#egochristmas2020

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 9

Prompts from this list by @huffletrax

Prompt: Blanket

---

Outside the walls and barbed wire of Happy Trails Penitentiary the wind howled, rattling the ill-maintained windows of the prison. The view outside these windows was completely whited-out, the result of a blizzard that’d been raging since early that morning, eliminating yard time and leaving little to do but play card games in the rec area and wait to be counted.

    You sat on the edge of your bed and stare up at the faintly flickering lights. “At least the power hasn’t gone out,” you remarked.

    “It is out,” Yancy replied, all but vaulting onto the top bunk. He flopped down, tucking his hands behind his head and crossing one leg over the other. “Can’t youse hear the generators?”

    “What?” You tilted your head. Listened. You couldn’t hear anything.

    And then the lights went out.

    You jumped and cursed, while Yancy-- clearly unruffled by the sudden change in situation-- only laughed. “Youse better bundle up,” he told you, and you could practically hear his grin. “It’s gonna be a cold one.”

    Ugh. You eyed your thin, prison blanket with distaste, and seriously doubted it could keep anything warm. Still, you were determined to make the best of it, so you got into your creaky prison bed, wrapped yourself up in that threadbare prison blanket, and did your best to sleep.

    Except you couldn’t. Once the heat stopped circulating through the rusty vents, the temperature dropped like a brick off the top of the Empire State building. It was cold. Your teeth chattered and you shivered violently, tucking yourself into the best blanket burrito you could manage and praying for sleep that wouldn’t come. The best you could do was a blurry half-doze that did little to dent the exhaustion pooling in your brain.

    It must’ve woken Yancy, because you eventually heard him climb down from his bunk and shove himself into yours, wrapping his own blanket around you both before pulling you against his chest. It had an immediate effect; you sighed softly and melted into his embrace, slipping into a deeper unconsciousness as Yancy radiated heat. 

    Yancy himself tucked his head into your neck, his breaths tickling your skin as he too fell asleep.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 3

Prompts from this list by @huffletrax

Prompt taken from my inbox: Angsty Dilliam for 14: “Should you be drinking that much?”

Prompt: scarf

---

It was probably not the most Mayoral thing, drinking his night and sorrows away in his favorite speakeasy. But then again, he wasn’t feeling the most Mayoral, nowadays.

    It definitely wasn’t Mayoral-- or maybe it was, he was too drunk to think too hard-- to take the back alleys on his way home to the Mayor’s Residence. At least he wouldn’t be seen. At least he wouldn’t be in the papers come morning.

    Damien shoulder-checked the damp, brick wall of the adjacent building and stumbled, barely managing to catch his balance. His gasping breath fogged up the air in front of him and he pulled his scarf tighter around him to block out the early-winter chill-

    Right as someone seized the scarf from behind, jerking him backward with a startled cry. The sharp tint of gunpowder burned his nose and the hard edge of a gun barrel jutting into his forehead.

    “Gimme all yer money and mebbe I won’t shootcha.” Hard, hot breath wafted over his ear. “Fancy clothes, fancy cane, gotta lotta money, do ya, gimp?” 

    He spat the last word like venom, knocking the gun against Damien’s head with such force that he tore the skin, allowing droplets of bright red blood to trickle down his cold-flushed skin.

    “I-I-” The Mayor could do nothing but stammer; did this man know who he was? “I-”

    Bam! Damien cringed away from the gunshot, yelping as warm wetness spread across his back and his attacker slumped against him. 

    “Dames! Dames.” The warm, bloody weight across his back was gone, falling to the ground. Replacing it was a pair of gloved hands-- one clutching a smoking pistol-- and a familiar, mustached face. “What’re you doing out here, Dames?” The Colonel exclaimed, pulling the Mayor to his chest. 

    “Goin’ home,” Damien mumbled, and William frowned. 

    “You’re drunk,” he remarked. Then, “Should you really be drinking?” 

    You’re the Mayor, he didn’t say. You are . . .

    “Too important,” Damien muttered, swaying. You left me. He didn’t say. You . . .

