Original monsterlover content writing blog: @nobreadmonsterlover (Requests open, blog content pending)
My writing blogs may contain suggestive content, smut, violent content, whump and hurt/comfort. Warnings apply as needed. If you don't like what you see in the description, don't read the story.
I might not write or enjoy the more extreme parts of "dead dove" fiction myself, but I support the rights of folks to create and read it just the same. As long as no one's getting hurt irl, y'all can do whatever you want. Just use content warnings please.
Shipboard for Rahzar and Tigerclaw (2012 TMNT) wolves/tigers/bonds between warriors/resurrecting a lover/solidarity and relationship between gay and bi men themes
For an anon~ Hope you like this!!
Shipboard for Zant (Twilight Princess) and Cia (Hyrule Warriors) mutual obsession/dark magic/mortal x Goddess/worship me themes
For an anon!! Hope you like the look~ :)
"how can m/f ships be good-" first of all through the power of bisexuality anything is possible so write that down. second of all if we start othering ships based on gender and nothing else we're no better than the opposition. third of all you need to watch more addams family
#chemistry is key #is it true love or are they just a man and a woman who looked at each other once and now we're supposed to root for them to get together #and yes this goes for gay ships as well if they don't have The Energy between them i dont care
[Spoiler: No actual sex occurs. This is a foreplay piece. 18+ rule for smut still applies though.]
“Y’know…I’ve been thinking…”
Samus turned to face Rundas. Even without her armor, there was a look in her eyes that made him feel a bit intimidated, though they were the furthest thing from enemies.
“If we’re going to be together…isn’t it kind of a problem that we have such different body temps?”
“I seem to remember this relationship being your idea,” Samus replied. “Having second thoughts?”
“Well, you’re a human,” Rundas stated. “Humans always complain about the cold. And they can’t touch ice without hurting their skin. So how do we…”
“Rundas,” Samus began, as though she were explaining something to a novice. “I can handle the cold.”
“I’m not just cold,” Rundas insisted. “And you’re warm. Really warm. So what if we touch without our suits and it hurts us?”
Samus raised one hand, extending it towards his face. “Then why don’t we see for ourselves?”
She couldn’t quite reach his face because of the difference in their heights. Before he’d really weighed the pros and cons, Rundas found himself bowing to her level and gently pressing his face into her palm.
At first, the heat made him recoil in surprise. Without his own insulating suit, her body heat felt more intense.
“Too much?”
“No,” Rundas answered hastily. “I’m…it didn’t burn. What about you?”
“You pulled back so quickly, I barely had time to register it.”
“Can I try again?”
“Yes.”
So Rundas leaned in again. He paused right before her hand, taking in a deep breath and steeling himself for the warmth. He felt it radiating from her flesh, an ambient heat like sunlight. From this distance, it was soothing. He shouldn’t have found it soothing, as sensitive to heat as his kind were, but it was as though the cold radiating from his body was cooling the warmth from hers to a much more tolerable degree.
Samus felt much the same. She could feel the cold seeping into her skin, but her own body heat dulled its bite. It felt less like bitter, icy air and more like a soothingly cold compress on aching muscles.
After adjusting to the heat, Rundas once again gently pressed his face into her palm. This time he did not flinch away, resisting the urge to avoid the heat. He leaned in further, letting it seep into his skin. Nuzzling against the calloused flesh of her hand as though greeting an old friend.
Samus kept her hand there, savoring the cold. Leaning in and watching her breath become clouds of steam against his body, and his breath become smoke-like wisps of vapor against her body. Was it her imagination, or was he getting colder? She was beginning to feel warmer, herself.
Samus moved her hand, sliding it downwards to caress her partner’s chin. He sighed contentedly, closing his little yellow eyes. She smiled just the slightest bit. He was…cute, in a way. She didn’t normally think about things like aesthetic appeal, but he was. Like this, anyway. Figuratively melting into her warm touch.
“Can I…,” Rundas breathed. “Can I touch you…more?”
“Go ahead,” Samus replied. She realized she’d started hoping that he would.
