#*cracks knuckles* time to grind for some more gems

[awistfulblue]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEUCEY!!!!!!!! OH MY BOY. YOU---*aggressively pinches his cheeks*

{I may not be able to get your Platinum Card, but I WILL get your Liongarb! Also a little fun facts about me below.}

Would you believe when I say that I've only recently made progress in Book 7 after the announcement of Deuce's Liongarb? Because I did.

(I was stuck on Chapter 88. Hated those kinds of chapter. My blood pressure was not happy)

Anyway, you might see me post gush about certain twst characters---not out of romantic feelings but maternal...I want to treat certain characters as my own child.

...Riddle is on top of that list.

[gilfhunter069]

Can we have headcanons for Griff, Gray, Byron, etc. etc?

Im deeply interested in your versions of them.

Cracking my Knuckles and snapping my neck.

Most of these headcanons are a collab between me and my long time friend @/mush-worm. They don't post here as much, but check 'em out they're the coolest ever.

I'll start with the one I work on/write the most, Griff. There's a bit of information i've gathered with him based on lil tidbits in offical art. Some of these are just reaches and interpretations, but that's what makes shit like this fun. It's gonna be a long post so..

Griff Section ---- -58 Years Old, Adopted Colette in his 40's as in the current timeline of our AU--(? Its not canon so it's moreso an alt universe I suppose)--Colette is 16 and currently employed in the gift shop.

-Failed Recovering Pyromaniac, His piggy bank bombs and love for fireworks/firecrackers is one reason why rehab never seem to cross his mind when he was hired at Starr Park.

-He's extremely skilled at playing the violin, but gave it up the older he got-- He still thinks fondly on it, but considers it a pipe dream after a while. More confident that business is the way to go (It's not.)

-Undiagnosed Autistic and System (Specifically UDD, is often Frontstuck most of the time)

-He has a fear of snakes that he eventually gets out of, He's really one of those people who think all snakes are dangerous.

-White Latino, Only knows two languages he can speak-- Spanish is not one of them. (English and Japanese since Starr Park is on an manmade island similiar to Okinawa) --Extremely well versed in Cipher Codes, Even creating his personal code that his mask often prints out occassionally.

-Most of his debt comes from Medical Bills and Money laundering in the past. --His gender affirming surgeries are the reason. The grind :fire emoji:

-Post OP Trans Male with Male leaning attraction, Women are part of his attraction-- but it's very rare he even considers that idea. (And then Gray came along)

-Mutations from the gems in Starr Park resulted in his Skin being tougher than rock and being much more warm than the average human. --(His organs literally started growing a dense,thick lining around them to protect the body from the extreme heat.) ----(An Average Human Temp inside the body is 98.6 Fahrenheit-- His would be close to 129.2+ Fahrenheit. Somehow Logic was defied to a point where he can withstand his own body heat and extreme cold) (Yes he is very warm and a great cuddle buddy when its cold /silly

-Described in Starr park as a part of his general Character Profile is "The Greedy". In reality he's more so desperate and careless at once. Risking his being in order to get what he wants-- Even if that means physical risks.

_________________

Byron Section ---

-62 Years Old, Looks alot Older than he's supposed to-- Which is a result due to Fertility issues/Menopause...And horribly bad luck on his family's genes. -His family genes actually fucked him over so badly. Around Late 20's-30's he immediately started to lose pigmentation in his hair and age faster-- He gave up the idea of trying to look less old after a while. --Predisposed to not putting on tons of weight, results in him being extremely lanky due to his lack of healthy eating habits.

-Trans Male, but has never had any operations other than HRT-- He still suffers from Body Dysphoria, with his mutations only making the feelings worse.

-Extremely Intelligent man and Talented Alchemist (Thats awful at Math), Although he does make Fake potions thats either for show or drinking purposes for customers. If he were to sell actual potions or concoctions that did something to the public, there would be HEAVY criticism. As much of them either do Extreme damage or Result in a 20% Sucess Rate of their intended purpose. --Which is why he's often referred to as a "Snake Oil Salesman"...He plays into the act way too much, as the attention is the equilvalent to crack.

-European, Born and Raised in Germany. Multilingual and Able to read ASL. -Extremely Curious, Often carries his own Personal Journal to document what he sees and examines. --This includes: Seen Mutations, Abilities, Gadget/Star Power effects, Hypercharges, Flora and Fauna within a specific area that has been infected by the Gems. (Active Explorer of the Swamp of Love and Academic Partner of Mortis)

-Obsessive person, whether that be over lovers or an idea. -He got the worst front of the Mutations. --Includes...

Scales growing from under his skin, often gathering on his back or remaining under his skin.

Elongated Tail with Human skin and scales, along with a weak rattle.

Ability to unhinge his jaw and house hidden fangs that retract. Came with a extremely potent venom that comes from sacs near his tonsils. He has not mastered when it seeps out presently, so it often results in a subtle drooling/biting problem and hyperawareness of what he drinks/eat from.

Jacobson Organ and Thinned Tongue, It is often extremely hard to hide or sneak up on him as he can find his way through the dark easily and "Sniff" out your hiding spot based on your pheremones.

Unable to taste anything unless it has an extreme potentecy, even then he can still taste very little.

Night Vision, Any Living organism he sees in the dark is determined by a heat map.

_________________

Gray Section. (This will be the last section since this shit is getting so long)

-Undetermined, But guessed to be in her Middle 40's...and estimated to live for Hundreds of years like Mortis.

-Undetermined Origin, Gray doesn't even know where she came from. Starr Park shrugged and just said France for her mime act. She believes it, but she doesn't have a distinct accent or know the language.

-Vampire/Human Hybird...

Natural bloodlust that can be satiated temporarily with high sugar content and Raw Meat

Sharper Fangs, But Dull compared to the regular Vamp.

Small, Premature wings that don't do much beside flap and look pretty. They're extremely underdevloped to where the skin is so thin that even touching them has to be a careful act.

Natural Hunting instinct, as a kid she often killed small animals and birds when she was hungry. She doesn't do that anymore, so for a while she was isolated from the taste of blood of years and years- Till she came to Starr Park.

Attempts to sleep during the night, but often finds herself awake at odd hours, which often forces her to stay awake during the day-- She as an awful sleep schedule.

Purrs :)

-Eats ALOT, But the Metabolism gods blessed her to where she barely gains too much weight. The most she has is a muffin top. -Trans Female and Straight

-Semi-Verbal. Does Talk, but never during work hours. Even when she does talk, its very quiet and barely exceeds yelling/shouting unless she's provoked to a point of so.

-Portal Ability was a very recent discovery, she's unsure as to why she has it. There's a chance that she could have her own pocket dimension, but she hasn't mastered this yet so the most she can do is simple portals. Unfortunately it means at some points they close randomly....And shes gotten stuck before (as well as many others).

-Unlucky, to an almost cartoonishly ridiculous point. Undetermined if Cartoon Logic works on her or if its merely a bunch of Coincidences.

-Honestly, an Eeper Warrior. Finds stupidly dumb ways to sleep and where to sleep. Product of her awful sleep schedule.

-Mutations didn't do much to her beside Turn her fully Achromatic with Extremely dark blood. And I'm Done. May Edit this later if I think of anything else. But holy shit, The yappers den. None of this is supposed to be taken as canon adjacent or "in character" most of it is just for fun.

[nami-moittli]

*cracks knuckles* Ortho time

(No but literally, the thing that made me want to get out of bed this morning was getting her lmao)

With my 72nd pull…

And with my 60-something-th pull…

Now if I combine that with my friends card…

I can do this lmao!

Okay, I have 200 gems left and 27 single pulls. If I grind I’m sure I could get some more, so, do I try for the birthday jacket?

[hunterbunter3000]

♡Durability Test♡

Just a lil thot I had today. 18+ mdni This pair you will DEFINITELY see more ♡ please excuse my ass attempt with smut :(

Just thinking about baddie!black!reader doing her own nails again and Steve Rogers is just watching her. It's quite fascinating to see; how she preps her natural nails, how she knows what kind of design she wants, and how she works with that weird sticky gel.

Steve has said many times that he would gladly pay to get them done professionally. But she always retorts with "They never do it the way I want them to, so I just do them myself. Plus, I like it when you watch me." And as always, his heart melts at her wanting to spend time with him, as they rarely have the time to.

Last time it was a baby blue coffin set with clouds, now it's a hot pink stiletto set with gems and glitter. God, Steve loves her creativity.

As she eyes her nails again and flicks some glitter off the tips, she smiles. "Done!"

Steve blinks, his head raises from laying it on the table. "Already? That was pretty fast. Faster than the last set you did." She chuckles. "Yeah well, once you do it for ten years you kinda become a professional." She brings her hands close to his face, her charms jingle on her many gold bracelets. "What do you think? Cute or sexy?" She asks as usual, always wanting her boyfriend's opinion on a new set. Even if she doesn't listen to it sometimes

Steve grins, his big hands caressing her ring clad fingers then kissing her knuckles. "I'd say both. I love the heart gems on them, making it cute. And the form of the nails make it sexy." She preens from his honesty, giggling like a school girl. "Awww, thank you baby! I'm so glad you like them!" She leans over to kiss his cheeks, then his mouth; an action Steve relishes in every time.

"Now I just need to test the durability on these." She says randomly. Steve's eyebrow quirks. She's never said this before. Did she do something wrong on them? They look firm to him. "Test?" He asks, the curiosity looking so adorable on his handsome face. "Test them how?"