    “Shouldn’t be out here in the dark all by your lonesome. There’s sure to be more than one scoundrel lurking.” William brushed the blood from his forehead with a gloved thumb. “Let me walk you home.”

    “I don’t need you.” Damien tried to move away, but William only took his hand, giving it a squeeze. It was only then-- there, in the firm and gentle of Will’s hand-- that he realized he was trembling.

    From the look on the Colonel’s face, he knew it too.

    “Let me walk you home,” he said quietly, his brown eyes soft behind those weird glasses of his. 

    Damien sighed, a shuddering motion that racked his shoulders and chest. “Fine.”

    It was a silent trek back to the residence; the Mayor shaken, the Colonel thoughtful, neither of them seemed to be inclined toward conversation. Instead, they fell back into the same companionable quiet they had found themselves in so many times before.

    Until they reached his front door, lit by a single, wrought-iron lantern.

    “Thank you, Will,” Damien said, reluctantly withdrawing his hand in favor of drawing his blood-spattered scarf tighter around him. He avoided eye contact.

    “Why, of course, Dames.” William offered a small smile and a bow, and turned to go when Damien didn’t offer up anything else.

    He was halfway across the sloping drive when Damien blurted, “Will! Wait.”

    The Colonel turned once more, puffs of fluffy fog drifting through the air like cigar smoke.

    “Do you ever miss me?” He wasn’t sure why he asked this; wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

    “Every damn day, Dames.” The response hung in the air between them, heavy. “Every single, damn day.”

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 4

Prompts taken from this list by @huffletrax

Prompt:  Hot chocolate

---

“Chilly out,” Wilford remarked, tucking one hand into his coat pocket and the other into Dark’s, towing him along the sidewalk. His breath created tiny clouds that reminded him of a steam train. “Where are we goin’ again?”

    “The Hallmark Store,” Dark grumbled, clearly displeased at the thought. No breath fogged the air in front of him, no shadow graced the concrete in the weak shafts of late afternoon sun. “We need to find a few more decorations.” He checked the slightly crumpled list in his hand. “And something for Bim. He wants a Vera Bradley bag.”

    “That isn’t right. Gimme that back!” Wilford reached across him, grabbing for the list, but Dark only held it out of his reach, fixing him with a glare.

    “If you hadn’t tried to eat the list,” he remarked, elbowing Wilford and his grabby hands away, “then you could’ve been in charge of it. As it was, you tried to eat the list.”

    “It helps with memorization!” Came the answering whine. 

    Dark opened his mouth to reply-- something along the lines of you know that’s not true, you idiot-- but Wilford was already gone, yelling something unintelligible about hot chocolate as he disappeared into a nearby shop, taking Dark’s wallet with him.

    By the time he reappeared from the throng of people crowded around the shop, Dark was beginning to seriously consider leaving him behind.

    “Look what I got!” He sang, though Dark didn’t have to look to know what he’d purchased; the stench of peppermint was strong enough to burn his nose.

    “No, no, that one’s for me,” Wilford said, when Dark arched an eyebrow at one of the cups he was holding, one overloaded with whipped cream and at least five peppermint sticks. He shoved a second cup into Dark’s hands. This one, blissfully, had a lid on it and smelled only of chocolate. “This one’s for you.”

    “Hmph.” Dark took a sip; chocolate-y, thick, and delicious. “I now regret considering leaving you here to fend for yourself.”

    “Oh, Darkie.” Wilford’s mustache was already coated in whipped cream and a few sprinkles. He grinned at Dark. “You’d never leave me behind.”

    Dar sighed heavily, and turned to continue down the sidewalk toward the Hallmark Store. “Unfortunately true.”

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 11

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Dark

---

He knew the party was for him, but he couldn’t help but feel out of place. Alienated, almost, by his upper-class, high society constituents. 

    At least on the back patio he could clear his head and calm his pounding heart, taking heavy gulps of the frigid evening, his breath fogging the air like the thick clumps of cigar smoke inside. The sun had gone down hours ago, taking its fragile warmth with it and leaving nothing but shadows that pooled at the bases of the snow-laden pines and crawled across the manicured lawn, kept at bay only by the bright lights of the party.

