#how is my heart not melting through my ribs like molten glass

[ms0milk]

pussy can only be so wet, this is getting ridiculous

[snek-snacc-ficc]

Fare and Unfairness

Summary: As the embodiment of Greed, Janus is no stranger to doing whatever he pleases to satisfy his desires. A craving for delicious food is one such desire with an especially simple remedy, that just so happens to come with the added bonus of visiting Patton.

Pairings: Moceit, implied Intrulogical

Words: 2,010

Janus didn't have a problem taking what he wanted when he wanted it. It was a given being the physical incarnation of Greed. But, sometimes, the sheer effort of having to maneuver his way to his prize was more than he was willing to give. Perhaps it was just another example of his self-serving ways, wanting to hoard everything including his own time. If asked outright he'd jokingly suggest that he suffered the same issue that afflicted Logan, the only one of them who represented two Sins, and that a part of Sloth still remained with him from the time when all seven Sins were the same being. In truth, it simply mattered little to him how he obtained what he desired as long as he obtained it at all. If someone was going to hand him what he wanted on a silver platter he was in no place to complain. Which is why he found himself in the kitchen of Patton's earthly residence when he was hit with a particularly strong craving for lavish wines and rich food, not wanting to bother with wasting hours searching for a human with enough skill to make it for him.

"Hmm," Patton looked thoughtfully at both bottles in his hands. "Would you prefer Bordeaux or Rioja?"

Janus eyed the dishware set hanging atop the wall above the sink with a much too admiring look. "Whatever you think is best, my dear," he said, waving offhandedly. "Is that design made of real gold?"

"What?" Patton asked, glancing up to where Janus's gaze laid. "Oh, yes! More for show than anything, but it sure is pretty."

"Indeed." Janus slowly trailed his eyes away and back to Patton.

Patton didn’t react to his guest looking like he was plotting to rob him blind, much more enthralled with choosing a wine. He observed both bottles for another moment, before shrugging and setting both on the dining table. "Well no harm in splurging a bit, why not both?" he chirped, reaching to the counter for a wine glass for each of them.

Janus chuckled lightly. "Always such a generous host. I'm surprised the Angels haven't made an exception and taken you as one of their own."

Patton huffed, giving the corkscrew a firm twist. "You would think, wouldn't you? Out of all the things in humanity to make a Sin, the Heavens choose a harmless little thing like Gluttony."

"Oh?" Janus quirked an eyebrow. "Is that a hint of bitterness I hear from such a seemingly sweet-heart? Do you think yourself Holier than the rest of us?"

"Of course not!" Patton insisted. "Frankly, I think all of their rules are foolish in some way. But out of all the things to punish, why a little self-indulgence?" He went for the Spanish wine first, pouring a glass for Janus and then one for himself. He took his own seat at the opposite end of the table and gave a snap of his fingers. In an instant the table was filled with trays of food. A beautiful, dripping prime rib sat at the center, surrounded by sides of creamy mashed potatoes and gravy, Yorkshire pudding, garlic-parsnip purée, and an assortment of vegetables prepared in nearly every way imaginable, from roasted to slathered in butter and sauteed with bacon.

Janus nearly moaned at the feast in front of them, the heavenly smells wafting through the air further confirming in his mind Patton's skills to be far more angelic than infernal. He took the time to fold his cloth napkin in his lap, and not hesitating a second longer on filling his plate.

"Continue Dear," he said, spooning out a healthy portion of truffled brussel sprouts. "I don't think I've ever heard anything akin to frustration from you until now and I'm curious to hear more. What brought all this on?"

"It's nothing much, I suppose," Patton said as he began to carve into the meat. "It's just I had a run-in with that Emile a few weeks ago and I swear it sets me off everytime I see them. You know they-"

Janus almost choked, wearing a rare expression of genuine concern he'd never dare let anyone but Patton see. "I wouldn't call an encounter with a Head Angel 'nothing much!' They didn't try anything with you, did they?"

"No, no, nothing happened," Patton said quickly to quench his fears, "I heard their lot has been trying to keep the peace with our bunch. They don't want to cause any other-worldly problems when they can hardly handle this new plague on Earth, or whatever the humans are calling it."

Janus's face melted back into relaxation.

The corners of Patton's mouth twitched upward at the subtle display. Notes of true affection from Janus were few and far between, so much so he doubted anyone but him ever picked up on them, but he cherished those moments where the other let bits of his heart slip through the cracks of his usual facade.

"Anyway," he continued, "They looked like they had an apprentice with them. Remy, I think his name was. I'd never seen him before and mistook him for just another human in the park with his true form covered."

Janus clicked his tongue. "Consciousness Darling, you have to work on it."

“I was getting to that,” Patton said indignantly. “It just so happens I had gotten my hands on a box of these lovely gourmet chocolates I was dying to try and got a little...distracted.”

Janus brought a forkful of mushroom risotto to his lips, barely holding back a smile. “Ah, I see. Completely understandable.”

“And you know what,” Patton said, ignoring the sarcastic quip, “I hadn’t even set out that day to tempt anyone. I thought: Why not leave the humans alone, just this once? They create plenty of Sin on their own, no help from me necessary.” He poured himself another glass of wine, the passion in his voice a testament to how much the alcohol was already starting to affect him. “So when I spot this kid looking around everywhere all disoriented I decided to offer him a chocolate. One, single, completely innocent chocolate, just to perk him up a little cause he looked like he needed it. And right when I go up to him, Emile swoops in from out of nowhere and knocks the box right out of my hands, telling me to stop trying to tempt their pure apprentice like I do the humans.”

Janus gave a sound of acknowledgment. “And how exactly did this specific incident set you off down this ‘Gluttony shouldn’t be sinful’ path?”

“It’s the principle of it Janus! To think that they view such a minor indulgence as a bad thing. And then they hold the humans to the same standard. They have such short, insignificant little lives, and they waste it on concepts like ‘moderation,’ and ‘dieting,’ hoping it’ll be enough to please those stuck-ups. Humans, more than anyone, should be able to soak up every last bit of pleasure from their cuisine while they can. Why, if I were a human, I’d eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it.”

By the time the tirade was over Janus had cleared his plate. He polished off the last bit of his wine and released a satisfied sigh. “You already do that Dear,” he said, taking on a soft, sympathetic tone. “And it’s no use lamenting the sorrows Heaven inflicts on humanity; Just be grateful we can nudge them towards their own pleasure once in a while.”

“I guess so.” Patton sulked while finishing his own meal and snapping the table clean.

“Funny,” Janus teased in an attempt to get Patton’s mind on something else, “I wouldn’t have thought you the type to forget dessert.”

As expected, his energy brightened up at the mention. “You’re right, I never asked you what you wanted. Any preferences?”

Janus thought through various options, drumming his fingers on the table. “I was rather partial to that lava cake we had in France.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a dessert plate with the cake appeared in front of him.

“Toppings?” Patton asked, already doctoring up his own cake with whipped cream and berries.

“Just powdered sugar, thank you.”

A silver shaker popped up next to his plate. He took it, sifting only a small sprinkle overtop before cutting into the miniature cake. It was even more moist than he remembered, and the center of molten chocolate oozing out was the perfect viscosity. It only took one bite for him to conclude that even the five-star Parisian restaurant they had visited didn’t hold a candle to the food Patton could create on a whim.

“Have you heard from any of the other’s lately?” He asked, eager to get the ball rolling for a bit of after-dinner gossip (his personal favorite topic of conversation).

Patton shook his head. “I haven’t had the chance to. Aside from you, I’ve only seen Virgil recently, and that was months ago.”

A delighted, devilish smirk blossomed on Janus’s face. “So I take it you haven’t heard about the...hard time Logan has had as of late.”

“No, is he okay?” Patton asked, voice laced with worry, “What happened?”

“He’s just fine,” Janus said, reveling in the anticipation, “Let’s just say that it appears there’s a reason he’s so fond of the color blue.”

He recounted the entire story Roman had told him about Logan’s budding temptation towards Lust, much to Patton’s shock and amusement.

“I never would have expected those two,” Patton said, getting up and waving away their dishes once they were finished, “But I’m happy for them. It sounds like they’re enjoying themselves.”

Janus hummed in agreement, stretching as he too stood up. “The food was wonderful as always Darling, thank you,” he said, leaning over to give Patton a gentle peck on the cheek.

His face, already flushed from the wine, turned a shade darker. “Leaving so soon?”

“You know the drill,” Janus replied, “Temptations to be made, Angels to corrupt, humans to swindle. Perhaps if I’m feeling especially virtuous I’ll borrow you a gift from somewhere in return for the lovely meal.”

Patton, who had been sinking into the other’s touch, suddenly jerked back. “That reminds me,” he said, “Wait just a second.” He snapped once and a gift bag filled with glittery tissue paper materialized in his hand. “Here.”

Confused, Janus peeled away the top layers of the tissue paper, peeking inside. Everything was sealed up tightly in bubble wrap, but through the translucent covering he could make out a familiar design. He looked up above the sink where the gold accented dish set from earlier had hung, the wall now dotted only with semi-visible outlines of where it had once been.

Patton giggled at his surprise. “You aren’t nearly as sly as you think you are,” he said. “And I don’t care whether I eat off of solid diamond or a paper plate as long as the food is good, so they’re really no use to me.” He winked. “Besides, I think I actually quite enjoy feeding your desires.”

There was a beat where Janus simply stared stunned and silent at Patton, who, in turn, looked to him with all the tenderness in the world.

Janus moved with his free hand, rushing forward to cup Patton's face and connecting their lips in a deep kiss.

“Every single being in Heaven is an idiot for not making you one of their own,” Janus whispered when they had just barely parted.

“Maybe not,” Patton said lightly, “Maybe they have incredible foresight. In any existence I would have ended up Falling for you anyway.”

Janus pulled them in for another kiss, pushing his previous priorities to the back of his mind. He was Greed after all, it was only natural for him to go after his desires. And if what he wanted was right in front of him for the taking then he certainly wasn’t going to refuse the offer.

---

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you're interested in this AU I do plan on creating a collection of one-shots for it, so be sure to be on the lookout for those.

Here's just a couple quick notes on the writing itself that I thought might be confusing:

-Fare, as written in the title, refers to food.

-The "Sins" in this AU were once combined into a single physical being. However, as humanity grew in size it became increasingly harder for one being to manage the responsibilities for all seven Sins at once. The internal conflict caused a split to occur, with individual vessels being created for each Sin. The only exception is Logan, who represents both Wrath and Envy. The two Sins compliment each other well, so it's easy for them to work in tandem as one. A similar occurrence happened with Pride and Lust (Roman and Remus) at first, but ultimately fell apart later on.

-The color blue, referenced in the short mention of Logan near the end, is often attributed as the color of lust.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Date Nights 1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut

New Naughty Series

You pulled the etched glass jar from the gift bag. It was heavy, probably crystal, with a beautiful floral motif carved around the outside. The silver and enamel lid shone with butterflies and flowers. Antique. Looking up at Steve you smiled.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Open it.” His blue eyes sparkled.

Inside you found little notes, all rolled careful into little scrolls and tied with string. “What are these?”

“Pick one.” Steve chewed his lip.

Pulling one out, you unrolled it to see Steve’s clear handwriting. It said ‘Starlight Picnic’ in blue ink. Steve’s lips brush the sensitive skin just below your ear. His voice making your insides melt. “We don’t get to go out all that often, so I thought I would make a list stuff to do.”

“You made us a date night jar?” You giggled, cupping his jaw in your hand.

“Complaining?” He smiled against your lips.

“Nope.” You kissed him deep.

“Mmm.” Steve reluctantly pulled away, taking the scrap of paper from you. “Give me twenty minutes. Go put on something comfortable and warm.”

Steve came back into the common room of the compound to find you in leggings and one of his cable kit sweaters. He never told you how much he liked it when you wore his clothes, but somehow you knew. It showed in the warmth of his smile, the way his hand slipped over your body.  

“Perfect.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”  

He carried a big duffel bag and a reusable grocery bag from the kitchens. Steve led you to one of the back service elevators. It went to the roof mechanical room. You’d expected Steve to take you to the rooftop garden above the office atrium.  

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere without camera surveillance.” Steve grinned.  

Leaving the mechanical room, the only light came from the few colored marker lights on the edge of the building and the stars above. He led you carefully, making sure you didn’t trip on any of the conduit boxes sticking up. On the back of the mechanical room a set of metal stairs led to the highest point of the compound.  

“Stay here.”  

Steve put the bag down and pulled out couple camp sleeping pads and covered them with a blanket. He brought out a plate and began to unwrap cheese, fruit, crackers and little pastries. The bottle of wine and stemless wine glasses finished the spread.  

“Okay, Sugar.” He came over to take your hands. You both toed off your shoes before lowering down to the blanket. In the dim light, his warm lips covered yours briefly before he reclined back on his elbows. “Look up.”

You mirrored his pose. Above you stars filled the clear night sky, brilliant and magnificent. You were a city girl, where the lights of buildings and streets drowned out the sky. “Wow.”

“Bite?” Steve held out a half a strawberry. You leaned forward taking it in your mouth, tongue brushing his fingertips. His lips fell open, eyes locked upon your lips. “Gorgeous.”

You swallowed just before his mouth crashed over yours. With a low moan, he lowered you back. You felt his body stretch along side yours, leaning his weight into you, hot and hard. Steve’s large hand cupped your face as he drank you down. His neck felt hot under your hands, fingers toying with the short hair at the nape of his neck.  

His hand slipped under the sweater to rest on the bare skin of your ribs. Steve brushed his nose along your face, mouth drifting toward your ear. “You’ve been in my closet again.”

“Can’t help it.” You purred. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

“You wear my clothes when I’m gone. Not just stuff to sleep in.” His teeth nipped your ear, sending a shiver down your body.

“Do you mind?” Your leg hitched over his hip as you ground into him.

His voice rumble low. “No. I like it.” Steve left a wet trail along your neck. “Let’s everyone know your my girl.”  

A quiet moan escaped your lips, his words turning your core molten. “How do you do that?” Your head rocked back as Steve nipped. “You say things like that, actually mean it,” you moaned again. “And god, it makes me feel so good.”

Steve’s head rose to look you in the eye. “Why is that surprising?”

You touched his face, fingertips tracing his beautiful lips. “I’ve always been so independent. The idea of anyone getting possessive, terrified me. But with you, I feel safe. It makes me feel desired and precious.”

His eyes softened, then closed as he leaned close. “You are precious.” His lips barely touched yours as he spoke. “I love your independence, and I’m so thankful I can call you mine.”

“Steve,” you sighed as he kissed you again, slow and deep. Warmth turned to heat as you wrapped yourself tighter around him. Steve rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of his chest. His hand slid up the skin of your back, finding nothing beneath the sweater.  

He smiled into your kiss before pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. The cold of the night a sharp contrast to the heat of his hands. Steve sat up, holding you straddled in his lap. He tossed aside his own shirt, too.  

Steve arched you back, massaging your breast, sucking and teasing your nipple. You gazed up, bathed in starlight, breath coming fast, nerves lighting up. You rocked against his hardness. The soft fabric of your leggings and his sweats doing nothing to hide the heat as you rubbed your clit into him.  

He rolled you to the side, kneeling beside you as he pulled your leggings off. His hand wrapped around your ankle as he kissed his way to your knee. Running his hands over your thighs, spreading you wide, his mouth moved closer to your core. Steve breathed deep, a near growl escaping at his first taste of you.  

“Oh yes,” your hands clutched at the blanket beneath you. Steve’s tongue lapped through your wet folds, flicked against your sensitive clit. He suckled and hummed. One hand came around to hold your hips as you ground against his face.  

You looked down to see Steve pull away, eyes transfixed with awe on your sex, mouth wet. He slipped two fingers into your cunt, pulling another moan from you as he curled his fingers against the perfect spot. A wicked smile curled his lip as he latched his mouth onto you again.  

“Fuck,” you panted, fighting to move against him. His fingers pumping hard, but not fast enough. His mouth feeling like too much. You wound tight. “Steve, please!”

His head rose, hand pumped harder. “Wanna come for me, Sugar?”

“Yes!”

Steve spread one hand wide over your mound, thumb rubbing over your clit as his other hand drew sloppy wet obscene sounds from your cunt. You writhed. Coiled tight. He marveled, loving the sight. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. So, hot. Feel so good. Taste so good. That’s it,” he growled. “Come for me.”

You snapped, flushed with heat, body shaking, coming hard and flooding over his hand.  

“Yes,” Steve growled, mouth covering you again. You jerked, moaned, so sensitive. Before Steve you’d never been a squirter, but he could pull it out of you, leaving you lit up and floating. Your eyes rolled to the stars again, body singing.  