"Fuck!" Steve shouts. His voice cracks when he shoots another load inside her.

It was a blur on how they both got here. There were so many kisses and touches from the table to the bedroom. Both of them already naked when they hit the bed. He should've seen the mischievous glint in her eyes when he asked that question.

Now two hours later, sweat drenched the sheets and the air smelled of cocoa butter and sex. Steve's peach colored skin now tinted with red lines from his insatiable girl's new nails. His abs, chest especially chest and carved arms are layered with etches of nail drags. "Baby...baby, please..." Steve whines. His hands digging into her thick hips as she grinds on his over worked cock. She giggles like a drunken sailor. "Almost done, sweetheart... just n-need a little more." Her hands trail up to his neck, feeling his pulse with the pads of her fingers. "You're enjoying this so much, Stevie." She moans out. How could he not? The pain mixed with the overwhelming pleasure of her moans and her movements on his thick cock is making him go dumb. Shannon couldn't even get him to cum half the time He went to say something but was cut off by two things happening at once: 1. Her nails digging into his neck and going down to his nipples 2. Her hot, wet pussy clamping down on him so hard his brain short circuits.

"Oh fuck, yes!" She cries out, feeling his seed overflow in her womb again. Both of their thighs start to tremble from the overstimulation. So full, so fucked. She slowly comes down from her high and peeks at Steve. His eyes rolled in the back of his head with an "o" shaped mouth, small grunts come out of him just like his cum from his dick. She catches her breath and smiles.

"Oh sweetheart, that was perfect. Now turn over. I need to do your back."

[chaos-and-echidnas]

Always on that treasure hunting grind

A sonic the hedgehog fanfiction. Read on my ao3 here (the only sonic fic on there rn, but more to come!)

Team Sonic is vacationing at the beach, Rouge tags along for kicks. She should have known Knuckles would find something rock-related, even on vacation...

(aka Knuckles shows Rouge what geodes are. Just generally a sweet moment.)

Rouge had never been a particularly social bat- well, that's not true. But she had never been particularly social with this crowd.

Shadow and Omega were much more her speed in terms of friendship (if that's what it could be called). There were no expectations or commitments, just an understanding and trust to have each others backs.

Team Sonic, on the other hand, were all about the 'power of friendship' 'let's do this together' 'three heads are better than one' type of friendship. Real co-dependent stuff.

Rouge grinned as she spotted the three familiar dots of colour in the distance, sticking out dramatically against the tan tones of the rocky beach. She had been a little surprised when she had caught wind of their little beach trip- Sonic's aversion to water, Tails' preference for a more mechanical setting and Knuckles' general dislike of being away from his island meant that traditional vacations such as this were often off the table.

Even so, here they were. Soaring closer to the ground revealed the details of the scene, and she swerved harshly off course with the force of her laughter as she caught sight of Sonic's floaties and rubber ring.

The hedgehog was floating in the shallows, tense and looking downright distraught at his predicament. Tails could be seen gently coaxing him, she could make out the foxes paws making repeated flapping motions, likely encouraging him to move around in the water.

Extremely amused, the bat touched down and began to treck toward the pair, sighing happily as she was finally able to soak in the warmth of the summer sun. There was only one thing missing.

Holding a hand to shade her eyes, Rouge scanned the shore for her favourite Gem, smirking as she caught sight of the red echidna, wandering the beach a little ways from the others, eyes scanning the ground. She started toward him, curious.

"Lose something?"

Jolting and almost faceplanting in the process, Knuckles whipped around to face the voice that had appeared inches by his face. Pressing a hand to his chest, he huffed. "Unnecessary."

"Ehh, you're too cute to resist~"

Rouge smiles, tossing a wink his way. She took a moment to examine the younger, smirking. He'd filled out a lot just recently, he'd been horribly thin when they'd first met, but after spending some more time on the surface, with people who'd make sure he ate, he'd put on enough to build some real muscle definition. Rouge was very pleased about this, her eyes lingering on his abs for a few select moments as her eyes moved back up to meet his. He'd tied his quills back into a ponytail, out of his face. He was pretty, in a boy kind of way.

"For real, though. Not interested in the kiddy pool swimming lessons over there?"

Her smile grows as Knuckles struggles to hold back an amused grin. The echidna looks over to his friends, and his eyes noticeably soften.

"It was funny for the first twenty minutes," he looks back at her, fully grinning now. "It's just sad at this point. He won't even kick, he just kind of-" he stiffens suddenly, putting on a startled expression in an impression of Sonic that has Rouge cackling, joining in with his own gruff laughter a moment later.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Rouge straightens from where she'd doubled over. "Fair enough, I suppose," She nods, placing a hand on her hip and tilting her head slightly. "But for real, what are you up to over here?"

Knuckles pauses, before apparently recollecting his thoughts. "Right, yeah- I was looking for geodes."

Rouge blinks. "looking for what?"

He looks up from where he'd continued scanning the ground. "Geodes, yknow. Rocks."

'of course you are,' Rouge thinks to herself, a small amused smile playing on her face. She gestures to the wide expanse of beach surrounding them, every square inch covered in rocks and stones of all shapes and sizes. "Yes, because that's what we're missing here."

She grins to herself triumphantly when the echidna lets out an amused huff.

"They're different rocks," he argues, before promptly kneeling to pick up one of the millions of stones surrounding them. He holds it out to her downright proudly, and she has to smile.

The rock is rounder than average, a pale, dusty yellow colour littered with small textured holes. She raises an eyebrow. "And this is different because...?"

The echidna grins- actually grins, and Roige decides right there and then that vacations are good for this boy.

Knuckles leads her to the stone steps that surround the beach, and sits down. After a moment, he expectantly pats the space beside him, before turning his attention back to his rock. 'As always, some stone is getting more of his attention,' Rouge shakes her head good naturedly, before sitting down beside the echidna expectantly.

Knuckles looks over the rock once more, before shuffling over slightly, beginning to tap the rock gently on the stairs in the space between them. Rouge watches, unamused. "I see we've returned to caveman levels of entertainment," she jokes, about to question his methods before-

Crack!

She watches in awe as the rock splits neatly in two, her jaw dropping as the echidna pulls it open to reveal a hollow centre, the inner walls of the rock completely covered with protruding crystals that glistened a familiar violet colour in the sunlight. Knuckles makes a triumphant sound, offering one half to the thief.

Rouge cups it gently in her hands, turning it gently to watch the light reflect from the glistening gems. She looks back up at the guardian, amazed. He grins again, and her heart does something... Odd.

"Cool, right? We don't have limestone beaches like this on angel island anymore, so I haven't been able to hunt for these since I was a kid."

She pictures a baby echidna, wandering around a beach with his eyes glued to the ground, faced scrunched in concentration, and her heart lurches again.

"I had no idea these were a thing," she admits, turning the gem in her hands again. "it's gorgeous, like a little cave of jewels..."

"It's what I imagine your house looks like, to be honest," Knuckles stands, leaving the other half sitting on the step as he brushes sand from his legs. Rouge snorts.

"Ohh, in my dreams," She says dramatically, taking both halves into her hands and gracefully standing, admiring them. She looks back at the echidna, admiring him too, staring until he predictably blushes and squirms beneath her gaze.

"What?"

"Nothing," she smiles sweetly. "Thank you for showing me." on a whim, she leans close, pressing her lips to his cheek before pulling away just as fast, sauntering off to watch Sonic flail about. Though, she can't help but grin as she hears the flustered sputtering from behind her.

[unicyclehippo]

beaujester + “You’re trembling.”

the salt-spray is powerful at the bow. it stings at scrapes jester hadn’t realised she had, stings at her eyes, fills her nose until it’s the only thing she can smell. she clutches at the salt-crusted rail, feels the crystals grind beneath her skin, and wonders, in a very focused way that bars any other thoughts from creeping in, whether orly could make a tattoo using salt in place of gem dust. or whether that’s, just, y’know. a normal tattoo.

so focused is she on this that she doesn’t notice when, precisely, beau came to join her. the other girl is leaning scraped-red elbows and forearms on the railing, not seeming to feel or mind the sting. the wind whips in beau’s hair, tugs at it until more and more of the long strands come free of her topknot. it’s harder to escape the goggles, the leather keeping her hair mostly pinned, and after a short while, the wind dies down.

that’s normal, obviously, but it makes jester smile to think of it sulking. maybe the wind is a prankster too.

‘beau! when did you get here?’

‘little bit ago. would’ve said something but, i dunno, you looked like you were thinking hard. figured i could wait.’ beau drags her hands through her hair with a small noise of complaint. she stands, pulls her goggles down to hang around her neck, and continues to talk as she tries to fix her hair. ‘you alright? anything you wanna run past us?’

jester can’t help but look askance at her friend. ‘us?’

‘you know. the group.’

‘i don’t see the group here. just you.’

‘i can go get someone...?’ beau lets the offer trail off when jester scoffs. ‘what?’

jester shakes her head.

‘no, seriously, what is it? is everything okay?’

