, of course. You stared at his obnoxious message that said just that because there was no way you had enough time to go sue him for it for a solid minute before letting out a sigh. What was the point of arguing? You were leaving the whole planet, anyway.

Still, fuck him, though.

You moved back in with your parents for those last couple of weeks.

The house felt smaller than you remembered, or maybe you had just outgrown it.

Everyone celebrated. Of course they did. How could they not?

Some were genuinely excited, eyes shining as they asked you question after question, like you were already halfway to becoming something legendary. Others weren’t so convinced.

“You’re really going to leave everything,” one of your aunts said, shaking her head, “for some fancy trees and blue monkeys?”

You laughed it off. It was easier that way.

Some joked about it, too, told you not to forget them, to come visit when they were old and stuck in some nursing home decades from now.

“Bring some good stories,” they said. “Or at least some sticks and stones to show our friends and brag!”

You did cry a few nights, quietly, when no one would hear.

Three days before departure, the medics handed you a final diet list.

It was… restrictive, to say the least.

Honey. Toast. Eggs. Jam. Soup. Tea. Maybe a bit of rice, but no more than fifty grams.

That was it.

It was necessary, they said. Preparation for cryosleep didn’t allow for excess. Your body needed to be as predictable as possible before they shut it down for six years.

Six years.

The number still felt unreal.

The enema the morning before was… less easy to accept. You didn’t like that part, that was for sure, at least. Not even a little. But you understood it, and just got done with it.

Because the alternative, the risk of complications, infections, something going wrong while you were unconscious and untouchable—

You didn’t let your thoughts finish that sentence.

Packing was… harder than expected. You could only bring what fit into a single duffel bag.

No organic materials. No liquids. No sharp objects. No, anything that could be considered remotely dangerous or unstable.

Even clothes were provided by the RDA.

It stripped things down to what truly mattered. So you chose carefully.

A photo album you had kept since high school: corners worn, pages slightly bent from being flipped through too many times.

A book about the Na’vi by Phred Palmer: gifted by your parents, signed on your graduation day, their handwriting uneven but full of pride.

A camera that your friend had insisted you take. “Proof,” he had said. “Or it didn’t happen.”

And a sweatshirt your cousin had ordered for you. “This nerd is going to space, bitches!" It was written in Comic Sans. You almost didn’t pack it. Then you folded it carefully and placed it at the top. It would be your pyjama.

The whole family wanted to come see you off, too.

All of them.

You considered saying no. You really did. It felt… overwhelming. Embarrassing, even, like being a kid again that got dragged into the center of attention, and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

But this wasn’t just any day. This was the last time. The last time you’d see them all together like this.

So you said yes.

Your dad rented a large SUV just to fit everyone.

It turned into a trip.

Not a drive.

A trip.

Stops along the way. Too many snacks. Too many conversations happening at once, and lots of laughter from everyone.

You couldn’t eat or drink anything. But watching them, seeing how happy they were, how hard they were trying to make this feel like something joyful, it was enough.

Some of them got teary-eyed. They tried to hide it, badly. Your mom was the worst at it. You could see the way she pressed her lips together, the way her eyes glistened just a little too much when she thought you weren’t looking.

So you didn’t let there be silence. Not even for a second. You talked and talked and talked. Filled every gap before it could turn into something else.

“Can you send us photos?”

“Would you be able to call?”

“Maybe we can send each other videos?”

“We should do a family picnic when you come back!”

“Bring souvenirs! I don’t know, alien stuff! Maybe get some stuff from the Na'vi? Hey! Don’t laugh!”

And then, there it was, the RDA facility.

Your mom reached for you first. She held you tightly, arms wrapping around you like she was trying to memorize the shape of you. You hugged her back just as hard, burying your face into her shoulder for a second longer than you meant to.

Then came everyone else. One by one.

Quick hugs. Long hugs. Awkward pats on the back. Quiet reassurances that everything would be okay.

Your dad was last.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you into a hug so tight you thought he might actually crack a rib.

You laughed, breath hitching slightly. “Dad, please—”

“Just a second,” he muttered.

They were not allowed to get through the gates. Security made that very clear. “Authorized personnel only beyond this point.”

You turned back to your family, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“You guys can go if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual. “This will take a long while.”

“Hell no!” one of your cousins shot back immediately, hand raised like they were in a protest. “We’ll camp here until this damn spaceship is gone, okay?”

A few others chimed in with agreement.

You opened your mouth to argue, your grandparents were too old to stand outside for this long, but the older couple beat you to it.

“You think we got that airbed just for fun?” your grandpa laughed. Your grandmother nodded next to him, entirely too pleased with herself. "We'll be seeing you off even if we won't be able to feel our asses for the next couple of weeks, you got that?"

And that was that.

You gave up with a small shake of your head and turned toward the gates.

But you kept glancing back. You couldn’t help it.

Every time you did, they were still there, waving wildly, shouting things you couldn’t fully make out from the distance.

“I love you!”

“Don’t forget us!”

“Make us proud!”

A whistle cut through the air, loud, sharp, completely inappropriate for the moment, and someone else shouted a "You can do it!" like they were at a sports game.

You huffed out a breath and kinda laughed. They were so unbelievable!

Inside, a man who looked more soldier than staff approached you. “Bag,” he said, and held out a hand.

You handed over your duffel without argument. He checked it quickly before nodding and motioning you forward. Then, you were ushered inside with the others.

No turning back now.

The medbay was already busy. Lines of people were moving in quietly. You joined them and waited for your turn.

When you reached the desk, another employee looked up, fingers already hovering over a terminal.

“Name, and ID number, please.”

You gave them. They typed it in without looking at you, eyes scanning data written on the computer, looking already tired when it was barely nine o'clock. Then they grabbed your bag, affixed a sticker to it, and handed you a bracelet.

You looked at it. It had the same number as the sticker on your duffel bag had.

“Don’t lose it,” he said. “That needs to stay with you throughout the expedition.”

You slipped it onto your wrist, then, and turned it slightly to glance at the barcode again.

“Won’t I get my stuff if I lose it?” you asked.

“Of course you will. Eventually. It’ll just be a huge problem to find it, and it could take months.”

Damn.

“So do my coworkers and me a favor,” he added, already moving on to the next task, “and keep that intact until you reach the cryopods.”

“…Right.”

Then, you waited half an hour at the Sitting Area until a nurse called your number. You rushed to her and sat in a chair.

The next part felt… surreal.

They cut all your hair.

You watched as all of your hair fell to the ground, the buzzing of the razor near your ear, your own face slowly becoming unfamiliar even to you. You hadn’t realized how much of your individuality you had tied to something as simple as your hair until it was gone.

You felt...naked.

Embarassingly so.

They handed you a uniform next. It was something like a hospital gown, but better. Closed properly, and actually not showing your bare ass at the back. Small RDA logos patterned across the fabric, too, as if they needed any more marketing.

You changed as soon as you could, and folded your old clothes automatically, even though you knew you wouldn’t need them anymore.

Then came transport. You were guided into a small vehicle with others, sitting side by side, and then you all drove to the ISV Manifest Destiny.

The spaceship was even bigger than you had imagined. A world on its own, really.

Inside, you were told preparations would continue there. “For sanitary reasons,” someone explained. “It’s more efficient this way.”

You were guided into a box-like room. Then, the door shut behind you with a soft click. Then a hiss came, and the air changed. Something filled the space: thin, almost invisible, carrying a faint artificial scent that hit your nose a second later. It reminded you of lavender.

Some people started to get a bit uneasy.

“Please don’t panic,” a mechanical voice came through, then. “This is just disinfectant. We need to clean you all thoroughly. We can’t risk bringing any external contaminants onboard,” it explained. “Both for your safety and to protect Pandora’s environment. We don’t yet fully understand how Earth-based microorganisms might interact with the local ecosystem or what they might evolve into.”

And, yeah, that tracked.

You all got IVs in your arms, and countless people kept asking you to confirm your name and identification number as you were moved deeper into the ship, again and again and again.

And, yeah, it was annoying but made sense.

Everything here was calculated, after all, and personalized. Every drug, every dosage, every adjustment was tailored to your body, your height, your weight, your medical history. One mistake, one mix-up, one wrong pod…

You already knew the possibilities.

Waking up too early.

Not waking up at all.

Or something worse in between.

In other words, you would be fucked.

By the time you reached your cryopod, your name printed clearly across its surface, your hands were trembling. It was partly from the cold, the ship was freezing, but also from excitement and fear, and the realization that this was it!

You stepped up to get in—

And your foot slipped.

Your balance faltered just enough to send a jolt of panic through you, but before you could actually fall and hit your head, a medic was at your side, steadying you.

“Careful,” she said, voice calm, like she had done this a thousand times before, and, yeah, she probably did.

She held a clipboard in one hand, glancing down at it briefly before looking at you. “Is this Y/N? ID Number: 232405688?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you answered quickly, and tried not to fidget under her gaze.

The pod was… tight. Tighter than you expected, at least. You climbed in, adjusted yourself awkwardly as she began securing the restraints across your body, and made sure you wouldn’t float around once gravity stopped mattering.

“Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

“Okay, then.” She reached behind your head and pulled a thin tube into view. “See this?” she said, and held it near your face. “I’ll connect this to your IV. Your cryopod will pump something called tropagestitocin into your veins. It’ll put you into a hibernation state, and the pod will gradually lower your body temperature to around ten degrees Fahrenheit.”

Ten? Wow.

“It can vary depending on your physiology,” she added. “But that’s our baseline.”

“Will it hurt?” you asked.

She shook her head immediately. “Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing. The medication will take effect before the temperature drop becomes noticeable. After that, the pod will fill with a Perflubron-Pralidarone solution.”

She said it like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t something that sounded like it belonged in a lab experiment instead of your bloodstream.

“These will maintain you in an induced coma with minimal brain activity. No dreaming. No waking. Nothing until we reach Pandora."

You nodded, because, hell, what else could you do?

She connected the tube.

The liquid surged into your vein, glowing faintly neon-blue as it disappeared beneath your skin.

And then—

You felt it.

The medicine was cold, even colder than the spaceship, and you it go through your arm and reach your shoulder. It made you shiver. It wasn't a bad sensation, though. It just felt as if it was...wet? Like the IV had a hole in it and was spraying your skin.

“Now,” the medic said gently, “I’ll close your pod. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head, "Nah, I'm good. Thank you."

“Good,” she smiled, “Good night, darling. This will be a long sleep.”

Then, she closed the lid. It was above you, and sealed with a quiet hiss, muting every sound coming from the outside. You could see the other passengers, a hundred people or so, with you included, getting put into their own cryopods from the small window, and you tried not to squirm against your restraints in fear of dislocating your IV.

“This is it…” You mumbled, your voice small, barely audible even to yourself. Your throat tightened. “We’re actually leaving…!”

One part of you thought about all the amazing things you were going to see up there, experiences that no other people could even dream of, the Na'vi, the animals, and plants you had studied for years. Would you get to even talk to one of those aliens? Would Dr. Augustine bring you to her school and introduce you to the few that she had contact with? Did the Na'vi really have no written language? How did their speech differ from region to region? Did they have sign language, perhaps?

You tried not to think about all the things you were leaving behind, despite the heavy thud coming from your heart. This was what you had worked for for years, after all..! You had earned this!

You still wished you had spent more time with your mom over the years and thanked your dad for spending so much on all the fancy books, classes, and trainings you had begged him to get you. He had worked so much overtime for all that...

You tried not to feel guilt for leaving like this, for not appreciating them more, for all that stupid teenage angst fight you had caused, yet you did not even remember the reasons for them anymore.

Your dad rarely took care of himself; you always had to drag him to the hospital to get checked and force him to take his medicine. Would he be okay now that you were gone? Would your mom be able to handle him?

Maybe you should have—

The sleep took you in right around that. It wasn't something slow, like how characters from movies counted to ten as anesthesia hit them, or when someone got hit in the head and slowly lost consciousness. It was just...bam! Then, you were asleep.

Your skin, during all of this, turned into something pale. A bloodless, blue-white hue spread across you as the liquid continued to flow through your veins, replacing your own warmth with something colder, something that slowed you down until even your cells seemed to forget what it meant to be alive.

You didn't even notice the clear, thick fluid that filled your pod and suspended you as if you were in the womb. A cold womb of dreamless sleep between worlds.

At some point, the cyropod gently fitted your head into a helmet-like device. This was the Psionic Link Interface, which sensed and transmitted your mental energy to your Avatar, as well as filling your brain with the return signal. A connection between the two of you. The Link, it was called by the RDA.

Was this the reason perhaps why you were so calm during all of this? The presence you had felt at the back of your head, yet could not name or describe?

You were spending the whole voyage linked to it, your Avatar, which was nearby in its own container, just like you. Like two twins in the womb, you communicated without even knowing, a deep level of pre-conscious intimacy, if you will. This way, the Avatar's brain got the chance to imprint with the patterns of your cerebral cortex, and knew that it belonged to you.

In another room, your Avatar floated in its own artificial cradle. Curled inward. Limbs long, even in rest.

It had outgrown anything human years ago, while you slept. If it stood, it would tower eight feet, looking down on you.

And, just like the medic had said, you did not dream a single dream. Or, at least, you don't think you did.

