#Who chopped off domes feet

[numbbrainstrorm]

Wanted to post this before I'll get off Tumblr

[stevebattle]

Gronk by Keith Paul and John Hughes, Ontario, Canada (1978). "Robbie the robot, who weighed some 50 pounds and stood over 5 feet tall, caused the uneasy feeling that if it dropped a wheel off the edge of a walkway, it would topple over, crushing a small dog, child or Volkswagen. This led to the development of Gronk, the second robot, smaller and less threatening. … Physically short and squatty, about 40" high and 22" in diameter, is more robotish in the popular sense. … Practically speaking it resembles a large domed can of spray deodorant. Actually the outer skin is a 40 gallon (Imperial) hot water tank cover chopped down to 26". The machine is cylindrical, and weighs 50-60 pounds. The metal skin is covered with a felt material, which gives it a warmer appearance plus color. This skin is removable for gaining access to the drive motors and electronic controls. … At present Gronk has the following features: 1) Moves forward, reverse, left, right, counter clock-wise and clockwise about its vertical axis. 2) Flashing collar lights (marquee style). 3) Modulated voice light (color organ principle). 4) Smoking ears." – Robbie and Gronk, by Keith Paul, Interface Age, April 1978.

[thomasisaslut]

Amorentia || Severus Snape x F!Hufflepuff Reader

Chapter Seven: Dinner & Discovery

Word Count: 1000

Now dinner time in the great hall the smell of the food wafts into your nostrils, you smell steaks, chicken, and even lamb. You walk to your Hufflepuff table and sit by your decent friend Cedric Diggory.

"[First Name]!" He smiles at you as you sit down but for some reason, it makes you aggravated. You take your seat beside him.

"Cedric." You reply, you reach your hand for some of the food before you and grab a small plate of lamb chops, a salad, and a nice bowl of freshly cut fruit. You begin to eat when the boy beside you speaks again.

"How's your day been?" Cedric asks, a small smile on his face as he speaks to you.

"Fine." You reply blankly.

His face deadpans at your lame reply, a small frown forming on his face. He nods then returns to eating his food.

Once he looks away you glance to the staff table where the teachers sit. Your eyes instantly fall on Professor Snape. You smile at him and your cheeks begin to heat up again. You can't help the giddy feeling in your chest—almost butterflies, perhaps that is what it is.

Around 30 more minutes pass of you staring at the Professor, shockingly he hasn't noticed. Soon enough students start to flee the great hall—finishing their dinner. When you go to stand you glance over to the staff table once more, Snape has already left. Your thoughts are shattered when you feel a hand on your shoulder, you turn around to see him standing there.

"Ms. [Last Name]." He speaks, and your face instantly flushes from something as small as his words.

"You have a potion to get to work on, remember?" His tone almost sounds teasing.

You nod.

"Then let us go." His hand remains on your shoulder for a brief period before letting go—almost hesitant.

The two of you soon reach the now empty potions classroom—the cold eerie sound of nothing off puts you but you can't help but feel excited.

You walk to the same dome-like room as you did the day prior, twisting in the key and striking on the gas for the flame to emerge. Once the blood-replenishing brew is back to bubbling you continue to add your ingredients. Since you're brewing with a large cauldron you have to triple the ingredients, yesterday you added the first batch and today is when you add the second. You pour in another gallon of the standard potioning water then walk to the supply cabinet in the other room to grab the other two ingredients. Once you reach the cubby you grab the powdered unicorn horn and stewed mandrake. You then return to the dome room and add the two ingredients to the bubbling cauldron.

While working you can't help to think of the man who sits a few feet from you, you can hear the sound of the quill scratching the parchment, and the clink of the ink jar every time the feather runs out. But the sound that distracts you the most was his grunts. Oh, how you wish you could make him make those noises.

"Ms. [Last Name]?"

You flinch and snap out of your thoughts at the sound of his voice. "Yes, Professor?"

A moment of silence passes before he speaks again.

"Are you done with the second addition to the potion?"

You nod.

"Good, come here." He motions with two fingers for you to approach.

You can feel heat rush to your cheeks and you do as told, walking closer to him and then stopping in front of him. Before you can say another word he grabs your upper forearm and tugs you closer to him. He then undoes your bandages.

"Looks like your wounds have healed." He states blankly but there is a hint of mischief in his eyes—as if he is plotting something.

"Tell me, Ms. [Last Name], did you get any of the Amorentia potion in the cuts when it first happened?" His tone almost sounds knowing.

"Yes sir, I did." You reply.

He smirks, "And tell me, who have you been obsessive over? Im sure the potion must've worked since it looked perfect when you brewed it."

Your eyes widen a bit in shock, did he know?

"Yes." You hear from the man before you.

"I'm sorry sir-"

He cuts you off, "Don't apologize." You still see a smirk on his face, he stands, his 6'1 figure looming over you, his grip on your arm not loosening.

"Tell me, Ms. [Last Name]. What has it been like fantasying over me?"

You feel your heat flushes as you realize that he does in fact know, but the question is how?

You hear a small chuckle from him. "I'm a master at all arts, you think at one point I wouldn't learn legilimency?"

Shit.

"I didn't expect you to see my thoughts, sir..." You mumble, still looking him in the eyes, your chest filled with the same anticipation and excitement from before—except—now there is a hint of fear.

"Well a student in my class was brewing Amorentia and it seeped into her veins, you expected me not to look?"

"Well-"

"Shush." He snaps.

Your lips shut instantly and you look at him nervously, he steps a bit closer, letting go of your arm and he cups you cheek so you're looking up at him again.

"Tell me, [First Name], did you have these thoughts prior to the potion?"

You hesitate but nod, no point in lying if he already knows.

He smirks, his hand still on your cheek as he connects your lips in a deep and passionate kiss. You're shocked but kiss back, your hands moving to his shoulders before he pulls away.

"Why did you stop?" You ask, a bit disappointed.

He smirks before pecking your forehead.

"You're dismissed, Ms. [Last Name.]" Are his final words to you before he motions for you to leave.

Chapter Eight:

[darknessillumina]

Criminal Minded

[Verse]

I replace teeth for fangs Commit lyrical arson spittin' flames Straight basketcase, you can't pace with my DNA It don't matter, we did it many times, many ways There's no going back! You want to kill? Kill today An dark world you will never return Got me lookin' for Heaven on Earth but What's the word? Gotta stomp on his neck to the curb Gang vet turf, there's no cure for the illest on Earth For real! Turn him a star, I'm ready to kill Dissolve it in acid just like Dennis Nil Known to execute pigs, no remorse what I feel Thugs and pigs love the mud, you're just a imbecile Suffer much embedded illusion I'm a Ted Bundy–Ed Gein demented fusion Known to put a tag on the toe of Bigfoot's missing link Mister Sinister of imagery and wizardry, I hate the drums Perforate your eardrums, but motherfucker, keep listening Yo, I find knowledge in the silence, you just pray I don't prey Flame pace change the pace to exchange the space As I fall abyss I crawl insist to go back to at least appreciate My smallest things, the tall swings in the ring like Nikolai Valuev I won't care for size, jab lips, they make big caskets When they cremate you, you're a grain like everyone else Too much pain in my dome make the headache burn like Hell I can't represent my folks, chinese culture is full of so much holes I shapeshift to a smoke, I invoke Zozo with the board and provoke Split figures disfigured, whenever I go I am followed By a huge swarm of crows (Oh) Interrogate wack rappers Like MIB with dark glasses past what the masses Pre-suppose the subjects of what we're rapping In my dream I am a lion or wolf, in reality my eyes Keep drippin' tears of foul mold, often never softened Like viral TikTok's, I am the virus and cough The castle of Holmes, Sherlock Holmes fucking uranium bombs Won't rest until we have at least one million songs Yeah.. Kickin' down Heaven's gates Eating lobsters over eleven plates Never safe as I love hard with the clever hate Then I infestate, trust me Consume the sun and the moon The gun and the tomb I wanna permanently change my human shape Close my eyes in Hell and wake in unpleasant place Legislate for me to never wake tired and feeling so laze I may be addicted when I masturbate and ejaculate To feel an temporary trance of satisfaction over constant hate (We talk about hate too much, man) Supreme beam, Grim Reaper, nice to meet ya Odds and heathens, gods and demons, icebox on heaters I'm a five-head-red-demon, keep it beneath your feet heated I'm the kind of nigga to slap Snoop Dogg's weed reefer Ghost phantom, roast Charles Manson, we're some fiery rhymers And if you snuck up under my bed, there's a bunch of hairy spiders Check my footsteps in the ground, you bastard It's like 9/11 crashin', gave brain damage Leave your frame smashed in due to lame fashion You must live in Atlantis, pop your average cabbage And kick your ass like Jackie Chan the drunken master I hate you babblin' while you cappin', nigga stay maddened Chop they mothafuckin' head off, cut his beard off Pour the Smirnoff, I rock a mask here like the Phantom of the Opera Circumstances gave me no options, I arson niggas proper When these cops go home, wanna kill some Black man nigga? I ain't the one! Drop 'em off a fuckin' rollercoaster Or smack 'em with my own PS4 controller (Oh shit) The scene gets bloody like Kangals fighting hyenas You niggas gangrenas (Gangrene) Gang green Grove vs. Ballas, I had plenty but not much Too much Henny in your guts, I promise I can Get you touched by one of these zombies on the corner Who squeeze you like the anacondas, run up on us And get crushed to utmost dust, the explosive about to erupt You see I barely started, but goddamn nigga, I think I had enough The villain of the slums (What the fuck?) I'm tryin' to keep my sanity's edge Whatever's left of jazz effects and Das EFX But that's what they said, the wicked never rest

[mayhemproduces]

Jake Clemons barely has time to ring for the bell before we’re off, as ANarChY, Ziggy, and Sardonyx go right after their opponents! Anything goes, tornado rules, and we apologize in advance as this one is going to be hard to follow. But we’re gonna do our best here, as we see everybody but the two gothic behemoths are the last two left in the ring, Ophelia bringing the fight to Matsumoto, everybody taking their fight to the floor and beyond. We see Parrow nail Sardonyx with a forearm, as Tiffany throws Violet into the barricade! Ziggy and Charles trade right hands. He goes for a chop, but Ziggy moves, and he hits the ring post! Parrow stuns Sardonyx with a headbutt, as Violet sends Tiffany stumbling with a powerful forearm. She hammers Parrow on the spine to help Sardonyx out, as inside the ring, Ophelia bulldozes through Matsumoto with a shoulder tackle! Holy shit! We’ve not seen anybody sweep Matsu off their feet like that since Brody King, and Ophelia does so without breaking a sweat! 

Off the ropes, Matsu drops down below Ophelia, and on the rebound, tries to flatten Ophelia with a running crossbody - but Ophelia grabs them to block it! It’s only for a quick moment, before Matsu lands on their feet, and drops Ophelia with VX! Outside of the ring, Sardonyx meets the business end of a chair, courtesy of Charles, who proceeds to choke her with it. While Violet and Tiffany have brought their fight through the Tabernacle, battling it out through the sea of hungry, rapid fans. Our attention moves back to the ring, as Ophelia eats some alternating forearms from Matsu, only for Mason to take them out with an uppercut. He nails Sardonyx with a sole kick before whipping her across the ring - but Sardonyx blocks, and nails him with a pop up knee strike! Mason stumbles into the corner, and Sardonyx batters him with a series of hits, forearms, and kicks, before pulling him out of the ropes, and planting him with a little snap Dragon suplex! Mason rolls out to the floor, aided to his feet by Parrow, when Sardonyx runs the ropes, and takes them both out with a barrel roll tope! Back in the crowd, Tiffany plants Violet with a spinning brainbuster, planting her on the venue floor! Ophelia and Matsu are back at it again, with Ophelia ducking under a clothesline from Matsu. She runs towards the ropes, but instead of bouncing off, she flies OVER the top, wiping out Sardonyx, Ziggy, Parrow, and Charles Mason! Holy shit! What the hell did we just see?!

The Tabernacle practically jumps to their feet as the Lady Monster takes flight, taking out foes and partners alike! Matsumoto looks on in shock for a moment, before an idea pops into their head. They might actually be thinking about taking flight too! It certainly seems like it - until they turn around, and come face to face with Tiffany Lee Ray. Tiff smirks, wide and wicked, while Matsu freezes in her presence. Eyes wide and full of fear, familiarity - before Ophelia flattens them with a lariat to the back of the head! Matsu gets taken down, and Tiffany starts ordering Ophelia around. Telling her to throw in chairs, light tubes, even a door. All of which are slid into the ring, while Tiff chokes Matsu out. Telling them, “You’re nothing but a lost doll, who needs to come home.” Ziggy tries to save Matsu, but Ophelia swings a chair at Ziggy’s head, and practically smacks her in the face with it! Like a pitcher hitting a home run, Ziggy just got knocked the fuck out! Matsu tries to sit up as Tiffany grabs a chair, staring them down, before cracking it over their back! Tiffany is waiting on Matsu with the chair, and Sardonyx tries to save her partner, only to get DOMED by a chair! Sardonyx drops like a sack of potatoes, and she may even be concussed after that! Ophelia is clearing house, ensuring that nobody interferes with their plans now, as Matsu is left to the hyenas.

With both members of the Dollhouse in possession of a chair, they bring their metal weapons crashing down onto Matsu’s back. Their spine, their shoulders, with nobody to save them now. Outside of the ring, Ziggy gets thrown headfirst into the ring post, courtesy of Mason, as Tiff and Ophelia do as they please, and Tiff wants to amp up the violence. Dragging several of the light tubes in the middle of the ring, she orders Ophelia to pick them up. Ophelia gozzles them, before lifting Matsu off their feet, and planting them across the light tubes with a HUGE Chokeslam! With an explosion of glass and gas, several tiny shards have now embedded themselves into Matsu’s back, and Tiffany holds them down into it! Lee Ray covers!

1… 2… Broken up!

Sardonyx and Violet break it up, keeping the match alive! Violet throws Tiffany out of the ring, as we see Ziggy turn the tables on Mason, chucking a chair right at his head! Inside the ring, Ophelia finds herself being ping-ponged by the three opponents inside the squared circle with her. Getting uppercutted by Sardonyx, forearmed by Matsu and Violet, before Matsu lifts Ophelia up. Violet runs the ropes, looking for the Boot of Doom on the stunned Ophelia - but Ophelia slides off, and pushes Matsu into Violet’s crosshairs! Violet accidentally kicks her own partner! Parrow enters the ring, and clobbers Violet! Mason takes out Sardonyx, lifting her up onto the top rope as Parrow moves around some furniture. Bridging the door across two chairs, as Mason nails Sardonyx with an enzuigiri. He climbs up, fighting back against Sardonyx, as Parrow looks to take care of Ziggy Haim on the outside - when she bashes him over the head with a light tube! Parrow gets cut open, as Mason puts Sardonyx through the door with a Superplex! Cover by Mason to take it here!

1… 2… Broken up!

Ziggy breaks it up by taking the broken edge of her light tube, and carving it across Mason’s forehead, cutting him wide open! Ziggy takes some of Charles’s blood, and wipes it across her own face, before smashing the remainder of her light tube against her own face! Our Fatales Champion might just be insane, but she’s got Atlanta hungry for more blood! Haim goes for a steel chair, as Tiffany re-enters the ring. Ziggy senses it, going to hit Tiff with her chair, but Tiffany rakes her eyes! Digging those long, blood red claws into Ziggy’s eyes, trying to dig them out of her skull! Tiffany settles for just going to hit her, but Ziggy sucks, and SMACKS Tiffany with the chair! Walloping her with it, and knocking Tiff straight out of the ring! Where Tiffany goes, the Monster follows, and Ziggy starts whacking Ophelia with the chair, too! Ziggy sends Ophelia packing!

It’s just Haim for a moment, but it’s short lived, as Mason nails her with a superkick! Matsu charges Mason, nailing them with a Superman Punch! Mason is out on his feet as Matsu starts in with the forearms, alternating from each arm, before Mason breaks it up by ducking. With a kick, a kick to the chest, and an enzuigiri, he’s got the Machine reeling, and he tries to toss them with a hurricanrana. But Matsu is far too powerful, and far too angry tonight, and holds onto Mason. They bring him up, from a powerbomb position to a fireman’s carry. Matsu then lifts him up, holding Mason high in a military press! Matsu matches around the ring before stopping on that spot of broken glass they were driven down onto, and drops Mason with YOMOTSU HIRASAKA! Driving Mason into the glass, and Matsu covers!

1… 2… Kickout!

Mason survives, and Matsumoto nearly gets their head taken off by a big boot from Ophelia! Ophelia gets flattened by a spinning leg lariat from Violet! But it’s not enough to keep the Lady Monster down. She’s able to reverse a whip, sending Violet into the corner and beelining after her. But Violet lifts herself up with the ropes, and drives Ophelia into the turnbuckles with Deadly Nightshade! Violet rolls back, preparing for a bronco buster, but she doesn’t get to deliver it, as Tiffany cuts her off with a kitchen sink! Nearly kneeing Violet’s guts right out of her back, Tiffany follows up with a full nelson, lifting Violet up, and slamming her down across her knee! Tiffany sits on a knee, smirking down at Violet, when she gets plowed through by Ziggy Haim, who nails her with a shining wizard! Parrow snatches Ziggy by the throat, lifts her HIGH into the sky, and plants her with a massive Chokeslam! Parrow gets run through by a bicycle knee strike from Sardonyx, who helps Ziggy get back to her, wobbly, feet, as we see that Ophelia and Matsumoto have started to brawl through the crowd, and seem to be making their way to the back of the venue, nearly the merchandise table.

Back inside the ring, Parrow is down, and Sardonyx and Ziggy are working together to make it stay that way. Grabbing Ziggys hands, Sardonyx flips her, and Ziggy crushes Parrow with the Painthriller! The Grindhouse’s old move could seal the deal!

1… 2… Kickout!

Parrow chucks Ziggy off of him to kick out, as they have more work to do to chop the big man down. Back in the crowd, Matsumoto has found a ladder, somehow, and is currently setting it up… oh boy… as Violet has gotten her hands on some real glass, smashing a light tube over Tiffany’s head, and busting her open! Ziggy has found a garbage can, and uses it to smash in Parrow’s head. Parrow is out in the corner, and Ziggy puts the garbage can in front of Parrow’s face, wedging it into the ropes. Sardonyx charges him, crushing Parrow’s face into the can with a Meteora! Sardonyx dislodges the chair so Parrow can fall forward, and Ziggy steps up off his back, and knocks him all the way down with a Fameasser! They have to work together to turn him over, and they both cover him.

1… 2… Mason pulls the ref out of the ring!

Ziggy tries to catch him with a baseball slide, but Charles grabs her by the ankles, and pulls her back into a Saito suplex, Dunkin her right on the floor! Mason and Sardonyx come face to face, and fist for fist. These two technical wrestlers trading barbs in the middle of the ring, going shot for shot, in the middle of this hardcore street fight. The type of match you can only get at Effy’s Big Gay Blockparty, Sardonyx wins the exchange, and plants Mason with a Northern Lights Bomb! She goes to cover, but there’s no referee! Ayers is sprinting down to the ring, and starts the count!

