blackmelt-blog

[blackmelt-blog]

“You didn’t have to do all of this.” He really didn’t — especially taking into consideration Raymond’s persistently picky palate. A myriad of Italian dishes that even he doesn’t know the names of are plated and arranged expertly in front of him and Jessica. The scent of garlic is strong and cloying in the air, and in the dish nearest him Raymond spots whole tomatoes; he tries his best not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. If Parker notices his displeasure, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he tosses his hand towel over his shoulder and, rubbing his palms together, replies, “It’s nothing — I like having an excuse to flex my culinary muscle, and what better way of showing it off than offering two of my favorite people an authentic Italian experience, courtesy of Nonna Luciani’s cook book?” “I like the sound of that,” Jessica says. Clapping her hands together, she continues, “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving.”

Ever the gentleman, Parker pulls out Jessica’s chair for her and tucks her in once she’s seated. She looks every bit out of place as Raymond does, but unlike Raymond, she leans into that fact — Raymond and Parker both are barely seated before she takes charge and begins filling her plate with a bit of everything. Raymond sticks to what he knows. The spaghetti is safe, as are the crackers and cheeses. “Yum,” Jessica moans as she takes her first bite. “Tell Nonna Luciani that she’s a genius for me,” She reaches over to place her hand on Parker’s bicep. “This is really good!” Parker can barely contain the grin that threatens to split his face in half. “I’m sure she’s looking down on us right now and appreciates you saying so. Hell of a woman, my nonna — she always said the way to the heart was through good food.” “Wise woman,” Jessica replies with a nod. With a smile, she leans in and stage whispers, gaze bouncing back and forth between him and Raymond, “You know, I always took you for a mama’s boy. I’m glad to know I wasn’t off-base.” Parker’s guffaw is deep and loud enough to shake the whole apartment, and despite his best efforts at remaining straight-faced, Raymond manages to conceal a smile behind his glass of wine. “The Luciani are a line of strong men and even stronger women. All of my strength, I owe to them.” A moment of silence stretches between them. Raymond does his best navigating against whole pieces of tomato when Parker’s clearing of his throat catches his attention. Looking up, he finds both Parker and Jessica staring at him, and he nearly settles his fork down. “So, cadet” — he’ll never let that pet name go, will he? — “what do you think?” The smile never leaves Parker’s face, but there’s a hint of apprehension there, as if he expects Raymond to spit out whatever is in his mouth at any moment. Jessica’s expression is more or less the same: knowing and amused. Raymond takes another sip of his wine. “It’s excellent,” he replies. “My compliments to the chef.” That seems to do just the trick in appeasing Parker. Conversation continues, lead mostly by Parker and Jessica, with Raymond dropping in a comment or two when applicable. He was comfortable simply watching them take charge of the evening, despite the seizing of his gut he refuses to name every time Jessica places a lingering hand on Parker or raises an innuendo his way. By the time everyone’s done eating, Raymond desperately needs a cigarette. “Do you mind…” he trails off, gesturing at the carton in his hands, and Parker waves him off. “Go ahead. The door to the balcony likes to get stuck, so feel free to show it who’s boss.” Parker pushes up his sleeve to curl his bicep and Raymond takes that as his cue to run. His apartment balcony is small and modestly decorated by a collection of garden herbs, most of which Raymond has no doubt could be found in the meal they just had. The first drag is immediately relaxing. The tension in his shoulders seep and tilts his head back, eyes closed, breathing in the dusk. He makes no attempt to move when he hears the door behind him slide open and feels a presence beside him. “You’re so obvious, you know,” Jessica’s voice breaks the silence, and Raymond lets out an amused huff. “Am I?” he asks, flicking the ash off of the side of the railing. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.” “What can I say? I like watching you squirm,” she replies, turning around to face him. Hands wrapped around the edge and back facing the railing, she looks at him and says, with all seriousness and just the little bit of softness, “He’s a liability.” “Agreed.” “This isn’t going to work out the way you want it to,” she continues. “Both of you are going to get hurt.” “I know.” He turns to lean with her, looks inside of Parker’s apartment to find him putting away dishes. They meet each other’s gaze and Parker offers a wave. Raymond responds to it with a nod. “I didn’t tell you this, but between you and me, I feel bad for him,” Jessica leans in imperceptibly closer. “He really is a nice guy.” “There’s only so much niceness can do for you in this world.” “I know — but look at him, so cute. I don’t blame your crush on him one bit.” Raymond exhales audibly through his nose. He takes out his carton and stamps out his cigarette on the lid in place of an ashtray, tosses the butt inside. “Let’s get this over with,” he says, resolve firmly in place. “After you.”