‘i don’t know.’ jester digs her nails into the wood, watches the splinters curl and the salt whiten and crack away. ‘is it?’ out of the corner of her eye, she can see the way beau’s hands slow as she works her hair into a tight braided coil. she turns the tiniest bit more, wanting to see something that explains anything, but beau’s expression is as stoic as ever—unruffled, vaguely thoughtful. her frown isn’t cranky, just protects her eyes from the wind that has started up again, long lashes dipped low. ‘did you want something, beau?’

the other girl starts. finished with her braid, she lets her hands fall slowly back to the railing. pulls herself back into her nonchalant lean, though it loses some of its carelessness with the way she turns toward jester, the way she—seemingly without intent, without effort—focuses on jester, eyes boring into her, through her.

sometimes, jester wishes beau were simpler. easier to understand. less of a liar. she pretends so much that she doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care—but then she’s the one who has all the questions, the one who looks and stares and examines and learns and questions everything. jester thinks, maybe, beau cares the most out of all of them, about everything; she pretends she doesn’t, that these things don’t matter, but the attention betrays her. jester wishes beau were easier to understand. wishes she knew whether beau cares about everything equally, or whether the weight of her attention means something special.

‘you’re trembling,’ beau says softly. the words have barely reached jester when the wind—that asshole prankster—whips them away.

jester sniffs. tosses back her hair with a jaunty shake of her head. ‘i’m fine. did you want something or not?’

beau is quiet for a bit. then, ‘yeah,’ she admits, voice gruff. ‘but—if this is a bad time,’

jester musters a smile. gives it to beau, who stares at it and the way it sits on her and seems to see how it is misaligned. how it doesn’t quite reach jester’s eyes. ‘it’s not! i’m happy to help!’

beau drops her eyes. dips her head over her hands, over the rail, and stares down toward the sea below them. her shoulder blades press together as she stretches. sunlight glints off jade.

‘i was hoping,’ she says, and the words come out haltingly like she doesn’t want to say them, or like she is still debating whether this is the right time, ‘you could - send a message to my dad.’

jester jerks. ‘oh.’

‘it’s cool if you don’t want to, or if you don’t have that prepared, i don’t know what you have prepared, but i just figured it’s probably time to be like oh hey i’m still alive. or. whatever.’

beau turns toward her with a grimace, one that crinkles up her face, and jester is struck with sudden affection for her friend. she looks young and uncomfortable and vaguely grumpy at the notion of having to send him a message. she looks alive, and jester loves her for not leaving. for still being here. loves her desperately and sharply, a stinging pain beneath her heart, for being here when jester thinks she might want to leave still.

‘i—‘ jester clears her throat. tries again, trying to pull strength into her words. ‘um. i can do that.’ she smiles brightly, glances teasingly over at beau, who looks abruptly worried and charmed by jester’s shifted expression. ‘what i’m hearing is that you’re giving me permission? to message your dad?’

beau snorts. ‘yeah.’

‘he’ll know it’s me now so i can’t pretend to be the witch,’

‘probably for the best.’

jester doesn’t necessarily agree with that. she thinks beau could make something with him—thinks he really does love her, even past the fear and misery—but it doesn’t mean jester shouldn’t be able to torment him a little bit.

‘what do you want me to say?’ she asks, summoning the playful wind back to her, compressing it into something that can carry this message. she curls her fingers, feels it nudge and buffet at her, eager to race halfway across the world for her.

beau mutters under her breath, fingers moving as she counts. ‘uh. okay. we are alive. met the witch, got what we wanted. your deal still stands.’ beau’s voice quavers the tiniest bit but she pushes on. ‘beau is fine. anything happen there?’

‘five more words.’

beau shrugs, dismissive. then, ‘say hi to the kid.’

jester smiles sweetly. nods. she brings the held wind to her lips and whispers the message into it, watches faint green and pink wash through it. as soon as she opens her hand, it is gone. just as quickly, it returns.

‘ah. good. i’m—glad to know she’s okay. i was worried—we were worried—when no one returned. everything is as it was here. do—‘

jester rolls her eyes. ‘some people just don’t understand the concept of a word limit,’ she tells beau grouchily. beau smiles, hides it quickly, and jester narrows her eyes. ‘what?’

‘nothing, nothing. did he say anything?’

‘just that he had been worried. it sounded like he was going to ask something. do you want me to send another message?’

beau sighs. ‘no. yes? no. if everything was burning or whatever he would’ve said that first up.’ she cracks her head to the side, neck popping. ‘did he—say anything about me?’ she grimaces immediately.

‘he said he’s happy you’re okay.’

‘hmm.’

‘that’s good, right? that he cares?’

beau shrugs. ‘maybe,’ she says, very softly. ‘thanks. for sending that for me. and—for sticking by me in there. i didn’t say it then but—thanks.’

they’ve been standing side by side for the entire conversation but jester feels it powerfully like she is crossing a line, stepping over it, when she reaches those meagre centimetres to put her hand over beau’s. squeeze.

‘of course, beau.’

‘it’s not an of course, though. you know that, right?’ beau peers at her. flips her hand so she’s holding it, loose enough that jester could slip away. fingertips pressed firmly where they sit, like she can read jester from the pulse beneath her skin. ‘no one else did that. they were all there but you—you stood next to me and i really - i really appreciate it. i was gonna lose my shit and you helped me. not everyone does that.’

‘well. i’m not everyone,’ jester tells her, all exaggeration and coy smile.

beau slides her thumb across the back of her hand. over the waves of her knuckles, the sea-blue skin. ‘you’re not,’ she agrees, voice low. careful, cautious almost, in the way one would be careful with something precious. ‘you’re not like anyone i’ve ever met. i kinda think you’re a god, you know.’ she shakes her head when jester giggles. ‘i’m serious. you—you’re amazing and powerful and it’s who you are. i’m—fuck, i’m sorry you’re having a rough time with it,’

‘i’m not!’

beau ignores her lie. no—she hears it, nods, steps over it. ‘i can’t say for sure i trust this dude, but i just want you to know that i trust you and what you do and who you are and i’ll do anything to protect that. and i didn’t come here to ask you to send a message for me, i wanted to make sure you were okay, because you’re—you’re not alone,’ she says, with the same fervour she had thanked jester for standing with her. ‘you’re not alone in any of this, and maybe we can’t do it for you but we’ll be right there alongside you—‘

‘will you?’

beau blinks. ‘what?’

‘will you be there?’

‘i mean—i was saying we, it’s kinda implied,’

‘will you be there?’ jester asks again.

beau glances down at their joined hands. jester sees her shoulders shift as she drags in a deep breath. ‘yes. as—as long as you want me there.’

and there’s the problem, jester realises, the same stinging pain taking up residence beneath her heart. because she thinks, with sudden clarity like the purity of the unmitigated burn of sunlight, like salt reminding her of her wound, that to have beau leave at all would wreck her.

‘forever, then,’ jester says, voice a little wobbly, a little unsure.

beau’s hold on her hand tightens and then loosens once more. ‘okay,’ she says. ‘okay.’

[idiosyncrasy-thoughts]

Empathy - Yvette Short Story (Part 2)

Oh no, this is really bad.

I spectate in concern as Yvette picks herself up, the left side of her cheek swollen. Blood drips from her mouth and she quickly wipes it off. “Get her!” she commands, the demons obliging to her and darting towards Wrath.

“Three versus one, huh? You never like to play fair, Yvette.”

“The more the merrier.”

Wrath cracks her head as she changes into a defensive stance. When one of them comes close, the ringleader grabs his face and throws him towards Yvette. The green-haired girl curses and quickly moves to avoid the body missle.

As the other demon approaches Wrath, she grabs it by the throat, strangling it with frightening strength. The demon struggles, clawing at the bodybuilder’s arms to break free. She lifts it from the ground and glares hard at the demon, whose thrashes eventually come to a halt. Wrath then throws it aside like it’s nothing. The demon lands in a way that its face is towards me, and I watch in horror as its lifeless eyes bore into mine.

It will take a while before I get used to seeing demons dying in front of me.

“Heads up, MC,” shouts Wrath, who throws a pocketknife near me.

She then turns her attention back to Greed. “Enough games, Yvette. Face me personally.”

Yvette knits her eyebrows in irk and proceeds to hold the gem at the end of her staff. She then drags it out to reveal a shiny, sharp sword that seems like it can cut through even diamond. “The one that lives wins.”

And with that, the two sinners close the distance between them, sword and fists colliding with each other. The loud sound of metal grinding on metal rings in my ear as I cut through my rope with Wrath’s pocketknife.

When will these two stop? At this rate, one of them is going to be seriously hurt.

The rope around my wrists loosens and I release a breath of relief, taking a moment to rub my reddened wrists. I start slicing the rope around my knees and watch as the fight between the two grows intense.

Greed strikes her sword on Wrath over and over again, and the ringleader swiftly deflects them with her brass knuckles. “You think you’re so high and mighty, huh? Saving people from demons.”

The green-haired girl brutally slams her sword, causing Wrath to break her defensive stance and the blade to cut her shoulder. “But never forget. You killed people before.”

Wait, Wrath actually killed humans? I thought she only deals with demon-humans!

As Greed swings her sword up again, Wrath speedily boots her right in the gut, sending her to tumble on the ground.

A firm hand on her open wound, the ringleader glares at the green-haired lady who’s clutching her stomach.

“I did, didn’t I?” the ringleader asks, but it comes off more like a question to herself. Her solemn demeanour soon changes to an angry one. “I guess it doesn’t make a difference if I kill you now!”

Greed laughs breathlessly. “The truth’s finally out of you, Esperanza. Some leader you are, who wants to murder her comrade.”