    “What’re you doing out here?” The hand on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only Mark, a concerned look upsetting the tipsy easiness of his pose. “You’re the guest of honor! You should be enjoying your party.”

    Damien sighed internally. “I feel . . . out of place,” he admitted, shifting his weight so he leaned more heavily on his cane.

    Understanding passed over Mark’s face, and he moved his hand to take Damien’s, giving it a squeeze. “I know,” he said. “I felt like that at my first wrap party.”

    Neither of them said anything else for a few minutes, Damien’s relief a living, breathing thing occupying the space between them.

    “Do you want to go back in?” Mark asked, glancing at him.

    Damien hesitated. Mark’s hand was warm in his, his grip gentle. It staved off the nighttime chill, and chased the butterflies in his stomach away. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give it up just yet.

    “No,” he answered. “I think I’d like to stay out here a while longer.”

    Mark nodded, turning to go, but Damien tightened his grip on his hand. “Could you stay with me?” He asked.

    Mark’s gaze softened. “Of course,” he replied, and returned to his side.

    Damien wasn’t sure how long they stood out there, but it seemed the party was just fine without them. 

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 1

Prompts taken from a list by @huffletrax

Prompt: Cozy

---

“I’ve never actually liked this movie.” 

    The clock on the wall read 2:34AM. Way too early to be up watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, but there they were: Dr. Iplier too wired on caffeine to sleep, even after a sixteen-hour shift at the clinic, and the Host, coming down from a vision so bad it’d left him nonverbal. A rare feat, indeed.

    Hair damp and slicked back from the shower and freshly clothed in a clean(ish) t-shirt and black pajama pants, the Host lay with his head in the doctor’s lap, nose just touching his stomach. One hand clung to the hem of his lab coat while the other clutched his hand, some attempt on the Host’s part to regain his sense of reality.

    “It’s so cheesy,” Dr. Iplier continued quietly, watching the family cut into the turkey, and cringing at its inevitable explosive dryness. “Kind of stupid.”

    He kept talking, soft so as not to hurt the Host’s over-sensitive ears, voicing his dislike for the unfortunate Christmas movie as it continued to play. Every so often, he’d give the Host’s trembling hand a squeeze.

    “You’re like a radiator,” he told him at one point in the early morning, when the clock on the wall read 4AM and the movie was well over, replaced on the screen by some show that the doctor had never seen. He blinked eyes heavy with the threat of sleep and touched a few fingers to the Host’s forehead, slick with a sheen of sweat. “But I think your fever has gone down.”

    “Host?” He asked, when nothing but a light snore came in response; the Host had fallen asleep, lying there with his head on the doctor’s lap.

    “Well,” Dr. Iplier mused, brushing a few stray strands of the Host’s hair back from his forehead. “Guess I’m stuck here.”

    Not like he minded; with the Host’s feverish heat keeping him warm and cozy, Dr. Iplier soon found his eyes fluttering shut. Soon found himself drifting off to the tune of the Host’s soft snores.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 2

Prompts from this list by @huffletrax

Prompt taken from my inbox: 39, “Can you really blame me?”

Prompt: Ice

---

The moment he stepped out of his room and into the hallway, one Mister Bim Trimmer slipped and fell right on his ass.

    “What the fuck?” He yelped, upon finding himself sitting on a slippery, cold surface that really didn’t want him to get back up. Eventually he managed to pry his way up the side of the wall, just as Wilford came gliding by. “Wilford! Wilford! What the hell is going on?”

    “Oh!” Wilford spun so he faced Bim-- he had a bright pink pair of ice skates, Bim noticed suddenly, and seemed to have absolutely no trouble skating backward-- “I turned the floor to ice!” He chuckled gleefully, performing another spin and a hop. 

    “Why?” Bim exclaimed, attempting to take another step; this attempt was in vain, as he immediately slipped and fell again, a flutter of limbs and curses.

    Wilford’s expression resembled that of a child’s bewilderment: innocent and so completely clueless. “Because it’s December!” He cried, spinning smoothly on the ice, scraping up miniature sprays of glittering ice. “It’s Christmas time! That means ice, and snow, and-” he snapped his fingers and a neon pink pair of skates appeared on Bim’s feet, immediately foiling his desperate bid to regain his footing- “ice skating! Who doesn’t love those things?”