Steve crawled up your body, kissing and nipping his way. With a burst of energy, you wrapped a leg around him and rolled him over. He fell onto his back with a laugh. You felt his cock slip along your wet folds with delight. He’d managed to shed his sweats.  

Running your tongue along his broad chest, gripping his cock in you hand, you crawled lower. Steve groaned, his fingers combing through your hair. He watch intently. You looked up, locking eyes with him as you took him in your mouth. His thighs clenched and stomach fluttered.  

You took him deep, pressing against him with your tongue, humming low with delight. His fingers tightened in your hair as you sucked on his cock, hand moving in time with your mouth. He dropped his head back, relishing the feel. 

Steve curled up, pulling you away from him.  

“Come ‘ere.” He sat up, coaxing you onto his lap. Steve kissed you deep, arms wrapped tight around you. Rocking against him, you raised your hips enough so he slipped into you. Both of you moaned into each other’s mouths.  

Rocking, grinding against each other, heat flooded over you. Steve held you close, hands roaming over your back, shoulders to ass. His eyes closed, face pressed close to yours. “Need you so much.”

“Steve.” Your held him close, hand in his hair. Him rocking deep into you, you shook. You heart nearly burst. “Need you, always.” Something close to a whine escaped his throat as your nails scraped along his scalp. “I’m yours.”

“Yes.” His hands gripped your ass, pushing you into him harder. “Say it again.”

“I’m your girl.” You panted. Steve’s face lowered to your neck, lightly biting down. You shook. His hands moved you with more desperation. “Oh, fuck, Steve. I’m gonna…”

“Yes.” He growled. “Ah, so close.”

“Come in me.” You moaned, nails digging into his back. Steve slammed your hips to him, rougher, faster. You bit back a scream, shaking, quivering. Cunt clenching, coming hard. He groaned out his own release, filling you, crushing you in his hold. 

Steve held you close, lowering onto his back again. You panted, pliant in his arms. When you tried to move, he kept you still, kept himself buried. “No, please, don’t move.”

“Mmm” You closed your eyes, sighing. Steve was a heater against your front, solid and warm. The night air on your back coolly wicked away your sweat. You muttered contently, “This was a great idea.”

Steve lay staring at the stars, you lazily sprawled over him. His hands drew lazy circles over your flesh. Sex on roof the had not been the plan, but it was indeed a wonderful turn. All of the ideas he put in the jar danced across his mind. A smile crossed his face as he imagined all the wonderful ways those could turn passionate too.  

“Yeah,” He smiled. “Pretty damn good.”

You felt Steve’s cock twitch, hardening again. Your fingers drifted over his thick bicep. “Somehow I think you have even more in mind.”  

When you clenched your muscles around his cock, Steve gave a little moan and grabbed you ass. He teased, “You’d be surprised how much I have in mind.”      

You giggled. “Try me.”

Steve flipped you over on you back, hovering over you on his arms. He beamed down at you, smile warm and playful. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

Your laugh bubbled up from your toes.

Date nights were going to be fun.

TAGS

@rainbowkisses31 / @dsakita​ / @geeksareunique​ / @lbouvet​ / @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ / @theneuropsychwriter​ / @vanillabunn21​ / @sammghgecko​ / @beautifullungs​ / @badassbaker​ / @the-omni-princess​ / @sebbysstangirl​ / @jesseswartzwelder​ / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @the-reading-octopus​ / @bangtan-serendipity​ / @kiki5283​ / @mindtravelsx / @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines​ / @patzammit​ / @thegetawaywriter​  / @vxidnik​ / @jennmurawski13​ / @wildmoonflower​ / @rynabarnesrogers​ / @notyourtypicalrose​ / @sllooney​ / @wwe-fanfiction-queen​ / @thorfanficwriter​ / @scarlettsoldier​ / @morganhoran1671 / @michelehansel​ / @sexyvixen7​ / @readermia​ / @buchanansebba​ / @what-is-your-plan-today​ / @imma-new-soul​ / @asiaaisa77​ / @babygurl8840​ / @acf2510​

[offtopicoverload]

“I want to be your home” for the soft asks ... for any LITG character you feel like writing about 🥺❤️

Thanks so much for the prompt! <3

I’ve been kinda curious to write Hannah lately, so I thought I’d give it shot since this prompt felt like Hannah-level of cheesy romance lol

Wildfire 

Hannah x MC (Clover)

~1.7k 

Hannah taps her foot nervously, standing beside the snack table at the finale party and watching its attendants dance and drink, laugh and chat. She sips fancy, expensive champagne as her cool, blue eyes scan for one person in particular. She knows she shouldn’t be searching, shouldn’t be bothered, shouldn’t be invested, but she just can’t help it, she can’t help longing to spend the party dancing and drinking, laughing and chatting with this one particular person.

She frowns, turning to her glass and swirling the bubbles inside, watching them twist and spiral, attempting to distract herself from the face that’s been imprinted in her mind since last night, the face that’s begun to haunt her. Maybe it’s haunted her since the first time she ever even saw it, maybe it’s been following her for weeks, sitting in the back of her mind and slowly driving her insane. That’s worse, isn’t it? If there was never even a catalyst to spark these ridiculous feelings, they just appeared along with that face, no explanation, no justification.

Is that more or less romantic? For one small spark to light a fire after weeks of peace, of ignorance, of nothing worth noting, or for an explosion to ravage the forest right from the start, unapologetic and unforgiving? She downs the last of her glass, turning to steal a refill and downing it too, before grabbing one more.

Bright blue eyes turn back to the party, searching for the match that’s burnt her insides to a crisp. Spark or explosive, slow build or instant heat, it still burns the same, it still chars her heart, fills her lungs with smoke, and clouds her mind with a thick, heavy haze. It still wreaks havoc on her entire world, still turns her reality to ash, and still disintegrates the future she had imagined for herself.

Now, all she can imagine is her. All she can picture is a world in which she’s there, lighting match after match and discarding them on the forest floor. A perfect reality in which she’s burning dry leaves to a crisp and the dry brush beneath her feet into cinders, embers that flicker and fly until they reach bark, until they grow and grow, engulfing wood and sending smoke to join and mix with the clouds softly shifting above the party.

And then she finds her, sees her standing with that lighter of a smile, carelessly letting it’s flames lick at everything within sight, carelessly letting it burn the branches surrounding Hannah, even from across the party, even from metres away. Yet, that’s not the end, far from it as she carelessly lights dynamite, her green eyes landing on Hannah’s and the flames from her lighter somehow growing a fraction of a millimetre alongside her smile, just the smallest, most miniscule, barely noticeable increase sending Hannah’s heart racing, fanning the flames raging inside of her.

Those green eyes break from blue, turning back to the man beside her, her red-stained lips murmuring something that Hannah longs to hear, just to listen to the smooth molten metal she knows is falling from them. She huffs, dragging a hand through her red locks, locks that once seemed like the brightest fire she would ever encounter, but are now a flickering spark, a dying ember on pavement as opposed to everything inside of her, everything in front of her. She turns, scanning the table before her for something to occupy her time, to suffocate the flames lapping at her ribcage.

She heaves a deep breath, but it does nothing to quiet the wildfire burning and scarring her, potentially even fueling the flames, potentially letting them grow and grow, their smoke nearly choking her now. Every cell in her body shrivels under the heat, every centimetre of her skin is bright red, flushed from the excessive temperature. She takes a biscuit, biting into and staring at the tablecloth, praying for release from the forest fire that’s destroying her without care.

“Hey,” molten, dripping, red-hot magma sounds from behind Hannah, spilling into her ears and down her neck, a trail of ash in its wake. She turns, meeting those gorgeous green eyes that promise life, that promise refuge in rolling hills, that promise something other than fire and ash, smoke and burning red.

“Hey, Clover,” she chokes through the fumes clouding her throat, feeling the way it coats her airways and tasting the way it settles on her tongue as the words escape from her lips.

The lighter’s flames explode before her eyes, metres and metres tall, tall enough to burn the clouds swirling in the sky above them, dark in the night. “How’ve you been?” she beams. “I mean, I know it’s only been a day, but, uh… y’know,” she averts those promises of life, those promises of more, turning them to the lawn beneath their heels, her cheeks turning neon, fiery as heat flows from them.

Hannah’s own face is burning, no doubt hot to the touch as she nervously chuckles, “Yeah. Um, I’ve been good. Congrats on the win,” she smiles, as steady as she can, even though her desire to run from the flames before her is slowly growing along with them.

Clover beams, her smile scorching and boiling as it collides with Hannah’s skin, “Thanks! I didn’t really expect it but, y’know, it’s pretty amazing.” Her eyes are hypnotic, drawing Hannah in with the promise of plentiful existence and boundless nature, just for her smile to roast her.

“What are you going to do with the money? And what about Carl and his share?” Hannah inquires gently, the thought of them spending it together collapsing and melting her heart, lava flowing over her ribs as she forces a smile to hide the caving of her chest.

Clover’s head tilts, her lips twisting as she considers carefully, “I don’t know about Carl, but I was going to donate most of it. Maybe start fostering dogs with my free time,” she grins, teeth alight with sparks.

And Hannah beams right back, because of course that’s how she’d spend it. Of course she’d spend it helping others and providing safety, just like the shining gems that are her eyes. Only her smile falls away an instant later, “We, um, we should probably talk about last night, right?” she turns to the drink in her hand, swirling the liquid within and crossing her free arm over her chest.

Hannah’s throat bobs as she swallows thickly, working to steady herself and ignore the smoke in her throat as she awaits Clover’s answer, “Yeah, I, uh, probably.”

“So, I don’t -” she sighs, forcing her eyes to meet those green pastures, those beautiful safe havens, “I just - I know how you look at him. And how much you care about him. I really do get that and I know this won’t change anything, but just - I don’t know,” she groans weakly, turning back to her drink and mumbling, “This was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m really sorry.”

“No.” Flowing lava drips from red lips as her fingers wrap around Hannah’s wrist, blistering and searing the skin beneath her palm, “Tell me, Han,” she urges softly. “I need to know. Please,” the heat in the lava’s disappeared, turning to rock, strong and steady as it beats against Hannah’s protective walls, crumbling them with ease.

“I - Do you know how you look at him?” she glances up, feeling fire surrounding her, smoke filling her lungs as a layer of ash settles on her skin.

Those promises of life dim, confusion and concern mingling as her thumb unconsciously brushes along Hannah’s wrist, every pore she touches lighting with embers. She shakes her head softly, looking to Hannah for an answer, an answer she doesn’t want to give, an answer that may finally quell the flames, but in the worst way possible.

She swallows the pile of ash that’s settled on her tongue, “You - You look at him like he’s your entire world, like he’s your favourite place, like - like he’s your home, all cozy and familiar and comfortable,” she begins, drawing herself to her full height, urging the flames circling her to wait just a minute more before engulfing her entirely.

“Han, what -?” Clover starts, cocking her head as her brows furrow in confusion.

Hannah shakes her head to cut her off, to speed up the process of killing the life held within her perfect green eyes “I need to just - Please,” she begs softly.

Clover nods, letting her continue, those green eyes refusing to die, sparkling with life inside her head. They shine in the minimal light surrounding them in the night, neon lights reflecting and glittering within them. They draw Hannah in to the point that she doesn’t even remember the dozens of people around them, the music that’s pounding from speakers, the drink in her hand, the entire Villa disappearing as she falls into the world held within those green eyes.

The ash that filled her throat is gone along with everything else, the words flowing easier than ever before, soft and quiet, “He’s your home and your happy place and - and I want to be that for you… I want to be your home, Clo, I want to be that happy place…” she nearly whispers the confession, relishing the momentary freedom from fire, the fresh air that fills her lungs, the sight of the world not obscured in an orange haze.

Until it sparks again, Hannah’s heart providing the catalyst this time as flames break from the organ, beating fast and hard, licking at her already wounded body, “But I know I can’t be and this was a stupid idea and I’m really sorry, I’m just gonna -” she pulls back, breaking the hold that green now has on her, and turns to run, to retreat into the crowd and drink until she forgets what she’s done, or until she succumbs to her burns, neither of which should take too long or too much at this point.

Clover’s cool hand slips into hers, lacing their fingers together gently as Clover looks at her softly, delicately, pulling her back before she can get too far, before she can forget that captivating green. Her touch is cool and calming, precious and soothing as her perfect eyes alleviate the burns covering every centimetre of Hannah’s body, “Let’s talk, okay?”

[orangeoctopi7]

History Repeats Itself

: Chapter 1 : Chapter 2 : Chapter 3 : Chapter 4 : Chapter 5 : Chapter 6 :

The boys resumed working on the Time Tape right away. Ford showed his brother how to carefully use the tiny file to grind off the excess bits of metal from the miniscule framework of circuitry. Once Stan got started on his own, the young genius got to work taking apart the Time Tape’s casing, and preparing to replace the circuitry. As they worked, the only sound was the scraping of the file and their mother taking the occasional call for her phone psychic business downstairs. 

Ford was trying to tease the damaged circuits out of their casing with the tweezers he’d used to clean the sand off the new circuits. After a few failed attempts, he threw them down in frustration.

“Where are my needle-nosed pliers!?” He shuffled through all the tools and parts that had accumulated on his desk.

Stan shrugged, then winced as his arm throbbed again.

When another few minutes of exasperated searching didn’t turn up anything, Ford decided to head back downstairs and see if there was a pair among their father’s tools.

“Hey, gimme another ice pack while you’re down there?” Stan requested. The ice bag he’d been using had become nothing more than a sweaty bag of lukewarm water.

“Sure.” Ford nodded as he left the room.

Since the bag no longer soothed his aching arm, Stan picked it up and plopped it into their trash bin before resuming his task of filing down the new circuitry. The water from the bag coated his fingers, making his grip slippery. The next time his right arm throbbed with pain, his fingers twitched, and the file slipped out of his hand. He instinctively grabbed it with his left hand… and snapped the circuitry he was holding in half in the process.

Stan just stared down at his hands blankly for a couple of seconds before what he’d done sunk in. “...Crap…” he breathed. His stomach twisted and his heart rate skyrocketed. Way to go, screw-up, you’ve ruined one of your brother’s important projects yet again!

No. No, this wasn’t going to be like that. Stan looked around frantically, for a place to hide the evidence, for an escape route, he wasn’t sure. Then his eyes fell on the soldering iron. Of course! After thirty years of rebuilding the Portal, he knew how to use one of those! He could still fix it! Sure, Ford had said it was too big for such delicate work, but Stan was willing to try anything at this point.

He laid the circuitry back down in the sand mold as carefully as his shaking hands would allow. It wasn’t a perfect fit, many of the sand grains had been picked away by the first molding, but it would have to do for now. He held the soldering spool and the hot iron just a few millimeters above the first break in the circuitry. He tried to hold his hands steady as a molten drop of metal dripped into the sand, but his emotions were running away with him. His thoughts kept on circling, screw-up, screw-up, screw-up, repeating on an endless loop in his head. His breath was coming in irregular gasps, and his vision was blurring. Instead of sealing the break, the drop of metal was just a couple of millimeters off target.

“C-c’mon!” Stan grunted, sticking the tip of the soldering iron into the molten drop and dragging it to the break in the circuit, like one would drag a fountain pen through a drop of ink. All he ended up doing was melting the metal on either side of the break.

“No. No! No no no!” Stan’s frustration and fear bloomed into anger, and he slammed the soldering iron down on the desk, leaving a scorch mark in the hard plastic surface and snapping the tip of the iron right off. He stared mutely at the smoldering tip as it slowly burned a hole in the carpet. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

His instincts were telling him to run, but what good would that do? He was still trapped in the past with Stanford, and he’d just sabotaged their chances of fixing the thing they needed to get home. How would Ford react when he found out?

It won’t be like with the science fair. The logical part of Stan’s brain reasoned. You’ve both learned from your mistakes and grown since then.

But Stan had never been very good at listening to the logical part of his brain. The rest of his brain could only remember all the times he’d messed up before, and how his life always seemed to start a death spiral from there.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and froze. He’d run out of time.

“I’ve got your ice pack. Sorry I took so long, the needle-nosed pliers were all the way down in the pawn shop. I guess dad needed them to work on an old clock someone--” Ford stopped short when he took in the devastated expression on his brother’s face. “What happened?”

“I--I--” Stan stammered, struggling to form coherent words, much less describe what he’d done. “I’m sorry-- my hand slipped-- I didn’t mean to-- no, no excuses-- I tried to fix it, I swear!”

“Hey… hey, it’s ok.” Ford rushed forward and wrapped his brother in a hug.

“It’s not ok!” Stan cried. “We need to go home, and I just ruined the thing we need to do that!”