1… 2… Broken up!

Parrow breaks it up, but that’s not enough for him. He grabs Ayers by the shirt, and nails him with a headbutt! Another referee is down! Back in the crowd, we see that Ophelia is dropping with her own blood, and is laid out on the former merchandise table, and Matsu… Matsu is halfway up the god damn ladder! There’s no time to react before Matsu leaps off, putting Ophelia through the table with an elbow drop! Oh my god!

Parrow had found another door and hands it to Mason, who props it up into the corner. The two psychos get each other even more amped up before lifting Sardonyx into a double crucifix. They march forward, and throw her through the door! Jessica Carr is now in the ring, ready to officiate if  a pinfall, but Mason and Parrow instead choose to taunt. Parrow is on the middle rope, roaring at the crowd, as Mason stares at the other side of the arena. Mason never sees it coming, until Violet decks him with the End of Everything! On the other side of the ring, Ziggy has climbed up to the top rope, and brings Parrow crashing down from the second rope with the Mazeltov Cocktail! Shoulders down!

1… 2… 3!

“Here are your winners, Sardonyx, ANarChY, and the MPW Fatales Champion, Ziggy Haim!”

[wildgirlcinna]

FFXIVWRITE 2022:  Prompt #11(ish) - Found

(I got my days mixed up, forgot to check @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast‘s page this afternoon, and thought someone else’s wild-card prompt from yesterday (#11) was today’s (#12).  So this won’t be an official entry, but it came out cute, and I figured folks would like it!)

"What the fook!"

Cinna's Void senses pinged a mere instant before her mother's surprised exclamation, followed by the sound of a coffee mug crashing to the stone floor. Cinna spun around from her post at the kitchen worktable, where she’d been chopping peppers to help with dinner, to find the Midlander woman staring in awe at the mess at her feet.  But it wasn't the ceramic shards that held her attention; it was the kitten-sized ball of midnight-black fluff that rested amongst the debris.  And anyone without Void sight might have said it was an actual kitten, but for the wisps of dark purple smoke that rose from the creature.

"Is that...?" Adeline asked, crouching down to get a closer look at the fluff, while still keeping a safe distance.  Her daughter had related plenty of stories about Voidsent who looked adorable, only to take large bites out of unsuspecting would-be petters.

"Twelve have mercy, Mom, that's a Void dragon!" Cinna kept her voice down, trying not to attract further attention from folks in the common room, which there were fortunately few at this hour before the evening meal.  Leaving her knife by the peppers, she knelt down beside her mother, weaving a protective dome-shaped shield around the critter, at the same time examining it further with her aether senses.  "He's young, barely out of the shell... how did he get in here?"

"Gods only know," Addy answered. "He was curled up in a coffee mug. Good thing I thought to look before I started pouring.”

Stunned, the creature stayed motionless for a few seconds, then began shaking out its tiny limbs – two arms, two legs, and finally a pair of leathery wings – before rising unsteadily, looking around the room in surprise.  It blinked at Addy for a couple seconds before turning its eyes upon Cinna and letting out an adorable roar (which was admittedly more of a squeaky growl) along with a tiny jet of purple flame.

“Does he like you, or was that a roar of annoyance?” Addy asked with a chuckle.

“He’s a bit off-kilter, but he’s definitely drawn to me.”  Tentatively, Cinna extended a hand; the little dragon sniffed it, gave a lick with a tiny forked tongue, then climbed up on the miqo’te’s palm. “Whatcha think, lil’ guy?  Do I smell familiar?”  With a happy little heated sneeze that warmed the skin on her hand, her new friend proceeded to claw his way up her arm – leaving minuscule pinpricks that burned like little jabs of fire – and perch on her shoulder. Fortunately he seemed to keep his balance well, with no further claw-aided steadiness required.

Cinna sighed with amused resignation as she rose to her feet.  “I suppose I’ll be looking after him now.”  Her new pet nuzzled against her cheek with more warm contented snorts.  “I’m glad I was here when he showed up; he’s cute and all, but you know how quickly things can go south with Voidsent.”

Addy nodded soberly, standing up also.  “I… forgot about this until now, but your father found a Voidsnake in the stables last month.  All snarly and nasty, black as tar with grey stripes, dripping with who knows what. Fortunately he was able to kill it before it got to the chocos.”

“Mom!  Why didn’t you tell me!?” Cinna protested.  “What if a guest had come across it instead of Dad?”

Now it was Addy’s turn to sigh, running a hand through her long blond hair.  “You are absolutely right, of course.  We should have sent for you immediately.  But I know how busy you are, and I never want to bother you.”

“These things are literally my job,” Cinna replied, reaching up with a hand to steady the dragonet, who had decided to crawl up on her head and nestle in her fluffy hair.  “I’ve told you before, you and Dad and the inn will always be my first priority, so never feel reluctant to buzz me on the linkpearl.  Have either of you found anything else you forgot about?”

“No, just the snake,” Addy replied, grabbing the broom and dustpan to sweep up the shards of the coffee mug. “But now with this little guy showing up, I wonder if a pattern may be emerging.  We’ll keep a closer eye out.”

“Good.”  Cinna smiled at her mother, then leaned in to give her a warm hug.  “My new dragon hat and I are gonna take a quick circuit of the grounds, see if I can sense anything.  Might put up a ward or two just in case.  Then I’ll be back to help with dinner!”

[gnocchighoul]

wax feathers // melting sun

summary: 

He can’t be serious.  You squint. Diavolo offers you a playful grin—innocent and boyish. Holy shit, he’s serious.

(Diavolo catches your eye and you come to realize that angels aren’t the only ones at risk of falling. It’s the beginning of the end.)

warnings: mc is wearing a dress, but pronouns aren’t specified.

The sight of the Demon Lord’s Palace is one that never grows old. It’s a vision straight out of a dark fairytale—black stone walls that crack open the waxy full moon, branching off into a vertical maze of arching bridges and twisting towers. Golden light spills out of the glass domed ballrooms, swallowed up by the black maw of sky. 

It’s ancient. Humming with an energy older than time itself—something powerful. Forbidden and curious. 

In your more rational moments, you think you should be afraid. That you shouldn't try—shouldn't want—to get too close. To the palace. To the golden boy within.

It’s a bit too late for that.

You glance briefly at the party goers, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lord Diavolo. He’s nowhere in sight—all around you are demons of all shapes and sizes, horns and scales and sharp teeth gleaming in the golden lights. 

The fruity fragrance of alcohol pierces through the savoury scent of food, pulling your attention to a long table, stationed near the enormous champagne tower. An enthusiastic Beel has settled himself in and is already tearing into an impressive spread of food.

In the edge of your vision you see Asmo, prowling nearby and nursing a flute of Cristal Acid Champagne. Sinking his teeth into his first target of the night: a flustered waiter who is very quickly losing interest in their job, clearly more taken with the prospect of Asmo—well, ah, taking them. Across the way, a brunette woman in magenta chiffon is eyeing the two of them in a very brazen manner, and you can’t help but make a face when Asmo beckons her over with a grin that’s all pearly-white teeth and unspoken promises.

The Avatar of Lust isn’t the only one attracting attention. This isn’t your first rodeo at the Demon Lord’s palace, but with the way demons are openly ogling you, it certainly feels that way. Unless you want to get swept up into a dance with a stranger, you need to find one of the brothers in the next five seconds—

“You’re here!” booms an awfully familiar voice, and you pivot, heart jumping in your chest, yards of sky blue satin twisting with you. Diavolo stands before you, arms spread wide, grin shining bright as the sun. He swoops in for a hug, and in an instant his arms are around you—enveloping you whole, crushing you against his left boob and all but knocking the air from your lungs. He pulls back after a moment, holding you at an arm’s length to admire you. “You look stunning.”

Heat travels down your neck—you nervously smooth down the fabric of your dress. "I think Asmo did well in the outfit department.” 

“Better than well,” Diavolo says, and your breath catches in your throat. His voice is a low timbre, rich like honey and twice as sweet and oh what you wouldn’t give to drown in it.

But, you notice it then—music. Light and airy, swelling slowly into something buoyant and thrilling. 

Whatever you were going to say to Diavolo dies on your tongue as a few couples stride past, and you peer around him to see what’s going on. Between the gaps of the crowd you catch sight of couples dancing, twirling around the dancefloor in a colorful, well versed harmony.

“Hm?” Diavolo notices your momentary lapse of attention and looks back over his shoulder. “Oh, I see. I’m quite fond of this waltz… Dance with me?” He smiles, and holds his hand out to you, palm up.

Your eyes widen, and you think, Oh, shit.

Dancing. Waltzing. In theory? Simple. But in reality… 

“I’m not very good,” you confess. 

“No worries. I’ll lead.” he says.

Briefly, you wonder if this is allowed. The idea is a striking one—you, weird little human that you are, dancing with the Prince of Hell. 

This has to be a breach of conduct, surely. The Devildom is rife with customs that you haven’t fully grasped, and even more that you’re simply unaware of. One little dance can’t hurt though… probably. You are one of Diavolo’s exchange students, after all—it would be weirder if he didn’t pay you any attention. Right? 

After all, Lord Diavolo is the one pushing for good relations between all three realms, so spending time with you in a public setting would probably be good for appearances. Yes.

Ugh. You sound like Lucifer.

Diavolo looks amused by your hesitancy—his molten gold eyes dazzling. 

Warmth. Like the sun. 

You think of Icarus. Of wax and feathers—of a light heart that knew nothing of fear. 

You’re supposed to be having fun.

You slip your hand in Diavolo’s own, much larger one, a smile tugging at your lips. “Alright.” 

He beams at you, and your heart flutters within your chest. There’s no time to dwell on it—he’s already tugging you towards the other dancing couples, feet moving in time with the music.

Diavolo stands directly in front of you and gently guides your left hand up his right arm, laying it just below his shoulder. Your fingers thread nervously into the soft black fur of his shawl—you’ve known for some time now that the future king is a beefcake, but holy hell is he dense. His right hand comes to rest firmly in the center of your back as he takes your free hand securely into his own. He pulls you closer. You have to tilt your head up to look at him.

He makes you feel so small.

“Ready?” Diavolo asks.

You nod, pushing your shoulders back and your chin up. 

You’re a little stiff and a tad clumsy. Diavolo takes it in good stride, thousands of years of experience making up for your woeful lack of. You’re so focused on where your feet are going and trying to not get tangled up in your skirts that you don’t notice the curious observers around you. 

Diavolo murmurs instructions for you, counting in time with the music. You don’t have time to be embarrassed, focused as you are on not stepping on the prince’s feet. 

...For a third time.

As if he can read your mind, he cheerily says, “You’re catching on fast! Why, you’ve only stepped on my foot twice!” 

There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that raises heat to the tips of your ears. 

Out of the corner of your eye you see Lucifer, who most definitely heard that and is now gawking at you like you’ve chopped off your hand and hurled it at him. You know in your heart that you’re going to get an earful later. Phooey.

You squeeze Diavolo’s hand, only a little bit accusingly. “I did try to warn you.” 

He makes an agreeable mm sound. “Well, you’ve got me there.” 

He pauses then—eyes shining like he’s got the winning hand. “Let’s try something else, yes?” 

He stops moving, and you with him—he leans in close, whispers into your ear.

You blink, once. Twice.

“Wait… seriously?” 

Diavolo nods.  “Mhm."

He can’t be serious. 

You squint. He offers you a playful grin—innocent and boyish. 

Holy shit, he’s serious.

Well, in that case… 

You step onto his shoes, this time on purpose (it’s free real estate, baby), and now you’re moving. Gliding. The song swells into something bright and joyful, and a laugh bubbles past your lips when he spins you in a wide circle. You feel like a child again—a bit ridiculous, excitement thrumming through your veins and a lightheadedness that leaves you intoxicated. Weightless. Free. 

You could stay like this for hours, you realize. Part of you wants to, even. 

All too soon, the music begins to fade. Diavolo spins you to the edge of the crowd and slows to a stop. A bit regretfully, you take a step back, the sudden lack of his warmth stinging bitter cold and hollow in your chest.

He smiles, then—presses soft lips to the back of your hand and murmurs, “Thank you for the dance—the first of many, I hope.” 

You melt, a bit.

Diavolo burns like the sun and you know—you know—that to stand by his side, to feel his warmth on your skin and to bloom in his light—you will pay a certain price. Plucked feathers and waterlogged lungs.

You wonder if Icarus regretted it. 

Your eyes stray for a moment, gaze passing over Diavolo’s shoulder—locking with red-onyx ones.

You smile.

“I would like that.” 

[cherrybombwritesstuff]

Guardian of the Shrine

Tengu Kirishima x Fem Reader fic

Explicit/Smut

This is part of the Citrus Dome server collab Gods AU! 

Masterlist coming soon @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten​

ENJOY!

Black, swirling shadows circled your ankles, reached out to capture your fingers as you instinctively flinched away; legs stuck in their place as though encased in blocks of ice. Your own gasping breaths filled your ears along with your thudding heartbeat. Despite how much you willed your eyes to shut they remained open, unblinking and staring at the inky void before you. The shadows rushed together, spiraling and entwining around each other until a tall figure formed in the distance. Angled shoulders jutted out each side, obscenely long arms dripped out of the writhing mass and they shakily began to reach forward, reach for you. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes wide in horror as the figure shunted closer still. 

“Never...forgive…” 

The words drilled into your ears. Long, black tendrils of hair slithered about the being’s shoulders and didn’t stop when they reached the floor, pooling around the creature’s pale ankles as more of it’s flesh became visible. The hair crept forward, inching its way to your trapped feet no matter how much you tried to squirm and writhe out of your stuck position. 

“I’ll never...forgive…”

The summer air was thick as you gulped it down, chest rising and falling as you gasped for air. Your blankets were a twisted mess crumpled at your side. Sweat dappled your skin as you lay sprawled out on your futon, back in the comforting darkness of your room. A soft whimper left your dry lips as you wiped your forehead and tried to steady your racing heart. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness you reached to your side, grabbing hold of the talisman you had kept from your childhood.

“Baku-san.” you said between breaths, “Baku-san, come eat my dream.”

Morning sun streamed through your modest home and you stirred awake. The horrors of the night were still fresh in your mind, yet it appeared as though the Baku had consumed any further nightmares and you were able to sleep peacefully until the morning. With a groan, you pulled yourself from your blankets and straightened them out before you began your morning ritual. Your first task was to leave a piece of candy on your pillow for the zashiki warashi who had kindly taken up residence in your home. From a very early age you had been able to see and interact with yokai, something you had always considered a blessing rather than a curse. Your parents would catch you talking to guestroom children, or sneaking a bottle of fine sake outside for the troublesome tanuki. 

You wandered barefoot outside, patches of sunlight warming your skin as you collected water to wash. The forest was calm, quiet other than the birds and wind as it whistled through the bamboo. The water was a cold addition to the chilly morning breeze, but it was a welcome necessity, waking you up for the full day of tasks ahead. Fully dressed with your hair pinned up, you prepared a simple lunch and packed it along with a container of water and your broom. Your isolated home was a short walk from the shrine, but admittedly those stairs made your thighs ache. Respectfully bowing at the Torii, you noticed the path was mercifully clear of leaves and debris, a testament to your hard work. 

After purifying at the chozuya, you continued to the shrine which was looking much better than the pitiful state you found it in. It had long been abandoned, possibly because of the overwhelming yokai activity in the area, though many of the stories you heard could have been attributed to bandits and wandering thieves. You had restored it to the best of your abilities, cleaning away dead plants and moss where you could. The warm sun streamed against the shrine, highlighting the dips and curves of the long nosed Tengu mask that sat there. You reached the top and clapped your hands once before pressing your palms together in prayer. Silently asking for purification, for release from the blackness that haunted your dreams and followed your every footstep. The shadow was the reason you moved away from your town, choosing the seclusion of the forested mountains to protect your loved ones. It had been your hope that by pleasing the yokai you could find help, something to appease the darkness or banish it from your life entirely. But it only seemed to be getting closer with every night that passed. 

"Good morning." You said brightly as you could muster. 

Setting your food aside, you took your broom and started sweeping. The shrine needed regular upkeep and you were the only person available for miles around. At first, your intention had been a trade, for the guardian of the shrine to protect you from whatever it was that tormented you. As time went on, attending to the shrine brought you a sense of peace, as well as something of a companion in your self imposed solitude. After briefly tidying up, you sat at the shrine and unwrapped your food. 

"It's going to be a sunny day today, I should be able to visit the lake without getting caught in the rain." 

It was quiet. The only replies you could hear were from the chirping morning birds. It would always be a one way conversation, but you could feel an unmistakable presence in this place. Someone or something would always listen to you. 

"I um. I dreamed about him again. I think at this point, Baku-san may grow fat from the dreams I ask him to take…"

Dread pooled in the pit of your stomach. An unpleasant squeeze at your chest caught your breath as you tried to take a few more bites of rice. 

"I don't think I have much time. I can feel it getting closer to me…" 

Your smile faded, eyes stinging with unshed tears before you could gather yourself in front of the shrine. 

"But I'm not giving up! A-and I'll keep coming here as long as I can…I don't want you to be lonely again." 

A surge of despair was the very first feeling that hit you the first time you ascended these steps. The shrine had been forgotten and whatever lingered here abandoned along with it. The overwhelming wave of sadness that enveloped you that day completely distracted from your own plight. Originally the plan was to ask for help, but it was apparent there was something here that needed it more. 

"Maybe if it reveals itself, I can talk to it and find out why it's so angry…" 

You weren't fooled by your own shaky tone and apparently, neither was the being in the shrine. As you finished your half of the food, warmth began to radiate from the Tengu mask. It draped over your shoulders like a comforting blanket, easing your nerves as you sighed out your frustrations. With every visit, the presence grew stronger as though you could almost reach out and touch a tangible being. 

"Thank you…" 

As much as you wanted to remain there, the day's list of tasks was long and if you wanted to sustain yourself, you had to get started. You stood and took hold of the empty lunchbox from yesterday, leaving half of your food behind to share with your only friend out here. It was always gone by the time you came back, though you couldn't exactly prove who was finishing it off. Dusting off your knees, you respectfully bowed and said your goodbyes before heading back down the steps to the shrine and into the forest. Heat rose along with the sun. Splashing your face with the clear water of the lake helped somewhat and you hoped the locals wouldn't mind. You left a new batch of cucumbers floating there, knowing the Kappa would appreciate them and, who knows, maybe they could eventually help ward off your demons. There was still hope but your heart grew heavier as the day went on. A full day of chores would ensure you slept despite your fear, though you couldn't help but wonder if you would even wake up again the next morning. 