Outside, time moved for everyone else. The arc-light of propulsion faded. The drive module burned, then cooled, glowing with the afterimage of a journey that had carried you farther than any human life was meant to stretch.

It creaked, groaned, then stopped, letting it drift in darkness.

Inside, in weightlessness, the passengers began to emerge from their hibernacula as well. They all look like shit, you included, hungover badly from the drugs.

Your eyes snapped open, vision blurred, light too bright and sharp, as your body convulsed with the sudden return of sensation.

Everything hurt.

Not sharply, or anything specific, per se.

Just… everything.

You coughed, liquid catching in your throat as the pod drained the last of the fluids, restraints loosening just enough for you to move. Your limbs felt weak, unresponsive, like they had forgotten how to move.

And from the looks of it, the others were the same.

You forced yourself upright, slow and shaky, your arms trembling under your own weight despite the zero gravity. It felt like you had woken up from a surgery, almost.

Fuck, your head pounded, throbbing, making every sound feel amplified, too loud, and too close. It was as if your brain was about to explode..!

You then noticed that your hair was cropped back to a brush-cut and wondered when that happened. Did someone go around shaving everyone while you were out? The thought felt absurd. You almost laughed, but it came out as a weak exhale instead.

Then, you heard an announcement.

"Good morning, everyone! We have almost reached our destination. Please follow the arrow stickers and reach the medical bay for a quick examination. Tell them if anything feels off. We will soon be entering orbit around Pandora."

You managed to pull yourself out of your pod, limbs shaky but obedient enough, and for a brief moment, you just floated. It was strange. Your body expected weight, resistance, something to push against, but there was nothing.

It was definitely a bizarre, but fun sensation.

You were clumsy at first, then got a little better as you mimicked the techs while they moved around. Then, you stopped for a second just to take it all in. Rows of open cryopods. People drifting. The low hum of the spaceship that carried you across stars.

You didn't really know what to do. So you did what everyone else did and followed the stickers.

Voices began to stand out as your head slowly cleared. And one of them, slightly louder, a bit awkward, trying to sound confident, caught your attention. “I mean, yeah, I’ve read all the papers, but actually being here... this is insane!”

You glanced over. It was a man you vaguely recognized from briefings, though you never got the chance to speak with him.

“Norm,” someone calls him. Maybe you'll get to talk to him later.

The medbay feels like déjà vu. There are needles again, and lots of cold instruments. People who barely look at you as they work. They draw blood. Check your vitals. Shine lights into your eyes.

And then the questions—

“Please look at the camera and state your name.”

You answer.

“How old are you?”

You answer.

“Do you know where we are right now?”

“…On the ISV Manifest Destiny.”

“And our destination?”

“…Pandora.”

“What about your ID number?”

You recite it without hesitation.

Eventually, they wave you through.

“Stable,” someone muttered, already moved on.

Then, a medic clapped their hands loudly, gathering attention. “Come on, guys! There’s still time to grab some breakfast and make it back to see yourselves be born!”

People perk up immediately when they hear that, including you. You weren't sure what was more exciting: finally getting to eat after six and a half years of sleeping or actually getting to see the Avatars. For you, they both sure sound enticing.

You move faster this time. Swimming, no, more like gliding, along with the others toward the dining area.

The “breakfast” was… underwhelming. They literally handed you a tube. It looked like toothpaste, and smelled even worse. You reluctantly squeezed a bit into your mouth and immediately regretted every decision that led you here while gagging.

“Is this really what we’ll get?” you asked. This thing was nasty! “Nothing else?”

The man handing them out shrugged like he’s had this conversation too many times already. “Sorry. You all will have a paste-based diet for a while. Gotta make sure your digestive system doesn’t freak out after cryo.”

You barely manage to swallow it down. “It tastes horrible, though…”

He gave you a look. It was half sympathetic, half get used to it. “It all tastes like crap. Even the ‘fresh’ stuff',” he said, then, “because of all the chemicals, preservation, freeze-drying, and all that. Food doesn’t exactly stay good on a trip like this.”

“Well,” you mutter, taking another reluctant bite, “we came here for the view, not the food, right?”

To that, he let out a short laugh. “That’s for damn sure.”

Somehow, you managed to finish the whole thing, even though every bite felt like ash and chalk mashed together. At least now, you felt full, and your headache was gone as well.

You really hoped that there was something better at Hell’s Gate. There had to be, right? Pandora was full of life: plants, ecosystems, entire networks of organic systems working in ways Earth had never seen.

There had to be something edible that even humans could eat.

At least, you prayed so.

After that, you made your way to the “Birthing Area.” And, of course, at the entrance, they stopped you.

"Your bracelet, please."

You showed it. A scanner passed over the barcode, blinking once.

“232405688. Name: Y/N. Avatar Driver,” the guard confirmed, stepping aside. “You’re good. Head in.”

And them, you saw them.

“Damn!” you couldn't help but say. “These guys are huge!”

Even suspended, curled, half-floating in their tanks, they dwarfed everything around them. Limbs long and powerful, bodies built with a kind of strength that made your own feel… small. But that was expected.

A few techs nearby laughed. “They sure are,” one of them said, pushing off a railing and floating closer to you. “First time seeing them up close?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, still staring.

He pulled up something on a tablet. “Let me check your file… alright, here we go.”

He pointed toward the back of the room. “G-09. That’s yours. I’ll grab you a suit while you take a look.”

You nodded, "Okay. Thanks.”

And, while holding your breath, you floated over to the tank containing your alter ego, your own Avatar body. It was unbelievable, almost, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

The body was, strangely, almost human in most ways. The waist was narrow and long, and the shoulders were very wide, giving a V-shaped upper back. The neck was long as well, almost twice the size of yours, with two arms and legs.

Then, for a moment, the Avatar stretched, almost catlike, extending to its full height, dwarfing you. The tank itself was massive, easily the size of a car, and still, it barely contained the full presence of the alien.

"Hi there," you said as if it could hear you, and got closer. And as it turned in the amniotic fluid, you saw its face. You knew what to expect, of course, yet seeing your own face on the face of another still left you speechless.

It was your eyes, your mouth, your cheekbones, your eyebrows, your chin...Despite the alien proportions, the features are definitely reminiscent of you.

Its eyes were twice the size, and for a moment, its head turned to the side like an owl. You put a hand on the glass between you two and tried to get a better look. The mouth was broader, but still human in structure, save for that faint, cat-like split in the upper lip. And, yeah! The tail! There was a tail moving lazily in the fluid! It was just like the photos you had seen in the documentaries and your textbooks.

A complex pattern of iridescent dots and lines, perfectly symmetrical, ran over the body as well, almost following the lines of the nervous or circulatory system. These were bioluminescent chromatophores, you knew it, and they shone in the dark like fireflies.

The Na'vi can communicate with these, you had learned, and in fact, they usually were shifting and changing color to indicate mood and emotion, even without conscious control. But, for now, they were all still.

The queue looked pretty good, too. It extended from the base of the skull, floating weightlessly, twisting gently in the liquid. At the tip, the tendrils, the delicate, almost tentacle-like filaments, drifted like something alive on their own.

You knew what it was.

An external extension of the nervous system.

A direct interface that would help them connect to their world.

But knowing didn’t prepare you for seeing it.

Then, the Avatar twitched. It was a sudden, small, and involuntary movement. It was probably because of the electrostimulation, if you had to guess.

"Nice to meet you," you whispered to it, your fingers tapping at the glass. "Let's get along, yeah? We'll be working together now."

Then, a hand landed on your shoulder, and you jolted so hard you nearly pushed yourself backward into another tank.

“Here,” the tech from before said. He held out a sealed bundle. “Wear this. You can change over there.”

“Y-Yeah..!” you stuttered, and grabbed the plastic-wrapped suit. God, that was embarrassing! “I ’ll-uh-I’ll do it in a moment. Just… give me a second.”

You glanced back at it, at you, then went to the changing room.

They didn’t give you long. Technicians in full plastic suits, just like you, quickly handed you some equipment before guiding you along with them. They were hurrying. Probably because another twelve Avatars were waiting to get "born".

Someone pressed a mask into your hands, then helped you secure it over your face before you could even say anything.

The airlock sealed behind you with a heavy thunk. The mask felt really uncomfortable with the way it clung to the side of your face, but you would have to deal with it. A second door opened, and a bright light flooded the chamber.

“This environment matches Pandora’s atmospheric composition,” one of the techs said through the comms, voice slightly distorted. “Ammonia, methane, CO₂, oxygen, nitrogen… and even some hydrogen cyanide.”

“Meaning,” the other added flatly, “if you lose that mask, you’ll be dead in seconds.”

You swallowed, “…Got it.”

In the center of the chamber was your tank. When did they even bring it here? You stepped closer with the others and tried not to feel so...exposed and unsure, for some reason. It was weird getting stared at, or, at least, at the thing that was...you? Yours?

...Hell, you didn't even know it anymore.

“Uhh...-” you tried to get someone's attention, your voice awkward over the comms. “Do I really need to be here? I mean, I've got no idea what to do."

A man beside you reached out and squeezed your shoulder. Probably trying to be reassuring. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Just being here is enough. It’s always best for the controller to be present during birth.”

Again, with the "Birth" thing. You couldn't explain why, but every time they called it that, it made shivers go down your spine.

They moved quickly after that. A flexible collar sealed around the tank's opening. It was a synthetic ring designed to hold the amniotic fluid in place despite the lack of gravity. Someone near it pushed some buttons, and a pipe at the back started to suck it all out, so it wouldn't go around flying in zero gravity.

The round entrance opened, then, and slowly, very carefully, they began to pull the body out.

There was a faintly sweet and musky scent in the air. It was probably coming from the amniotic fluid the Avatar was still covered in.

All you could do was stare as they worked.

It looked—

God.

Holy fuck...

It looked like a giant baby being born from a glass and rubber womb.

Limbs emerged first, long and slack legs. They glowed faintly under the lights. Then the torso. The tail trailed behind and almost got stuck under its own weight. Then, someone supported the neck so the head wouldn't hit anything as they laid it onto the table.

And then—

It moved.

It was a sudden, weak kick. Then a twitch. The Avatar started to flail around after a couple of seconds, and everyone reacted at once. Hands reached, and tried to steady the body as it floated, the techs doing their best to strap the Avatar down.

It looked so alive...!

“Hey, Y/N!” one of the techs called sharply. “Get over here! Help us hold it down!”

Your brain stalled when you heard that, but your body still managed to push itself forward despite how hard your heart was slamming violently against your ribs. “Oh my God…” you muttered under your breath. “This is really happening…!”

The blue skin felt warm under your palms. It was overwhelming: the heat, the constant movement, the shudders. This wasn’t something you studied or watched through a screen! No one had told you that the Avatar would struggle, weakly, instinctively, and jerk its limbs around as if trying to understand what was happening! It was as if it were struggling into existence, scared and confused!

Oh god, you felt like you were both going to throw up and faint.

"Easy, easy!" someone muttered, guiding the shoulders down, as if it would understand, and maybe, it could. "Calm down, big guy!"

Someone else got a suction tube and pressed it into their mouth. The Avatar jerked again and coughed the last of the fluid in its lungs.

You watched as it took its first breath, mouth so wide you could see the sharp teeth.

Then it started to wail.

And, God, holy shit, its voice sounded so much like yours it was as terrifying as it was mesmerizing!

Its fists clenched tight, and long fingers curled inward as its face contorted, eyes squeezing shut, mouth wide at the terror and pain of the outer world.

Is there really no one in it, you wondered, then, is this thing really nothing more than a body to control when it can scream and cry like this? No soul to speak of?

Then, just as suddenly, the body turned towards you. You couldn't help but flinch back. And then, a massive hand shot forward and grabbed your arm before you could even react.

It squeezed it so hard you thought your arm would break at any moment. The pain flared instantly and made your vision spark for a second. “W-what the hell-?!” you cried, and tried to pull back as hard as you could, but it didn't budge.

Then, it looked at you. Really looked. Its amber eyes opened wide and unfocused at first, but they managed to lock into yours seconds later. All you could think about was how intelligent they looked, by then.

There was someone in there, wasn't there? Someone else, even if it was made of your blood, for you.

The Avatar's terror passed, then, as if it recognized you as a part of itself, and it took shuddering breaths of the poisonous air, shaking. Did it think that this room was far too cold as well?

You managed to pull away your arm from its grip, then, shaking just like it. And, at the end of the day, you would have a huge bruise in the shape of its hand.

"Congratulations," the tech said, grinning, and pulling you out of your thoughts. "Are you ready for your new life?"

And, honestly? You had no idea.

[corajnx]

Baby, It's (NOT) Me - [1/4]

Baby, It's (NOT) Me Masterlist

One Piece Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante/F!Reader

Warnings: Dark, DDDNE, Possible Blood/Gore, Implied Past Abuse/Bullying, Drug/Alcohol Use, Depression, S/H Thoughts, etc...

!!!!Tags may change in future chapters.!!!!!

