#and then neatly covered them with a newspaper

[jessiescock]

I was just smoking at the window and witnessed my neighbour (elderly woman) dump out an entire huge bowl of chips. Girl i could have eaten those

[carnalcrows]

NO WAY OUT – THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x bottom male reader

synopsis: Trapped in a nightmare disguised as a quiet town, you make a desperate deal with the devil in a suit.

content warnings: 18+, dubcon (borderline noncon), gore, death, coercion, spit used as lube, painful penetration, a gun. dead dove do not eat

word count: 1.8k

The town had been quiet. Too quiet.

You had arrived with a small group, dumped in this unfamiliar countryside village with little explanation beyond the cryptic instructions: Survive until dawn, and you will be rewarded.

There was no mention of what you were meant to be surviving. No clarification on who, or what, might be out there.

It looked real enough—a cluster of rustic houses, a few scattered street vendors, a convenience store at the corner, and a small diner where an old radio crackled with static-laced music. There were people, too. Locals, you assumed, tending to their shops, walking lazily down the street, chatting as they leaned against their bikes.

And yet… something was off.

The air felt too still, like the town itself was watching. The people—while convincingly real—had a strange, rehearsed quality to them, like actors in a poorly directed play. A woman behind the fruit stall smiled at you, but her expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. A man sitting on a bench flipped through a newspaper, but his gaze never actually moved across the page.

You weren’t the only one who felt it.

“This is weird, right?” one of the others muttered beside you.

You nodded, keeping your voice low. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”

“Where even are we?”

No one had an answer.

Then, the first shot rang out.

A loud, piercing crack split the air, echoing between the buildings.

You barely had time to process it before a man in the center of the street jerked violently—his chest erupting in a burst of blood. He staggered backward, mouth opening in shock, hands clawing at the gaping wound before his legs gave out beneath him. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

For a moment, no one moved.

The woman at the fruit stall blinked at the corpse as if unsure how to react. The man with the newspaper lowered it, his lips twitching downward in something almost like annoyance.

Then the second shot rang out.

A woman’s head snapped back, a spray of red painting the shop window behind her. Her body crumpled.

Panic detonated.

Screams tore through the air. The "locals" abandoned their pretense of normalcy, scattering into nearby buildings, locking doors behind them. The other participants—actual people—bolted in every direction, sprinting for cover, shoving past each other in blind terror.

You ran.

Your breath burned in your lungs as you tore down the street, dodging past fallen bodies, slipping in their blood. You barely registered the faces around you—people who, just moments ago, had been joking nervously about what the challenge might be. People who were now dead or dying.

Someone tripped in front of you, hitting the pavement hard. They barely had time to push themselves up before another crack split the air—blood spattered across your face. Their body slumped forward, unmoving.

You kept running.

The town was a trap. The entire thing had been staged—a perfectly crafted illusion of safety, meant to lull you into a false sense of security before the real game began.

And now, the hunt was on.

You skidded around a corner, chest heaving. The bullets weren’t stopping. The laughter—the laughter—of your unseen pursuers echoed between the buildings. This wasn’t just a game to them.

It was fun.

Your stomach twisted violently. You had to hide.

The convenience store was the first thing you saw.

You ducked inside, slamming into the nearest shelf, sending a few snack bags tumbling to the floor. The store looked untouched. Too normal. The flickering lights, the neatly stocked shelves—it all felt like a cruel joke.

You pressed yourself into the corner, crouching low. Your hands were shaking. Your breath came too fast, too loud. If they found you—if they saw you—

The bell above the door jingled.

You went rigid.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

And then—

"You shouldn't be out here alone."

Your blood turned to ice.

The voice was smooth, velvety—too calm for a situation like this.

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned, pressing your back harder against the shelves. He stood just a few feet away, partially silhouetted by the convenience store’s flickering fluorescent lights. His suit was crisp, clean—untouched by the chaos outside. He looked completely at ease, like he’d just stepped in for a late-night snack instead of stalking a blood-soaked battlefield.

Your gut twisted.

He wasn’t one of you.

"You… you have to help me," you forced out, even as your voice wavered.

His expression didn’t change. "Help you?"

Your chest heaved. "They’re killing people out there—I don’t know what’s going on, but we have to get out of here before—"

He took a step closer.

You froze.

Something was wrong.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and measured, like he was considering something. You swallowed hard. He hadn’t looked surprised when you mentioned the killings. He hadn’t asked what was happening. He hadn’t even looked concerned.

Then it hit you.

He already knew.

Your stomach dropped.

He was one of them.

Panic clawed its way up your throat. You tried to move, to run—

Too late.

He surged forward, faster than you could react. A hand slammed into the shelf beside your head, cutting off your escape. The other gripped your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His touch was deceptively light, almost gentle—but beneath it was an unspoken force that made your pulse hammer in terror.

"Now, now," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You shook.

He was playing with you. Toying with you.

Your survival instincts kicked in, overriding every other thought in your head. You grabbed onto his wrist, voice cracking with desperation. "Please—I’ll do anything—"

Something in his eyes gleamed.

Oh.

Oh, you’d just said the magic words.

The corners of his lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t reassuring—it was wrong, twisted by something dark and knowing. He leaned in, tilting his head like he was thinking about what to do with you. His thumb traced absently along your jaw, a touch too intimate for a situation dripping in blood and fear.

"Anything?" he echoed.

You felt sick.

Before you could take it back, before you could rethink—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow.

It was hungry.

His lips crashed against yours, rough and possessive, as if tasting victory. His hand tightened on your jaw, angling you up to meet the force of it. The kiss was messy, feverish—sloppy. His tongue swiped against yours without hesitation, deepening the kiss with a level of control that made your knees weak.

Your mind was screaming.

This was wrong. So wrong.

And yet—your survival instinct told you to go with it.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, gripping it like a lifeline. His breath was hot, uneven, and the way he moved was deliberate—like he was savoring this, drinking in every little shudder, every sharp inhale you made.

You didn’t want this.

But you wanted to live.

His grip on you was suffocating, his body caging yours against the shelf. You whimpered into the kiss—half from fear, half from the raw intensity of it. He devoured you, taking his time, making it clear who was in control.

And then, finally, he pulled back.

A strand of saliva still connected your lips.

His thumb ran over your bottom lip, almost affectionate, before he leaned down, his voice a breathy whisper against your ear.

"Good boy."

The realization hit you like a freight train.

You weren’t escaping this.

You had already been caught.

His hand trailed from your jaw to you neck– almost choking you as his other hand went to the hem of your pants, pulling them down with a swift tug.

Reality hit you, and you looked up at him– wide eyed. His hand left your neck

“Hey– maybe this isn't a good idea–”

You were silenced by a gun pressed to your throat.

“I don't think you're in the position to make demands here, hm?” He questioned, revelling in the way your eyes widened with fear.

He trailed the gun down from your neck to your boxers, pushing it down gently to reveal your erection.

“So you do enjoy this… And here I was thinking I was the bad person.”

You shuddered as he nudged your cock with his gun– you were fucking terrified.

The hand that wasn't holding the gun went to your lios6, parting them open.

“Suck.”

You merely obeyed, sucking on his digits until they were slick enough.

He removed them with a pop and suddenly turned you around, so that your back was facing him.

He must've put the gun aside, but a guy feeling told you that you shouldn't try to run.

He prodded a finger at your hole– making you gasp. This wasn't right, this–

You screamed as he pushed his finger through the tight ring of muscle, the pain being almost too much to bear.

Without concern, he pushed two more fingers in, making your back arch into him.

His other hand held you close, digits pushing in and out of you, squelches filling the air.

The pain was soon overcome by pleasure, and you found yourself moaning softly, eyes drooping.

“Please–” “Please what? Use your words.”

“Fuck me– god–”

You didn't even get to finish your sentence before he removed his fingers from your hole and replaced it with the head of his cock.

You whined at the sudden intrusion, feeling so, so full.

He pushed his entire length in, until the tip almost hit your prostrate, before pulling out to the head and slamming back in with full force.

Your back arched, a loud moan leaving your lips.

Both his hands steadied themselves on your waist, holding you upright as he fucked into you like an animal in heat.

This man must be really pent up.

Your hands held onto the nearest shelf, the packets on it nearly falling out due to the heavy movement.

He practically pushed you into the shelf, your face getting smushed into the ramen packets.

Without a care in the world, the man continued fucking you animalistically, using you for his own pleasure.

Suddenly, without warning, he came into your with a low groan, hiding his face into the crook of your neck as he painted your insides white.

He pulls out of you as you come undone, coating the food that (hopefully) no one was going to touch.

He got up and adjusted his suit, reaching for this gun as you slowly turned yourself around, arms shaking.

You felt your eyelids close before you heard the cock of the gun.

You looked up in shock to see the gun being pointed straight at you, the man looking completely nonchalant.

“But– you said you would let me go–”

“Well… I lied.”

The gun fires.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[keisobe]

── ౨ৎ ‧˚ 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 (𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧)

・⸝⸝ some hobie brown headcanons where you’re the complete opposite of him + not completely proofread

notes. this was inspired by the anon who requested for “polar opposites” (i’m still working on that request TT). i’m a sucker for couples with different aesthetics because it reminds me of hachi and nana hshshddh ♡

you guys share an apartment together, and the contrast between your guy’s decor can be laughable. hobie has crumbled newspaper cutouts and band posters sprawled all over his walls— graffiti to roughen it up even more. while you had a dainty wallpaper with printed flowers, topped with assortments of neatly lined photos of you and hobie taken during your dates.

that’s why the living room in your apartment is completely bare. except for some framed photos of more cute memories and the dried flowers that hobie (stole) bought you on your first date. mostly, the trinkets you both own are scattered around the apartment.

hobie would be pouring cereal into a pink, bunny ceramic bowl. while you drink raspberry tea in a ridged mauve mug with the words ‘fuck capitalism’ written in hobie’s scratchy handwriting. and yes, you did take hobie to a pottery class as a cool date idea (he thought it was a cute idea too).

hobie always wears a copious amount of studded leather belts but also, your plush keychain(s) securely clipped onto his belt loops. hobie loves to show them off whenever he’s out with his bandmates— “ain’t it a lil’ cute? ‘s even got a lil’ blush on ‘s cheeks.” and that doesn’t limit him during his nightly patrols, he would get a few insults about having a ‘stupid toy’ on his belt, to which he would punch the daylights out of them and trap them in a thick layer of web.

you also proudly accessorize your bags with hobie’s handmade keychains. your favorite was a little replica of his guitar and a pink star that “represents you”. but because they are personally made, he would leave song lyrics and flirty comments written in the back of each keychain— marking the date when he gifted it to you.

going shopping with hobie was also lots of fun. there was a nearby boutique that you always shop at; selling exclusively skirts and dresses adorned with frills and bows, and hair accessories that are covered in pearls and ribbon (he honestly sticks out like a sore thumb but he couldn’t care less). hobie helps you pick out stuff, taking clothes off the rack and asking you to try it on. he compliments you every time you show off, giving you a little twirl and whispering a suggestive comment that makes you slap his chest. if you decide that you weren’t particularly fond of the outfit, hobie would go out of his way to put away said clothes back into its rack whilst having a good chat with the shop owners (they love him to bits).

one time, you decided it would be fun to wear some of his stuff. putting on a studded leather choker he left on his bedside table, you walked out with your chin held high and a grin so big. immediately, hobie felt like he combusted five times and went over to graze a hand over your leathered neck— “you’re an absolute looka’ babe.”

whenever you guys are out, he would always keep an eye out for your skirt. not in a weird way, but to make sure it doesn’t show private bits that would entertain creeps that would pass by. that’s why he would subconsciously linger his hand on your hips and he would always let you sit in the subway train, amusingly eyeing down at you drawing whilst he holds onto the upper railing— guarding you with his solid frame.

you’re a real sucker for british dating shows. it wasn’t like you believed in them, but found them heavily entertaining. hobie had always been fond of the things you like, even though they completely contrasted his personal aesthetic and interest. but he cannot, for the life of him, agree with dating shows. as you snuggled into him and share a fluffy blanket— watching the latest season of said dating show, he would cackle as he gives snarky comments at every moment and heavily criticize the whole concept of “making yourself look li’ a knob on the telly” (you sent him to his room afterwards, he apologized the morning after).

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[bono-aesthetic]

𝙘'𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮....

₊˚ପ⊹: ̗̀➛ a short appreciation drabble of soft, fluffy kento nanami as your beloved husband

note: this is my 'debut' drabble on tumblr so it might not be so good-

warning: none! just fluffy kento as your hubby <3 (and a small mention of lovemaking, not detailed.)

word count: 500+

: ̗̀➛enjoy <3

husband!kento who is the type to pull you away from whatever you're doing (especially cooking) and lead you into a dance, smiling softly at your laughter-filled protests.

husband!kento who seems to be the sort of man who listens to gregory porter or barry white during rainy, lazy days when you both struggle to tumble out of bed.

husband!kento who makes sure to look down at you with sincere, lovesick eyes while he twirls you around in whatever new dress you're wearing, complimenting you ever so graciously.

husband!kento who admires your naked form and soft features in the morning sunlight that peeps through the windows after a night of passionate lovemaking.

husband!kento who would most likely then tuck a few strands of your hair away from your face, place a tender kiss on your forehead and whisper sweet nothings into your hair to gently wake you up.

husband!kento whose heart swells when he sees how gentle and sweet you are to children, already imagining just how much of a perfect mother you'll be to your own little ones.

husband!kento who has a particular green armchair in the living room, where on a polished wooden side table resides a shaded lamp, the daily newspaper and his reading glasses.

husband!kento who appreciates deeply that you don't move anything from that table. he is a man of structure and organisation and likes when things (neatly) stay how he first placed them.

husband!kento who will always listen attentively to what you have to say. whether it be about your day, suggestions on what to have for dinner or even rants about your bitchy co-worker, he will listen like it's his last day on earth.

husband!kento who is always happy to embrace the inner playful side of him when you both have ‘flour fights’ during your couple baking sessions. it usually end with both of you a giggling mess, flour covering a majority of your clothing and hair.

husband!kento who always seems to have to pull you away from the baby section of any store, a small smile contouring the corner of his lips when you ramble on and on about how adorable and tiny anything baby related is.

husband!kento who is always somewhat amused when you try to size him up and try to intimidate him with your height. mind you, he is taller and broader than you, so in his eyes, it's rather adorable.

husband!kento who would most likely take a few steps into your personal space and teasingly pat your head, a small smirk decorating his lips when you visibly bristle at this.

husband!kento who can't help but enjoy late afternoon chats with you (when he has the time) over a cup of tea. i see him as an earl grey type of man (maybe because of how mature i view him lol).

husband!kento who loves you so, so dearly and is willing to do everything to keep you happy as his darling wife. ask him to pluck all the stars from the heavens: he'll pleasantly spend the rest of his days, with you by his side, doing exactly that��

©𝖻𝗈𝗇𝗈-𝖺𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖼.

[melanirana]

A Tune and a Drink

singer!reader x bartender!sun/ moon

Suprise! Have a little something. You are a singer in the 1930's and two specific bartenders have caught your eye, just like you have caught theirs.

I even have a musik recommendation for this one. Habits - Vintage 1930's cover and Levitating - 1920s style cover by PostmodernJukebox on YouTube. Check em' out they're really good.

with that said, enjoy

It’s the 1930’s, the era of glamour, fashion, parties but most of all, good music. Big cities are getting bigger, new opportunities arise on all sides, technology is advancing and you are right in the middle of it.

You are known throughout the whole city, not famous enough to be known across states but known enough that clubs and bars fight to have you sing on their stage. To have you bless their establishments with your voice and draw in the people, so these people make their bar The City Bar.

Whenever you agree to sing at their club they make it known immediately. Whether that is through the newspaper, telling their guests who tell it their acquaintances, or hanging papers around the city. 

“downright heavenly”

“the voice of an angel”

“as powerful as it’s wonderful”

“rich with a beautiful smoky undertone” they call your voice. A bit of an exaggeration you think, you can agree on the smoky undertone but the rest. It must be because you hear your voice every day, when you wake from sleep, when you talk, when you warm up, when you practice when you sing.

But other people only hear you when you sing, it isn’t often it is a special occasion, it is desired it is sought after. To them it means so much and therefore it means so much to you. To sing for people, to lighten their day, to make them happy.

There is barely ever you turn down an offer to sing, it is simply a matter of when you have time again. More often than not you don’t come back to a bar for a month or two, too busy singing somewhere else, writing, or any other reason.

So why is it, that even with such a full schedule, you always find time to come back to sing at one certain high-profile bar named Celestias. 

People wonder. Is it close to home. Do you have a deal with the bar. Does it mean something to you. Is it the celebrities that frequent this establishment. Or is it simply the wonderful view of the river that divides the city, that flows right by the building.

All good guesses, but utterly wrong.

The reason you keep returning is the bar, those how tend to it specifically. Two highly advanced Animatronics.

Metal polished like a brand new 540 K Special-Roadster, but not just a car. Highly advanced machinery capable of many things, but not an industrial machine. Eyes that see, hands that move, mouths that speak, but not human.

The robot pair is truly unique with their circular faces and wonderful colors. One bright as a golden Charleston-dress under a chandelier, eyes so wonderfully bleu they seem to be carved out of the ocean itself with a crown of metallic rays. The other shines like a blue evening gown under a low light, eyes as dangerous and enticing as a ruby with a long silk night cap that looks like it was sewn from the night sky.

Both with crescents that split their faces in the fashion of theater masks.

Both wear high-quality suits, the black of the suits contrast with their color, making their color shine even more and complementing their long limbs. A thick tie sits at the base of their slim metal necks, the end tucked neatly into their suits. The golden animatronic’s tie is a rich scarlet as well as his half gloves that always cover the animatronic’s hands. The blue animatronic’s tie and gloves contrast his counterparts wonderfully with their deep navy blue.

The robots are the bar's pride and joy, placed where everybody passes by, and the reason why they come here. The bar.

You noticed the animatronics the first time you visited, they were hard to miss as the owner proudly showed you them, even when it was from across the room. After that you had no time to pay the two bartenders any mind, quickly surrounded by people eager to meet you followed by your performance only to once again be surrounded by more people.

It was only your third visit that you truly saw them, and saw them you did. In the middle of your performance your gaze wandered to the bar, and what you saw was the golden robot cleaning a glass and looking at you.