With aching feet you trudged back through your door, announcing your return out loud for your own benefit. The candy left out had mysteriously disappeared which brought the touch of a smile to your cheek. The sun burned an angry red as it disappeared over the horizon, forcing yourself to light the lanterns around your modest home. Your limited crops had been tended to, bamboo and wood had been chopped and you had collected enough water for your bath, which you sorely needed by now. After a simple meal, you washed the labours of the day from your skin before climbing into the steaming tub for a soak. The hot water soothed your aching muscles, but the heat couldn't penetrate that cold, sickly feeling in the pit of your stomach. It was there. Its presence was weak, but it grew with every passing hour of the night. The shadows around you flickered in the low light of the lantern flames, at least that's what you told yourself. Movement kept grabbing your attention, twitching at the corners of your eyes until you sharply turned to glance behind you. 

Nothing, nothing you could see with a naked eye that is. You released a breath you had been holding and rubbed your eyes, looking again just to make sure. This time something did catch your eye, small and unassuming but it hadn't been there a second ago. You rose out of your bath, wrapping a towel around you as you closed in on the unfamiliar object. Your eyes adjusted and you recognised a long, black feather placed neatly on the ground by the door as though it were waiting for you. Instinctively you picked it up and immediately you could feel a tingling warmth radiating up your fingertips. Its origin was a mystery but for some bizarre reason, holding it brought you comfort. Given the amount of yokai you had been trying to appease, it could have been a gift from any one of them. Maybe this could bring you peace tonight. With a hopeful smile you quietly thanked the gifter before changing into your night wear and letting your hair down. Your intention was to place the feather under your pillow before you slept, that was until you threw back the covers to your futon.

Hidden underneath was the shattered remains of the Baku charm. The amulet that had protected you from nightmares since childhood lay in pieces, sadistically spread out beneath your blankets for you to find. A helpless whimper escaped you before you could stop it. Exhaustion from the relentless dread and the days work enveloped your limbs regardless of your discovery. With a heavy sigh, you collected the pieces and sadly gathered them in a pile at the side of your bed. Kneeling at its side, you clutched the feather close to your chest, its softness bringing you a little comfort, but it couldn't banish the darkness that was now rapidly closing in. An uneasy pang twisted your gut and you opened your eyes, frantically looking around your room. Breath caught in your throat when you noticed small, scattered holes in the Shoji. Against your better judgement, you crawled a little closer to inspect them, only to be met with the staring mokumokuren. Instantly you jumped back in fright, shuffling away from what must have been dozens of disembodied eyes, completely trained on you. They weren't here to harm you however, they were here to watch. 

The air turned thick and suffocating, like a miasma of oppressive fear. The shadows around you curled and moved, revealing their true forms of long tendrils of black hair. You shook your head in disbelief, gasping for breath as it slithered from the corners of your room. 

"...never forgive…" 

Those words hit you into reality and you scrambled to your feet on trembling limbs. A ghostly white set of hands shifted through the wall, long fingers reaching for you. Fear gripped your body, the only command that echoed through your head seemed to be whispered over and over outside the house; run. Almost tripping over your own feet, you turned on your heel to flee. A searing, white hot pain hit your shoulder, forcing your torso to twist as you hurtled out of the door. Landing hard on your knees, you paused to look back, horrified to find a burning black hand print on your bare shoulder. Heavy footsteps thundered through your home, pale arms and feet almost glowed in the darkness and you recognised the figure lurching towards you as the same one that haunted your nightmares. His hair almost reached the ground, twisting around his jagged shoulders. Dressed entirely in white robes that enveloped his gaunt figure. Black, sunken circles sat where his eyes should have been. His pace was slow, until a random jerk of movement pulled him forward, closer to you. Inwardly you begged your limbs to move, fingernails scratching at the dirt to drag yourself away. 

"I'll never...forgive you…" 

What did those words even mean? It seemed as though you would die tonight never knowing. Your eyes burned with tears as you crawled further away. A flash of red fur caught your attention, snapping your head to look at the path before you. A fox stood inches from you, its golden eyes locked on yours before it turned and dashed towards the forest trees. It stopped before disappearing, glancing back at you, waiting for you to follow. His fur seemed to glow, sending a sliver of hope to your stomach and it pulled you to your feet. Foxes were messengers, this had to be the help you had been looking for. The creature was fast but wouldn't let you lose sight of it, stopping every now and then to allow you to keep following up the steps of the shrine. The darkness continued to trace your footsteps, blackness curling through the ground like an infection spreading, filling everything it touched. You stumbled on the stone in your bare feet, lungs burning as you finally reached the top, only to have that same searing pain from before grasping around your ankles. You fell hard on your stomach, kicking at the creature as tendrils of black hair began to travel up your legs. 

"Let go!! I didn't do anything to you!" you cried out as it climbed over your body. 

"I'll never forgive you!" It roared back in response. 

The fox shrieked, its fur bristling as it faced the ghostly creature. The pain on your legs subsided and your attacker snarled as it suddenly retreated back. Light pooled at the base of the shrine, gently swirling around you and creating a barrier which the being refused to touch. It was cool to the touch, bringing some relief to your burning skin. Long black feathers started drifting around you, floating gracefully to the ground and you realised the creature's attention was no longer on you, it was staring above your head at something that stood behind you. d, straight past you. 

“Why are you still here?” 

The voice was unfamiliar, yet oddly soothing. You turned away from the monster to find yourself gazing up at a man, face covered in the Tengu mask from the shrine and shoulders obscured by two large, feathery wings. He stepped around you, protective light surrounding him as he placed himself between you and the gaunt man. 

“She...She’s gone… it’s their fault. Their fault...THEIR FAULT!” 

You covered your ears as the spirit wailed, cowering behind the tall being as he relaxed his wings, creating a wider guard between you. 

“This girl isn’t who you’re looking for. Your love died years ago…” 

The black hair was retracting, slithering back to a shorter length around the creatures shoulders. It shook its head, bony fingers clawing at its scalp as it’s shrill voice dissolved into a whimper.

“Their fault… theirs…” 

The winged man reached out, resting a large hand on the spirit’s shoulder.

“Your love died in childbirth right?”

A pathetic wail escaped his crooked mouth. You peered around your protector’s robes, your heart stopping when you noticed large tears oozing out of the creature’s sunken eyes.

“Let go of your grudge my friend. Then you’ll be able to see her, she’s been waiting for you.” 

Time seemed to halt around you. Falling feathers slowed mid air and a deafening silence swept through the forest.  The monster’s visage seemed to crack, peeling away like rust to reveal a dark haired young man, tears streaked across his face. The kind being gently turned his shoulder, inviting him to cast his eyes to the bottom of the steps to the shrine. She stood inside the archway, a beautiful young woman dressed in white. The spirit whispered her name before heading down the stone steps. The black infection that stained the ground retreated with every step he took, disappearing completely when he closed the gap between him and the smiling woman. Swirling light surrounded the both of them, but before you could witness their fate, the winged man turned to face you, intentionally blocking out the event as time began to flow normally once again. 

“You’re safe now!” he said brightly, head tilted to the side. 

You simply couldn’t find the words, not after what you had witnessed. Hell you couldn’t even make sense of it yet. The roaming light faded, leaving you both bathed in the moonlight. 

“Are you alright?” he questioned after a brief silence, taking a moment to remove the mask. 

He seemed not to notice your eyes widen as you took in the sight. Beneath the mask was the face of a man, high cheekbones surrounded by spikes of red hair. After the night’s events nothing really should have surprised you, yet you still felt unprepared for how handsome he was…

“I-I um… what...who was that person?” 

He knelt down by your side, taking your comparatively small hand in his while resting the other on your shoulder. The danger was gone, but you were still shaking. 

“That was an Onryo… from what I can tell he’s been haunting your family for generations.” 

His matter of fact tone caught you off guard, yet you nodded as though you understood. 

“I...I see. And um...wh-who are you?” 

His eyes widened and he scratched at the back of his head. His mouth curved in a wide, embarrassed smile that revealed two rows of sharp teeth. 

“Oh yeah! Probably should have introduced myself huh? My name is Kirishima Eijirou, this is my shrine.” 

His tone was bright and welcoming, a stark contrast to the horrors you had faced moments ago. He read your blank expression and let out a sympathetic chuckle.

“Let me get you home… you’ve had a rough night huh?” he grinned before slipping his powerful arms beneath you and lifting you off of the ground. 

You could feel your cheeks burning as he held you against his broad chest, bare skin showing through flowing, open robes. He walked down at a steady pace, as though you weighed barely anything to him as he carried you. 

“Um… Kirishima?” 

He hummed in response, looking down at you in anticipation. You held your breath, sure that your cheeks were turning the same colour as his hair. 

“Do you know why I was being targeted by that spirit? You seemed to know who he was…”

He cleared his throat and glanced away for a moment.

“Oh uh, I was looking into it for you. I could feel it clinging to you when you first started visiting the shrine… so I asked for some help!” 

You studied his face as he spoke, a little taken by his sculpted jawline and in the limited light it almost looked as though his cheeks were turning a warm shade of pink. 

“The Baku told me about your dreams, it wasn’t difficult to figure it out from there. I just had to find the person he was mourning.” 

It didn’t seem as easy as he was making it sound. 

“His love died in childbirth a few generations back. Looks like he was shunned from her family after that, his child was taken and raised without him. I’m not sure how he died but his pain lingered. He haunted the descendants of that family...but it looks like he was really able to get to you huh?”

He gestured to the blackened handprint seared into your shoulder, careful not to touch it. The cool night air grazed your skin and it made you realise how exposed your nightwear had left your skin. Awkwardly you pulled the material closer, shielding what flesh you could under Kirishima’s lingering gaze. 

“I’m sorry…” he murmured.

“I wish I could have helped you sooner. You must have been so scared…” 

Your heart fluttered a little, his eyes cast down in guilt. Without hesitation you reached for his cheek, caressing his skin with your thumb. 

“It’s alright, really! You protected me, I owe you my life…” 

He didn’t shy away from your touch but you could feel him stiffen, mouth hanging open slightly as blood rushed to  his ears and cheeks. Your eyes locked with his, melting what little confidence you had and you retracted your hand quicker than you intended. 

“Ah...nah. It was the least I could do…”

It wasn’t long before you were home but he didn’t let go, carrying you through to your bedroom. Your lanterns flickered on as he passed them, lighting the room enough to highlight the shining black feathers of his beautiful wings. He set you down carefully on top of your futon and you noticed the little holes from before had disappeared from the shoji. 

“Now then… the curse should be gone, but uh… those marks are going to leave some nasty scars.” he explained, noting the cruel handprints on both of your legs. 

They still stung, though they were a little less angry from when they were inflicted. Kirishima sat back on his haunches, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

“I uh, I could help heal them for you but, it may feel a little strange.” 

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, still attempting to wrap your mind around the being before you. 

“You’re a Tengu aren’t you? I didn’t know you could heal people…” 

He barked a laugh at that, gaining a little confidence as his wings bristled with pride. 

“Oh yeah! We can do a lot of things you wouldn’t know about.” he said with a wink, and you had to wonder if he even realised how damned suggestive that had come across as. 

“Well… I know I can trust you. I can handle a little strangeness after tonight.” you reassured him with a smile. 

His smile seemed to widen at that and he moved in a little closer. 

“Alright then. Just lie there and relax for me, ok?”

You weren’t sure if you were still jumpy after the attack, or if it had only just properly dawned on you that you were alone in your bedroom in the presence of a very attractive yokai, but the way he hovered over your body sent your heard thudding violently in your chest. He began at your legs, large, calloused hands drifting over the soft skin of your calf. He held your ankle so delicately, contrasting the power that must have lay beneath those thick muscles of his arms. A tingling sensation caressed your skin where he touched you, pulsing through your skin like a soothing massage. With utmost care, he lifted your leg a little higher and pressed a soft kiss to the afflicted area. Before you could stop it, a quiet moan escaped your lips in response; had your skin always been this sensitive? With a hand over your mouth, you watched as he took your other leg and repeated the same actions. You couldn’t help but watch, noting how his eyes shut when he kissed your ankle, how long his lashes were and how they complimented his masculine features. Even though you bit down on your tongue, a quiet moan was caught against your hand and the warm, tingling sensations in both of your legs lingered even after he let go. There was no time to recover as he moved upwards, reaching over to your shoulder to gently pull your clothing away from it.  

“Just one more to go. But I can stop if you need me to…”

Catching your breath, you reached out to him, small hands grasping at his firm shoulders. 

“Please...don’t stop.” you asked him, eyes glazing over with the pleasurable touches that continued to ghost your legs. 

The Tengu climbed over you with a wolfish grin, caging you in with his sculpted arms. 

“Very well… you asked for it, little one.” 

His fingertips tickled your skin before you could regret your choices, glancing over the final burn and instantly easing the sting. This time you didn’t hold back your voice, mewling shamelessly as his lips once again met your flesh. He didn’t stop at one, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone and with each touch he left behind those delectable tingles that pulsed through your body. 

“Ahh! K-Kirishima…” you whimpered, writhing beneath him as pain transformed completely into pleasure. 

“Do you want me to stop? Or do you want me to keep going…” he breathed against your neck, sharp teeth grazing you before he nipped at your ear. 

“Kirishima… I want you, please I… I need you…” 

You could barely register the words that left your mouth, but you couldn’t find it in you to regret them. This rescue wasn’t your first meeting, he felt far too familiar for that. This yokai, this man  had been your only meaningful company while you suffered a curse. The energy he poured into you was the same you felt everyday at the shrine and you refused to let it go. 

“As you wish…” he whispered before peeling your robes from your body.

He moved over you fully, pressing his mouth against yours in a passionate, breathless kiss. His thick fingers ran through your hair and he moaned against you. 

“I’ve waited for this…” he admitted, kissing a path down your chest. 

His hands took hold of your breasts, fingertips gently pressing into your pliant flesh as his mouth closed over your nipple. Your back arched, his touch electric that ran currents through your entire being. 

“Keep making those sounds for me little one… don’t you dare stop.” he growled against you. 

He continued down, spreading your thighs and pinning them there as he took in the sight of you. 

“You’re so beautiful y/n...so damned beautiful.” 

Your eyes flew open as he nibbled at your inner thigh, sucking little purple marks into your soft flesh. 

“Y-you...you know my name?” you breathed, hips bucking as he kissed his way closer to your mound. 

“I do...I’ve known since you started restoring my shrine.” 

He took hold of your hips, keeping them still as he placed teasing kisses down the length of your slit. 

“You’re mine y/n. I knew from the first time you came to me… I had to claim you for myself…” 

You bit your lip as his tongue separated your silken folds, sliding up and back down again before he circled your sensitive clit. He groaned in satisfaction at your taste, upping his efforts as he lapped at your nectar hungrily. He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, strong hands securing you down as he took that sensitive little pearl between his lips and flicked his tongue against it. 

“Ohhh fuck!! K-Kirishima...you’re gonna make me…” 

You barely had time to warn him before it hit, jolts of tingling pleasure pulsing through your body, shaking you to your very core. He pressed his tongue against you, continuing to drink your essence as you squirmed in his grip. 

“Good girl… my good girl…” 

He released you and pushed himself to his knees, stripping himself of his robes and stretching out his wings before he climbed back over you. Gazing up at him through your lashes, you were able to appreciate his body in full. Solid muscle rippling beneath his skin as though he had been sculpted by a master. His cock was thick, fully erect and you could barely stand the wait. You need him inside you, to fill you and claim you just like he said he would. He crawled back over you, the tip of his cock trailing against your thigh before it pressed against your soaked, needy cunt. 

“Tell me what you want little one...I need to hear you say it…”

His lids were heavy, drunk with lust for you as he kept himself from sheathing his cock inside your welcoming pussy right then and there. You reached up, your fingernails tracing his scalp as you pulled him in for a hungry kiss. 

“Kirishima...please fuck me. I need you to take me…” 

“Oh fuck… good girl…” he growled before finally thrusting his hips and bottoming out inside you. 

You held onto his neck, coaxing him to hold you close as he moved against you. It was impossible to hold back, moaning and mewling against his ear as he fucked you, his thick shaft filling you perfectly, the head of his cock pressing against every sensitive spot you had. Without warning he wrapped his arms around your lower back, lifting you up to sit on his lap as he impaled you over and over. You clung to him as you brought your hips up and down and matched his rhythm. He was beautiful even now, face contorted with pure pleasure as you clenched around his cock. He groaned against you, holding you against his glistening skin. 

“Fuck… you’re mind little one...all mine…” 

He quickened his pace, his moans echoing through the room along with the clashing of flesh as he neared his limit. Your thighs tensed, white hot pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach as you reached the edge of your second orgasm. 

“Oh fuck… fuck you feel so damned good… so good!” 

He called out as he released, filling you with hot fluid as you milked his cock for everything he had. You followed a second after him, squeezing around his twitching shaft as your head fell back, dark spots forming in your vision as you both fell together in ecstasy. Kirishima rocked backwards, landing less than gracefully on his back with you clinging to his chest. For a few blissful moments you lay there, painting for breath, sweat glistening on your skin. 

“Damn little one...heh, who knew you had it in ya!” he laughed, his chest bobbing as you lay on top of it. 

Still too spaced out to talk, you lay against him with a smile and lightly kissed his chest. 

“Hey uh… was this, really ok?” 

His question surprised you, almost as much as the uncertainty in his voice. 

“I mean… after everything that happened to you tonight. I’d hate to think you regretted it or somethin’... So, was this ok?” 

He gazed down at you, eyes wide with worry that he may have just crossed the line. How could a powerful Tengu be this damned cute? You shook your head with a smile before planting a sudden kiss on his lips. His voice was muffled against you, but he relaxed into it soon enough. 

“I’ll take that as a yes!” he giggled, his body relaxing beneath you once again. 

“Hey, does this mean we can do it again!?” 

His demeanour had switched to something akin to an excitable puppy, it was just too precious to deny. 

“Who am I to say no to such a noble Tengu?”

[master-sass-blast]

Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter One.

AT LONG LAST, THE PLOT FICS ARE BACK, BAY-BEE!!! AND B O Y ARE WE KICKING OFF WITH A DOOZY!!!

As you can see by the title: this is chapter one of three for this fic; I had to chop it up due to length.

Also, this fic as a whole makes for my 100th part of the CHC! I feel like I should do something to celebrate. Let me know if y’all have any suggestions.

Summary: It's been months since anyone's seen or heard of Allison Ricci. At last, you think the storm might be over. 

And then Karen Page gets kidnapped again.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Frank Castle x Karen Page.

Rating: M for kidnapping, attempted murder, attempted suicide, canon-typical violence, gun violence, and depictions of injury. Like I said, we’re kicking off with a doozy.

Word Count: 4.9k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Two.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

There’s no mention or sighting of Allison for nearly six months. Every trail you had for her before goes stone cold. The apartment is cleared out and abandoned. She doesn’t show up in the fighting rings, and even Karen and Frank don’t report anyone following them.

You start to wonder if she died for good this time. That maybe she revived and got herself and her mentor out, but didn’t survive after that.