    “Me.” Bim grunted, beginning a rather humiliating half-crab crawl, half-ass scoot across the ice-covered floor; it was studio or bust. “I don’t love those things.”

    Wilford halted dead in his tracks, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “Why the fuck, Trimmer?”

    “Can you really blame me?” Bim snapped, finally losing what little patience he had. He gestured to the icy floor, to the glittering red-green lights and fake boughs decking out the walls that had magically appeared overnight. “It means we have to deal with you until Christmas is over-”

    “Mistletoe!” Wilford blurted, pointing to the air just above Bim’s head.

    “No. No, no, no-” Up to the sudden sprig of mistletoe-- sharp, green, glistening leaves, a pair of perfectly round, red berries-- over to Wilford, who was crowding closer, way too close, and-

    A wet, bristly smooch, pressed right to his lips. Bim spluttered and shoved him away. “What the fuck- fuck off, Warfstache!”

    “See you in the studio!” Wilford sang, and skated away, leaving Bim to fend for himself.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 18

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt 30 (from my inbox, requested by @solarsmith49): “One more chapter.”

Prompt: Sweater

---

“She screamed and fled down the hall, blood running in rivulets from the gash in her forehead, all but blinding her. Meanwhile, her attacker-- a large, muscled man dressed like Santa Claus-- followed at a leisurely pace.”

    The Host finished the chapter and shut the book with a soft thud, much to the chagrin of his audience.

    “Read some more!” Yan insisted, and, beside her, both the Jims agreed, the golden bells sewed to their matching Christmas sweaters-- “Thing One” and “Thing Two”-- jingling with their vigorous head shakes.

    “One more chapter?” Thing One Jim asked, while at the same time Thing Two Jim exclaimed, “Riveting!”

    “I-I-I’ve had enough, I think,” Eric muttered, ducking his head. “I didn’t know S-Santa could be so scar-scary.”

    He wore a red sweater emblazoned with a massive snowman. His excuse for an “ugly” sweater for that night’s “ugly sweater reading.” Not very ugly, in Dr. Iplier’s opinion, but he wasn’t about to say anything. 

    “I have had enough as well,” Blue agreed, looking unimpressed. “This is a highly unrealistic scenario.” 

    “I liked it.” Bing smacked him across the shoulder. “You didn’t wear a sweater, so your opinion doesn’t count.”

    “Quite right.” Every eye went to the Host when he spoke. “But the Host will not be reading any more tonight-” he cleared his throat- “because his voice is tiring. He will continue at a later point.”

    There were some grumbles, but nonetheless the others began to get up, to go. Various ugly sweater patterns flashed across the Host’s mind’s eye and slipped out amongst his narrations, and not for the first time he was thankful he had no eyes with which to see them.

    Of course, with no eyes, he couldn’t see that he was wearing his own sweater backwards. No one was brave enough to tell him.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 20

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Star

Prompt (from my inbox) 86: “You’re important, too.”

---

“I think I’ll miss the stars the most.”

    The campfire sputtered and spat its last bursts of sparks, settling into a nest of glowing embers. Faint wisps of gray smoke curled toward the sky, spread above them like a great, black blanket. There, the object of Annus’s wistful affections glittered, bright dots of white light.

    “Oh, yeah?” Unus asked, glancing across the small campsite to where his counterpart lay on top of his sleeping bag, arms tucked behind his head, pitch black gaze fixed to the stars. “Why’s that?”

    Annus smiled a small, sad smile. “Can you imagine being alive thousands of years ago-- in, like, ancient Greece or shit-- and looking at the same stars we’re looking at now?” He asked instead. “No wonder they drew their gods in the stars. Anything that lives that long has to be important.”

    “Hey,” Unus admonished, and Annus’s eyes darted to him, deep black, seemingly bottomless pools. “You’re important.” He said. “We’re important. Just because we only live for a year doesn’t mean that what we do means nothing.”

    “Death is coming,” Annus agreed, “and we must teach them nothing lasts forever.”

    “Unus.”

    “Annus.”