You were no stranger to being looked at, your place was the stage after all, but the way the robot looked at you was different from the usual. Almost love-struck in that wonderful half-lidded lazy smile kind of way.

Your response to the animatronic’s gaze was a particular smile while singing a more romantic part of your song. This would have people hiding their faces as they reddened, have them melting on the table they are leaning on, or your favorite, bring a hand to their face as they hide their giddy giggles.

This however was not the response you got from the bartender.

Instead, you got a raised eyebrow and an amused smile, the robot placed the glass below the counter without braking eye contact. “Are you sure?” he said without making a sound. A challenge.

A challenge that you accepted.

For the rest of your performance during any particular romantic part of the song you made sure to let your gaze glide to the bar and exchange look with it’s bartender. His expression had changed ever so slightly from the first time you caught him looking. Still mostly the same but now with a hint of danger mixed in.

You could feel the tension between the bar and the stage rise with each exchanged look, neither of you breaking eye contact during the few seconds you had.

It was the most exciting performance you had in a long while, but it had to come to an end. The night just started and you needed to save your voice for your continued performance later in the night.

Immediately you were surrounded and distracted by people once you started your brake. Even though you couldn’t see the bartender you were pretty sure he saw you. Shortly after you began your brake a waiter came up to you, on a silver platter sat a single beautiful decorated crystal glass. The glass is short and wide like a whisky glass.

A rich orange liquid filled the short glass to a perfect half. When you asked the waiter who sent you the drink he simply said “It’s on the house.” You had ever the slightest hunch from whom it came. When you sipped from the glass the taste of honey sweet and yet smoky whisky filled your mouth, followed by a fruity aftertaste.

You couldn’t help the little that spread on your lips.  

Later in the evening, your performance continued. But this time it was not the golden robot tending to the bar but his blue counterpart. A little childish part of you wanted to make the two bartenders jealous of each other, make them vie for your attention.

While resting the owner had told you more about the robots, how highly advanced they were, how they are unique and that there is no second pair like them, how they work together like a well-oiled machine. “Almost like twins,” he said.

‘Twins’

Maybe you can cause a little bit of a sibling rivalry then.

Nothing too bad, just a little bit of fun.

You didn’t even need to get the robot's attention, when you let your gaze wander to the bar he was already giving it all to you. You went through the whole routine again, you smile at the bartender during a romantic part of the song, he raises one eyebrow in a challenge and you accept.     

And just like his counterpart, he did not break eye contact as the few seconds you had each song ticked by.

This went on for a few songs until his counterpart returned. When you looked back to the bar you saw the two of them talking, the blue one facing away from you and the other blocked by his counterpart. They looked neither irate or iterated, rather they looked natural at least from what you could tell during those few seconds before you returned your gaze to the guest. 

Oh, too bad.

Maybe they figured out what you trying to do and decided to ignore you then. You couldn’t really blame them, even if you did. A fun challenge ended because you wanted some excitement in your life.

When next you returned your gaze to the bar you where meet not by one but two pairs of glowing eyes, both pairs half lidded accompanied by lazy smiles. The two robots have banded together.

Two robots band together against you in order to win this challenge, that is known only to you three. They might have been at a numbers advantage, but if they thought that you were going to let them win they were in the wrong. You were not going to back out just because it got more exciting. 

And so this challenge went on for the rest of the evening and into the night, unbeknownst to the other guests in the large room. 

By the time your performance ended it was well into the night, the sun was long gone and the moon took its place in the sky.

And just like always the moment you step off the stage you were surrounded by people eager to snag all your attention for themselves. You gave them your attention, but not all. Just like on stage, you glanced towards the bar but there were no eyes meeting you.

The bartenders had returned to their duty, now that your performance was over the guests wanted their drinks. Both animatronics hands move at impossible speed around the bar, you were surprised they didn’t knock anything over at the speed at which they were moving.

Your challengers are distracted by their duty so you allowed yourself the be distracted as well.

Not long after a different waiter came up to you, on the silver platter a tall wide decorated crystal glass. It almost looked like a whine glass but not quite, that moment you decided that you’d have to brush up on your glass etiquette. The liquid inside this glass was deep red, along the edge a ring of sugar.

Again as you asked who this is from the waiter said “It is on the house.”

You toke a sip and the sweet flavor of wine spread across your tongue along with a light taste of citrus from the ring around the glass.

That’s when you decided you have to come back and come back often.

And so you did.

Over the following months, you were at the bar at the very least once a month. Every time without fail, after you went on brake or finished your performance, a waiter would come up to you with a wonderfully decorated glass and the best-tasting drink inside of it.

Once, when your voice wasn’t the best to the point where it was hard to miss that you weren’t at your best, a waiter brought you a simple glass, inside was warm milk with honey when you asked who sent it the answer was “The bar.”

Months and months have past, and a good amount of change happened both in your career and in your relation ship with the bartenders.

Career-wise you have taken off. Now recognized and sought after outside the state you were busy going to new locations, meeting new people, meeting contemporaries, and singing your new songs.

You were outside the city more often and longer, but you made it a point to always drop by your bartenders.

Your bartenders, with whom you have not exchanged a single word since you first saw each other. The bartenders with whom your relationship has developed past a simple challenge.

The looks you exchange have not increased in length, which was nigh impossible while you stand on stage, but they have increased intensity.

Their looks are no longer love-struck but devouring. Every time they look at you they drink up your entire being, as if your existence and your existence alone keeps them alive. They now let their eyes wander across your form, you never see them doing it but you can feel their eyes on you.

As their eyes travel up and down your body, drinking it in. The way you move, the way your costume lays against your skin, the slightest of wrinkles in your clothing, the smallest of hairs it doesn’t matter. They absorb it all, like a flower after drought drinking up all the water it can get.

That night when you first noticed their eyes traveling you, you almost lost the challenge. 

When your gaze followed the path it took so many times before, you saw them. Sitting behind the bar counter, leaning on it as they rested their faces in their hands. They had no shame as they showered you with their affection, attention, adoration and anything else they could give you through their eyes alone.

You immediately felt your face heat up and the urge to hide your face but you caught yourself before you looked away. Your cheeks remained a soft shade of pink trough the rest of the night and your singing had a bit more pep in your step.

Not long after you reviled a new song that made big waves and that caused you to become more known. A song about the sun and the moon, how the singer basks in the sun's warm light, how the singer would follow the moon's beautiful light anywhere and never feel alone, how the singer oh so loves the celestial bodies and their wonderful light, how they wouldn’t know how to live without them.

You let the song spread before you visited your favorite bar again, you wanted to play with them before returning the favor of a warm face. And play with them you did. You teased, called members of the audience the sun and the moon, said how the song is devoted to all and everyone. You played up how this song is to remind of the things one easily takes for granted and that whole spiel.

In the corner of your eye you could see how the robots seemed to deflate with each word. It hurt, and a lot more than you expected but you had to do it so it would hit just as hard as their affection.

When the part came where the singer talks about their love for the sun and moon you let your gaze wander before firmly landing on the bartenders, you had not looked to them before this part of the song. You didn’t care to hide your smug smile on your face as you look at your dear bartenders.

And it worked, like a charm.

They went rigid as they listened to the words coming out of your mouth, completely and fully directed at them.

The cheeks of the robots started to glow a bright orange as some mechanism in their face began to overheat, small puffs of steam expelled from their joints as they tried to cool themselves. And just like you, they almost lost the challenge.

Those few seconds felt like hours, hours their eyes were glued onto you before you released them. From the corner of your eye you could see them fanning their face, desperately trying to cool the mechanism in their face and failing.

For the rest of your performance, their cheeks remained a soft warm orange.

And now, here you are.

Sitting in front of your vanity in your brand new apartment right above your favorite bar. The owner had gifted it to you as a thanks for visiting the bar so often and coincidentally bringing in more guests and therefore income.   

Said guests have started to slowly leave the bar below as it is about to close. You can hear the distant chatter of people through your open balcony door. After one more look at yourself in your vanity mirror, checking your makeup and hair to see if it is acceptable to leave your apartment in these conditions, you get up the close the balcony door.

The chatter has significantly lessened since the beginning of closing time. The few people outside must be the last stragglers.

The bar is now officially closed.

When you return to your vanity you catch yourself in the mirror again. Your simple dark blue dress pants reach slightly over your ankle. They blend well together with your black shoes, they are not your highest shoe when it comes to heel shoes but your favorite, they give you just a few inches more.

A light green poke dot poncho hangs from your shoulders, down to your thighs. It's loose and frilly, one of your favorites. It shows enough of your silhouette but not too much, even if that doesn’t really matter since you’ve worn very form-fitting costumes on stage before.

And yet again you contemplate your looks, you have been doing this for far too long. Changing outfits, makeup, hairstyles and changing the outfit again.

You never have trouble picking an outfit for performances before. So why is it that you are struggling now to pick an outfit, your not even preparing for a performance.

You just want to finally actually meet your bartenders.

You have been exchanging looks with them for months, basically flirted with each other back and forth. Hell, you have even confessed each other's love for one another. You wrote an entire song to do it.

So why are you so nerves.

You look at yourself in the mirror for many moments and as the doubts about your clothing start to make their way back in your head and gnawing at your confidence, you all but run out the door. If you change again you’ll never meet the two.

They are already head over heels for you and so are you.

You make your way down the stairs. The staircase is illuminated by small decorative lamps along the walls, their colored glass shades bath the space in a warm yellow. With a rhythmic tack tack tack of your heals you make your way down the stairs.

Once you’re at the bottom you stand in the back hallways of the bar. No simple guest is allowed back here and yet the hallways are equally as decorated as the main floor. You haven’t had time to familiarize yourself with the all corridors, but you know the way to the stage entrance.

The path is well light and as you step on to the backstage, slowly you pass the curtain that decorates the side of the stage, the light just above welcomes you as always. Your heart is beating like insane in your chest and you have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm before you fully step out onto the stage.

The view of this usably packed place, now completely empty is more than a bit strange but that is not what you focus on. You focus on the bar and its lack of attendants. The bar sits completely empty, there is not a single metallic shine of robotic limbs to be seen. To say your heart drops would be an understatement.

Did you miss them, they should be here, they are always behind the bar. Do they just leave once the bar is closed.

Where are they.

As fear begins to pluck at your heartstrings, what if you don’t meet them now, will you ever actually meet them. Are the three of you cursed to only look at each other.

Suddenly a muffled noise from somewhere even further behind the bar gets your attention. You walk to the very edge of the stage and lean over the edge to listen for that muffled noise again.

It sounds like a conversation. And just when you think that it might be them, you see a flash of blue pass by a doorway in the bar’s wall that you didn’t even notice was there. All these months you look at the bar and nerve noticed that it has a backroom, well you were more so looking at the bartenders. But that doesn’t matter now, they are still here, you didn’t miss them.

Immediately your mood brightens by the power of the sun. You hop of the stage as quietly as possible and tiptoe your way to the bar counter. Easier said than done thanks to your heals. 

You are full of energy and nerves, your heart is doing leaps in your chest. You are as giddy as a kid whose dad is taking them to the toys shop to pick out a new toy.

In an attempt to stop the giggle building in your throat you bite your tongue. However that doesn’t stop the stupid smile on your face from spreading.

In on swift and quite motion you sit yourself on one of the bar chairs. You remain unnoticed. On top of the bar counter are two little bras bells, one with details painted in yellow and the other in blue. You have a hunch for what these bells are for.

Past the door, the conversation between the unknowing animatronics continues. You take one deep breath, then you ring both bells at once with a gentle tap of your finger. The sound the bells make is beautiful and light, but your trained ear can hear that one of the bells has a bit more reverb than the other.

The conversation comes to a stop and hear what you think is a synthetic sigh. Then out from the door steps one of your dear bartenders. His rays catch the light from above and give him the appearance of a glowing crown. His wonderful blue eyes don’t meet yours as he looks down to his hands where he works on putting his red half-glove back on his exposed hand.

His had is a wonderful shining chrome, the tips of his fingers are a brilliant yellow.

When he speaks his voice is butter-smooth and honey-sweet when he talks. “The bar is closed for tonight.” He sounds exhausted, like he had to have this conversation often. “I’ll have to ask you to leave-“

He finally looks up and meets your eyes, immediately freezing mid-step. He looks at you wide-eyed, surprised to see you of all people here.

“Oh, if you don’t want me here I can leave again.” You say as you turn on the chair as if to get up. “Ah- No. Stay.” The animatronic blurts out as he steps closer to the counter, one ungloved hand stretch out as if to stop you from leaving.

You lean back on the counter and smile at the sunbot, resting your head on the palm of your hand. “I’ll stay then.”

“Yes stay here.” The animatronic says quietly, sweetly, as he moves even closer. He drinks in your very being like he did so many times before, only closer now.

Your face warms up, about to catch fire. Already you can tell, that if he speaks even more sweetly to you, this will be a lethal encounter.

At least you know the names of your demise, after all the bar owner proudly told you their names during your very first performance.

From behind your Sun his counterpart emerges, his nightcap lazily resting on his shoulder, he is also not wearing his half gloves. Just like his counterpart, his hands are a shining chrome and his fingertips are a deep blue.

“Sun, what’s going on?”

You just about die. His voice is nothing short of heavenly. Deep and lush, simply beautiful. You can feel the vibration of his voice down your spine.

The lunar bot meets your eyes and visibly brightens. “Oh~.” You are deceased. “Finally decided to visit us~.” The animatronic says with a grin, showing his sharp teeth. He steps around his counterpart and stands next to him.

“Oh, you know. I had nothing else to do.” You lean forward, closer to them and fold your fingers together before resting your head on them. Both robots lean forward as well, closing the distance between you even more.

“Plus, I thought things were getting a bit boring, so I thought we make it a bit more exiting.” The smile that spreads across your face is smug.

Both bots raise their eyebrows, just like they did the first time. “More exciting? And how might we do that.” The golden bot asks.

Without saying a word you free your hand and reach for the sun bots face. His gaze follows your hand. Gently and slowly you reach under the bots chin and lift it, from where he was looking down at your hand, to look at you.

“Oh, nothing too big.” You say sweetly.

His internal workings kick into overdrive, the wiring inside his chest becomes louder, puffs of steam seep through his suit and the metal of his cheeks becomes a hot orange. The rays around his face fold back against his head and he stammers something before he wraps his hand around yours and removes it from his face as it is getting to hot.

However, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Next to him, Moon lets out a dark chuckle and it’s your turn to melt.

“Playing the jealousy game again?” The bot accuses you amused. “It was worth a try. Don’t you think?” You retort playfully.

He chuckles again. His gaze lands on Sun who has slightly recovered from your flirt, now he examines your hand with a loving fascination. You follow Moon's gaze and watch Sun as he gently turns over your hand.

It is only then that you realize how much bigger Sun's hand is compared to yours, his hand completely engulfs your with ease. A few seconds later you realize how much bigger they are in general. Sitting at a bar with a human bartender, you see eye to eye but with these two you have to crane your neck to look them in the eye, even if they are already hunched over.

So lost in your realization, you barely notice the hand that is coming towards your face. Blue fingertips gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before tracing your skin and cupping your face.

You can't help but lean into the cool chrome hand and let out a small sigh. You relax as a cool thump softly draws circles on your cheek and yellow-tipped fingers work their way up your arm.

And there you remain for longer, with your dear bartenders, no longer confined to look at you, but now able to touch you just as gently as they looked at you.   

[lovesick-joey]

Dragon Eyes

The aroma of Alfred's chamomile tea filled Bruce's nostrils, and he took a sip of it, feeling it warming him up from the inside. He felt calmer and at ease. It's been a while since he had felt that.

Placing the cup down, he watched Alfred cleaning the counters before turning his gaze towards Dick. His son sat with his legs crossed atop of his chair, his long hair neatly tied into a ponytail. His focus was on his phone, and with the way his brows were knitting, Bruce knew he had something on his mind.

"What are you looking at?" Bruce decided to ask.

Dick's head immediately snapped up to meet his eyes. He gave him a small smile. "Oh, typical," He says. "social media."

Bruce nodded reluctantly, sensing something amiss. He didn't question him further, though. He took another sip of his tea and picked up a newspaper.

Dick was still looking at him from the corner of his eye, and with sheer discomfort Bruce couldn't focus on reading anymore. He looked at him again, raising a brow.

The young man grinned sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Sorry. Didn't mean to stare.." He spoke halfheartedly. "..It's just.."

The more that Bruce looked at him, the more he realized Dick wasn't making eye-contact with him—he was looking at his cheek.

He was looking at the bruise that is most likely visible on his pale face.

Did he really hit me that hard?

Bruce stiffens and raised his hand to graze the purple patch just below his right eye.

"..Is it really visible?"

"Yeah, kinda."

Bruce sighs, turning his head to the newspaper. "I'll try to cover it up with makeup. The public won't know any better."

Dick was still watching him, but Bruce didn't make a move to engage in conversation. He really didn't want this right now.

Nevertheless, Dick pursued. "Bruce," The way his voice sounded made Bruce's shoulders tense, even more than before. He heard Dick put his phone down on the table. "I want you to talk to me."

Bruce let out another sigh. Folding his newspaper, he looked over at Dick. His son wore a solemn expression.

When he didn't speak, Dick did.

"I heard you and Eugene.. arguing, last night." He murmured. Here we go, Bruce bit back a groan that threatened to escape his lips. "Like, when I passed by your room.." Dick continued, twiddling with his thumbs, "..I heard him say.. fuck, I don't know, B. I didn't know he had such a mouth. I mean, I did know, but.. not to that extent.."

Bruce and Eugene had come home from patrolling Gotham City. It wasn't a good patrol at all—They dealt with arrogant street thugs and gang members and Bruce had to prevent Eugene from beating all of them until they were standing at God's doorstep. Their patrol was mostly them bickering with each other, and with the way Eugene is, Bruce knew he would meet the man's cold treatment later on when they got home.

And cold treatment he got.

Bruce could still remember Eugene's yelling in the back of his head. It never goes away. Nothing about Eugene goes away. Bruce might even say he'd get a lobotomy just so his thoughts would stop being plagued by him, but that's just an overdramatic response.

The punch still stung. Still hurt.

"..We had a bad time during our patrol last night." Bruce eventually replied, pausing to take a sip of his tea. The beverage didn't taste comforting anymore. He cleared his throat after putting his cup down. "You know how Eugene is. He's not good at handling his emotions."

Dick frowned a bit. "He's what, forty-seven years old? You'd think he would get his shit together by now."

Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "..We don't know what he's been through, Dick. He clearly has some trauma that he probably garnered growing up.. it would make sense why he's like that."

"Trauma doesn't justify abuse.." He heard Dick mutter under his breath, but decides not to speak on it.

"I must say, Sir," Alfred chimed in while simultaneously wiping the dishes dry. "Mister Amsel better get his act straight. Unlike you, I cannot tolerate his recent behavior."

Bruce remembered that time when Alfred kicked Eugene out of the manor. The old butler had caught him belittling Bruce in the Batcave, and after the 'hard R' was dropped from his mouth, Alfred had enough. He made Eugene sleep in the yard for two nights. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn't too happy about it.

"He'll learn with time." Bruce said. "He still has room to grow."

He wasn't sure if he believed himself.

Alfred subtly shakes his head while Dick's face hardened.

Bruce looked back at the newspaper in his hands. The paper creased under his tight grip.

TGCS ¦ Good Job. ‣ Mr. Hermit I won't be posting more TGCS content on tumblr anymore and will instead be continuing on ao3.

[strangesthirdeye]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐃𝐮𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴘᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇɴ (ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ)

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ > ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

• TEN YEARS LATER •

"Up! Now!" a loud booming shout followed by a loud knock on the door woke the twins from their sleep.

You groaned sleepily as you rested your arm on your forehead. Harry who had woken up from sleep began to sit up and put on his round glasses. He glanced at you who was still lying down. He then shook your shoulder half hard trying to wake you up.

"wake up, you lazy, aunt Petunia will be mad if we're still here" Harry said, still trying to wake you up.

"who in the right mindset wants to disturb my sleep, oh yes.. that's my brother, Harry James Potter. He's booked a grave a long time ago. All that's left is to go in and bury him" you said sarcastically and sat up and brushed yourself off from sleepiness.

Thump Thump Thump

"I said now!" Petunia yelled before she walked away.

"she's not good at patience" you muttered before brushing your hair neatly.

"it's Aunt Petunia we're talking about, she's always like that" Harry replied , he brushed his hair too neatly.

Suddenly, their cupboard shook when their cousin, Dudley came down while stomping his feet on the stairs. Dust fell from their heads. "Wake up Cousins! We're going to the zoo" Dudley shouted as he stomped his feet on the stairs. Dust is falling more and more.

You groaned in disgust. "Zoo.. Dudley should be one of the animals there. I mean why go to the zoo if we have animals in this house. He and his family behave like animals. The zoo should take them"

"and yet they take care of us since we were babies" Harry said positively. "I don't like saying this but it's true" he added.

The thump was still heard from above. Dust fell into your hair and you groaned angrily.

"I swear to god, if he does that again, he'll fall down the stairs" you cursed under your breath.

"let's just hope that it will happen" Harry said before he opened the cupboard door and went out.

You groaned lazily before following your brother out only to go back in when Harry was pushed inside by Dudley. You grunted.

"seriously" you said, not satisfied, gently pushing Harry away from you.

Harry fixed his taped glasses and looked at you apologetically. You brushed off okay sign at him before exiting the Cupboard after Harry exited.

The two of you moved to the kitchen where Aunt Petunia was frying a bacon in the gas stove. She wiped her hands with a handkerchief. Her eyes focusing on Dudley who was standing in the kitchen.

"There's the birthday boy! Don't you

look smart for your trip to the zoo." she gushed over her oversize son.

You looked Dudley up and down, judging his choice of outfit like a jury. 'oh dear, is that what you call smart looking?' You thought mischievously.

Aunt Petunia then turned Harry and you bitterly. "You mind the bacon. And don't dare let it burns. I want everything perfect on

my Dimplin's special day. And you, girl go pour coffee on the table" Aunt Petunia ordered.

"Dimplin or Dumpling" you muttered lowly, Harry stiffle his laughed upon hearing it but Aunt Petunia heard it too.

"Watch your mouth girl or you won't eat for a week" Petunia yelled. "now go!"

"yes, Aunt Petunia" you and Harry said in unison.

"Bring me coffee, girl!" Mr. Dursley said out loud. His sausage fingers clutched a newspaper.

"yes uncle Vernon" You said sarcastically, faking a sweet tone. Coffee was brought in hand and placed in front of Vernon

Vernon glared at you before he stretched the newspaper and hid his whole face behind the newspaper to read.

Petunia who was covering Dudley's eyes walked towards the pile of gifts in the corner of the kitchen. You frowned because you didn't notice the presence of the pile of gifts.

'Since uh when are there gifts there?' you thought

Petunia giggled at Dudley as she opened her palm from covering Dudley's eyes. Dudley face is.. unreadable as soon as his eyes set on the pile of gifts.

"how many are there?" Dudley asked his father.

"Thirty-six. - I counted them myself." Vernon replied with pride trying to please his son.

"Thirty-six! But last year I had thirty seven!" Dudley shouted, not satisfied.

"Well now, son, some of these are quite

a bit bigger than last year-"

"I DON'T CARE HOW BIG THEY ARE!" Dudley grumbled.

Aunt Petunia started interrupting Dudley. "Now, now, here's what we'll do. Today, when we're out, we'll buy you two more. presents. How's that, popkin?"

Dudley was silent for a moment. Maybe he was thinking about what his mother suggested, right? If he has a brain to think.

Y/n cackled at that thought that Dudley didn't have the brain to think.

"So then I'll have..I'll have.. " Dudley stuttered.

'oh man, he's bad at math" you thought before with the intelligence of Albert Einstein, you interrupted his stuttering.

"Thirty eight, popkin." You replied with a fake sweet tone.

Aunt Petunia glared at you and smacked your shoulder hard making you wince.

"what did i say about keeping your mouth shut!" Petunia yelled.

"I'm just helping him count" you replied, rubbing your sore shoulder.

"don't go against my word" Petunia warned.

You give in. "yes Aunt Petunia"

Petunia glared at you with hatred. Honestly, you don't know why she hates you so much. Like really really hate you. As if you are the bearer of the most unfortunate thing in the family. She even treated Harry better than you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

• TIME SKIPS •

After putting on your shoes, the two of you are now in front of the house. You who only wore an oversized hoodie and black pants walked forward Harry who wore a gray shirt underneath a checker over sized jacket along with his old brown pants that were a little big for him no doubt belonged to Dudley.

Before you two could get into the car, the collar of your shirt was pulled by Vernon. Vernon glared at you two.

"I'm warning you now, you two. Any funny

business, any at all, and you'll have no meals for a week." Vernon warned.

You narrowed your eyes at him. 'like we have never been given the same warning over and over again'

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

• ZOO •

"please tell me why we have to follow them to the zoo" you muttered, leaning forward on the metal bars in front of the snake enclosure.

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon forbid us from staying in their house without them. Honestly, we don't do anything besides play games on Dudley's computer" Harry whispered the last part so that it wouldn't be heard by the Dursley family.

"I'd rather be locked in a cupboard than follow them to zoo. At least I have a few chapters of my book to finish" you huffed.

Dudley presses his pudgy nose to a gleaming plate of glass. Eyes looking at the python that was curled up sleeping. To annoy to witness human behavior behind its enclosure.

"Make it move" ordered Dudley.

Uncle Vernon as ordered by his son, knocked hard on the python's glass cage.

"Move!" he said loudly so that the snake could hear. Does Snake have ears?

Dudley knocked the enclosure loudly. "Move!" He shouted.

"he's asleep" Harry said to Uncle Vernon and Dudley.

"He's boring" Dudley mumbled before waddling away from there. Aunt and Uncle Dursley followed him from behind leaving the Potter twins there.

You look at the python with sympathy. "poor snake, having to deal with people like that"

Harry nodded in agreement. "Sorry about him. He doesn't understand what it's like, lying there the day after day, watching people press their ugly faces in on you..."

The snake raised its head and nodded. You widened your unmatched colored eyes at that in amazement.

"uyoooo"

Harry stopped for a moment before he said lowly. "Can you hear us?"

The snake cocked its head and winked. You gaped at that. Too excited about what you witnessed.

"It understands us" you said lowly, not wanting to attract people that you can talk to snakes.

You glanced at your brother who was still stunned by what happened. You nudged his shoulder. "oi, say something"

Harry jerked. "sorry, It's just; I've never talked to a snake before. Do you, I mean... do you talk to people often?"

The snake stared at the two of you for a few minutes before shaking its head saying no. Harry nods, looking a bit unnerved. You smiled excitedly.

"look at you.. So big.. Wonder what will happen if you escape from here" you observed the glass enclosure in front of you.

"don't jinx it, Y/n" Harry said, nudging your shoulder.

"alright, it's not wrong if I'm imaginative. I'm creative, you know" you muttered before looking at the snake. "so, you're from Burma, aren't you? Was is it nice there? Do you miss your family?"

The snake moved its head to the right where the sign of bred in captivity was displayed.

Harry looked at it sadly. "I see. That's us as well. We never knew ours parents either."

"We're orphan.. So we're the same" You make the gun sign with your fingers. You pointed your index finger at the python.

"That's pretty straight forward, Y/n" Harry said, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"At least the things that are straight forward are things that are true and can be believed" you shrugged your shoulders.

Harry wanted to reply but then suddenly he was no longer standing where he was standing. Instead he was on the floor, grunting in pain.

"'MUMMY! DAD! COME HERE! You won't believe what this snake is doing!" Dudley said, excitedly.

"you little shi-"

Suddenly, Dudley who was excited to see the snake while putting his pudgy nose to the glass enclosure turned into panic when the glass enclosure suddenly vanished causing Dudley to fall down into the glass enclosure of the python snake. Stunned by what you saw, you took a step back. The important thing is that you didn't do this, even though you are hoping that Dudley will suffer the consequences. You exchange looks with your twin who is still on the floor, stunned.

the snake slithers out, and people run screaming. Stunned, Harry watches the python slip out of its enclosure. You moved on Harry protectively. The snake stared at both of you.

"thanksss" it said.

"anytime" Harry replied still stunned by what happened.

"bye bye" you said aimlessly. 'wait, did that snake just speak?' you widened your eyes.

The snake nodded its head before slithering out lf the way, scaring and hissing at people who prevented it from going out.

The glass in the enclosure reappeared, trapping Dudley in it. Dudley turned into panic and terror with what happened to him making him screamed in terror, calling his mother and father

"Mommy!" he screamed in terror.

Petunia screamed in terror upon seeing her son. "My darling boy! how did you get in here?!"

You who is kneeling beside Harry smiled contentedly at that scene. This is what you expect. As you said before, Dudley should be one of the animals here. Harry giggled at the panicked and whimpering Dudley.

While you were smiling and laughing, you didn't realize that Uncle Vernon was sending you a look of warning.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[ryah-wolfe]

Just Say It Three Times

When Alfred asked for volunteers to hunt down the old Halloween decorations, Tim was more than willing to go. He needed space away from everybody. 

When was the last time they had everybody back in the manor? He needed space to breathe; away from Dick’s hover, Stephanie’s poking and prodding. Away from Cass’ watchful eyes, and Damian snide comments. 

And just Bruce’s everything. 

But Alfred had asked. And so everybody dragged themselves back to Wayne Manor. 

It had been years since manor truly got decorated for Halloween. So the boxes were packed away in a unused room. It took him some time to find the room, it was a small room filled with boxes and covered furniture. The boxes were neatly packed and so Tim started to look through them;  lifting boxes to find the Halloween stuff. It was while he was shifting a box around, he saw the name. 

Jason Todd.

The name of a boy no one talks about. Well, sometimes Dick would when he was deep in his drink. But it was mostly crying. Tim knew the story from his own research, Jason died young and tragically. 

Curiosity killed the cat, Tim thought as his fingers traced the name. Alfred’s writing, not Bruce’s.  

But satisfaction brought it back, and all thoughts of Halloween decoration were long forgotten. 

He slowly pulled the box open, books. Old classic literature books, a comic here, or there. He gently shifted things around, he wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable fully pulling items out. That felt like going too far, like physically pulling the memories back into the present. 

His gentle rearranged the items to expose a thick parchment. Thick black ink, with bold red text, like some old newspaper ad?  His fingers snagged it and pulled it for clearer view.

RedHood, The Human Hunter for Hire

Are mortals disturbing your peaceful afterlife? 

CALL!

REDHOOD

REDHOOD 

REDHOOD

It was an ad? Seems rather morbid to be in a box about a dead boy. Alfred wouldn’t have placed it in here. 

Maybe Jason was into that kind of thing. The strange and unusual. Tim glanced a the well worn cover of  Pride and Prejudice, no that didn’t seem like something Jason would’ve been into. 

Tim dragged his finger across the name.

 RedHood. 

Another slide of his finger, but this time he was compelled to speak the blood red words.

“RedHood”. 

Tim jumped at his own voice, surprising himself. His voice and the name echoed around the room.

When had it gotten so cold? 

He’s supposed these rooms were further from the center of the house and just tended to be colder. He dragged his finger from the first to the second name. Identical to the first and just as blood red. 

“RedHood”. 

This time he whispered the name, his breath caught  in his chest. His heart thundered in his chest. His finger went to the third name, and  pressed into it. He opened his mouth for the third time to speak, but he choked. The words caught on his dry tongue. He swallowed a few times before he started again.

“Red-”

“ Timbo, did you get lost in here?” 

Tim startled forward, and shoved the morbid ad back into the box. Dick poked his head through the door, before he opened it fully to let the hallway light in. 

Tim blinked his eyes at the sudden flood of light. Had he been sitting in the dark? When did that happen?

Tim turned his head to look at Dick and opened his mouth before coughing. His tongue was sandpaper and his lips were chapped. 

“ Whoa, Tim, are you okay?” Dick  rushed forward and Tim quickly placed the lid back on the box and tried to push the box deeper into the pile. Hoping the name wasn’t showing.  

“ Sorry I guess I’ve just been  looking at the- Tim made a grab for the closest item, a santa nutcracker-   “ nutcrackers Alfred used to collect”. He holds up the nutcracker, a pink cheeked, jolly wooden figure. 

Dick cringed away from it.  

“ Please don’t remind me of those” The older man groaned as he kneeled next to Tim, and placed a comforting hand on his back. 

Tim is cold, Dick through with a frown. 

“ I remember falling asleep in front of the fireplace one year and the first thing I saw was the army of Nutcrackers, staring down from the shelf”. 

“Is that when Alfred stopped displaying them?”

“Oh man, I had such bad nightmares afterwards” Dick laughed as he looked at the santa in Tim’s hand. He kept his hand on Tim's back and Tim didn’t shrug his hand off. Dick thought about the tension in the family now, everyone trying to help Tim and Tim pulling away from them.

Tim’s accident, Dick thought somberly, really did change everything. Bruce has told everyone to give Tim space. And so they did.

“So, other than finding the creepy santas, did you see any of the old Halloween stuff” Dick asked as he glanced around the room. It seemed like it was mostly old furniture and stuff from when bruce’s parents were alive.

“No” Tim shivered as his body started to register the cold temperature.

“That’s fine” Dick replied as he shifted his hand from Tim’s back to wrap around the younger man’s shoulders and pulled him up off the freezing floor. 

“Maybe we can go shopping with Alfred for new stuff, doesn’t that sound fun?” He squeezed Tim’s boney shoulders. He’s definitely lost some weight, has Tim been eating?  

“Yeah lots of fun” Tim mumbled halfheartedly before placing the wooden figure back into one of the uncovered boxes.

His body felt drained and he was starting to feel light headed; that why he didn’t pull away from Dick’s warm hold.

That’s definitely why, Tim  thought as Dick started to pull them out the room and into the brightly lit hallway. 

He was only half listening to Dick’s rambling about planning the perfect Autumn family day. Filled with halloween shopping, carmel apples and pumpkins. Tim turned his head to glance back into the dark room and thought about the box with a dead boy’s things and that weird ad, sitting with Jason’s things.

RedHood. He shivered one last time before Dick closed the door. 

RedHood the Human Hunter

Are mortals disturbing your peaceful afterlife?  

CALL!

REDHOOD

REDHOOD 

REDHOOD

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Events In The History And Of The Life Of Elvis Presley Today On The 31st Of July In 1969.

Elvis Presley International Hotel, Las Vegas July 31st, In 1969.

Known for a powerful stage presence in total command of every room he has ever worked. But backstage at the International Hotel on July 31, 1969, Elvis Presley was packing back and forth like a panther. In a few minutes, he would march out into what was then the largest showroom in Las Vegas, holding 2.000 people.

Elvis Presley In Concert July 31st, 1969. Las Vegas, NV.

Dressed in a chic black tunic and bell bottoms that matched his long but neatly combed black-tinted hair. Elvis Presley stepped onstage last week at the International Hotel in Las Vegas and launched into the driving beat of 'Blue Suede Shoes'. The audience of 2,000, most of them over 30, roared and squealed in nostalgic appreciation. In spite of his updated look, ElvisPresley hadn't changed at all in the nearly nine years since his last personal appearance. Shaking, gyrating and quivering, he again proved himself worthy of his nickname, The Pelvis. Which he himself found it to be very childish coming from an adult Through nervousness caused him to sing 'Love my, me tender' for 'Love Me Tender', the pasty-faced enchanter quickly settled down to work his oleaginous charms, backed by a 30-piece orchestra, a five-man combo and a chorus of seven. Oozing the sullen sexuality that threw the America into a state of shock in the 50's, he groaned and swiveled through a medley of 'Jailhouse Rock', 'Don't Be Cruel', 'Heartbreak Hotel', 'All Shook Up' and 'Hound Dog'. It was hard to believe he was 34 and no longer 19 years old.

In fact, there are several unbelievable things about Elvis Presley but the most incredible is his staying power in a world where meteoric careers fade like shooting stars, Elvis Presley shot to the top in 1956 with 'Heartbreak Hotel' and has stayed in the uppermost tax bracket ever since.

Forty-seven of his singles have sold more than a million copies. He has made 32 movies, currently turning them out at a rate of four year and raking in a cool million plus half the profits for each. Presley's income is estimated at $5 million a year and he spends it freely. Among his purchases are an antebellum mansion called Graceland near Memphis (the house is painted luminous blue and gold and glows in the dark), and a succession of cars including a gold Cadillac. No ones knows how much the boy from Memphis is being paid for his four week Las Vegas stand but, according to Presley associate, 'Coming in on the heels of Barbra Streisand, you know that it's over a million'.