“You had a choice to choose the right path, Yvette, but you strayed into the wrong one. Now you’ll pay the consequences of your actions.”

The green-haired girl proceeds to stab her sword into the sand, supporting herself up. She then plucks it out, wielding it like a knight who has fought in many wars. “We’ll see about that.”

The rope around my knees finally comes loose and I quickly approach the two. They are currently in a staredown, weapons on the ready.

“Wrath! Yvette! Please stop!”

“This is none of your business, MC. Stay out of it,” commands Wrath, whose narrowed eyes stay glued on Yvette.

“Yeah, listen to Wrath. She might accidentally kill you if you intervene.”

The ringleader growls and dashes towards the green-haired girl; pure hatred flushing on her face. When close enough, she pummels the other girl with her brass knuckles at lightning speed, trying to find an opening to land a hit. Yvette matches Wrath’s incredible speed, deflecting every deadly punch with her blade.

“You’re slowing down, Yvette,” Wrath taunts, quickening her hits and advancing her steps greatly. “Getting tired?”

“Not even a bit,” Yvette replies, but the sweat on her forehead betrays her words.

I know for a fact that Wrath has ridiculous stamina from all the training and fighting she’s been through; she can literally fight several demons without breaking a sweat.

Yvette, on the other hand, is putting on a brave exterior, unwilling to be defeated by her worst enemy.

My blood runs cold when Wrath manages to strike a blow that sends Greed’s sword to fly. She then punches the side of Yvette’s head; the heavy impact causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.

The green-haired girl stumbles on the ground with a roll. A trail of red follows her.

“Stop! That’s enough!” I dash towards Yvette, whose body is so still it frightens me. The sight of cuts, bruises and blood on her makes me cringe in empathy, and my heart is suddenly overwhelmed with a need to protect her.

I turn to face the ringleader who is approaching me. “Move aside, MC.”

I flail my arms out defensively. “I will not let you kill her!”

She shoots me a disbelief look, and it quickly contorts into anger. “Why are you protecting her? She has done nothing but bad deeds.”

“We’re all sinners, we do bad deeds. But that isn’t an excuse to kill!”

“You have no idea how cunning she is. How much suffering she has put others through.” The ringleader huffs, shaking her head. “I don’t want to have to force you to move. So step aside now.”

“Wrath, she might be your enemy now but she used to be your friend! Don’t you have any mercy? She’s still hu-”

“She’ll never be worthy of my friendship and she’s not human. She’s a fucking traitor and a demon!” Wrath lashes out, but her anger soon dissipates when an arm hooks around my shoulder.

“The heirloom,” demands Yvette, who hovers her bare hand near my throat. “Or she dies.”

What the fuck?! Oh wait, I did want this to happen. Please give her the charm Wrath please give her the charm!

Wrath shows a disapproving look before reaching into her pocket and pulling out the charm. “We swap at the same time.”

Yvette lightly pushes me to Wrath when the charm reaches her gloved hand. I watch as she observes the ancient artifact on her palm, a look of victory on her expression. She whispers a “finally” to herself and curls her fingers on it.

Instead of disappearing like I have expected, Yvette lingers behind. Her eyes meet mine in a way that makes my heart accelerate, and her expression seems to display both gratitude and…regret?

“Well, why are you still standing here for?” Wrath breaks the silence and my moment with Yvette. “Get lost before I change my mind!”

A hint of desperation flashes across Yvette’s face as she maintains eye contact with me. It seems like she wants to say something but is hesitating.

“Go,” I mouth to Yvette, not wanting another fight to spike up again.

She sighs softly.

Shutting her eyes, she disappears, leaving just the scent of her perfume behind.

May our paths cross again, Yvette.

Part 1 | Part 3

[thetruecaptain-blog]

if I could learn to let go

Thanks @nightsidemelody for giving this a read before I posted! You’re a gem. <3 This chapter is from the point of view of Karal, one of Marco’s long-time friends/supporters. It was inspired by one of Naomi’s POVs in Nemesis Games when Naomi wonders how she must have looked to Karal when she broke down in his wife’s arms. 

I would super appreciate comments on AO3, if anyone gets the chance. I’d really like to know your thoughts/feelings or any suggestions you might have! The Belter Creole translations are also at the end of the chapter there. 

Karal

Karal has known Marco Inaros for so long that he can’t remember a time in his life that Inaros wasn’t in it. It’s been him, Inaros, and Cyn for nearly two decades now. They joined up under Captain Rokku together and were slaving away on that mining and salvage ship since before they could grow beards. Marco’s always had big dreams, and really that isn’t so different from other Belter koyos except Marco actually has the kula to get there. He sets his sights on a thing and he gets it. There’s a way about him that sucks others in, makes his ambitions their own. Marco Inaros is headed for big places, big things. Anyone with eyes can see it. He’s the steadiest koyo Karal knows.

That’s why, in this moment, Karal feels as if he’s looking at a stranger. He’s never seen his friend so distressed.

“She’s acting crazy,” Marco says, scrubbing his hands over his face. He’s sitting on Karal’s sofa with his feet braced on the floor, elbows on his knees. There are faint circles under his eyes, evidence of a night without sleep. Karal can hear Filip cooing and laughing in the bedroom as Souja entertains him. “Threatened to leave me, take Filip, turn us in to those Star Helix welwalas.”

Karal’s brows draw down in a deep scowl as he tries to process this information. Naomi Nagata is no welwala. She hates the Inners as much as the rest of them. It was her pashang code that killed the Gamarra. This betrayal makes no sense until Marco speaks again.

“Hormones got the best of her, sasa?” Marco looks up, his dark eyes meeting Karal’s. Karal nods, remains silent because he knows Marco isn’t finished. Inaros rocks to his feet and paces across the room, clearly agitated. “Just sits and stares at the wall, her. Isn’t sleeping or eating. Came home once and Filip was soaked through, pochuye ke? Hadn’t been changed for hours.”

“I don’t trust her with Filipito like this, Karal.” Inaros turns back to face him, his jaw hard. “You and Souja will keep him tonight while I figure this out, ya? Trust you more than any, kopeng mi.”

Something tightens in Karal’s chest. Pride. Protectiveness. He lifts an affirmative fist. “Ya. Don’t even have to ask. Beratnas, us.”

------

Marco said things were bad, but Karal didn't realize how bad until Naomi shows up at his door, pale and drawn, tear-streaked and shaking. He can see from the look on Souja’s face that she hurts for Naomi. As she wraps her arms around Naomi's shaking shoulders her hazel eyes meet Karal’s across the kitchen and he can see concern, confusion, and distress written in them. Karal remains silent, just leans up against the doorway with his arms crossed, his brow set in a deep scowl as he tries to reconcile this desperate, sobbing girl with the bright young woman he once knew.

He knows Souja won’t tell Naomi that Filip was here just hours ago. She sympathizes, but her loyalty is to her husband. To Marco.

“Fodagut, Jaja,” Naomi pleads, using Souja’s pet name no doubt in an attempt to manipulate her, stir some kind of sympathy. He can see that it's working, because Souja’s eyes brim with tears as Naomi pulls back to look into her face. “I know what that sabakawala is saying but it’s shit. I would never hurt Filip!” Naomi’s hands go to Souja’s shoulders, her fingers half twisted into the fabric of her shirt. It's enough to make Karal start forward angrily but Souja catches his eye and motions subtly with one hand for him to keep back. Reluctantly he obeys, settling back against the wall with his teeth grinding together. “Why would he say that? Jaja, he's my son.” The tears flow freely but Naomi seems to be oblivious to them.

Souja swallows so hard that Karal sees it from across the room. “I'm sorry, Knuckles. Mi na sasa kepelésh da Filipito. If I did, would showxa, ya?” She's telling the truth. Karal knows who has the boy but he hasn't told Souja.

'I trust Souja, she's a good woman. But that's why you can't tell her. Better that she isn't burdened with it.’

Marco is right. Karal can see that now. It's killing Souja that she can't help. He feels a stirring of anger in his chest that Naomi has come into his home, caused his wife this kind of stress. Naomi needs to get her kaka together. It’s no wonder Marco doesn’t trust her with the boy.

“He has no right!” Naomi gives Souja’s shoulders a small shake. Even Karal can see that it isn’t an aggressive gesture. She’s desperate. “He's killed people. Innocent people! A whole pashang ship. He put blood on my hands. He'll turn our son into a killer, too.” Her voice trembles, cracks, and she pulls at Souja’s shirt as if that will somehow make her understand.

Karal’s jaw tightens. Yeah, Marco saw to it that that transport full of Inners went boom. He's a goddamn hero for it. Show those paxonísekis what the fuck happens when they put their boots on Belta necks. Show them that Beltalowda na gonya take it in silence. Knuckles should be proud to be part of it. Should be proud to be at the side of a man like that, a man who does what it takes, who delivers on his promises. A man who puts his people first.

“Mi na sasa nating about that,” Souja says, and reaches up to gently pull Naomi's hands from her shoulders but keeps them clasped between her own. “Mi sasa Marco is a good man. Koyo ámolof to unte Filipito. He's hurt by this. Talk to him, sésata. For his sake, unte for Filip's.” Karal feels a rush of warmth for his wife and her loyalty, her goodness. He'd have kicked Naomi out long ago, but Souja wants to help. If there’s any hope that Naomi and Marco will reconcile, Souja will see to it that it happens.