[blackmelt-blog]

“What a morbid thing to be reading about,” she says, offering it back to him, which he graciously accepts.  Edward swallows visibly.

“What begins but has no end, and is the end of all that begins?”

Her brows knit together in confusion. “Is that a riddle?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Do you like riddles?” When she gives him that odd look again, he clarifies, “Death.  I find it fascinating — from a scientific standpoint, of course!”

“You are a man of science, aren’t you,” Kristen says as if reminding herself.  She takes a step back to look at him. “Are you well, Mr. Nygma?”

Heat colors his cheeks.  Mentally berating himself over his social faux pas — what a queer thing to admit to the woman you’re about to marry! — he replies, “Please, call me Edward.”

[blackmelt-blog]

I have so many Wild West AU ideas that I need to actually sit down and commit to.  Maybe some day.

[blackmelt-blog]

Written for @pairing-prompts prompt: “Person A is an alien and has just abducted Person B, who is… surprisingly okay with this.”

Jim doesn’t know much about aliens or how any of this works — or how this alien in particular works — but something tells him something went wrong here, if his new friend’s perturbed silence is any indication.

Jim was out surveying his field when a strange beam of light gulped him up off the ground.  It was a strange sensation, being lifted up like that — he reckoned it was similar to the feeling bubbles felt rising in a freshly poured glass of soda pop, but he was guessing, of course.  There was no real chance of knowing that.

Accompanied by the strange sensation was a loud, mechanical humming, not unlike the generator on his plow but somehow gentler.  He can hear old Gloria mooing nearby and wonders, distantly, if she’s being brought along, too, being his best cow and all.

He finds himself in a large room.  Everything’s stark white and it takes his eyes some time to adjust to it, squinting between thick eyelashes to make out his surroundings.  It’s nothing he’s ever seen before; he’s encompassed by machines of alien shapes and sizes, decorated in strange symbols and buttons like something out of a science fiction novel.

Gloria’s nowhere to be found, but before he can step forward and explore his surroundings, a swooshing sound draws his attention towards an open panel.

At the entrance stands what looks to be a man.  Tall, thin, and gaunt, he looks human enough, save for the green coloring of his skin, the severe shape of his brows, and the pointed tips of his ears.  He’s dressed in funny robes that are decorated with the same symbols spotted around the room.  A subtle look of surprise passes over his face, gone as soon as it came, and his expression becomes blank.

Unreadable.

“You are not a bovine.”

His voice is low and clear, betraying no hint of emotion.  Jim’s just surprised he can communicate with him at all.  He runs a hand through his hair and laughs, stepping off of the platform he appeared to be standing on.

“No, I guess I’m not,” he says, making his way over to the humanoid and sticking out his hand. “Jim Kirk.”

The alien glances down at his hand but doesn’t take it.  Jim’s immediately fascinated by the pair of eyes staring back at him.  Completely black and devoid of feeling, but somehow, for some reason, he knows he — it? — won’t hurt him.

“You will have to be returned.”

“Returned?” Jim echoes. Recognition dawns on him and he furrows his brows, saying, “You wanted my cow, but you’re not taking her, mister!  I got a show with her coming up in April and you can bet dollars to donuts I’m not lettin’ her slip out of my hands.”

His extended hand raises into a stern, pointed finger, and his companion continues to stare at him in silence.  It stretches awkwardly between them, but Jim refuses to back down.

The alien acquiesces.  He tilts his head in acknowledgement towards Jim and motions with one long arm towards the platform where he previously stood.

“Very well, Jim Kirk,” he says.  Hearing his name makes Jim involuntarily shiver. “I will return you.”

“And Gloria?  You won’t take her, will you?” Jim asks. “Or any of my other livestock and things without my permission?”

“Negative.”

Jim takes the time to really look at him.  He wasn’t the most engaging of fellas, but he was polite, and that sat well with Jim.  He slowly makes his way over to the platform and stands in the middle of it, shoving his hands in his pockets.