Brief Review By Terry O'niell

Rare Color and B/W Candids Taken Here By Elvis Presley Fan And Journalist Reporter Terry O'niell Who Was There By Elvis Presley's Invitation Covered Elvis Presley's Opening Night For The British People And Elvis Presley Fans The London Evening Standard Newspaper On The 31st July in Vegas NV In 1969.

[dotcie]

— BAD DOG. [2]

》 PAIRING: simon 'ghost' riley x f!oc 》 NOTES: taglist is open! please let me know if you want to be added or removed. if you don't care about my OC, you can skip her backstory on ao3. 》 WARNINGS: 18+ | MDNI | hair pulling 》 CHAPTER: 3.9k | 2/? [masterlist] | AO3

Before she met Laswell, Jane did media monitoring for the DISA. 

It paid well for a job straight out of undergrad. Had reasonable hours, pleasant enough colleagues. She commuted the twenty minutes from her shitty apartment in Kingman Park to the Pentagon—arrived at seven forty-five with a cream cheese bagel and a skim milk latte. Wrote reports, emails, and memos. Hours and hours of political speeches, barking rifles, and screaming civilians ingrained in her brain. 

''Like a fucked up collage of the human greed for oil and retribution,'' she once called it over an almost empty espresso martini. Condensation pearled off the glass's rim and pooled on the table of an overpriced speakeasy bar, so unimpressive it was not worth remembering its name. Her questionable Tinder date had been late, his small-talk rather boring; No, she didn't like her job. Who ever did? But rent was expensive in DC, and Jane had student loans, expensive taste, and maybe eight hundred dollars in her checking account. 

She covered newsstreams out of Egypt, Lebanon, and Jordan. Iraq, and Yemen. Algeria. Libya.

Ate lunch at her desk—usually a salad and a protein bar, four busy screens in front of her. 

Had meetings with Cairo, Beirut, Amman, Baghdad, Sana'a, Algiers, and Tripoli.

She joined the white-collar crowd on their evening run around the Mall after work. From the Capitol steps to the Lincoln Memorial, around the reflecting pool. Two times, sometimes three. Always depending on the restlessness that hummed in her bones and tingled in her fingertips. 

Jane shoved her damp hair up with a clip and hopped on the blue metro line afterwards; sweaty and breathless, body humming with spent energy. She stopped at Whole Foods on her way home; bought dinner-for-one and a four-pack of sugar free Redbull. Put on noise canceling headphones without listening to anything on her way home—spying into warm lit windows and other people's lives. 

She ate in bed, crouched over her Macbook, the TV always set to CNN. She practiced Arabic. Scrolled through subreddits about zero-day exploits, but never commented on them. Went to bed late, woke up early. Got up the next day and did it all over again. 

Washington is a big city, in a big country, in a big world, and nothing ever changed. Jane just sat in her gunny-covered cubicle and watched whole cities crumble to dust like sandcastles. The local newspapers only covered a watered-down version of the turmoil overseas, but the mental images were always in the back of her head—no matter how loud she turned the TV. 

It's all part of a grand plan, she told herself. Just another rung on the ladder, an essential middle-step in her career. It was comfortable and disturbing. Exciting enough, but nothing impactful.

Nothing with an edge. 

The job had a sky-high turnover; a bad impact on employees. Turns out, swallowing the documentation of invasions, and civil wars, and an endless flow of American exceptionalism was only manageable for a couple of months. Jane became miserable and angry. Tired and strung-out. When handing in her two-weeks notice without a back-up plan, her supervisor accepted the neatly printed note with tired eyes and an annoyed flick of the wrist. 

Her therapist blamed her sense of weightlessness for everything she did afterwards: the thrill-seeking, the risk-taking. All her screw-ups in pursuit of sticking her fingers in better pies. When the agency sent her to the embassy in Urzikstan, Jane canceled her rent-controlled apartment lease early and donated most of her belongings to the Habitat For Humanity in Capitol Hill. Burning the boats, she called it. 

For months, no one could get a hold of her. 

Analyst positions for counter-terrorism overseas will chew you up and spit out your bones, a friend in the IOC had warned her. Jane was up for it anyway—of course she was. She had witnessed a few horrendous things through screens in Washington, but nothing compared to the situation in Sakhra. Like most soul-crushing things in life, it all wasn't real until it was. 

The first time she experienced the ruthlessness of the real world, a local contractor whose family was killed by American soldiers blew up half a base with some DIY C4. 12 soldiers dead, 24 injured. If not for Laswell yanking her into the shadows behind a M1A2 when panic erupted, she would have been trampled to death under the burning afternoon sun. 

Instead, Jane heaved, and coughed, then sank to the dusty ground with ringing ears. Kate towered over her with a drawn P890, yelling all-too-calmly over the wailing of sirens: You have twenty seconds to get it together.

They made her take time off two years later, after a black site she was stationed at suffered another, similar attack. Jane was resentful of it, but she wanted to keep her clearance, so she left with the next supply plane and said what she needed to say to pass the psych evaluation. 

She considered moving back into her grandparents ranch in Arizona. Maybe traveling through Europe, starting a new hobby (rock climbing, pottery, crocheting); but there was no real drive or push behind it. Instead, she bled in secret. Fucked strangers on her frameless king-size mattress and worked out too much in her unfurnished apartment. She got offers; a few private-sector contracts she knew she couldn't entertain. Jane wanted to stick it out with the agency—and Laswell. Especially with Laswell. 

The first question Shepherd asked her when she stepped into his office was if she had any family; a partner, kids, siblings. Parents to take care of. The General asked bluntly, but Jane was used to force as the most efficient method to get answers. 

She had spent three years interrogating Al-Qatala members and contacts. Trading money, safety, and threats for intelligence. Sleeping through the sound of gunfire, bystanding interrogations, interpreting intelligence, and snooping in places Americans aren't supposed to. Jane had left her old life behind and dove head-first into a tunnel vision.

No. She had no one. 

When saying it out loud she almost sounded proud. 

Working for the General is different. Non-official cover work for SAD intel suits her better—scratches a certain itch, too. Like finally tasting blood after biting your tongue for years. 

Laswell has been helpful, the additional training too; but nothing ever prepared her for the void between long-term missions. When the work is done and restlessness returns in weird jet-lagged hours of the fading days. When there are no objectives to sink her teeth into. No foreign streets to roam under false identities. No predictions to be made, no strings to pull. 

She's stuck in Iceland now, attending debrief after debrief. Her target is dead, the missile prototypes returned to the lab, but that isn't enough. They want to know everything. First the higher-ups at the Headquarters, then the Senate Intelligence Committee. They want the process. The months of searching, the people involved, the rules she broke. 

She did a good job, she got what she wanted, but she is part of Shepherd's system now, and he didn't approve of her moving forward with the operation. 

Since she returned to the lab, he hadn't answered any of her calls. 

Ghost is nothing but a silhouette in the low light of the crescent moon; sitting against a weathered wall of heavy concrete, a half-burned cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Insects batter against a naked lightbulb overhead—the light orange and warm against the dark of night, casting long, unproportionate shadows over the smoking area. 

The sky hangs bruised and stormy over Vatnajökull, a million stars dotting the night. It's quarter to one, and the grounds of 102 are deadly still—so still, that the sound of a nearby metal door opening and closing shut remind him of gunshots piercing through the air. 

Years ago, he would have flinched at the sound, but there is not much left that startles Simon Riley anymore. 

Jane tips her head back in annoyance as she steps outside, cradling her phone between ear and shoulder. ''Listen—,'' she scolds into it, patting the outside of her clothes for the pack of cigarettes she bought from one of the kitchen workers yesterday. ''Louise, right? Louise, with all due respect—'' 

She takes a deep breath of restraint when she finds nothing but a crumbled straw wrapper in the pockets of her leather jacket. Sharp words spill on the other end of the line, and she squeezes her eyes shut, pinches the bridge of her nose. ''I'm not going to argue with some mid-level bureaucrat, get him on the phone— No, no, you listen! I need a black passport, don't— Fuck—'' 

Jane's grip on the iPhone loosens with the sound of a disconnected call echoing blatantly against her ear. Simon can hear her mutter a spool of curses, the sound of gravel screeching under her feet, and how all sound seizes as she pauses at the sight of him. 

The smoking area is dimly lit, but there's no mistaking the broad-shouldered figure with the cramped up skull mask looming in the corner of the building. Simon appeared in her sight so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Jane would not be surprised if he materialized out of thin air. It would suit him; Ghost that he is.

Smoke pools out of the soldier's mouth, the balaclava pulled up to his nose; exposing a sharp chin with a shadow of stubble forming its way up a jaw set tight. He is hunched over, his elbows digging into his thighs. He doesn't look up to see that the expression on her face is one of mute surprise, or that her eyes narrow at the sight of him. 

''Thought you'd be gone already,'' she calls over, lounging near the door she slipped out of. 

''Change of plans,'' he returns easy and low, eyes glued to the book in his calloused hands. 

It's only been a few days, but his voice is as deep and as resonant as Jane remembers; it fills the air and makes her blood rush with the mental images of his fingertips digging into her skin. 

There's always a certain quietness after she's been fucked good—the world stands still for a moment, and it helps to quench the thirst, to fill the void.

Jane needs to hold something in her arms sometimes. Something unattainable and distant. Something unwise. Something like him. 

''Mind if I bum one?'' She nods to the lit cigarette between his scarred fingers, stepping closer.

For a split second, she thinks he's going to ignore her—then he dog-ears the page he was reading and abandons the book onto his lap. 

Simon looks up all casually and unfazed, shakes his head. 

''Last one,'' he says, half-lidded stare fixed on her in that particular Ghost sort-of-way. The way he always gets when you rip out the half-assed social niceties and expose the weirdo underneath. 

Jane exhales through her nose, leaning against a pole holding up the roof. The urge for frustration refuses to be ignored, so she buckles, comments: ''Of course,'' like she's taking notes on the irony of it all. 

''Stop pondering, will ya?'' Inhaling another mouthful of tar, Simon stretches out along the bench, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. The set of dog tags around his neck clink together when he scratches the underside of his chin. "No point in gettin' all antsy." 

She shoots him a cold, hard look for it—the one that makes his blood sing, makes him remember the expression in her eyes when she told him she wanted her target dead. 

''Thank you, Simon, for your unsolicited wisdom.'' 

The subtle fuck you isn't boarded in her voice, but it throbs under every word of hers. He doesn't bother scolding her for saying his name again, but the bitter taste of disapproval sure does coat his tongue. He's not foolish enough to argue with her when she's like this; all gutted and pent-up. Ready to hiss, bite, and lunge at his throat. 

The familiarity of it all stirs something up in him. For a moment, Ghost almost believes that it's sympathy, maybe—or at least a pinch of pity. A distant part of his mind remembers the dogged woman he faced when they first met; working out of a one-room shithole in a broken-down, brutalist apartment building somewhere in the Balkans. Reviewing surveillance logs, transcripts, and maps in shorts and a sports bra because the AC was utter rubbish. He recalls her hunched figure and unwashed hair as she worked out of the tiny living room—the space a mess of cables and empty microwave meals, her tech always charging. Her curtains always closed, dust dancing in the beams of light that crept their way inside.

Two days after the exfil, he barely recognized her anymore; with fresh clothes, twelve-hours of sleep, and hair neatly cut to a shoulder-length. It was like meeting a stranger, a whole different woman. He was certain, then, that the only way out for her was the same as his: leaving rotten and zipped up in a body bag.

Simon holds his half-smoked cigarette out to her, and she lets her head roll to consider the silent peace-offer. Her expression bleeds into something less angry in the face of him, and she hates that it makes him snort in response. 

Jane gives him the illusion of thinking it over before breaking away from her frozen stance and closing the distance between them. She takes the stub, and sinks onto the wooden bench next to him.

''Thanks.'' — ''Mhmh.''

Even with some distance between them, Simon towers over her. He doesn't make a sound, doesn't attempt to embarrass himself with comforting words and distracting small-talk. He's quiet—a man of few words and fewer smiles—but that's what drew her to him in the first place. There's caution behind his eyes, and his words are always cleaved off at the knee. A person weathered and hardy. A man who, just like her, has seen things most wouldn't even believe.

They both fall quiet passing the cigarette back and forth, and for a moment he thinks that the conversation has faded out completely. Simon's eyes return to the book in his lap, trying to find the spot where he left off before she interrupted him, but— 

''Do you think I went too far?'' Jane keeps her eyes forward, burying her free hand in the left pocket of her jacket. 

Simon hums in response, dark and low. ''Doesn't matter what I think,'' he says in a way that makes it clear he believes it, too.

''But you are somewhat capable of forming opinions, yeah?'' 

It coaxes a half-huff, half-laugh from him. He gets it. Logically, he gets it. Everybody is somebody's dog, hanging onto a leash; but he's military, and he much prefers to not comment on any of it. 

''You ignored authority,'' he starts, then pauses. ''Whether or not it was worth it, all y'can do now is handle the repercussions.'' 

''That's not an answer.'' Two dimples appear on either side of Jane's frown as she tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ears and leans forward. ''Forget I even—''

''I think," he interrupts calmly, but stern, ''that your self-doubt won't help you.''

Jane keeps her gaze flat, level. Perhaps if she mimics the face of apathy, Simon won't be able to see that she's hanging onto every word of his. What he says resonates; a quiet truth echoing through the air between them. The regret in her chest strikes like a bomb and for a moment, she fears the possibility of Shepherd cutting her TS/SCI clearance once and for all. She's been ignoring the thought, avoiding any evidence of worry that could shape her suspicions into something tangible, something real.

''Just thinking ahead'' she says quietly, scuffing her boot against the pavement below. "Little catastrophizing, worst-case-scenario planning." 

"Doomsday prepping?" He offers and gets a little smile for that. 

His chest tightens at the sight, an aching warmth interweaving his thoughts with sympathy. He looks away then, trying to collect himself. Seeking control, reaching for reason. Better judgment. Something else.

Jane studies his side profile for a moment, and Simon suddenly feels like she's too close, too comfortable in his presence. It's only a split second, the length of a heartbeat, but it's enough for Jane to take in the way he blinks his intrusive thoughts away. 

''Why are you still here, anyway?'' She asks in a change of tone, plucking the cigarette from his fingers.

''Taking a break,'' he drawls, words dripping slowly as molasses from his mouth. There is no further explanation offered, no words wasted on reasons or truths. Simon blinks languidly, his lips pressing together as he closes his book for good. 

''Because of Soap?'' There's an off-tone in her voice. ''I thought he is getting better already?"

Simon exhales roughly. ''No,'' he says with a lazy shrug. ''Yes.'' 

It's short and curt, but she doesn't let his vague hostility deter her. Jane just stares at him, impatience reflecting in her eyes, and he's not used to it; all the questions, the curiosity. 

''Do you know,'' he continues slowly, taking the cigarette back to keep his hands busy, ''the number of classifications and regulations I'd have to ignore to tell you shite like this?'' 

It's easier than admitting that he failed his psych evaluation for a second time in three years. 

Price is doing the paperwork for him, because they apparently want to negotiate some kind of terms for him. No rumors, no records, no further questions asked. Simon would be mad about it, if he wasn't so bloody tired. 

It's been years of regaining control and gripping bloody bathroom sinks. Endless hours of running, shooting, yelling over comms, and saving Johnny from the stupid, stupid shit he gets up to when nobody's there to keep an eye out for him. Simon is not a reckless man—at least not when he doesn't let his rage blind him—but you can't teach an old dog new tricks. 

He's not sure why he hasn't been able to admit to himself that his life has been nothing but fear, rage, vigilance, wanting, and searching, wanting, and never finding what eases the pain. 

He knows that Price goes back to a Rosewood desk with whisky and cigars in the upper right drawer, before driving home to a house and a woman that were once his. Laswell has a wife named June and a flourishing garden waiting at home. Gaz goes back to a two-bedroom flat in London, decorated by a girl he met during the siege of the U.S. embassy in Urzikstan. Simon doesn't have anywhere to be—nobody's waiting for him—so he stays. For Soap, he tells himself, and everyone who's paid to listen. 

The Scot's injuries happened under his watch, so he might as well play messenger for his moms, sisters and one-thousand nephews until he can travel back home. It's what a good Lieutenant does. It's what Price would do. 

''Alright,'' Jane says cold, flatly. ''It's none of my business anyway.'' 

She declines the last drag of the cigarette when Simon offers it to her, and he can't help but feel like he's been rude; like he just ruined something delicate. A particular flavor of guilt clings to the underside of his tongue, and he's willing to answer whatever her next question might be in order to make it up to her. 

He stubs out the cigarette, and it takes a moment or two before he realizes that his guilt is the reason she gave in so quickly in the first place.

''I'm not gonna tell ya,'' he says, prompting a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth; like she doesn't fully believe it, but is willing to play along. 

He is too exhausted to not condemn her for it, so he covers himself in heavy silence. Simon doesn't break eye contact, doesn't move—his dark glance intervenes with the amusement in her eyes, and when the quiet stretches on for too long, her eyes dart to his exposed lips shamelessly. 

''Anyone ever tell ya' to mind yer' own business, Spade?''

It coaxes a genuine laugh out of her. Simon is not sure he's ever heard her laugh before; the way the sound bubbles out of her throat, limpid and clear, and then almost turns into a snort. 

''I like you,'' she says pointedly, with purpose. 

"You're just bored.'' — ''And you aren't?" 

Simon remains silent, and the glint in her glance grows bright, pinning. Like she just learned a secret; an inside joke. 

It's unhealthy, this habit she's developed of digging her fingers in his wounds. She feels like a parasite trying to crawl under his skin, and she should probably feel far more ashamed of how much she enjoys the thrill of it. 

She has heard the stories, of course. The legends about the masked, faceless man; the perfect soldier, the silent killer. Everyone affiliated with Shepherd or Shadow Company in the slightest is aware of Ghosts' reputation, and Jane had been curious to meet the man. Dead-eyed, mass of muscle. A walking depiction of death. 

The warning signs about him are written in blood, telltale stories, and that half-lidded stare of his; Stay away, they say. Keep your distance. 

''Don't—,'' he starts with the exhaustive sort of contempt: the kind that says he is tired and bored of this tedious game. ''Don't look at me like that.''

Jane bats her eyelashes at him. ''Like what?''

 ''Like you want something from me.''

''Maybe I do—''

"You don't,'' he interrupts, tongue like a blade. ''All bark no bite, last time I fucked you.'' 