(You wonder who’ll bury her body, if she’ll be lain to rest next to her family or in a random patch of ground somewhere.)

The storm seems to be over.

And then Karen gets kidnapped again.

***

Wade and Nathan are the ones that technically call it in –by showing up on your doorstep with Frank in tow.

“Allison’s back,” Nate says when your eyes bug out of your head. “Figured Xavier would want to have his people try and round her up, rather than there being an issue with mutant control.”

You blink rapidly, then nod. “Uh… yeah. Let me call Piotr.”

***

The perks of being on a technically-special-law-enforcement team with fancy jets: you can get to the scene a hell of a lot faster than conventional authorities.

You, Wade, Nathan, Frank, and Piotr meet up with Illyana, Mikhail (the two Rasputin siblings are there to “assist” with Allison’s specific powers, considering how things went last time), and Neena in the mall parking lot. After a brief rundown of the plan –get the civilians and Karen out of harm’s way, then detain Allison before the actual cops show up—you all split up and head in through the four major entry points.

The mall is packed when you walk in –go figure, it’s a weekend. Shoppers stroll from shop to shop, vendors at the pop up stands call out to passersby, music plays on the overhead speakers.

“The picture the kid sent me had a pretzel stand in the background,” Frank growls through the speaker in your earpiece.

“Food court, then,” Neena replies –in perfect, crystal clear audio, no less. “The kiosk map doesn’t show too many food stands outside there.”

Illyana tugs on your sleeve and directs you to the left. “We are close.”

You dodge to avoid a cluster of shoppers. “There’s a lot of people here. If she –if she has… weapons, like last time—”

“We’ll deal with it,” Nathan growls over the comms system before softly reprimanding Wade for trying to detour into Hot Topic. “Our goal right now is to capture Allison before she escapes again.”

“Civilian lives still matter,” Piotr insists before putting a hand on the small of your back to usher you around a “Wet Floor: Caution” sign. He’s armored down, but he’s wearing his X-Men suit under a black sweatshirt. “We must consider their well-being.”

“And if we tell them they’re in danger, we’ll make a panicked stampede, and that won’t help us or anyone else,” Nate says tersely. “Just stay calm. Our best bet is to try and talk Allison down without alerting anyone around us.”

“If she tries to hurt Karen—" Frank grits out.

“We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there,” Nathan declares, tone permitting no room for argument.

The lot of you round another corner, passing by a shop that boasts having “all the latest console games at all the best prices” and a Victoria’s Secret—

“I see her,” Neena says. You hear thuds her footsteps pick up, and a second later you see her jog around a Starbucks stand and head down the hall to the food court. “Twelve o’clock, dead center of the court.”

Twenty meters away, sitting at a little food court table, are Allison and Karen; the former is dressed in all black, leaning back in her seat while staring down the latter –who, all things considered, doesn’t seem too much worse for wear.

Frank inhales sharply, then appears through the crowd a few minutes later, walking so fast he’s practically running. “Too many people here.”

“We’ll talk her down,” Nathan says, rounding the corner nearest the Macy’s with Wade.

Illyana tenses, then grabs your arm before breaking into a run. “We need to move. She has seen Castle.”

Sure enough, Allison’s scowling. She shoves her chair back hard enough to knock it into the table behind her; she stands, ignoring the complaints from the nearby diners. Her eyes start glowing blue as she glares at Frank.

“Ah, shitfarts,” Wade grumbles.

“Everyone down!” Nathan bellows before yanking Frank back and erecting a telekinetic shield.

A massive shockwave of blue energy erupts across the food court, sending shoppers and tables alike flying into the air. The glass, domed skylight over the food court shatters, raining shards of windows and broken lights down on the panicked, shrieking bystanders.

Illyana erects a shield before the shockwave can hit the rest of you. She grits her teeth as debris and a few of the shoppers closest to the epicenter bounce off it, tumbling along the tiled floor. “Still think we will ‘talk her down?’”

No, you think, gulping when you realize that some of the blast victims aren’t getting up. I think we’re well past that.

“Karen!” Frank charges towards Allison, shotgun –loaded with bean bag rounds—in hand. “Get down!”

Karen dives behind a toppled table.

Illyana charges at Allison, clothes shimmering as they morph into black body armor. She leaps over an overturned table, then extends her hand and fires a blue bolt of magical energy at the younger girl.

Allison ducks. She stumbles briefly, but quickly rights herself. She grits her teeth, then screams as she unleashes a volley of azure-colored energy blasts at Illyana.

“Go! Get out!” Piotr waves a few stragglers –with their phones out to film the ruckus, go figure—away. He ducks another round of fire from Allison, then armors up and strides towards her. “That is enough—” 

Allison whips her head to the side, then back at Illyana. She quickly fires a blast at Illyana –successfully knocking the older girl off her feet, then turns and unleashes a beam of blue energy square into your husband’s chest.

Piotr sails into the food court’s Subway stand with a groan and a resounding clang.

You cram down the urge to run after your husband –he’ll be fine, he’s taken a lot worse before—and focus on the fight at hand.

Nate, Wade, and Frank are pinned down; they’re using some trash can stands as cover, but Allison’s got enough firepower to keep them from risking getting any closer.

Piotr and Illyana are both down for the time being; your husband’s tangled up with the condiments trays, while the youngest Rasputin’s on the floor, groaning.

Neena’s working the perimeter, getting shoppers out while setting up to flank Allison from behind.

And Mikhail’s… disappeared—

No, there he is, you think when you see him blink into existence. You let out a short sigh of relief when you see him take Karen’s hand and teleport to a safer distance, then do a short run before launching yourself in the air. Alright, let’s get the boys some cover.

Allison’s head jerks back as she follows your trajectory. Her eyes glow, bits of blue smoke wafting off at the corners, and then she fires another bolt of energy at you from her eyes.

You flit out of the line of fire, then fling an arc of wind at her.

Allison topples onto the tile floor. She yelps, then disappears into the ground to avoid being ensnared in one of Illyana’s spells. She pops back up a few feet away moments later—

Just in time to see Wade duck behind an overturned table.

Your brother snarls, cursing and panicking when Allison renders the table to a pile of ash with a flick of her wrist. “Something tells me that murder baby’s leveled up!”

“Gee!” You holler back. “What was your first hint!”

“Go!” Nathan hollers when Allison uses a bolt of magical energy strong enough to rip through several store fronts. He waves Karen and Frank off. “Get out of here! We’ve got this!”

Allison whirls. She bares her teeth when she sees Frank and Karen escaping, then slaps her palm against the food court floor.

Brilliant, bright streaks of azure energy zip along the floor, twinkling against the tiles before disappearing a few feet ahead of Karen and Frank.

The floor –from edge to edge of the hall, leaving no area untouched—crumple into ash, leaving a pit more than twenty feet deep. The ground between the doors behind Allison and the girl in question evaporate as well, along with the spaces in front of the emergency exits.

“Just when I left my rock climbing gear at home,” Wade grumbles, sounding somewhat winded.

Allison charges towards Karen and Frank, rendering tables, chairs, and random debris to ash as she runs to get a straight shot. She knocks Wade off his feet with via chucking a bolt of energy at him, forces you to duck behind a Pizza Hut counter with another one—

And then runs smack into Mikhail when he teleports right in front of her.

Mikhail wraps his arms around her, then leans back so he clears her feet off the ground. He stumbles a little while Allison rages and snarls. “Got her!”

Allison swears –then twists and drives her heel into Mikhail’s crotch.

Mikhail drops. He curls in on himself, groaning. “Kroshechnyy kon'… O Bozhe, moi yaytsa.”

Allison tumbles to the ground. She dodges more wind strikes from you, then lets out a feral snarl as she charges towards Frank and Karen.

Frank yanks Karen behind him, then shouts as he barrels towards Allison.

He has no game plan. You can see it in his eyes.

You vault yourself over the Subway counter, intent on tackling Allison, or knocking her over with a wind slice, or –something.

Before you can do anything, a blue circle forms around Allison, glowing brightly before expanding into a domed shield.

Allison skitters to a stop. Her dark curls jerk and bounce as she looks around wildly. She seethes, then launches a blast of energy at the shield, only for it to bounce off the veil of energy harmlessly.

A few feet away, Illyana lowers her hand. She smirks. “There. Much better.”

“Will –will that hold her?” Karen asks, voice rough and shaky.

“Until we can find way to transport, da.” Illyana reaches up her sleeve, then pulls out a spell book. “I have potent sleep spell. Will take but moment to find proper runes for casting.”

Behind you, Piotr groans as he finally disentangles his head from a –now very crushed—oven. He staggers, shakes himself, then turns and sags with relief when he sees Allison in the shield bubble. “Oh. Good.”

“Are you okay?” You jog over to him as he armors down and all but collapses into a nearby booth. “Babe? What’s wrong?”

“Ears are ringing.” He groans and clutches his head in his hands. “I hit my head very hard.”

You rub his shoulders, reassuring yourself as much as you are him. You can only imagine where else he’s hurt if Allison managed to concuss him while in defense mode. All you want now is to get back to Xavier’s so your husband can get the medical treatment he needs. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be—”

The ground shakes.

You steady yourself on the booth opposite Piotr –then suck a breath between your teeth when it happens again, harder than before. “Shit.” You whip your gaze back to Illyana. “What’s—”

You see Illyana, teeth gritted and eyes glowing blue as she holds both her hands towards the shield. 

You see Nathan, Neena, and everyone else slowly backing away from the dome of energy.

And, inside the containment bubble, you see Allison, flinging attack after attack at the walls of the shield.

Your eyes widen when you watch Allison unleash a sustained burst of energy at the shield walls. Fuck.

Glowing, white cracks form along the shield.

Oh holy fuck.

“Get down!” Neena screams.

Piotr all but tackles you –despite his head injury—to the floor just as the shield gives way. He armors back up, then covers your body with his.

Magic energy explodes through the food court, flinging the remaining tables and chairs into the walls. All the windows –in the skylights, the automatic doors, and the nearby shops—blow out, spraying glass everywhere. The ground shakes, cracking and dissipating into clouds of ash in various places.

Allison crawls out of the crater left by her explosion. She pants, shoulders heaving with each breath. Her mouth tugs into a fierce scowl; her eyes glow so brightly that they’re almost white.

Cracks form on the ground next to her, glowing white and smoking. They widen into gaping holes, with vortexes of energy swirling inside them.

And then these… beasts crawl out of them. Snarling, slobbering monsters with fangs the size of your arm. Their claws shatter the tiles underneath their massive paws. Their eyes glow red, not unlike hellfire. They almost look like wolves, if wolves had crossbred with the Hulk and had ichor and tar dripping off their skin.

Your jaw drops. “What the…”

Mikhail lets out a whoop. “Puppies!”

“Do puppies normally look like they want to turn humans into sausages?” Wade yelps, skittering out of reach when one of the hellhounds lets out a howl that sends a plume of fire into the air.

Illyana swears up a storm. She flicks her wrist, summoning the Soul Sword to her hand.

Before she can do anything else, though, one of the hellhounds charges her, knocking her off her feet and into one of the nearby shops.

“Snezhinka!” Piotr shoves himself to the feet, armors up, and barrels off after his sister –with Mikhail hot on his heels.

The other hellhound stalks towards Neena, Wade, and Nathan. It growls, acid dripping from its teeth and onto the ground, corroding whatever it touches.

“Should’ve worn the brown pants,” Wade groans. “Okay –anyone got a plan?”

“Duck!” Neena shouts when the hound unleashes another fiery howl.

You don’t duck –or run, or attack, or anything useful. No, you freeze, torn between going after your husband and siblings-in-law, helping protect Wade, Neena, and Nate, or trying to get Karen and Frank away from Allison.

Speaking of which…

Allison is lobbing bolts of energy at Frank and Karen; she’s closing in on them fast, quickly cornering them against the crater she’d made between the food court and the rest of the wall.

Frank whisks Karen behind his back. “Hey, hey, hey!” He extends a hand towards Allison in some sort of desperate attempt to get her to stop. “Just calm the fuck down!”

“Go to hell!” She rears back for another attack –and there’s no cover, nothing for Frank or Karen to hide behind or grab onto—

The choice makes itself for you.

You jump over the booth Piotr had pulled both of you behind and whip a wall of wind at her.

The blast launches her off her feet. She shrieks, sailing behind a pile of rubble before disappearing from view.

“Come on!” You leap over to Karen and Frank. The sounds of the hellhounds are too close for comfort –and, judging by Wade’s shrieks, the general amounts of swearing, and Piotr’s groans of exertion, the beasts are winning. “Let’s get out of here.” You get an arm around Karen, then start to put one around Frank, intent on lifting them over the crater and flying them out of here—

There’s a scream, and then a thin, whip-like strand of blue energy wraps around Frank’s neck.

His eyes go comically wide as he flies backwards. He lets out a choked shout, then groans –guttural and rough—when he hits the ground.

Allison stalks towards him. Her teeth are bared, and she looks entirely done with the situation. …And then she pulls a knife out of her jacket pocket.

You level another blast of air in Allison’s direction.

She manages to deflect it with a shield, then fires a volley of energy bolts at you and Karen.

Karen dodges.

You don’t.

You careen into the crater, narrowly dodging exposed bits of steel bar reinforcement and some leaking water lines before hitting rock hard dirt. You grunt, wind going out of you as you crumple against the ground. Fuck.

The hellhounds are still snarling nearby. You can still hear their ghoulish howls, accompanied by the crackling roar of the fire they unleash with each snap. Above the hellish din, Wade’s swearing and shrieking about his ass, Nate’s firing his future gun, Illyana and Mikhail are arguing—

Dammit. You shove yourself to your feet, panting and swearing the entire time. Once you’re upright, you launch yourself to the mall floor—

Which is when a new sound makes itself known to you.

Frank is screaming. That in and of itself isn’t unusual –he does it quite often—but now he’s doing it on his back, hands wrapped around Allison’s forearms, trying to keep her from sinking her knife blade into his right eye.

You’d think it wouldn’t be much of a fight –but she’s winning. She’s using her powers for leverage against Frank’s strength. You wouldn’t think a teenager with arms like noodles would have a shot, but Frank’s arms are shaking as Allison slowly, inexorably, pushes the knife towards his head. 

Frank shouts –and Allison shrieks right back at him; she sounds like a pissed off barn owl.

You stumble forward, wincing and collapsing to your knees when your left leg screams in protest. Shit.

Allison bares her teeth at Frank –and then she freezes. Her body goes stiff. Her eyes roll into the back of her head –and then she collapses against the ground, limp as a ragdoll.

Karen Page stands behind her, stun gun in hand. She lets out a hard breath when Allison drops against the ruined tile floor, then turns the stun gun off and reaches to help Frank up. “You okay?”

He grunts by way of response.

Allison starts squirming against the ground, trying to push herself upright.

She yanks the barbs and wires connecting her to Karen’s stun gun out of her shoulder, seething and snarling all the while. She staggers to her feet, lurching wildly as she tries to regain control over her body. She whirls, dark curls flinging back and forth with abandon.

Frank snaps into action. He immediately throws Karen behind him, forcing her back and away as Allison storms towards them. He holds one hand out, keeping some space between him and the teen. His gaze snaps back and forth, searching wildly for some sort of obstacle to put in her path or some sort of cover to duck behind—

There’s a dull thud, and then Allison lets out a choked shout as she tumbles to the ground.

Behind her, standing in the wreckage of one of the shops, Neena lowers the repression cuff gun your dad created to help capture rogue mutants.

You bend over, panting as you brace your hands against your knees. “Cool. Awesome. Holy shit.”

The snarling of the hellhounds disappears, too; the only sign they were there to begin with are the mounds of ash they leave behind. 

Slowly, your dad, Wade, and the Rasputin siblings come staggering out of the surrounding shops.

You sidle up next to Piotr, who’s already armoring down and looks beat to hell. You nod at him when he nods to you, then focus on the scene at hand.

Allison crouches on the floor. She snarls, yanking at the repression cuff on her wrist.

“Okay –ow, fuck!” Wade cringes as he resets his dislocated arm, then limps towards Allison. “Alright, murder baby. I’ve been chewed on, used as a tug toy, had a shop light fall on my nuts, and I’m pretty sure my third cervical vertebra is never going to feel whole again. Your whole ‘vengeance blood lust’ was pretty cute, but I draw the line at spinal reconfiguration. Time for you to head over to Xavier’s Home for Extraordinary Children and do group fucking therapy like the rest of the X-Dweebs.”

Allison bares her teeth at him, then kicks him square in the crotch.

Wade shrieks, doubling over and dropping to the floor. He curls into a fetal position, whimpering over his “dangly unmentionables.”

“Enough, Allison,” Nathan grits out. He uses his telekinesis to drag her across the floor, steadily sliding her towards him. “It’s done. Let it go.”

“Eat –eat shit!” Allison scrabbles against the floor, searching for a handhold –then snags a loose gun (most likely dropped by Mikhail at some point) and fires at Nathan. She struggles to her feet when he ducks –breaking the telekinetic hold—then whirls and aims at Frank.

“No!” Karen flings herself in front of Frank –which results in a lot of protesting from him—and holds out a hand. “Allison, no! Killing him isn’t what you want!”

“Like hell it is!”

“No, it isn’t. He’ll be dead and you’ll be in jail, and you’ll still have all your anger with no outlet for it,” Karen insists, voice ragged. She fixes Allison with a hard stare. “Let it go, Allison. Killing him won’t change anything.”

Allison sneers. “Fuck you. Like this is about ‘change!’ My family’s never coming back, and I have to live with that every single day. I have to remember waking up to them being gone, to their brains on the walls, to his—” she whips the gun wildly to point at Frank “—stupid graffiti tag on the floor. No, fuck you! I’m the one who has to go through the nightmares and the loneliness and the grief and has to bury my family! I don’t care that this won’t change anything. I’ll feel good for five seconds, and that’s better than the past few months have been!”

Your stomach clenches. Shit.

Frank gulps. Eyes shining, he steps out in front of Karen –even though she tries to stop him—and puts himself right in Allison’s line of sight. “You want me dead? Do it.”

“Frank,” Nathan says, voice sharp with warning.

“Pull the trigger,” Frank says, stepping closer as Allison’s hands shake. “Take me out. I killed your family. I did the same thing to you that happened to me. I’m a hypocrite; I deserve it.”

Allison seethes, body trembling as Frank slowly approaches her. “I will! I’ll do it!”

“Pull the trigger,” Frank says, voice soft and thick with emotion. “Do it, kid. Take me down if you want it so bad.”

Wade pushes himself off the ground. “Castle, I swear to God—”

Allison growls –and lowers her gun. She sobs, shoulders slumping. She falls to her knees, body shaking with each gasping breath she takes. “You couldn’t just… kill me? Do me the favor of not having to live without them?”

Frank flinches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows reflexively. “I don’t do shit like that, kid.”

Allison looks up at him –and her gaze sharpens. She smiles, sharp and manic. “Oh. So that’s what it takes to break you.”