When his companion turns to leave the room, Jim says suddenly, “You never did tell me your name.”

The alien turns to look at him and replies, “You cannot pronounce it.”

“Try me,” Jim counters, but he leaves without a word.

After a few moments the light and strange feeling encompasses him again.  He’s greeted by Gloria when his feet settle onto the ground.  When he lands, he hears a single word coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, and he smiles.

“Spock.”

[blackmelt-blog]

A scene from my nygmobblepot Corpse Bride AU fic that's been sitting in my drafts since forever.  Who knows when I'll get around to finishing it, so I figured I'd at least post this excerpt.

Edward was comfortable amongst the thieves and low lives that prowled the fish market.  Their transparency meant they were far easier to navigate than the rich with their unspoken expectations of propriety and conduct.  Edward was no more fearful of the common street thug than he was his own parents. Yes, he felt very much at home with the rabble, which is why he was not surprised to find his feet had lead him there.

It was a rather quiet night, however, but silence did not guarantee solitude.  He ignored wandering eyes in the dark as he focused on rehearsing his lines, starting conversations with imaginary apparitions of Kristen and her family.  If his audience believed him mad, so be it; it was safer to be perceived mad than entirely sane.

“With this hand, I will fill your cup,” he begins.  He shakes his head, lets out a breath, and starts over.  “No. With this hand, I will cup your — oh! Oh, dear.”

Performance anxiety, his mind supplies.  Nothing to be embarrassed about.  Perhaps it was his audience that was tripping him up?  He slips away onto an isolated pier sandwiched between ships and obscured behind towers of lumber.

He continues to practice.  The more he fumbles his lines, the more discouraged he becomes, and it sours his mood completely.

“Kristen must think me a fool,” Edward mutters. “What kind of a man can’t remember a few simple vows?  Certainly not one ready to be married.”

He ruminates upon the thought of her.  Kristen Kringle, of aristocratic birth and great beauty, with hair the shade of strawberries and the softest hazel eyes.  His fiancée.  A beautiful woman is a dangerous thing, he thinks dreamily, but it was her disposition that ensnared him.  She was kind to him.  What more could he possibly ask for?

It is the thought of her kindness that spurs him on.  Taking out the wedding band from his breast pocket, he clears his throat and, with all the confidence he could muster, he practices his vows one more time.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows,” he says, holding the ring up in the air. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”

He mimics the lighting of the candle as he continues, “With this candle, I will light your way into darkness.  With this ring…”

Edward pauses.  With a dramatic flourish, he shoves the ring in the air, envisioning it on the end of her finger.

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine!”

All is silent save for his erratic breathing.  That was it.  He’d said it perfectly that time, with conviction — surely Kristen would be proud!  The problem now was to maintain the enthusiasm for the ceremony.  Straightening himself, he lets out an incredulous laugh and triumphantly tosses the ring in the air with the intention to catch it with his fist —

— only to miss it and watch it plunge into the frigid waters below.

“Oh dear!”

Panic overwhelms Edward.  He immediately drops to his stomach, reaching blindly into the darkness in an attempt to rescue the golden band from a watery grave.  He’s discovers nothing until his hand passes what feels like a branch. Gently tracing around it, he feels the familiar texture of the band, and gives it an experimental tug.  It doesn’t budge.

“How odd,” Edward says.  He tugs on it again.  Again, it refuses to move.

Steeling himself, he resolves to move the branch itself, and twists himself into a more comfortable position to do so.  He pulls. It’s far heavier than he expected it to be, but it appears to finally be yielding, and he works at heaving it above the water.

Instead of a branch, however, he discovers an arm stripped of flesh and muscle.  His reaction is immediate: he lets out a gasp and releases the bone, falling onto his backside in the process.  Its skeleton finger twitch desperately in the air before gripping at the wood on the dock. Edward’s eyes follow the arm to a figure emerging from the water.

It appears to be a man.  Sopping wet, his pallor is yellow and sickly, and his inky hair sticks in rivulets upon his forehead.  Seaweed frames his head like a makeshift veil and barnacles offer spots of color to his otherwise dark attire, but that was not what caught Edward’s eye — no, his attention is drawn to the wound in his chest, directly below his violet cravat.