In some twisted ways, his fury excites her. The insistence on his dominance, too, and Jane laughs out loud at words that don't sting. She's practiced; chin tipped up, meeting his disapproving stare with a smirk.

''You ever let anyone kiss you, Lieutenant?''

He looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. ''That what you want?''

''I think,'' Jane retorts in a tone both cruel and tender, ''you want it, too.''

The hard look in his eyes lets something uncurl in her. Something satisfied, something real. 

''You do,'' she says again, and then he's on her; hand tangled in her hair, pulling her close. His grip on her scalp is not gentle, nothing about him is, and she smiles—shows teeth—at the broad display of it. 

Simon stares at her for a long moment, a frustrated hum forming at the back of his throat. She can feel his breath on her face. Almost hears the whir of the wheels turning in his head; calculating, calibrating. 

''You don't know what you're getting yourself into,'' he finally says, loosening his grip. 

''I've done worse,'' she spits out, pulling away. 

It happens somewhere between her leaning back and him not wanting her to. It happens and it's familiar, and new all at once; the way he stops her from turning away, pulls her closer by a fist of hair. He kisses her like he does everything else: a little cocky, a little mean. Their teeth clack together, and Simon kisses Jane long and searching—like he was waiting for it to happen.

Like he means it. 

》 Previous Part | Next Part 》 Masterlist.

》 Tag-list: @devcica @glitterypirateduck @queen-ilmaree @widemiffyhappy @cathnoneofyourbusiness

[paranoidginger]

Moondrunk

(A Werewolf Spy Fanfic)

TW: Body Horror, Violence, Minor Gore, Mentions of Self Harm, Minor Alcohol Use

Just another day... Another evening. He had been falling behind whenever it came to his work on the field. The Blu team had lost once again... The Medic had called him on it, how sickly he had been looking as of late, his face gaunt in comparison to usual.

It had been nearly a month exactly since that... Thing had managed to get its filthy teeth on him. All he had wanted was a quiet walk outside... Some time to cool off after an especially worrisome bout of night terrors. He hadn't gotten a good look at it, it was massive, but he couldn't help but lie to himself and say that it was just some feral dog.

It had been late at night, and he was able to tend the wound himself. Distinct teeth-punctures half-ringing the middle of his forearm from where the beast had bitten him... He couldn't shake the feeling that the brief glimpse he had gotten of its eyes were oddly human...

He had refused to go to Medic when it had first happened, but today, he was beginning to regret that fact...

He sat in his room, his suit jacket hung neatly in his closet and his tie loosened around his neck as he sipped a glass of wine, hoping that the bit of alcohol would help ease his nerves as he tried to focus on reading the newspaper. He struggled to keep track of the words on the page, finding himself having to partially unbutton his shirt as he stood up, much warmer than he should have been. It wasn't long before he made his way to his window, pulling it open and sticking his head out into the cool night air, finding his room was becoming suddenly quite stifling.

He coughed slightly. Leaning on his windowsill as he took a shaky breath, a sharp pain shooting through his skull, and his chest feeling tight. He fumbled slightly as he removed his tie completely, struggling as he began to unbutton his shirt farther. Another jolt of pain shot through him, starting at the bottoms of his feet and creeping up his spine as the world began to spin around him.

Slowly and shakily, he lowered himself to the floor, grasping at his balaclava as he sat with his back to the wall, the mask beginning to feel suffocating, the way it wrapped and enveloped his head and face. He gasped, his breaths short and quick, as if he could not pull in enough air, no matter how hard he fought, dropping the face covering to the floor beside him. Blinding pain radiated throughout his body, a harsh scream escaping him, only to be muffled by his own hand pressed over his mouth.

Pain continued to blossom in his extremities, his head feeling as though it was about to split as he pressed his hands to the sides of his head, the heels of his palms pressing into his temples as he grabbed at his own hair, cracks and pops ringing out from the inside of his joints, his bones snapping and rearranging themselves as he began to seize and writhe on the floor, his teeth feeling too large for his mouth as he began salivating, his eyes rolling back as his body shifted and contorted against his will, whimpering screams escaping his agonized body. His clothes tore from the internal pressure as his form shifted beneath them, clinging to him in ragged shreds as he dug sharpened, claw like nails into his own shoulders, a soft trickle of blood beginning to work its way over his fingers and down his arms.

He lost himself within the pain... His vision blurring and going dark as his mind fogged, the splitting pain in his head only worsening as the bones of his skull warped and contorted beneath his skin, animal instinct taking over as his conscious thoughts ceased to be.

The Engineer paced slightly in his workshop, freezing as he heard the muffled cries from the Spy's personal room. On instinct, he grabbed his pistol, holstering it as he made his way carefully down the hall, doing his best to keep himself from causing a commotion, should an intruder have somehow made it's way into the Spy's quarters.

As he arrived at the entrance to the other man's room, he listened carefully, quiet whimpery sounds interspersed with animalistic growls and snarls coming through the door. The Engineer took a deep breath, exhaling gently as he began to open the door, his heart sinking as he saw the wreckage of the room. A wineglass broken on the floor, it's contents spilled, and his chair upturned, small blood smears marking a variety of surfaces in the room. He swallowed hard as he saw the tatters of the other man's suit strewn across the floor, torn apart with bits of blood staining the delicately made fabric.

"S... Spy? You in here?" The man called, looking around the dimly lit room, his hand on his pistol as he slowly pulled it from its holster. "If yer hurt, I need ta know..." He froze again, his gaze settling on the large, furred creature that sat crouched and curled against the wall. Deep crimson staining the thing's paws and fur... Good lord...

The man took a small step closer, watching as the beast took in shaking, shallow breaths, a quiet growl escaping it as it looked up at the man before it, unsteadily rearing onto its hind legs as it stood at its full height. Just over six feet, thin and almost frail looking dark fur grayed with age around its face and paws... The Engineer aimed his pistol at the things chest, readying himself to pull the trigger before noticing its eyes... He saw it clear as day, the fear and pain in those familiar grey-blue eyes... This wasn't just a beast, was it...

The creature could not help but flinch as the pistol was tossed to the floor, it's tall, thin form shaking slightly. He could not remember the face of the man in the room... Who he was, why he was there, but he was starving; Starving, and hurting, and terrified... He growled lowly, pointed canine ears folding back against the beast's skull as he lunged.

The engineer winced sharply as he was shoved to the floor, grabbing the beast's face and holding his muzzle shut as it snapped at him, staring at the familiar eyes of the creature as he struggled to keep it from biting down on himself.

"Dag nabbit, Spy! I know you're in there! It's gonna be alright, now... It's me, it's your Engie! I ain't gonna go and hurt you, sweet pea." He shouted slightly, gritting his teeth as he held the beast's mouth closed with one hand, pulling off his belt with the other and quickly tightening it around the lycanthrope's snout as the man he knew struggled and fought against him in this new monstrous state.

It was difficult, but eventually, the Engineer was able to wrestle the Spy's altered body down onto the floor beside the window, holding his head against his shoulder as he began to pet his head and the back of his neck, the Spy's efforts to escape dying down as the familiarity of the other man's voice worked its way into his mind. His stiff, shivering form relaxing slightly as he felt the warmth of the Engineer's hand combing gently through the fur that now covered his body.

"There ya are... 's alright... I ain't gonna let anything happen to you..." The Engineer spoke softly, holding the other man close as the night continued on.

-END-

This was inspired by @thatonesimp-e's Werewolf Spy AU idea!! This fic wouldn't have happened without them!

[lucaniseyebrowlicker]

WIP WEDNESDAY

I love WIP Wednesday so so much! Was tagged by @hightowerqueen and am tagging @nonagesimus , @classicleechaos , and @willofthewolf (no pressure!)

Here’s a snippet from the next chapter of Beast of Our Own Making, my occult mafia AU Rookanis fic!

Ten minutes passed after the clock struck 9 before the bells were set to jingling again.

“Not interested,” she called, keeping her eyes on the text in front of her, twirling a pen between her fingers.

The Crow was at least polite enough not to harangue her the exact second of the start of their posted hours, which was more than she’d expected. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to get past the protection sigils in the doorframe to begin with. Generally, made men who came sniffing around, looking to make an extortion victim out her, made it no further than the edge of the sidewalk outside before conveniently realizing the oven had been left on at home, or receiving a phantom phone call alerting them to an emergency requiring their immediate attention.

So what was this one here for, then?

“Pardon?” he called, and Daphne looked up from the book in her lap.

This was not just some Crow who had stepped into her shop. The man darkening her doorway was Lucanis Dellamorte, heir to the Dellamorte Corporation’s unfathomable fortune and, if word on the street was to be believed — and coming from the streets she had her ear to the ground of, it generally was — next in line to take over the entire syndicate once his grandmother stepped down.

She’d seen pictures, in black and white in newspapers, or stills of him walking with his cousin and grandmother on the evening news. Though shorter than he seemed on television, the figure he cut was still imposing. He was dressed in an expertly tailored suit made of black silk, designer sunglasses folded neatly into the breast pocket, a single antique opal ring on his left pinky. He wore no tie, and he was bearded and wore his hair long, though it was shorter up top and feathered in a way that made every single dark strand seem purposefully arranged, and combined with the impeccable lines of his menswear, it all loaned him an air of sprezzatura — that curated nonchalance Antivans seemed so fond of.

“I’m not interested,” she reiterated.

Liar, the voice in her head hissed to her. Mentally, she scolded it.

“In whatever deal it is you’re here to strong arm me into. You’re not the first Crow who’s tried,” she continued.

He was. He was the first to make it through those wards. She’d have to stay late tonight and refresh them.

Lucanis Dellamorte glanced around the room, gaze lingering on each shelf; all laden with heavy tomes bound in leather, and paperbacks with esoteric titles on their spine and watercolors of herbs and crystals on their cover.

“I’m here to buy a book,” he said. “Unless I am mistaken, this is a bookstore, no?”

[im-a-goat-in-disguise]

Hey there! Do you want the entire wall-e script? Here you go.

EXT. SPACE

FADE IN:

Stars.

The upbeat show tune, Put On Your Sunday Clothes, plays.

“Out there, there’s a world outside of Yonkers...”

More stars.

Distant galaxies, constellations, nebulas...

A single planet.

Drab and brown.

Moving towards it.

Pushing through its polluted atmosphere.

“...Close your eyes and see it glisten...”

EXT. PLANET’S SURFACE - CONTINUOUS

A range of mountains takes form in the haze.

Moving closer.

The mountains are piles of TRASH.

The entire surface is nothing but waste.

“...We’re gonna find adventure in the evening air...”

A silhouetted city in the distance.

What looks like skyscrapers turns into trash.

Thousands of neatly stacked CUBES OF TRASH, stories high.

Rows and rows of stacked cubes, like city avenues.

They go on for miles.

EXT. AVENUE OF TRASH

“...Beneath your parasol the world is all a smile...”

Something moving on the ground far below.

A figure at the foot of a trash heap.

A SMALL SERVICE ROBOT diligently cubing trash.

Rusted, ancient.

Cute.

Every inch of him engineered for trash compacting.

Mini-shovel hands collect junk.

Scoop it into his open chassis.

His front plate closes slowly, compressing waste.

A faded label on his corroded chest plate:

“Waste Allocation Loader - Earth Class” (WALLY)

Wally spits out a cube of trash.

Stacks it with the others.

Something catches his eye.

Tugs on a piece of metal stuck in the stack.

A hubcap.

The sun reflects off it.

Wally checks the sky.

ON TRASH HEAP HORIZON

The sun sets through the smoggy haze.

“...And we won’t come back until we’ve kissed a girl --”

He places the hubcap in his compactor.

Presses a button on his chest.

The song stops playing.

The end of a work day.

Wally attaches a lunch cooler to his back.

Whistles for his pet COCKROACH.

The insect hops on his shoulder.

They motor down from the top of a GIANT TRASH TOWER.

EXT. AVENUES OF TRASH - DUSK

Wally travels alone.

Traverses miles of desolate waste.

Oblivious to roving storms of toxic weather.

Passes haunting structures buried within the trash.

Buildings, highways, entire cities...

Everything branded with the SAME COMPANY LOGO.

“Buy N Large”

“BNL” stores, restaurants, banks...transportation!

The corporation ran every aspect of life.

There’s even a BNL LOGO on Wally’s chest plate.

CLOSE ON NEWSPAPER Wally drives over.

Headline: “TOO MUCH TRASH!! Earth Covered!!”

The deck: “BNL CEO Declares Global Emergency!”

A photo of the BNL CEO giving a weak smile.

Wally’s old treads are threadbare.

Practically falling apart.

Cause a bumpy ride for his cockroach.

He passes the remains of other RUSTED WALL-E UNITS.

Fancies one with NEWER TREADS than his own...

EXT. DESERTED STREET - MOMENTS LATER

Wally now sports the newer treads.

Rolls past a SERIES OF HOLOGRAPHIC BILLBOARDS.

The solar-powered ads still activate when he passes them.

2.

BILLBOARD ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

(Ad #1: BNL logo over trash)

Too much garbage in your face?

(Ad #2: starliner in space)

There’s plenty of space out in space!

(Ad #3: starliners take off

from Earth)

BNL starliners leaving each day.

(Ad #4: WALL-E units wave

goodbye)

We’ll clean up the mess while you’re

away.

EXT. EDGE OF THE CITY

Wally drives down a deserted overpass.

Activates an even LARGER HOLOGRAPHIC BILLBOARD.

CLOSE ON BILLBOARD AD

Shows off a CITY-SIZED LUXURY STARLINER.

Depicts passengers enjoying all its amenities.

BILLBOARD ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

The jewel of the BNL fleet: “The Axiom”.

Spend your five year cruise in style.

Waited on 24 hours a day by our fully

automated crew, while your Captain and

Autopilot chart a course for non-stop

entertainment, fine dining. And with our

all-access hover chairs, even Grandma can

join the fun! There’s no need to walk!

“The Axiom”. Putting the “star” in

Executive Starliner.

The BNL CEO appears at the end.

Waves goodbye as the Axiom takes off.

BUY N LARGE CEO

Because, at BNL, space is the final “fun”-

tier.

The holographic billboard powers off.

Reveals the AXIOM’S DESERTED LAUNCHPAD in the distance.

The mammoth structure sits across the bay.

Now empty and dry. A polluted, dead valley.

ON COLLAPSED BRIDGE RAMP

Near its edge rests a WALL-E UNIT TRANSPORT TRUCK.

A giant child’s Tonka Truck left to weather the elements.

A “Buy N Large” logo on its side.

Wally approaches the rear of the truck.

3.

Pulls on a lever.

The back lowers.

Wally motors up the ramp.

INT. TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

Open racks for storing WALL-Es line both walls.

KNICKKNACKS OF FOUND JUNK littered everywhere.

The tired robot removes his newfound treads.

Ahh... Home.

Wally motors down the center aisle.

Flicks on an ancient BETAMAX PLAYER.

Jury-rigged to an iPod.

Pushes in a cassette labeled, “Hello Dolly!”

The image is very poor quality.

Actors sing and dance to Put On Your Sunday Clothes (POYSC).

The same song Wally worked to.

WALLY

[Hums POYSC]

Wally opens his cooler.

Newfound knickknacks.

Pulls out the hubcap from his chest.

Looks back at the TV.

Mimics the dancers on the screen.

Pretends the hubcap is a hat.

Continues to unpack:

A spork.

A Rubik’s Cube (unsolved).

A Zippo Lighter.

He presses a BUTTON by the rack of shelves.

They rotate until an empty space appears.

His new items are lovingly added to the shelf.

The Zippo joins a pre-existing LIGHTER COLLECTION.

A new song, It Only Takes A Moment, plays on the video.

Wally is drawn to it.

Presses his “Record” button.

ON TV SCREEN

Two lovers sing gently to one another.

They kiss...hold hands...

Wally tilts his head as he watches.

Curious.

Holds his own hands.

4.

EXT. TRUCK - NIGHT

Wally motors outside.

Turns over his Igloo cooler to clean it out.

Pauses to take in the night sky.

STARS struggle to be seen through the polluted haze.

Wally presses the “Play” button on his chest.

The newly sampled It Only Takes A Moment (IOTAM) plays.

The wind picks up.

A WARNING LIGHT sounds on Wally’s chest.

He looks out into the night.

A RAGING SANDSTORM approaches off the bay...

Unfazed, Wally heads back in the truck.

IOTAM still gently playing.

...The massive wave of sand roars closer...

Wally raises the door.

Pauses.

WHISTLES for his cockroach to come inside.

The door shuts just as the storm hits.

Obliterates everything in view.

INT. TRUCK - SAME

Wally alone in the center of his shelter.

Unwraps a BNL SPONGECAKE (think Twinkie).

Lays it out for the cockroach to sleep in.

It happily dives in.

Wally collapses himself into a storable cube.

Backs into an empty shelf space.

Rocks it like a cradle...

...and shuts down for the night.

Outside the wind howls like the Hounds of Hell.

INT. WALLY’S TRUCK - NEXT MORNING

Wally’s CHARGE METER flashes “WARNING”.

He wakes. Unboxes.

Groggy and lifeless.

Stumbles outside.

EXT. ROOF OF WALLY’S TRUCK

The morning sun.

Wally fully exposed in its light.

His front panel splayed out like a tanning shield.

A solar collector.

5.

His CHARGE METER chimes full.

Solar panels fold away into hiding.

Wally, now awake, collects his lunch cooler.

Heads off to work.

...and accidentally runs over the cockroach.

Horrified, Wally reverses.

Reveals the FLATTENED INSECT under his tread.

The cockroach simply pops back to life.

No biggie. Ready to go.

Relieved, Wally resumes their commute.

EXT. WALLY’S WORK SITE - THAT MORNING

A SERIES OF “WALLY AT WORK” MOMENTS:

- CU of Wally’s hands digging into garbage.

CU of trash being scooped into his chest compactor.

A cube lands by the cockroach.

- Wally discovers a BRA in the garbage.

Unsure what it’s for.

Tries placing it over his eyes, like glasses.

Tosses it in his cooler.

- Wally finds a set of CAR KEYS.

Presses the remote lock.

Somewhere in the distance a CAR ALARM CHIRPS.

- Plays with a paddle ball.

The ball keeps smacking him in the face.

He doesn’t like it.

- Wally discovers a DIAMOND RING in a JEWEL CASE.

Throws out the ring. Keeps the case.