And then she put the muzzle of the gun under her chin.

“No!” You fling yourself at Allison, colliding with her before she can pull the trigger. You tackle her to the ground, wrenching the gun out of her hands before hugging her tight against your chest. “No, sweetheart. No. No, no, no—”

Allison shrieks. Tears stream down her face once more. “Just let me die! Please! Why won’t any of you just let me die!”

You shush her gently, rocking her back and forth. You cast your gaze over your shoulder, looking to Piotr.

He’s scrubbing at his face with his hand. He meets your gaze, eyes widening before he shrugs, as though to say, “I don’t know how to handle this, either.”

“Okay.” Nathan crosses the distance to you and Allison. He crouches behind her, cuffing her hands behind her back before helping her and you stand. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s… let’s get you some rest. Okay?”

“I –I need Ar-Artemis,” Allison sobs. Her body heaves with each step she takes. “I need Artemis, I need her—”

“Okay, munchkin,” Wade says as he walks Allison in the direction of the jet. “We’ll get her called for you. Do you have her number? Anyone else you want us to call?”

“My law-lawyer.”

“That checks out.”

You hang back, letting Wade take over. You feel fried; pain aside, your mind is utterly void, a swirling mass of black and gibberish and too much and screaming and—

Neena hooks her arm around yours. She smiles at you when you look up at her, then gently ushers you after Wade and the others. “Come on. Let’s get back to the mansion.”

***

“I’m gonna fucking murder you, Castle!”

You wince as another angry shriek bounces off the walls of the jet’s cabin. You’re sitting on one of the benches, injured leg propped up on your husband’s lap.

Allison snaps and rages as Mikhail, Neena, and Wade try to buckle her in; somewhere during the walk to the jet, she’d switched from broken weeping to insurmountable rage once more.

Next to you, Frank keeps his eyes trained on the ground. He’s got an arm around Karen, who’s watching Allison in cautious silence.

“You’re fucking dead! I will hang you up by your fucking intestines! I’ll put your fucking sniper scope up your ass, you emo wannabe piece of shit!”

Wade snickers. “‘Emo wannabe piece of shit.’ Good one.”

Now that you’re up close to her, you can see just… how not well she’s doing. Dark bags hang under her eyes, stark against her pallid skin. Her cheeks and neck are gaunt –and, under her dark clothes and slapdash body armor, you suspect the rest of her body tells a similar story of grief and an inability to cope.

Who could cope, with everything she’s been through? The only person in this jet who has a similar understanding is the one that put her family in the ground –and he did that to cope with losing his own family and being shot in the head, so that pretty much says how well he’s doing, technically speaking.

Piotr squeezes you gently when you sigh. “We are almost home.”

Not close enough, you think as Allison all but foams at the mouth while she hurls insult after insult at Frank.

Wade rears back, shaking his hand. “Not the middle one! I need that one! Motherfucker!”

Allison spits his finger out of her mouth. She plants her feet, then tries to launch herself at Frank again.

“Enough!” You stand, careful to keep your weight off your bad leg. “You’re in a jet and you don’t have use of your hands. Either let yourself be buckled in or we’re sedating you!”

“This is bullshit,” Allison growls, even as she lets Neena and Mikhail sit her down and strap her in. Her eyes never leave Frank. “He’s the one who killed my family, and I’m the one in handcuffs.”

You march over to Allison as best you can. You’re not sure what your face looks like right now, but given the way she shrinks back you’re certain you look pissed. You plant your hands on the wall behind her, one on either side of her head, then lean in until you’re almost nose to nose with her. “You’re handcuffed,” you spit out between gritted teeth, “because you tried to kill yourself in that mall. The restraints are for your own safety; they have nothing to do with Frank.”

“But he—”

“Isn’t in our jurisdiction,” you tell her, voice hard. “We picked you up because you’re a mutant engaging in criminal activity. It was either us or the DMC, and if it’d been them, you’d be in the Icebox or dead. Frank only came because you kidnapped his girlfriend –and, frankly, it’s reasonable that he’d want to come along to save her.”

The dark-eyed teen pouts up at you. “But –my family—”

“Is gone,” you finish, voice softer now. You lean back a little so you’re not so in her space. “And I’m sorry you lost them, Allison. I really am. What Frank did was wrong. But you can’t keep on this path. You’re endangering yourself, and you’re endangering the rest of the community by reinforcing the belief that mutants are dangerous through your actions.” You straighten up. “If you don’t calm down, we’re going to have to lock you in one of the changing rooms until we’re at the mansion. Do you want that?”

She glowers, but shakes her head.

“Neither do I—”

“We can go into one of the changing rooms.” Karen stands, and Frank stands with her. She flashes you a sympathetic, appreciative smile when you look at her. “We’ll be fine in there.”

You heave an internal sigh of relief when Neena ushers Frank and Karen into one of the changing rooms, then slides the door shut.

Allison glares after Frank. She sniffs, chin trembling. “He killed my family. I woke up and –and they were gone.”

“I know, sweetheart.” You smooth her hair away from her face as she starts crying again. “I know.

“I want Artemis,” she sobs, skinny shoulders shaking with each breath she takes. “My phone –on my phone—”

“We’ll make sure we call her for you,” you reassure her as you stroke her hair. You grimace as she collapses –as much as the seatbelt lets her—against you, weeping against your neck. You hold her as best you can, trying to ignore the twinges in your leg or the creeping sense of ‘we’re in over our fucking heads… again’ crawling up your spine. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

If it's alright can I request a story for Helena and MC, whereby MC is forced to result to violence and killing to protect Helena?

WARNINGS FOR: Violence Blood and Gore Some Language Helena’s abuse Spoilers for Route.

Written by @evoedbd

++++++++++

The ground was ash. Sodden with blood and sweat, forming mountains over the bodies of the fallen. Heat clung to Kya’s body, thickening the air in her lungs as she desperately tried to claim one more breath in the chaos. The horizon was aflame with the only consistent splash of colour, deep and raging ember oranges against the backdrop of dull greys and blacks. Smoke billowed from what had once been wagons filled with grains and long-lasting supplies for the starving Capitol. What once had been fields growing crops and hosting cattle were now a remnant of what once was. Battle echoed around her, clashing steel ringing around disembodied cries and coughs. Some were strong and hearty, those men might survive if they fought well. Others were weak, somehow wet in the dehydrated desert of death. These men wouldn’t make it. No matter how hard their fingers dug into the ground as they blindly crawled in search of clean air and their salvation.

It had all happened so fast. One moment, Kya had her arms wrapped around Helena’s waist, head on her shoulder as she dosed behind the saddle. The next, explosion. An attack so vicious Kya hadn’t even registered falling from the saddle, only the screaming. Only Helena barking orders between spells, trying to protect those who were unarmed, to protect the supplies for the poor villages near the Capitol.

Everything was merely white noise in Kya’s ears, a dull swirl of chaotic sound which served as an undercurrent for a pounding heartbeat. A heart raging against reality as it shattered her bones with every jarring beat. How was she to survive when the act of breath was a war within itself? What choice did she have? The heat against her bare palms was nothing compared to the worn grip of a jagged sword. She could feel the dampness of sweat, along with the smoothed tracks where leaner, longer fingers normally grasped. A familiar knick in the grip allowed her to understand how the callused palms of its mistress has come to be. A mistress resting several feet away.

Helena Klein was battered, a vestige of war, pillaged by blade and blow. Each breath was short, a slash of a blade or chop of an axe instead of serenity. Each rattled, as if the broken bones of her ribs might be coming up her chest, ribs she desperately attempted to hold in place by tucking her right arm tightly to her side. The majestic blues of her tunic parted like the seas, giving way to a landscape of soft, snowy flesh mixed with rivers of fouled blood springing forth from a nasty gash. The touch of a blade had begun at the curve of Helena’s shoulder, caressing down to the crook of her elbow, a path Kya’s fingers often followed. Only Helena’s grimy bracer held her sleeve together, protected her forearm from the same fate. The bracer Kya had tied with a gentle smile not an hour prior. One might think it yet another physical representation of how different the loves of Helena Klein truly were. The Queen’s affection was the battlefield, the agony, the desecration of body and soul.

Just like when she was in the Queen’s service, Helena was brought low, left to support her weight on her only uninjured arm, fingers splayed in the slippery mud which oozed through them, trying to swallow her hand. Bedraggled hair hung around her flushed face; white gold tainted to mousey brown by the blood of her foes. A representation, perhaps, of what each life taken meant to her gentle soul. Stains. Darkness. The evil she defied, fixating her icy glare at her hands in rebellion, even as she tamed her trembling body, harnessed her adrenaline and pain into stillness by her sheer willpower alone. Her refusal to let the leering soldiers break her, even with their blades prone to pierce to her vital organs.

The sight of Helena in such a position set something off in Kya’s chest.

Her heart rebelled, pounding even more ferociously within the weak confines of her chest. Drums. The feeling of speakers at a punk rock concert, shaking her entire foundation, filling her with nothing save her screaming morality wrestling with the concept of mortality. She’d failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. She was meant to protect Helena, to never let this happen to her ever again, yet Kya was stuck watching those soldiers prod and taunt the Sorceress, keeping her pinned like a feral creature. The dog The Queen had forced Helena to be. That thought hurt. Kya ached. Rage and helplessness spread beneath her skin, leaving her with a physical sensation of fingers pressing against her flesh from the inside. Filling her, making everything so tight, as if she might simply explode. Shadows played across moonlight as one of the soldiers lifted his sword, mouth moving as he delivered an undoubtedly smug line. Kya didn’t hear, couldn’t hear, over her own blood rushing.

“-No! Please! Helena! Stop him! Oh god, he’s going to kill her! I can’t! Gotta move. Gotta move. Get the FUCK AWAY FROM HER! Fucking MOVE Kya!-” Her mind could only work in snapshots of a thought, missing everything save the panic. Loss pounded at her mind, threatening to take everything she cared about. Her soul sunk, falling into a blazing heat that travelled through her veins to every needed muscle. She was so tense it hurt, as if she were slowly snapping every strand of her being. She sprung into desperate action. Her hand tightened around the hilt of Helena’s blade as she leapt, rushing the man with his weapon raised.

HELENA!

The cry would have been worth alerting the soldiers she was charging, yet no sound escaped. It was nothing more than a shriek echoing within the confines of her mind, burning in every fibre of her existence. Try as her body might, it couldn’t force out even a single sound in the seconds it took for her to cross the distance. These fuckers couldn’t have her! They couldn’t treat Helena like some animal! Couldn’t put her down like a feral dog for biting an abusive owner. Couldn’t bridle her! Nobody had that right, and Kya was not about to let someone take it. Helena was her warcry, everything redirected to a singular purpose. To protect her very heart and soul from these fiends following a tyrannical Queen. The name caught in her throat, wheezed out in a silent burst of determination as she swung the blade with all her might. She couldn’t even care where it hit, only that she needed to save Helena.

She had seen a thousand movies involving beheading a man, where the dashing hero swung their blade and off went someone’s head. It was in a crushing moment of reality she registered that, yet again, the modern world of media had lied. Majorly.

The blade buried itself halfway through the man’s neck, grinding to a halt against bone as the soldier cried out. His gloating never met completion, the final words hanging on his tongue as blood replaced them. It dribbled down his chin, mixed with spittle, only to mix with Helena’s hair and the mud between her fingers.

“Kya!” Helena’s voice was rough with strain, yet the intensity of her command was sharper than any knife. Sharp enough to slice through the fog surrounding Kya’s mind, through logic and reason, and straight to Kya’s body. A single cry held a thousand reminders, a thousand little meanings that neither could ever put into words. Only action. Kya’s body was driven into action, even as her mind wandered further into the protective haze of mist and confusion. With a groan of effort, Helena pushed herself forwards, launching to extend her only good hand even as her shoulder and ribs came down hard into the mud. Kya was already moving, scrambling to grab Helena’s second blade, running straight for the soldier’s Warhammer. He brought it down in a deathly arc. Steel met glyph, casting sparks across the invisible dome Kya was dashing for like a child in a McDonald's playground. It was instinct to duck under Helena’s spell, slithering through the opening the Sorceress had provided. Just as Helena had taught her. This time, however, Kya abandoned her teachings of digging an elbow or a hilt into the soft underarm. Instead, she thrust with all her weight, pushing Helena’s blade until steel pierced the Soldier’s undershirt.

Again, Hollywood failed her. The blade did not slide in smoothly with a graceful thrust. Instead, it jerked with the man’s body, it met the resistance of bone, bouncing off it before sliding through flesh. For one terrifying breath, Kya hesitated. Not out of remorse or pity, but for the shock of resistance. The shock of what she had managed to do. What had she done? Oh gods, what had she just done? She’d stabbed a man. A man who’d left Helena bleeding… Her hesitation vanished. He’d cut Helena. Kya pushed harder, forcing the steel as deep as it could go. He’d tried to kill Helena. Kya clung tighter, twisting the blade was not as easy as Hollywood made it look. She didn’t expect the gush of heat over her unsteady hands as her awkward weight tore the opening of the wound wider. Nor could she have prepared for the sheer slippery yet grittiness as blood covered her hands. All she could do was cling to the hilt, allowing her body weight to fall with the soldier into the mud.

Hot stickiness coated her body, clinging to her linen shirt as she fell against the Soldier’s armor. The collision, along with the clash of hot and cold left her nerves caught between tingling and prickling in confused agony. Breath was banished from her lungs. For several seconds, the world was nothing but too much. So many sounds and feelings, a blur she couldn’t make sense of. Groaning, she forced herself to lift her head, to survey the battlefield, to make sense of what she saw.

The pink figure of Altea dancing across the battlefield, staff in hand as she yelled spell after spell at the dwindling enemy forces. The dashes of green as Isuel masterfully wove around the edges, his arm moving as a blur as he unleashed a volley of arrows to match a battalion with lethal accuracy. A dark shadow melting high and low as Searys unleashed his demonic strength upon any who drew close, indifferent to the fact they were covered in steel as his fists left dent after dent. August, a silver knight who lunged in and out, clashing with foes masterfully, cutting them down in waves with the determination of his swings. Then, the blazing red glory of Reiner, leading his Retainers with precise commands as his crossbow sung, ensuring victory every time his finger closed around the trigger.

The realisation that reinforcements had arrived was slow to dawn on Kya, yet not as slow as when she looked down to her hands.

Blood. There was actual blood on her hands, obscuring her pale skin with smears that almost reminded her of soy and chilli sauces mixed together. Then spread thinly over her skin. Had she been wearing her armor, would she have felt that at all? Stupid. She had been so, so stupid! Why hadn’t she anticipated an ambush with everything they knew? She’d been napping, not thinking at all. She’d let everyone down, including herself. If she had just worn her armor, she wouldn’t have to deal with this stickiness. Wouldn’t have to feel the blood on her hands. Wouldn’t have to see…

“O-oh god.”

She couldn’t stop seeing. Her eyes fixated on the man beneath her as she frantically pushed up to her knees, trying to flee the sight. His death had not been something graceful, with lingering peace across gentle lips. Instead, his face was twisted with horror. His lean jaw and full lips were contorted into a forming scream of absolute agony. Deep brown eyes stared listlessly back at the world, lacking the spark of life Kya was so used to seeing in everything. As soot floated down across his face, it gathered on those unblinking eyes, slowly obscuring their colour as Kya watched with a growing horror and a gurgling in her gut.

What had she done? What the actual fuck had she just done?!?

“Kya!” Helena’s voice was the closest to frantic Kya had ever heard, wavering at a higher pitch. A shrill shriek, filled with an immeasurable amount of fear. Fear more than Helena had ever felt. Helena, who had seen hells that rendered a nation extinct. Who had been tortured beyond instinct, to the point she defied the very laws of nature. Helena, who’d begged for death a thousand times over for the horror she’d endured, screeched her worst for Kya. It was a sobering footnote in Kya’s consciousness. She couldn’t hold it, couldn’t even hold herself as she collapsed backwards. Helena was there, skidding through the mud to catch the love of her life. To gather Kya into her chest, greedily pulling the smaller woman into each of her injuries in an effort to keep her there. To protect her. Once again enduring pain in silence. Helena’s desperate hands wrapped around Kya’s jaw, around her tender throat, trying to guide Kya’s gaze to meet her own. Even in her adrenalized state, Helena’s hands remained gentle, cradling Kya as if she might shatter in her palms. Worshipping, despite the chaos surrounding them. When Kya surrendered to that guidance, she found herself falling into pools of obsidian-tinged sapphire, watching the magic swirl and fade as Helena regained control of her emotions.

Helena’s eyes were so beautiful. So alive. The depth of love and need that underlaid every emotion drew Kya in, drowning her an indescribable heat that threatened to consume her if she didn’t look away. The passion there was scorching, eradicating everything save the thick veil of devotion in those lively eyes. The haze was soothing, somewhere she could simply watch from as her body moved with Helena’s gentle touches. That gentleness was not spared for her clothing. Helena’s hands were weapons once more as the Sorceress literally tore Kya’s shirt open, running that one good hand though the blood, searching for the cause. Even as that hand ran, her injured arm cradled Kya’s head, keeping her upright, preventing any chance for fluids to drown the smaller American. Then, she was lifting a vial to Kya’s lips, pressing just a little too roughly, too desperately. Glass bounced against Kya’s teeth in a shaking hand, almost causing pain as she retreated, meanwhile flailing her own hand to reject the vial.

“I’m fine! It's not my blood.” Kya dismissed the tender touch as if it were a normal occurrence, her voice completely casual in her instinctual effort to reassure Helena. The Sorceress stopped, breathing rapidly as her gaze fixated upon Kya’s once again, realisation dawning in icy eyes. Realisation. Understanding. Guilt. Horror. Regret.

What had she done?

“It's not my blood…” the second time it escaped Kya’s lips was bitter, a lowered mumble as her body caught up with the fact. She’d killed someone. No, not just someone. Two someones. She’d taken two lives without any hesitation, without any mercy. They’d tried to take from her and that had been enough for her to mindlessly take those two lives from others. Just like so many had done to her with Helena. What would those lovers care for reasons when their arms were cold and empty? What would daddy’s crimes matter to the little girl waiting for him to come home? What words could soothe a mother missing her baby? What families would get letters saying their brother, father, son or lover had fallen in battle? Was the Queen even merciful enough to have someone notify the families of her dead? Would those families spend years waiting for answers? Never knowing if their loved one would return. Would children wonder what they did for daddy to abandon them? Would…

Kya tore herself away from Helena, falling onto her hands and knees as the pressure in her stomach exploded out her throat, a warm mush that coated the ground between her hands. Mouthful after mouthful of vomit came up, each punctuated by an impossibly loud wretch. It stunk. Everything absolutely stunk. Nothing had prepared her for the strong stench of blood, the almost delicious smell of cooking flesh for a split second before disgusting burning hair.