Rundas brushed one hand through her hair, dusting it with frost and raising goosebumps upon the back of her neck. Slowly, hesitating, his hand moved to her upper back. Both of them gasped. Subconsciously, Samus pressed her legs closer together. She knew where she wanted to go from here, but…though he weathered her warm touch well enough, could he really withstand unshielded intercourse with a warm-blooded being? And just exactly how cold could he get? If there was a not insignificant chance that he might become too frigid during sex, she could sustain frostbite or possibly even become stuck, and unable to remove herself without injuring both of them. No, until they’d better prepared themselves, there was just too much risk.
That was when Rundas pulled away, shaking his hand like it had been mildly burned. “Haahh…Sorry,” he rasped. “I was getting too hot. But I…we could do this again, sometime.”
“...Yes,” Samus replied. “We could.”
The two of them turned then, and retreated to their own secluded areas of the ship. Samus leaned against the wall, letting the cool metal preserve the cold that lingered in her body. Her hand was still cold from holding his face. Cold enough to soothe the warmth from between her thighs which now begged for attention. She found herself wondering--as she slid herself down the wall and moved her frigid hand down her waist--if he would pleasure himself with the lingering warmth in his hand as well.
This Disney Villains crossover collage is of Dr. Facilier and Oogie Boogie, as part of my crossover collage series of Disney Villains, to mark the countdown to Halloween. The time of year when Disney gives their villains control of the rains.
Bloody Queens (Eliza x Lady Dimitrescu) - Bath & Wine
>
The smell of iron was heavy in the air of the large and luxurious bath chamber. Before them was a large basin filled with blood. Four statues stood poised around its rim--a group of three robed men, a woman in fanciful attire, a man on horseback, and a cloaked woman tilting a wine bottle over the basin.
“Well, it’s certainly impressive,” Eliza mused, dressed in nothing but a soft white bathrobe. “Though I think the statues make it feel a little crowded.”
“Really?” Her host, Lady Dimitrescu replied. She was dressed much the same, though with her enhanced size, she towered over her. “I would have thought you’d enjoy the feeling of being admired.”
“Hm,” Eliza considered it. “Not by statues.”
“Well, the real thing can be difficult to come by in a place like this,” Dimitrescu added. “And is much noisier.”
“True…”
“In any case, I’m sure you’ll find the bath itself to be a wonderful experience,” the host said, unfastening the cloth belt that held her bathrobe shut. She disrobed in a single fluid motion, the white bathrobe falling to the unstained marble floor. The Lady’s skin was much the same shade as the robe, and as the flooring. She looked like an enormous porcelain doll, though Eliza would consider her curvaceous features far more attractive than any doll.
Eliza watched as her host stepped into the basin, alabaster skin sinking beneath dark crimson. The basin was deep enough that the blood covered her ample chest, which was well above Eliza’s head.
Amused at the thought, Eliza remarked “I guess you’re not used to guests that are shorter than you.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Dimitrescu replied with a smile. “There’s a ledge closer to the rim for guests not gifted with my stature. You could sit there and not have to swim.”
Satisfied with that response, Eliza disrobed as well, taking her time to ensure her host got a good look at her body. Of course, she didn’t want to seem too salacious, so after a little while she, too, stepped into the bloodbath.
Her steps were light and delicate as she searched for the ledge with her foot. Not that she couldn’t swim or would be displeased to sink into the blood completely, but she didn’t want to do so accidentally. It wouldn’t be very dignified.
She found the ledge soon enough, and sat down, slowly sinking into the crimson liquid as well. She let out a sigh of pleasure. It did feel wonderful, and she knew her hidden companion Sekhmet was enjoying it just as much.
Lady Dimitrescu smiled. “Well, my dear, what did I tell you?” She leaned back and rested her arms upon the white floor, dappling it with red, which her servants would no doubt be tasked with cleaning up later. “Rejuvenating, isn’t it?”
‘My dear’, hm? She rather liked the sound of that. “You certainly know how to relax,” Eliza replied, smiling as well. “And this blood is top quality, too…Where do you get your supply?”