The silence stretches, like Naomi is struggling with what to say or do. She's trembling hard enough that it's visible in the line of her shoulders, in the way her knees jerk. Then she seems to wilt. Karal only sees her profile but it's obvious that the fight has gone out of her. He hears the way her breath hitches, watches as she dissolves into a mess of ugly tears. Souja pulls the broken woman into her arms and rubs her back, humming the same soothing tune she'd hummed to Filipito the night before, the only thing that had finally consoled him after an hour of crying and asking for ma-ma over and over.

What a mess, Karal thinks. A mess and a fucking shame. He'd always imagined Naomi fighting with them, had assumed she'd be at Marco's side as they led the Belt forward. That's the vision Inaros himself has always painted, but Karal can see now that it was never meant to be. Naomi isn't cut out for this, doesn't have the kula to do the work that needs to be done. Maybe it’s for the best that she breaks now, before she gets in any deeper.

Shaking his head, Karal turns away from the scene and walks into the bedroom. He pulls out his hand terminal to send the message he knows Marco is waiting for; that Naomi’s making her rounds, looking for Filipito. That he’s right. She’s acting crazy.

A pashang shame.

[softlysoftlysoftly]

Every Precious Thing (Ch. 6)

Summary: “It’s supposed to be easy,” she says as the ashes fall into the sea. “The life you have after you save the world is supposed to be easy.” It’s not long before the Gaang admits that things might have been simpler when they were fighting a war. -A series of scenes in an undeservedly tragic life- (Post Series, non-Korra compliant)

Hellooooo, world! Sorry for the long hiatus, I had a lot of fun begin of summer stuff going on. Luckily, I'm back on a semi-regular schedule which should mean semi-regular updates!

Hope you guys enjoy!

Earth - Six years, exactly

“This is— by far— the stupidest thing you have ever made me do.”

His laughter sounded like brittle leaves crumbling against the soles of her feet. The touch of his hand around hers felt like tree branch fingertips, dry and splintery, snapping at the slightest bit of pressure. She leaned her forehead against the side of his granite throne, gritting her teeth against the dull explosion of his heart, shuddering ever onward— and the wintery pause stretching between each beat.

Toph tightened her grip on his hand and wished for the first time in her life that she could turn her bending off. She would take the darkness— happily— if it meant she couldn’t feel the way his bones creaked and his lungs rasped.

“Stupid,” she whispered, grinding her brow against the stone. “Senseless,” she hissed. “Arrogant!” Bumi’s cackling echoed horribly through the empty throne room, magnified and distorted, too large to let her miss the exhaustion interwoven with his glee. “I’ve finally got proof that you’ve lost the last shred of your fucking mind!”

Bumi cackled again, then coughed, then grinned, preening his thin tufts of silver hair. “Please, Toph, you’re making me blush,” he wheezed. Toph shoved herself to her feet, paced halfway to the door then turned and stomped back.

“Don’t mess with me, old man,” she snarled. “Not today.” Today, when the world outside these four walls buzzed with frantic activity, darting footsteps, an army of heartbeats, swarming, converging on the city center. Today, when she had been rolled out of bed, poked, prodded, painted, pricked, bundled up in silk and lace, carved into a monument that she was not. Today, when her head hung heavy with a crown, a wild tangle of steel and gold spun thin as thread, no gems, no adornments, nothing to say Queen Toph of Omashu but the band above her brow and her own word. Her heart hung heavy with everything else.

“Honestly, Badgerling, I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Bumi hummed, resting his elbow on the arm of his throne and his chin on his knuckles. Toph’s mouth dropped open and her jaw worked soundlessly as she wrestled with the fury and panic twining like serpents in her chest.

Toph had loved Bumi practically from the moment she met him, in her own way, as much as she could. He saw her for who she was from the first, spoke to her warrior before he spoke to her heart, unravelled her rage before he tugged on her sadness. It made him a different type of teacher, one who drew her back to his side time and time again, even when his lessons included the heart-rending dullness of council meetings or meditation or diplomacy. She would learn whatever Bumi deigned to teach her because even at her worst, her most petulant, her most obtuse, Toph could see everything that Bumi was that she was not. Steady. Balanced.

Happy.

“Bumi,” she said slowly, while her pulse raced out in front of her, too far and fast and out of her control. “Bumi listen to me.” What will I do? her heart whispered, woven amongst the thud thud thud in her ears. What will I do? She climbed the steps up to his throne and sat down on her knees at his feet. What will I do? She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. “Listen to me.” Bumi sighed and sat back in his throne, back flush against the granite, and Toph imagined he could see her as she saw him, as a coalescence of vibration and heaviness, a ghost on the other edge of the stone.  He rested his other hand on the crown on her head, the tips of his fingers brushing the iron and gold tangled in her hair. What will I do what will I do what will I—“You. Are. Not. Dying!”

People like Bumi did not wilt and fall apart; they grew bright green, had hearts like running water. They called out the blossoming in everyone else, made new buds out of the undergrowth. People like Bumi were not people at all. Not autumn breezes— they were mountain peaks, high and clear and good. They endured.

They stayed.

Bumi stilled, his entire body, everything in him went quiet for one long moment and Toph’s stomach dropped. Then he squeezed her hand, thumb stroking idly, and made a sound, a shadow of a laugh. “We’re all dying, Badgerling. Some a bit more intensely than others.” Toph shot to her feet, hands clenched into fists. Katara used to do that, stroke her thumb over the back of Aang’s hand quietly, secretly, back when the world was made of straight lines and clear paths. Travel. Fight. Win. Repeat. Now the world was made of smoke and heartache. Toph was good at fighting, but there was no amount of fighting that would fix this.

“This isn’t a joke,” she forced out past the fullness in her throat. The world outside the throne room doors was starting to settle in to an immense, anticipating stillness. “You want me to leave you here,” she whispered, “and go to my coronation.”

Before today, the word had been something garishly bright, golden and hilarious. Ivy vines to match the milky forrest of her eyes. Dignitaries and officials to tell her half truths as clear as the sun. She’d known it was coming, creeping closer every day. It just wasn’t supposed to be today and it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This day was supposed to be far off and warm and full because Bumi was by her side, believing enough for the both of them. Now that it was here, the day was cold and crooked and as immediate as a corpse.

“I want you to leave me and take your place—”

“It’s your place!” Toph snapped. Bumi tilted his head and tapped one knuckle against his own crown. It sagged lower on his brow than normal.

“These are your people now, Toph,” he sighed. His voice was tired, but when he reached for her, his touch was warm and intentional. “That’s what it means,” he said, flicked her crown lightly, and then took her hand in his. He gestured vaguely to the room around them and the palace beyond. “These crowns, these walls, this power…” He slid his hand over her wrist, drawing her meteorite bracelet from her arm. He squeezed and the bracelet splintered, a thin spiderweb of lines appearing along its surface with a thin, musical crack. He took her hand, laid it over his, and pressed. Toph closed her eyes and concentrated. Slowly, she tilted her head, bending away the imperfections on the surface of the stone. She lifted her hand and Bumi smiled, holding the bracelet between two fingers. “They are all for our people,” he sighed and twirled the bracelet on the tip of his finger. Toph closed her eyes and wished that the gesture brought darkness or silence or rest.

“Don’t do this, Bumi,” she whispered and swiped at her cheeks. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Remember to lean on you advisors. You must designate someone you trust as soon as possible to read your official documents to you.��

“You aren’t listening.” There was a girl on the other side of the door gathering the courage to knock. “This is insane. This is impossible.”

“I was about your age when I took the crown. It is hard to be a king so young and I’ve been an old man for a long time. The city has forgotten. But you’ll be able to—”

“You aren’t listening to me, Bumi! I’m not—”

“You are.”

And suddenly Toph had reached the end, the full extent of everything that she could bear. She hated his fluttery, shaky touch, the gasping tenor in his voice, the fact that he was okay with this, with leaving her and going somewhere she could not follow. And she hated that quiet note of something in his words, the steady undertone of pity. It declared plainly something she had never been able to admit, never wanted to acknowledge. She stumbled backwards, ripped away from his gentle touch, scrubbing at her face with the stupid robe with sleeves that were too long and got in her way. She hoped the tears stained the silk good, ruined it forever. She clenched her hands into fists, holding tight so that the trembling stayed deep, deep on the inside.

“You know what?” she snarled. “Fuck you and fuck this. All of this. You want to go? You want to die? Then do it!” She spun on her heel and strode away from the granite throne. She’d thought that the acid would fade as she gained distance, but the burning in her bones only grew and grew and grew. Bumi struggled to his feet, heaved in a breath to say something, but Toph flicked a wrist and the heavy throne room doors flew open. She paused in the doorway, bracing one hand against the marble doors.

Marble was heavy and dense and beautiful and easy to crack or grind down into dust. Not like granite, the fury and might of a volcano made stable and safe. Marble was formed by layers and layers of crap raining down day after day after year after year, by impossible, twisting pressure. But most people at least still wanted marble around.

“Go and do it, if you’re so excited to leave me here with your crown and your throne and your stupid fucking people,” Toph snarled over her shoulder at Bumi’s shadow and his granite throne. “Go and die.”