Rating: MATURE! Minors DNI

Length: 5,1K+

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The world is ending, as your neighbor put it, and he advised you to close the windows, stay put inside, and wait until the World Government finds a solution for all of this mess. If you do get out, the sun will burn you alive, is what you were told. But, honestly? You didn't care what apocalypse was happening outside the house. Your husband was dead, you had no family to talk to, and your friends were nowhere to be found. You were utterly alone, wallowing in your self-pity. The sun could kill you all for all you cared. So, what were you supposed to do when Rocinante, who you were told was killed in action, appeared in front of you? Was it actually him, or was this thing one of those "Visitors" you heard about? ...And did it matter, really?

NOTE: This is an interactive story where YOU will get to choose what Y/N will do. So, be careful!

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Rocinante was sitting near the window, looking out, when he pulled out a pack of smokes from his jacket. You were cooking, your hands on the cutting board, chopping vegetables, when you heard him light his cigarette and put it between his lips.

He always did that, one just before eating, even though you always scolded him for it, because it filled the room with that rancid smell. It was a part of your routine at this point, really. It was almost as if Rocinante wanted to hear you complain.

...But, for some reason, you had this indescribable feeling of dread today. Why were you so cold, shaking? Why did you feel like something bad was coming your way?

You dropped the diced onions into the pot before turning your head towards your husband. Despite your apprehension, he seemed content and unaware of the ghosts that haunted you at that moment.

From the small window, you could see that the sky was dark, and it looked like it was about to rain. You tried to call out to Rocinante, but nothing came out of your throat.

You wanted to cry. Why did you feel this immense sadness? Why did it feel like you were grieving for something that had not even happened yet?

You didn't know.

You wanted to feel Rocinante, so you abandoned whatever you were doing and walked towards him. He did not hear you, or, if he did, he did not bother to turn his head.

He looked so peaceful, you were almost envious.

Your naked feet tapped against the wooden floor, and the pot behind you on the stove was bubbling. It smelt like...something, but you couldn't place it. It was familiar, however, and that familiarity gave you peace of mind.

Then, you placed your hand against his neck. It was so soft, so warm, so full of life, despite all the scars it was covered with. You could even feel his pulse under your palm.

You were so, so grim.

"Rocinante?" you breathed out, then, and placed a kiss on one of his many scars.

That made the blond turn his head towards you, with the cigarette still between his lips. When his eyes landed on you, he smiled. It was the kind that reached his eyes as if you just standing in front of him made his day, and he let you see that little gap between his front teeth.

He hated it, that little gap. He thought it made him look goofy, and he rarely smiled because of it. You thought it was perfect. Everything about Rocinante was perfect, though, wasn't it? His blond, curly hair between your fingers, his long, awkward limbs curled around you, those red, droopy eyes that always looked your way, and his raspy voice that called out to you.

Yes, you adored everything about him. You adored him with all your heart. You even loved those cigarettes he loved to smoke so much. Ashen and smoky. Maybe even slightly metallic. It was, after all, his scent, too.

When was the last time you had smelled that scent? Tasted it on his lips?

For some reason, your heart was beating hard. It was so, so heavy. You could feel it against your ribs as if it wanted to get out.

"Y/N," Rocinante said, then, and his hand, so huge against your frame, came to cup your cheek. Hearing him say your name like that made you shiver, and you wanted nothing more than to embrace him for the rest of the day and listen to his breathing.

He opened his mouth again to say something, but you didn't hear it. All you could hear was the wind hitting the window, the dried leaves rustling around, and the food you had abandoned just earlier boiling away.

Was it something important? You didn't know. You didn't remember it anymore.

A part of you hated yourself for it. Was this why you felt this intense heaviness in your heart?

"Roci..."

You held his hands, then, because you could at least do that. It was so cold, almost bone-chilling and sharp. Did Rocinante feel it, too? Did he know that something bad was coming your way?

What were you supposed to do?

You almost fell off your bed when your alarm went off. The sound was ear-piercing, and you cursed yourself for putting that damn thing so far away from the nightstand, even though the point had indeed been to drag your ass from the bed so you wouldn't spend the whole day in there like you had been doing the last couple of weeks.

"Damn it..." you mumbled under your breath, and noticed only when the blanket was no longer on top of you how much you had sweated throughout the night. Did you have night terrors again? You didn't know, you had no idea what you had dreamt about, the memory already gone before you even stepped out of your bedroom.

Your nightgown was drenched with sweat, however, and your hair was uncomfortably sticking to your neck. Suffice to say, you felt gross, and definitely smelt the part too.

...God, you did not want to get into the shower at all, though!

The days had gotten warmer and warmer each day these couple of weeks, despite being the middle of autumn. And even though you had practically isolated yourself in your house the whole time since Rocinante's departure, even you had noticed that change in the weather.

Despite still feeling tired as hell, as if you had dugged your way out of a grave, you still took your ass to the bathroom and got under the shower. You took the shampoo bottle and saw that it was almost empty, mentally noting to buy more later before applying the rest to your hair. It smelled nice, some artificial flower scent you couldn't name, and the chilly water cooled you down a bit.

Just like how it took you ages to get in, it took you ages to get out as well. But once you were tired of all the standing, you got out and went to your bedroom to change.

That was when you noticed how much your room smelled as well, and with a crunched face, you opened the window to let some fresh air in. Had you really sweated that badly? Sheesh.

After that, you went to the kitchen to grab something to eat. However, when you went through cabinet after cabinet and the refrigerator, you saw that you had almost nothing left. Well, this wasn't good. Your stomach growled, and with disappointment, you took the rest of the stale bread and what little jam you had to ease your hunger a bit.

When did you go shopping the last time? You weren't sure, but it had to be at least three weeks.

You sighed again. You really did not want to go out at all. You didn't want to step out of your house or have to talk to anyone. Despite that, you still had a paper and pen and wrote down everything you needed;

-Vegetables (Spinach, Broccoli, Brussels Sprouts, Mushrooms, Carrots, what else) -Milk -Olive Oil -Fruits (Apples, Bananas, Orange) -Cigarettes (for Roci) -Bread -Rice / Pasta -Chocolate*? Chips -Juice -Ground Beef

You pondered what else to get, then;

"Ahh, yeah."

-Shampoo -Bodywash -Toothpaste

Well, it looked like this was it. You placed the pen away, then took the grocery list and put it into your wallet so you wouldn't lose it. You took a bag with you. You didn't want to pay extra just for a paper one, just for it to rip before you even arrived at home.

Despite how hot it was, you still took your cardigan with you. You really needed new shoes, too, and would have to take out your thinner clothes from the attic. You really had not thought that you would still need summer clothes, however. Really, why was the weather so weird this year? Your island was not even close to the Grand Line.

You locked the door and went down the hill. At your side, you saw that the Neighbor's Girl was playing around the fields. She waved at you when she was you, and smiled.

"Good afternoon, Aunt Y/N! You're finally out! I thought you died in there or something!"

Wow, kids did not hold back at all, did they? "Good afternoon to you, too, sweetie! Yup, I'm out today. How are your mother and father?"

"They're fine. Mom went to visit Granma and Grandpa."

"Well, that's nice."

"Yeah. She'll get me some cookies from them, too! I love granny's chocolate chip cookies!"

She told you more about her friends and how one of the boys on the other side of the neighborhood had chased her and made her fall down. She had cried a lot and had bruises on her knees. Another boy saw that and hit the bully for it.

You told her that if someone hurts her or says something really mean, she has to tell her father, or else the bullying might get worse. She nodded, but it didn't look like she took you seriously. Kids rarely listened to adult advice, unfortunately. Oh, well. Maybe you could tell him yourself once he inevitably came to your door.

The sun was already cooking you when you reached the bottom of the hill, and you could feel the hotness coming from your probably red cheeks.

You then thought about Rocinante and wondered when he would finally give you a call. It had been four months since you heard his voice, and you were getting restless. Was the boy he was with fine now? Had he died? What about your husband's mission? When was it going to be over soon?

You tripped on the pavement and almost landed on your face. Some people stared at you, and you felt that annoying pit of embarrassment in your stomach while getting up as if nothing had happened.

Well, no matter what happened, once he was back, you were going to make him retire. You were sick of always having to worry about him, and you were sure that Sengoku would arrange a good pension for him anyway, even if he leaves the Marines far too early than he would have liked, so that his adoptive son wouldn't have to worry about taking care of himself and you.

You could help him find a job here, too; if not, you guys could move to another island with employment better suited for him. It didn't matter to you either way. As long as you had your garden and that ridiculous but lovely blond by your side, you could make it due.

You entered the grocery store. The cold air at the door felt really nice. You wandered through the aisles and took everything you needed. The pastries were on sale, but the hair products had gotten an increase. Really, how did people afford 17,850 Berri hair conditioner? You sure as hell couldn't. You got the cheapest, which smelled like coconut but also had garlic in it?

Then, you stood in the alcohol aisle. You bit your lip, already feeling guilty, because you had promised Rocinante before he left that you wouldn't drink as much anymore. As much. Which meant you could have a little...right?

That bottle of Jerez looked so good, too. And it was only 7,500 Berri! You would drink a glass every other day, not all. Maybe make some pasta sauce with it—

You reached for it—

No...!

Nope. You wouldn't do it. There was no way you would be fine with only one glass, and would probably finish the bottle before the moon was up, anyway.

"Fuck.." you cursed, and quickly headed towards the cash register after grabbing a pack of spring water and a ton of snacks to keep you busy. It had a fancy writing on it, South Aso it read, so it had to be good, right? At least, you hoped so.

You put the stuff on the register as the cashier greeted you. She was an awkward-looking girl with a bob cut.

"Good Afternoon, Miss," she said, and you saw the missing tooth between her front teeth. She also had a pretty bad-looking bruise on the side of her face. It was almost as if someone had beaten her.

You tried not to stare.

"Good afternoon," you pulled out your wallet. "The weather is great, isn't it?"

"Yeah," the girl smiled and pulled out a bag from under the register to put your groceries in. "I definitely prefer hot over cold, you know? At least the heat bill won't get too high, haha! And here are your groceries, Miss."

"Thank you," you said, and smiled back at her. "How much do I owe you?"

"32,650 Berries."

"Here. Have a nice day."

"You too!"

Then, you left the store. You decided to walk around the town a bit just because now that you were out, you looked at the different shops scattered around. The bookstore was having a sale. The bakery had lots of cakes on display. And a lot of parents were out with their kids for some reason. Oh, yeah. Schools are about to start, aren't they? They're probably buying all the stuff they'll need for the new year: pencils, crayons, notebooks, scissors, their uniforms, and all that stuff.

It had been years since you had finished school, and, God, you did not even wish to reminisce about those days at all.

Then, you noticed a couple with their two kids, eating ice cream with their own bags between their arms. The girl looked around kindergarten age, while the boy was a bit older. Maybe the last years of primary school? It looked like they got along quite well, despite the age difference.

They looked so happy.

For a moment, you were reminded of your own folks, and it left a sour taste in your mouth. That was enough for you to decide that this was enough wandering, and you walked back to your humble house.

The way back was much harder on your legs than coming down.

When you finally managed to reach the door, you were a sweaty mess, and you wanted nothing more than to get back in your bed. You slammed it shut with your feet and dragged the bags into the kitchen before sitting on the chair, huffing. Your wet hair was sticking to your forehead again.

If Rocinante had been here, you could have sent him to get these damn groceries instead. His long legs would have no problem climbing up this hill, at least.

Then, your stomach grumbled, making you aware how dizzy you started to feel. When was the last time you had eaten a proper meal, excluding the pathetic slice of bread from this morning? Hmm...Some chips you had found yesterday at some point, if you remembered right?

.............

.......

....

...It wasn't much, was it?

You pondered whether you could just sleep this feeling off, but the dizziness was indeed bad, so you, very begrudgingly, took a pot out of the cupboard, filled it with water, and put it on the stove to make some noodles.

There was a mountain of dishes next to the sink, too, waiting to be washed. "Fuck," you swore. "Fuck this. Fuck, fuck, fuck," and ripped a piece of the bread, and stuck it in your mouth before making your way to them, too.

God, the stench was horrible! You had to breathe through your mouth to not gag, and even then, you could still kinda taste it at the top of your mouth. You didn't even want to think about what kind of mold these things were covered with, since they sat there, dirty, for weeks now.

You managed to go through half of that mountain in half an hour and then decided to finish the rest later.

You were too lazy to make any sauce for the pasta, so you just squirted some ketchup on it and called it a day. You threw yourself back onto the chair and ungracefully stuffed your face with the food.

You had to accept that eating did make you feel a lot better, despite the lack of nutrition in it. Maybe you should make a big pot of stew, then you could eat it for a few days without having to cook again and again. You would have significantly fewer dishes to wash, too.

Then, you heard a knock on your door. It almost made you jump out of your skin, before you guessed that it was probably your Neighbor. You got up to open the door.

"Good evening, Y/N," the man smiled at you. "I've wanted to check on you. How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Do you want to come in?"

"Sure," he said, and took out his shoes. "My girl said she talked with you today. Did you go out?"

You nodded, "I went shopping for a few things, that's all."

"Well, that's good to hear," you two headed back towards the kitchen, and sat at the table. He did glance at the dishes that were yet to be washed, but did not comment on them."You should take regular walks, you know? Get out more, and all, even if it's just for a few minutes. Maybe you could join my girl and me at the park sometimes? She loves to swing and run around. Having someone younger to help me keep an eye on her would be nice."