    They fell into a companionable quiet after that, a deep silence broken only by the crackling of coals and the distant calls of HeeHoo.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 8

Prompts from this list by @huffletrax

Prompt: Quiet

---

Thrust suddenly back into a body, Damien made it three steps before collapsing to his knees, throwing his head back with a silent, strangled cry as bones broken from the fall fell to pieces, thrusting themselves from skin turned a deep, decaying gray. Dead skin. Skin that wasn’t his. 

    But that skin soon became his; the bones reshaped, reformed themselves in his image. Pristine, cropped-hair mayor over scruffy, shoulder-length exile.

    Some bones remained broken, some muscles torn and twisted; some things just can’t be fixed. Not everything should be fixed.

    Damien managed to get to his feet with some effort, breaths heaving, ribs aching. He pressed one manicured, gray hand to his chest, looking for his heartbeat; some reassurance that he still had a heart, even though he was now the villain to Mark’s twisted, inside-out hero.

    But there came nothing from within his breast; no comforting beat to remind him that maybe he could still be kind.

    Damien clenched his jaw. Bones crackled and snapped as his shoulders hunched and he curled in on himself, fingers clutching at himself, at that body he wasn’t supposed to have. At the body he’d stolen from someone who didn’t deserve it. 

    Rage bubbled to the surface in such a violent froth that it spilled over, and he wept quietly. He was the villain, after all.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 12

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Games

Something short and sweet and Bingle.

---

It truly was an idiotic game. Yet Blue found himself enraptured by it, tapping away at Bing’s Nintendo Switch for hours after he’d fallen asleep, tucked into the android’s side.

    Sometimes Blue wished he could do the same, but efficiency could be maximized by the programmed ability to charge and work simultaneously. Currently, he was using this software to play Smash Bros while Bing snored softly into his shoulder, his sunglasses pushed up to his forehead, his mouth hanging open slightly and his face illuminated by the faint glow of the Switch’s screen and the soft light of the “G” on Blue’s chest. A bar floated a couple inches above his head, filling bar by bar before emptying and starting over again.

    Blue didn’t dare risk waking him by fixing his sunglasses. Instead, he continued playing the game. Clearly, Minecraft Steve was the superior character here; Bing was right about something, for once.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 6

Prompts from this list by @huffletrax

Prompt taken from my inbox, requested by @itsjustkyss: Damien and Celine angst, 34: “will you miss me at all?”

Prompt: Snowball

---

The air seemed almost too bright for how shockingly cold it was; the snow glittered a blinding white, forcing Damien to squeeze his eyes shut for a few moments as his driver opened the door for him.

    “Thank you, Walter,” he said, when he could finally see again, blinking against the overwhelming, electric-cold sunshine. He retrieved his pocket watch from his overcoat pocket and flipped it open: a quarter to one. He had a little time. “I shouldn’t be long.”

    “Very good, sir.” Walter, ever the gentleman, tipped his hat and shut the car door behind Damien before moving to get back into the driver’s seat.

    The Mayor, meanwhile, started toward the paved path, kept clear by the city maintenance crew. This was his favorite park, and he came here whenever he could manage, slipping away from City Hall and deskwork and endless, droning days. It felt good to get some fresh air, no matter how cold. 

    Suddenly something wet and hard and cold smacked him in the back of the head. Damien yelped and spun, just as another snowball struck his chest, spraying snow everywhere.

    “Got you!” Celine crowed, lifting her skirt and plodding across the snow-laden clearing, clearly unbothered by her soaking shoes. 

    Damien frowned and leaned his weight on his cane. “I wasn’t aware we were on speaking terms, Celine.”

    The grin fell from her face, but nonetheless she continued trudging through the snow toward him. “I wanted to see you, before I leave.”

    “With William.” 

    “With William.” Celine confirmed, with a small nod. “We’re leaving the city, and going-”

    Damien held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I told you I’d keep your little secret from Mark, but that doesn’t mean I want to be a part of it. How is Mark doing, anyway?” He asked, just because he could. Because he wanted to see the color drain from her cold-flushed cheeks, and the guilt pull at her lipsticked mouth.