Soothing fingers ran against Kya’s scalp, gathering up the sweat-soaked raven locks in adoring hands as Kya’s vomit became bile, the contents of her stomach emptied. It left her feeling weak, so weak her body trembled with the effort to hold herself even somewhat aloft from the mud. Everything was covered in a layer of fleece, making everything distant to her senses. Even that distance couldn’t banish the warmth of Helena’s arms as they wrapped around Kya, bringing the exhausted girl into the safety of the Sorceress’ chest. Helena’s arms became her bedrock. As the world crumbled around her, Helena’s strength and comfort held true. She couldn’t find her perverse enjoyment of Helena’s chest, nor relish the powerful flex of muscles. All she could do was find solace of the touch.

“Would that I could spare you this pain.” Helena’s voice was laden with sorrow, weighing her tones down along with Kya’s heart. Even then, Helena’s mind was on comforting as she lifted her own sleeve to Kya’s lips. The Sorceress lovingly cleaned the trails of bile from Kya’s chin, delicately tracing the soft material over quivering flesh. Her brows furrowed in guilt as she leaned closer, resting her forehead to Kya’s in an attempt to dull the pain. To flood the girl with reassurance and acceptance. Neither woman jumped at the tickle of the tip of their noses bumping, though Kya let out the softest groan of protest.

“I stink.”

“The discomfort of your pain is far worse than any fouled breath.” Helena retorted calmly, her voice near a whisper as she leaned closer, forehead to forehead. Kya’s eyes drifted closed, as if she might defy the reality of what she had seen. She couldn’t. It burned behind her eyelids. Lifeless bodies. Blood. Helena’s terrified face when she had first gathered Kya into her arms.

“I…”

“I am here, Kya, for whatever you would ask of me. Please, allow me to bare this with you.

It was the gentleness in Helena’s voice which finally undid Kya. The girl broke, tears streaming down her cheeks as she buried herself within Helena’s embrace. She nuzzled, squirming into the comforting scent of parchment and herbs, of magic, of Helena. By now, Kya had smelt many a mage, many a warrior, yet none were Helena. None could make her heart race and settle simultaneously. She couldn’t help but press her lips under Helena’s jaw, to relish the feeling of a fluttery pulse at the gesture. Alive. Helena was alive. She was alive because Kya had acted, had sacrificed morals. If she hadn’t… they’d have done the same. They’d have taken Helena’s life for their Queen not to take theirs.

“I killed people. They were going to kill you, and that should make it easier but…” Kya tried, swallowing back the empty feeling of vomiting. Her throat closed up, tickled and thick at the same time, as if she might gag. As if she might choke on the blood she’d shed.

“I don’t feel sorry I killed them. That’s easy. But their families… the people left behind will suffer when they did nothing wrong.”

“It is the price of war, Kya. If only I could have protected you longer, that you would not endure such a torment now.” Helena sighed, tightening her arms around Kya for a breath before she relaxed, allowed Kya to withdraw a little. Kya’s lips fell open, disbelief etched across her face.

“Don’t. Helena, you cannot take the blame for this. You didn’t attack first or make any of this happen. Existing doesn’t make it your fault.”

“You killed to protect me.” Helena laid it out, her casualness leaving Kya reeling. How could Helena even think that? How could she so calmly blame herself for a choice Kya had so readily made? No. It hadn’t even truly been a choice. Losing Helena was unfathomable. Blaming Helena for such a thing felt like blaming her for the existence of death and pestilence. It was not Helena’s fault, no more than it was that the seasons changed. Yet of course, Helena would claim the blame before it could be laid upon her, or worse, before accountability could slip away. Before she could escape her responsibilities. Helena’s magic allowed her the power to do the unthinkable, to defy nature itself. For her to see Kya suffer, of course she would take it as a personal failure. As something she was meant to prevent. There was that touch of nobility, that spark of absorbing every problem and taking blame.

“Yes.” Kya agreed, nodding before she continued.

“That doesn’t make it your fault, Helena. You never asked me to fight, you did not force me to act. They hurt you! They were going to kill you, Helena, and I just… I had to protect you, no matter the cost. Just like you’ve always protected me. That does not make it your fault.” Kya had to take a breath. Gods, Kya loved her. She loved this noble woman so much it hurt… but curses if it didn’t frustrate her. If she didn’t want to cut down everyone who’d beaten Helena into this place. Who’d taken her nobility and weaponised it into self-sacrificing tendencies. Kya could only lift a hand to Helena’s cheek, a silent rebuttal to Helena’s brewing guilt. Something she’d soon find the words to address in-depth, once her own agony dulled, once her tongue wasn’t so heavy in her mouth. Kya stared into those deep blue eyes, lost in what she saw there. Helena understood. She understood too perfectly, even without more words exchanged. It was the price being so close to her she’d constantly warned Kya of.

“I didn’t think of any of it. I just killed when you were in danger. So many people might have moral reasons to kill you, and if they did, I’d kill them. I couldn’t be moral if you were hurt, Helena. I love you. My reason for killing those who hurt you would be moral, as would their reasons be for hurting you. As would anybody who hurt me as payback. When does it end?” Kya pleaded, looking to Helena for an answer. Violence begets Violence. That had never made as much sense as it did the moment she saw the dullness in Helena’s eyes, the exhaustion. The answer the sorceress didn’t want to give. And why should she be forced to? This cycle had been Helena’s curse since before puberty. Violence to survive, earning violence in return. A currency exchange of flesh and soul. An exchange the Witch Queen had indebted Helena so heavily to that it was doubtful she’d ever escape again. That she’d ever be truly free so long as she walked this world.

Helena could only give a sad curl of her lips, a silent expression of utter helplessness even as she pulled Kya back into her embrace, as if her arms might shield Kya from these harshest of truths. As if the world might take pause from its corruption of the tender soul cradled so close to a sullied, blackened heart.

Silently, Kya allowed her head to fall to Helena’s shoulder once more, relishing the closeness. The life. The moment of stillness. She understood now, why Helena had been so fearful, so guilt-ridden for her feelings. For her affections. Not for feeling, but for the burden such things rested upon Kya’s shoulders. It was enough to almost make Kya cry again. Here Helena was, pleading to take a burden that she’d shouldered alone for so long. A burden Kya found herself willing to carry. Able to. She had to.

There was no going back, no button to undo her actions. To rewind and alter history. The innocence Helena had fought to preserve was gone.

It was as the Sorceress said. Such was the price of war.

[bedlamsbard]

Some new concept writing!  Backbone base ‘verse, as per usual for me; this one is a bit more personal than I usually go.

About 6.4K below the break.

While I don’t generally do content advisories, please note that this contains discussion of fairly severe (unnamed) depression and anxiety.

*

Hera cried herself to sleep the night before the Inquisitor arrived.

She was sick to her stomach, trying to fight down how betrayed she felt as well as her own terror. Agent Beneke had tried to comm her in the morning, but Hera had ignored her beeping comlink, knowing that she was too upset to answer in any way that wouldn’t result in a lecture.  Five years of careful training and Imperial service had gone out the window; Hera was so frightened that all she could do was weep, sitting on the floor in the corner of her cabin furthest from the hatch with her face in her hands.  She knew very well that if she hadn’t been on Naboo, she might have done something drastic, but she couldn’t leave Naboo, not from right under the ISB’s nose, so all she could do was sit on the floor and cry and hope that she would have enough notice to wash her face before the Inquisitor arrived.  She didn’t dare put on any makeup to hide her swollen eyes because of the likelihood she would immediately cry it off again.

She knew that she was upsetting Chopper, who had never seen her this miserable before.  Every time she emerged from her cabin he came up to her with a handkerchief or a wet cloth or a hot drink.  Hera took them, trying to smile for his sake if not her own, but the second time he had brought her a drink her hands had been shaking so badly that she had dropped the cup and shattered it.

She thought about leaving.

She didn’t know how to explain to Chopper what she was so frightened of, not when it was something that would never affect a droid.  She had managed not to cry in front of Agent Beneke, just barely, but she had spent so much effort fighting it that he hadn’t understood her the first time she had said, “I’m not a whore,” that she had had to repeat herself.

“You are whatever the ISB says you are,” he had told her. “If the Inquisitor wants you to warm his bed, then you will.  Besides, it may be for the best, even if it is an Inquisitor.  You know I’ve been worried about your health.  Celibacy isn’t good for Twi’leks.”

Only her training had kept Hera from just walking out of his office.  She had sat in front of his desk, barely hearing anything else Beneke said, until he finally released her.  Hera had gone back to the Ghost and barely made it to the refresher before she threw up.  The fact that she was being reassigned had barely registered with her.

That had been three days ago.

She raised her head as Chopper tapped tentatively on the door, wiping her wrist across her swollen eyes. “What is it?”

As he responded, she pushed herself wearily upright, swaying and catching herself on the wall – she had barely eaten anything the past few days and it had left her dizzy.  She found the most recent wet cloth Chopper had brought her, which was still a little damp, and wiped her face with it, then found her uniform jacket and put it on, trying not to look at herself in the mirror.  She knew that she probably looked sloppy and unprofessional and that ISB whites showed every stain; normally she would have cared, hoping that her every aspect of her appearance would outweigh her species, but apparently that didn’t matter anymore.

She left her cabin shaking so badly that her hands slipped on the ladder from the cockpit to the hold. Hera caught herself just in time, but for a bare instant she couldn’t let herself care.  She was aware that unless she fell very badly she wouldn’t break her neck; she might break an arm or a leg, which would at least have the advantage of making her unattractive if that was what the Inquisitor was interested in. Hera was too proud to fall on her own ship, though, and she finished climbing down without further incident.

She hesitated in front of the hatch for what felt like a long time, her hand hovering over the control. Finally she touched it, shutting her eyes briefly as the hatch and ramp lowered.

The figure standing outside was humanoid, his dark clothes making his silhouette briefly indistinct in the gloom of the hangar.  When Hera went hesitantly down the ramp, trying not to be too obvious about the fact she was dragging her feet, she saw that he was human after all, dark-haired and wary-eyed.  He might have been handsome; Hera didn’t look at his face for long enough to decide. He had enough height on her that she would have to make an effort to do so, and she didn’t want to.

“I’m Agent Syndulla,” she said, after they had both regarded each other silently for a few moments. She was proud of the fact that her voice didn’t shake, but wasn’t certain of her ability to keep it from doing so if she had to say much more.

“I’m the Inquisitor.” The human’s voice was quiet, a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t used to speaking much.

Hera waited for him to say something else; when he didn’t, she said, “I’ll show you to your cabin,” and stepped back, unwilling to turn her back on him.

The Inquisitor picked up the bag at his feet and followed her into the Ghost.  He moved very quietly for a big man, making Hera’s lekku prickle with unease.  A sound from above made her look up, spotting Chopper peering down from the cockpit hatch.  The sight of him made her feel a little better as she gestured upwards, saying, “That’s Chopper.”

The Inquisitor followed her gaze and said gravely, “Hello.”

Chopper made a rude sound but didn’t withdraw.  Hera glanced sideways at the Inquisitor to see how he took the insult, but he didn’t say anything, just glanced around the Ghost’s hold.  There were a few new cases of equipment that had been delivered over the past three days, as well as a new speeder bike – presumably for the Inquisitor, since Hera already had one that she had modified to her preferences.

“This way,” Hera said. She bit her lip as she turned from him to climb up the ladder, unable to shake her terrified notion that he was going to grab her right then and there.  He didn’t, though, just waited for her to get most of the way up to the cockpit before he slung his bag over his shoulder and followed her.  Chopper moved back from the hatch so that Hera could pull herself up, then resumed his position to glare at the Inquisitor as the human put his head up.  Hera was so tightly wound that the resulting face-off startled a brief, hysterical giggle out of her, which made the Inquisitor glance at her and offer something that might have been construed as a smile in different circumstances. Chopper responded by extending his electropod threateningly.

“Chop,” Hera said, since although she appreciated the thought, technically the Inquisitor hadn’t actually done anything yet.

Chopper swiveled his dome to regard her balefully, then sparked his prod again and rolled back enough that the Inquisitor could finish climbing into the cockpit.

“I haven’t seen a C1 unit in a while,” the Inquisitor said thoughtfully.

Chopper made an aggravated noise.  Hera put a hand on his dome to push him back, stepping in front of him in case the Inquisitor decided to take offense and use the lightsaber hanging on his hip.  All he did was arch one eyebrow at her and shift the bag across his shoulder.

“He’s not an antique,” Hera said defensively. “He’s just as good as an R-series –”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t!” the Inquisitor said. “I just haven’t seen one recently.”  He looked inquisitively at her.

Hera bit her lip, embarrassed at her outburst, and released Chopper as she moved towards the door at the back of the cockpit.  She veered wide around the Inquisitor as she did so, not thinking about the action until it had already happened.  He didn’t remark on it, though, just watched her.

Her lekku were prickling with nerves as she led him into the corridor, showing him to the cabin across from hers.  If he could read lekku, he would be able to tell from the agitated way the tips were flicking back and forth that she was frightened of him, but she didn’t expect that it meant anything to him; most humans had no idea that lekku conveyed Twi’lek emotions, and sometimes added an element to speech.  Hera knew that after five years in the Imperial service her signals were wildly all over the place and were so confusing to other Twi’leks that it made most of them distrust her, but a human shouldn’t be able to tell. She couldn’t remember if the rumors about Inquisitors being able to read minds were true or not.

As much as she hated having him across from her, there was nowhere else she could put him.  Even if she had been willing to share a wall with him, the cabin next to hers had been turned into an office and she hadn’t thought about moving her equipment out of it until it was too late; the cabin catty-corner to hers was missing both mattresses.  She had been too brain-fogged from lack of sleep and the fact that she had mostly stopped eating to consider the option of moving the one from the remaining cabin into the other room until she was showing him into it now.

He put his bag down carefully on the floor by the bunk, took in the small, neat cabin with a glance – Hera hadn’t made up the bed, but she had found the spare sheets and a pillow and brought them in – then turned back to her.

Hera let go of her hope that he would be content to just stay in his cabin when they weren’t in the field and led him on a quick tour of the rest of the Ghost, from the Phantom to the engine room.  He followed her and Chopper followed him, grumbling the whole time and occasionally sparking his shockprod.  She didn’t show him the smuggler’s compartments she had discovered a few months ago, but as they walked over them she saw his face change for an instant and knew that he had realized they were there.

“Agent Beneke said you would have our next assignment,” Hera said awkwardly once they were back up in the common room.  She was standing stiffly as far away from him as she thought was polite, her hands clamped together behind her back.  He hadn’t made any attempt to touch her, but nothing she could do could choke down her fear that he might try.  And probably succeed.  She was a good fighter, but he was an Inquisitor.

“Agent Beneke?” he said in his soft voice.  Hera couldn’t decide what his accent was, possibly because he hadn’t said much and possibly because he didn’t seem certain himself.  Some of his intonation was characteristic of the Outer Rim, but every now and then a word had come out with such a strong upper class Coruscanti accent that it made Hera’s back teeth ache.

“My handler – my supervisor at the ISB,” she clarified.

“Oh.  Yes, I’ve got it.”  He blinked at her for a moment, then seemed to realize that she meant that she wanted him to tell her about it.  Maybe Inquisitors couldn’t read minds after all, though Hera didn’t think this was much proof of that.  “We’re going to Barzhun – in the Colonies.”

Hera had never heard of the system before. “What’s there?”

He grimaced. “A Jedi temple.”

She looked at him in surprise. “I thought the Jedi were all dead.”

Something passed over his face that she couldn’t read, not that she had ever been particularly good at reading human facial expressions anyway; even in the Empire too many of them came from different worlds with different body languages.  “They are,” he said.

“Why are we going?” Hera said eventually, when he didn’t proffer any further information.  She didn’t particularly want to talk to him – she wanted to go back to her cabin so that she could recover from her attack of nerves – but he didn’t seem to be giving her a choice.

He looked startled that she had to ask, then apparently ran a mental replay of their previous conversation and realized he hadn’t said. “The temple there was cleared years ago – it was an old outpost temple that was shut down during the High Republic, and the Inquisition went through soon after the –”  He stumbled over the words for an instant, then seemed to decide to let her fill in the conclusion of the sentence and went on, “– but recently a few old artifacts have been showing up for sale – antique auctions, the black market, that sort of thing.”

“Jedi artifacts are interdicted,” Hera said.

He nodded. “We’re to investigate, find out where the artifacts are coming from, and shut down the trade.  And anything else we deem necessary at the time.”

Hera considered the weariness in his pale eyes – she met them for only an instant before she jerked her gaze away – and decided that it wasn’t quite the makework it sounded like. “All right,” she said. “We’re fueled and stocked up.  I’ll set a course for Barzhun, if there isn’t anything else you need to do on Naboo.”

He shook his head.

“I’d like whatever files you have on the assignment,” Hera went on. “You can transmit them to me or give them to me on a datacard and I’ll copy them to my datapad, whichever is more convenient for you.”

He nodded.

Hera hesitated, trying to think despite how tired she was.  She was suddenly almost so tired that for a moment she saw the Inquisitor as nothing more than a wary, hurt man not more than a year or two older than she was, with the scars on his face and the careful way he moved indicative of something she didn’t like to think about.  Then she blinked and he was the Inquisitor again, an unknown, dangerous quantity, with Agent Beneke’s words ringing in her mind.

“All right,” she said again, and stepped backwards towards the door leading to the cockpit.  She hadn’t closed the hatch after he had come in; she would have to do that before they took off.  Doing so would mean she would be trapped on the Ghost with him, a thought that made her shudder.

“Agent Syndulla,” he said. When she looked at him, she saw for an instant the weary, wary young man with the scarred face, not the Inquisitor. “You don’t have to – I won’t hurt you.  I try not to hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Hera had absolutely no idea what an Inquisitor would think of as hurting someone and had the feeling that she would find out very soon.  She just said, “Please send me the files,” and left the room.

She made it to the cockpit with Chopper on her heels and let the door slide shut behind her, then locked it for good measure.  There was another way to get to the cockpit from the common room, but it involved going through the engine room and hold, and she hadn’t gotten the impression the Inquisitor had any interest in following her.  Still, she looked at the ladder and open hatch and shuddered, bending over with her hands braced against her knees as she tried to get her ragged breathing under control.

He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even said anything beyond that last comment, and he had been far more polite to both her and Chopper than most of her colleagues at the ISB had ever been.  But he was still an Inquisitor, and beyond that he was on her ship.  Hera had had passengers before once or twice, the odd ISB agent she had ferried from one place to another, but she had never even had detainees onboard. And now this Inquisitor was here for who knew how long and Hera’s safe haven, a minor miracle after months in prison and then years in the Imperial Academy, wasn’t anymore.  Her home wasn’t safe anymore and if the Inquisitor did hurt her, then it would be with the ISB’s blessing.

Chopper rolled up beside her and crooned a question, patting her hip soothingly with one of his manipulators.

“No – no, I’m all right,” Hera said shakily.  “I’m all right.”  She knelt down and hugged him, an awkward, uncomfortable proposition at the best of times, but at just this moment she wanted to.  She tipped her head down against his dome, trying to control her trembling and unable to do so.