You sighed, you knew what he was trying to do, but you were a whole ass adult, and didn't need a babysitter. "...Thanks. Maybe sometimes."

The man looked at you for a moment, as if he had heard your inner comment, then said, "...I'm not trying to be overbearing or anything, Y/N, I'm just worried. Since your husband left, you've hauled yourself here and rarely get out anymore. This much loneliness isn't good for anyone. I just want to make sure you're okay. We neighbors need to stick together, right?"

Holding back a sigh, you nodded, "I know, I guess I've been a bit...off," yeah, sure, that was a way to put it, "It's just that...I haven't heard from Rocinante for a while, and I'm worried, that's all."

"I'm sure he's doing okay," your Neighbor tried to comfort you. You wished it did. "He might be a bit clumsy, but he has a good head on his shoulders. Marines are always busy. I bet he's counting the days he'll see you, too, just wait a bit more."

"I hope you're right," you said, and went to the stove to make some tea, just to be busy. Your eyes felt like they were getting watery, and you really did not want to cry in front of the man. "I just have this weird feeling that something bad is going to happen, you know?"

"Did you consider seeing a doctor?" he asked. "Maybe your overall health is affecting your head. I know you say you eat well, but I bet the only thing you ate this whole week was instant noodles and those powder-soups."

You snorted, "...Well, I won't say you are wrong."

"My wife had gotten postpartum depression after the birth. She constantly had this persistent feeling of dread and hopelessness. It was hard to get her out of bed, and even harder to convince her to take her medicine. It took the whole family's support to help her out, and—"

And you had no one. Not your husband, not your parents, or grandparents, or cousins, or even any real friends other than this man and his family.

Just you.

You were lonely; anyone could see that.

You took the cup of chamomile tea and set it in front of him. He thanked you and took a sip, "I just want you to know that we're here for you, if anything happens. Just knock on our door or give me a call, and I'll come here."

"...Thank you," you said, refusing to lift your gaze from your own drink. "I appreciate that." And, yeah, you really did.

"Anytime."

"Well, enough about me. How's your family doing?"

"Well, the school is about to start, and we got some stuff for our girl. She really is not happy about it, though. Especially the uniform. Says it looks ugly. But what will you do? She can't not go."

"She's a really friendly and energetic kid. I'm sure she'll make lots of friends there."

"..I hope so. I bet she'll drive the teachers crazy! She really can't sit still for more than ten minutes, you know? She just has to run around."

"It'll take time, but she'll adjust. I also used to walk around the class and talk to my classmates no matter how many times my teachers told me not to, but around middle school, I calmed down."

"Well, that's good to hear."

Oh, now that you remembered, "...You might want to talk with her about bullies, though."

"Why?"

"I think some boys are taunting her, she said one pushed her really hard, and that she fell and cried." you told the man. "She said it was okay later, but... yeah. Things like that usually escalate rather than dial down. You should tell her that she needs to inform you and her teachers if things like that keep happening."

The Neighbor nodded, already thoughtful. "Thank you. Will do."

He was indeed a good father, wasn't he? A good man and a good father. Always so concerned about others and ready to lend a hand. You wished your father had been like that as well: kind eyes, kind smile, kind heart...

Maybe, then—

"By the way," the man said, and pulled you out of your thoughts, "There was something else I wanted to talk with you about."

You finally looked up, "Yeah?"

"I've got this cousin, he's also a Marine," he said. "And he called me a few days earlier, you know? He said...something weird is going on."

You frowned, not liking the sound of that at all, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not sure, but he said something weird is happening with the sun," the man explained, or tried to, at least. "He didn't know what it was about exactly, either, but he said the higher-ups were acting very strange, and he found it concerning, and that was why he called us."

"..The sun?"

What the hell?

"He'll call me again once he knows more, but maybe it would be smart to stock up on some stuff. You know, the essentials. Just in case, like if the World Government declares a lockdown or something."

That was not reassuring at all, but you nodded regardless, "Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

"It's almost ten o'clock now, I need to get going. Take this," he said, and pulled a piece of paper from his jacket. "This is my new den den number. I'll give you a call once I learn more."

"Okay, thank you. Have a nice night."

"You too, Y/N. I'll see you later."

You accompanied him to the door and waved him off until he was out of your sight. You felt so tired all of a sudden, but still too restless to fall asleep. You rinsed the cups from before and put them to the side before pulling out the pack of cigarettes that Rocinante had forgotten from where you had hidden it under the drawer.

You opened the paper flip and smelled it. The tobacco had a pungent, dry, and heavy scent. Without thinking much, you took one out and put it between your lips before lighting it. You had no idea what you were doing, honestly. The last time you smoked, you were thirteen with your friend from back then, and even then, you had not taken more than one puff, choking and then giving it back.

Hers had been chocolate-flavored, yet still tasted like crap. She had laughed at you when you inevitably coughed, and instead of embarrassment, you had felt fondness in that moment.

A little adolescent stupidity that no one but you two knew. After that, you never tried to smoke again, however, you never saw the appeal.

Thinking about Rocinante, you inhaled the smoke into your lungs before, and again, just like you had known you would, coughing it all out. You didn't stop, however, and kept repeating this until your eyes were watering from the pain, and the stick between your fingers was nothing but a small lump that you had to throw away.

"I still don't get why you all do this," you said to yourself. You had started to cry by now, and you couldn't tell if it was more because of the burning of your lungs or the ache in your chest.

You went to the couch and wept until you fell asleep. You did this a lot these days, and found it quite pathetic. At least your husband was not here to see this.

You were walking, walking, walking. Your feet were hitting against the concrete, your eyes glued to the ground. You refused to look around you, like you always did. It always felt like people were watching you, how you moved. Sometimes you felt like a creature, maybe a little lizard, inside a human skin, playing pretend. Did the other girls get some kind of manual that you didn't? How else did they fit in so well, and you—

At some point, you woke up before the dream was even finished and saw that it was the middle of the night. Around three a.m, if you saw the clock right. "Ugh, great," you mumbled under your breath. This meant it would take a while until you managed to sleep again, and most likely woke up with a killer headache.

You hated remembering your teenage years...Even more so, when Rocinante was not there to distract you with his kisses.

You noticed your left shoulder hurts when you got up, and tried to ease the pain a bit with stretching. It did not really help.

If he were here, he could have massaged it for you....

You walked around the house again, like a restless ghost, until you took your den den out of the closet without much thought. You turned on the radio and watched as the little snail tried to find a channel for you to listen to.

It looked a bit pissed off from being woken up this early, though. Maybe you could give it some lettuce as an apology later.

Then, the den den started to speak.

"-llo, dear listeners. It's time for another day with 'I Want to Believe,' a program where we'll uncover mysteries and government conspiracies!"

"Today, we'll be discussing with you...the Void Century! For this topic, we have a special guest from Ohara, but we'll keep his identity a secret for security reasons. So, 'Mister Know', is it true that the World Government was formed to destroy an ancient, advanced civilization called the 'Great Kingdom?'"

"We can't say for sure just yet, but my teams of archeologists have discovered many interesting findings that lead to this conclusion, especially considering how the WG has been trying to get a hold of the Ancient Weapons for decades now to maintain their power and keep the current oligarchy, the Mariejois and its Celestial Dragons, intact despite the destructive and self-serving influence they had to the common people for hundreds of years now. I can genuinely say that I believe they are—"

You sighed and changed the channel. You really did not have it in you to listen to stuff like this right now.

"-e back, everyone! This is Runbā, and today, I am excited to talk about a collaboration that'll happen between Tesoro Band and Animaru next year! As my listeners would know, Gild Tesoro, with his love for music, has been searching for a couple of bands this year to work on a new album on his ship that he says will be nothing short of 'GRAND', and honestly? I think choosing our new and hype mink band for this job could not have been a better choice! As for now, we don't know all the details, but you can trust Runbā to look more into—"

You tapped the den den, and the snail changed its tune again.

One channel was playing classical music, another was talking about the weather in Grand Line, while a WG-assigned one was talking about the news. There were lots of static, too, but you weren't sure if it was because your den den wasn't able to understand the signals from being so sleepy, or if it was just empty channels.

You looked at the lock. One hour had already passed.

You wondered if you should give a call to your husband, despite how late it was. "He's probably sleeping, though, right?" You thought, biting your lip. You didn't want to bother him, but if you could just hear his voice for a moment, you could just—

You dialed the number, you had memorized it by now, and waited for the other line to connect.

"Pere Pere Pere...."

"Pere Pere Pere...."

"Pere Pere Pere...."

You let it ring like this five times before stopping the snail. Of course, he wouldn't answer, you justified it to yourself, it was far too dangerous.

The snail looked up at you, concerned. You petted it a bit before letting it rest in its little enclosure again.

You felt a bit guilty now. You hoped that suddenly calling him out of the blue didn't put him in danger or anything. What if he was in a meeting? Or if he was doing whatever spies did? Or maybe he was bringing that sick boy to another doctor?

Biting your nail, you went to the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a bottle. It was sleeping pills. It was a bit too late to take them now, but... maybe if you broke it in half, it would be fine.

You first tried it with your fingers to no avail, so you took a knife and slowly sawed it through rather than cutting it.

You popped it into your mouth, drank some water from the sink so it wouldn't stick on your throat, and went to your bed.

...Is everything really alright, though?

Yes, of course! Why wouldn't it be?

...You don't know. You really don't know. You just...hope it is.

Voting ended onMay 3

[corajnx]

Falling in Love With [Rob Lucci]

He's a quiet man, and very difficult to read.

Trust and loyalty do not come easy to him, but once you guys are in a relationship, he 100% commits to you.

He's definitely not very verbally affectionate and would rather show his love through actions than words.

You have to get along with Hattori, and unless the birds like you too, there won't be anything between you. Sorry.

He's extremely observant of your habits, moods, and routines. Even the smallest of changes won't be missed by him.

He notices things about you before you even mention them.

He probably has a file somewhere where he catalogues everything about you, too.

He's so protective (and possessive) it's almost borderline criminal. No, he doesn't care. It would actually be a plus to get to kill someone for you.

He instinctively gets between you and whatever he sees as danger. No hesitation.

He would definitely hold grudges against people who hurt you. Even little petty things that someone does to you at your job are enough of a good reason to give someone "a little visit".

He's not clingy. He definitely doesn't enjoy prolonged physical contact either, but he would tolerate it for you. You would know when it's too much and need to stop, anyway.

He is territorial and likes to keep you close. Is it because of his Devil Fruit, or is he just like that? Even he isn't sure anymore.

He gets really uncomfortable when you show/want him to show emotional vulnerability, and struggles to communicate this with you. This is probably because he was raised as a murder machine by the World Government, so give him some slack, yeah?

Did you know his favorite drink is brandy?

He also hates spam. Very much. You could cook it whenever he pisses you off. He knows he messed up big time when you give him spam for three days in a row, every meal.

He tends to criticize you a lot more when he's worried.

He's very emotionally repressed, and it takes a damn long time to get him to open up even a little.

He won't stop being a CP0 Agent even if you ask him to, however. He's pretty sure that he can genuinely love you while remaining a ruthless assassin. He loves his job, to get to shed blood without consequences. You'll have to deal with that if you want him.

He's fine with rules like "Don't come home covered in guts," and "No killing after nine," though. An understandable compromise, if you will.

He can be intimidating without even meaning to.

When he gets angry, he becomes colder and more distant. He also absolutely pushes you away if you try to touch him when he's like that.

Sometimes, if he's really on edge, he'll just turn into his leopard form and go hunting in the forest to lose some steam before coming back home. This can sometimes turn into weeks or even months, if it gets really bad.

He would respect you a lot more if you challenge him. He likes strong people, both physically and mentally.

He hates excessive helplessness or passivity. You should be able to be in control of your own life, and don't let other people dictate what happens to you, after all.

He would never say it out loud, but he actually enjoys it when you stand your ground against him.

However, if unchecked, he could become very controlling.

He can be very cocky, believing that he knows what's best, especially in dangerous situations, and this will cause conflict between you two.

He doesn't exactly know what you mean when you say you want reassurance, but he would give it a try, even when he thinks you're being stupid.

When you cry, he just awkwardly sits beside you and pats your back like he's constipated. Kaku finds this hilarious.

Sometimes, he gets into his Leopard form and lets you pet him. You can never say this to anyone, though!

He doesn't like dramatic gestures and would never do something like a public proposal.

He actually gets jealous very easily, but never mentions it. Only Kaku, Kalifa, and Blueno can tell, and that's because they spent years with him.

He gets more possessive and watchful when that happens, rather than openly confronting the problem.

He's not at all good with apologizing and is more likely to "fix" the issue by changing his actions. (i.e., do things that he thinks you want him to do, and be the kind of man that you want him to be without altering himself too much.)

Gentle moments are rare, but you know he's being genuine. It just doesn't come naturally for him.

He enjoys the cold air. He would very much prefer to live in a Winter Island, if he could.

It could be so cold that you think your nose might freeze and fall off, and he would walk around with only a shirt. It's actually inhumane how much cold this man can handle.

Fun fact: If he were not an intelligence agent, he most likely would have been a pigeon breeder.

He rarely talks about his life before you, if ever. No one really knows about his childhood or what happened to his family before he was "taken in" by the World Government. He doesn't seem to be resentful, though, so that's good, you guess?