Ford glanced over his brother’s shoulder and took in the broken circuitry and the snapped soldering iron. He quickly unplugged the iron before it caught anything on fire, but then returned to comforting his brother. 

“Stanley, it’s ok, it was just an accident.”

Stan frowned down at the ground. “It’s always an accident.”

Ford gently took his brother by the shoulders. “It was delicate, I could have snapped it just as easily.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. You didn’t break the iron either.” Stan held his head in his hands and gave a hollow laugh. “I could’ve burned the house down. That’d be a new low, even for me.”

“You need to stop beating yourself up so much. Nothing was broken that can’t be fixed.” Ford assured him. “I told you I can form the circuits again, it’ll only take a couple of days and a new soldering iron.”

Stan groaned. “Yeah, nothing that can’t be fixed except the school's property.”

Ford scoffed. “I literally could not care less about the school’s property.”

“And your desk.”

“Trust me, I’ve burnt plenty of holes of my own in that desk.”

Stan just swallowed back tears and leaned into his brother’s shoulder.

Ford patted his back awkwardly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry I always got so irate all those other times, but I’ve learned my lesson since then.”

Stan was maybe on the verge of feeling better when they both heard the familiar sound of an oldsmobile pulling into the parking space behind the pawn shop. Filbrick was home, with his usual sense of timing. Ford could feel his brother tense in his arms.

“...Maybe he went out for drinks with the coach and he’ll just go straight to bed.” The young genius hoped. Thankfully their father was more of a sleepy drunk than an angry drunk.

The heavy footfalls coming up the stairs didn’t sound like a tired, drunken stagger. They heard a muted conversation between their parents, and then the footsteps continued up the second flight of stairs to their attic bedroom.

Ford held the ice pack up to Stan’s face.

“Wha-- Ford, what the heck?”

“It’ll mask any swelling or redness from… your hormone-induced emotional outburst.” They didn’t have time to argue over whether or not Stan had just been crying.

The heavy footsteps stopped, and the door swung open. Filbrick was barely an inch taller than them at this point, and yet his impassive face loomed over them like a colossus. 

“You two left without tellin’ me. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Not worried enough to come looking for us, apparently.” Ford answered flippantly. 

“I had to go use the payphone to call your Ma when neither of you came back in time for the Somners fight!” He informed them. “So not only did I spend money I shouldn’t’ve had to, I cut into her precious client time. You know she can’t take customers during the day anymore because of the baby!”

“Oh…” Ford had forgotten about that particular detail. “Sorry.” He was mostly sorry for his mother. “It was my fault, I was really anxious to get back to my science fair project.”

“And you,” Filbrick turned to Stan, who quickly lowered the ice from his face. “You left without collectin’ your pay! What kind of imbecile does that!? I had to collect it for you.”

“Oh, heh, whoops!” Stan forced on his best con man smile. “Guess I must’ve hit my head one too many times in the ring.”

“How many times have I got to tell you boys?” Filbrick shook his head. “All the brains or charm in the world can’t buy you a meal in your stomach or a roof over your head. What’s it gonna take for you two to man up and start takin’ your futures seriously?”

The two brothers remained silent, both knowing better than to try and answer this rhetorical question. Still, the irony was not lost on them. 

“Well, since you’re obviously not responsible enough to handle this money on your own, I think I’ll hang onto those winnings I picked up for you. Taking out the cost of the payphone, any potential revenu your mother might’ve lost while I was on the phone with her, and a holder’s fee, there should be just enough left for me to pay off your parking ticket.”

“Th-thanks, dad.” Stan said meekly.

“Don’t thank him, he’s taking money that’s rightfully yours!” Ford said indignantly.

“Ford!” Stan hissed, elbowing his brother hard in the ribs. He cast a wary glance up at their father. “H-he didn’t mean it!”

Filbrick stared down his rebellious son, his expression as unreadable as ever behind his dark glasses. Ford glared right back, unwavering.

“Let me clear something up for you, smart guy.” Fibrick growled. “You live under my roof. My sons. My dependents. So until you two turn 18, any money either of you make is technically mine. You’re just lucky me and your Ma make enough that we don’t need to take any of it from you.”

Stan squeezed his brother’s arm tightly and whispered in his ear. “Ford, please, don’t. Just let it go. Please.” He wasn’t sure if he was pleading with his brother not to correct their father’s grammar, or his understanding of how parental stewardship and dependents worked. Thankfully, Ford lowered his gaze and nodded.

Filbrick nodded stoically back. “And clean this room up, it smells like burnt plastic in here.”

[greenglasslov3]

Rewrite The Stars

A/N: This is my contribution to One Quote/One Shot Book 2! Many thanks to @balfeheughlywed and @notevenjokingfic for organizing this event yet again - you two are rock stars. My quote is included in the story below in bold.

As for the story, it’s been in my head for quite some time to write a very specific high school au - a One Tree Hill/Outlander crossover. While the idea of writing another full-fledge story with a complex plot seemed very daunting, writing a series of one shots felt a little less so. This fic is the first one shot in this crossover series, which I’ve titled Always & Forever.  Shout out to my awesome betas/cheerleaders @anoutlandishidea, @notameeksassenach, and @walkinginland for pushing me to get back in the saddle and write this story.  If you want some background music while reading, soundtracks for this fic include Style by Taylor Swift and Rewrite The Stars from The Greatest Showman. I hope you all enjoy it!

Rewrite The Stars

Midnight

Pebbles skip across the panes of my bedroom window, cracking like a whip, loud and sharp.  Once… then two more times… then once more.  The steady staccato of their barrage beats against glass, matching his persistence, his stubbornness.  He knows he could just text me - which would be far more discreet than pegging my house with tiny rocks - but he prefers the old-fashioned gesture, says it reminds him of simpler times and grand declarations made with boomboxes raised above one’s head.  He doesn’t worry about waking anyone with his racket because he knows I’m alone.  Uncle Lamb is gone once again on some fantastical adventure in search of ancient artifacts, and the rest of the street slumbers, blissfully unaware of any impending mischief.

He lobs another pebble, which ricochets off of a shutter and skitters across the roof line below my window.  Beneath the waves of bed linen, I roll onto my hip and flip on my bedside lamp, a shining beacon calling out to my lover below…

He’s not actually yours.

I chide myself, hissing at the pain that not only blossoms in my chest from my own cruel reality check but also from my big toe, which finds the corner of a forgotten textbook.  I’m a tangle of limbs, all sharp edges and knobby knees.  I shimmy into a pair of jeans and slip on my Keds in a completely uncoordinated ballet.  A blush creeps up my neck when I realize that he can see the shadows of my not-at-all graceful extremities behind my closed window curtains.  With no time for make-up, I bite my lip in hopes it stains the flesh just red enough to give the illusion of lipstick.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I inhale deeply in a feeble attempt to calm my rattled nerves.  I’m shaken to my core before I even step outside.  My eyelids slide close as I swallow against the hard lump of self-doubt at the back of my throat.  

Buck up, Beauchamp.

With my chin held high, I dramatically toss back the drapes and flick open the locks.  The heels of my hands press into the wooden ledge.  Whispered curses pepper my tongue when a stray splinter catches the fleshy bit of my palm, but I carry on in spite of the pain.  I duck through the narrow opening and push the window sash back into place, all while balancing precariously on my tiptoes.  Half sitting, half crouching, I crab-walk down the angled porch roof.  When I reach the end, I slide onto my belly and catch the column below with my legs before scampering down the taper with the agile reflexes of a cat.  Swaying slightly as I steady myself against the porch railing, I find my footing in the grass below until a low chuckle catches me off guard.

“I didna ken ye were part wee cheetie, Sassenach.”

I swivel quickly on one heel, and the world continues to spin around me even though I’ve stopped moving.

Jamie.

He’s waiting for me, leaning against his black Ford Mustang with his arms folded across his chest and his cock-sure confidence tucked behind his stupid (yet horribly attractive) smirk.  His windswept curls are nearly black at night, but the streetlights tinge the tips rose gold, framing his in an angelic halo like some deity (though he’s definitely more devil than god at times).  Not one for high fashion, he’s dressed simply in his signature trainers, jeans, and a white T-shirt… the sleeves of which capped the bugle of his bicep just perfectly.

Damn him.

A breeze filters in and lifts the stray curls from my neck, but I still feel warm.

“Hi,” I say weakly.  My chin is tucked downward as I watch my own toes scuff the earth, but I peek through my eyelashes, hoping to catch Jamie’s eye.  My pulse thunders to life when I realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me.  Not once.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I think I might faint.

“I didn’t see Lamb’s car…” he asks as he pushes himself off of his car.

“You wouldn’t,” I interrupt, taking three steps forward before I stop myself from seeming to eager. “He’s not here. Arizona.”

He glances up at my bedroom window and then back at me, his brow furrowing while his question takes form.  “But you...”

Pride floods my body, warming me to the tips of my fingers.  A small giggle bubbles from my lips as I trot towards him, shaking my head in slight disbelief that I’d actually pulled one over on him.  When we meet in the middle of the brick path in front of my house, we pause - a little awkward and mostly unsure of ourselves and the newness of whatever this is exactly.  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the fingers of his left hand twitch, fluttering against his thigh.  I press my hands to his chest and silence his nerves with a small peck on his cheek before I whisper in his ear.

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, Fraser.”

~*~

We speed off into the night with only the moon and the stars to light our way.  Hurtling down back roads in Jamie’s convertible reminds me of a rollercoaster as we peel around hairpin curves and crest mountainous hills before flying down the incline.  The radio plays music softly in the background, low enough for us to easily converse over the dulcet melodies but neither one of us speaks.  We ride along in silence, with Jamie’s hand resting on the seat mere inches from mine.  When he taps his fingers along to the beat, his pinky occasionally brushes mine, and each time, my belly clenches before melting into molten silver.

“Where to?” He asks, breaking through the quietness but keeping his eyes trained on the road in front of him.

His words reach my ears and my brain stutters to start and then suddenly launches ahead like a speeding train.  I hadn’t thought about where’d we go.  Jamie always randomly picked a place for us to meet - the River Court, Moira’s Cafe after my shift, or one of our houses depending on who’s legal guardian was around (a phrase in which we found both humor and sympathy).  Tonight, I blindly dressed and tossed myself out the window without a single question, let alone as where’d we go.

“Anywhere…” I sigh as I shrug my shoulders.  The leather beneath me squeaks loudly, emitting a sound that could dissolve only us into a fit of immature laughter.

“Laoghaire is throwing a party,” Jamie suggests casually.

Laoghaire MacKenzie.

The very mention of her name turns my stomach sour.  We whip around another turn, and I’m caught off guard.  My knuckles turn white from gripping the door handle as I try to swallow back the bile that’s flooded my mouth.  Memories flood my vision of the last party I attended with Laoghaire MacKenzie in attendance: special trinkets and secret letters revealed for all to see… Jamie and I further divided by the cruel hierarchy of the high school caste system… my tears masked by a steaming shower later that night while I sobbed from the embarrassment of it all.

I wouldn’t dare be caught in her presence unguarded again.

“Anywhere but there,” I request, my voice as sharp as the turn Jamie takes down a hidden, one lane road before I can even finish speaking.

~*~

“What is this place?” I ask as we roll to a stop, half afraid Jamie’s brought me up here to fulfill some psychopathic, horror movie fantasy, half in awe of the beautiful sight before me.

The thick forest gave way to a clearing, jagged branches breaking off to reveal a small, wooden structure and a sky of winking stars overhead.  As I slam the heavy metal car door behind me, a breeze rustles the leaves, making me shiver in its cool wake.  I know we are somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains from the way the once flat roads rose to startlingly steep hills, but I didn’t have the foresight to grab a jacket.  Completely unphased, Jamie jogs ahead of me and takes the steps at the front porch two at a time.

“My grandfather’s,” he explains as he jimmies open the first lock.  The screeching of ancient metal tumblers echoes throughout the clearing, disturbing the peaceful night and doing little to sway my mind from more macabre paranoia.

Rubbing warmth into my arms with my palms, I say through chattering teeth, “I didn’t realize you were so close with him that you’d have a key.”

Every shred of confidence I had before is gone, leaving me a shaking and stuttering nervous wreck.

“I doubt he’ll mind…” he grumbles as he negotiates the second lock to open and the heavy, timber door swings open on creaking hinges. “He’s dead.”

Well, that’s comforting.

“You know, this is how most scary movies start…” I rock back on my heels as I nervously ramble.  “Guy takes girl up to his cabin far from civilization… lulls her into a false sense of security… and BAM! He turns out to be a serial killer or a werewolf or...something!”

In the moonlight, Jamie’s blue eyes twinkle with mirth as the corners of his mouth tug upwards into a slight smirk.

“No werewolves here, Sassenach,” he promises as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and ushers me inside. “But I might just have to take a bite out of you.”

He tucks his head into the crook of neck and nips at the sensitive flesh there.  My half-delighted, half-terrified squeals peal through the night air, and suddenly, I’m not so cold anymore.

~*~

We’re not inside long.  Jamie quickly gathers supplies and deposits them into a basket for easy carrying: a thick, plaid blanket, a bottle of whisky, and a flashlight.  

While he’s preoccupied, I acquaint myself with my surroundings.  I take note of the wide, hand-scraped floor boards and the large boulders stacked tall to form the fireplace.  The entire space smells faintly of wood smoke from long forgotten fires and greasy lanolin from well loved sweaters.  Above the raw timber mantel rests a hand-carved sign, the words Fraser’s Ridge etched into the marker.  

As my hand lifts to trace the letters with my fingertips, Jamie materializes beside me and beckons me to join him outside.  We walk out into the night with his fingers intertwined with mine.

Fifty yards behind the cabin, the earth suddenly drops into oblivion.  I’m sure the views are spectacular in daylight, but tonight the night sky steals the breath from my lungs.  The inky shadows of the geography below layer the scenery in varying shades of purple.  Wine-stained hills roll down the ravine and eggplant colored silhouettes of tree tops dot the horizon.  Above us, the heavens explode with starlight, thousands sparkling crystals spattered across a velvety indigo canvas.

Lost in the beauty of this place, I hardly notice Jamie, who has brought a roaring fire to life with little else but his bare hands and some kindling.  The warmth of the flames draws me back from the cliff’s edge as I wander closer to the hearth.  Halved-logs surround the fire pit in a circle, the make-shift benches just wide enough for two to share.  I sink into the empty space besides Jamie, and he wraps us both in the thick, woolen tartan before offering me a tin cup.  In comfortable silence, we casually sip our whisky as we lose ourselves in the glistening nightscape above our heads.

“See that grouping of stars just to the west?” Jamie whispers.  His lips graze the outer shell of my ear, and my skin erupts into goosebumps at the sensation.  I nestle closer into the crook of his arm as he continues.

The low hum of his voice lulls me into sleepy complacency.  His Scottish burr rumbles deep in his chest and vibrates against my ribs like a purring kitten.  Despite the chill of the autumn air, warmth tingles throughout my entire body to the very tips of my toes.  My head is thick and fuzzy partially from the late hour, but mostly from the nearly empty cup in my lap (my third helping of whisky).

Jamie’s voice carries on steadily, never once wavering as he teaches me about the constellations - a twist on our normal tutor/student relationship.  With each formation, he explains the mythology behind them.  Canis Major and Canis Minor.  Hercules and Hydra.  Orion and Scorpius.  Like most Scots, he’s a born storyteller with a gift to color any tale with vivid language and dramatic pauses, and I’m completely captivated.  As he speaks of the lovers Perseus and Andromeda, his hand cups my cheek and tilts my face towards his.  I blink, my eyelids fluttering open and close as I lean towards him.  His lips hover inches from mine, when my brain decides to intervene.

What exactly are you doing, Beauchamp?!

I press my hands against Jamie’s chest, pushing him away and pressing myself backwards as I mumble “Not so fast, soldier.”

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asks, but I’m untangle my limbs from the blanket and stand up before I can stop to answer him.

Propelled by doubt, my legs stumble over the bench and march back towards the cabin.  Fear settles into a lead pit in my stomach.  Its icy fingers trace frost-laden trails down my spine, and before long I’m shaking… from the cold… from the bone-weary uneasiness that has never left the back of my mind.

What on earth does Jamie Fraser - the most popular guy in school - want with me?

“Claire!” He shouts over the crunching of leaves beneath his feet as he chases after me.  “Will ye even tell me what I did to offend ye?”

I spin on my heel and charge towards him, ignoring the loose curls that sharply smack against my face.

“What you did?” I scream back. “The rumor mill is churning with all sorts of stories about you, Fraser.”