“The village, of course,” Dimitrescu replied with a wave of her hand. “Though I only use the best for myself. Speaking of which, you haven’t yet had the best I have to offer.”
Eliza arched a brow. “Oh, really?”
After they’d finished indulging in the bloodbath, Lady Dimitrescu and Eliza cleaned themselves off so as not to drip blood onto any of the castle’s fine and expensive floors (to which Dimitrescu was quite impressed by Eliza’s ability to simply absorb the blood staining her skin), donned their bathrobes again, and strolled across the castle to reach the Lady’s private bedroom.
It was there that Lady Dimitrescu presented Eliza with an unopened wine bottle with an ornate golden seal.
“Wine?” Eliza inquired.
“Yes, and no,” replied Dimitrescu. “Look a bit closer.”
The label read “Sanguinis Virginis” - if Eliza’s understanding of ancient languages was any good--and it certainly was, she’d been there to learn them in person--that meant--
“‘Blood of the Virgin’...” Eliza translated. She smirked. “That title isn’t all for show, is it?”
Dimitrescu laughed. “Before I took over the family vineyard, it was, but I thought it could be…improved.” She flexed her free hand, and from her fingertips emerged long, viciously sharp claws. She used one of these claws as an improvised corkscrew, and opened the bottle. She retracted her claws and held the bottle out toward Eliza. “Go on,” she encouraged.
Eliza leaned toward the mouth of the bottle and sniffed. It smelled like wine, of course, and very exquisite wine, at that. But there was a familiar undertone, one which Eliza found even more tantalizing than the wine. “Genuine virgin’s blood…or, blood from a teenaged girl, at least. Social constructs like virginity don’t really have any detectable presence in the blood.”
Dimitrescu laughed again. “True, but it sounds much better than ‘Teen Girl Blood’, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course,” Eliza replied. “Some of the old ways do still have their appeal in the modern day.”
“I’d been saving this bottle for a special occasion,” Dimitrescu added. “And I think that day has come. Would you care to do the honors?” She gestured toward a pair of ornate wine goblets resting upon an almost-as-fancy end table near the fireplace. They were both average size, despite the Lady’s height. Perhaps she liked her drinks…small, in comparison. Or hadn’t yet had a larger one made custom for herself.
Eliza supposed that was why she was being asked to pour the wine. She looked back at her hostess, took the bottle from her larger hands, and brought it over to the goblets, where she delicately poured a drink for the both of them, and set the bottle down upon the table. She took the goblets and walked back to face her hostess.
“And you didn’t spill a drop,” Lady Dimitrescu observed as she took her portion from Eliza. “Excellent.” She then held the goblet out before her guest, in a gesture that indicated she was proposing a toast. “To unexpected, but very welcome, partnerships.”
Eliza couldn’t say “no” to that. “Cheers,” she replied with a sultry smile, and brought her goblet to the rim of her hostess’s. She could already tell neither of them would be sleeping in that room for a good while--and she did mean “good”.
It wasn’t the first time Mary Louise Dahl had been in the back of an Arkham transport van. At this point, she figured it was about her third.
As for Jonathan Crane, well…he’d stopped counting a few thwarted escape attempts ago. By now, he figured he could have drawn a perfect replica of the interior from memory. They’d underestimated him the first time, and the second--but ever since, he’d gotten used to having at least one staff member’s eyes on him at nearly all times. If only it hadn’t been for Batman--!
Practically reading his mind, Mary spoke up. “I wonder if costumed freaks have it any easier in other cities.”
“I suppose it could be worse,” Jonathan replied. “We could be in Metropolis.”
Mary chuckled. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sound. Jonathan realized he was smiling somewhat. It was an…odd feeling, but not an unpleasant one.
When she stopped laughing, she sighed, hanging her head. “I’m sure they won’t let us talk to each other for a good while after this,” she said sadly. “Seeing as we helped each other escape.”
“Hm,” Jonathan replied, thinking. “True. And I don’t exactly like the idea of getting Jervis to pass the message down for me.”
She chuckled again. “Can’t say I trust Scarface either.”