Like a scene out of a nightmare, Edward is paralyzed as he watches the fiend crawl towards him.  His senses are overwhelmed by the stench of death and seawater as the other looms over him, soaking him in the process.  He attempts to hold his breath to avoid the smell.

“I do.”

As the fiend closes the gap between them, and before Edward is consumed by nothingness, he makes a mental note of the husky eagerness in his voice.

[blackmelt-blog]

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.  Uncomfortable, X scrambles to relieve it, and immediately reaches for the surprise tucked away in his hobo bag.

“I brought zucchini bread!” he says, presenting the plastic and aluminum wrapped loaf proudly in his hands — and he was proud of it, considering how long it’s been since he last baked. He was no Martha Stewart by any means, but he liked to think he could bake a mean zucchini bread when he wanted to!

… he just hopes it’s edible.

The distraction works.  All eyes fall on him, all previous tensity replaced with confusion, and he meets their collective gaze with a smile, eyes bouncing back and forth between them and his aforementioned culinary confection.  He gives it a few emphasizing shakes up and down.

“You brought zucchini bread,” Jasper says, the first he’s spoke since they’ve returned.

“Yep!” X replies. “Baked it myself!”

Victor works at picking his jaw off the floor.  He holds up a hand, shaking his head, and asks, “Wha — who gave you access to a kitchen?”

“Your staff have been very kind to me,” X says easily.  As if remembering himself, his eyes widen slightly and he offers the baron a theatrical bow with one arm. “Your Excellency.”

It’s Nelli’s turn to speak next.  Her ruby red lips are curled in disbelief — a sight X has become very familiar with in Nelli’s presence.

“Why did you bring zucchini bread?”

“Why not?” X blinks. He looks between his company inquisitively. “Is that weird?”

Annabelle tilts her head, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I mean… sort of, yeah?” she replies. She motions towards the food in question. “You know we can’t… eat that, right?”

X lets out a brief laugh and shakes his head. “It’s not for us, silly!  It’s for them.”

With that, he places the zucchini bread in Greg’s gloved palm.  He, Ib, and Chelsea share a glance with each other, as does the coterie amongst themselves.  They were all a slave to their biology, but being as they are, it was easy to forget they were still in the presence of mortals.

“... uh, yeah.  Okay. Thanks.”

X nods at Greg, grin unwavering.

“I love zucchini bread,” Chelsea supplies helpfully, and X bounces excitedly, raising his hand for a high-five that she enthusiastically returns.

“See!”

[blackmelt-blog]

... so, Chelsea/Greg/Ib is now a thing I really crave. Chelsea/Nelli/Greg too. (There are ideas bouncing around in my head as we speak.)

I swear I write more than smutty shipping bullshit.

[blackmelt-blog]

one of the best things about making friends with people who read your fics isn’t just that they usually review, it’s the energy for your writing they have, the way they hang on even your maddest ideas and help you refine them or just help you stretch your mind a little with “what if” back-and-forths

y’all are great

[blackmelt-blog]

Got something to wear that’s good for digging?

[blackmelt-blog]

A small piece of smut I’ll probably never finish featuring Jasper/Annabelle, spanking, and leather gloves.  Why yes, I wrote it after that episode, why do you ask?

His palm leaves delicious red imprints that burn with each swat.  One, five, seven — Annabelle loses count after a while, so consumed with maintaining the frantic connection of their bodies that all thought begins to cease.  Each thrust is met with a wicked slap of their flesh.  Jasper is so solid behind her, so warm, and when he grabs a handful of her hair and pulls, she follows willingly.

“You like this, Anna?” He growls into her ear, emphasizing his point with another well-placed smack on her ass.  “You like it when I punish you like this?”

She responds by slamming back against him, searching more for that delicious friction with an intentional grind of her hips.  “God, yes,” her voice comes out in a croak. “Fuck, Jasper.”

With a pleased rumble deep within his chest, he releases her hair and traces his hand down her spine, resting at her hip.  His opposite hand rewards her with tender caresses on her inflamed skin.  The leather is warmed from a combination of the assault on her body and the Blush shared between them, but still it offers a cool reprieve on her flesh.  She sighs and leans into the tenderness, matching it, fucking herself on him with slow, languorous movements.

“Good girl,” he says in a whisper. “Just like that.”