I’m bluffing for the most part.  Sure, everyone talks about Jamie Fraser - star point guard and hottest boy in the junior class.  Who wouldn’t?  But no one is exactly sharing these stories with me.  I am now a part of these stories, a starring role at times even.  The clumsy nerd Jamie’s taken to his bed.  To most, I’m a charity case or the unfortunate consequence of a lost bet.  To all, I could never be worthy of the title girlfriend.

Jamie stops and sighs, his head dropping to his chest.  He clutches the blanket wrapped around his shoulders a little tighter as he asks, “What have ye heard?”

What had I heard?

Very little, truth be told.  I caught the tale end of a story when I was waiting for Jamie after practice one afternoon.  The cheerleaders never thought much of me anyway to consider stopping their mindless chatter as the exited the gym, though I’m certain they meant for me to hear this particular story.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat.

Do you really want to do this?

When our tutoring arrangement turned into something more, we allowed our relationship to develop naturally, albeit secretly.  We never once agreed on titles or labels; we never even stopped to have the conversation.  It crossed my mind plenty of times - when we’d search for a new secret spot to meet or when we passed each other in the halls without nothing more than a quick glance.  And yet, each time I stopped myself, my inner cheerleader chastising me for being less than cool.  It was easier this way… or so I thought.

“That you’ve been out with some other girl…” I admit quietly, my voice cracking along with my heart as I finally allow myself to feel the bitter sting of betrayal.

Jamie reaches for me, his own voice shaking as he speaks. “It’s no’ what ye think…”

“Oh it isn’t, is it?” I scoff as I shuffle backwards.  My heels collide with something solid and rough behind me as my palms find the lip of a concrete ledge.

“Damn it, Claire, d’ye have to do this all the time?” he demands.

“In a word - yes,” I say, sinking exhaustedly onto the rim of an ornamental fountain.

From my perch, I watch Jamie seethe before me.  Tempered rage boils beneath his flushed cheeks, and I imagine steam billowing from his ears.  The fingers of his left hand drum a steady tattoo against his thigh as he chews his bottom lip.  The tempo matches the beat of my racing heart.  

Squeeze.  Release.  Squeeze.  Release.

“Who?” He asks after an eternity passes.

“Laoghaire.”

Her name blooms on my tongue like poison, sickeningly sweet before turning to bitter ash.  The languid L coats my tongue with a thick, syrupy medicine for my own grand delusions; the long E whistles through my gritted teeth, the melody for my own funeral (cause of death - social suicide).  My eyelids narrow and I cross my arms over my chest as I wait - for the lie that will grant me sweet relief even if it’s just for one night… for the truth that will certainly destroy me…

Tracing some invisible path on the ground, Jamie’s gaze darts back and forth, but it doesn’t once meet mine.

“Oh…” I choke back a sob that bubbles at the back of my throat.  Pushing myself off to the ledge, I rise to leave - the back door to the cabin in my sites.

“It’s no like that!” He roars.  His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls me back, drawing me close to him.  His strong arms clasp me tight to his chest, iron bands holding me firmly in place as I struggle to break free.

“Explain it to me then!” I loudly screech into his face, continuing to fight his embrace.  “What’s it like, hmm?”

Slowly, Jamie softens.  The muscles in his arms relax and his gripping fingers release until his hands are gently palming my hips.  The tension in his furrowed brow melts.  His shoulders sag, rounding gently inward until his curving around me like the delicate shell of a caterpillar’s cocoon, the tartan blanket protecting us both from the chilly night air.

“What you’ve heard is true,” he whispers, releasing his secret to the universe.  “I’ve been out wi’ the lass once or twice but it’s not… I can’t…”

His words stutter and stammer until his finally silent, rendered speechless by a myriad of emotions I watch flash across his eyes.  In his own face, I see my own fear and doubt mirrored back at me.  I hear a small cracking sound from deep within my chest - my own heart breaking for him… for us...

I brush a stray curl from his temple as I ask him, prompting him where he left off. “Can’t what?”

Suddenly, he looks up at me - eyes wild and bright.

“I can’t stop thinking about this.”

Jamie’s lips are on mine before my subconscious can put up a fight, allowing my heart to fully give in.  We are no longer shy or awkward.  We are hungry.  Dizzy with lust, I steady myself, gripping his shoulders as his tongue laps at my lower lip, begging entrance.  Arching into him, I moan against his mouth while my hands palm the muscular planes of his chest.  He hooks his thumbs into my belt loops and jerks me forward, our hips colliding in delicious friction.  As I press into him once more, our uncoordinated efforts to climb inside the other’s skin knock the tartan loose from our bodies.  Jamie shouts at the sudden shock to his system, and I whimper in the cold.

While he gathers the discarded blanket from the ground, I shyly whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it either… us… I mean.”

Once he’s fully upright, Jamie pauses.  He stands before me.  He holds the blanket bunched in his palms, and the flesh of his low belly is bare, the hem of his shirt rucked up over his hip.  Perfectly disheveled, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful in my whole life… and I think I could maybe love this boy.

Gently, he wraps the tartan around my shoulders.  When he steps towards me, I return the favor and nestle us both beneath the thick wool.  

He presses a kiss to my forehead as he mumbles into my hair.

“We best get ye inside, Sassenach. Yer shiverin.” 

~*~

Daylight catches us by surprise, even though we sleep well past noon.  Well, at least I do.  When I finally untangle myself from the mountains of bed sheets and stumble my way out into the land of the living, I find Jamie outside once more.  

“That looks like a nutritious breakfast,” I comment as I walk towards him, noting the red and blue box of Cracker Jack clutched in his fist.

“S’all I could find,” he mutters between bites.

I sit down next to him, and he tilts the box towards me, sharing his meager meal.  We sit quietly munching on the crispy snacks.  In the daylight, I can now see the brilliant shades of autumn across the valley below.  Deep burgundy, brilliant copper, and shining gold all merge together as one against the forget-me-not blue sky.  There’s not a cloud in sight, and the warm sun replaces the bitter chill from the night before.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jamie as we eat.  He’s comfortable up here in the mountains, relaxed and naturally himself - for someone I thought of as a true city boy.  He’s at peace as the ruler of his own domain with no one for miles.

This is my Jamie - the real Jamie. 

It doesn’t take long to finish our breakfast.  A small box of Cracker Jack is no match for two hungry and hung-over teens.  Jamie’s fingers dive in once more, reaching for the bottom in search of crumbs.  Instead, he unearths a bracelet.  It’s clearly meant for a child with its mismatched, brightly colored beads strung along an elastic band.  He doesn’t hesitate.  He takes my hand and gently threads the bracelet onto my wrist before pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Fin.

[solllaris]

i can’t keep from loving you: noah [litg]

pairing: noah x my female!oc

summary: the time spent in the villa is rapidly dwindling and continuously watching the man collins is inevitably falling for with another woman has finally caused the cracks in her heart to give way and crumble and there is absolutely nothing she can do to stop it.

warnings: angst?, a lil fluff, some steamy kisses (whoops)

wc: 2.8k+

a/n: just a warning that i kinda suck at writing angst and arguments so i’m genuinely sorry if this is terrible. this was my first time writing noah, obviously, and i really tried to do his character justice so i’m sorry if you think he’s out of character at times. he’s a tough one to write, honestly, but i had a ton of fun! i hope you guys like it as much as i liked writing it. 

(side note: the title is a song by andrew james bc i love it so much lol. it’s not necessarily based off the lyrics; i just liked the title.)

masterlist // taglist

Never before had Collins experienced such a gut-wrenching ache in her chest until she was forced into watching the man of her dreams cradle and hum sweet-nothings to another woman. It was etched into the insides of her eyelids and each time she squeezed her baby blues shut she could vividly picture the most minuscule of details from earlier that day; she remembered the paths his fingertips traced along the length of her friend’s spine, the way his massive hands cupped her jaw with the tenderest of care, how his honey colored irises melted into a softer caramel color as he looked down at her clinging to his strong body. 

A thrumming throb pulsated through the beating organ in her chest and the ginger-haired girl instinctively clutched her half-empty glass of sangria tighter. Shaky fingers danced over the area above her heart, rubbing gently with a tiny whimper as if a simple touch would rid herself of the pain she felt. Hot pools of tears gathered in the lower rims of her eyes and a stuttered breath was all it took for them to plummet down her makeup-covered cheeks, leaving messy trails in their wake and destroying the cosmetics she had worked hard to apply. 

Tucking her knees even tighter to her chest in the hopes of shielding her wet face, Collins sunk further into the plush daybed and tried not to think about how utterly alone she truly felt. It was an impossible feat for the extremely sensitive girl and once the thought wriggled its way into the forefront of her mind it brought with it a fresh wave of tears to coat her face and lips in salt. As furiously as she attempted to fight her emotions, they had finally won and she allowed her head to bow forward until her forehead pressed against her bare knees and her small frame shook with the force of her cries.

Pursuing Noah had jeopardized multiple friendships that Collins had created with the girls and the only friends she felt that she had remaining lied with the boys. No, her relationships with each girl wasn’t completely in tarnishes, but it seemed that not one of them supported her in her feelings for the tall librarian. The one girl she had come to confide in, the one that understood and encouraged her, had been sent packing and left the Villa with necks craned to watch her go just as she had come. With Priya gone, Collins had found comfort in the sweet, sweet boys she had met weeks ago on the lawn and although they were incredible, she craved the company of other girls. Boys were programmed differently and sometimes all she wanted was the familiarity of giggling over drinks and whispered gossip.

A soft pattering of feet jolted Collins back down to her miserable reality and with a newfound haste she swiped the tears away and took a long sip of her sangria to act as if she hadn’t been sobbing miserably moments before. However, when her gaze fell onto the tan-skinned boy she’d been crying over the poor girl knew he’d be able to see straight through her little façade. Suddenly the floating fruits in her glass became very fascinating and as she felt him sit near her feet, she channeled all her remaining energy into focusing on the lingering sweet taste on her tongue from the combination of wine, brandy, and fruit. 

A beat of silence passed and Collins blue irises drank in the way his bare, muscular chest heaved as he sighed heavily. “M’ sorry about earlier,” He murmured and she felt her muscles almost instinctively relax at his low, smooth rasp of a voice. It acted like a warm blanket after an exhausting day. “You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve any of this.”

She could feel the intensity with which Noah looked at her, his hot chocolate colored eyes burning straight through her flesh and leaving nothing unseen or untouched. He had always been a stickler for eye contact each time they’d spoken so it shouldn’t have surprised the redhead when his hot palm wrapped around her calf, his digits splaying over her pale skin whilst his thumb stroked small circles over her shin bone. But for some unknown reason she still found herself breathing in sharply and had to coax her lungs to keep functioning. 

“Look at me, please,” Noah begged gently with a squeeze to her calf. 

Collins despised herself for being so weak when it came to him - how such simple actions and words were her ultimate undoing. She’d do whatever he asked of her as long as he kept touching her the way he was and speaking with the tenderest tone of voice. That instance was no different and she ripped her attention from the tiny bubbles in her drink to look him in the eye. 

The circles he traced on her shin halted and she sunk further into the pillows littering the daybed behind her once she saw his expression morphing before her. Noah’s honeyed irises darted over her swollen eyelids, then dipped lower to the salty tracks on her pretty pink cheeks, and finally to her puffy bottom lip where she had furiously bitten down on it to muffle her cries. All it had taken was mere seconds for his entire face to fall and for a look of devastation to wash over his gorgeous features and Collins’ heart throbbed painfully once more.

“I made you cry?” He asked carefully, softly. 

Curling her painted toes into the mattress until it was almost painful, she struggled to remain eye contact through the pain reverberating through her chest cavity. “It’s okay.” Collins shrugged and her gaze darted away for a split second as she took a shaky breath. “I needed a good cry anyway.”

The blazing heat wafting from Noah’s palm disappeared from her leg and she missed it after only seconds of being without it. She dug her toes into the sheet beneath her again to refrain from stretching her leg out to press against his warm, bare back and sucked in a deep breath as an attempt to clear her racing thoughts. Collins’ teeth clashed against the glass cup when she practically inhaled a large gulp of her deep red alcoholic beverage and shifted her attention to the gorgeous man sitting beside her. 

Noah’s tall, lithe form hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, and tugged on his chocolate brown locks out of frustration. “It’s not okay, Collins,” He growled roughly and sat up straight to meet her gaze with an intensity that made her shy away instinctively. 

The ginger-haired girl only transposed her focus elsewhere for a few seconds before she felt - and heard - him shuffle closer until he no longer sat near her feet but close enough to pull her into his arms if he desired. Collins presumed he was simply moving closer with no further intentions, but then his warm palm cupped her jawline and his fingers sunk into her red hair and she swore her heart ceased its beating. 

Guiding her face to look at him again, Noah managed a small, sweet smile and Collins melted into his touch despite the scorching ball of anger in her belly that she wanted to spew at him. “It’s not okay, honey,” He hummed quietly and the soft glint in his molten colored eyes made her want to shiver. “I’ve been an absolute div, haven’t I?”

Honey. Honey. Honey.

The sweet, attentive pet name made Collins’ tummy do all sorts of acrobatic routines and she was positively certain her cheeks were coated in a bright red blush. God, all she wanted to do was fall into his strong arms and kiss him without having any restrictions or scandalous secrecy; she wanted to kiss him whenever she yearned to and feel the racing drum of his heart beating out of the space behind his ribs, but she knew that it simply wasn’t possible. Her silly fantasy would never become her reality because the man she was falling in love with was falling for someone else. 

Turning away from him abruptly, Noah’s hand dropped and Collins quickly slung her legs over the edge of the daybed and darted towards the kitchen, her glass of sangria sloshing with the haste of her movements. The rampant butterflies in her belly died as soon as they’d come and as she tossed the leftover fruit from her cup to dump the blood red liquid down the sink, a heavy wave of exhaustion settled into her bones. She knew sleep wouldn’t come anytime soon for her that night and it was all because of the tall boy that had followed after her on her heels the entire time.

She rubbed at the spot between her furrowed brows and sighed tiredly. “I’m so tired, Noah,” She began dejectedly. “One minute you’re talking about Hope like she’s the woman you’ll end up marrying and then the next you’re...y-”

“The next I’m what?” Noah interrupted, urging the redhead to finish as he moved in closer to where she leaned back against the counter.

Collins breath caught in her throat when his hands gripped the granite on either side of her body, effectively pinning her against the cabinets. She had to crane her neck upwards to catch his eye before she continued. 

“Then the next you’re calling me ‘honey’ and...touching me with that stupid look in your eyes and making me feel like I’m the only woman in the world.” Her voice was shaky, dropping in and out like a receiver with a bad connection, and she felt her nose burn with an onslaught of frustrated tears. Her fists thumped against his exposed pectorals and she shoved forcefully, letting out a helpless cry when he barely moved at all. “Is this a game to you, Noah? What do you want, huh? What do you want fr-”

Noah’s lips captured Collins’ in a heated kiss, effectively cutting her off mid-rant. She had always caught glimpses of an underlying intensity and heat around him with stolen glances radiating unspoken lust, but had never experienced it unadulterated. He devoured her, tugging her tangled tresses to tilt her chin up for better access to her mouth whilst his opposite held her jaw tight enough to keep her exactly where he wanted her. It was hot and possessive and when she submissively parted her lips with a soft whine to accommodate for his tongue, it took every ounce of his willpower to separate from her with a wet smack. 

Panting, staggered breaths filled what little space was between them and for a split second Collins allowed herself to revel in Noah’s hips pinning her to the cabinets and his fingers gently pulling at her hair; she selfishly indulged in how her lips tingled and how the taste of a sweet chocolate lingered on her tongue from his own swiping along hers. For a throbbing millisecond all she wanted was to taste that rich chocolate in his mouth again, but the guilty knot in her tummy twisted painfully and that red-hot anger sparked once again.

Collins pushed against his pecs once more and that time Noah obliged, letting her shove him away even though every bone in his body ached to keep touching her. Frustrated tears clouded her vision and his figure blurred before her as an annoyed groan ripped through her throat. 

“You can’t just do that, Noah. You can’t just kiss me to make everything better!” She hissed bitterly and angrily swiped at the stupid tears dripping down her face, her body completely betraying her right in front of him. “You and Hope are back together and I don’t want to be your second choice. I don’t deserve that.”

“M’sorry.” Noah scrubbed a hand against the back of his neck and hung his head like a scolded puppy. “I’m just...trying to figure out what I want.”

Her heart clenched agonizingly and the images of Hope wrapped around him earlier in the day flashed before her. She could hardly bear to look at him as she croaked out, “I think it’s pretty clear what you want.”