Now that you are with him, you get to hang out with the other CP9 agents, too. Kaku, Kalifa, and Blueno are very surprised when they learn that you two are dating (because, since when does Luci have feelings?), and at first thought that you would not last, but they are open to you being with him.

Neither they nor Lucci says anything about working for the WG, however, at least at first. He only opens up about his real job once you get suspicious and start snooping around. This, of course, leads to a fight. This is the first time that he genuinely fears losing you, and goes to talk to his "not-friends-just-colleagues-that-he-spent-everyday-together-for-the-last-ten-years-or-so" to get some advice, because his heart is pounding like it never did before, and he has no idea what to do.

They teamed up to get you to forgive him and made a whole plan and all because Lucci was even more a pain in the ass than usual, and so murderous that they were concerned for the population of Water 7 since you broke up with him.

Suffice to say, they threw a party once you two eventually got back together. Kaku even said you guys had to make him the best man in the wedding. Blueno also wants to be the best man, however, there will most definitely be a fight at some point between them. And Kalifa already prepared a binder full of different wedding plans for you once the time comes.

[corajnx]

"Shut up and kiss me." | Avatar Men (React With Them)

Summary: Sometimes the only way to stop him from talking is to kiss him stupid, and you are totally fine with that.

JAKE SULLY

You and Jake were in the middle of an argument after the latest mission went wrong.

“Jake, you need to calm down.” You said. “It’s not that bad—“

“Not that bad?” he hissed, ears pinned flat against his head. “We’ve got seven injured men! If it wasn’t for—if you had just—you never listen! I gave you direct orders, but you still went ahead and did whatever you wanted!”

The others around you scattered away and left you alone, yet you still felt your face burn hot for getting scolded in front of your people.

“This is not a squad!” you snapped back, your tail lashing hard just as his. “I’m not a soldier, and you are not my superior, JakeSully!”

“Yeah, that’s true!” The man shot back. “A subordinate would have listened to my orders and wouldn’t cause a—”

He stopped.

“…A what?” You said, and got a step closer to him, glaring.

Jake clenched his jaw so tightly you could see the muscles twitch beneath blue skin. For a moment, anger burned hot in those golden eyes, but something else flickered underneath it, too. Fear. Regret, too, maybe.

“Let’s just stop here, okay?” he muttered, then, and looked away from you. “Before either of us says something we don’t mean.” He took a step back and hurried to leave your side. “…I’ll see you later.”

“Jake—”

But he was already gone.

You watched him stalk away from the camp, stiff, twitching. Outside the High Camp, Jake paced back and forth like an agitated animal and ran a hand over his hair every few seconds while completely ignoring the eyes on him.

You scoffed quietly and turned away as well.

Jake could be so patronizing sometimes.

You understood why he was upset. The mission had gone wrong. The humans had arrived earlier than you all expected, the Thanators had been spooked because of it, and in the chaos, you had split off to draw the gunship fire away from the others.

It had worked, of course, but barely.

Seven of your people were hurt.

One was dead.

And Jake had seen you disappear into smoke and gunfire, screaming after you, scared.

Still, that did not give him the right to talk to you like you were nothing but a reckless child. You were a warrior, too. You could protect yourself. Eywa knew you had done it long before Jake Sully had ever arrived on Pandora, after all.

With your mood souring further the more you thought about it, you threw yourself into work instead.

You helped grind herbs for the healers. Hauled water from the stream. Repaired torn riding harnesses with quick, irritated pulls of your hands.

Anything to stop replaying the argument in your head, really.

By noon, the camp had settled into a quieter tempo. Children laughed somewhere in the distance, the injured were attended to, and the smell of roasting teylu drifted through the air.

You were crouched beside a basket of dried fruit when you heard hurried footsteps approaching you.

“...Look, I know I was being an ass.”

You looked up. Jake stood in front of you, breathing hard like he had run across half the forest to find you. His hair was slightly disheveled, and guilt sat plainly across his face.

Before you could answer, however, he reached down and took both your hands in his, kissing your knuckles. “It’s just that—I was worried,” he said quickly. "I had one second to make a call, and—”

“Jake—”

“If I had lost you—I don’t even want to—” He stuttered. “I would have never forgiven—”

“Jake.”

You pressed your palm over his mouth to stop the flood of words. He was such an idiot sometimes, wasn't he? No, he was most of the time.

“I know, okay?” you said. “I know. So, just,,, shut up and kiss me, okay?"

Jake did not need to be told twice, and leaned in.

The kiss was messy at first, desperate and apologetic, too, full of all the things neither of you had managed to say during the argument. You guessed both of you were at fault for this, and both of you were far too hotheaded that you couldn't just calm down and talk. His hands tightened at your sides like he needed the reassurance that you weren't going to leave.

“You scare the hell outta me sometimes."

TONOWARI

The village had not known peace since the sunrise.

No, more like since the Sullies appeared.

Messengers moved constantly between the clans near the islands, carrying reports of Sky People ships spotted too close to the reefs. Hunters argued over patrol routes. Mothers pulled their children to make sure they wouldn't go around swimming at places they weren't supposed to. Even the ilu seemed restless beneath the darkening waves.

And at the center of all, Tonowari was trying to give reassurance to his people, even though he himself was just as worried about the future as the rest.

You had watched him all day as he settled disputes between anxious clan members, organized extra patrols along the coast to make sure the enemy wouldn't come too close without any of them noticing, and sent warnings to nearby Tulkun to avoid those ships made of metal.

It looked like every problem in the village seemed to find its way to him eventually.

And, during all of this, every time you tried to approach him, someone else needed his attention first. By the time night fell, your irritation had settled into something clearly visible to the eye, despite knowing better.

The moon hung low over the ocean when you finally found him by himself. It was unusual for him not to say anything to you. Especially so, when you knew that he knew you had been waiting for a moment to talk to him.

Tonowari sat alone near the edge of the water as he repaired the broken shaft of a fishing spear under the faint moonlight. His large hands worked restlessly, carefully wrapping cord around the wood while waves rolled softly against the shore nearby.

The village behind him had finally quieted down a bit. Everyone was likely too tired to wander around at night at this point.

Only the distant sounds of the sea remained now, the crash of waves, the chirping of night insects, and the occasional splash of playful fish farther out in the water.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Tonowari continued working, though you knew immediately he was aware of your presence. His ears flicked once in your direction, you had not missed that. He was probably hoping that you would be the first one to break the silence, but alas.

“You are angry with me,” he said at last, once it was clear it wouldn't be you who made the first move.

“You ignored me all day.”

“The clan needed me,” he replied simply.

Which was true. This was the frustrating part. You knew the weight he carried better than anyone, as his mate. The Metkayina looked to him for safety, for guidance. Especially now, with the threat of war creeping closer to their home more than ever before.

But lately, it felt like every burden was pushing him farther and farther away from you.

This had never happened before, and this, the unknown of the situation, scared you.

“You seem fine with speaking to everyone else,” you said quietly. You couldn't help but sound a bit bitter about it, too.

That finally made him stop.

Tonowari set the spear aside and turned toward you. “I did not mean to make you feel unseen,” he said.

Your irritation with him faltered, then. How could it not, when he looked so sincere?

Tonowari had never been good at hiding his emotions from you. His eyes were too honest for it, large and open like the sea itself. Even now, while he was still tired and burdened, you could see the regret for his unintentional ignorance plainly across his face.

“You must understand,” he said, “when the clan is threatened, my whole focus is on them and I can't help—”

You rolled your eyes before he could even finish and stepped forward, grabbing the front of his chest to pull him closer.

“Tonowari…” you sighed. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

The man froze, and his eyes flickered briefly to your mouth before lifting back to meet your gaze again, and suddenly, he looked almost uncertain. He still did as he was told, however, and leaned in to meet you halfway.

The kiss was slow at first, but the moment your lips fully touched, all the tension he had carried seemed to unravel at once, and his forehead rested against yours.

“We are partners,” you said, then. “We are supposed to support one another. How can I, if you keep me out?”

Tonowari met your gaze once more, then, and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You are right. I am sorry. I was being foolish, as always.”

That got you to chuckle, finally, “You got that right, at least.”

TSU’TEY

You had been watching Tsu'tey lose himself for months now.

Not publicly, of course. Tsu’tey would rather throw himself from the Hallelujah Mountains than let the clan witness him breaking apart. To everyone else, he was still the proud warrior of the Omatikaya. Strong, disciplined, and calm.

But you knew better than that. You saw it in the tension that never left his shoulders anymore. Sleep abandoned him night after night. In the bitterness that sharpened his voice whenever JakeSully’s name was spoken aloud, and grief that he so adamantly refused to even talk about, clouded his judgment.

That night, the clan celebrated after a successful hunt. Music echoed through the Hometree, drums beating in a steady rhythm while children laughed and dancers moved around the great fires as Ninat sang with her beautiful voice.

But Tsu’tey was nowhere near the celebration.

Of course, he wasn't.

At least, you had a pretty good idea where he would be.

After dinner, you slipped away quietly while the others were distracted, and the forest swallowed the sounds of the celebration the farther you walked, until eventually only the hum of the forest remained.

You found him sitting beside the Tree of Voices. He was sitting with his legs crossed, sharpening a knife that honestly did not need any more sharpening at this point.

“You should be with the others,” he said without looking up at you.

He always noticed you immediately, even when you tried to sneak up on him. Honestly, it was as if he had two extra ears that helped him hear.

Ignoring the comment, you sat beside him. Tsu’tey kept his eyes lowered to the knife in his hands, pretending as if your presence changed nothing. But you knew him too well by now to fall for that.

“You are angry again."

"I have my reasons."

There it was. That simmering bitterness beneath his skin, always threatening to boil over.

You sighed. “Honestly, Tsu’tey, JakeSully is not even that—”

“Do not speak to me of him," he snarled at you. He had not raised his voice, but it still stung all the same.

Your ears flicked back slightly. “You push everyone away,” you said, then. “If you keep this up, you will have no one, Tsu’tey.”

The man scoffed bitterly.

“You do not know what you are talking about,” he said next in return. “You have never lost anyone. You do not know what misfortune the Sky People bring.”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to just ask, “...Is this about Sylwanin?”

“It is not that!”

Tsu’tey stood abruptly and paced away from one tree to the other. His tail lashed behind him, agitated, while his hands clenched at his sides.

“I feel this impending doom,” he said. His voice was tight with frustration, “and no one is listening. It is as if Eywa is changing the path beneath my feet, and I am not even allowed to question why without everyone judging me.”

You stayed silent. Tsu’tey looked genuinely upset with himself for even saying the words aloud, as though questioning Eywa’s path was some terrible blasphemy.

At least it will help him to calm down a bit, you thought.

“Everything has been changing because of him!” he continued. “The clan changed—Neytiri also did—everything, as if everyone already forgot what happened at GraceAugustine’s school, and—”

He cut himself off with a frustrated hiss and turned his face away from you. “…You should leave,” he muttered, then. “I will find you once I clear my head, okay?”

You did get up, but did not walk away. Instead, you reached out to him, and, with a gentle hand on his back, made him face you.

"Tsu'tey..." you said. "Shut up and kiss me."

The man's ears pinned back slightly in surprise, and for half a second, he almost looked offended, as if he could not believe you would actually interrupt his spiraling thoughts with something like this.

The moment your lips touched his, however, he melted and loosened against you like he always did.

“This big head of yours is always so full,” you said with a sigh of your own. “…I wish it did not cause you this much grief.”

COLONEL QUARITCH

It was raining as if it were the end of the world. The wind was so strong it was rattling the abandoned RDA outpost you and Quaritch had taken shelter in, and every few minutes, a thunder in the distance lit the room before it was dark again.

The mission had gone completely to Hell, to say the leasr.

Sully’s patrol had spotted you and Quaritch far earlier than either of you had anticipated, and what should have been a clean reconnaissance run turned into a desperate retreat through the forest with at least a dozen Na'vi behind you.

Somehow, both of you did manage to throw them off your tails, but Quaritch had still taken an arrow through the shoulder during all of this.

And now he was sitting shirtless on top of a rusted supply crate while you tried to patch him up with an old medkit you had found in this dumb.

The only problem was that he would not shut the fuck up.

“You pull a stunt like that again,” he growled while you wrapped fresh bandages around his shoulder, “I’m gonna personally drag your ass back to base myself. You can forget about going into any other mission after that, too.”

You rolled your eyes and deliberately tugged the bandage tighter than necessary. And, of course, this made Quaritch hiss in pain.

Good.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you shot back. “That arrow would’ve pierced your empty head if it wasn’t for me, you know?”

“As if,” he spat back immediately. “I had everything under control before you decided to be reckless.”

“You were about to get shot.”

“And you almost did instead!” he barked back. “I am the top dog here, princess. I give the orders, you all follow them, that’s it. How the hell am I supposed to keep you alive if you don’t trust me to make the right decision?”

You snorted and stood to grab some supplies from a nearby crate.

“I don’t need you to be my daddy, Quaritch,” you said. “I know how to keep myself in one piece, thank you very much.”

“That confidence is exactly what’s gonna get you killed one day.”

You got a bottle of stale water and a few painkillers from the medkit before tossing them into his lap.