The jewel case drops into the cooler, then...

...A RUBBER DUCKY...

...A BOBBLE HEAD DOLL...

...An OLD BOOT...

...A TROPHY...

- Wally finds a FIRE EXTINGUISHER.

Activates it.

FOAM blasts in his face.

It’s tossed far, far away from his cooler.

- Wally’s shovel hand strikes something solid.

Faces a REFRIGERATOR much larger than himself.

Now what?

- CU on fridge door.

A WELDING BEAM moves down its center.

It emits from between Wally’s SPLIT BINOCULAR EYES.

6.

The door falls apart in two pieces. Reveals...

...a SMALL PLANT

in its early stage of growth.

Wally is entranced.

Carefully, he extracts the section of earth around it.

CLOSE ON IGLOO COOLER

Wally gently places the plant inside the old boot.

Dusts dirt off the leaves.

EXT. TRUCK - DUSK

Robot and faithful cockroach return home.

Wally stops short of the threshold.

Stares at the ground.

Continues staring.

A RED DOT

quivers on the dirt.

A single laser point of light.

Wally moves to touch it...

...The dot races along the ground.

Wally drops his Igloo.

Chases after the dot.

EXT. EMPTY BAY

The dot leads Wally deep into the polluted expanse.

He is so fixated on it he doesn’t notice

MANY LASER POINTS

coming from every direction.

All racing into the valley over the contour of the terrain.

Triangulating towards a center.

Wally’s dot suddenly stops.

Slowly he reaches for it.

Can’t grab it. Just light.

ALL THE DOTS converge in front of him.

The ground shakes.

Wally becomes confused.

Doesn’t see above him.

The SUN growing brighter behind the cloud cover.

A noise. Building.

7.

Rocket engines.

Wally senses he should look to the sky.

Now THREE SUNS are descending on him.

Wally runs for it.

An enormous COLUMN OF FIRE blocks his path.

A second column of fire.

A third.

Trapped.

Wally cubes the ground beneath him.

Working fast.

Noise deafening.

Heat rising.

Digs in just as a tide of flame carpets the ground...

...Then suddenly quiet.

Smoke clears.

CLOSE ON THE SCORCHED EARTH

Wally’s head rises out of the dirt.

Glows red hot from the heat.

Trembles with fright.

Everything in shadow.

Something very big looms over him.

Wally climbs out of his hole.

Bangs his head on metal.

WIDE on a massive SPACESHIP.

Rests ominously in the empty bay.

A PORTAL on its underside opens.

Frightened, Wally tries to hide.

Nowhere to go.

He places a SMALL ROCK on his head. Boxes up.

A DEVICE lowers to the ground on a long stem.

Scans the surface.

Wally creeps closer for a better look.

The device unfolds.

Wally boxes up again.

A CAPSULE descends from a chute in the stem.

ROBOT ARMS emerge from the device.

Place the capsule on the ground. Press buttons.

The capsule falls away in sections, to reveal...

...a PROBE ROBOT.

It hovers gracefully above the ground.

White. Egg-shaped.

8.

Blue-lit eyes.

Female.

Eve.

Wally is transfixed.

Inches closer.

Watches Eve from behind the device.

Tilts his head.

Time stops.

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Eve hovers over the ground.

A BLUE RAY emits from her front panel.

Fans out 180 degrees.

Scans random objects and areas.

The device rises back into the ship.

Exposes Wally.

He rushes for cover behind the nearest rock.

Never takes his eyes off Eve.

Watches her float away from the ship.

...from the ship?

The ship!

Engines roar back to life.

Wally digging furiously.

The rocket takes off.

Smoke clears.

Again, a red hot Wally peeks out from the ground.

Looks for Eve.

She is watching the ship rise into the clouds.

Waits until it is completely out of sight...

...then Eve rises high up into the air.

She flies around the bay.

Soars like a graceful bird.

Does loops in the sky.

Zooms right past Wally’s rock.

He is hypnotized.

Eve descends gently to the ground...

Wally sneaks up closer.

Hides behind another boulder.

Slips.

Makes a NOISE.

Instantly, Eve whips around.

Her arm converts into a LASER CANNON.

Blasts Wally’s boulder to smithereens.

...Smoke clears...All quiet.

Eve, now cold and dangerous.

9.

Scans the area.

No sign of life.

All business again.

Hovers away to probe more of the planet.

ON OTHER SIDE OF BOULDER CRATER

Wally boxed up behind what little remains of the rock.

Trembles uncontrollably.

EXT. AVENUE OF TRASH - DAY

Eve wanders through the pillars of cubed trash.

Scans random areas.

Wally spies from the shadows.

Too frightened to approach.

She moves on. He follows.

EXT. TIRE DUMP - DAY

Eve probes a mound of tires.

Wally hiding nearby.

He flinches at the sight of

HIS COCKROACH

innocently approaching Eve from behind.

She spins around.

Blasts the insect.

Wally is gut-punched.

The cockroach climbs out of the smoking crater.

Unscathed. Still curious.

Eve finds the insect intriguing.

Lowers her arm.

The end separates into individual hovering sections...

...A HAND.

She lets the insect crawl up her arm.

Wiggles into her workings.

It tickles.

EVE

[Giggles]

Wally relaxes.

CHUCKLES privately.

Eve sonically picks up Wally’s location.

Locks onto him.

10.

Arm converts to laser cannon.

Fires rapidly.

Quick glimpses of Wally dodging the blasts.

Trash piles are systematically obliterated around him.

Wally now exposed.

Nowhere to hide.

Boxes himself up. Shakes uncontrollably.

Eve holds her fire.

EVE

(electronic hums)

[Identify yourself.]

She slowly approaches Wally’s box.

Keeps her gun trained on him.

EVE

(electronic hums)

[Repeat. Identify yourself.]

Wally peeks out from his box.

Doesn’t understand a thing she says.

Doesn’t care.

Can’t believe she’s real.

The cockroach climbs down her gun arm.

Jumps onto his master.

Eve scans Wally.

A RED LIGHT appears on her chest.

Buzzes “negative”.

He’s not what she’s looking for.

She retracts her gun arm.

Hovers off.

Wally watches her go. Lovestruck.

WALLY

[Sigh.]

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. ABANDONED BNL SUPERSTORE - NEXT DAY

LOUIS ARMSTRONG’S “LA VIE EN ROSE” PLAYS

Eve scans through the market.

Wally follows from a safe distance.

A stray puppy-dog.

Eve glances over at him.

Wally panics.

Bumps into a RACK OF SHOPPING CARTS.

Creates an avalanche.

11.

They chase him down a flight of stairs.

Wally reaches the exit doors.

Won’t open!

Carts pig pile on top of him.

EXT. BNL REFINERY - NIGHT

Wally perched on the roof.

Patiently watches Eve fly.

She scans the ground below her, like a searchlight.

Eve comes in for a landing below.

Shuts down for the night.

Wally waits.

Quietly sneaks down the refinery fire escape.

Accidentally trips. Tumbles to the ground.

Eve doesn’t wake.

Wally creeps up to her.

Opens his arms wide...

...and measures her.

Turns to a pile of trash.

Splits open his eyes. Begins welding something...

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BNL REFINERY - NEXT MORNING

Eve powers up again.

Does a double take.

A TRASH SCULPTURE OF EVE stands in front of her.

She hovers away, unimpressed.

Doesn’t notice Wally hiding behind a PILE OF PIPES.

Wally kicks the pipes in frustration.

They roll on top of him.

SONG ENDS

MONTAGE OF EVE SEARCHING

- Scans a car engine.

Negative.

Slams the hood shut.

- Scans a Port-A-Potty.

Negative.

Slams the door shut.

- Scans an Apollo capsule.

Negative.

Slams the hatch shut.

- Scans a FREIGHTER HOLD.

12.

Negative.

Slams the lid shut.

EXT. DERELICT SHIPYARD - DUSK

Eve hovers over the freighter.

Frustrated.

Not finding what she’s looking for.

Wally eavesdrops from afar.

Eve flies past the ship’s CRANE MAGNET.

Gets stuck.

Wrestles to free herself.

Furious, she BLOWS UP THE ENTIRE SHIP.

The reaction startles Wally.

Eve slumps down against a dredged anchor.

She gives up.

Concerned, Wally cautiously approaches.

Sits at the other end of the anchor.

Both robots stare silently at the fiery wreck.

Then...

...slowly, very slowly, Wally inches towards her.

Musters the courage to speak, when --

She suddenly turns to him:

EVE

(hums)

[So what’s your story?]

Wally falls backwards with surprise.

Me?

Eve scrolls through a variety of languages:

EVE

(German)

[Directive?]

(Japanese)

[Directive?]

WALLY

[Huh?]

EVE

(Swahili)

[Directive?]

(English)

Directive?

WALLY

(beeps)

[Oh, I understand that!]

13.

EVE

Directive?

Wally eagerly turns to some nearby trash.

Scoops it into his compactor.

Proudly spits out a cube.

Points to Eve.

WALLY

(struggles to speak)

Di...rec...t--

EVE

Directive?

Wally nods.

EVE

Classified.

WALLY

(beeps)

[Oh. Sorry.]

She scans his CHEST LOGO.

EVE

Name?

WALLY

(struggles again)

W-wally? ...Wally.

EVE

(smooth; almost perfect)

Wwww-aaaa-leee...

Wally nearly melts.

She says his name so beautifully.

Moves closer.

EVE

Wally. (giggles)

Eve.

Wally tries to repeat it:

WALLY

Eeee...?

EVE

(slower)

Eve.

14.

WALLY

Eeeaaah?

EVE

Eeeve. Eeeve.

WALLY

Eee--vah!

She giggles again.

Wally likes making her giggle.

WALLY

Eee-vah! Ee --

EVE

Eve.

The wind kicks up.

The WARNING LIGHT sounds on Wally’s chest.

He moves to grab her.

WALLY

(Gasp!) Eee-vah!

EVE

(hums)

[Hey watch it! Don’t come any closer!]

She draws her gun on him.

Doesn’t understand the danger.

The sandstorm rushes up behind her.

Too late.

Wally collapses into a box.

The storm hits full force.

Eve is instantly lost, disoriented.

EVE

Wally? Wally?

WALLY’S HAND appears out of the dust.

Calmly takes Eve’s hand.

INT. TRUCK - MOMENTS LATER

The back door lowers.

A rush of wind and sand.

Wally pulls Eve inside. Closes the door.

She coughs up dust.

Wally hits a switch...

Strings of CHRISTMAS LIGHTS fill the space.

His racks of oddities painted in colored light.

15.

An air of enchantment.

Eve is taken aback.

WALLY

(beeps)

[Come on in.]

She drifts through the sea of knickknacks.

Becomes spooked by a SINGING BILLY BASS FISH.

Threatens to shoot it, but Wally calms her down.

He is compelled to show her everything.

Hands her an eggbeater...

...bubble wrap (so infectious to pop)...

...a lightbulb (lights when she holds it)...

...the Rubik’s Cube (she solves it immediately)...

...his Hello Dolly tape.

Curious, she begins unspooling the tape.

WALLY

(loud beeps)

[My tape!!]

He grabs it back. Protective.

Inserts it carefully into the VCR. Please still work.

The movie eventually appears on the TV.

Plays a clip of POYSC.

Wally is relieved.

WALLY

(beeps)

[What do you think?]

Mimics the dancing for Eve.

Encourages her to try.

She clumsily hops up and down.

Makes dents in the floor. Rattles everything.

Wally politely stops her.

WALLY

(beeps)

[How ‘bout we try a different move?]

Spins in a circle. Arms out.

Eve copies.

Spins faster, and faster...

Too fast.

Accidentally strikes Wally. He flies into the shelves.

Eve helps him up from the mess.

Wally’s LEFT BINOCULAR EYE falls off.

Dangles from two wires.

Eve GASPS with concern.

Wally placates her.

16.

WALLY

(beeps)

[It’s fine.]

Feels his way to the rack of shelves.

Rotates them until...

...SPARE WALL-E PARTS appear.

Replaces his broken eye with a new one.

Eve is relieved.

She eyes his LIGHTER COLLECTION.

Flicks open a Zippo. Ignites a FLAME.

Wally freezes.

He had no idea it could do that.

Moves closer to inspect it...

ON WALLY

It’s the closest he’s ever been to Eve.

She remains focused on the lighter.

Wally stares up at her.

...The tiny flame flickering between them...

...The Hello Dolly video plays IOTAM in the background...

Suddenly, he is moved to express his love.

Musters the courage to open his fingers...

...Timidly reaches his hand out to hers...

-- Eve turns and looks at him.

Wally instantly chokes.

Pulls his hand back.

Eve becomes intrigued with the TV.

Scans the image of the lovers singing IOTAM...

Wally watches her.

His infatuation still palpable.

Then he remembers...

WALLY

Ee-vah!

He rushes to his shelves.

Eve watches him rummage through junk.

A drum falls down on his head.

She giggles, charmed by it all.

Something about Wally...

She is drawn back to the lovers on TV...

...then the lit Zippo lighter in her hand.

A tap on her shoulder.

She turns to find Wally holding something.

The plant.

Eve immediately locks onto it.

17.

Drops the lighter.

In a flash...

...her chest opens...

...a TRACTOR BEAM snatches the plant away...

...stores it inside her...

Then she shuts down completely.

Only a SINGLE GREEN LIGHT pulsing on her chest.

Wally is stunned.

What’d I do?

Waves his hand in front of her face.

WALLY

Ee-vah?

Knocks on her chest plate.

No response.

Wally panics.

Gently shakes her.

WALLY

Ee-vah?

Still no response.

WALLY

Ee-vah? ...Ee-vah?!

CAMERA MOVES IN on the blinking green light...

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. ROOF OF WALLY’S TRUCK - DAY

The morning sun.

Wally places Eve in his charging spot.

Aims her hovering form to f

Actually looks like I can only post the first "part", roughly... Already this is lagging my phone. Will experiment more tomorrow. For now, enjoy!

[minhxiao]

from wangshu inn to the fleuve cendre xiao/aether | rating: G | 1.6k words Xiao reads of Aether's journey in Fontaine in The Steambird. He realizes that in Aether's absence, he's picked up the habit of collecting little pieces of him everywhere he goes.

Adeptus Xiao never used to keep track of the days of the week, but now he knows that it is a Sunday. 

And it is precisely because it’s a Sunday that he now stands before Verr Goldet’s desk, arms crossed and waiting at the earliest sliver of dawn.

“Morning, Adeptus Xiao,” Xiao can’t understand the hidden meaning in Verr’s smile, but lately he’s been wondering if she’s teasing him. “The courier came early today.” 

Xiao knows. He had heard him arrive just ten minutes ago to deliver the mail at the foot of the Inn. 

“Paper?” Xiao tries not to look too impatient. Wei meows and nudges her head along Xiao’s wrist and this time, he doesn’t flinch. 

Verr flashes him that unknowable smile again. She slides the freshly pressed newspaper across the counter before hiding a yawn with her palm. 

“Looks like he’s solved some cold case this time after getting roped into standing trial for that Fatui member,” Verr mumbles. “But well… that’s Aether for you.” 

Xiao snatches the latest edition of The Steambird from the counter, the paper crinkling in his hands. 

Washed Up Mysteries Brought to Light: Spina di Rosula Brings the Longstanding Serial Disappearances Case to a Close

 Golden Haired Traveler Unearths Key Evidence Amidst Trial

Xiao quickly skims the front page and that ever present anxiety in his chest loosens just a fraction. He releases his grip on the paper.

He’s alright. 

When Xiao turns the page, his eyes widen. The Steambird always included photos in their features, but every so often, when Aether did something big enough to make the headlines, they would sometimes include a photo of him. 

And this one did. 

It was a clandestine, but striking picture of him standing inside a large courthouse, speaking to a man sitting upon a high dais. Aether appears to be in the middle of a speech, his arm raised upright as he holds some kind of book in his left hand. His face looks uncharacteristically grave.

Even through the photo, Xiao catches the tired line of his body, the hard set of his brow. The adeptus’ heart aches with a restless worry. 

He stares at the photo long enough to bore holes in the paper. Verr clears her throat. 

“Was he injured?” Xiao asks bluntly because he can’t be bothered to slowly read through the flowery, sensationalist paragraphs right now. He would, later. He would read them over and over again until he’s committed the series of events to memory. But at present, Aether’s safety is his most immediate, pressing concern.

“I don’t believe so,” Verr blinks at him slowly. “All they said was that he rushed into the Opera House to deliver the key piece of evidence against the criminal behind this case. It was… really harrowing stuff.” 

Xiao frowns slightly at the ambiguous answer. He knows by now that the papers only cover the most noteworthy and relevant details to the story. But any number of unknown and unseen dangers could have happened behind the scenes. 

Xiao exhales through his nose. There is so much he may never know about Aether and his own lack of knowledge frustrates him.

“What is Spina di… Rosula?” Xiao points to the words. Verr peers over the counter.

“Hmm, like an organization of private investigators. They were the ones that Aether was working with on this case.”

“He is safe with them?” Xiao’s brows furrow. Verr’s expression softens into something unreadable as she gives a gentle sigh. 

He knows exactly what Verr is going to say but he wants to hear it again anyway.

“Aether is a very capable traveler, Xiao,” Verr says, as if she hasn’t told him this ever since he started reading the paper. “You don’t need to worry about him.” 

“… Right,” Xiao folds the paper neatly under his arm and nods to Verr. 

“Thank you, Verr,'' he turns to leave, but this time, Verr calls out to him before he can disappear.

Her voice is hesitant, “You could write to him, you know.” 

Xiao pauses, turning slowly. “Write?” 

Ver nods. “A letter. In the mail. I know he’d appreciate it.” 

The adeptus actually considers it, for the briefest of moments, before he gives a small scoff. How would you send a letter to someone without a home? And what could Xiao possibly tell Aether that would be of value to him in his journeys in distant, foreign lands?

Writing a letter would be useless. Xiao would hate to distract him from his duties. 

“No need.” 

***

Xiao is aware that he never used to be like this.  

He never read newspapers. He couldn’t have cared less about current affairs or the latest fashion trends in other nations. Up until a week ago, he didn’t even know the meaning of things like “pressing charges” or “court cases.” 

But now as he unfurls the latest Steambird in his chambers alongside his copy of the Updated Teyvat Idioms Dictionary, he wonders if his behavior is perhaps more than a mere idle fixation on Aether’s whereabouts and safety. 