A panicked twinge passed through his chest, suddenly feeling as though the ginger-haired girl he had blossoming feelings for was ending things before they had a chance to begin. The mere idea had Noah reaching out to glide his knuckles across her highlighted cheekbones, but she jerked away before he could even graze her soft skin and the twinge in his thumping heart amplified tenfold. 

“No, honey, I-”

“Don’t call me that!” Collins cried. She knew her angry resolve would weaken at that sweet term of endearment and that was the last thing she wanted. 

He sighed and whispered yet another apology, desperately trying to diffuse the growing tension settling in the kitchen. “Collins, please just hear me out, okay?” He begged and her beat of silence spurred him on. “I-I can’t just end it with Hope. You know that.”

“Why not, Noah?” She spat and instantly hated how he flinched at her hostile tone. “What—you just want to have your cake and eat it too, huh?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” He growled, beginning to get irritated with the way she kept putting words into his mouth. “You know I’m not that type of guy.”

“Do I?” She threw back in seconds. “Because since we’ve been in the Villa all you’ve been doing is stringing my feelings along.”

“That was never my intention. You have to understand that.” He took a few tentative steps towards her and seeing no visible reaction to suggest he shouldn’t, he proceeded to move closer until he was close enough to reach out and touch her. He felt his expression softening and as a last attempt, he slid his thumb along the length of her jaw with feather-like pressure and relaxed as she allowed it. “I’m crazy about you and I don’t want to lose you before I’ve even had you.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Collins asked and Noah despised the resigned lilt in her pretty accent. “Go back to Hope and keep acting like everything’s fine? Like you’re happy?”

“I promise I’m going to fix this.” He increased the pressure of his thumb and palm against her jaw, fully cupping the sharp bone. He relished in the sight of her subtly tilting further into him, a tender adoration settling in every crevice of his joints. “Don’t give up on me, honey. Please.”

“Noah…”

It was a meek, broken whisper of protest as the tall boy began to pull her face upwards until their lips ghosted against one another’s. When he breathed another incredibly vulnerable and wrecked plea to “please not give up on him” against her parted mouth, Collins tipped over the edge and pulled him down by the back of his neck. Their lips met roughly and the guttural groan her action pulled from deep in his throat only encouraged her to tilt her head further, deepening their passionate exchange. 

Her head spun and before her brain had the chance to catch up, Noah had bowed forward, one of his ridiculously large hands sliding down the expanse of her sides to cup her bum possessively. The warmth of his palm easily bled through the thin material of her pajama shorts and she barely had time to soak up how good it felt for him to touch her like that before he squeezed her bottom appreciatively. Her gasp elicited the sexiest smirk from him and he took her parted lips as an opportunity to glide his tongue against all the places that made her keen.  

They broke apart much too soon for Collins’ taste and she whimpered pathetically, pushing up onto the tips of her toes to chase his lips; she really couldn’t handle how swollen they looked, all slick from her tongue’s endeavors. 

To Collins’ dismay, Noah chuckled huskily and tilted his chin up which put his lips out of her reach. 

“Um, rude?” She scoffed and lightly pushed at his muscular pectorals.

“Have to keep you wanting more, don’t I?” He hummed, his honeyed irises twinkling mischievously and she understood why immediately as a muffled ‘smack!’ met her backside before he pulled away completely. 

“Noah!” Collins squealed. She was sure her face was the exact shade of her hair.

He laughed, full-on and boisterous, and the sight was so pretty that it stole the breath from her lungs. Noah reached out to tangle their digits together and tugged her in the direction of the communal bedroom, bubbles of laughter continuing to shake his broad shoulders.

“C’mon, honey. Let’s go to bed.”

They clutched onto one another for as long as they could, only dropping hands once they reached the bedroom and ultimately split ways. Noah was swept away by Hope, his feet having barely crossed the threshold, and Collins drifted towards an empty bed to sleep alone. 

Things certainly weren’t perfect for the girl, but as she curled up under toasty sheets, she clung onto his whispered promise and let sleep overtake her with the dreams of her future circling her head. 

taglist for noah:   @miss-raleigh-carrera  @taye-x

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

How do you think Ozpin died at Beacon?

(just going to go ahead and count that as a writing prompt)

He is intimately familiar with the feeling of fighting a losing battle.

In his prime, he would have reduced this girl to a bloody smear on the floor in a matter of minutes, and then charged out to spend the rest of his surging energy smiting every last Grimm that dared threaten his students. 

But Ozpin is millennia past his prime, and his power has long since been torn into shreds to give away to others, and what remained left to weaken with age and incompletion. So here he is, stuck beneath the earth, feeling his strength beginning to fail him far too quickly.

On the other hand, the girl – Cinder Fall, of Mistral, of Haven, how did she get past Leo?! – seems to be just getting started. Sweat runs down her forehead, and the sound of her heavy breathing comes in time with his own, but she shows no signs of tiring like he is. Her eyes are alight with malice and bloodlust, like a hunting predator, and she bares her teeth like one, too. Sensing weakness and the end, her lips spread into a hungry grin.

“All your fame, all your power, all your pretense, and this is the best you can do. I don’t like to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I was expecting bigger and better from the man who drives my master to distraction. You really are just a sham, aren’t you?”

Ozpin can’t quite stand straight anymore, leaning hard on his cane, but he can still glare icy fury at her. 

“Do you know?” His voice rattles from his mouth, while blood trickles from its corners. “Do you know what she plans to do to you? To the world?”

To that, Cinder just laughs. Fire envelops her hands again, and runs across the vault floor towards him in four serpentine surges, hot enough to melt trails into the metal. The shimmer in her eyes as she dives into the air and races with it to finish him off is one he recognizes. The girl is high on her own newly complete power, allowing herself to be moved by the magic coursing so fiercely through her veins. Thought is not something she needs right now, only this raw strength. 

Ozpin does not allow himself to be bowled over, of course he doesn’t. He shifts his cane to a defensive stance, tries to bring forth another rippling shield. But it’s broken almost the second he casts it, and his hands are seared as Cinder’s body slams into his again. They grapple like lions for another few moments, trying to get at each other’s heads, throats, eyes, but only managing to clash cane against sword again and again…until one ferocious, molten swing sends his cane flying from his hands. 

It lands with a sharp clatter over thirty feet away from them, and, heart jumping, he reflexively jerks towards it, reaching out – 

Cinder body-checks him, with one flare at her feet to propel her lunge forward and another to arc forward and burn him from chest to face. He’s blinded for a second, and he hears himself cry out in pain before the back of his head cracks against the floor and cuts his voice off. 

Once again, it’s over for him before he’s actually killed. He hears a thin rush through the air a split second before he’s impaled in every limb, through his kneecaps and elbows, by spikes of superheated black glass. His flesh and blood sizzle, and a scream is ripped from his throat. Before he can try to move again, there’s a click of glass on metal, and then the breath is forced from him with a hard stomp to the chest. His glasses were knocked askew when he hit the floor, so he looks up to see Cinder leering down at him in a dizzying blur. 

“She told me that you would be afraid.” He can’t tell whether the girl sounds more satisfied or fascinated. “If I did it like this.”

His body is different but his soul still remembers: lying sprawled on the ruined earth covered in dirt, ash, and his own blood; home and family in ruins around him; his ribs cracked under Salem’s heel. Even in the haze of pain he’d been in then – also not so different from the one he was in now – some part of him had been startled to see no pain or hurt at all in his partner’s eyes. Only loathing, contempt, and rage. 

We finally had freedom.

Even if this girl hadn’t been flinging fire around for their entire battle, he would have known exactly how she plans to finish him. 

Cinder can see the shadow of fear pass over his face, and she laughs at it. “I never thought very highly of you, but I didn’t know you were a coward. Could I convince you to tell me where the Relic is, in exchange for a painless death? I doubt you’ve had very many of those.”

He narrows his eyes in disgust. “Do you have any idea why Salem is collecting them? What their true purpose is?”

“The same purpose as mine, Ozpin. We are going to burn this worthless world to ashes,” she says, eyes blazing bright as the sun. 

A bitter laugh bubbles up from his throat. Foolish girl, he wants to snarl at her, foolish, egotistical girl, there’s no we when it comes to Salem, she’ll use you up and throw you away, there’s no new world waiting for you even if you survive…

But he knows it would be a waste of last breaths. For as long as Salem has brought her forces to bear against him, he’s never been able to decide which was worse: the ones that were clearly misled about her true intentions, or the ones that are perfectly aware and perfectly happy to follow her to oblivion with the rest of the world, their own lives worth far less to them than vengeance and destruction.

“Find the Relic yourself,” he spits. “If you can. And when you return aboveground empty-handed…I only hope I’ve taught my children enough to kill you.”

Cinder laughs once more. “I’d say they’ll all be with you soon, but…well. You get to keep going no matter how many of them die for you, don’t you?” 

A final shot of fire is building up in her hand. A piece of his own inborn magic – a piece of his daughter’s soul – stolen by this monster and twisted into a murder weapon. Just one of endless things he will never forgive Salem for. 

“Do us all a favor and just stay dead this time, won’t you? Everyone would be better off.”

Oh, how he would if he could. 

Spent and shattered, Ozpin has nothing more to say to this girl. He knows when his time is up. He tries to close his eyes and simply wait for the end to come; Cinder has a more important job to do and she’ll want to make this quick if not painless. But it does him no good. The few moments it takes for the massive stream of fire to engulf and incinerate his body feel like an eternity, and his dying screams are lost in the roar of the flames.

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Special Delivery- Chapter 6

“Roise n’ shoine!”

A raucous voice grated inside her ears and dragged her out of her slumber. Mei groaned, huddled beneath the coarse army blanket as she curled into a tighter ball and tried to fall back asleep. Undeterred, something started poking her repeatedly in the ribs to keep her from it. Through the fog still in her head, she moaned her protest aloud and curled up even tighter.

“Zǒu kāi… I said no, Snowball. Go bother Torres,” she mumbled into the puddle of drool by her cheek.

“Wha—?” There was a pause, but then it just kept poking her even harder. “Miss Mei, wakey wakey! Mei-ky wakey! Oi!” It prodded her hard enough to make her oof. “I dunno who Snowball or Torres is, but s’time to get up!”

She thrust one arm out from under her blanket, groping blindly for her glasses. There was a shuffling noise before they were tapped impatiently against her knuckles, and she gripped onto them and dragged them under, setting them askew on her face as she finally sat up. The blanket slid off her, leaving her groggy and discombobulated with her eyes half lidded and her hair curling out at odd angles. She blinked one eye slowly, then the other…and suddenly remembered where she was.

Junkrat was grinning down at her, eerily backlit by the rising sun streaming in his kitchen window. “Well ain’t you a chipper thing in the morning! Blimey. Thought it was just all the drugs they’d pumped you with when you woke up before, but now I’m thinkin’ you just sleep like a roadkilled roo all the time.”

Startling, she wiped quickly at both eyes and whirled about on her mattress. She was still trapped in the junker hovel, dressed in little more than a flimsy jersey, and— she moved her leg and looked down to check— was still bound by the heavy chain and cuff around her ankle. Looking around frantically, it all came crashing back to her. It hadn’t been some horrible dream, and she was still…here.

Junkrat only looked amused at her alarm. “Heh! The look on your face, darl! Not much of a morning person, are we? Not to worry, not to worry, I got something what will knock you up in the morning!”

A moment later, a mug full of rather foul-smelling black coffee was shoved up under her nose, the steam fogging her glasses up. Grabbing onto it and easing the cup back down, she watched as Junkrat returned to retrieve himself a cup— or no, he just grabbed the entire glass pot out of the coffeemaker and started chugging the still-molten brew directly out of it. With a happy sigh, he wiped at his pointed chin with his arm and smacked his lips while she tried to figure out how the junker hadn’t burned his jaws right off.

“Now that’s more like it!” He crowed, caffeine already seeming to course through him. Mei wondered if the caffeine was the cause of his nearly constant jittering, but likely it only exacerbated it. He was already twitching as he hurled the pot to the side with a crash. “Who wants brekky?!”

“What time is it? How long have you been awake?” she mumbled, adjusting her glasses groggily. Taking a sip of the coffee, she winced at the flavor of boiled dirt and something akin to gasoline. But bad coffee was still coffee, and she preferred to be alert, so she drank it down all the same.

“Oh I couldn’t sleep at all! Got lots of idears about lots of things, had to get them all out. Was all riled up last night.”

She winced, clutching her mug. “Oh…I am sorry about that. I didn’t mean what I said, or how I said it. Honest.”

“Wot? How’s that, sorry for what?”

“Um, you not being able to sleep? You still being angry? At…me?” she trailed off as he just looked at her.

“Am I?” he wondered aloud. “Huh. Yeh, remember being right pissed at you, l’il love…What were we on about, again? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.”

Was he trying to trick her? It was hard to tell. Mei’s eyes darted, and she took another sip of coffee to give herself another moment to think. But honesty won out in the end, when she faced him again. “No, I want to apologize. There was a misunderstanding—”

“Yeah nah, probably wasn’t important. Who wants eggies! We still got eggies!”

“But what I said…?”

“What was it you said, then?”

She didn’t want to set him off again by reminding him, that was for sure. Did he possibly have memory issues? Did she really want to dredge up the fight from the night before? The junker may not have wanted to harm her, but he was still wildly unpredictable and the last thing she wanted was to prolong her time here or make it even more unpleasant. So after a few more moments of deliberation, she offered an unsure shrug and a mumble instead.

“Um. Nothing.”

He turned his back on her, cracking egg after egg into his camp stove pan until it was nearly overflowing. “Anyhow, had lots of idears for plans on when we get you back to Sydney. And lots of things to buy once we get that tidy bit of reward, too. Who woulda thought that I snagged some sort of famous weather doctor, eh? What’re you famous for, did you discover a new sort of rain? Because if so, we could do with the kind of rain what doesn’t strip the skin right off ya.”

“Well, I’ve never been in one of the storms in Australia, but they did bring in samples of the water. It’s barely water anymore. It’s amazing that there’s any civilization out here at all.”

His chest puffed as he scrambled the eggs. “That’s junkers for ya! We can handle anything. What’s a little acid rain now and again? I drank plenty of the stuff when I was a mite and I’m just fine!”

Mei winced inwardly but chose not to comment. He soon carried her a plate of breakfast, and they both sat at the little coffee table as began yet another bizarre meal with her captor. Junkrat chattered around mouthfuls about the weather; with acid rain, raging radioactive storms, and perpetual drought being among the troubles. She tried to listen, but he seemed more intent on gruesome stories about people melting than he did on any clues to Australia’s actual weather patterns.

Eventually she was distracted by a steady ticking noise, as she finished the last bite of her eggs and looked about. “Oh, you might want to turn that off?”

“Wot?”

“The egg timer? Did you forget? For your eggs?”

He lofted a wild brow at her, tilting his head and listening to the ticking, before he made a choked barking noise and suddenly lunged up and over the coffee table, bowling her over in the process. He made a full body dive for his workbench, grabbing something off the top and jabbing his thumb onto the little metal parcel atop it. “Waaugh! Shit shit shit!”

Mei pulled herself upright again from where she’d been run over, pulling at her glasses. “Ow! What on earth!”

The ticking stopped. Junkrat lay half sprawled on his bench, relaxing with a loud sigh as he rolled onto his back amidst the screws and tools and loose metal jabbing him in the back. “Phwaw! Good ear, darl! Was working on that just before breakfast. Almost forgot about this l’il baby right here, got all distracted-like. Not to worry though, wouldn’t have been a big one even if it had gone off.”

“G-gone off? Wait is that a—” Her eyes widened. “Is that a bomb? Is that a live bomb!”

“Of course it is, what else would it be? Got a whole collection right here.”

She sputtered, waving both arms. “Why! Why do you have live explosives in your house!”

“Where else am I gonna bloody keep them, Mei! Maybe you got extra bomb closets in your fancy suit weather-mansion, but in this humble abode you just gotta make do. Plus, Roadie doesn’t want them in the garage, and he doesn’t want me in the garage workin’ on them. Aw, don’t make that face, love. It’s a small ‘un, would’ve barely made a boom…I mean, it might’ve set off a bunch of the other ones too, but nothing doing! See, it’s all fine, it’s all good! I’ve been working on these all last night, aren’t they beauties?”

“W-what do you even need so many bombs for? Can’t you keep them outside? And why did you have so many bombs outside, too? What kind of place is this? They’re not all for me, are they? They can’t be!”

“Now, now, sweetness. You’re a lovely lady and all, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he replied in a rather smarmy tone, giving her an amused look. “Not all for you, per se. I’m true blue an’ love my kin and countryman to the core, but I’ll be damned before I let other junkers try to scrap mine and Roadie’s scores. Can’t trust that lot as far as you can throw them. Not at all an honest gent like myself. I’m just protecting what’s mine. You included, of course.”