They both laughed about their fellow “Rogues” for a while, as the transport vehicle made its way down the long, secluded path to Arkham. It occurred to them that this was the first time they’d ever really made the opposite sex laugh out of anything other than pity or mockery. It was remarkable, really, how a first relationship could make two social outcasts in their 30s feel like a pair of high school students.
After a while, Mary slowly closed her eyes and leaned over until her head rested on Jonathan’s lap. Rather surprised by the act, he glanced down and somewhat awkwardly asked if she was trying to sleep.
“No,” she replied. “But I figure this is probably going to be the last chance we get to be this close for now, so I thought I’d try to enjoy it.”
“...Oh…”
“I’m not being too forward, am I?” Mary asked, opening her eyes again and looking up at him. “I…remember you said something about--”
“No, no--” he replied quickly, not exactly eager for the awkwardness of her completing that sentence. “It’s…quite alright. You’re only on my leg, after all.”
Satisfied with his answer, Mary put her head back down and closed her eyes.
When they arrived at Arkham and the staff opened the transport vehicle’s back doors, there would almost certainly be stares and looks of confusion, perhaps even a few of disgust.
Hmph. Let them stare, then. Mary and Jonathan were both through with worrying about what others thought of them.
CreepyDoll (Scarecrow x Baby Doll) - Holding Hands During a Tense Moment
[Includes whump (both + a bit of Harley Quinn)]
>
“No! Please--I didn’t mean it! Honest!”
The entire common room had fallen silent in an instant. Patients who had been bickering with one another, chatting casually, watching television, or playing cards or chess all stopped, their heads swiveling to Harleen Quinzel--and the new head of security at Arkham, Lyle Bolton, the latter of whom had the former’s arm in a vice grip with one fearsome, muscular hand.
“Think you can just mouth off at me whenever you want, huh?” Bolton snarled, flashing his teeth like some kind of predatory animal.
“N-n-no, Mr. Bolton--” Harleen stammered. “It was…just a joke! Ha ha ha--” She stopped faux-laughing and whimpered when Bolton’s grip on her arm tightened even further.
“A joke, huh?” Bolton began to sneer. “Funny. Didn’t sound like a joke to me.”
Harleen’s blue eyes scanned the room frantically. Everyone was watching, but no one was moving to help. Bolton hadn’t even been at Arkham more than two weeks--and he already had all of them too scared to fight back. Well, everyone in the room, that is. The only Rogues not terrified of him yet were kept in near-constant solitary confinement.
Still, Harleen pleaded with her eyes.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, lowlife!” Bolton snapped. “Don’t bother begging your fellow freaks--they know what’s coming if they butt in. Not like scumbags like you even know how to help each other.”
Upon the chess table, a fist was shaking with rage. It had been fear, initially, but as Bolton’s menacing had persisted, that fear had evolved. Been set ablaze. And with the sound of a chair moving aside, someone had finally stood up.
“N-now, Jonathan, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea--!” feebly protested Jervis Tetch, reaching out a hand to stop his opponent in a game now long forgotten, then thinking better of it, and pulling it back to his side.
Jonathan Crane knew he’d likely be alone in this. Normally, he wouldn’t take foolish risks like this--nor would he challenge the one man who’d managed to outright terrify him since the Batman had first sent him to Arkham. But this was different. Harleen was a previous student of his. A brilliant girl. A kind girl. One of the few students he’d ever had who’d respected his teaching methods. And these days…a friend.
And damned if he was going to let this continue. Whatever Bolton did to him in retaliation--it didn’t matter to him now.
“Unhand her, you brute!” he shouted.
Bolton turned his head. Glaring, then--he cracked a smirk. Oh, how they’d all come to hate that smirk. “Sit back down, creep. This doesn’t concern you.”
Jonathan glowered back to match the menace of Bolton’s smirk. He doubted it came across as intimidating--what he wouldn’t have given to have his mask on. Nevertheless, he wasn’t backing down now. “Of course it concerns me! This has to stop! And if no one else is going to intervene--”
He looked around the room as well, to the same result that Harleen had gotten. Yes indeed, no one else was going to intervene.