“And the constant talking is what’s gonna get you killed, big guy.”

Quaritch grumbled something under his breath but took the pills anyway. He swallowed them dry before draining the entire bottle of water in one long gulp. It would still take some time until they helped with the pain, however.

For exactly three seconds, there was silence. Then he started at it again.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he repeated for the dozenth time, and wiped the sweat and rainwater from his jaw. “I am your Colonel. Does the chain of command mean nothing to you?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned. You honestly could not help it at this point. “Are you physically incapable of shutting up?”

“You think this is funny?”

“No, I just think you’re impossible to please.”

The room fell quiet after that, and Quaritch's expression changed into something you couldn't tell what it meant. Then, before you knew it, the man suddenly stood and threw the empty bottle against the wall, making the rest of the water splash all around the ground with a little thud.

“You don’t run into live fire for me,” he barked at you. “Never. Got it?”

“And what,” you shot back immediately. If Quaritch thought swinging his big dick would make you back down, he was stupider than you had given him credit for. “you’re allowed to throw yourself in front of bullets for me, but I’m supposed to sit there and watch?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I know what I’m doing.”

You barked out a disbelieving laugh and gestured aggressively toward his shoulder. “Right. Says the guy bleeding through two layers of bandages.”

Quaritch looked down, then. And, sure enough, blood had already started seeping through the fresh wrapping again. You could say whatever you want about the Na'vi, but they sure as hell would have made good snipers, that's for sure.

“You know what I mea—”

This was it. You cut him off by grabbing the front of his vest and yanking him toward you.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Quaritch. Got it?”

That finally got him to shut up for a moment.

The man blinked down at you, clearly caught off guard for perhaps the first time in arguably both of your short lives. How long had it been since you woke up in this new body? Six months? Seven? You had no idea anymore.

“…Christ,” he muttered, then, but his hand slid around your waist nonetheless before he leaned down to kiss you as you ordered.

You stumbled backward slightly as he pulled you closer. He really did kiss like he was still furious, didn't he? Always so dramatic, always so worried, and definitely needy. You couldn't help but chuckle against his lips.

Once he was satisfied and breathing harder than before, he rested his forehead briefly against yours and closed his eyes. "You drive me absolutely insane, you know that?”

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

NORM SPELLMAN

The biolab was quiet, and some of the equipment hummed softly in the background while pale, blue monitor lights flickered. Samples, tablets, lots and lots of different papers, and just as many abandoned coffee mugs were scattered everywhere, and the rain tapped against the glass ceiling, too.

Yeah, it was definitely way too late for either of you to be still awake.

Norm was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside an open supply crate, sorting carefully through rows of sample containers while muttering half-coherent thoughts to himself under his breath.

You were technically supposed to be helping him, but instead, you were sprawled across one of the cots nearby, just watching.

“You know,” you said lazily, “normal people sleep at least once a day.”

Norm snorted. “Yeah, well, normal people also don’t discover potentially symbiotic fungal networks growing through the roots of— hold on, where’d my scanner go?”

“It’s literally in your hand, dude.”

He looked down, “…Oh.”

You burst out laughing, and a faint blush immediately crept across Nom's face, though he tried very hard to pretend it was not at all there.

“You’re impossible sometimes, Norm.”

“It’s fine,” the man said. “This is very important, you know?”

“Yeah, I do know,” you sighed dramatically. “Because you already explained it to me, like, six times or something.”

“And yet I still feel like you’re not appreciating the significance.”

“That’s because every explanation somehow turns into a lecture.”

“It is not a lecture,” Norm argued back. “It’s context. There is a difference."

“You used the phrase ‘cross-species biochemical reciprocity’ three separate times.”

“Because that’s what it is!”

You groaned one more time and slid off the cot onto the floor, staring at the ceiling in defeat.

Usually, you liked listening to him ramble. Really, you did. But sometimes Norm’s nerdiness became genuinely unstoppable once he got excited enough, and it became impossible to get him to bed.

This happened more of then these days, and this meant he was getting even less sleep than he usually did.

“You can go to bed if I’m boring you so much,” he said. He tried not to sound bothered, but you knew better than to fall for that.

You turned at him immediately. "You're not boring me."

Norm gave you a look in return. “You literally started staring at the ceiling halfway through my explanation.”

“I was multitasking, thank you very much.”

“Sure. Because that is something people do.” He then rubbed a tired hand over his face. He was clearly exhausted but somehow still determined to finish his little experiment.

“I just—okay, look,” he started again, shifting closer to his tablet. “If this data’s right, it could explain why certain Pandoran plant systems react to neural energy the way they do, which means Grace’s old theories might’ve been—”

“Oh my God,” you mumbled into your hands, this could not be starting again, then, you glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was already four in the goddamn morning.

Absolutely not.

With a huff, you pushed yourself upright and crossed the room before Norm could launch into another ten-minute explanation about neural pathways or fungal symbiosis or whatever scientific tangent he was currently spiraling into.

He barely had time to look up before you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward you.

“Shut up and kiss me, you idiot,” you said firmly. “Or would you rather continue with your little science experiment instead?”

As you had known it would, Norm's eyes widened, the man frozen in place, as you settled yourself onto his lap, effectively trapping him between you and the supply crate behind him.

He then stuttered, "W-what was I even doing? I've got no idea."

"That's what I thought," You grinned triumphantly, and hooked your fingers lightly into the collar of his shirt. "Now, come here."

[corajnx]

𑣲𝓂 Thoughts About the Donquixote Brothers 𝓂𑣲

DOFLAMINGO

He has an intense, irrational fear of fire. His brother constantly burning himself does not help, of course.

He is a neat freak. His room and office have to be spotless.

He doesn't like anyone seeing him without his glasses, even his own brother.

He's incredibly petty, and will get his revenge one way or the other.

He has extravagant birthday parties every year. For him and for every member of his Family.

He loves that he towers over most people.

He's blind in one eye because of the arrow the peasants had shot him with during their childhood.

He has nightmares more often than not. This is why he mostly takes short naps than having a full nights sleep.

He's a very light sleeper, too, and even the slightest of sounds wake him up.

He's very picky with his food, and doesn't really eat much.

Sometimes he forgets to eat all together, and only realizes it when he gets dizzy.

He's proud of being a Celestial Dragon, even if he looks down of the other World Nobles back at Mariejois.

He cares about his appearence. Special shampoo for his hair, skin cleansing products, expensive parfumes, etc... he has it all.

For him -> Loving=Owning/Obedience. You are his, and his to take care of, his to love, his to pamper, and his to use. You love him, so you should be fine with doing whatever it takes to help him reach his goal, right? If you don't listen to him, then you don't love him, either.

He hates silence, and always has music playing in the background when he works.

He gets bored easily. Peaceful routines makes him restless. He can't help but think something is going to get wrong. This is also why he's so controlling.

He enjoys luxury obsessively. Expensive wine, silk sheets, rare food, gold decorations, slaves from faraway lands...This is his own way of reclaiming the life he has lost. He's really fixated on it, too.

He hates getting touched. Even casual things like hand shaking, hugging, arms around his shoulder, or a small hand on his back irritate him to no end. He tolerates it from his Family, and is only fine when Rocinante does it.

Rocinante rarely did, and most of the time Doflamingo had to initiate it. This also made him very antsy.

He was really taken aback from his brother's aloof and cold attitude when he first came back, since he mostly dreamed of that shy, clingy little boy from back then. He never really thought the world would "break him this much."

He tests people constantly, and pushes their buttons.

He probably drinks more than he should, especially when he's reminded of the past and feels melancholy.

He absolutely spoils the shit out of his loved ones. Think of this as compensation for his unending control and possessiveness.

For him, it's bizzare to see people acting with actually genuine kindness. He just can't understand it. (And makes him feel like something is wrong with him, especially so when he sees his brother.) ->He would never admit this, of course, not even in his dead bed.

Everyone knows Baby 5 is his favorite.

The only people he kinda had a romantic thing for were Violet, Crocodile and Vergo. Monet had a one-sided love for him, too, but he never really cared enough to notice it.

He would rather destroy something or someone than lose them.

His crew learned how to read his mood from small things like how wide his grin is, the way he taps his fingers, from how still and silent he is, etc...

He avoids looking at the mirror after his brother's dead, because he can't help but see Rocinante in his own image. Especially so when his hair goes down after taking a shower. This is why he cuts it so short later.

He hated the idea that he might grow to look like his father back when he was a teen.

He has severe abandonment issues, actually, and doesn't believe in unconditional love (anymore). It got worse after everything that happened with his brother.

He hates cold weather.

Sometimes he makes string clones of his family, even his father. He doesn't really know why he makes one for that man, either, but the way he's slowly forgetting his mother and brother's faces makes him upset.

He has a really idealized image of his mother, like an angel who did no wrong.

He likes to have at least one meal where every member of his crew is present.

He hates the idea that one day, after he's dead, history will forget about him.

His love is harsh and rough, even when he doesn't mean to.

He doesn't think he's capable of change, and doesn't want to.

He actually can't remember a time where Rocinante wasn't by his side.

He spends the day of his brother's death anniversary alone, drinking.

He sometimes fantasizes about having his own family, a wife and a kid. He likes to think he would be a better man to them than his own father was.

He is a total girl-dad.

Rocinante's betrayal actually came out of nowhere to him. He was genuinely an absolute blind spot he didn't know he had and he hates that he was that vulnerable at one point in his life.

He really never understood why his brother chose Law/Marines/the others over him. Shouldn't blood mean more than anyone, anything, else?

Deep down, a little part of him had wanted Rocinante to shoot him that day. Maybe to end his misery, or maybe to just prove that he had truly abandoned him. Even he doesn't know.

He had felt guily about leaving him that day, and had searched for him for years before having to accept that he was either dead, or did not want to found.

He really thought his brother was the only person that understood and accepted him before all that. A part of him died that day with Rocinante, but he still refused to feel regret.

ROCINANTE

He has an obsession with fire, and likes to stare at his lighter while smoking.

He's quite messy, and dirt doesn't really bother him.

Being so tall and looking down on most of his colleagues makes him feel a bit awkward, actually.

He doesn't really like celebrating his own birthday. It makes him really self-conscious and embarased when they sing to him and give gifts.

He also has lots of nightmares. At least, he's a pretty deep sleeper.

He loves having a routine and structure, even if he struggles to keep up with it.

He would eat anything, snd is not at all picky. His only problem is that he doesn't know when to stop, because the thought of wasting food is very agitating to him.

When he inevitably throws up after eating so much, he feels even more guilt.

He likes that, as a Marine, he doesn't have to think about what to wear and just wear the standart uniform provided to them.

He feels shame about his heritage, and hates the fact that he has Celestial Dragon blood in him. Sometimes it makes him wonder if it makes him less of a person.

He did have a few crushes (Bell-mère, anyone?), but never did anything about it. He doesn't think he "deserves" it, and the idea that his presence in their lives might make things worse in them just stops him from every confessing his love.

He hoards food and saves money constantly because he's afraid he'll go through "that" again.

Other Marines in his station either thought he was a weirdo, or did not notice him at all.

He loves to sit somewhere and listen to people go about their ways.

He doesn't like expensive things, because "what if he needs the money later?" He just can't rationalize spending so much money on clothes, jewelry, or even food.

He is terrible at receiving compliments.

He actually craves physical intimacy, like hugging and having an arm around his shoulder. He only ever does it with Sengoku, though. Whenever Doflamingo touches him, he can't help but shiver and flich away.

It actually surprised him how touchy his brother was with him.

Sometimes it sickens him how much he still cares about Doflamingo, despite knowing everything he does, and he feels guilty. It's as if he's betraying Sengoku, the Marines, and all those innocent people.

He doesn't think he or his brother is "above humans," but he doesn't see them as "humans," either. They just have this "otherness," as if they were some creatures that imitated humans.

This feeling is also why he doesn't really have any meaningful connections with other people.

He genuinely wants to help and better the world. It's freakish to him how selfish some people can be and go out of their way to hurt others just for the fun of it.

He's actually really childish but rarely shows it.

The first time he saw his brother's bounty, he did not know what to feel and just went numb.

He dissociates a lot.

He had suicidal ideation ever since the Marines found him and wanted to die "for the greater good." He thought this was the only way to atone for "being born."

He both loves and hates his brother. This duality made him use his devil fruit to "silence" himself, so he wouldn't spill anything to Doflamingo. He thought if he ever did actually talk, he would ruin everything, because how else could he hide all these feelings?

He started smoking after some of the older cadets pressured him to try it.

He secretly collected his brother's bounties, and hid them under the mattress.

He was afraid that the other Marines would make the connection that he was connected to Doflamingo, and think that he was just as "rotten" as him.

He avoided looking at the mirror because he saw Doflamingo in himself.

He often dreamed of having a normal life with his parents and brother.

Sometimes he uses his Devil Fruit to silence his own thoughts and feelings.

He absolutely cannot cook.

He constantly forgets where he put his cigarettes and spends half the day searching for them.

He hates seeing children cry. Like, genuinely cannot handle it. Even when he was pretending to hate kids, he’d get visibly uncomfortable if one actually started sobbing.

He cries a lot, even after he became an adult. He just learned to hide it better.