The Inquisitor could hurt her, regardless of what he had said.  For all Hera know, what she considered being hurt and what he considered hurting someone could be two entirely different things.  She already knew Agent Beneke wouldn’t care, not after what he had said the last time they had talked.  He would probably be thrilled.

Chopper patted her shoulder.

“I’m all right,” Hera said, though she couldn’t make herself believe the words and suspected that Chopper knew her well enough that he wouldn’t take her words at face value the way most droids would. “It will be all right.”

She hugged him again, then forced herself to release him, though she stayed kneeling, suddenly too tired to get up. “Can you plot a course to Barzhun?” she asked him. “Then file the flight plan with the Bureau.”

She should have done that herself, but at the moment the effort seemed too much to bear.  Besides, she didn’t want to run the risk that Agent Beneke would try to talk to her again.

Chopper made a sound of agreement.

Hera reached out and took his dome between both hands, forcing him to look at her. “And don’t mess with him,” she told Chopper firmly. “He’s an Inquisitor.  He carries a lightsaber.  He could scrap you without a second thought and I probably wouldn’t be able to put you back together again, do you understand that?  Don’t mess with him.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Chopper reluctantly agreed.

“Good,” Hera said. She released him and sat back on her heels, trying to work up the energy to get up and close the Ghost’s main hatch.  Eventually she just knee-crawled over to the ladder since it wasn’t far away anyway, getting smutches all over her white trousers, but she would be back in her grays as soon as they were in the field anyway.

She made it down to the hold and paused, listening for the sound of the Inquisitor’s steps above her, but couldn’t make them out.  He could have just been sitting in one spot, she reluctantly admitted to herself, but she didn’t like the idea that he was up there somewhere, doing who knew what.

Hera went down to the edge of the ramp and stood there for a few minutes, looking around at the dark, quiet hangar.  The ISB hangars were spread around Theed, since there wasn’t enough space at ISB HQ to house all of the various ISB vessels.  This one was nearly empty except for the Ghost; there was another small freighter housed in a hangar bay on the other side of the building, and a hunter-killer had left only the previous week.  Although many ISB agents worked with the full panoply of the Empire, often in concert with other branches of the Imperial service, Hera was hardly unusual in flying a civilian vessel or working solo.  Or she had been working solo, at least.

She went outside to pace briefly around the Ghost, less because she thought that there might be anything wrong with her ship than because she wanted to not be on it just now.  Normally being dirtside made her far more nervous than being in space, even while being shot at, but when she went inside again the Inquisitor would be there, and it wouldn’t be safe anymore.  Not that Hera was under any kind of illusion about anywhere being safe, but up until now the Ghost had always been the one thing she could pretend was under her control.  She knew that there were ISB failsafes built into the hyperdrive and engines, as well as at least some surveillance, but that was just part of working for the Empire.  Chopper had had them too, but whoever had installed the controls didn’t seem to have realized how eccentric his rewiring and programming had been, since Hera had mostly been making it up as she went along when she had fixed him all those years ago.  He had shed the spyware not long after they had been reunited and let Hera know exactly how he felt about it as he did so.

She finished her circuit of the Ghost and stood outside, looking up at the cockpit.  Chopper must have spotted her, because he had rolled up to the front of the viewport and was peering down at her in concern.  Hera gave him a half-hearted wave, took a deep breath, and went back up the ramp into the Ghost. She closed the hatch behind her, braced herself again, and the went up the ladder to join Chopper in the cockpit.

“Do you have that course to Barzhun plotted?” she asked, then brought it up on the holoprojector after he replied in the affirmative.  The system was more obscure than she had expected, off the main hyper-routes; it would take them the better part or more of a standard rotation to reach it, even at the Ghost’s speed.  That meant she would spend a night on the Ghost with the Inquisitor, whether they left now or waited until morning, Naboo time. Hera didn’t see a point in waiting; it just gave Agent Beneke more opportunity to try and catch her.

“All right.  Plug it into the navicomputer and let’s be on our way.” She settled into the pilot’s seat and started the Ghost’s preflight check, feeling the engines rumble to life beneath her feet.  She probably should have gone back to let the Inquisitor know they were leaving, but presumably he was smart enough to figure it out.

For the first time in her life she winced as she touched the control yoke.  She loved her ship and she loved flying, but once she left Naboo she would be alone in the cold black of space with no one to turn to.  Not that she ever really expected much help from the ISB – she had never bothered filing a complaint when she had been at the Academy, knowing that she would have been ignored at best and punished at worst – but having the option had been something, at least.  Now she wouldn’t even have that.

Light filtered down into the shadowed hangar outside the viewport as the doors above them slid open, like a new dawn breaking.  Hera watched the light spread through the otherwise empty chamber, waiting for the alert that would tell her when she had enough clearance to take off without hitting the doors.  She tried and failed to make herself feel at least a little of the calm she usually felt when she was in the pilot’s seat of the Ghost, when she had the ship at her fingertips and – if only in theory – the galaxy spread out before her, but all she could feel was dread.

*

She stayed in the cockpit long after they had made the jump to hyperspace, staring at the lights outside the viewport until her eyes ached, then curling up in the pilot’s chair. The Inquisitor had sent the mission files to the ship’s computer, so she had them to hand to read if she wanted, but she didn’t want to.  Normally she would have left the cockpit as soon as they went to hyperspace to make herself a hot drink and review the mission files; normally she would have been alone onboard except for Chopper.

Eventually the need to use the refresher got to her.  Hera got up reluctantly, wincing as cramped muscles twinged, and gestured Chopper to stay where he was in case something happened while they were in hyperspace, visions of purrgil collisions dancing in her head.  She had heard the Inquisitor’s cabin door open and shut sometime earlier and was fairly certain that he was still inside, a prospect that made her extremely nervous, but as long as he stayed there –

She wished she had any idea what he was going to do.

Since she was up anyway and because she knew Chopper would yell at her about it if she didn’t eat, she went into the galley.  Hera had no appetite and hadn’t had any since the meeting with Agent Beneke; she found herself staring blankly at her cupboards and coldbox, moving between one and the other as if by sheer force of repetition she would finally find something that appealed to her.  Nothing did, nor in her current mood could she justify the meiloorun she had bought before her new orders had come in, even though after three days in her coldbox she knew the flavor would be starting to go.  But she had to eat something, since she was already a little shaky from lack of food and while that was more or less all right as long as she was sitting on the Ghost, it would lead to slowed reflexes in the field.

She finally picked up the jogan fruit sitting next to the meiloorun and cut it into small, precise squares, trying not to twitch every time she thought she heard something that could have been the Inquisitor leaving his cabin.  She ate the jogan with her back to the counter, forcing herself not to bolt it and flee, since at this stage doing so would probably result in her throwing it right back up.  She was trying to decide if, having eaten most of the jogan, she wanted to try eating something else or if that would be a failed endeavor when the door to the galley slid open.

Hera froze, her hands clenching on the bowl and fork she was holding.  She hadn’t heard the Inquisitor’s approach at all, except there he was.  He stayed by the door but moved to the side so that he wasn’t standing directly in front of it, looking self-conscious about the way Hera had flinched. Maybe.  She didn’t want to trust her impressions of the Inquisitor’s expressions or body language yet, not when she had nothing to compare him to except other members of the service and the only other Inquisitor she had met.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Hera just stared at him.

The silence stretched out between them, unnerving in its emptiness; Hera cast wildly around for something to say when the Inquisitor didn’t break it, and finally said, “We should be arriving at Barzhun in about fifteen hours.  It’s – it’s not on any of the major hyper-routes, which is why it’s taking so long.”

“All right,” he said, nodding.

Hera bit back her urge to flee and said, “We can go over the files and make a plan closer to our arrival time.  I don’t know what kind of field experience you have –”

“Some,” he said, hesitating briefly before he added, “Mostly not on this sort of op.”

Hera mentally translated that as mostly I spent my time killing people for the Empire, which might or might not be accurate.

The Inquisitor bit his lip, then admitted, “One of the reasons I got this assignment is because none of the others work well with the regular service.”

“Do you?” Hera blurted out.

“I’m human and I don’t kill anyone who looks at me sideways,” he said. “Presumably at least one of those helps.”

“What did they tell you about me?” Hera said quickly, before she lost her nerve.

He raised his eyebrows. “Nothing.”

Hera lowered her gaze, trying to decide if she could take him at his word.  She finally just said, “You can eat anything in here.  Um, except not the meiloorun.  Please.”

“All right,” he said again.

Hera looked down at her remaining two bites of jogan.  She had no appetite left, but both the Clone Wars and prison had instilled in her a horror of wasting food, so even though she hated eating in front of anyone else, she choked them down quickly and then turned – lekku prickling – to put the bowl in the sink.  She should have washed it as well as her fork and the knife she had used to cut up the jogan, but she couldn’t bear having her back to the Inquisitor for that long, even if it made him think she was a slob.

He was still watching her when she turned back.

“Good night,” Hera managed to say, and then forced herself to walk past him to the door.  He stepped back so that he wasn’t in arm’s reach of her as she did so, a kind of minute care that somehow made Hera even more nervous than his not moving would have.

She made it to the corridor leading to the cockpit and had to stop, shuddering.  She wanted so badly to be alone on the Ghost again, for the Inquisitor to not be there, but that wasn’t an option and might never be again.

When she had mostly stopped shaking, she went into the cockpit to check on Chopper and the ship’s progress.  There wasn’t much to see; once they were in hyperspace, there wouldn’t be short of some major disaster that no one could predict.  The problem, as far as Hera was concerned at the moment, was that such disasters had occurred in the past; at the moment, the fact that she couldn’t do anything to prevent them was foremost in her mind.

Well, not foremost. The Inquisitor was there too, but thinking about the sudden appearance of purrgil or hyperspace wreckage or the mines pirates sometimes used was preferable to thinking about him, even if it didn’t make Hera any more comfortable.  She briefly wondered if being knocked out of hyperspace by a mine would discomfit the Inquisitor at all, but knew that she didn’t really want to find out if she could at all avoid it.  Even if pirates might get more than they bargained for if they attacked the Ghost, Hera was well aware of what happened to Twi’lek women in their hands.

She sat with Chopper for a few minutes, reassuring herself with the droid’s presence, before she finally made herself get up. “Stay here,” she told Chopper as he made to follow her. “No matter what you hear.”

He grumbled a protest.

Hera grabbed his dome and forced him to look at her. “Stay here,” she told him, and waited for him to respond in the affirmative before she released him.  She didn’t bother to tell him that she would be all right this time, just hugged him again before she went to her cabin.

She locked her door and stood there for what felt like a long time, then slowly began to remove her white uniform.  She was so tired that she was shaking; she had spent the past three days sleeping very badly when she slept at all, and knew that with an op on the horizon she had to at least make an attempt at it or she would badly regret it.  But she hated the idea of being unclothed while the Inquisitor was here, the same way she had hated it back when she had been in the Academy.  She changed into her night clothes as quickly as she could, found her grays and put them out to change into whenever she woke up – assuming she could sleep at all, which she wasn’t certain of at the moment – and then climbed up the ladder to sit on the edge of her bed, holding her blaster between her hands.  She finally put it beneath the pile of pillows she slept with, where she could have her hand on it at a moment’s notice.  Hera didn’t bother turning the light off, just turned it down as low as it would go; she knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep in the dark.  She slid between her sheets and pulled one of her smaller pillows against herself, holding onto it for all she was worth, and cried herself to sleep.

*

Hera slept badly, waking up at irregular intervals throughout the night, with scattered fragments of vivid dreams blurring the distinction between waking and sleeping. None of it seemed to form any kind of coherent narrative, though she knew the Inquisitor had featured at some point. So had the colony at Zardossa Stix, the caves on Ryloth where they had taken shelter during the Clone Wars, the Spire on Stygeon Prime, and the usual awful morass of Hera’s memories of the Imperial Academy on Serenno and the ISB Academy on Naboo.  She woke up uncertain where she was, what year it was, and how old she was, staring up at the ceiling above her until its nearness finally told her she was on the Ghost.

Hera flung an arm over her eyes, wincing as sore muscles twinged.  She must have spent the night so tense she felt like she had been beaten with sticks.  When she started to sit up, pain stabbed up her neck behind her right ear and Hera slumped back down; she’d slept wrong at some point in her restless tossing and turning.

The Inquisitor hadn’t tried to come in.

She waited until the stabbing pain behind her right ear eased and then got up, climbing wearily down the ladder.  It took her about three times as long as usual to get dressed; she picked up one of the long strips of leather she used to wrap her lekku and just stared at it, but the idea of additional pressure on her lekku was unbearable at the moment. Even her cap felt like it was squeezing her skull, and after a moment, reluctantly, Hera pulled it off again, since she knew that wearing it right now would probably trigger a headache.  As much as she hated to appear bareheaded in front of anyone, especially a human, especially a man, right now she thought she had to risk it.

She didn’t bother to put her boots on, just went out into the corridor in stocking feet.  The ship was very quiet; she couldn’t tell if the Inquisitor was asleep in his cabin or if he was in one of the other rooms. Hera went into the refresher and got undressed again, this time to shower; the hot water helped a little but not as much as she had been hoping.  She wanted to go back to bed and sleep for a week; going by the chrono she could have easily gotten a few more hours before they were anywhere near Barzhun and still had enough time to read the files.  She was up already, though, for better or worse.

She left the refresher to go to the cockpit and check on Chopper, who made a worried enquiry as she stepped into the cockpit.  Hera sank into the nearest chair, wincing as the movement jarred her stiff neck, and absently checked their progress before she said, “No, Chop, I’m fine.  I just didn’t sleep well.”

She wished that sleeping was the Twi’lek equivalent of powering down, but unfortunately it wasn’t that simple.

He made another worried sound, then rolled out of the cockpit, leaving her alone.  Hera had a pretty good idea where he was going, so didn’t protest him leaving while they were still in hyperspace.  Normally she wouldn’t have cared; at the moment she couldn’t shake the idea that something terrible would happen if neither of them was in the cockpit.

She was more than half-asleep again as Chopper came back bearing a steaming mug.  Hera took it from him, holding it with both hands so that she didn’t drop it the way she had one of his previous offerings, and inhaled the fragrant steam to realize it was what she still called sleepy tea, rather than the caf she had expected.  Twi’leks across the galaxy drank it in the evenings, from curiates like the Syndullas to members of the diaspora whose families had left Ryloth ten generations earlier.  Hera had found it in a market a few months earlier and had bought a packet, feeling as if she was betraying the Empire by doing so, and had started crying the first time she had made a cup.

Now she tried to hand it back to Chopper. “No, I need to stay up –”

He pushed the mug back at her, grumbling a response.

Hera checked the chrono again and grimaced, because technically he was right; she had enough time before they arrived to both sleep for a few more hours and read the mission files, as long as she didn’t oversleep.  And she did badly need the sleep.  But the Inquisitor –

“Where is he?” she asked Chopper warily.

Since there was only one other being on the Ghost, he didn’t have to ask who she meant, just told her that the Inquisitor was in his cabin, presumably asleep.

Hera looked down at the tea in her hands. “You’re probably right,” she admitted eventually.  She drank a little of the tea, careful not to burn her tongue, and sighed in satisfaction.  It didn’t always make her feel better – nothing could do so reliably – but if nothing else it was at least warm, satisfying, and familiar. She sat in the cockpit and drank the rest of her tea, then took the mug into the galley and washed it – the Inquisitor had eaten, she saw, and washed his plates and what she had left behind – then went back to bed.  She locked the door behind her.

[notes-from-sarah]

Part  1 - The Truth

Link on Archive of Our Own

Link on Fanfiction.net

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Rating: G/K

Summary: Hera finally discovers the truth about Kanan’s past. Pre-Star Wars: Rebels

A/N: This work is canon compliant for the first three seasons of the show but does not necessarily draw from the tie-in books, comics and other materials.

*****

Wandering through Ghost, Hera was trying to find Chopper. He wasn't answering her calls and she hoped he hadn't ended up short circuiting himself somewhere hard to get to. She had just acquired a new regulator for him which would help with the short circuiting problem. Now, if only she could find her little friend. Walking down the hall to the crew quarters she opened doors as she went. Chopper had been messing around with the wiring in some of the cabins in an attempt to make the lighting more consistent and less energy consumptive. She expected to find the droid keeled over on the floor with one of his clamp arms still sparking from the power surge.

Slapping the release to each room she stuck her head inside and took a look around. Chopper wasn't in the first two rooms, or her room. Hera pressed the last release then a microsecond later remembered that this was Kanan's room and she hadn't knocked first. She jabbed the button to close the door again but it was already opening and wouldn't respond to a close signal until it'd opened all the way first. She half thought about turning away and pretending she hadn't opened the door so spontaneously, but opted for knocking on the door frame instead. She hoped she wasn't intruding. She also hoped that maybe it was just Chopper inside, not Kanan.

Kanan was inside. The lights to the room were turned off and he was sitting in the center of the floor. His legs were drawn up in a cross-legged position and his hands were resting on his knees. His eyes had been closed but they opened when the light from the hallway spilled into his dark room. Hera had a very strong feeling that she'd barged into something personal.

"Sorry, love," she said in a hushed voice, "I didn't mean to bother you."

Kanan didn't look bothered. "It's no problem." He smiled. Hera loved it when he smiled. "What'd you need?"

"I was looking for Chopper, I have the regulator I was waiting for." Hera patted the pocket of her flight suit where the regulator was secured. "Sorry again, I'll leave you to your, uh, praying."

Kanan shook his head and got to his feet. "Nah, I'm done anyway. I'll help you look for Chop."

The two of them scoured the ship looking for Chopper who didn't seem to be anywhere. The entire time Hera was more than a little curious about what she'd seen. She never thought of Kanan as a religious person. He never spoke about spiritual matters or sported any talismans. Catching him in the middle of some sort of religious observance seemed strangely out of character.

At long last they located Chopper in the storage closet. The droid was indeed keeled over, clamp arm extended after some sort of electrical shock.

Kanan bent down to set the droid upright. "Looks like he found a surge." He laughed a little. "Couldn't happen to a nicer droid."

Hera shot Kanan a nonplussed look. "Chopper was trying to help reduce our general energy consumption and make Ghost more efficient." Kneeling down next to the droid she fished the regulator out of her pocket. "And once I get this installed he should be back to full-functioning again."

"You say that as if he's ever functioned in the first place." Kanan patted Chopper's dome.

Hera snapped the regulator into place and brought Chopper's circuits back online. "Don't you listen to him Chop. You're the best droid anyone could ask for." She glanced up at Kanan who was looking down at her with a skeptical eyebrow raised as high as it would go.

"Really?" he said. "You're just going to lie like that?"

Hera swatted Kanan's leg playfully. "Chopper is the best droid. You're just being mean."

Kanan pulled Hera back to her feet. "You can keep saying that, but it doesn't make it true."

