i can make the badguys good for a weekend
Charlie goes boneless in Jack's grip the way a dog does after it’s been run hard and loved well, all the feral heat spent and burned down to something quiet and warm. For a long moment she doesn’t move at all, breath slowing, body heavy and pliant against him as if the world has finally stopped asking anything of her.
Then Jack will feel something; not fire this time, but a gentler warmth spreading through him, paired with a thin, bright line of pain that cuts through Charlie’s mind like a drawn blade; sharp, deliberate, and not at all unpleasant. She’s bitten down hard enough to draw a bead of blood, copper and heat on her tongue, and she doesn’t bother to announce what she’s doing as she lets the bloodboon pulse outward. It seeps into him quietly, knitting what needs knitting, easing the scorch and strain left behind by their collision without ceremony or apology.
Charlie tilts her head back once she’s finished, ruby horns catching what little light remains and throwing red shadows across the walls. She glances toward the shelves where embers still smoulder, lips pursing in a small, satisfied huff as she reins the fire in at last. Darkness settles back into the storeroom, soothed and whole again, until only a few soft motes of flame hover above her head like hazy stars. "Mmmmmm," she hums contentedly, the sound vibrating against The Captain as she lets out a quiet laugh. "That," she says warmly and pleased, "was definitely not sailing in just a lake."
Then Jack will feel something; not fire this time, but a gentler warmth spreading through him, paired with a thin, bright line of pain that cuts through Charlie’s mind like a drawn blade; sharp, deliberate, and not at all unpleasant. She’s bitten down hard enough to draw a bead of blood, copper and heat on her tongue, and she doesn’t bother to announce what she’s doing as she lets the bloodboon pulse outward. It seeps into him quietly, knitting what needs knitting, easing the scorch and strain left behind by their collision without ceremony or apology.
Charlie tilts her head back once she’s finished, ruby horns catching what little light remains and throwing red shadows across the walls. She glances toward the shelves where embers still smoulder, lips pursing in a small, satisfied huff as she reins the fire in at last. Darkness settles back into the storeroom, soothed and whole again, until only a few soft motes of flame hover above her head like hazy stars. "Mmmmmm," she hums contentedly, the sound vibrating against The Captain as she lets out a quiet laugh. "That," she says warmly and pleased, "was definitely not sailing in just a lake."
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Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