    Celine emerged from the knee-high snow, finally, and came to stand in front of him, effectively blocking the path. “Will you miss me at all?”

    “I don’t think you should be asking me that question.” Deciding, abruptly, that his walk wasn’t going to happen that day, Damien turned, and began the short trek to where his car still waited. “I assume I won’t be seeing you after this, so, goodbye, Celine.”

    “Damien-” but he was already beyond reach. Anger fizzled white in his veins, white as the glittering snow. He could only imagine how Mark felt; betrayed, most likely. By his friend, by his wife.

    “Time to go, Walter,” he announced, when his chauffeur got out.

    “A very short walk today, sir,” Walter replied, coming around to open the door for him.

    “I found my mood quickly soured,” Damien agreed, and started to get in. He was just dipping his head below the door’s rim when, smack! one more snowball splatted the back of his head.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 16

AH I’M SORRY I’VE BEEN BUSY WITH FINALS AND SHT

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Candles

---

“There are certainly a lot of candles in here,” Dark remarked, adjusting his suit-- snow-speckled and gray-- as he stepped through the doorway, into the cabin. “I am surprised that you have not yet managed to burn your cabin down.”  He sniffed, then added, “Might do the old shack a favor.”

    “You don’t have to be rude,” the Author snapped back, shoving the door closed against the howling wind. “I did invite you here, after all.”

    “Yes. For a date.” Dark mused, looking around the cabin with the air of someone so far above it it might as well be a worm beneath his polished shoes. Candles adorned every available surface and a few were even strung from the scraggly branches of the Charlie Brown tree the Author had managed to wrestle in there, their tiny wicks flickering with bright spots of flame. A bottle of wine rested on the rickety, half-rotted table-- next to an old radio blaring the crackly version of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”-- and Dark went for it, pouring himself a hefty glass before the Author could offer.

    He’d made an effort, at least, Dark surmised. He might as well indulge him.

    “What else did you have in mind?” He asked, turning slowly, allowing the Author a full view of the way his newly-tailored suit hugged his body.

    The Author grinned, dark eyes glittering almost black in the candlelight. “Plenty.”

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 19

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Bells

Idk I kind of bullshitted this one. Trigger warnings for robogore

---

“Oh, I didn’t know you could make that sound.” Anti’s rasping purr grated on his auditory receptors, but Blue did not give him the satisfaction of a cringe. Every circuit was on fire, and his vision was beginning to blur as his battery percentage ticked closer and closer to zero. To shutdown. “It sounds like a bell.”

    He touched the tip of his knife to the side of Blue’s face, as if preparing to strip yet another swathe of synthetic skin from his jawline, revealing whirring pistons and rotating gears; hundreds of parts to make up the whole. “Tell me what it means.”

    “L-LoooOO-OOw ba-a-aAAattery,” Blue slurred, still managing to bite out the words as if they were poison. As if he could spit them at Anti and experience the human-like glee at watching his skin burn with acid.

    Anti cackled, and Blue’s processor fritzed. When he came back to himself Anti’s face was close to his. Close enough to kiss.

    “Make that sound again.”

    The knife. Glinting in the dim light. 

    Blue shook his head. Did he like denying Anti his whims? Or could he truly not replicate the noise? Impossible to tell.

    Anti’s grin turned to a snarl, and he plunged his knife into Blue’s shoulder; there was a clunk and a hiss as the joint deactivated and circuits were severed, rendering the limb inoperable. “I’ll have to carve it out of you, then.”

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 13

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Cards

---

It could’ve been hours or even days that she’d been there, alone in her dimmed “study,” lit only by candles and some malevolent spark in the air. A place where she channeled the dark arts, did black magic, read the cards for some glimpse at their futures.

    Hers. Damien’s. William’s. She had just flipped Mark’s cards-- three of them, sitting in a nice, neat line right there before her-- when a knock came at the door.

    “Celine?” It was her husband. “May I come in?”

    She glanced quickly at the cards as she got up-- and stopped, her blood freezing in her veins.

    Because on the table lay Mark’s three cards: the tower, the seven of cups, and the ten of swords. All cards of wounds. Betrayal. Change.