She let the doors slam shut behind her, let the servants sweep her away, out into the palace courtyard. The ceremony— the coronation— was long and boring and surprisingly good at soothing her runaway temper. By the time her crown had been blessed and consecrated, it’d occurred to her to apologize. By the time she spoke the words and the crowd rumbled them back, she was resigned to it. She spent a long few minutes waiting to be dismissed before realizing that she was the one who did the dismissing now. She broke off from her escort, moving purposefully towards the throne room.

Her face warmed when she stepped into the hall leading to the marble doors. A pair of healers flanked them, probably set to guard him from her smart mouth. She took a quick moment to swallow her pride as she drew near. The healers turned as one as she approached and dipped into low bows. “I need to get in,” she said stopping before them, fidgeting with her fingers. “To apologize.” The healers exchanged glances.

“Your highness,” one began slowly, “you cannot go in.” Toph frowned.

“I’ll be quick,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just want to say I’m sorry. Then I’ll let him rest or whatever.” The healer shifted, but didn’t speak. This time Toph had to bite her tongue to fight down a more scathing retort. “I’ll be quick,” she said again.

“Your highness,” the healer said slowly, “You cannot speak to King Bumi.”

Toph was starting to feel a strange, cold, clawing feeling next to her heart. She lifted her chin despite it, made her voice hard and strong. “Yeah?” Her voice was held steady, but she felt her knees rebelling. “And why not? Is he mad at me? Did I hurt his precious feelings?”

“The king is gone, your highness. You are our queen now.”

The world tilted under Toph’s feet and she collapsed in a heap in front of the old king’s door.

[mybeautifuldecay]

Rent Re-Imagined. A One-Shot Fic.

Anonymous said: What if Jamie and Claire gave into their feelings before they married and murtuagh caught them...

...well, I hope this matches your vision, Anon.

Thanks to @outlandishchridhe as always for writing my grammar wrongs, you gem. 

A tiny break in the university madness gave me a bit of a chance to write. If you’ve asked me for something, never fear...I am still going to honour them. Just when I have time to do them justice.

MWAH.

Slipping behind the largest trunk, Claire slunk closer to the debris at the base of the tree. She could hear Dougal and Jamie talking --animatedly. Jamie, it seemed, did not agree with his uncle on some matters pertaining to the earlier escapades with the locals and his eager need to tear the shirt from Jamie’s back at any God-given opportunity.

Claire didn’t blame him. Thinking about it made her blood boil and she had to grip the bark with some vigour in order to keep herself sat still and not go tearing down the hill towards Dougal herself.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned her head backwards, thinking instead of her own intimate matters. As much as she tried to force back the *affectionate* feelings that had begun to manifest themselves deep in her chest, the camaraderie she felt towards Jamie had bloomed. Claire found herself almost drawn to the Scot, her movements mimicking his in the strangest of ways. Her body was attuned to his.

How else had she found herself here? Close to him once more, eavesdropping on his conversation, not for the actual words, but just to be within close proximity of the man.

She was so consumed by these thoughts that she failed to notice Dougal stomp passed her, his long gait extended by his increased ire at his argumentative nephew. The crack of fallen branches pulled her from her reverie though, and she dipped lower, her shoulders hunching closer to the trunk in order to stay out of sight.

A distinct sound of gaelic curses rang out only moments later, causing Claire to jump a little. Turning onto her knees, she crawled over the roots and glanced down into the small valley beyond her hiding place.

Watching, she scrunched her eyes to see in the dark as Jamie, venting his frustration in the safest way possible, smacked his clenched fist against the closest tree. Claire, from where she knelt, could see the tense set of his shoulders as he pulled his arm back once more, his head falling forward as he pounded the rough bark.

His words, foreign to Claire’s ears, were almost unintelligible from this distance, and she climbed closer in order to get a better view. Arguing with herself, she decided it was best to let him get this pent up aggression out of his system before she showed herself.

“Ye can come out now,” Jamie spoke, his voice hushed as he turned a little. He could see her slumped behind the hillock, catching a brief movement out of the corner of his eye as he stood still facing away for the most part.

Standing and brushing herself off, Claire stumbled down the wee bank and brought herself to Jamie’s side.

Holding out her hand, she wiggled her fingers towards his blood-stained ones, not saying a word as she summoned his knuckles for inspection.

“You should be more careful, Mr MacTavish. You could easily pop the joint if you catch it wrong. Tree bark isn’t known for its gentle properties you know,” she teased as she turned his battered fingers over in her hand, examining the damage as carefully as she was able.

“Jamie, please mistress,” he whispered, nothing but humour in his tone, “...and trees are safe, Sassenach.”

Smiling, she tugged him over in the direction of the small fire he’d lit for himself and bid him to sit.

Pulling a small tin from her pocket, Claire reached for her small collection of medical supplies.

“Verra prepared, mistress Claire,” Jamie joked, quirking a brow at her stash. “Expecting to ha’ wounds to attend were ye?”

“Well,” Claire returned, too fast for Jamie to concoct a response, “if *you’re* involved --Jamie-- there is bound to be physicking required.”

That silenced him, and he kept his mouth shut whilst Claire finished off cleansing his cuts and bandaging them to avoid the filth of the road.

Though large, Jamie’s hands weren’t callused. Working as he did with heavy tools, Claire had assumed differently, but as she twisted and turned them about, ensuring her handiwork would stand the test of their arduous journey, she realised that they were incredibly soft and mostly free from scars.

She recalled that first day in the stables at Leoch and his tales of outlawry. It was hard to imagine, with him here now in front of her, that he was wanted for murder. Looking up at him, she could see the firelight glint in his aqua eyes, the red/yellow tint shining in his vivid irises.

He had a kind face and a gentle touch. Nothing about him suggested violence or danger.

Licking her lips, she shifted her bottom, her knees slipping further apart as she leaned closer.

Unaware of her subtle movements, Jamie had almost completely closed his eyes now. Lulled by her rhythmic ministrations, he’d chosen blissful ignorance ahead of actively contemplating what he might like to do with Claire.

Her skin glowed in the flames, the pale ivory of her flesh catching the dim flickers as it illuminated her from behind. She was something --otherworldly.

Cracking, the fire spat out a stray piece of ash as it sparked and settled once more, shocking Claire as she shimmied closer to Jamie in an attempt to stay away from the burning debris. The action brought them nose and nose, and Claire held her breath as she tilted her head to the right, sliding the tip of her nose along the bridge of his.

He smelt...intoxicating. Whisky and woodsmoke lined his skin, the calm puffs of his breath wafting over her lips as she held herself steady.

She didn’t mean for it to happen, but the moment she felt his tongue peek out from behind his lips, darting out to moisten his dry skin, she was lost. Leaning forwards she took his mouth against hers, sucking his upper lip between her teeth as they moved together unconsciously.

Claire didn’t recall turning, but before she could pull herself away and apologise for her rash actions, she was on her back in the leaves, her legs parted as Jamie angled himself as close to her as he could get, tugging his kilt out of the way in the process.

Too late, she realised, as she pulled her skirts up, wrapping her feet around Jamie’s knees and urging him forward with her body.

Gasping, she opened her eyes as bare skin came into contact with bare skin, her head unable to comprehend the actions that had led them here. Jamie’s brow was scrunched tight, his eyes clenched as he fought not to simply thrust his hips forward and end this subtle dance. Claire could see it in his face, how much he ached to let go, how much he wanted to twist his hips and sheath himself deep inside her, but something was holding him back.

“Y-you haven’t...have you?” Claire stammered, the dull thud of her heart audible in her ears as she spoke, “you’ve never lain with a woman before.”

Shaking his head vehemently, Jamie pursed his lips together and rolled his arse in time with Claire, her thighs tightening around his hips as he felt the telltale dampness coat him.

Gasping, Claire rocked herself closer still, angling herself into the right position for him to simply slide himself upwards…

She waited, her heart picking up pace as she tried to stay as motionless as possible.

“It’s alright, Jamie,” she coaxed, pushing her shoulders against the cold ground to lever her upwards as she kissed him softly, her tongue lingering on his lips as she relaxed once more, “I want this...I want *you*.”

Pushing himself inside her, Jamie moaned, his whole body trembling as his will broke, her words shattering the carefully built wall that had kept him from destroying Claire’s fragile reputation.

Unable to think, he let his body guide him. Claire’s hand roamed over his shirt-clad back and down until she’d pulled his kilt up further. The cold air slid along his exposed legs, causing his arse to clench as she took one naked cheek in each palm and directed him.

Digging her heels into the sodden earth beneath her, Claire let her legs fall open wider, her knees almost touching the ground as she met Jamie’s movements. Pushing her groin against his over and over again, grinding herself against him to create as much friction as possible.

With one final groan, Jamie juddered, tensed and flopped against Claire, his energy spent as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her neck.

Panting, Claire twined her legs with his as the tingling faded from her extremities.

Rendered insensible by the blinding lust that had just consumed them, both Claire and Jamie lapsed into unconsciousness, the chilly air unable to penetrate the heat their combined bodies had just created. Steam seemed to hang in the space around them as the fire dwindled, a fine mist encasing the now-sleeping lovers.

--

Coughing -- loudly -- Murtagh kicked Jamie’s filthy boots as he crossed his arms, his ire showing openly on his face.

“Ay! Laddie...wake up ye lazy dolt!”

Stunned by the sharp intonation of his godfather’s voice, Jamie hunched his shoulders to hide the shock he’d just received at being so rudely woken. Forgetting himself, his hands tightened on Claire’s shoulders, his sleep-hazed state making him feel as if she’d always been there, not remembering that she was a new addition to his nighttime routine.