They remain like that for some time: Annabelle setting the pace while Jasper maps out her body with his hands.  There’s a point where he pulls out from her.  She groans at the emptiness, but hums appreciatively when she feels his gloved fingers on her sex.  The texture of it rekindles memories of long ago, of a different time and place, but she chooses to focus on the present and the way his fingers curl inside of her.

He moves her body to face him.  She looks up at him and smiles, raising her arms above her head to rest on the pillows, and lifts herself to meet him when he twists down to capture her breast in his mouth.  He suckles carefully, deliberately, no razor-sharp teeth in sight, and she brings down one of her hands to cradle his head, nails lightly scratching at the nape of his neck.

Her orgasm builds with each gyrating twist of his thumb.  When she comes, she curls into him, emitting a gentle sound, and wordlessly accepts the fingers brought to her mouth with her tongue.

She reaches between her legs and takes him in her hand.  It doesn’t take long for him to finish, the result of their lovemaking now staining her stomach and pubis.

“I love it when you call me Anna,” she says while he’s preoccupied with wiping her clean.  “You’re the only one who does.”

“Well, you are beautiful,” he replies honestly, in reference to the etymology of her name, “but you’re also kind, and I like your kindness a lot more.”

Her stomach fluttering at both his words and touch, she gasps in mock surprise and says, “And here I thought it was because you like being a contrarian.  Jasper Heartwood: closet romantic.  Who knew?”

“He won’t be if you keep teasing him.”

Annabelle makes a sound with the back of her throat and pulls him down to lay beside her.  Jasper’s skin is already beginning to cool as his Blush of Life deactivates, and he rests his head on her chest, one long arm strewn across her torso.  The previous removal of his gloves meant there was no longer a barrier between them, and she smiles at the thought of it while she plays with his fingers.

“I know it’s selfish, but, um…”  she shakes her head, trying to stave off the wave of tears she feels brimming beneath her eyes. “I just... wish we could stay like this forever.”

His hold around her tightens.

“Me too.”

[blackmelt-blog]

i still reach for you

Fandom: L.A By Night Pairing: Jasper/Chloe Word Count: 1122

His fingertips are snowflakes against her skin, cold and fleeting as he looks her over, piercing blue eyes flitting every which way. She can’t meet them, can’t look up from where she can grey black-veined skin disappearing under that stupid hoodie of his. She’s been the focus of his attention before, though perhaps in a different context then this, he’s always been very intense when focused, it was one of her favourite things about him, but this feels different. She feels like a deer in headlights, or perhaps prey just waiting for a predator to pounce on her and dig its teeth into her neck, an all-too-appropriate metaphor.

His finger traces her collarbone, cold and hard as marble, and a gasp escapes her lips. She half expects him to gasp in return, can nearly recount the sound of it in her mind, but he remains quiet. She is intimately aware what he is looking for, bruises along her neck, rings of fatigue around her eyes, she had seen the symptoms herself and was never naive enough to not know what had caused them. Yes, she had lived the past three months in the very near presence of vampires, but they were never the ones doing the drinking around her.

He traces her exposed collarbone and she near shivers when his fingertip goes beneath the neckline of her blouse. It’s what pushes her over the edge and she slaps his hand away. The touch is too familiar, to like what they once were, when they shrunk the world down until it was only the two of them and nothing else mattered. She doubts the strike hurt him in any way, but he pulls away from her and stands at rest with both of his hands in his pockets.

“Chloe,” Jasper starts, stopping as soon as he sees a wince of pain cross her face. She can still hear him through the gnarled quality of his voice, and if she can force herself to just look up for fuck’s sake she’d still see him under the grey skin and the pointed ears. His eyes are still that stupid shade of blue that he used to hide behind glasses with thick black-rimmed frames. She assumes that he doesn’t need those anymore. She wonders if he kept them anyway.

“Chloe,” he repeats. She holds up her hand, and he quiets once more.

“Just… give me a second Jas,” she says, holding up a finger as she takes a large breath. Figures that she chooses now to have the panic attack that’s been brewing under her skin since he first made his presence known to her. He flinches at her old nickname for him but he doesn’t look away. She needs him to look away, but he doesn’t even move an inch, so she turns around instead, hand on her forehead as she slowly breaks down. She looks down the hallway to see someone peeking around the corner, one of the people who he showed up with, the girl in the red leather jacket, who darts away as soon as Chloe meets her eyes.