Bolton chuckled. “Looks like you’re on your own. So what are you gonna do?” Saying this, he unceremoniously tossed Harleen aside.
That was the final straw. Without thinking on the matter any further, Jonathan grabbed the chair behind him and charged, yelling furiously. Once he was close enough, he hurled the chair at Bolton.
Bolton held his bulky arms up to shield his face, and the chair shattered into a shower of splinters. Jonathan stopped in his tracks, staring in shock as the man was completely unaffected by the attack. “W--What are you?!” he stammered.
The smirk became twisted. Sick. “Your worst nightmare,” he sneered. All it took was a single punch, and Jonathan was flying backwards, crashing into the chess table.
As Bolton’s footsteps slowly drew closer, Jonathan struggled to pick himself up off the ground, the aches of future bruises already making themselves known. He cast a glance to Jervis, who was now also on the floor. The man seemed to almost lend him a hand, before he looked back to Bolton.
Jervis once again withdrew his hand. “I--I tried to warn you…” he whimpered, crawling backward, away from the ruins of their game. Away from Bolton.
The hulking head of security loomed over Jonathan. That same awful smirk plastered on his face as he raised his nightstick.
“Dahl! Don’t do it!” cried an out-of-view Arnold Wesker.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed!” added the voice of his puppet, Scarface.
And yet the sound of rapidly approaching tiny footsteps didn’t stop. Not until they were replaced by the sound of tiny fists and shoes ineffectively striking Bolton’s leg.
Bolton looked down. There was little Mary Louise Dahl, trying her damndest to do something, anything, despite her obvious disadvantages. Bolton only laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He turned back to Jonathan. “Just your luck, huh? The only freak who jumps to your defense is the half-pint.”
“You leave him alone!” Mary cried, in that voice of hers that betrayed her true age. “You leave all of us alone, or you’ll be sorry!”
“Or what, you’ll punch me in the shin again?” He laughed again. “Stay out of this.” He kicked her aside.
“You--tyrant!” Jonathan spat. “You’re worse than Batman!”
“That’s right,” Bolton replied. “Batman’s too soft on you creeps. He still thinks you can reform. But I know the truth. You never learn! And you never will!”
Bolton kicked him while he was down, knocking the air out of him. And the last remaining shreds of his earlier bravado to come to Harleen’s defense.
“You’re a sickness hellbent on infecting this city, Crane. And Batman’s not the cure--I am!”
He brought his nightstick down. WHAM!
…But there was no pain. Jonathan opened his eyes--
And saw Mary Loiuse Dahl standing defiantly in front of him, holding a thick book above her head to shield both of them from the blow.
“I told you--to leave him--ALONE!”
Bolton looked positively furious. He gave the book another whack, this time shoving her backward into Jonathan.
“Fine,” he sneered. “You can get punished together.”
As he raised his nightstick again, Mary grabbed for Jonathan’s hand. And for reasons he didn’t quite understand, Jonathan took her hand and pulled her closer. Were they trying to shield each other? Or just seeking comfort?
There wasn’t time to question it. Bolton brought down his nightstick, and---
“NO!” Jonathan screamed, eyes wide open in the darkness.
…Wait. Darkness?
…That’s right. Of course. He wasn’t in Arkham Asylum. But Lyle Bolton still was. Locked away. And he was out. Just how Jonathan wanted it to stay.
How embarrassing. The Master of Fear, shaking and sweating from a nightmare. At least no one was around to see it.
The small shadow lying in front of him, which he’d thought was a small pillow or a lump of blanket, moved on its own. First shifting slightly, then crawling towards his face. From the light of a worn-down street lamp outside the window, he saw two large blue eyes open.
“Jonathan?”
It was the same unexpectedly mature voice from the nightmare. Mary Louise Dahl.
“Mary?” he replied, puzzled. “What are you doing--?”
“I…had a nightmare, too,” she confessed somewhat sheepishly. “I know it’s…inappropriate to just crawl into someone’s bed without asking, but--”
“It’s…it’s quite alright,” he replied, sitting up. “You…felt safer with me, I take it?”