He doesn't like eating with other people because he can't help but feel like someone is going to steal his meal from him.

Despite everything, part of him always hoped Doflamingo would still change (for him).

He probably blamed himself for not noticing how far gone Doflamingo truly was sooner, even though he was just a child himself.

He tends to disappear when he's hurt, be it physically or emotionally.

He falls asleep in weird places constantly. Chairs, floors, hallways, leaning against walls... As a Marine, he learned to rest whenever he can, after all.

Getting into a crowd still terrifies him. He can't help but feel like they'll turn into that angry mob from his childhood and hurt him again.

He never truly believed he deserved a happy ending for himself. Saving Law was the happy ending in his mind.

He never imagined that someone could ever fall in love with him, let alone marry and have his own family.

He knew that he would be killed one day, and made peace with that a long time ago.

Sengoku was the only one who he ever bothered to open up to, but even he didn't know much about him.

He knew that Doflamingo would be the one to put a bullet in him the moment he agreed to spy on him, because he could never shoot his own brother, even if it meant making others suffer his cruelty.

No one ever truly knew the kind of person he was. His likes and dislikes, his favorite color, his dreams and fears, what he had hoped for the future, even the kind of music he loved... He died as a traitor, a Marine hero, a beloved adopted son, and a benefactor. But Rocinante himself? He died alone, just as he had lived.

No one really visited his grave other than Sengoku, and sometimes Garp and Tsuru.

[corajnx]

[aurora-sadprose]

put down that c.ai thing and read y/n fics like god intended.

[corajnx]

⋆Heartbreakers⋆

One Piece Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[Part 2]

Donquixote Doflamingo x F!Reader

Warnings: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Use, Mentioned Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Domestic Violence, Isolation, Intimidation, etc... -> Minors DNI

Length: 1,9+

Chapter: 1/2

Summary:

Doflamingo was a negligent husband at best, and a monster at worst. Being in a relationship with that man brought you nothing but pain, that was for sure. So, you had to leave. And you had to do it soon.

You should have known better, really. But, just as everyone said, love had made you blind, and his sweet words and promises had made you look at him through rose-colored glasses.

You knew now. Men like him never changed. They couldn't. They weren't capable of it. And they sure as hell did not even want to try.

Doflamingo was many things. A good liar. A strong fighter. Charming as hell. A total flirt. Very generous with his wealth. Protective of the ones who were his. Good with politics, too, of course. He could make you feel on top of the world with just a single smile and a hand around your waist, and tower over you, glaring down at you, as if you were nothing but an insect he could crush under his heel as well.

A good husband, however?

That, he was not.

He got angry easily and got violent even faster. Trying to get him to see reason was almost impossible. He wanted to take whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He loved to see the ones who crossed him humiliated, even for petty things, and had no qualm about using his strings either.

His love hurt. Inevitably, it left you with nothing but bruises, tears, and blood stains.

It just got worse after he got the Warlord title.

It wasn't like this, at first. That's the worst part, you think.

At first, he was gentle. He was willing to hear you out, listen to your plea, and even ignore his seemingly unending thirst for blood just so you wouldn't get upset and cry your little heart out.

It was amusing for him, your bleeding heart, you knew that now. And then it became burdensome and annoying after the marriage.

You sighed. What did either of you expect, honestly? A pirate and a civilian, falling in love? Of course, this was a recipe for disaster.

You should have listened to your family, your mother and father. They had told you that this would only lead to a world of hurt. So did your friends, the few you had. How many years had passed since you last saw them, you wonder? It did not matter anymore, you supposed. At least like this, you could keep the rest of the dignity you had left.

Oh, you knew whatever you had with Doffy was coming to an end; it had to, for your sake. Yet your heart still ached with what little love you still had for him. You couldn't help it, not really, even when he grabbed you by the throat, strangled you, struck you, and threw you to the ground like a doll whenever you dared to oppose him.

You had bruises now. Constantly. Blue and greenish spots all over your body. Your husband made sure you got a new one before the old one ever healed. You rarely wore a dress these days because of it. Sad, when you used to love them back at home, where the weather was always nice and warm.

Leaving would not be easy, however. Dressrosa was big, and every corner of it had Donquixote's lackeys. Even the toys were under his command, and if you were not careful, you would be dragged back to this cage before you could even scream "No!" and get punished for your insolence.

You did not even want to think about what he would do to you, then.

The Marines wouldn't be of help, either. They worked for the World Government, and since Doffy was now a Warlord, they would ignore your pleas and turn a blind eye if it came to that. As far as they were concerned, you were his.

His woman.

His wife.

His property.  

And that meant he had the right to do whatever he saw fit, even if it meant locking you away in a room away from any other human being, leaving you to rot there all by yourself, other than the occasional visit to insult you, scream at you for how ungrateful you were after all he has done for you, does for you still. Were you that greedy that even a King couldn't satisfy you? And he would go on and on and on, until enough time passed to ease his outrage, or it turned into something more physical.

His, his, his. Everything was his.

It was too much anymore. It made you sick, made you feel like an animal trapped in a little cage. Why in the world had you ever thought that his possessiveness of his was romantic? Did love really make such a fool out of you?

You didn't want to constantly apologize anymore. You didn't want to cover in fear, try to appease him in any way you could, just so his touch wouldn't turn from caressing you to leaving you sore, throbbing, and raw before he left you again. You didn't want to have to read his every mood, constantly walk on imaginary eggshells, just so you could avoid his temper, or find a place to cry in silence so that you wouldn't be a bother to him.

No. This was not the life you had dreamed for yourself. This was not the man you had imagined would hold your heart.

He wanted a baby. A boy, if possible, but a girl is just as fine. Either could continue his legacy after he was gone, after all. And, maybe if your health allowed it, a couple more. It was good for children to have siblings, after all, and they could keep supporting each other once both of them were dead, too, while having a couple of rascals running around the palace would be quite lovely.

"I want them to have your eyes," he had said. "It was that that made me fall in love with you the first time. So captivating, and full of life. Even when you cry, they look captivating."

You didn't feel alive anymore, just this constant tension that left you sleepless many nights, your hair falling out, and a stomach far too jittery to eat, making you wilt away.

Your husband did not notice that, of course. He was far too busy with his SAD production these days. You didn't know what it was, exactly, but you found yourself you did not care. Whatever it was, it was going to be used to hurt people, anyway.

You didn't have anyone to rely on. No one in the Family would dare to oppose their Master to help you out, knowing that it would leave them dead on the ground, not for you. You were nothing but a lowly human, after all, just like them, compared to their God and Savior, even if you had his supposed love.

You guessed it only made sense that a man so obsessed with his own divinity would not be able to see anything past it.

Your best hope was that, since the Family was about to secure their new smuggling routes in the next couple of months, too busy and away from the island for them to keep an eye on you, this would give you the chance to jump on a cargo ship and leave for whatever island it was going to and leave this wretched place behind.

...After that? You would probably have to hop island to island for a while, maybe a couple of years, to make sure Doffy wouldn't be able to track you down. His new job no longer allowed him to roam freely as much as he would have liked, in case the World Government called for an emergency. Who would have guessed this would turn out to be a blessing in disguise?

Yeah. You had no idea how all of this would turn out, or whether this plan was even viable, but you would bring as much money as you could and bribe anyone along the way. It would be hard to get a job, even for day-to-day tasks, when you're on the move, after all, and you would need funds to be able to afford even your basic necessities, but you knew that no matter what was waiting for you outside these walls, it would still be better than this life.

The necklaces he got you, the pearly bracelets, the gold earrings, and diamond rings...Easy to carry, easy to sell, stuff that no one would notice going missing until it's too late, since your husband bought you these in tons, even if a bit dangerous to get caught with, in case someone decides to rob you, but that would be a problem for another day.

You knew you had to act as you usually did. So, even when you packed your bags and counted the days with your heart beating fast like a little bird about to be set free, you still went to supper like you always did, sat next to your husband, filled his cup with the best wine the New World had to offer whenever he held it to you, and smiled as they all talked.

Everyone got drunk, except you and Violet. Even your husband had gotten quite tipsy, and let you help him back to your bedroom.

"Your birthday is almost here," Doffy said, then, and took off his shirt with clumsy fingers. This, of course, was a rare sight. "Right around the corner, right? In six weeks or so?"

Ahh, you had not expected him to remember. Not really. Not unless his secretary told him the month before, so he could buy a gift for you at the last minute.

They were always the most expensive jewelry, the best of the best, really, with exquisite craftsmanship, but even the shiniest of stones could so comfort you so much until it all just felt empty.

"...Yes, dear."

The man joined you in bed and put his arms around you, pulling you close. "I'll make sure to leave my calendar wide open for you, yeah? We can spend the whole day together, then."

You didn't resist as he placed kisses all over your neck. You had to turn a bit to the right so it wouldn't strain, though. "Oh, aren't you too busy, Doffy? I wouldn't want you to ruin your plans just for me. Especially when you are about to—"

"Nonsense," he interrupted and gnawed on your shoulder hard enough to break skin. You were probably going to find a purple mark right there in the morning. "What could be more important than my own wife's birthday? Come on, love, tell me what you want, and it will be yours."

There were many things you wanted, simple things, really, all things considered, but none of them were something that this man was able to give. It was just that... there was something fundamentally missing that made a person human, with this one.

"As long as I am with you," you placed a kiss on his lips, and lied through your teeth. You had become a master in that regard, thanks to your husband. "I am content, Doffy."

"Fufufu, you always know what to say, don't you?" The man grinned and pulled you on top of him, with a hand on your thigh. It felt so rough against your skin. "Come here, then."

Yeah, you thought and felt yourself heat up in all the wrong places as he started to pull your nightgown down, if you hadn't, you would have been long dead, you guessed.

[corajnx]

⋆Heartbreakers⋆

One Piece Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[Part 1]

Donquixote Doflamingo x F!Reader

Warnings: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Use, Mentioned Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Domestic Violence, Isolation, Intimidation, etc... -> Minors DNI

Length: 1,6K+

Chapter: 2/2

Summary:

After the total shit show at Punk Hazard, Doflamingo wants nothing more than to just find some comfort in his wife, but when he returns home, he can't find you anywhere. Did you really leave him, like you had threatened all these years?

Taglist: @ashara-dawn @idkmi1y

Doflamingo was pissed. He was pissed to hell and back, even, and it bugged him, since, if memory served right, it had been more than a decade since he was this thrown off his game. He knew about the little ploys Law was going about for a time now, but he had not expected this.

Of course, he knew about his doings. He had kept a track of him ever since his men had caught a glimpse of him back when he was still at North, trying to pass the Calm Belt with his new little friends with nothing but a small boat, while he was still wet behind the ears and the loss of his savior still fresh. How could he not, when he was supposed to be his third Corazón and give him eternal youth thanks to the devil fruit that was supposed to be Doflamingo's in the first place?

Yes, he knew there would be some bumps on the road, but that damn brat had crossed the line when he went to that damn island and blew up his factory. Now, his dear old partner was blowing a fuse for his merchandise, the man who was supposed to create those SMILEs was held hostage, and two of his best subordinates were dead, buried under rubble. What a shame, wasn't it?

Oh, yeah, pissed was a light word for what he was feeling right now, but he was a patient man. He knew he would get what he wanted one way or the other, he just had to... tweak a few small things in his plan, that was all, and reconsider some things like the unexpected variable that turned out to be the Strawhats.

Once he got a hold of Law, oh, he would have to punish him first. Maybe even a little training session to get him to submit and listen to him as well. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. A proper subordinate should know when to listen and stop his years-long temper tantrum and do as he was told, after all.

These were things to think about for tomorrow, however. For now, he just wanted to return home, lock himself into your two's bedroom, have a drink or two for Vergo and Monet, and then let himself melt between your arms for a good night's rest.

Yeah, that sounded good.

Once at the palace, no one dared to bother him as he walked past the halls. Just from his stance alone, it was clear that he was not in a good mood, and, honestly? He would have used any excuse to rip some heads at this point. Maybe a bit of blood and screams from squirming little rats under his palm would cheer him up, you know?

It usually did, but he decided not to. He wanted to see you soon, after all, and he knew how much you hated the scent of death on him, and if he came to the bed with clothes dripping with gore, he had a pretty strong suspicion that you would not share the night with him.

Ahh...it was hard to be a good husband sometimes, wasn't it? Just so many compromises!

...But you were worth it, he supposed.

He went to the fifth floor, walked to the left, got to the third hallway, and reached the second door. There, he expected to be greeted with the smell of your perfume. Vanilla Caramel. It had not been his favorite at first, far too sweet for his taste, but, with time, now the mild, endearing scent had become a reminder of home.

There, he was met with none of that. There was a slight chill in the room, and when he turned his head, he saw that the window at the other side of the room was open, and the strong wind was making the curtains flutter against his desk.

He tsked. You always did that. Why did you even feel the need to air the room every hour of the damn day, anyway? It was cold enough as it is, especially during the chilly winter, but no matter how much he berated you, you never even seemed to attempt to stop this admittedly annoying habit.

"Maybe I should just bolt the windows shut," he thought, and went to close them.

Where were you, anyway? Why weren't you here to meet him? He was pretty sure Buffalo had seen him at the entrance and rushed to inform the rest of the Family.