“But they’re right next to where you were cooking,” she muttered in a small voice, still pale as she watched him cheekily throw the bomb up and down in one hand. “It just doesn’t seem very safe?”

“Bein’ a difficult houseguest again, you are. I’ve handled these little darlings all my life and never had any trouble. Other than the leg. And the arm. And a few toes that one time, but I found ‘em again in time. Buuuut…” He seemed to finally take notice of the way she was looking at him, and the bombs he was now literally juggling. “But can tell you’re the tender-hearted sort, so I’ll put them up for now. Never let anyone tell you I’m not a courteous host, Miss Mei!”

He finally stopped his showmanship with the live devices, stacking them up and dumping them into a crate by the door, unlocking the entry into the backyard. Undoing the locks, there were several clicks and a crank before it fell open. Hot, dry morning air rushed in, sending her hair fluttering as she shielded herself from the onslaught of heat with one raised arm.

Junkrat muttered and giggled to himself, grabbing up the crate of bombs and jostling them around entirely too much for her liking as he hobbled out the door and disappeared around the bend. The open door yawned before her, just out reach. She couldn’t help but to pull at the chain to the makeshift ankle cuff, yanking it with a clatter of heavy metal, but it was still attached too firmly to its post in the wall.

There was a sharp whistle as he poked his wild head back inside. “Oi, Mei! You need to use the toilet? Who wants walkies!”

“That’s not funny,” she groused. But she stood anyway, as he limped over to the wall and undid her chain. “And can we please discuss the whole chained-to-the-wall thing later? I know you said it’s for my own safety but you can’t j—”

He unfastened her from the wall, prodding her hard in the back to get her moving, out the door and into the scorching sand yard. “Yeah nah. Until I can really trust you t’be a good girl, I gotta make sure you won’t be causing us any more trouble. Hog’ll have my bloody hide, he would, just having you wander about. Speaking of!”

They approached the dunny outhouse once more, though Rat seemed oddly attentive as he straightened up behind Mei and lifted his shrill voice.

“Oi, Hog, mate! That you in there?”

Mei blinked. There was no sign of anyone else that she could see. But after a moment there was a low rumble that reverberated from inside the metal cylinder. “…Hhmm.”

The door flung open and a meaty black-nailed hand launched forward to grasp onto the corrugated metal. The massive pig-masked man from the day before ducked his huge body under the frame and turned sideways to angle his protruding belly out with him, scraping the sides as he squeezed through. Outside, he cut an even more imposing figure, casting both Junkrat and Mei into his shadow as he slowly lifted all the way upright. The fogged lenses of his mask stared like a dead thing’s, catching the light bouncing off the sand and reflecting red as he stared down at them.

Mei very quietly edged behind the lanky younger junker, barely daring to peek one eye around him, wide eyed and wary behind her glasses.

Junkrat had no such trepidation. He only wrinkled his nose, scrunching the freckle on the side of his nostril as he waved a hand in front of his face. “Awww! Bloody hell, Hog! What’d you eat! Warn a bloke and light a fuckin’ match, would ya! We got ladies present!”

At the mention of ladies, Roadhog’s head turned imperceptibly to the side to where the smaller woman was cowering behind his young partner. Mei shrank down even more, forgetting her wariness of Junkrat as she all but clung to his bony back, no matter the amount of ash and dirt he smeared on her. Rat blinked and lifted one arm, turning to look under it at where she had recoiled.

“And they say I’m the one who sets off bombs. Weapon of mass destruction, you are. Look at her, mate. Looks ready to faint again right here and now, the poor bird. Not to worry, darl,” he said, pulling her up against his side and petting her head like a favorite pet. “You’re probably used to things like bidets and perfumes and toilet paper, bet you’re real sensitive in the olfactory areas, eh? Here, I’ll go in there first while it airs out. That’s the gentlemanly thing to do, ain’t it! Hog, you look after her for a moment. Uh…Mei? Mei!”

He had started to try and walk forward, only to have Mei wrap her arms around his scrawny waist, shaking her head frantically as she stared at the pig-masked killer in front of them. But Rat only dragged her forward with him, and she quailed when she saw him lean down and pick up her chain, placing it in the hand of his monstrous bodyguard.

Rat beamed down at her even as he started to peel her off of him. “There we are! Not to worry, this big galumph won’t hurt you. Will ya, Hoggie?”

Roadhog’s black-nailed fingers clenched slowly around the chain in answer.

***

Junkrat finished his business while his mate watched the girl. Buttoning his shorts back up, he exited the dunny and left the door open to air the place out for his company. Roadhog was standing exactly where he’d left him, holding the chain where Mei was standing as far away as possible and looking ready to piss herself right then and there. Poor thing, she must have really had to go.

“Arright, your turn Miss Mei. Go on, go on,” he said, motioning to Roadhog to drop the chain.

It clattered to the ground, and Mei gave his standover man a very wide berth as she clenched her sports jersey down as much as she could and scuttled into the outhouse, muttering in shrill Mandarin that he couldn’t entirely make out. The door slammed shut, and Junkrat turned to his bodyguard with a smug grin.

“See! No choking or ball-busting this time. No more misbehavin’ from her. She’s gonna be a good girl after all. I told you!”

Roadhog merely rumbled a disagreement.

Junkrat stretched upward, bones creaking as he turned towards the blinding sunlight. “Think I was mad at her, though? Can’t remember why. Think it was something she said…She doesn’t like bombs very much, maybe it was that? Or did I dream it? Anyhow, came to a decision. Need to go into town and fetch a few lady things. We can’t very well return her in that sort of state, half starkers. S’not what gents do. Soooo, I’m going to head out in a bit, might need you to—”

“No,” Hog said.

“Just for a few hours! Oh come on! We’re mates, you and me. I don’t want to leave her wastin’ away all alone in there for too long. She’s a social creature, Roadie. And she’s housebroken and everything. You won’t even know she’s there. Just need you to keep an eye on her for a bit, that’s all.”

“Your pet. Your responsibility.”

Rat scoffed and kicked his peg into the dirt, sending dust flying. “We’re not going to look like heroes if we just dump her off in my old Strikers shirt. It’s got to be proper classy, like legit heroes do. And she needs things to stay tip-top. I’ll know them when I see them, sure. If you could keep tabs on her for a few ticks, it’s worth our while!”

“Not my problem. Tie her up back in the house.”

“Wait!” Junkrat sputtered, growing desperate as Hog turned and started back towards his farmhouse. He stumbled a few steps after him, dodging around to his front and walking backwards to confront him further. “Wait wait wait! Let’s make a deal, mate! How about I pick up a new thingy of hogdrogen while I’m in Junkertown?”

“Nhmm.”

“You already got enough? Uh, uh, books! I heard they got new shipments of your swooning ladybooks! You can’t live without those!”

“Nhmmm…”

“No? Uh, er. Takeaway!” Rat finally screeched in his face. “My treat! A whole bag of bao buns! And, and, a box of Queenie Biscuits and I swear on me life I won’t even eat any of them this time! Wait, wait, two boxes! Three! Three boxes!”

Roadhog stopped, wheezing in a long inhale through the mask’s filters. Junkrat stood with his clenched fists raised, biting hard onto his lower lip and staring up at him in what he hoped what a charming manner.

“Takeaway. And three boxes,” Hog finally rumbled. “That’s three boxes, no less.”

“Won’t be a crumb missin’, mate, swear it!” Junkrat slammed one hand over his heart. “Won’t at all be like last time.”

“Hhmm.”

“Not that there was any proof that it was me, mind you. All sorts of pesky rodents about, coulda gotten into your stash. Or spiders. Was prob’ly spiders, now that I think of it.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyways, she’s all yours for the next while. You know the rules. No harmin’ a hair on that pretty head, got it? Just go get a place ready for her and I’ll drop her off in just a bit before I head in.”

Hog leaned down abruptly, the pig’s snout nearly mashing into Rat’s face as the younger man nearly keeled backward. His voice was lower than usual, like the threatening rumble of thunder. “Keep. Your head. Down. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make this worse.”

“What? Me? Roadie, I’m hurt,” Rat snapped back, slithering back around his bodyguard’s huge belly as he went sauntering back towards the outhouse. “It’s all going according to plan. Sure our plan’s changed a little bit since that day, but plans change, mate. You’ll still get your coin, coin and cookies. What else could a man like you ask for, ya big galumph? Plus, you two can have bonding time! You know, where my best mate gets to really sit down with my best girl, have a heart to heart. Not in a romantic way, mind you. Say, you’re not having designs on her, or are y—”

Roadhog didn’t answer, already vanishing back into the yawning doors of his farmhouse.

With an offended sniff, Rat pivoted on his peg and returned to where Mei had just exited the dunny, looking a little sick as she shut the door behind her. Junkrat sidled up nearby, leaning one hand on the wall as he towered over her with a grin. “You need some charcoal, love? No shame in the runs here, I know it’s not caviar and mayonnaise like you’re used to. If you got messy guts, just pop a few charcoals and you’ll be right as rain.”

Mei only winced. “N-none for me, thank you. Can we not talk about that?” She hiked self-consciously at her jersey again, trying to pull it down where it constantly rode up those nice wide thighs of her.

He tried not to watch that part, clearing his throat and making himself look at the face again, launching out one hand to her shoulder to still her when she went to turn away. “Wait wait wait, not back to the house yet. Got a bit of a surprise.”

Her eyebrows lifted hopefully. “Really? Are we going to take this awful chain off? Oh, I’m so glad!”

“W-well, we can talk more about that part later,” he shrilled, going to wrap one long arm around her shoulders in the smoothest way he could…which was not very smooth at all. And not helped by the fact that she was so tiny and cute and barely reached up to his chest. It ended up more sort of dangling around her shoulder vicinity. “Step riiiight this way. Attagirl.”

Mei looked down at his hand in a rather unsure way, but she let herself be guided to walk around the long stretch of the backyard between their two houses. The chain dragged behind her in the dust the whole way, but she followed his lead.

Rat sucked on a tooth noisily, clearing his throat. “The thing is, I actually got to go and get some of the surprise.”

“Okay?”

They neared the old farmhouse, with Mei looking more and more nervous by the second. When they paused near one of the side entrances, he spun her about to face him, leaning down to her level. “Might be gone for a bit, actually. These things take time, you know! But me leaving by your lonesome didn’t end so well for my telly, did it? And it breaks my heart t’think of you by yourself in case of emergency and all. Plus, think it’d do you good, teach you to be more friendly. So I made some arrangements.”

Mei’s brow furrowed. “Arrangements? I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand? Is this about the television? I really do apologize for that. A-and for the things I said. I’m not sure you remember, but I didn’t mean them like that and I want to be honest with you.”

“Is that what I was pissed at you about? Really, darl, it’s nothing.” Rat tilted his scorched head, blinking down at the little weather doctor before him. She had stopped flinching away from him, still shy but at least able to face him. Her voice was earnest, and he was suddenly unsure how to handle her strange little apology confession for things he could scarcely recall.

“No, it was mean. And even if you don’t remember it, I still wanted to say sorry. I-I know we haven’t been the best at understanding one another…”

She never noticed the door opening behind her.

“Things have been pretty hard for me,” she continued, “Not just in the way you think. And that doesn’t mean that I’m okay with some of the things you’ve been doing! But I’m hoping that maybe if I apologize, then you can apologize too. And we can start to build towards a mutual—”

Roadhog’s enormous hand shot out from the darkness inside the dimmed farmhouse, encompassing Mei’s entire arm. Her words lifted into a high-pitched scream as she was abruptly taken right off her feet, dragged into the shadows within. Her terrified wail moved around somewhere inside the house, and the chain still attached to her ankle rattled louder than ever as it was dragged in after her.

Junkrat started in after them. “Damnit, Roadie! We was in the middle of something there! Oi oi! Remember, you gotta feed her and make sure she’s cozy! Oh, Mei! Try not to—”

The door slammed in his face, narrowly missing flattening his nose. He reeled back, rubbing at his face as the noises inside were cut off all at once. He pounded a fist on the door a few times, then snorted and shrugged, cupping both hands around his mouth to shout at the window.

“Arright! Well, you two have fun! But not too much fun! I expect both of you t’be responsible while I’m gone!”

When there was no answer, Junkrat gave another offended sniff and turned and started on his way.

***

The journey to Junkertown proper was no small travel, especially when walking with one leg. The ute was already being stripped for pieces back at the garage, and touching Hog’s chopper would have been tantamount to suicide, so he was left to hoof it. Past the ruined outskirts that littered the sand outside the town’s walls, he shoved both hands in his pockets and skulked as hard as he could to remain beneath notice. There were times to be noticed, after all, and even if he couldn’t always tell when that was, he knew to keep a low profile if needed.

The other junkers barely glanced his way, luckily. Traveling in the heat of the day was brutal, but there was a window where most of his brethren were either too lazy or too tired to bother with someone like him. In most of the buildings he passed, they were content with wiling away the noontime in the shade of the indoors; napping, tinkering, playing cards, and laughing and arguing amongst themselves.

With sweat pouring off him, he wiped an arm across his brow and limped up to the guard post by one of the smaller entries. The walls of Junkertown stretched up high, high above him: buildings made of scrap and garbage, stacked atop one another in untidy heaps, fortified with rusted metal, suspicion, and often unchecked aggression. With the sun high above him, he was even left without the shade that its high walls provided. Junkertown simply hated him that much.

The faint tunes of crackling beach rock were playing from up in the guard post, and he saw one bare dark leg slung over the railing where she was reclining. Drawing himself upright, he cleared his throat loudly and wheedled in his most charming manner.

“Ooooh Tarni! Listen, darl, I know that technically I ain’t supposed to be lurking about here, but…”

The leg was dragged back into the post, and soon replaced with a head. Her dreads had been twisted into a tied bundle, her cheeks dotted with white paint and bearing a nasty scar on one side of her face. He heard the familiar whir of her mechanical eye as it zeroed in on him. Her frown was not particularly encouraging, and neither was the cold tone of her voice.

“Junkrat,” she said. “You know the Queen says you’re still on the outs. Until you pay her back for all the damage. And you don’t look like you got the kind of payment she’s expecting after all the shit you pulled.”

He clasped both hands and grinned his most harmless grin. “Aw, Tarni, y’know me! I’m still working on getting things squared with dear Queenie. You just gotta give me more time. And maybe I don’t have the kind of payment she’s expecting…but how about a payment what you’d accept, eh? You and me, we’re pals—”

“Like hell.”

“Fond acquaintances, then! And I’m not for trouble here, no no no, just needing to pick up some supplies for me and Roadie, that’s all. The big lug’s got a taste for some things and can’t be arsed, so I just need to run in and run out. Quick as a wink, darl!”

“Shut your gob and pay up. Same as last time.”

He grumbled, digging in his pockets before flashing a handful of coin, approaching the guard post and stretching up to hold it upward. “Even got a little extra for you if you can buy me some extra time.”

“We’ll see.” There was a clicking sound, then a mechanical buzz as Tarni’s gloved hand came loose in its mechanical socket, lengthening down on a piston with her palm open. Rat placed the payment within, her fingers clacking down over it before she wound it back in. She counted it out where he couldn’t see, but finally snorted aloud and upnodded to him. “All right. But if you cause any trouble for me, I swear I’ll kill you before the Queen can.”

“Tarni, Tarni, won’t be any trouble at all!” He swerved into an exaggerated gentlemanly bow as the doors to Junkertown fell open for him. “Like I said. Just in and out. Heh…Hehe…in and out…”

“Ugh. Just go.”

He went.

Just like the outskirts, most of the town’s inhabitants were avoiding the noonday sun. The streets were nearly empty, save for a few transports and their guards, and the occasional pedestrian or watcher. Nobody of any status or mind to bother him, hopefully. With Tarni payed off, he had a bit of extra wiggle room. And he was very good at wiggling.

He knew just which stores to hit, too. He filled his bag with toilet paper, candies, meds, and other supplies; all payed for with his last haul from Mei’s ill-fated caravan. Most of the shopkeeps kept a wary eye on him, but let him pay and leave without trouble. Junkertown may have had a despotic Queen, but coin was King. So long as he actually paid up this time, they let him be.

The last shop, if it could even be called a shop, would be the hardest. Down the lower alleyways, past the last stops of the scrapheap and two-bit parts that even junkers didn’t want, there were the hastily-made and hastily-put away tents of the contraband merchants. Junkrat knew many of them. Although like everyone else in Junkertown, it couldn’t precisely be called a positive relationship.

So he wasn’t surprised at the glare of uninterested disgust he received as he approached one of the tents. The junker in charge, a man who was shorter than him and nearly as scrawny, leaned back in his chair and idly waved to shoo away the flies.