“Something like that,” Mary said, sitting up as well. Not that it really made any difference to her height. “I guess I figured, if you’re the scariest person around here, then no one short of Batman would mess with you.”
She didn’t know how untrue that was. How could she? She hadn’t actually been admitted to Arkham until about a week after Lyle Bolton was let go from his position. Just as well for her. She never would have survived his rule. She was too feisty to keep her head down, too fragile to withstand his brand of punishment.
He didn’t want to think about the psychological implications of his mind anachronistically placing her at the altered scene from his nightmare. Nor the implications of her running to his defense. Or…
“...Oh my God.”
Mary quickly withdrew one of her hands as though she’d been shocked. “I’m…I’m so sorry, I didn’t--mean to.”
It was only then that Jonathan realized she hadn’t stopped holding his hand once he’d returned to the waking world. He’d hardly registered the small warmth amongst everything else that had greeted him upon awakening.
“...”
For a moment, they just sat there in silence. Neither wanting to say anything.
Unbeknownst to each other, they were both braced for rejection.
Jonathan stood up from the bed. “I’m going to the roof. You can…follow, if you’d like.”
Mary stayed where she was. “The roof? But what about Bat--”
“Unlikely,” Jonathan replied, gesturing to the window. Outside, a soft blue light was emerging from the horizon. “It’s nearly dawn.”
Mary hesitated for a moment. Then, she leapt down from the bed as well. Together, without speaking, they made their way to the rooftop access door of the old building they were…well, effectively, squatting in.
Even despite the architecture of the city breaking up the horizon, “blue hour” in Gotham was just as hauntingly beautiful as it was anywhere else. Jonathan walked fearlessly towards the edge…then settled upon the stone ledge meant to prevent accidental falls. His back to Mary, he spoke at last as she approached.
“I really didn’t mind, you know.”
“Of course you minded,” Mary replied with a sigh. “Look at me.”
“Look at me.” Jonathan turned halfway towards her, putting one leg back onto the roof for stabilization.
They stared at each other, the “blue hour” light highlighting their less-than-beautiful features.
“...” Mary turned her eyes to the rooftop beneath her. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me hope.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t fall in love again!” she cried, glaring.
“...Because Croc broke your heart?”
“No,” she said softly. “Because he showed me the truth. That no one will ever really love me back. That I’m…”
Her shoulders began to quiver with quiet sobs. “I’m just a delusional little girl, trying to play pretend.”
“...How old are you, Mary?”
“What does it matter?” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes.
“How old are you?”
“...34.”
Jonathan smiled slightly.
“What?”
He started chuckling.
“What?”
“Now tell me--how old do you think I am?”
“...Are you 34?”
“Thirty-five, actually. But you’d have guessed right a few months ago.”
“So what? We’re nearly the same age, but do I look it?” Mary scoffed. “What was the point of--” It was then that she realized she’d stopped crying. “...Oh. You were distracting me.”
“Guilty as charged,” Jonathan replied, still smiling.
She sighed again, and shook her head. “It still doesn’t make any difference to how I look.”
“My point, Mary, is to ask you this: If you already know what you are, why allow your appearance to define you?”
“Because when other people see me, they don’t see a 34-year-old woman! They see--”
“But you allow what they see to determine what you see.”
“How am I supposed to see anything else?”
“Mary,” Jonathan said, dropping the smile. “Regardless of your self-loathing, you are by no means a little girl playing pretend. You are a 34-year-old woman. You are clever, resourceful, fiery, and you have an uncanny ability to nurse a grudge for over a decade.”
“...In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t always act my age.”
“Your occasional periods of age regression are a coping mechanism, Mary. You’re hardly the first person I’ve seen do that. In fact, you’re not even the worst case I’ve seen.”
“...Does that mean I have to be stuck with Baby Doll for life?”
“No, not necessarily,” he replied. “If you’d prefer to find something else, I’d be happy to help.”
“...You’re just pitying me.”
“And isn’t it nice to be pitied for once?”
“What?”