Were you upset about something again and giving him the silent treatment? He can't think of any reason as to what he could have done to catch your bad side, though, especially since he had been trying to be a bit more amenable since your special day was around the corner, and he would rather spend the day celebrating you, kissing and making love, than fighting about God knows what.

He huffed, not being able to help but pout a little. He felt disappointed, he had to admit. He had expected to get pampered a little for the rest of the night, but now—

Then, he noticed an envelope on his desk, jammed between the pages of a book he had left half-read.

"What the hell..?" He mumbled and reached his hand to take it out. No one was allowed in their bedroom other than a few selected people, so who would dare to—

It was from you. He knew it instantly, just by a single glance. After all, he could recognise that chicken scratch writing from anywhere.

He didn't waste much time and ripped open the envelope to pull out the paper and read.

To Doffy, Husband, I'm not really sure when you'll read this, probably around the time you sit down to finish some paperwork, but hopefully, I will be long gone by then.    I just wanted to say that I tried, I really, really did. I tried to love you, I tried to change you, I tried to hold on to the hope that one day you would finally see reason and grow a soul, because I always believed ever since I was a little girl that, even if it was buried deep down, every person had the capacity for empathy, love, and compassion, even if it takes some time to bring those feelings out. I am ashamed to admit that you proved me otherwise. You showed me that some people are just born without something...that makes you human, I suppose. I don't know how else to explain this, however bitter it sounds. I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I was not the right person for you. Maybe, one day, you'll find your real soulmate, and something will just click, and you'll finally learn what it means to really be in love, to actually care for someone, and even see the world for what it is, and not this cesspool we all are here to suffer like you seem to believe. God, I loved you so much. I really did. A small, foolish part of me still does. But I feel like I've lost so much of myself all these years, like you just took and took and took, and...now I've only got a few pieces left, until it's not me anymore. Do you get what I mean? I don't want to lose that, too. Please, if you really love me, leave me be. I can't keep this facade up anymore, or else I will have to keep struggling with these suffocating feelings until it actually kills me. Or you do. Despite everything you did to me, I still hope you will change for the better, that you will stop feeding this never-ending resentment of yours and your taste for cruelty, however foolish and naive it sounds. Goodbye.

And, just like that, Doflamingo felt a rush of anger surge all over him. It was surprising, really, how much rage a man could feel in a single day.

....What the fuck was this? What the hell were you blabbering about? You wanted to leave him? You didn't love him anymore? That this marriage was hurting you? And what about all the nonsense about empathy and compassion you threw at him in the middle, anyway?

What a load of bullshit.

He provided for you, protected you, and gave you a life that millions could only dream of. You never went hungry, you never had to worry about anything, you could get anything, do anything you wanted just by asking him.

Was this the life that was supposed to be suffocating? Hah! What an ungrateful little thing you turned out to be. But he was also at fault, he supposed. Maybe he had spoiled you too much over the years.

Without thinking, he crumbled your letter between his palms. It was trash, anyway. Some of the furniture, the wall in front of him, and the wardrobe were sliced with his clutter of strings flying around as well.

Better get the anger out before he does something he would not like, anyway.

No, he decided, then. No, he was not going to let you go. He will bring you back home because you made a vow to him back then, and not even death would be able to pull you away from him now.

In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, no matter what, you two would stay together. That was what you had promised.

Yeah, this was just a bump in your relationship, that was all, nothing more, nothing less. And, as the responsible and devoted husband that he was, he would come get you from whatever hole you inevitably got yourself lost in and smooth things out. You probably regretted leaving by now anyway, and only resisted the urge to return home because of your pride.

"Just you wait, darling," he chuckled under his breath, and grinned, before leaving through the now broken window, holding onto the clouds with his strings. "Seems like I really can't let you leave my sight more than a week or two, huh? Well, no matter, you'll have all the attention you could ever want now."

[corajnx]

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 ❤︎⁠ I even got you the portrait right after seeing your ask 🤭

⟡⋆LOOK AT ME, SWEETIE⋆⟡

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 aren’t really sure if Wally loves you, though. You know..love love not like love. Like…he hasn’t made a move on you or anything, despite spending so much alone time together. He hasn’t 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.

“I made this just for you,” he said to you, and clasped his hands in front of him. “Do you want to see it?”

When you said "Of course I do", he finally revealed the painting, and it was a painting...of himself? It was beautiful, you didn’t 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, “For my best friend in the whole neighborhood. Don’t tell the others, though ;)”

His handwriting was really just as pretty as his drawings, you can't help but think.

You were still confused, though. “Why did you give me a portrait of yourself, Wally?” you couldn’t help but ask.

Your mind was hung up on the word "best friend," too.

He just tilted his head and shrugged, “So that you can have something nice to look at, that’s all.”

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?

[corajnx]

How Would They Confess? | Welcome Home

🍎🎨WALLY DARLING🎨🍎

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!

❤️🌺JULIE JOYFUL🌺❤️

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 while—"

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, and—"

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?!

🪲📚FRANK FRANKLY📚🪲

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".

🌈☀️SALLY STARLET☀️🌈

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.

⚽🥏BARNABY B. BEAGLE🥏⚽

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. “Hey, I got a serious announcement! I’ve diagnosed myself with… liking you. Very advanced case, I'm afraid.”

If you just roll your eyes and think he's not being serious, he would suddenly panic and go, “No, wait, that’s not— I mean, I do, but I also don’t— okay, I definitely do. I 100% do like you.”

He would probably get visibly flustered once he realizes he can’t 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.

🥧🐔POPPY PARTRIDGE🐔🥧

She would first think she's just extra worried about you, rather than think that it's love.

She’d start overthinking every small interaction she had with you. Replaying conversations, panicking over whether she sounded “too awkward” or “not helpful enough," and, oh my God, how embarrassing it was...!

She’d feel unusually motivated to bake or knit specifically for you, and obsess over making it perfect.

She’d 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!

She’d worry constantly about you. Did you eat? Did you sleep well? Did you remember to turn off your stove?

Eventually, she’d 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, “I just… I really like having you here, more than I should, I think. You're really nice, and great, and I'm just so—"

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.

🐛🍎HOWDY PILLAR🍎🐛

At first, he’d interpret his feelings as “good business,” thanks to a strong customer loyalty.

He’d notice he’s prioritising one customer/neighbour, aka you, over profit without meaning after a while, however.

He starts giving you “discounts” 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 “over-servicing” you in a way that’s clearly beyond normal shopkeeper behavior, and even helps you carry your bags back home.

He feels bothered when you don’t visit, but tries to call it “an 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 “just in case you might like it.”

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, “This isn’t for sale. It’s yours. I just… kept it aside.” 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, “I’ve 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. “Ah. 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, “It wasn't a viable arrangement. Still, you are a valued customer!”

✉️📮EDDIE DEAR📮✉️

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, “I’ll 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, “Why does this feel different from helping everyone else?”

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, “Oh. I must have delivered that wrong…! T-that was meant for someone else! I'm sorry!”

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.

[corajnx]

ᯓ✮ Little Blue ✮ᯓ

AVATAR (Cameron) Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Recom Quaritch & Child Na'vi Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warning: Blood/Injury, Guns, Canon-Typical Behavior, Animal Attack, Swearing.

Length: 5,9K+

Chapter: 1/1

Summary:

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 toYômatan. At least, that’s 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.

“Attention! Hostile at 7 o’clock!”

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.

“Shit,” Quaritch cursed under his breath. It was a Hammerhead. “Everyone, back off! Keep your distance!”

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 Yômatan 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't—"

"Go, go, go!"

Quaritch fired another shotgun blast until the Hammerhead's attention snapped toward him.

Perfect—

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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 a—"

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, “Damn it.” He hissed. What a bitch. He pulled out his walkie-talkie and hoped that even while dripping wet, it would work.

”Lyle, I’m down. I repeat, I’m down. Do you copy?” 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.

”Looks like I’m by myself,” he said, sighing, and started to walk. He didn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

”Hi there, kid,” 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. “What the hell are you doin’ here? Where is your mommy?”

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 wasn’t 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, didn’t understand shit.

"Yup, got hurt, but don’t worry. This ain’t enough to kill me,” 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. “See you later, kid.”

For several seconds, he heard nothing except his own uneven footsteps and shallow breaths.

Then—

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 couldn’t be a good sign.

He knew if he closed his eyes now, he wouldn’t be able to open them again, but it was so tempting, just to sleep for a moment—

Something touched his arm.

His eyes snapped open, and his knife flashed upward, but the target jumped away.

When he managed to look at—

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, couldn’t help but chuckle. It came out more as a wheezing, though. “What the hell are you doing here?”

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.

”You want to go there…?” Quaritch asked, looking at the dirt path. “Why?”

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, but…

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, I’m comin’,” 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. “I hope you know what you’re doing, kid.”

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 couldn’t quite pick up. Then you’d 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.

"Hey—?!"

Immediately, you hissed and jerked your hand back, a thin cut forming along your finger.

Quaritch let out a rough laugh. “This is what you get for playing with stuff that doesn’t belong to you, brat.”

You pouted at him and stuck out your tongue. It looked like you didn’t need to know English to know that the man was scolding you, huh?

“Yeah, yeah. Real mature,” he rolled his eyes.

Then, without warning, you took the knife from where he’d set it down, stuck the thing against your loincloth, and rushed outside.

”Hey!” Quaritch shouted after you. “I thought you were going to help me, huh? Where are you runnin’ now?”

You didn’t come back, of course, and he just sighed again. “This is what I get for trusting a kid, I guess.” He mumbled, and just…closed 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 didn’t 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 leg…didn’t?

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.

“Fuck!” 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.

“Oh… It’s you again, huh?”

You leaned in, then and, poking at his arm, then his gear and belt. Your curiosity was back in full force, then, huh?  “I should have guessed. Anyone else would have slit my throat by now.”

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?

“I should be thanking you, I suppose.” He said, “I would be dead without your help, that’s for sure.”

You crouched next to him and just stared at his face. You didn’t 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 couldn’t. His knee felt kinda numb? He wasn’t 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. “Thanks, kid.” 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 was…something 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.

“Tastes pretty damn good...!” He forced another bite down. “You’ve got some great taste, huh?”

You tilted your head again. Then, without wasting another second, you brought him another one.

Quaritch immediately raised a hand to stop you. “Oh—nah. Nah, it’s good. I’m fine.”

You shoved it toward his chest anyway. "You should eat it instead." He said, turning away his head. "You’ve got barely any meat on yourself, kid.”

You growled, tail swishing behind you. You were clearly annoyed, weren't you, you stubborn little thing?

“God damn it," Quaritch huffed. "Okay, I’m taking it.”

That made you smile, with gums and teeth and all.

“Oh, did that make you that happy? I am not eating this now, though, okay?”

You didn’t 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?

“Hey! Don’t mess with anything, got it?” Quaritch called after you.

Not that you would’ve 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. “…You are a smart little thing, aren’t you?”

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.

“It doesn’t taste as good as it smells, huh?”

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.

“Hey—nope.” He leaned forward fast and took them back from your hands. “These aren’t toys, champ. Wouldn’t want you blowin’ us both up, right?”

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.

“Bring me that.”

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.

“I’ve gotta say,” he muttered, arms crossed, “your parents did a pretty good job with you.”

You paused and looked up at him as if you had known he was talking to you.

“But as friendly advice, you should be a bit more wary of strangers in the future.”

You didn’t 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.  

“Jumping in front of someone who could have hole-d you down until you look like Swiss cheese wasn’t the smartest move on your part, you’ve got to admit.”

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.

“C—lonel… ca—n you h—ear me?” A voice came from the other side. “Quar—itch… d—you cop—y?”

”Oh, oh, shit!” 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.

”Hey, kid!” He grabbed your arm and pointed at the walkie-talkie. “Come on, get me that thing, yeah?”

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.

“Yes, 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 arm’s length.

Then you dropped it carefully between his hands and immediately sat down beside him again, waiting to see what he would do next.

”Thanks,” Quaritch grinned, and ruffled your hair before returning to his call. “Affirmative. Can you hear me, Lyle?”

“Yes—yes, we got you. Where are you? Should we return?”

“No,” The man said firmly. “Continue your way. You’re still on target.”

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. “Hey, careful, behave.”

”I’m fine, Lyle. Just a bit hurt, but I’ve got help.” He said, then, turning back to the conversation. “Send me your coordinations every two days through the intercom. I’ll follow after you, but it might take some time.”

Then, there was silence for a moment.

“Help?” Lyle sounded confused. “By the n—tives? You s—re they w—nt kill you?”

”It’s fine,” Quaritch said, giving you a glance. “It’s just a brat anyway. I’ll send them their way before any of the top dogs appear, okay?”

“…If you s—so, Colonel.”

”This is all, then. I’ll see you in a few weeks. Over and out.”

”—ee you s—on. Out.”

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.

“Be careful there, kiddo,” 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 didn’t 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 didn’t have any place to return to, as he had started to doubt, well, you could always join him on his little voyage, he supposed.

[corajnx]

[dqjinx]

Protagonist's Home | No, I'm Not a Human (NINAH)

[dqjinx]

Protagonist's Home | No, I'm Not a Human (NINAH)

[dqjinx]

Pale Visitor gets you! | No, I'm Not a Human (NINAH)