“Rat. Who let you back in?” His voice had been lost years ago, replaced with a computerized box lodged in his throat.

“Oh ya know, mate! I squeeze in here and there. You, er, you still sellin’ the stuff?”

“What you lookin’ to buy, ‘mate’? And how much?”

“The hard stuff. We’re talking Tim Tams and Kooka’s. Vovo’s even, if you got ‘em. Three boxes. I’m good for it.”

The man uttered a mechanical grinding noise that Rat knew to be derisive, and started to turn away before Rat flashed more coin at him. Even then, he looked him up and down doubtfully before he pulled aside the curtains a little more. Boxes of contraband from the outside; everything from cookies to ammo to vials of unidentified power to…

Rat’s eyes widened at something hanging up on the side of one of the shelves. Hanging haphazardly, there was a blue floral sundress that didn’t fit in at all with the rest of the smuggled goods: a bright spot of color in Junkertown’s world of muted browns and yellows. It would look perfect on a non-junker. It would look perfect on Mei. It even looked like it would be her exact size and shape, too. And attached was some kind of hairpin thingy of Asian origin, with a dangling bead chain.

Junkrat was already pointing at it furiously. “What’s that! Oi, that there!”

The smuggler looked up from where he was sorting through a stack of boxes. “A dress. Imported.”

“It’s for fancy lady sorts, right?”

“Guess so.”

He could already see her in it. He’d buy her a fancy lady dress, and she’d put it on and finally stop looking so uncomfortable. He’d get the hairpin, too, and she’d thank him and kiss his cheek. She could stand out in the sun in a bit shady hat, with a little fragrant breeze ruffling the pastel floral fabric, and there wouldn’t be any dust on the dress or on her pale soft skin. And then maybe the wind could whip a little harder, and it would start lifting up the bottom of her dress, and she’d giggle and try to use both hands to press it back down like that babe on those movie posters from ages ago. But the wind would lift it up anyhow, and maybe she’d be wearing lacies under the—

“Stop drooling on the merchandise!” the merchant’s buzzing voice snarled, pulling a box out from under him.

Rat startled, jolting upright and wiping at his chin with one arm. “Uh! Right! Right! I’ll take it! The fancy lady dress and pin, I’m buyin’ it too!”

“You want the dress? What for?”

“F-for? Foooor? It’s for…for private occasions, arright! Three boxes of biscuits and the fancy things! I’m good for it, see!” He fumbled in his pockets again, sloppily pulling up a stack of coins and credits and nearly sending them all flying in his haste to slam it onto the merchant’s table. “Give ‘em here!”

The merchant seemed strangely agreeable to the amount for once. The boxes of cookies were wrapped inside the dress, tied into paper, and wrapped up into an assuming parcel. With a shrill cackle of delight, Rat scooped it up and shoved it under one arm, stroking the packaging greedily with his good hand as he went hobbling back down the alley.

“And the good luck keeps on comin’! What a score! Hang on, darl, I’m on the way.”

***

The merchant watched him go, quickly tugging the curtains shut. With a quick glance around, he trailed after Junkrat at a distance, following the jittery young junker all the way out of his territory. He lingered at the very edge of the last alleyway, the one that opened into the junkyards proper, and watched as Rat’s limping gait took him across to the Koala Takeaway.

He was still watching as the triumphant Rat filled up his bag with Chinese dishes and stacks of bao. The bag was already bulging with supplies and goods, goods that weren’t nearly as ill-gotten as usual. The merchant reached into his ragged coat, pulling out a communicator and mashing his dirty thumb on the button.

“Hey, Boss. Someone actually bought one of the dresses. And some of the jewelry. With plenty of credits he never seemed to have before. Yeah?…Yeah. And you’re not ever going to guess what kind of rat we caught in the trap…”

[blackasteriia]

The Superior

@potestasaeterna 𝘐

   “Poor little Ningyō…” There’s a hint of CRUELTY laced in his words, a rare moment where he doesn’t continue the facade of serenity. Sparks of energy flicker from fingertips, arcing across the black gloved hand. His other hand is bare of being hidden beneath black leather, signs of deep energy burns covering the whole palm.     He steps forward, from the sparks sprouts an Ethereal Blade, crackling and buzzing against the cool air colliding with its surface, “You believe that you have a bond forming with those two that you can stray from the purpose of your creation…?” How sad when puppets don’t stay in line. Years of planning, of working around the ignorance and gullibility of little lessers, all can go awry when one steps out of line. This one, he cannot have stray too far from its purpose.

     The uncovered hand grabs hold of her wrist, stopping her attempt to escape. The contact causes the material beneath to start heating up, energy burning and melting what it touches–letting it melt and cling to flesh as it too burns from the pooling energy.     “You breath, you live because you will serve your purpose…” Xemnas lets go of her wrist long enough to bash the glowing blade against her skull, a force powerful enough to knock her over, “You are MY pawn, Ningyō. If you fathom that those two will SAVE you, will sweep you away and take you somewhere safe… count the score again.”      A few steps forward before he grabs hold of her, this time by the neck, kneeling next to her so he’s closer to being eye to eye while lingering a few inches above, “You run, and you’ll be brought right back here… just as before by your precious FRIEND.”

Something bent in Xion, and it was her spine curled so that her forehead rested against the cold tile floor. Burns striped up her forearm and hand, bruises blackened in the shape of Xemnas’ fingers. The scent of singed leather and smoldering flesh wafted to her nose, she dry heaved. A shiver and a tremble racked through her entire body, exhaustion permeating her form. Xion breathed thin and broken but she did not need to; Dolls do not cry, they feel no pain, they do not have a heart. Dolls do not need sympathy, they have no complaints. Xion was porcelain, ivory, and glass, and science and magic, all shaped like a girl. Do not be convinced by the appearance of a pretty face, blue eyes and silk black hair were but tricks of the light. She was toy and puppet, strangled by her own marionette strings. 

Tear her from limb-to-limb, shatter her bones, strike her with lightning, and flay away her skin; No. i was designed to heal and self-repair. It did not have a heart to care what Xemnas did to it because it was born to serve. Xion preferred it when he spat these reminders and insult that left raw and broken, stripped to the essential truth. He knew that she knew and there were no more illusions to maintain, no more lies to tell. She was his weapon resting in his hand and her purpose was war. With nothing but air between them Xion was left exposed. Nowhere left to hide, nowhere left to run. 

Xion prostrated, much like a tossed-out toy she lacked the will to stand. No. i obeyed its commands to the letter and spirit, it was loyal and obedient, and well-behaved. One leg hooked beneath her and the other extended. Thin arms kept Xion from collapsing, more propped then held. The echo of heal strike against tile and the soft shift of fabric indicated his movements. How flattering, that he would kneel for her. She had watched black leather gloves slip off the curve of his palm and long fingers but never dared meet his gaze. She saw the gathering room once and all the thrones were beneath his, even back then Xion understand the hierarchy of the Organization. She understood that she belonged on the floor while everyone rose above her.

A massive hand wrapped about the muscle of her neck, bearing her further down and forcing her nose into the tile. Xion gasped, hoarse inhale catching against throat (No. i does not have lungs, it does not breath). His gaze seared her, she could imagine molten gold tearing away her skin, pooling between her shoulder blades. It’d cool and adhere to her skin. She trembled to the marrow, body protesting crushing weight. She could feel the pillars of her bones begin to crumble.

Xion wanted Axel to be here --a selfish desire to be protected-- but Axel will not be coming, his betrayal hurt worse than her punishment. She wished Roxas was here too but she’d only beg Xemnas not to hurt him, his presence would not be a comfort. And Riku wouldn’t make a stand for a fake like her. It’d fix a few of his problems if Xemnas killed her. All that was left was her and Xemnas, and the frozen tundras that were their heartless chests. And Xemnas was nothing, so really it was just Xion and the stolen fragments of a worthier boy. There was nothing to lose; This was her swan song. 

Something bent in Xion, it was a foreign material inside her. It did not originate from No. i, Vexen did not include it in Xion’s schematics and plans. Xion shaped it with her own childish hands, rudimentary and primal; Like an ugly little clay lump she scavenged from the silt of a riverbed. Xemnas’ hand and his golden stare bore on it and Xion was the fulcrum. The material strained, stress bending it to inconceivable angles. It contorted to an inhuman shape. Weak and pitiful, everything he declared abomination. Xemnas would crush it beneath his boot and Xion wondered if it would bleed. 

She growled. A vibration of vocal cords strummed by hot breath. A tilt of the chin raised her line of sight, past chest, and collarbones. Pin pricks of pain laced like fire up her arms and through mix-and-match pieces that constructed her body. It ricocheted between human flesh, magic, and inorganic. Xion’s lips pulled back from her teeth and revealed canines bared in the most uncanny mimic of a human’s smile. Rage flashed in soft sea blue eyes (or brown, or green, depending on his mood; Maybe gold or red hair?). Her gaze met his and it was refreshing to clearly see the carved-out hallow that was his rib cage. 

The solidity in Xion’s arms shocked her. Palm and finger tips dug against the marble, sending hairline fractures through stone, her biceps and forearms ran taut, abdominal muscles tightening through her hips. Xion’s toes curled beneath her and she pushed-up, sinew heaving her skeletal structure forward. The strength to subvert the weight of his hand on her neck was inhuman. One leg raised from beneath her and heel pressed firm to foundation. Xion rose. 

The tip of the ephemeral blade ripped through the fabric of her coat and pierced through her shoulder beneath the left collarbone, above the heart she did not have. The faint echo of a drum beat pounded against her skull. Xion surged-up not caring how it pierced her through like needle to clothe. Her nails extended for his throat and a feral snarl ripped through her thin body. The blade perforated out her back but Xion pushed-on, savaging the length.  Smoke and burnt leather filled her olfactory sense. She tasted iron and she saw her claws in his throat, tearing out tracheae, and crushing his voice in her fist. Call her Ningyō again, go ahead. 

Her momentum tapered and her hand clawed just short of him before falling to his wrist. She gripped the blade edge and seethed, as it ignited the fabric of her gloves. Teeth ground so they might shatter. Xion groaned, head bowing and body hitting its final limit to collapse, hair fell into her eyes in sweat soaked clumps. She was stronger than anticipated but not strong enough yet, it was not in her to fulfill her brutal vision but only his. She could not rise against Xemnas and instead she’d pilfer her seconds with Roxas. In an unfair game, Xion kept her head down. 

Something bent in Xion. it flexed beneath impossible pressure, There was one thing between Xemnas and the universe, and it was a bleeding little girl. He ripped the blade from her chest and she crumpled. Xemnas left her there, seemingly satisfied with his work. Xion curled against the floor as the first red drops of blood sunk down the skin of her chest and soaked her coat. In a few minutes she’d pick herself-up, heal the wounds, and put on her best face for Roxas.

“We worked it out,” she’d say. 

Something bent in Xion, but it did not yet snap. 

[sheralynnramsey]

Flames

A little something for @forlornraven for allowing me to bring Bram to life.  Have a little FanFic for your enjoyment.  I kept it generic with no names mentioned. 

Aithne quickly scurried to the far corner of the room when the door opened, as she always did if she wasn’t shackled to the metal table in the center of the room. The man and woman had entered wearing their white lab coats.  Aithne stopped trying to remember their names weeks ago and didn’t really care, to be honest.  They were her captors, not her friends.  She was wary of them and unsure of why they were there, but it was never good. The man stepped from behind the woman, turning to place an all too familiar silver tray full of varying sized needles, vials of a glowing orange liquid, and scalpels on the rolling table near the wall.

The sight sent Aithne into a panic.  Needles had always unsettled her but after months of experimentation, daily injections, and blood draws, they had become a phobia.  She screamed, cried, and fought to somehow push herself through the wall at her back as the woman made her way to Aithne.  She struggled for air as her chest heaved too quickly to take in oxygen and her heart slammed against her ribs.

It happened then.  She felt the warmth of her core ignite, building with unimaginable speed and swelling within.  The sheer power threatening to rip her apart.  She couldn’t stop it, nothing could.  It erupted from her, flames of blue, orange, and yellow devouring first her hospital gown, then the air around her in search of freedom.  The force threw the approaching woman backward into the wall before consuming her writhing, screaming figure.  The man turned to run for the door, but the flames swallowed him, too.

Seconds later, alarms wailed.  The sound of metal shrieked and shuddered somewhere close by, and Aithne sensed the airflow in the room dissipate, then reverse.  The flames raged for a brief moment before they began to die down and disperse.  Aithne gasped for air, in desperate need of oxygen, but like the fire around her, she began to suffocate.  Darkness edged her vision, and she felt herself sinking to her hands and knees and into unconsciousness.  She sucked at the absent air, her lungs empty and burning but there was nothing left.  Her remaining strength ebbed, and she felt herself falling, her body sinking onto the glowing tiles of the floor, then into darkness.

Aithne woke to hard tile beneath her bare form.  Her whole body shivered from the cold air being impelled into the room, despite the searing heat still radiating from the tiles beneath her. She heard several of the ceramic slates screech and crack in protest of the sharp shift in temperature, and she gagged and sobbed at the acrid smell of burnt flesh choking her lungs and burning her throat.

She knew what she would find before she opened her eyes to see the black, soot-covered floor and walls of the normally stark white cell.  A few feet away lay the charred and mangled husks of what had moments ago been two scientists.  Their painful, horrified screams still echoed in her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut to try and banish the memory of their flesh and muscle melting away as the flames enveloped them.  She hadn’t meant to do it.  

She wept, tears leaving streaks down her ash covered cheeks.  She had left home to get away from the abuse delved out by her parents and the cruelty of the other children her age. She knew how to take care of herself—she could hunt and forage, build a fire and shelter, and she could fight, too, if she needed to.  It had taken weeks to make her way far enough from her home to feel safe from her parents’ influence, but she did it with little difficulty.  She survived nearly a year on her own moving further and further away from the life she hated.  When the frightening creatures began appearing at night, she quickly learned how to hide from them.  She adapted, as always.  So, how did she end up in this hell?  

A click and squeal came from the speaker on the wall, and Aithne jolted in alarm.  She immediately let out a frustrated groan and pulled herself tighter into a ball. She wasn’t surprised he had come. He usually did when she lost control of her ability or acted out, which had become more and more frequent as her power increased.  A guttural chuckle of amusement echoed through the small room that made Aithne cringe.

“I see you’ve been making trouble for me again.  Whatever shall I do with you?  Perhaps letting you off that table was a mistake.  Maybe I should make it your home for the foreseeable future.” Aithne felt a shudder tear through her and looked up at the mirror slowly clearing of haze.  She knew he stood there, watching her.  “A few more months and you will be more powerful than all the others combined.  Then, my child, I will take your mind and bend it to my will.  You will serve me without question, conscience, or hesitation. You will be nothing more than my weapon to punish all who would disobey.”

Aithne felt her soul grow quiet and her heart lurch.  Something within shifted and her mind cleared for the first time since she had made the decision to leave her home.  It was almost the same cold realization she had as she lay beaten and bloody on the floor of her parents’ home, but this was so much more. Something had slammed the door on her fear, loneliness, hatred, and guilt.  She looked over at the husks of the scientists and there was no regret or sorrow.  They got what they deserved, and I will rain down my retribution on them all.  She felt the corners of her mouth twitch but even then, she felt no emotion.

Aithne pushed herself from the floor and stood, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, her eyes falling on the mirror.  “You are a fool to think you can break me.”  Each quiet word brought her closer to the mirror until she stood before it.  “My mother and father have tried since I was born to take my will from me.”  She placed her hands against the now cool glass, staring intently, a smile forming on her cracked lips.  “I. Am. Not. Your. Slave.”  She felt the power and heat well within her and directed it to her hands as she continued, “Nor shall I ever be!”  Her hands began to glow and the glass to sizzle and warp around them.

“Stop, Aithne!  You will stop this at once!”  The voice in the speaker had for once lost its cocky, self-gratified tone and taken on a more alarmed one.

A metallic grinding of the fans reversing to suck out the fresh oxygen from the room only convinced her to focus harder.  The mirror bucked and began to wither as the weight of the heated, nearly molten glass began to run down.  “You should run.”

[dynoguard]

NaNoWriMo: Return of the DinoKnights (Day 25)

Day 1 & 2 text is here.

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Yorik stood before his prize. He had seen it the night of the awakening, before the pleasant night out was interrupted by noisome living pests. If the boss had shown some patience they might have taken it then and saved him the trip.

Still, humans were easy to elude, and breaking into a building with a hole in its roof is a minor inconvenience when one climbs and skitters as well as Yorik.