It’s nice to see he has friends and terrible all at the same time. It makes her wonder how easy it was for him to move on. And now she’s crying, the first time she’s allowed herself to cry in a month. She feels so cold, shivers creeping up and down her skin as she hunches over, crossing her arms over her chest to stop the shaking. She sobs, breathing in and out in short, halting breaths. She can still feel him staring at the back of her neck.

“Chloe,” he says, and this time he stops because he doesn’t know what else to say, which is strange for him. He always knew what to say when she was having a shitty day.

“Five years, Jas,” she says between each breath, reaching up a hand to rub at her eyes.

He sighs, “I know.”

“Why now?”

“I just- I didn’t think- This didn’t turn out how I had originally planned.”

“Obviously,” she mutters.

“I just wanted you to move on. Be happy with… whatever his name was.”

She almost smiles. He was never good with names. It almost feels as if nothing has changed, “It’s almost like you don’t me at all.”

She knows that has to hurt. It hurts her to say it because even when it felt like she knew nothing; like she was still a naive little girl from some bumfuck town trying to make it somewhere, she still knew him. And he knew her in return. He knew everything.

He’s quiet for a long time. A minute, at least. He was always careful with his words, always trying to find the right thing to say. But perhaps he realizes there’s nothing to say here. She hears him shuffle on his feet behind her before he moves into the corner of her vision, tiptoeing around and watching her reaction until he stands in front of her once more. She still can’t meet his gaze, and she half expects him to just walk away, but instead, she sees his hand reach out to hers. His fingernails are long and jagged, completely unlike when they were together and he used to incessantly bite his nails till they bled. She used to paint them for him, in girly colours that sparkled and clashed with everything he wore. But he stopped biting them. And he still let her paint his nails.

He grabs her hand, engulfing it in cold, before slowly bringing it up to his lips, brushing them against her knuckles. She takes a shaking breath and finally looks up into his eyes. They’re so familiar, compared the rest of him, piercing bright blue and intense. She feels frozen in place, looking at them and the tracks of crimson blood streaking from them down his cheeks. There’s nothing left but blood, Fiona had once told her. Nothing left to cry either, apparently.

All of a sudden her attention shifts, her senses become hyper-focused on the blood trailing down his cheeks. A large drop of it exits the corner of his eye, falling down his cheek before it goes to drop off his chin. She stops it with the tip of her finger, the first time she’s touched him in five years, it gathers on her finger, and she can’t stop staring at it until she brings it to her lips. She sighs as she licks it clean, Fiona’s blood always burned on the way down, like knocking back a shot of whiskey, but Jasper’s blood tastes sweet as honey and it warms her as she swallows it.

His growl rips through the room.

[blackmelt-blog]

(Is it obvious I really like writing pre-embrace Jasper/Chloe vignettes?  These two are too cute.)

[blackmelt-blog]

When Chloe opens the door, she’s greeted by the familiar pigsty of her dorm room and one very excited Diane.

“So, how did it go?”

Chloe steps over a pile of discarded clothing that she scoops up to toss in her laundry basket. She sets her shoulder bag down on her desk and turns to her roommate, her lips formed into a perplexed smile.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me — we agreed you would talk to tall, dark, and mysterious today!” Diane shoots her a pointed look. Even from her vantage point on her bed, she looks intimidating. “You did talk to him, didn’t you?”

Oh.  The fluttering from earlier returns in the pit of her stomach and suddenly, inexplicably, getting out her laptop feels very important — she grabs it from her bag and moves to sit down on her bed opposite of Diane.

“Yeah,” Chloe replies. “I didn’t stick around too long but I managed to make him laugh so I think it went okay?”

“You made him laugh?  Oh my God, Chloe!  What did you say?”

“I said — ugh, okay, it’s stupid, but I asked him how he wasn’t melting under all of the black he wears.”

One of Chloe’s favorite things about Diane is her laugh.  It’s a loud, unapologetic sound, comprised of snorts and cackles, and so authentically her that it makes Chloe laugh, too.  It does wonders for easing Chloe’s embarrassment.

Diane crosses her legs and leans closer to her, conspiratorial. “Did you get his name?”

Chloe presses her lips together and smiles.

“Jasper.”

There’s an amused intake of breath that immediately spells trouble. “Like the Twilight vampire?”