Tugging the shawl around her half exposed shoulders, the colour drained from Claire’s face as the sudden realisation of her late night actions sunk in. Untangling herself from Jamie’s grasp, she sat up and slowly opened her eyes.

She prayed that only Murtagh stood before them, hoping beyond hope that she could convince the dour Scotsman to turn a blind eye to her less than reputable actions. But luck wasn’t on her side.

“I see our feral cat has some...impressionable skill at leading men astray,” Dougal muttered, his tone dripping with derision.

Claire could picture the look on his face without having to see it, but she was no coward. Opening her eyes fully, she rolled her shoulders back and clenched her teeth together to avoid saying something cutting in return.

Jamie remained silent too, his hands grappling to find hers as he rubbed some manner of warmth back into her digits, calming her as he did so.

“Uncle,” he began, an air of warning to his tone, “dinna go throwing insults around, aye?”

Scoffing, Dougal twisted the knife in his palm, using its sharp point to balance it precariously in the centre of his hand. “What else would ye have me call it,” he mocked, his eyes narrowing to slits as he began pacing in front of them.

Murtagh remained quiet now, his focus solely on Jamie as he tried to block out the view he’d had of the intimate moment between Jamie and Claire. Not meaning to catch them in the act, he’d come searching for his godson only moments after Claire had. Knowing the lad probably needed some alone time, he’d waited for just a wee bit longer than normal before heading off after him.

He’d had time to think as he’d clambered away from the scene, eager not to hear any more of their amorous activities. Desperate to keep the others in the rent party away, Murtagh had occupied the group with bawdy songs and whisky until most had passed out drunk.

Dougal, however, saw through the act. Noticing that Jamie hadn’t returned and that Claire had seemingly vanished, he’d bided his time before creeping off in search of the pair of them.

Finding them curled up, asleep by the fire he’d watched Jamie stoke earlier, a devious smile had lit his face and he’d snuck back off to contemplate his next move.

“Weel, tis of no matter,” Dougal continued, smirking as Jamie’s face turned a lurid red. Claire gulped loudly, her pulse throbbing painfully as her throat felt like it might close. She could tell from the devious look on Dougal’s face that this wouldn’t end well.

“No matter?” Jamie spat out, incensed by his uncle's games.

“Aye, my boy. Ye ken the way of it. If you canna keep yer legs closed there are consequences.”

“Don’t you dare--” Claire began, her embarrassment completely fizzling now. Replaced, instead, with white-hot burning rage.

“Och, I *dare*,” Dougal sneered, interrupting her diatribe, “mistress Beauchamp. If you canna contain yerselves, then you will have to be marrit. Do I make myself clear?”

Claire’s eyes widened, her heart stuttering in her chest as the words found purchase in the air around them.

Married?

No.

How could she…?

She was *already* married.

Jamie’s hand tightened on hers, the warmth of it silently soothing her frayed nerves.

“Married?” Murtagh whispered, echoing Claire’s unspoken sentiment. “Are ye mad, Dougal?”

“Am I…? No. I amne. We dinna ken fer sure, but he’s lain wi’ her now, she could be with child. It has been known. Do you wish her to be kent as a hoor, spoilt goods for anyone to take a wee keek at?” Dougal glowered, his advantage hard pressed to be beat.

Even Murtagh couldn’t disagree with his assessment of the situation.

“Married…” Claire murmured, her voice sending warm shivers down Jamie’s spine as he brought her closer to his side. The shuffling of the leaves around them made Claire blink as she turned to stare at her husband-to-be. “Jamie, I-”

“Hush, Sassenach,” he interjected, quashing her apology before she could voice it. “I promised I’d look out for you at Leoch, didn’t I?” he reminded her, his kind eyes holding hers as she nodded in reply. “And that hasne changed between here and there.”

Turning back to Dougal and Murtagh, Jamie clasped his hand around Claire’s back and brought them both to their feet. “Aye, uncle,” he agreed, holding his hand out as if to cement the *arrangement*, “but I have three conditions...if we’re t’ be wed.”

Laughing, Dougal shook his head, running his hand over the peak of his forehead, “T’would be easier to just kill ye both!” He jeered, a tiny hint of promise in his tone.

“That is as maybe,” Jamie returned, an equally dark hint to his voice as he gently drew patterns over Claire’s back, “but much harder to explain, wouldn’t you agree?”

Spitting a mouthful of saliva at his feet, Dougal blinked slowly and turned from the pair, stomping off once more in the direction of Rupert and the others.

Claire exhaled, her lungs pulsating from holding in the oxygen for so long. Leaning her head against Jamie’s shoulder she made to apologise once more, only finding herself incapable of speech, decided instead to forego it in favour of clenching his hand softly in hers.

Sensing her meaning, Jamie kept her close, turning them both in Murtagh’s direction as they awaited his reaction.

Quirking a bushy brow, Claire saw his lips twitch beneath his thick beard as he reached forward and smacked Jamie, his fingers catching Jamie’s thick curls, the smack echoing through the trees surrounding them.

“Foolish boy…” he spat, keeping his voice low as he went from anger to acceptance in two words, “it’s a dangerous game yer playing here. Ye ken well how changeable Dougal can be. How easy his moods slip from playful caution to deadly.”

Shrugging off Murtagh’s warning, Jamie sighed and kissed Claire on the forehead. “Then maybe it’s best if we’re wed quickly, aye?” He replied, walking himself and Claire in the direction of the camp.

Murtagh hovered behind them for just a moment, scratching his head as he watched the pair walk away, seeing the strange closeness they’d come to accept in just one short evening. “Aye,” he mumbled. “I guess ye had.”

“In a church!” Jamie yelled, his head turned towards Murtagh, a coy smile lighting his face, “afore a priest.”

[jacscorner]

Pentacles: The Oncoming Storm; Chapter 1

Again and again, the dark-skinned Elf swung his sword with a youthful vigor. He lost track of just how much time had passed since he started this exercise; he had started before the sun had risen, and now that it was high in the sky, it was officially morning over the city of Duskmoore. He practiced his swordsmanship in his green pants and blue boots, blue gloves gripping his sword. His chest huffing and puffing as he practiced with his longsword. His body was glistening in sweat, even his dreadlocks were starting to become damp from his workout.

“Is the sun starting to get to you, Prince?” The new voice got him to stop swinging the blade and turned to another dark-skinned Elf, who approached in a silver robe. He was tall and lanky, standing at 6’3, a full five inches taller than the supposed Prince. His eyes were grey, as well as his curly hair, a dull look on his face which contrasted with the smirk on the swordsman’s.

A chuckle came from the prince’s lips as he turned to face the approaching man in silver. “Ya know, when you use my title like that, it doesn’t sound genuine.” The Prince said as he stabbed his sword into the grass.

“I assure you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” The Prince walked over to a nearby bench, grabbing an orange tunic and pulling it on over himself. “So, what brings you outside, Henry? I figured you’d be studying.”

“Normally, I would be.” Henry said, “but your King requested my master for a meeting, and I was sent to fetch you.”

“Meeting?” The Prince raised an eyebrow, “I don’t recall anything like that today.”

“Neither do I.” Henry then shrugged, “but let’s hurry inside. I don’t wish to keep your father waiting.”

“Oi, I hear you.” He dug into his pants pocket, pulling out a silver circlet and placing it on his forehead. It had a green gem embedded into it. “Let’s hurry along.”

Henry began to lead the way, the Prince in tow as they entered the castle and began to walk onto the stone flooring. They walked in a familiar, mutual silence, both of them trying to think of just what this meeting could be about.

“Do you think it’s about those Goblins spotted outside the city’s barrier?” The Elf Prince’s voice broke that silence as they entered the hallway to the meeting room.

“Most likely, Jango.” Henry could feel the smirk forming on Jango’s face and the cracking of his knuckles. “Don’t get too excited, Prince. It’s not likely we’ll be going to battle.”

“They’re right outside our wall! Father can’t just ignore them now!” Jango then said, “now may be a good time to bring up the city becoming overcrowded.”

“If you insist.” Henry said, reaching for a door, “but don’t be too disappointed when you’re shot down.” Jango rolled his eyes as the door opened up to a room. It was spacious, with a round, wooden table. The room was filled with men and women, sitting around in stands that surrounded a table. Four men sat at the table, as well as a woman. There were two vacant chairs, no doubt waiting for Jango and Henry.

“Perfect timing, brother.” A lanky man said with a chuckle, a toothy grin on his face, sitting all smug and proud in fine black tunic over dark-green pants and a white shirt. His hair was black and cut short. With skin unlike that of his brother Jango’s, as it was a pale, stark white, making him look rather sickly. Rings lined his fingers, as well as a silver circlet with a black stone placed into it. A thick tension seemed to solely surround him and Jango, being so thick that a longsword would be required to cut it.

“Alexander.” Jango nodded at his brother before approaching the table, an awkward laugh escaping his lips. “Well, sorry, I wasn’t informed there’d be a meeting today.” Jango said as he and Henry took a seat. “I hope I didn’t hold things.”

“Not at all.” A grizzled, older man spoke. His rich, dark skin covered in a beige tunic, with a row of fur around his collar. His own hair matched that of his sons’, done in a long and braided ponytail, with scars running up his right arm, with his left in a golden gauntlet. He had his own circlet around his forehead, much like his sons, having a red stone encrusted onto it. He gently stroked his beard with his ungloved hand as he said, “in fact, you’re just in time. The head of the Scout Legion has returned with a report.” His own, dark-brown eyes turned to another man, who stood up.