“You’ve spent your entire life despised and ridiculed and yet, paradoxically, idolized. No one ever saw you for the tragedy you were. No one ever thought you needed help. Not until you’d already decided it was too late.”
“Jonathan, are you offering to be my boyfriend, or my therapist?”
“I don’t see why I couldn’t do both.”
Mary laughed. “No wonder you got fired.”
“Oh, I was never a psychiatrist,” Jonathan replied. “But I was a professor of psychology for quite a few years, so I still know what I’m talking about.”
Then, he slowly extended a hand towards her. She stared for a while, a conflicted look on her face.
Finally, she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and put her small hand in his. Looking back into his eyes, she appeared gravely serious. “If you’re leading me on like Croc was, you’ll regret it.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I’d never dream of it.”
When he pulled her up onto the ledge alongside him, she kept holding his hand, and didn’t let go until they at last returned to the rooftop access door and walked back into the abandoned building that was their current hideout.
The Witch & the War Machine (Grievous x Ventress) - Secret Relationship Reveal
[Includes whump (Grievous)]
>
It was only the sound of metal creaking under pressure. Quieter than the sound of dozens of blasters firing at once by far. And yet, in that moment it was every bit as sickening as the dull thud of an ally’s body hitting the ground, a sound which she had only heard once before. It cut through her senses as if she’d just been thrown to the floor by her master in a training session. She knew what that sound meant. Whether in her mind or in her heart, she knew.
Somewhere in the midst of deflecting enemy fire, she found a split-second opening to look, to confirm with her eyes what she felt at her core. Time seemed to pass as though in slow-motion. Her ally’s metal chest was crumpling inward, as though compressed by an invisible force. No. That’s exactly what was happening. At the moment, he only seemed surprised. Likely, the actual damage hadn’t gotten to him yet. But he knew what was happening.
Ventress moved without thinking. As her perception of time returned to normal, Grievous fell into her arms. He was heavy. Ventress turned her head to keep up her defense against the enemy fire that was still coming, and saw the Jedi she knew from Separatist intel as Mace Windu withdrawing his formerly outstretched hand. For a moment, rage consumed her. If the Jedi bastard had killed him, she’d--!
Ventress never thought she’d find the sound of Grievous hacking up his own lungs a relief. But it meant he was still alive, and vengeance wasn’t yet the priority. Now, they needed an escape. However, they still seemed quite thoroughly pinned down by the enemy. Now what? Surrender?
No. Never.
The droids behind them were still numerous enough to provide cover fire, but they wouldn’t last. Simple B1s never did. Ventress recalled the map of the facility that she’d committed to memory. Where they were now…yes, it would be survivable. But only if she did this just right.
Ventress turned her sabers toward the floor. With their combined weight, it would happen in the blink of an eye, as long as she could cut fast enough.
Jedi general Obi-Wan Kenobi watched as Ventress moved at a Force-enhanced pace and carved a circle around herself and the general of the Droid Army. “What in blazes is she--?” He didn’t get the chance to finish that statement of bewilderment. The pair fell through the floor so quickly that they appeared to simply stop existing.
“Master Windu--”
“I saw,” his ally replied. “The troopers and I can handle their droids up here. Don’t let them escape.”
Kenobi nodded. Then, charging through the fray with his saber still drawn to protect him from the enemy’s fire, he leapt through the…improvised escape hatch.
Freefalling now, Ventress held tight to her ally, knowing his weight would make him fall faster than her. She turned her gaze to the floor below them, which was approaching rapidly.
She used the Force to slow their descent, and they hit the ground as though only from a short distance. She sensed a presence following them from the level above. She didn’t even have to look up to know it was Kenobi.
She didn’t bother asking Grievous if he could stand and run. She knew the answer. So Ventress threw his arm over her shoulder and pulled him to his feet. She’d never noticed before how heavy all that Durasteel made him. She’d never had to carry him before. But she could manage. Even if only through the power of the Force, she could manage it. So she took off running, dragging him along.
Kenobi hit the ground moments later. There was only one path Ventress could have taken from this area, though once he took off down that corridor, he realized there were several pathways waiting at its end. Kenobi paused. He couldn’t afford to waste much time pursuing the wrong path, but the longer he took to decide, the closer his quarry would get to escaping.