“Are you not something?” He cooed. running a perpetually-decaying hand over the display. The bones had long since turned to stone, like Extinxion’s, but wasn’t he materials Yorik was after. He looked at the bones, half-submerged in stone. The skull was thick, with massive jaws and long, dagger-like teeth. “An apex predator... I hope you don’t mind if we talk a bit first, so many of my creations are... difficult conversationalists, once they are raised.” 

He spoke to the skull as if the brutal thing would speak back. “The Boss, he only wants powerful... iron and bone and fangs. But that’s not what makes a monster. Its the story that makes the monster.”

He traced his claws along the skull’s eye stocket, down the spine, lined with long spines that one held a sail of flesh. “And you have that story... fossilized in the volcanic ash that smothered and roasted you and burned everything around you.”

“This little sign. Do you know what it says?” Yorik laughed. “One skull another... mmmm? It says they found your prey six inches from your jaws. The great apex hunter... dimetrodon grandis, killed by a mountain with your dinner close enough to taste. You must have been so very angry.”

Yorik pulled one of the amber hearts from the void within him. The flickering thing inside barely moved. It pulsed, like it was breathing, waiting for its moment. “This fellow is angry too... you should be friends.”

With both claws, Yorik shoved the heart to the fossil’s ribcage. The hard cyrstal made a loud ‘clack’ sound at impact, only to soften, and seep into the bones and surrounding stone. 

Yorik pulled his hands away immediately. The rags on his wrists burst into flames, set alight by the heat radiating from the heart. Yorik scampered wildly before his brief panic broke. He shoved his hands into the cold void inside him, and felt the flames freeze and suffocate. 

His attention returned to the fossil. The stone had remembered what it once was, the remembrance of a mountain of fire and death melted it back into lava, thick liquid stone that glowed as red as rage under a scabby, blighted black shell that was spreading over the bones. The bones were moving, halting and unnatural like a stop-motion creature in a long-forgotten monster movie. 

“Yes!” Yorik cackled. “That’s it, take your first steps, tear yourself from the altar the humans put you on, and walk the world once more!”

The creature complied, through obedience or coincidence Yorik did not care. The metal framework of the display buckled under him, and he thrashed free, landing on the marble floor which sizzled and charred under him. 

It first lay on its belly, short legs sprawled as it had in life. But as the lava covered his bones, those limbs reshaped, growing longer, turning his lizard-like build into something between a lizard and an ape, short, thickly muscled legs with arms twice as long, connected to a long, broad body. Yorik hopped back as the creature’s blistering skin caught flame, the spines along its spine growing a new sail of fire between them. It threw its head back and released a bellow not heard for almost two-hundred and fifty million years. A pair of flame-blue eyes snapped open behind lids of semi-molten stone. 

“Alive.” The creature gasped its voice raspy and unpracticed. It reached up, one claw feeling at its chest in disbelief. 

“Not quite.” Yorik chattered. “But close enough. I am Yorik, monstersmith in the service of your master, Lord Extinxion, and all our masters, Apothis. You are Dimetrogorgon.” 

“Why am I-?” The creature stomped toward a nearby glass window, looking at itself in the reflection. Its voice rumbled, deep and threatening.

“You are because it is what I made you and named you. Dimetrogorgon!” Yorik said. 

“If that’s what you say I-” Dimetrogorgon’s voice caught. Its eyes went wide and it coughed, a horrid, unnatural sound followed by a deeper gag, Yorik took a step back, his good eye wide as a saucer. 

“No! The materials were right! The anger and suffering was there!” Yorik shouted in defiance. “You should be stable!”

Dimetrogorgon slammed its right palm into its chest, just at the base of the ribs. Its mouth flung open, and a ball of molten rock the size of a human fist hurtled across the room to embed itself into the wall. The marble sizzled, melting into the glob. 

“-mmmm that is better, yes.” Dimetrogorgon said in a smooth, youthful voice. He sounded, for lack of a better word, handsome. “Don’t you hate it, when the stuff gets caught back there and you have to just ‘ugggk!’ it out?”

Dimetrogorgon mimed the expulsion of the lava orb, and laughed, cocking his head. “Gross, right? Got to say though, I am digging this! “

“Digging?” Yorik blinked. “How are you-”

“Yeah, on the prowl again, new packaging, new name, same winning smile!” To demonstrate, he drew back his lips into a human-like smile, or the best approximation of one his muzzle could manage. His teeth were flaweless, polished almost to being chrome. “Die-met-ro-gorgon! Love it! Doc, you’re an artist. For real...” 

“Th-thank you?” Yorik said, baffled. He sat, stunned for a few moments, then clenched his jaw. “This is wrong!” 

Yorik stamped his foot in anger. 

“What’s the problem, Doc?” Dimetrogorgon asked, pulling himself away from the glass to turn to his creator. “I mean, you could have smoothed out my tail a bit, but hey, it’s character, right?”

“Where is your rage? Your hate? The fury of the volcano? The anger of the predator denied?” Yorik tore the nearest thing he could find, a fossilized shell, from a nearby pedestal. He hurled it to shatter on the ground in rage. “The humans couldn’t have given me better materials, how did I fail so-”

Yorik stopped.

“-the humans.”  Yorik rushed to the molten remains of Dimetrogorgon’s display, realization falling upon him. “Desecration! Contamination! Vandalism!”  

“”You twitch much harder and your head is going to fall off.” Dimetrogorgon responded. 

“You were meant to savage and destroy.” Yorik hissed. “Decades being studied and admired and touched poisoned your matter! Are you even a monster?”

The question was more accusation than interrogative.

“Am I a monster?” Dimetrogorgon growled, his voice taking on a trace of the deep rumbling he had when he awoke. The cracks in his rocky skin glowed with volcanic might as he stalked forward, leaving molten footprints in the marble. “Am I a monster? I am THE monster, ya chicken-necked fool!”

Yorik backed up, he could feel the heat coming from his creation. Natural fire was painful, but barely inconvenient in the long term. The Entropy Legion, even its mistakes, were apart from that order.  

“I am two tons of the hottest, the greatest, the brightest, the prettiest cursed soul you ever saw, or will see with your wormy little eye! I am the champ, the Prince, the prize attraction!” He was shouting with evangelical fury. “Humanity didn’t poison me. They recognized a star when they saw one!”

“Wait!” Yorik shouted, throwing his hands forward. His tone and posture changing, as his tongue moved in familiar patterns. “You’re right, I was, simply trying to get you to see your full potential! What father wouldn’t be proud of such a handsome and- handsome and talented young creature? But I’m not the one you need to impress!”

“What do you mean?”

“Saurians, humans, they defy your obvious brilliance!” Yorik grinned. “They say you’re too pretty to be dangerous! I told them they were wrong, that your bones would be the best the Entropy Legion could offer, but they don’t agree!”

“What? They said that?”

“Not all of them, obviously, or in those words, but you know how mortals are... so rude. So, limited.” Yorik patted his creation on the arm, snatching his hand back just as the rags started to smolder. He could see the wheels turning in Dimetrogorgon’s mind. Wrath was easy to direct but pride, pride barely took a nudge.

Dimetrogorgon turned his gaze back on the large, security-glass window that he had used as a mirror.  The cracks of glowing orange on his left claw spread out from the joints, turning his whole hand into glowing red-orange magma, before it burst into blue-white flame.  

Glass melted, the steel frame warped, paint smoldered and burned, and soon, the Museum of Natural History had a second monster-sized exit. Dimetrogorgon stepped from the molten footprints he left in the marble floor. He spun around, eyes locking on Yorik. “Point me at ‘em, doc. These fools need to learn that just cuz I’m hot don’t mean I don’t burn.”

[musesanddrabbles]

Reversal

If his heart was made of glass, then surely, hers must be of greed.  

His eyes once whispered molten hot passion cooled to ashes. He didn't look at her anymore. Although she adored him all the same. Those vicious lips and sharpened fangs had bled all over her own, drew her into his alluring hell. Burrowing deep into her soul, violent like the stormy seas. Their bodies fitted together so perfectly, his heat almost scalding her. Rasping breaths down her nape, murmuring desires into her ears, with a voice, sultry as death. She loved the way he felt inside her, fervent as forest fire, devouring with nightmarish hunger of their jet-black lust, resonating like a beast. Her broken voice cried his name to the heavens where he sent her, only to be silenced with a famished kiss, spurred with need.        

And now he smiled for someone else.  

She caught him at the corner of her gaze, noticing he held another woman's hands. Intoxicating her with his hellish attraction and silver smooth words, the same he did to her. Alas, but a beautiful, soulless creature, she could almost hear echoes when he walked. Empty, she thought, he must be empty. Leaving a path of weeping girls behind him, and her, his latest victim. She recognized that sickening expression he wore, a half smirk and graceful nonchalance coupled with playful lip bites. Every bit gorgeous as the day they met, only this time, it wasn't for her. And the new girl, flustered, naïve, twirling her hair, and falling into his trap. What a serpent.    

Does anyone ever satisfy his hollow glass heart?  

He saw her glaring, pulled the girl in for a kiss, smiling into her affections, whilst meeting her eyes. Taunting her, reminding her, just how much she yearned him, how much she still wants him. She left the room, feeling her chest clench a little tighter, and her mind, a lot quieter.  

She used to cry when it became clear he was bored of her. Questioned the gods how fate could've been so cruel. And prayed every night for him to return to her side again.  

God didn't answer.  

Her tears now dried, left streaks and scars on her cheeks, ice cold to the touch. In its place were something sinister, twisted her inside out, and her guts, long rotted. Ah, he has tainted her, enchanted her with his poison.  

She doesn't stop thinking about him.  

Oh, but it wasn't something jovial like jealousy, no, no, it was much, much darker. Exasperating, abominable, with piranha sharp teeth and dagger claws, lacerating her insides, squirming desperately to get out.  

And she finally relinquished.

She's madly in love.  

She's madly in love...

She's mad.    

.:.:.:

He was before her again, wrists bruised from tightened ropes. How beautiful, she thought, the red on his skin contrasted so brilliantly with milky white. Their hands interlaced, feeling the bloodless chills of his palms, shivering down her spine, and pretended, she didn't hear the curses he'd been slinging at her. She straddled him, melting into his body heat, leaned against his neck. She'd missed his scent; the same sweet blooded horror as he was. Mellow, yet every bit wicked, exhilarating.  

Like a haughty nightingale, perched atop a high tree in all of his glory, singing his lungs out, bewitching with his songs. And she chased after him, finally feeling the velvet of his feathers, to see him burst into hellish flames, stung hot as a scorpion, engraving her in his marks, his spells. His glass, glass heart.

And she finally caged him.  

There was venom on his tongue that tasted of nightshade. Enough to drown her with bitter intoxication. Leaving her breathless, bleeding, when he bit her lower lip. Letting her own wretched blood dissolve with him, in a suffocating struggle. His hatred carving her out, and even then, she didn't stop.  

Her hand was over his chest, feeling his heartbeats pulsing against her, the same glass heart, that no longer beat for her. What once burned intensely on the pyre became a little less than a pile of lifeless rubble. But her, long gone, incinerated by the hell fire that was him. How ironic his cold, ephemeral love felt so deceivingly warm. Alluring, as the disgust, hatred, in his eyes of the creature he made her.  

Those hissing lies he no longer spun, swearing with the same seduction he used to purr her name.  

"Let me go, psychotic wench."  

She loved the look on his face when she retrieved her knife; dread, exasperation in his skin-deep captivation. Smooth silver glinted to a point. Slicker, deadlier than mercury. Drawing a painful reflection of her very own lunacy. Her mind had been quiet for a while now. Far too quiet that the incessant ringing in her ears consumed her. Like a brass bell, she was hollow, and if she laughed, she heard echoes.  

God didn't answer, but the devil did.  

"So, you're going to kill me for breaking your heart?"  

How prideful he was at death's door. That reckless indifference to the world, as if it was but a toy spinning on top his palm. When she was driven to sin dark malice, he remained flawless. A marionette in human skin, pretending he could feel. And with the slightest touch, his hide came crumbling, revealing smooth wooden joints of mahogany. Empty.      

He had always been empty, and now, she was too.

Even his blood was a shallow mimic, blossoming into beautiful carnations from the etches she made on his perfectly sculpted abdomen. If he was truly made of wood, then surely, he wouldn't mind being carved. He flinched each time the blade dug into his flesh, warmth crusted over her hands that smelled of copper. Melting caramel oozed from the jagged lines she made, but even then, when he spoke. His voice was the same sickening sweet, laced with insouciant tranquility.                    

"Branding your name on my skin? Isn't that a bit cliché?"  

She leaned in, his vitality, bleeding through her dress, the dripping knife brought to his eye. Tapped the blunt edge against his cheek, watching the glimmer in his pupils reflect a sharp silver. She cooed gently, her wavering breaths on his lips.  

"Yes...  And I am going to do everything that's cliché."  

She smiled, sliding the smooth metal up his jugular, not applying enough force to break the veins. She could almost hear the screeching of delicate glass in her eardrums. What a melodious sound.

"How much does it take to break you?" She hummed, pushing his hair back with the hilt.  

"Would you cry if I slice up this pretty face of yours?" She tilted his jaw, seeing the shadows rippling tide in the trenches of his neck as he swallowed.  

"Or if I gorged out these beautiful eyes?"  

Pressed the weapon in the middle of his chest.  

"Or maybe... I should just end you now."  

Blood spilled over his pretense of a human shell. Puddling between the valleys of each individual rib. Watching his elegance wince and tense as she increased the pressure. His smoldering lashes, casted spidery shadows on his cheek bones. Lidding over the dim, sultry hue of his pupils; the wanton carnality he once looked at her with. Shattering the perfect, perfect, illusions he drowned her, and left her breathless. She stopped.  

"Insanity doesn't suit you..." He said. 

Bounded hands on her cheeks, fervent heat of his palms radiating beneath her skin burned hot. Of the alluring hell he was from, oh, how she had missed his tenderness despite it torn her apart. Leaving her little, brittle, helpless. She bit her lips, melancholy choked in her throat. The very emotions she discarded and replaced with psychosis.  

Because, crazy, became the only thing that kept her sane.  

And it was so easy to bring her back, the wretched, tearing child that lost something precious. His sweet nothings and false promises, she'd damned it all. But it wasn't enough.  

She leaned in, hardly speaking. Her actions were enough to convey; she desired his affections.  

His glass, glass heart.  

And he read her,  

"You are much cuter when you smile."

How could she, when he'd swallowed her whole. Ripping away her flesh until she was bare bones. Nothing was remotely comparable to the euphoria he showed her, she hadn't anything left to smile for. She once crossed the gates of heaven, and was shunned by the angels. She fell. Comforted instead by the mad whispers of the abyss, she chose to close her eyes. 

To lose her humanity.    

What else can she do, but to laugh at her ludicrous fate?

And she did, with the madness of a mocking jay. Oh, futile, a pitiful bird serenading a vicious serpent, its head looming over her like a pendulum, biting acid into her feathers, seethed from decomposing wounds. How pathetic, she thought she must have been, to have gorged out her own heart on a golden platter.  

"The thought of losing me to someone else is unbearable."    

He completed her narration.  

"That you'd rather I die, than to embrace another girl."  

She hated how much he understood her.  

"You're cruel..." She mumbled gingerly. Dropped the weapon by her side, she melted into his touch, placing her hand over his. For a soulless puppet, he was so, unbearably warm. His pulse singing the same wretched melody that enchanted her; a hollow tune reverberated against her own empty husk. And had her mind dangled on a thread before the devil's claws.  

If demons existed, then surely, he must have been one. She could almost see his jet-black wings behind his back, with feathers of finely weaved silk. And the murky glow behind his iris, mysterious like ocean depts, concealing the monstrosity lurking beneath. She was sinking, drowning, but she hadn't care then. She couldn't care now.  

He pulled her in for a hug, squeezing her comfortingly like he once did. His arm swiveled around her shaken, broken body that was far too fragile for her big, big heart. She'd been dyed his color, and it was too late to turn back. She finally saw him now. Menacing horns on his head, and iron claws. With that same bewitching smirk on his lips that was ghastly yet, oh, so ravishing. He was sin manifested in the shape of a man.  

She had indeed been blind.        

She began choking on her own blood as a piercing sensation dug through her back. Her world turned dark, burning the last images of that exquisite portrait into her memory, and the words she heard,  

"Insanity doesn't suit you... It suits me."  

.:.:.:

If her heart was made of glass, then surely, his must be of greed.  

He was in the basement, humming a quiet song. He hung his latest collection on the wall, tucking her hair that was cascading into waves beneath its own weight behind her delicate shell of an ear. He smiled solemnly, touching the scar tissues on his stomach.  

"You're quite the bold one, aren't you?"

And she didn't reply.