In his chambers sits a stack of various newspaper cut-outs forming a timeline of Aether’s journey across Teyvat from the time that he first stepped foot off Liyue. Everything from the grandiose to the mundane― the traveler seemed to make headlines wherever he went, not that Xiao was particularly surprised. 

“... evidence dismantled the defendant's prior defense…” Xiao mumbles to himself. 

Once he’s finished thoroughly reading the article, he reads it again, then crosses his arms deep in thought. A sharp pang of admiration and pride warms his chest, alongside an uncomfortable, aching kind of pain. 

He picks up the page with Aether’s photo on it. 

It’s been two seasons since Xiao’s last seen him in person at the last Lantern Rite.

Before the traveler, Xiao never thought about things like seasons and dates and couriers and newspapers.

But he has never felt the pull of time and distance so strongly as when Aether leaves him. He finds his mind drifting in between his duties, conjuring up images of him meeting new people, seeing new sights. 

What is he doing right now? Xiao would wonder in the morning. Has he rested well? 

Is anything troubling him? At noon. Has he eaten? Is he safe? In the uneasy quiet of the night. 

Xiao would sometimes even find himself staring at the sunset and imagining Aether is watching the very same one, in some city far out of his reach. It seems that every waking hour, Aether finds his way into Xiao’s thoughts but all that he’s left with are scattered newspaper cutouts and stolen, eavesdropped conversations from passersby. 

Verr voice echoes in his head. You could write to him. 

If he wishes to hear from me, he’d call, a small part of Xiao thinks firmly. 

But Aether rarely calls Xiao’s name. 

“I don’t want to use you in that way… You are more to me than just a weapon, Xiao,” Aether had said. 

Xiao hadn’t understood it at the time, but now he’s deduced that Aether merely doesn’t want to trouble him―although that doesn’t make his absence feel any less total. 

All he can do is wait. And perhaps it is this waiting, though unbearably heavy at times, that has also colored Xiao’s world with meaning. Each day is now filled with the possibility of him everywhere and Xiao finds himself watching for a speck of gold in the distance.

He only wishes he were able to make sense of the strong tug inside his chest that threatens to steal his breath every time he sees Aether’s photo. Or the steady ache he feels when he sifts through his memories of Aether one by one like precious stones.

 It wasn’t pain, but the ghost of it. He sets the photo of Aether aside and turns away, feeling the feeling right now, in every pulse of his heart. 

Perhaps he should write a letter. Perhaps he shouldn’t. 

Regardless, until he sees him again, Xiao would wait. Someone like him had nothing but time, after all. 

***

The next morning, Verr Goldet spots a sheet of paper on her desk, the page filled top to bottom with loose handwriting. A letter, she realizes. For the Traveler.

Of course Adeptus Xiao would have no concept of secrecy and had simply left the open letter on her desk with the trust that she would send it to the right place. Verr smiles a little to herself, scanning briefly over the letter. She wonders how many tries it had taken the adeptus to write it properly before settling on the one before her now. 

It reads as follows: 

Aether,

I read of your deeds in Fontaine. 

Once, you referred to myself and my fellow Yaksha as “heroes” but to me, there seems no one else more fitting for such a title than you. You are admirable, honorable, and above all, kind. 

Lately I have taken to reading “The Steambird.” This is how I have come to know about your actions in other nations. I hope you do not mind.  As you know, engaging in mortal pastimes is new to me, but I have found the activity to be rewarding if only because it has made me feel a little closer to you. 

Although, I think that… I would much prefer hearing these stories from your own lips, in your own voice. 

I know well that you are adept and capable of fending for yourself but I still worry about the dangers you face. You have a habit of intentionally putting yourself in harm’s way. The stories in the paper can only tell me so much. Tell me that you are alright. 

And… if you have the time, I would love enjoy your company. Come and tell me about your time in Fontaine, I will listen. 

If you don’t have the time… I will wait.

Xiao

[miko32]

Born into the Seven Ruler's of Devildom

I was isekai'd to a world in a book. The title was "Kristin in the Harem of the Seven Demon Lords." Like its title, a human named Kristin was brought to Devildom against her will and had to survive through the temptation of the seven demon lords, who were brothers and avatars of the seven sins.

The seventh brother, Belphegor, the Avatar of Sloth.

The sixth brother, Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony.

The fifth brother, Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust.

The fourth brother, Satan, the Avatar of Wrath.

The third brother, Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy.

The second brother, Mammon, the Avatar of Greed.

The first brother, Lucifer, the fallen angel, the Avatar of Pride. My father. The one who succeeded in seducing the human Kristin and impregnating her.

I was in shambles with the ending. Lucifer had kicked Kristin out, banished to the swamp and died giving birth. The baby survived and was named Leilel by Kristin, and that baby is me.

I'm Leilel Morningstar, the child of Lucifer Morningstar.

CHAPTER LIST

1, 2, 3, 4, 5,

TAG LIST (If anyone wants to be tag, just comment and tell me what you think, I will love to hear your opinion 🤗)

@f0uerleafedcl0ver , @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf

Chapter 6 --- I'm still in Hell

Three days later, the students of RAD are in an uproar. Every demon has the newest newspaper. The front page is loudly written:

"MEPHISTOPHELES, THE TRUE LOYAL LORD TO THE CROWN OF DEVILDOM, DIAVOLO, CERBERUS BREEDING IS SHUT DOWN!"

I stared at the title with bored eyes. So loudmouthed. Then I read the columns.

The Cerberus Breeding. An operation built by the Demon Lord, Jezelbub, who rebelled against the crown Prince of Devildom, Lord Diavolo. For almost a decade, this operation had been going on under the noses of Lord Diavolo's reign. Entrusted to the Seven Demon Brothers, who had no result at all....

I snorted at that. It's obvious Mephistopheles is mocking the demon brothers.

The demon brothers had only found small clues, a clean scene, unreliable eyewitnesses, yet thousands of hell dog homeowners still went missing due to the operation.

Now, homeowners' pets may rejoice thanks to the greatness and true demon from the House of Lords, Mephistopheles.

"IS SHUT DOWN!" shouted from the picture of Mephistopheles in front of the warehouse.

"Hm," I mumbled, feeling a little satisfied that Mephistopheles' hatred toward the Demon Brothers ran so deep that he wrote about them being deemed as useless. I smirked, then neatly folded the paper and carefully put it in my satchel, making my way to the colosseum for Mephistopheles' award.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"GIVE IT UP FOR MEPHISTOPHELES!!!"

I covered my ears, laughed, and clapped my hands with the other students as they cheered and chanted Mephisto's name as he ascended the stage. Pride evident in his steps and a big smile adorning his face, he laughed and waved at the crowd. Diavolo accompanied him, shaking his hands, while flying cameras with bat wings captured their photo.

"Demons of Devildom, may I present," Diavolo gestured to Barbatos, who was carrying a big red box. It opened to reveal a golden crown of thorns. "The Bright Thorn of Devildom!"

The crowd gasped in awe at the magnificent crown and clapped their hands. I too was amazed. The crown was only bestowed upon the most devoted demons who had contributed to the Crown Heir of Devildom's works. I don't know if the Seven Brothers had ever receive this. Did they?

Wow. Just my information could lead Mephisto to receive this? I need to ask for more favors from him.

Diavolo then crowned Mephistopheles. He thanked his Lordship, and Diavolo allowed him to take the podium for his speech. The crowd cheered as Mephistopheles did.

Mephisto raised his hand to silence the crowd. "Now, all students of RAD, I could not be credited for all of this," Mephisto said. "For it is the loyalty of our Crown Prince, Lord Diavolo, that has pushed me to the limit. As such..."

Mephisto continued, bragging about his loyalty, all for the glory of Lord Diavolo. I shook my head. The book talked about Mephisto being absolutely in awe of Diavolo. Seeing him in real life on stage, green eyes sparkling with admiration, like a kid looking up to his idol. It's kind of cute.

...

What the... What am I thinking? I shook my head. Maybe because the adult mind inside me. I may be thirteen, but added with my first life, I should've been thirty years old at least. So I'm way much older on the inside. I huff through my nose.

No Leilel, not with a demon. Never with a-

Suddenly, my body shivered in a different sense. I look up and my eyes caught the demon at the far corner of the stage, Lucifer. His deep red eyes bore into me.

It's like an arrow shoot right into my chest. I held my breath in fear, feeling like a predator being cornered by its prey. Lucifer red eyes look deep into my soul, sucking all the life in me. I clench my fist at my side and move away, slowly. Away from his peering gaze and turned back. I sneaked out from the crowd, exiting the colosseum.

I didn't feel his stare again, but maybe that's just wishful thinking.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

I decided to hide in Mephistopheles' office. I'm sure he won't mind. We still had some business to do. Like changing my shackle. My wrist felt heavy and felt like being cut off. Mephistopheles has to change the term on the seal he put on my wrist. Soon, it'll be a protection spell.

I was almost fell asleep on the expensive vintage couch, when the door of the office bursts open. 

"Forgive me, fellas, I have business to take care of." Mephisto says to the demons who had come to admire him. He must have noticed me and kept the door ajar to hide me. 

"Aww, Mephisto, another work to do?"

"You’ve solved one of the highest operations, and you're still gonna work?"

"Celebrate, man!"

"I’m sorry, it's just this one deal I had to take care of. Goodbye!" Mephisto slams the door. He sighs and turns at me with a smile. "Now, where were we?" he stride around the room and takes a seat across from me. Unlike the other day, his smile is genuine, like a salesman to his biggest client. His eyes lit up. "Oh! I forgot! I should offer my guest a beverage!"

He starts to stand when I stop him. "No need, let's discuss our deal first."

Mephistopheles stop and sighs as he sits back. He doesn’t seem to like this. Well, he was cocky enough to accuse me of being one of the rebels. Mephistopheles leans forward, hands folded over his lap, and say the demon's magic word. "Well, what do you desire, Lami?"

I bit my lower lips, remembering Lucifer's red eyes at the colosseum "First of all, did you tell Lucifer about me?"

"Wha-no!" Mephisto huffs, leaning back on his coach. "I kept my promise!" I glower at him. Mephistopheles pursed his lips and asks, "Still, I wonder, why wouldn’t you take any credit for this?"

"Because that’s where our deal will be." I answer and lean forward. "I want your support and protection from any demons in this school who would bother my school life, and that includes the seven lords."

Mephistopheles' eyes widen, and he strokes his chin in thought. "The other demons, I get that. But why the seven lords?"

I almost rolled my eyes. Still suspicious, huh? I can't tell him that I'm Lucifer's daughter that he might put me through torture and kill me. Guess I have to pull out my trump card. "Let’s just say I don’t have any faith in any of the former angels who call themselves demons."

Mephistopheles whole body flinch in surprised. He blinks, and suddenly laughs. "Aha ha! Is that so? Well," Mephistopheles chuckled, hand over his chin. "We have the same thought, Lami."

No, we don’t. I just know that from the book. I smile back. "Oh, we do?" Mephistopheles nods, leaning on his hand as he gives me a smile. It felt, genuine and cute. I cough. "Anyway, I will only need your protection until I can get into the exchange program."

"The exchange program?"

"Yes, I plan to go to the human world, to tempt humans. It has been my dream since I was a little girl."

"Ugh, such a common dream for demons," Mephisto mumbles.

I ignored his comment. "So, do we have a deal?"

Mephisto smiles at me and again pulls out his gloves, offering his right hand. "It's a deal."

Once we shake hands, the seal on my wrist glows, changing our contract. He lets go to let me look at my wrist with the newest seal. My protection, my promises of the future. Now, I’ll just wait for time to go by. Then I’ll be in my real world, the human world.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

That night,

"Give me my money back, scumbag Mammon!!!"

"Why don't ya just shake me, maybe I'll rain money from my pants!"

The avatar of envy did so, shaking the second-born with all his might. Mammon shouted at his brother to stop. They both continued to shake each other off.

There was a meeting between the demon lords in the council room of RAD. All six demons were seated together at the round table. Satan read his book despite his rowdy brothers. Asmodeus hummed while looking at himself in the mirror. Belphegor slept on the table while his twin brother Beelzebub chewing candy.

Then, the first-born stepped in, Lucifer. Mammon and Levi, who were still bickering with each other. Two fists smacked on top of their heads.

"Ow!"

"Hey! What's the big idea?!"

They both flinched under Lucifer's red eyes. "Be quiet!" He commanded and sat in the middle. "The meeting starts."

Satan was the first to speak.

“I have collected the necessary curses for the demons responsible for the Cerberus Breeds. All the most torturous curses, even the deadliest ones." Satan let out sinister laughs.

"Hold your horses, Satan," Asmo hummed to his brother.

Beel raised his hand. "Lucifer, what will happen to the dogs that were used?"

"Diavolo has decided to keep the dogs and treat them. I had Levi find some professional demons to handle this," Lucifer replied, turning to the third-born.

"Oh, oh yeah, here," Levi handed Lucifer the papers. The first-born looked through the papers and then back to his brothers.

They continued discussing shutting down the operation. The talk between them smoothed down into a debate about how Mephistopheles found the first base operation.

"I mean, the guy could have just happened to come across it," Mammon said.

"Are you really that much of an idiot?"

"LOL, LOL," Levi exclaim, typing to his D.D.D. "Mammon said. "Mephisto finding it was a 'coincidence,' so stupid! And tweet!"

"Oi! Why do you have to tweet that?!"

"Levi, you're not supposed to tweet our meeting,"

"That's what worries you?!"

BANG!

The demon brothers turned to the door, where two human exchange students stood.

"Hi, everyone~~" Carina greeted. The other human, a plain boy with glasses and pale skin, lifted his hand.

"Hi, sorry to bother you,"

Lucifer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What are you two doing here?"

The boy frightened as he hid behind Barbatos who escorted the two humans. Barbatos explain. "Forgive our interruption, but Carina refused to go home until the brothers are done."

"I-I..." the boy stuttered. "Didn't want..."

"Awww~ Mathieu, are you gonna keep hiding behind Barbatos?" Asmo stood, leaning over the table with a mischievous smile. "He's also a demon too, you know?"

Mathieu shrieked and jumped away from Barbatos. Barbatos only smiled.

Lucifer's eyebrow stress became more evident. "Aren't you responsible for tonight's dinner, Carina? Don't be selfish and go home."

"Awww... I can't just leave you all behind~~" Carina pouted, putting on her puppy eyes. But none of the demon brothers swayed, giving Carina a dead look. Mathieu gulped down his throat, Carina blinked at the brothers, confused by their response.

"Why don't you all have a meal here?" Barbatos suggested. "It has already passed dinner," He checked his watch. "There may be leftover from the cafeteria. I shall fetch some food from there."

"Oh yeah!"

"You're the demon, Barbatos!"

"Bring back at least a hundred dishes, please."

"We are quite famished, thank you very much, Barbatos."

Barbatos nodded and was about to close the door when Carina stopped him. "Tha-thank you so much, Barbatos." She had a shy smile, blushing cheek, fiddling with her fingers.

Barbatos stared at her, and gave his cold-butler smile. "Of course," He closed the door a bit hard in her face. Carina gasped, offended, and stomped her foot.

She looked over at the brothers. Now Mathieu was in the center of attention. The demons were asking Mathieu's opinion on how Mephistopheles found the warehouse.

"I-I-I mean," Mathieu stuttered, fixing his glasses. "Meph-Mephisto? Could've... found the spell? (Was it a spell) That mirrors are the hideaway (somehow), that-that's how he found it, right?"

Satan nodded. "Okay, but... How did he find the right spot where the mirror is?"

Mathieu shrugged. "I-I-I really don't know, why not, ask him?"

"Hah!" Belphegor exclaimed, startling Mathieu. Belphie's expression was bored as he leaned on his hand. "That guy has loose lips, but when it comes to this, he was very secretive,"

"Yeah, even to Lord Diavolo." Beel said. "It was very surprising,"

"What if it wasn't him?" The brothers stopped and turned to Lucifer, who stated his opinion. "I suspect that he was helped by another demon."

Satan scoffed. "Aha! Are you going to be suspicious of him every time he does something good for Diavolo?"

"What is that supposed to mean, Satan?"

"You know what I meant. You don't like that Mephisto solved this and not you."

"Actually," the brothers turned to the voice belongs to Carina. "Three days ago, I did see a particular demon walk into his office a day before Mephistopheles busted the warehouse."

"Huh?"

"What did she say?"

"Stupid Mammon, are you deaf now?"

"Hey!"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, pondering Carina's words. "Who is this demon?" he asked, almost commanding.

Carina looked surprised, hand over her mouth. "Lami, that new demon. I wanted to be her friend, so I followed her. That's when I saw her went into Mephistopheles's office." Carina gasped and changed her tone to dismissive. "Ah, but, this is just a theory, she could've just wanted to join the newspaper RAD, right?"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. If the demon swamp wanted to join, Mephistopheles would never consider it. He wouldn't even let any lower demons step into his office. Lucifer turned to the second-born. "Mammon, you are in the same class as her, yes?"

Mammon looked sideways. "Uuuh, yeah?"

"Keep an eye on her."

"Huh? Why me?!"

"Idiot, you're in the same class as her." Lucifer exhaled. "It is best to keep an eye on new demons; we never know whether they are loyal to Lord Diavolo or not."

Mammon pout, grumbling under his breath. "I don't like her!"

"Huh? First week, and you already don't like her?" Asmo chuckled, eyes flirting. "Fufufu, what did she do, is it scandalous?

Mammon glared disgust at Asmo, then looked at Mathieu and Carina. Mammon slump down into his chair and whispering. "Because she is supposed to be the new demon, not her."

The brothers were quiet in the room. Mathieu could feel the change and remained still like a rock. Carina scrunched her eyebrow in confusion.

"Mammon." Leviathan leaned forward. "You know that we're still looking for her,"

"And we will not stop looking for her," Lucifer said the final word. The brothers humm agree. Leaving Mathieu and Carina out of the circle. One of them is very upset.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The moon is at its lowest peak as I walk back to my dorm room at ten pm. Ten!

"Urgh!!!" I grumble under my breath. That history teacher is so petty, putting me in detention for a week! A week! Petty demons! They're the worst kinds of creatures. I hate, hate, hate them!

My eyes spot a 666 leaf clover. The green color reminds me of Green Blops. If he were here, seeing me angry, he would've faced me, with his arms crossed and looking at me.

I sigh and begin my ritual. Take a deep breath and let go. I did it again.