    “Celine, my darling?” Mark knocked again, sounding concerned. The knob twisted, the door began to open--

    “Mark-” Celine spun, quickly brushing the cards to the side before turning back to see her husband entering.

    “Are you alright?” He asked, brows furrowing with concern and confusion as he went to her side, one arm slipping around her waist for a reassuring squeeze.

    “I’m fine,” she insisted, taking a deep breath to calm her throbbing heart. Her mind whirled, even as Mark dipped his head to kiss her. When he broke away, his deep, brown eyes were full of nothing but love for her.

    “I was thinking we could go out tonight, give Cook the night off,” he said, smiling. Then, he glanced around. At the extinguished candles-- knocked over, in her haste-- and the messy stack of cards. “What were you doing?”

    “Nothing important,” Celine answered hurriedly, distracting him with a kiss. “I would love to go out.”

    “Wonderful. Shall we?” Mark removed his arm from around her waist, instead offering his elbow. Celine took it, and gave him her best, least-forced smile as he led her from her study.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 5

Prompts from this list by @huffletrax

Prompt: Red

I’m not sure how proud I am of this, but have JBM rescuing a little girl.

---

Super hearing sure did have its advantages; Jackie heard the little girl’s cries from two miles off. Heard her fear and desperation. She was in danger.

    He ran. Vaulted the gaps between buildings and the ravines between streets. Didn’t slip even once on the ice and slush coating every roof, left there from the recent snowstorm. His bright red suit was a blur against the unhappy, gray sky. More than one person turned to watch him go. 

    By the time he reached the mall-- packed with last-minute holiday shoppers-- a crowd had amassed at the base of the massive Christmas tree sitting in the front plaza, and every eye looked toward the top. Not at the snow-shined ornaments-- some as big as Jackie’s head-- nor at the glowing star, but at the little girl clinging to the boughs, her every frantic movement causing the tree to sway dangerously from side to side.

He put on a burst of speed, catapulting himself over tens of pom-pommed heads to land at the base of the tree.

“It’s Jackieboy Man!” The crowd cheered, but Jackie ignored them. Instead, he began to scramble up the tree as fast as he dared, bending to the whims as it tilted under his weight, enormously thankful for the thick gloves that protected his palms. 

“Get me down!” The piercing wails of the little girl continued, ringing around the front plaza.

“I’m coming!” Jackie managed, then stopped short as the tree swayed once more, rocking on its base. He grunted, instinctively tightening his grip on the branches even as he felt them snap.

“You’re going to have to jump!” The hero let go, leaning back as much as he could while also keeping his balance. He held his arms out, ready to catch the girl, but she only shook her head. “I’m scared!”

“You can do it,” he told her. “Just let go, and I’ll catch you.”

The crowd gasped as the tree tilted to one side, its trunk creaking, groaning as if it might splinter and break.

He would make it, Jackie was sure, if the tree fell, but the girl would break her tiny neck.

“Let go!” Jackie cried, and this time she did, tumbling from her perch in breathtaking free fall for what felt like an eternity before making it to Jackie’s arms.

“Hold on tight.” She looped her arms around his neck as he hurried to climb back down, all but leaping the last five feet to solid ground.

As soon as his boots touched concrete, the tree, a great groaning giant all the way down. Plastic ornaments shattered and the star splintered into cheap glass shards and Jackie bent, sheltering the girl with his body as pieces of Christmas decor flew everywhere.

“Oh, thank you!” A woman jolted from the front of the crowd before the crowd could cluster around Jackie, her face streaked with half-frozen tears. She relieved Jackie of the little girl, clutching her tightly to her chest and muttering, “you’re not allowed to climb trees anymore, Meredith. Never again. Thank you,” she added again, fresh tears sputtering down her cheeks. “Let me-”

“No.” Jackie held up a hand, refusing whatever payment the woman-- the girl’s mother-- was about to offer. He smiled. “It was my pleasure. Definitely not the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well, I’m glad.” The mother paused, then pulled a phone from her pocket. “Can I get a picture? My son adores you.”

That surprised a laugh out of Jackie. “Sure,” he said, and put on his best grin as the mother held the phone up.