“Thank you, King Oz.” A man stood up, draped in dark green leather and hood. “The Scout Legion has discovered the Goblin Camp to be within half a mile to Duskmoore. They’ve made no attempts to come closer and have simply been waiting outside.” People muttered nervously, keeping their voices low as the royal family and their selected few spoke aloud to the people.

“Like some kind of siege?” Alexander mused, scratching under his chin. 

“It would appear so.” The Scout said, “since the city is able to cultivate crops and animal products within the barrier, I don’t quite understand why they’re trying to keep us inside.” He motioned towards a map on the table, circling around the marked city. “There are three camps around the city at the North, South-East, and South-West. Each camp is 200 Goblins in number.”

“They’re rather close.” The sole woman in the group said aloud, gritting her teeth anxiously. She was draped in a white silk dress, her skin is much darker than that of Oz or Jango’s, her own long hair straight and hanging down her back. She had her own silver circlet, adorned with pearls.

“As well as close to each other, with lookouts stationed at every corner of their campsites, Queen Celeste.” The Scout continued, “in a little over just 3 minutes, Goblins from one of, if not, both camps would descend upon any camp being attacked.

“And with over 200 Goblins per camp, that’s a lot of Goblins and we’d have to spread our forces thin.” Henry grumbled under his breath as Jango balled up his fists.

“We’d be spread thin in handling them, but we can’t just let them occupy the area.” Jango then said, “we should gather whatever forces we can to deal with them.”

“Deal with them with what?” Alexander’s sneered caught the attention of the other Elves in the room. “Have you not been listening brother? We don’t have the manpower to do that. Or are you just hard of hearing.”

Jango gave a chuckle, his teeth starting to grind against the other. “I heard, but I’m confident that a simultaneous attack of smaller squads onto the camp under the cover of night will be effective. Especially if we employ the use of long range archers with fire arrows to light up their camps and experiences Mages. We hit them quick and simultaneously and drive them off.”

Alexander rolled his eyes as he argued, “they’re camped in a dead forest. The fire would spread quickly and the smoke would certainly choke out our citizens.” The air grew silent, as did the people that surrounded the round table down below as the jury from above all watched the two brothers closely, watching them battle with their words.

“Our citizens are choking now; it’s too cramped in the slums.” The remark got a reaction from Celeste, but Oz sat firmly, unflinching. “We can put out fires after the Goblins have left the area.” Jango countered, “Goblins are cowardly by nature. If we scare them off and have them scatter, they won’t be able to recover!”

“You’re being reckless!” Alexander shouted as the two brothers stood up to stare the other down. “We don’t know if there’s more Goblins waiting! Or if there’s not something else out there commanding the Goblins. It’s dangerous out there, Jango! You could be sending men to their deaths!”

“The scouts have already informed us of what we needed!” Jango shouted back, Henry standing to try and pull the muscular prince back. “We can’t afford to keep sitting around while the Goblins gather right outside our front door!”

Before the brothers could argue further, a loud ‘BANG’ echoed through the room as the heavy, golden arm of King Oz smashed into the table.

“That is enough!” His booming voice caused Jango and Alexander to cringe at their father’s voice. “You two are going in circles of each other again!” The two sons grew quiet, both sitting back down in their seats. Oz than looked to the man at his side. “Angoz, what do you believe is the wise move?”

Angoz stroke his long, white beard, the fair-skinned man hunched over in his chair. “I can understand the frustration in your younger son.” Jango grit his teeth, giving a hollow chuckle as the old man continued to speak. “We need more time to think about this. For now, we should sit and wait. As long as the barrier protects Duskmoore, we have no reason to race to a decision.”

Oz had given the old man a nod, much to Jango’s dismay and Alexander’s delight. “That settles it. For now, we should wait.”

“Father,” Jango spoke up again, even if Oz clenched his jaw in irritation. It was clear to him that the crowd was on his side, and despite Henry nudging at him to stop, Jango would not back down. “The longer we keep ourselves holed up in this city, the more ground we give to the Goblins and they’ve essentially trapped us inside our own wall!”

“Yes. Inside our wall. Where it’s safe!” Oz argued back, “sending troops out there isn’t a guarantee. Sending any Elves out there could be a death sentence!”

“So, what, we should all just stay inside Duskmoore? Have you not seen boom our population has had or how crowded the city is getting?!” Jango clenched his fists as he stood in his chair. “We need to clear out those Goblins! We need to start taking back Elven land from them!”

Silence had overtaken the room, save for Jango’s panting as he struggled to recompose himself after his passionate outburst. For a solid minute, nobody moved or uttered a sound. Once Jango managed to catch his breath, his father began to rise from his own seat.

“I understand how you feel, Jango.” Oz spoke calmly, but firmly. “Even so, we can’t just race out there.” Jango wouldn’t back down, but he knew that neither would his father. He clenched his fists, but Henry grabbed his shoulder as the King continued to speak. “I know you don’t like this Jango, but your older brother is right. We need to handle the Goblins in the best way possible, so we will need to wait.” 

The younger son heard the sneering laugh of Alexander. Jango was ready to say something, but Henry tightened his grip on his shoulder. It pulled him back to reality and it got Jango to sit back down as his mind began to run his Father’s words. Or, rather, the one word that rocked about inside his thoughts.

‘Wait’. For how long should they wait? How long could they wait? Jango didn’t know, but it’s not like his mind was working on the question. His body was at that meeting, having returned to his seat, but his mind had since checked out as it continued and listened to vague roaring of his father’s voice and the occasional interaction of Angoz and Celeste and the interruption of Alexander. The only sign that there was still life in his husk was the small snicker that seem to slip out of his lips involuntarily.

“-Dismissed.” Jango finally came back into reality when that word left King Oz’s lips, prompting everyone to start getting up to go. Elves left the room in a massive flood, all conversing amongst themselves about the meeting that had just gone down. Jango stood, as did Henry, intentionally slowly as the Scout and Angoz made their way out of the room, accompanying Oz himself. Jango stood up to go, fighting the urge to run up to his father when he felt the icy sneer of his brother.

Alexander approached from behind as Jango and Henry turned to face him. The lankier prince said, “still so rash brother. It’s like you never learn.”

“I’ve learned plenty, Alexander.” Jango chuckled lightly, “like how you keep feeding father’s fears of what’s beyond the wall.”

“What~?” His innocent tone was mocking his younger brother, “Jango, my brother, I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such things.” A sudden smirk came over Alexander’s face as his voice turned malicious. “Especially without proof.”

Jango’s hand suddenly reached and grabbed Alexander by the collar of his silk robe yanking him close. His mouth twitched as a crooked grin curved onto Jango’s face. “I don’t know what your angle is, you sniveling rat.” Alexander’s hand reached for a knife as Jango grabbed his wrist with a crushing grip, getting a painful gasp to suddenly come out of the older prince. “But so help me-”

“That’s enough!” Celeste suddenly spoke up as she approached her two sons, their emerald eyes glancing into her stern silver ones. “Jango, put him down.”

At his mother’s command, he released the older prince, who massaged his bruising wrist as he sucked his teeth at Jango. “Your ignorance shines through as always, Jango. I-”

“Alexander.” Celeste’s sharp tone caused the elder son to flinch. “Leave us.”

“B-but mother, I-”

“You instigated this conflict and have done enough.” Celeste’s glare was as sharp as her husband’s. It made Alexander shrink underneath before he quickly began to leave the room. The Elven Queen then turned to Henry. “Would you also mind leaving us for now, Henry?”

“As you wish. Master Angoz will no doubt want me back anyway.” Henry began to leave the room, him and Jango glancing at each other before they shared a nod and he left the room, leaving Jango and Celeste alone.

Celeste let out a heavy sigh as she said, “Jango, please understand that your brother and father only want what’s best for Duskmoore and our citizens.”

“I understand that, mother.” Jango let out an uneven laugh from his mouth, rubbing the back of his neck. If not for his gloves, his nails would be clawing at his flesh. “But that doesn’t mean what they’re doing is best. We hole ourselves up in this city and it’s getting too crowded. We’re overpopulated; resources are dwindling, the slums are overflooding and it’s spilling out rapidly. And we can’t expand because of the Goblins. If we don’t do something, we’re either gonna starve inside our city or we’re gonna start killing each other before the Goblins can do it!”

He was panting, uneven breaths peppered with unintentional bits of laughter. A strained smile was on Jango’s face that he couldn’t get to relax. Celeste approached her son, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as the two looked into each other’s eyes, the queen an inch shorter than her son. Jango could feel his breathing calm and his jittering laugh coming to a stop.

“Trust me, Jango, I know plenty of what you mean.” Celeste assured her, watching her son calm down before she pulled her hand away once he stopped shaking. “And I know your heart bleeds for our people.”

Jango gave off another chuckle, “well, a lot of good that is when we don’t do anything about it.” He said it with a jovial tone, but there was a hint of malice that Celeste could hear in his voice.

“If I were to go against your father, it would only divide us and nothing would be done.” Celeste said, “but I’ll try to bring it up to him in private.” She began to walk away, listening to another grunt from her son.

“It feels as though we’re doing nothing now.”