When I was a child, I had my moments of tantrum. Even with a mind of an adult, you can still get mad like a child. I refused to eat anything the Blops gave me, which made Red so sad. I was violent with Yellow and Orange, I didn't see they were hurt. I was pushy and annoyed with Green and Purple. I rejected everything nice Pink gave me. Until it hit the limit when Blue was scolding me, I shouted at him that I hate him because he's a demon.

I remember Blue's face when I said that. He was shocked, really shocked. When I thought he was gonna punish me, his face got neutral, no smile, no scowl, nor glare, nothing. Instead, he turned his back away and ignored me. I was surprised but decided to ignore him too. It went on for a week, with all the six Blops following after Blue. They still gave me food, bath, and clothed me. But there were no kisses and hugs, the Blops wouldn't play with me, they wouldn’t talk with me. They just left me alone. On the seventh day of the week, I cried so loud, asking for forgiveness.

Of course, the Blops quickly forgave me. There were kisses and hugs and how awful it was for the Blops to hold back. Blue told that every Blop understands. The shout, the violence, and the hate towards demons are just anger I kept inside for Lucifer.

So I told the Blops everything. From the memory when I was a human, to be reborn as Lucifer’s daughter, and asking why am I put into this situation. There are so many humans in the world, and I was the one who isekai into an awful unfortunate character.

The Blops didn’t understand, but they still love me the same. In fact, they love me more than ever. So did I.

Green then taught me how to meditate, to control my anger, and not to bottle everything in me. The Blops told me to tell them everything that is in my heart. And I always did, and the Blops always comfort me.

I open my eyes, feeling a bit relieved. I decided to let the teacher have it my way. It doesn’t matter if I had a week detention. On weekends, I’ll be back in my cabin with my Blops, talking bad things about Miss Vile.

Ufufu. I’ve already imagined Pink and Yellow when we gossip.

I had a smile as I walked in the dorm building. I reached my room with a hum and placed my hand on the doorknob.

BANG!

"Hello, little demon~"

Someone grabbed my mouth and slammed me against the doors. My eyes widened as I recognized who it was. It was the same demon who walked me to my room on the first day. My body froze.

"Ahahah, it's so easy to munch little demons like yourself," the demon licked his lips with a twisted smile and lustful eyes. I shivered in fear, my mind went blank. "Already excited, heh? How about we do it in your room?"

His words snapped me out of my entrance, and I struggled. He strengthened his holds, nails digging into the skin of my shoulder. I scream under his palm.

"Stop struggling, you bitch!"

I panicked and grabbed his arm holding my mouth. Then I saw. A purple glow flashed before us.

“Argh! What is this??!”

He let me go. I felt power surging through from Mephisto’s mark on my wrist. Like an ocean wave, the surge power pushed the demon far away to the end of the hallway into a window that was suddenly open by itself, and he went flying.

I watched as he faded away. His scream became distand. I gasped for breath and went fumbling with my keys to open my bedroom door and crawled inside. I closed the door with my back. It took forever with my trembling fingers to lock the door, twice. Then, I screamed and cried on my knees. I didn't care if any demons heard me. Hell, they might have heard and wouldn't care a thing.

Thoughts flooded in of what could've happened. That demon was really going to molest me. I could've-

I felt my stomach churn, and I threw up on the floor. All the contents from my stomach was emptied. When it was over, I stared at the leftover food I had this evening. Then I cried and lay beside my own retch. I didn't care about the smell. I only wanted my trembling body to subside.

This was a reminder that I was still in hell.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning arrived, and I felt terrible. I had a headache, stomach cramps, and was in a completely rock bottom mood. I really didn’t want to go to school, but I had to since it's still the first week. I couldn’t afford another bad rap with a teacher. In fact, they might use this to bully me. Mocking my background. I really had enough.

Fortunately, no demons were talking about last night. They might not even care or might be too busy discussing Mephistopheles' success and the exchange program. Lucky me.

All day, I kept my head down and stayed alert, hoping I wouldn't pass by that demon from last night. There’s no way he would let go of what happened. In fact, he must've planned something to torture me. Maybe giving me a cursed object? Hypnotizing me, drugging me—anything could happen!

I felt like throwing up again, but I held on with my hand over my mouth. I hadn't eaten anything this morning, but my stomach felt sick, like when you ride a roller coaster after eating.

Half the day had gone by, and it was lunchtime. I was walking in the hallway between students toward the cafeteria.

"Agh!" I felt my cape being pulled back. My foot almost lost its balance, and I looked over my shoulder, my body freezing.

"What are you doing?" Mammon asked with a smirk, as if he had caught me stealing a cookie jar.

"I... wha!" I yelped. Mammon pulled me forward by my red cape. "Hey!!!" I protested as I tried to keep my feet on the ground. Then I felt someone grab my arm.

“Mammon! Don’t pull her like that!” Carina protested, pulling me toward her. I leaned backward while Mammon still grabbed my cape. My posture probably looked stupid, as all the students were watching us.

“Argh! Shut up, human!” Mammon pulled my cape again.

I grabbed my cape, begging him. "Wh-what do you want from me?!"

Mammon frowned, looking at me as if I’m stupid. My heart twisted with fear. If Mammon had figured me out, this might be why he's bothering me right now – he's going to act all obsessed with me. My brain imagined all the possible ways this could go.

"Wait! Please, just," I stuttered, frantically looking around the hallway for an escape. "Please, let me go," I pleaded, holding back tears. Mammon tilted his head.

“Mammon, come on, don’t pull the poor little girl,” Carina said.

I glanced at her smiling at me. She reminds me of Kristin. Even in hell, she still tries to be nice to everyone. To a demon. I gulped down my throat. Both of us are poor, unfortunate souls. Doomed for a lifetime of torture from the demons here in Devildom. But unlike Carina, I’m going to survive. I’m going to survive from this dem-!

Mammon released my cape. I gasped as I was released. Mammon stared at us, hand on his hips. I took a deep breath and tried to think of an escape. If I ran, Mammon would catch me for sure.

"Let's go, I'm hungry!" Mammon exclaimed and walked away.

“Come on, Lami!” Carina still grabbing my arm, pulling me forward. My body is still completely stiff from the shock and I just followed. But, if there is a slight opening, I’ll run like hell.

[devotedlywingedperfection]

[1] Train of Fate

TGIF - Friday! My prompt! ✨

Characters: Kakashi Hatake, Itachi Uchiha, Yamato, Mentions of Team 7

Relationships: None

Word Count: 2.3K

Info: ‘Historical’ AU, The 1900s

The rumbling of the vintage train cut through the serene landscapes with mechanical rhythm. Outside the window, the sky stretched on, pale, gray and tinged with the first rays of morning light. The mood seemed dim, silenced. Inside, the car was a beautiful, sleek scene from another era - the walls covered with polished wood paneling, deep green leather seats that appeared light in the dim glow of the brass antique lamps. The scent and atmosphere of fresh ink, cigars, aged paper and expensive cologne lingered in the air, soft, strong, and comforting. The only sign modernity seemed to be the crisp and dry newspaper, viewed with stylish gloved hands.

The man sat by a window, his elbow resting on the frame while his fingers lightly curled at his temple, between the silver furrowed brows. His frame was leaned back against his supposed seat, edged sharply with a dark suit, that seemed tailored. His tie wasn’t as tight as formality suggested and held high contrast to the crisp white dress shirt underneath, that seemed to glow beige in, again, the dim lighting.

Kakashi Hatake.

A neatly folded newspaper lay abandoned and untouched on the wooden table in front of him, but his attention was drawn to the passing, vast scenery outside, the only thing separating him from it was the walls and window.

The silver-haired man was in no rush, the station at the near end of the line held no form of urgency to the man in his early thirties, only the vague reminder that his old students would be there, waiting, older than the last time he saw them.

Noticeably across from him, sat a man with quiet detachment, his posture trained and impeccable. He was younger, early twenties at most. The way he carried himself and sat spoke hundreds of silent words. His look - self-assurance of someone used to scrutiny. A copy of ‘The Breaks of Day’ was intertwined between his thin fingers, flipping the numerous articles with leisure and all the time in the world. Though Kakashi had a feeling he wasn’t reading the article of ‘Engineers on Strike’, rather he was reading him, the room and atmosphere.

The young man wore a trench coat with a vest under it, his tie, under the black vest was perfectly knotted, and his long dark bangs - strands of hair fell neatly over his forehead, as if he had styled it purposely like this, not a strand out of place.

Somehow Kakashi recognized him in ways one recognized a story, long since but away, but never quite forgotten. He had never met the man, but the presence felt familiar, and oddly comforting. Not comforting, maybe of sharp intelligence and ever-calm demeanor.

“You’re staring.”, he murmured, yet his words were audible. He didn’t bother to even look up, and kept his eyes on the newspaper, a glint of disinterest in his eyes.

Kakashi’s rich voice hummed. “You remind me of someone.”

The younger, briefly glanced up at the man, before finally turning the next page of his newspaper.

“Most people do.”

There was something hidden, unreadable in his tone, something distant and vague, but never dismissive. The silver-haired man shifted in his seat so he sat upright, also tilting his head a bit to the left, considering the stranger.

“Itachi Uchiha.”, stated the man, saying the name like he was testing it out on his tongue.

Itachi yet didn’t confirm or directly denied it outright, he merely gave the barest movement of his head. “And you?”

“Kakashi Hatake.”

Itachi’s lips formed a small, knowing smile, before neutralizing again. He set his paper down on the the same table in front of him, folding it neatly, implying his interest in the conversation. His gaze - dark, observant, yet wistful - studied Kakashi for a split moment, as if he was second-guessing the worth of interaction.

“You have the air of a man who doesn’t belong anywhere in particular.”, blinked Itachi, his movements slow but precise.

Kakashi chuckled. “And you have the air of a man who never lets anyone know where he belongs.”

Silence, but the faint quirk of Itachi’s lips reacted to his small comeback.

The train halted at the next station smoothly, but none of them reacted. On board came another man, his face sharper, younger than Kakashi, older than Itachi, but his eyes were steady, heavy, the weight of quiet experience in him. He wore a suit that was just like Kakashi’s, only less polished than the oldest man, but carried himself with ease. Calculated, controlled. 

The brunette stacked his briefcase in the overhead, before sitting himself next to Itachi, placing his copy of ‘The Breaks of Day’ on the hardwood table.

Seemed like everyone read the same literature, but Kakashi preferred more scandalous ones.

He hadn’t introduced himself yet, but Kakashi recognized the kind of presence that often lingered in places, that didn’t necessary seek attention. The man’s eyes flickered back and forth between Kakashi and Itachi.

“Even here, we find each other.”, exhaled Kakashi with a quiet chuckle.

“You say that like we’ve met before.” The man raised a brow.

Kakashi mused, tapping a gloved finger against his armrest. “Perhaps not in this life.”, his gaze left the man and directed itself to the scenery. “But something tells me we would’ve, eventually. Or at least, have.”

A ghost of a smile flickered on Itachi’s face, a silent agreement in his expression. “It’s inevitable.”

Inevitable, that word lingered between the men for a moment - inevitable. It fitted, somehow. Something inevitable, certain to happen; unavoidable; fated. Fate, a strange alignment of paths that crossed.

The group lapsed into silence, only the chime of the announcement, announcing the next station. The train halted, people got off and on, the train doors closed and continue traveling. Yet none of them got off.

“Yamato.”, said the man, lighting a cigarette, the flame of the lighter bright, the color of ember.

“Itachi.”

“Kakashi.”

Silence, but comfortable.

Kakashi sighed, letting his head rest against the frame of his seat, his gaze not fixated on anything in particular, the countryside blurry.

“So,”, he drawled, voice laced with indirect curiosity. “where are you headed?”

Yamato glanced at him, before closing his eyes. “North.”

“Vague.”, smiled the silver-haired man slightly. “Intentional?”

“Perhaps, but you can decide that.”

He didn’t press any further, answer such as those weren’t worth wrapping a head around. They were the kind to deflect, to give enough but never more than necessary.

“And you?”, asked Yamato in return, opening his eyes.

He hummed, shifting slightly. “East,”, he said at last. “To meet some old students. Haven’t seen them in a long time.”

There was something in his voice - not regret, not quite longing, but something wistful. As though he had spent years watching time past and slip through his fingers and only now was reaching for closure and what remained.

Yamato nodded, understand something unspoken.

“Home.”, said Itachi softly with an unreadable expression. 

The word easily slipped off his tongue, as well as its weight. It was one, but spoke hundreds. It wasn’t just a place; it was something distant - nostalgic - something long left behind. Was it regret in his voice?

Kakashi studied him for a moment.

“Do you want to go home?”

His lips pressed together as tight as as a seal. He hadn’t expected the question to be asked so directly. His gaze met the window, watching as the landscape shifted beyond the glass.

“I don’t know.” His voice was quiet, admitting something truthful but hurtful. It sounded unsure.

A pause.

“Funny, isn’t it?”, sighed the oldest, rubbing the back of his neck.

Yamato raised a curious brow. “What is?”

“We are all headed somewhere, and yet none of us seem sure if we actually want to arrive.”

That thought settled slowly between them like dust in an old room, recognition creeping in.

Itachi exhaled, more of laugh but not quite. “Fate has ways of pulling people together.”, he said, sounding like he was speaking to himself.

Kakashi’s gaze flickered towards him. “You believe in fate?”

A small smile - faint - ghosted across Itachi’s lips. “I think it believes in us.”

With his fingers loosely laced together, Yamato observed them both. “Maybe that’s why we are here.”

Hums of agreement filled the space before dying down.

The train halted again, passengers boarded and left. The people didn’t notice. That was twenty minutes, gone, left unnoticed in time. Time was running. Time was going too fast. 

And everyone knew, yet no one could change it.

The train swayed gently as it closed its doors and made track, already continuing its journey, like everyone did.

It was a stepping stone, a new step into a life, letting go of the past and unimportant, to put a story behind you, never forgotten, only remembered.

“My brother,”, Itachi spoke, getting the attention of the other men. His fingers tapped the armrest lightly, but it stopped as soon as it started. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. Too long.” His head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded as he recalled his favorite childhood moments. “I always thought I’d have more time. Time to work, study, find love. What I didn’t notice was, one day, looking up, and years had passed.”

Yamato hummed. “And now?”

Itachi adjusted his cufflinks with precision. “And now, I suppose I want to see him before he’s grown too far away.” A hesitant, quiet breath, something tinged with amusement and resignation. “I left him and my family behind when I went abroad. Traveled, learned, lived elsewhere. But eventually, I realized-“, he paused, eyes distant, staring into the sunrise, considering his next words. “-that distance doesn’t stop you from missing one, it just makes it harder to return.”

The words settled in the air with wisdom, regret and longing. 

“It’s terrifying.”, spoke Kakashi finally. “Stepping into the new world - or past, leaving things behind you.”, he shifted. “But life’s terrifying.”

Yamato glanced towards the window, where all of their gazes met. “Well, did you have friends, acquaintances?”

Itachi chuckled, almost an elegant laugh. “I did. They are, though…an acquired taste.”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow.

Itachi glanced at him, the corners of his mouth curving, smiling warmly. “Brilliant minds, yet difficult personalities. One was highly religious and only spoke of religious beliefs.”, he paused. “They speak in twisting riddles, argue for the sake of it and have far too many opinions on things that, foolishly, don’t matter.”

“Sounds exhausting.”, said Yamato dryly.

Itachi gave an elegant shrug. “They are, but I don’t mind. They were home to me for a while. Just…not the right one.”

The words sounded in Kakashi’s head, and he considered it. He understood it, in a way. He checked his watch on his left wrist, the hour hand creeping towards seven.

“I taught three students once.”, he started, dropping his wrist. “Brilliant in their own ways. One was a bit reckless, but that’s how the young should be.”, his voiced softened on the end note, nostalgia threading through. “I left them behind too. Went broad, spent years somewhere else, far from all of it.”

The listener’s gazes flickered towards him, quiet but attentive.

His fingers tapped daily against his knee. “And now I’m going back.”, a sad note crept into his voice. “And I’m happy, I think.” 

A pause.

“But I don’t know if it feels like completion.”

The sentence died in the surrounding noise, helpless. It sounded regretful, hopeless, like a silent plea of the man.

“Because it isn’t.”, reassured Itachi, smiling briefly, nodding his head slightly in certainty.

Kakashis lips formed a small, wry smile. “No, I suppose not.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable, strange for three men who had only just met. The train continued forward, the rumbling and rhythm steady beneath their feet.

Then Yamato spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Why are we sharing stories?”

The black-haired man’s gaze didn’t waver. “The stories of other people.”

Kakashi exhaled, stretching his long legs slightly. “Because somehow, through fate, we’re sitting here. And theses stories-“, he gestured vaguely between them. “-are the ones worth of sharing”

Yamato studied him for a moment, then as if accepting the answer, he gave the slightest nod.

“You now know a stranger.”, murmured Itachi.

Kakashi chuckled slightly to himself. “Feels more than that.”

Itachi hummed in agreement, Yamato, who rarely wore anything but a neutral expression, amusedly looked on.

Maybe it was something. Something deeper, more meaningful, that stretched beyond the walls of the train car. Was it past lives - alternate realities? Maybe the odd pull of fate? Whatever it was, it felt nostalgic. Comfortable.

Real.

The train began to slow down, the shift of momentum and the chime signaling the next stop. Kakashi watched as the station came into view.

“That’s me.”, he spoke, straightening.

The other two didn’t say anything as he stood, adjusting his coat, gathering his briefcase in one hand and the newspaper under his arm.

He took a few steps forward, before he turned back, his usually half-lazy expression and frame settling into somewhat fond.

“I’ll see you again.”, he said, like it wasn’t even a question.

Itachi’s face softened with amusement. “You sound sure of that.”

Kakashi smiled, adjusting his hat as the car doors open.

“I am.”

With that, the professor stepped of the train, leaving the two behind and a meaningful conversation.

The train rolled on, soon leaving the station where the silver-haired gentleman stood, watching as it faded into the horizon. 

The train had departed, but hadn’t arrived its final stop.

He smiled fondly, sticking the newspaper inside the briefcase with his most prized possessions as he made his way out of the station, to the open road where he saw his three students standing there, awaiting him.

Will he ever meet the other two again? He wasn’t certain, but he had promised. He was taking another step forward, just like the other two. Life had to continue. 

But as long as fate has its way, he knew it would be inevitable.