“Something tells me he would hate that comparison,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes, and finally opens her laptop.

“Oh my God.  You’re totally Alice,” Diane says, gushing. “Well, more like Esme now that I think about it, but it fits.”

“Really?  I’m thought you were going to say Bella.”

“You are stubborn and have the curiosity of a cat,” Diane replies, nodding. Her smile morphs into a grin.  “Look at you, snagging your very own vampire.”

“You’re not going to drop the Twilight thing, are you?” Chloe asks, looking up from her laptop. “And I wouldn’t call it ‘snagging’.  We just… talked a little bit, that’s all.  He’s probably not even interested. I mean, I could tell he was uncomfortable — ”

Diane closes her book with a loud snap.  Chloe’s head whips up to look at her.

“Chloe, you have been crushing on this guy since the moment you saw him and you made him laugh.  No offense, but he doesn’t really seem the type to just do that,” she says. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never been a quitter, so here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to keep bothering him and you’re going to use that Chloe charm you have to get him to like you — unless he turns out to be an asshole, in which case I have your back, okay?”

“You really think I should?”

“Duh! I won’t pretend that I ‘get’ it because the guy kinda gives me the creeps, but you like him and that’s important.  As far as I’m concerned, he’s lucky you even talked to him!”

“Aw, thanks Dee,” Chloe says. “You’re right.  If I see him tomorrow, I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” Diane replies.  She slowly opens up her textbook and gives Chloe another look. “But if he takes you to a forest clearing and starts to sparkle, you let me know, okay?”

Chloe groans. “Oh my God, stop.”

The tiny dorm room quickly fills with the sound of her laughter.

[blackmelt-blog]

Seven years after, I see you again 😚

[blackmelt-blog]

Jasper hears her before he sees her, and when she takes a seat next to him, he pointedly refuses to acknowledge her.  She leans over to him, enough to invade his space but not to overcrowd, and makes a short, curious noise.

“What are you drawing?”

“Notes,” he responds, terse, and hopes that’ll be the end of that.

She makes a sound in acknowledgment. From the corner of his vision, he sees her glancing up at the building in front of them: Temple Hall, the subject of his current assignment.

“Wow. It’s amazing how you can capture something with so few lines.  It looks just like the arts center,” she says. There’s a brief pause before she falls into a quiet, self-deprecating laughter.  “I’m lucky to draw even a decent stick figure.”

There’s a period of awkward silence between them when he doesn’t respond.  His increasing discomfort with her presence distracts him, and he sets his pencil down.

“I’m sorry — I know I’m making you uncomfortable and I promise I’ll leave in a minute,” she says honestly, apologetically, “But I see you out here all of the time and I just… I’m curious.  How are you not melting wearing all of that black?”

Whatever he expected her to say, it wasn’t that, and to his surprise, he chuckles.

“Dedication,” he responds with a wry smile, turning to look at her. “You get used to it after a while.”

She returns his smile with one of her own.

“I see,” she says and, true to her word, moves to stand. She adjusts her shoulder bag and is about to turn before she looks back at him. “Well, it was nice talking to you — what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” he says, but acquiesces at the playful narrowing of her eyes. “Jasper.”

Her smile widens and she licks her lips, nodding.

“Chloe,” she returns and raises a brow. “See you around, Jasper.”

He watches her leave with a puzzled expression.  Curiously, when he turns back to his assignment, he still can’t concentrate.

[blackmelt-blog]

It's the year 2019 and I'm having to tag posts as "lemon" and be as vague as possible when writing warnings and advertising my work because words get flagged and consequently posts don't show up in tags.  Absolutely ridiculous.  Tumblr, get your shit together.

[blackmelt-blog]

Hematophage

Fandom:  L.A. By Night. Pairing:  Jasper/Annabelle. Rating:  NC-17. Warnings:  Available on AO3. Word Count:  3329.

Summary: Within their arrangement, Annabelle proposes a new idea. Jasper takes the leap. It produces (un)expected results.

Notes: This fic piggybacks off of @canadiankazz’s fantastic Times Jasper Fed From Annabelle series, but consider it a fanfic of a fanfic or an AU of an AU — it’s simply a smutty one-shot set in her fic’s universe but isn’t recognized as canon within that universe.

Can be found over on AO3!