fma; burnt wings
Title: Burnt Wings
Author: hattergems
Word Count: 510
Rating: T
Characters: Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc.Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist can only be created by the genius of Hiromu Arakawa.
Summary: The moth is a stupid creature. It can be so easily tricked into thinking that a pretty flame is the moon. Havoc is delirious with agony. Mustang’s not much better.
..
-burnt wings-
hattergems
..
The moth is a stupid creature. It navigates by the moon, but when it sees a flame, it gets confused and flies toward it. Around and around the moth goes, trying to get closer, flirting with the beautiful light that it mistakes as the moon. And when it finally gets that bit too close, the heat of the flame sears its wings off and it dies.
The moth is a stupid, pure creature.
“Havoc, stay with me!”
It can be so easily duped, tricked into thinking that it is on the right course, that a petty flame is the moon.
“You are not going to die before me, damn it, man! That’s a direct order!”
The moth forgets that the moon is what it ultimately needs. It needs to go on forward, but this earthly pleasure is too difficult to resist.
“... You’re going to live.”
That flickering flame draws it closer, closer. To the moth, this is the moon. There is no difference in its silly little mind, and what it doesn’t know cannot possibly hurt it. Ignorance is always bliss. Always.
“No! Don’t go to sleep on me, bastard!”
Dizzying circles, loops and spirals, around and around, dull brown wings all aflutter with excitement, thrilled.
“W-wake up ...”
A short moment of glory, dancing, twirling, weaving artistically in the firelight, glowing. A magnificent performance. Who would have thought that such a plain creature was capable of this kind of grace, elegance?
“... Please ...”
This show is its last.
“... I-I have to cauterize this ... Fuck, fuck, fuck. C’mon, concentrate ...”
Snap!
Dazzling, lovely tongues of fire lick its wings. For a moment, the moth is deluged with pleasure, flattered that this marvellous being had deigned to touch it.
“I’m so sorry, Havoc.”
Then the pain. So immense, so extreme, singing, burning, stripping off those small delicate wings. And the fire crackles and roars. Poor stupid little moth. So easy to manipulate, to deceive.
“Fucking hurts doesn’t it? Ha ... d-didn’t do such a great job ...”
Only then does the moth realise. However, it is too late now, it is too far gone. Dainty wingless body drifts down into those wonderfully warm crimson flames, to feed that ever-hungry fire so that it can grow stronger yet.
So that it can lure in more stupid moths.
“... The paramedics are coming. You better hold on, my friend.”
A moth to a flame; there is no hope, no love, no glory. No happy ending. But it is nice while it lasts-for the moon gives no warmth, is too far to reach, to feel ...
When this modest blaze sheds its heat without inhibition.
“I’m ... n-not going to die, Colonel.”
Everyone knows that when you play with fire, you eventually get what you’re asking for.
... Serpentine shapes twisting, curling, flitting in and out of the most beautiful forms-brilliant reds, dazzling oranges and hot yellows-powerful and dangerous but so very breathtakingly exquisite ...
Everyone knows, but no one can resist.
“ ... That’s good, Havoc.”
..
To read on fanfiction.net, click here.
Author: hattergems
Word Count: 510
Rating: T
Characters: Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc.Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist can only be created by the genius of Hiromu Arakawa.
Summary: The moth is a stupid creature. It can be so easily tricked into thinking that a pretty flame is the moon. Havoc is delirious with agony. Mustang’s not much better.
..
-burnt wings-
hattergems
..
The moth is a stupid creature. It navigates by the moon, but when it sees a flame, it gets confused and flies toward it. Around and around the moth goes, trying to get closer, flirting with the beautiful light that it mistakes as the moon. And when it finally gets that bit too close, the heat of the flame sears its wings off and it dies.
The moth is a stupid, pure creature.
“Havoc, stay with me!”
It can be so easily duped, tricked into thinking that it is on the right course, that a petty flame is the moon.
“You are not going to die before me, damn it, man! That’s a direct order!”
The moth forgets that the moon is what it ultimately needs. It needs to go on forward, but this earthly pleasure is too difficult to resist.
“... You’re going to live.”
That flickering flame draws it closer, closer. To the moth, this is the moon. There is no difference in its silly little mind, and what it doesn’t know cannot possibly hurt it. Ignorance is always bliss. Always.
“No! Don’t go to sleep on me, bastard!”
Dizzying circles, loops and spirals, around and around, dull brown wings all aflutter with excitement, thrilled.
“W-wake up ...”
A short moment of glory, dancing, twirling, weaving artistically in the firelight, glowing. A magnificent performance. Who would have thought that such a plain creature was capable of this kind of grace, elegance?
“... Please ...”
This show is its last.
“... I-I have to cauterize this ... Fuck, fuck, fuck. C’mon, concentrate ...”
Snap!
Dazzling, lovely tongues of fire lick its wings. For a moment, the moth is deluged with pleasure, flattered that this marvellous being had deigned to touch it.
“I’m so sorry, Havoc.”
Then the pain. So immense, so extreme, singing, burning, stripping off those small delicate wings. And the fire crackles and roars. Poor stupid little moth. So easy to manipulate, to deceive.
“Fucking hurts doesn’t it? Ha ... d-didn’t do such a great job ...”
Only then does the moth realise. However, it is too late now, it is too far gone. Dainty wingless body drifts down into those wonderfully warm crimson flames, to feed that ever-hungry fire so that it can grow stronger yet.
So that it can lure in more stupid moths.
“... The paramedics are coming. You better hold on, my friend.”
A moth to a flame; there is no hope, no love, no glory. No happy ending. But it is nice while it lasts-for the moon gives no warmth, is too far to reach, to feel ...
When this modest blaze sheds its heat without inhibition.
“I’m ... n-not going to die, Colonel.”
Everyone knows that when you play with fire, you eventually get what you’re asking for.
... Serpentine shapes twisting, curling, flitting in and out of the most beautiful forms-brilliant reds, dazzling oranges and hot yellows-powerful and dangerous but so very breathtakingly exquisite ...
Everyone knows, but no one can resist.
“ ... That’s good, Havoc.”
..
To read on fanfiction.net, click here.