[lostcybertronian]

Ego Christmas- Day 10

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Fire

Prompt taken from my inbox, Docthor requested by @thepoolofthedead: “How do you sleep at night?” / “Can you still sleep at night?”

Trigger warnings for blood and being burned alive.

---

“Author, I’m back!” Edward bustled through the creaky cabin door along with half a metric ton of snow and wind, toting a few heavy bags of alcohol and s’mores supplies. He wrinkled his nose as the overwhelming stench of gasoline hit. “Author? What the fuck-”

    The bags fell to the floor with the clatter of clinking glass when he saw the girl.

    Tied up, she lay slumped against the floor, her clothes soaked through with gasoline and her eyes glassy with fumes. Tear-tracks carved crooked paths down what parts of her reddened face weren’t masked by the gag and a jagged laceration sliced open her forehead, dribbling a steady ooze of blood.

    “Oh, god.” Edward dropped to his knees beside her and removed the gag as quickly as he could with fingers made clumsy by the cold. “Come on,” he whispered, giving her a slight shake to snap her out of her fume-induced haze. “I’m betting we don’t have much time until he comes back. I have to get you out of here-”

    “Flames,” she murmured, eyes focusing on him for a moment. They shone green. “Fire.”

    “Oh, god.” What was the Author thinking? Edward fumbled with the zip ties wrapped around her wrists and ankles for a moment before snatching a wickedly sharp knife from its haphazard place on the table and slicing through the plastic with jerking, desperate moves. “Let’s get you out of here. Come on.”

    They burst from the cabin and into the blizzard, Edward only pausing to wrap his scarf around her face before dragging her across the clearing toward the woods. He allowed himself one glance back, and what he saw froze the blood in his veins like no winter storm ever could.

    The Author stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the cabin light. In one hand he held a blowtorch, in the other he clutched his bat. His shadow stretched across the snowy clearing, reaching for them. 

    There was no cry of outrage upon finding his captive was gone and his boyfriend with here, and there wouldn’t be one, Edward knew. If anything, the Author would be elated, and eager to hunt.

    Edward only had to get her out of his woods before he caught them.

    “We need to get to my car.” His words were lost to the wind and snow as he over tree roots and through knee-high snow, dragging the Author’s half-lucid, bare-footed prisoner along with him by a death-grip on her wrist. “If we can only get to my car-”

    Suddenly he pitched forward, into the snow, taking her with him. Words, thick and slow as half-congealed blood, uncurled inside his mind. *Edward trips and falls headfirst into the snow. He knows what is coming, and he is paralyzed with fear.*

    “Ach- Author!” Edward was stuck, his limbs frozen. Beside him, the girl was doing her best to free herself of his grip on her wrist, her struggles made difficult by the violent shudders racking her small body. Her green eyes-- abnormally bright with panic and tears-- were the last things Edward saw before she was yanked from his sight by an unknown force.

    Yanked from his sight by an unknown force, and set aflame; the burst was brilliant against the dark, and the immediate smell of burning flesh nauseating.

    The Author pulled Edward from the snow a moment later and clutched him to his chest, one hand forcing his forehead back, forcing him to see as the girl burned alive.

    “You’re lucky you didn’t ruin my plot,” he said quietly. “Otherwise, who knows? Maybe you’d be burning with her.”

    “How do you sleep at night?” Tears ran down Edward’s face as he watched the girl flail and scream, flames licking her flesh from her bones. But he didn’t dare struggle. Didn’t dare fight the Author. 

    The Author’s shoulders shook as he laughed, an ugly noise that rang off snow-laden branches that reached for them like claws, waving shadows cast by firelight. “I don’t. Can you?”

    Edward didn’t answer, and the Author didn’t speak. They continued to stand and stare as the girl’s cries petered out, as she collapsed to the wet snow that did nothing to help extinguish the gasoline-fueled flame.

    “You’re shivering,” the Author remarked, some time later. He spun Edward around to face him, and cupped the doctor’s cheeks gently with his blood-spattered hands. “Let’s go back to the cabin, hm? I know you got booze and s’mores.”

    Edward nodded numbly, and let the Author kiss him, and lead him away.