Meanwhile, Ventress stopped running, taking what brief moment she had before Kenobi caught up to let herself and her ally rest. Grievous fell to his hands and knees as soon as she let him go, wheezing terribly and with his eyes shut tight.
Ventress reached out to him. Her hands were shaking. They never did that. She tried not to think about it. “Hold still,” she commanded, trying to keep her voice steady. Focusing her mind, she pulled the metal encasing what was left of her ally outward, towards herself. There was that awful sound again. But it had worked, if only for the moment. His breathing eased somewhat.
Ventress placed a hand underneath his chin, lifting his head to her eye level. He opened his eyes. In that moment he appeared far more exhausted than she’d ever seen him before. He had the eyes of a walking corpse.
Ventress swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat. “Don’t you die on me,” she muttered.
Grievous slowly raised one hand, and mirrored her gesture. Cold metal upon her skin. He winced, and coughed violently, spattering her face with flecks of blood. A cold metal exterior, yet this blood was warm. It smelled like copper.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” Ventress said with a heavy sigh. “Just…hold on. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you?”
A loud, violent cough. Kenobi turned. That way.
Ventress turned around in a split second. She looked back to Grievous. “We have to move. Just do what you can,” she urged him.
Rapid footsteps down the hallway. Kenobi appeared as Ventress pulled Grievous to an unsteady standing position. She immediately stood in front of her ally, sabers drawn and held defensively. A vicious sneer upon her face and absolute murder in her eyes.
Kenobi raised his saber as well. Yet, he didn’t move. He wanted to capture the both of them alive if at all possible…yet, something seemed familiar about this.
Was it the way she was poised? Protective, ready to kill for the sake of defending an ally, yet reluctant to make a move and leave his side.
Kenobi recalled something from his past. He saw himself in Ventress’s place, much younger and poised before the angelic, blonde-haired Satine, who herself was about the same age. Their poses were identical. So was the look in their eyes.
All at once, it made sense. The way they’d been fighting alongside one another these past few months, the way they’d spoken to each other in those intercepted messages. Ventress’s protective behavior now.
“...You two…,” Kenobi began. “You’ve fallen for each other…haven’t you?”
Ventress didn’t respond, but her eyes betrayed her true feelings. She switched up her saber stance. “Come one step closer, and you die!” she hissed.
This changed things. “Ventress…,” he began. “You should surrender.”
“NEVER!”
“Ventress, look at him! He won’t last! You both know it.” Kenobi lowered his saber just a bit, in an attempt to make a gesture of goodwill. “We can help you.”
“You can’t!” Ventress snarled. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about!”
“Why continue to fight like this?” Kenobi pressed. “If it’s Dooku you’re afraid of--”
“You don’t understand!”
“You’re right, I don’t.” Kenobi shook his head somberly. “It doesn’t have to be this way."
“...But it does.” Ventress drew a deep breath, then summoned a shockwave of Force energy that sent Kenobi reeling. In the brief moment of distraction this allotted her, she once again threw Grievous’s arm over her shoulder and ran.
Kenobi pursued as soon as he recovered. Down the hall they ran, until Ventress made her way out of the halls and into a hangar. It was empty, save for the ships, thanks to the battles taking place across the facility.
It was during this time that the fleeing villains came to a sudden stop. The sound of Ventress muttering “No…no, no--” and the sight of her ally falling limply to the floor--accompanied this.
She turned on Kenobi once again. Her icy blue eyes were practically aflame with rage. She extended a hand towards him, and let out a furious scream.
Sith Lightning shot forth from her fingertips. Kenobi held his saber before him defensively, shielding himself from the volatile energy. He felt his hair begin to stand on end.
She stopped. Her ally's life support system had revived him, and he’d gasped desperately, catching her attention and temporarily quelling her rage once again. Ventress wasted no time. She pulled him to his feet, and after a Force-enhanced leap, they had both boarded a small Republic fighter.
Kenobi looked on as the fighter took off and fled into space. Right back where he’d started.