Hera patted Chopper's dome. "You just can't see his full potential yet." She glanced back at Kanan. She knew she hadn't seen his full potential yet either. She wondered what he was keeping under the surface.

*****

"You in the mood to run some errands with me?" Hera accepted a cup of tea from Kanan as she entered the galley.

Kanan shrugged. "Sure. What're we picking up?"

"Just a few crates of helpful equipment." Hera sipped the tea, it was good. She loved the way Kanan made tea. "I think some generators and maybe some speeder bikes."

"I'm sold, I've been telling you for months now that we need to get some speeder bikes." Kanan sat down with his own cup of tea, half an eye on the pot of porridge that was bubbling away.

"We need to get into the city and meet our contact, then I'll bring Ghost to the rendezvous point and make the pickup."

"Sounds good to me," said Kanan.

...

Their rendezvous point was the rooftop of a multistory building. The only way to access the roof was by climbing the fire escape on the outside. Kanan was ahead of Hera and climbing a lot faster than she was. She didn't exactly relish climbing up the outside of a building but it didn't seem to bother Kanan any. She made a note of that in case any free-solo climbing was needed in the future.

Kanan reached the roof and was immediately hailed by another being. Kanan looked down the ladder at Hera. "You doing okay down there?"

"I'll be there in just a second, you go ahead." Hera focused on the task at hand and tried not to think about climbing all the way back down the ladder in just a few moments. Maybe she should start trusting Kanan to do these meetings without her.

She froze when, from the rooftop, the sound of blasterfire filled the air. Adrenaline flooded through her body and spurred her to climb the remaining rungs as fast as she was capable. She popped her head over the edge of the rooftop just in time to see the tussle. Laying prone on the roof was one being who Hera knew was their contact, she seemed to be injured. At the far end of the roof another being, who Hera could only assume was some sort of jilted business associate, was wrestling with Kanan for control of a blaster. The being, a rodian with a dangerous look about her, delivered a kick to Kanan's solar plexus. Kanan stumbled backward, his fingers around the blaster he had managed to pry from the rodian's hands. His foot slipped off the edge of the roof and he tumbled over the far side of the building.

"Kanan!" Hera screamed. Instantly, her blood turned to ice. There was no way any human could survive a fall like that. Their contact, who had been lying prone, suddenly rolled onto her back and fired three shots at the rodian. The rodian fell to her knees clutching her arm.

Hera climbed down the ladder as fast as she could, cursing at her inability to just drop to the ground unharmed. Stumbling through the series of ladders and landings that made up the fire escape Hera raced to ground level. All the while images of Kanan's body on the pavement flashed through her head. Jumping off the ladder three rungs from the bottom she turned to run around the building to discover what gruesome thing had happened to him.

Before she even took two steps, however, Kanan came running from the back of the building, rodian blaster in hand. She stared at him, not quite believing her eyes. "Kanan," she said, trying to formulate a question that wasn't something along the lines of: why aren't you dead?

Running over to Hera he looked around the vicinity. "Which way did she go?"

Hera blanked. What in the galaxy was he talking about? "Are you hurt?" she managed to say at last.

Kanan looked back at her. "No, I," he looked up at the top of the building and seemed to realize how far he'd fallen. "Oh. Yeah, I'm okay."

Hera ran her hands over his arms just to make sure he was really here. "You scared me to death. I thought I'd find you in pieces on the pavement."

Kanan gave her a disarming smile. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

She gave his shoulders one last squeeze now that she was reassured he wasn't some ghost. "I don't want to get rid of you at all." Looking back up at the roof she saw the tail end of a speeder zipping away. Their assailant was long gone by now. "I guess we'll have to see if we can try this again some other time."

Kanan nodded. "Yeah, we're not having any luck today, let's get out of here before we attract too much attention."

As they hurried back to Ghost Hera tried with all her might to figure out a scenario where Kanan didn't die from injuries after falling from a height like that. What was even weirder to her was that Kanan didn't even seem a little roughed up. Not even a limp or anything to show that he'd fallen more than fifty meters. She even double checked around the back of the building but there was nothing that could have broken his fall. It was almost as if he'd grown wings and flown to the ground.

They did manage to make the pickup the following day. After making the exchange their injured contact melted away into the city while she and Kanan loaded the cargo into Ghost. Hera's questions about Kanan's miraculous survival, however, stayed.

*****

Hera leaned over the railing of the catwalk and looked down on the scene below. "Kanan, do you still have my good hydrospanner?" Hera needed to get into Phantom and make a few adjustments to the small ship.

Kanan was sitting in the cargo bay surrounded by various speeder bike parts as he tried to get their recently acquired bikes into working order. "Yeah, it's in my room." He looked up at her. "It's on the bunk, I think."

Hera suppressed a smile. Kanan had a smear of oil on his forehead (probably from messing with his hair) and looked quite the sight. "Okay. How's it going with those speeder bikes? Do you need me to get you anything?"

Kanan looked around at the chaos of the cargo bay. "I'll let you know. Chop's here helping me so I think I'm good."

Chopper waved one of his little arms to show that he was indeed being helpful.

Hera waved back at Chopper. "Alright, if you need me I'll be in Phantom." Turning, she made for Kanan's cabin.

Flicking on the light as she entered, Hera looked around. The hydrospanner was not on Kanan's bunk, nor was it immediately visible on any of the surfaces. She hoisted herself up to take a gander at the upper bunk before dropping back to the floor. It wasn't there either. She wondered if Kanan had maybe left it somewhere not in his room but had forgotten. Turning away from the bunk she caught her foot on one of the under-bunk drawers that had been hanging just a little bit open. The drawer flew open and Hera heard some of the contents go clanking across the floor.

Cursing and grabbing her pained toe Hera glanced around trying to see what had been ejected from the drawer and where it had gone. Halfway across the room she saw two pieces of metal tube. Blast! Hera thought to herself, I broke it! She hoped Kanan wouldn't be too upset. Scooping up the pieces she tried to put them back together. They perfectly locked into place and Hera sighed with relief, but only for a second.

Looking down at the object in her hand she was suddenly very aware of what it was. A shadow at the door caused her to look up. Kanan was standing there, hydrospanner in hand.

"Hera, I-" Kanan stopped dead. His eyes widened in surprise.

Neither of them spoke for what seemed like several eternities. In her mind, everything fell into place. Every little oddity, all those little quirks. The praying, the falling off a building and walking away like nothing had happened. All those things Kanan had hinted at in his past but had never explained. The weird way he seemed to have been brought up. Why he'd been left to roam the galaxy by himself at fourteen. It all made sense now.

"Well," said Kanan, "I guess you know everything now." His tone was flat and guarded.

Hera held the lightsaber out to Kanan. "It fell out of your drawer, I thought I broke it."

Accepting the weapon he looked down at it. "No, I keep it in its pieces."

Hera studied him closely. She could see he was on edge, his shoulders were tensed and his mouth was a thin line. She needed to dial back the pressure. Taking a step closer to him she put her hand over the one that was holding his lightsaber. "Tell me about it?" It was an invitation, not an order.

Kanan tore his eyes away from the lightsaber and looked into Hera's face. He searched her for some minutes before seeming to find what he was looking for. Taking a deep breath he finally said, "My name is Caleb Dume and I used to be a Jedi."

...

The words didn't come easy at first, but the longer he spoke the more he had to say. Listening to his story, Hera realized that Kanan must have been waiting a long time to share this with anyone. She doubted that he'd ever trusted anyone else enough before now. It was at once an honor and a grave responsibility. She had a very keen awareness that his life was now in her hands.

Kanan said a lot, but what he didn't say told a lot more. He mentioned That Day and how he'd been hunted. He talked about his Jedi master, but he didn't go deeper. He didn't have to. She could see that those memories were raw and painful. The Clone Wars had left scars on everyone.

"And then I just roamed around the galaxy until I met you." Kanan looked at her, falling silent. They were sitting next to each other on his bunk. His eyes searched her from time to time. He was still asking if he could trust her.

Hera was sitting right next to him, leaning up against him so he'd know she was someone safe and she was there. "I'm glad you did meet me. I don't know what I'd do without you." Hera ran a hand over Kanan's arm hoping the contact would calm and encourage him. He'd been very vulnerable with her, she knew she had to tread softly.

"Does this change anything?" Kanan's tone was attempting to sound far more casual than it actually did. "You didn't exactly sign up for a wanted Jedi when you picked me up."

"I signed up for a good man who I could love and trust, and as far as I'm concerned that hasn't changed." She sat up so she could face him more directly. "When I told you that Ghost is your home now, I meant it. You belong here by my side and I wouldn't have it any other way." Now that she knew he was a Jedi, Ghost had to be more than just his home, it had to be his sanctuary and safe haven.

Kanan smiled a little, she could see him physically relax. "Well that's good 'cause I'd really hate to have to leave and find another Twi'lek who wanted to take me on as part of her pirate crew."

He was making jokes again. Good. Hera gave him a smile but said with a challenge, "You think you can replace me that easy?"

Kanan slipped his arm around behind her. "I wouldn't dream of it. What we got here? Irreplaceable."

Relaxing into his arm, Hera knew this would be far from the last time they had a conversation about his past. She was glad they got it out in the open, that she knew what she was dealing with when it came to Kanan and that he trusted her enough to share. She pushed her newfound fears about Kanan's safety to the back of her mind. As long as they were together nothing could ever hurt them.

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #2

“pick who dies”

Notes: This got out of control. I was going to add an Obi-wan + Anakin section but I had to cut myself off as I do have other things I need to get to today. This is less whump than...a set of pretentious character studies with THE LINEAGE (including Rael) and an excuse to explore the trolley problem within a Star Wars setting. I blame my recent Hannibal obsession for what you see below. First part here, rest under the cut. Note, I am a musician, not a philosophy student, so allow for some creative interpretation here. 

General Whumptober tag

Whumptober 2020 #1

~~~~~~~

(excerpt from “The Padawan’s Guide to Philosophy.” Eds. Masters Thrife-Foran & Ugaaalich. 616th e. Coruscant, 940 ARR. Holobook.)

Premise:

You are out for an afternoon walk in the outer regions of Thymilla, a moderately-populated city on the planet Ungar. On your walk, you pass by a set of hovertrain tracks, which branch into two separate arms - one an extension of the main track, the other a smaller offshoot which leads to a cargo loading zone, about fifty clicks south of where you are. (Diagram 3)

As a hovertrain approaches from the north, you hear screaming, the words of the driver becoming clearer as the hovertrain barrels towards the switch. The brakes of the train have failed and there is no chance of repair. If the train continues on its current path, it will kill five workers making repairs on the track. If you pull a switch, the hovertrain will divert to the offshoot, where it will kill one worker at the cargo loading zone.

Because of an anomaly in Ungar’s atmosphere, you cannot access the Force.

Do you pull the switch or do nothing and allow the train to speed forward?

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Dooku shifted on his meditation pod, the firm material groaning as he uncrossed his legs from the lotus position, gingerly setting both his bare feet to the cool, tiled floor of his Master’s chambers. The young man allowed himself a small wince with the action. Yoda might have been able to keep that damnable position for hours, probably days on end, but Dooku was just a few months shy of his eighteenth life day, and another recent growth spurt seemingly focused all on his legs made sitting for any long amount of time…uncomfortable, to say the least.

Which was likely why Yoda had had him trapped him here for the past three hours, running through one ethical thought experiment after the other, poking his literal and metaphorical gimmer stick precisely at each gnarled and swollen joint in both his body and thoughts.

To act - to pull the switch - would mean to commit premeditated murder, even if it were for the greater good. Hardly a Jedi-like action. But then again, they had been taught - indoctrinated, really - with the idea that is was acceptable to sacrifice one life for the lives of many. A supposedly fair trade-off, although Dooku had seen enough of the Jedi’s relationship to the Senate, had seen enough of the Council’s internal politics, to know that two lives did not necessarily hold equal weight.

But to not act - to let the train barrel through, to leave it up to the will of the Force...Dooku clenched his teeth. That seemed more in line with the Order he was coming to know, was consistent with the Council’s lack of action on Protobranch, when Sifo-Diyas had seen the calamity that was to befall the planet and yet the Council, his Master, had done too little, too late, preferring to allow events to transpire as they would, the Jedi only impassive bystanders.

What was the point of their abilities, their training, their place in the universe, if they weren’t able to change the course of events for the better?

“I suppose,” Dooku began slowly, coming to stand, suddenly not caring if he was maintaining his proper meditation position. The young man padded towards the slightly shuttered windows on the other side of the room.

“I suppose it depends on the relative worth of each life,” he said, turning away from Yoda as to not see the subtle moue of distaste Dooku was certain would cross the old Master’s face.

“Is not all life sacred, Padawan?”

Dooku barely bit back the dark chuckle threatening to escape from his chest. Only in the holos and classrooms and the empty rhetoric of the Council was all life sacred. The Jedi could do so much more, he could do so much more to change the galaxy and yet the Order allowed itself to be chained to politicians, leashed like akk-dogs until receiving command.

No, Dooku thought. There was no balance - not here and not in the Force.

“From the information you’ve provided,” Dooku said, ignoring Yoda’s question. He peered through the slits of the rotor blinds into the watery illumination of Coruscant’s night sky. The dome of the Senate building rose through the rain like an oddly-shaped umbrella, shielding those in power with its wide beadth. “We can assume both parties of victims are of equal social standing, being manual laborers. Because of this, we must find other ways of determining their worth, their ability to enact change in the galaxy.”

Dooku clasped his hands behind his back, daring to turn to face his Master’s displeasure.

“The question becomes whether you want to hold sway over the transit network of a forgettable city, or the imports and exports that may go off-world. Exports which might include valuable resources or even smuggled goods. Items which could affect the governance of our imagined city and therefore, by extension, an even larger part of the populace.”

“Which is why, in this case,” Dooku concluded, his posture straightening, “I would choose to allow the hovertrain to continue its course and save the cargo worker.”

Yoda folded both claws over his gimmer stick, frowning. After a moment, he let out a small grunt, his features now inscrutable.

“And see yourself as the final arbiter of worth, do you, my young apprentice? Stand you above all others holding a golden scale, you do?”

Don’t we, as Jedi, hold these scales every day and yet choose to ignore them? Dooku thought.

“Someone,” the young man replied, “will make the judgment regardless. Is it not better for the Jedi to use our powers to make such decisions?”

This time Yoda did let out a wet sigh, shaking his head.

“Dangerous, these thoughts are, my Padawan,” Yoda grumbled, gesturing at the meditation pod. “Sit, young Dooku. Much we have to discuss.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Rael.”

Rael Averross slung an arm over the back of Dooku’s couch, sleeves of his Master’s borrowed robe hanging long near the tips of his fingers. It had been the third time that month Rael had “misplaced” his own robe, his Master’s foisted upon him in the wee hours of the morning, Dooku grunting something about “Jedi propriety” before shoving Rael out the door. (The things were a damned inconvenience, and made him look like something straight out of a space station ghost story, to boot. Was it so surprising he showed up to Dooku’s quarters in a state which his Master referred to as “half-naked?”)

Rael bit his lip, trying to not think of all the times he had actually been half-naked in the Temple. Those were fun times. Unfortunately, Dooku could probably mind read them out of him right now if he weren’t so concentrated on this thought experiment.

“Why not save them both?” Rael drawled amiably, scratching at the beginnings of a beard with his other hand as he hoped to distract his Master from any hint of his past indiscretions. It was about time, too, he thought. Never going to look my age going around all smooth-faced like a transparisteel window surface.

Dooku gave a small smile. “You cannot, Rael. Those are the rules of the scenario.”

“Rules,” Rael scoffed, picking at the hem of Dooku’s overly-fancy robe before suddenly launching to his feet, unable to contain his restlessness. The younger Jedi paced up and down the length of Dooku’s couch, grateful his usually strict Master was allowing him this indulgence. Not that Dooku had any problem sitting still for what felt like forever - stiff as a board, that one - but Rael was too jittery, too full potential energy to keep his thoughts in neat line with his body. “Rules are meant to be broken, Master,” Rael gave a swift chop with his hand in illustration. “You’re the first one to tell me that.”

Rael heard his Master let out a soft snort in response. Only Dooku could make such a noise sound dignified. “I suppose I did,” the older man answered evenly.

“So there you go! Blow up the train and everyone’s fine.”

“And kill the driver?”

Rael spun to face Dooku, the other man’s eyebrows raised not in condemnation, but genuine interest. It was days like this Rael truly appreciated having Dooku as a Master. Sure, he was as pretentious as any big-city Senator, a hard taskmaster in his lessons, and an even tougher dueling trainer - but at the end of the day, Dooku only expected Rael to follow Dooku’s rules, and not the Order’s.

And as much as Rael chaffed under any collar, he’d take Dooku’s version of the Code over the Council’s any day.

“I mean, the driver is the one in control of the train,” Rael shrugged. “Sure, it’s an accident, but the they were going to be dead either way once they hit those other bodies. Probably would go flying through the window and bash their skull in. This way, you save six lives,” Rael gave his best used speeder salesman grin. “Buy five, get one free.”

That little addition did cause his Master to roll his eyes.

“You are…” Dooku pressed his lips together, sitting back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. It was as close as Dooku ever got to a casual posture. “Colorful rhetoric aside, you are essentially advocating for pre-emptive action. Very interesting, Rael.”

“Interesting as in,” Rael pulled a sour face, imitating Dooku’s proper Serennian accent, “‘And now I will assign you five Jedi moral precepts to memorize and write a five-page essay about’ or interesting as in ‘I will now have you learn the complete codified law of the Umbargans, whose entire military strategy revolved around non-preemptive attacks.”

Dooku chuckled - actually chuckled - at Rael’s minor impertinent outburst. “Neither, Rael. Although, I must say you have provided me the perfect means by which I may punish you later on.” Damn, dug my own grave with that one, thought Rael. 

“No,” Dooku continued, “I merely find your stance on this matter to be refreshingly…original.”

“You mean the Council wouldn’t approve?”

It took his Master a full minute to answer, his gaze shifting beyond Rael, beyond the confines of their shared quarters, Dooku seeming lost in some memory.

“Hardly,” he finally said. “And that is for the best.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan?”

Qui-gon Jinn sat motionless on the small patch of grass, listening to the susurrations of the light breeze in the Room of a Thousand Fountains finger through a nearby thicket of Borto reeds. Across from him, Master Dooku sat in a mirrored pose, long legs crossed over the other in the lotus position, expression unreadable, his presence in the Force - or, his effect on the Force presence on the vegetation around him - one of controlled expectancy, a single blade of grass erect and ready despite the buffeting winds.

“We shouldn’t have to choose, Master,” Qui-gon replied, trying to steady his own uneven thoughts and emotions. Although he had been Dooku’s Padawan for almost five years now, Qui-gon still found himself worrying his responses to thought experiments like these would not pass his Master’s high and stringent intellectual standards.

“In an ideal world, Qui-gon, we wouldn’t. But as you have learned - as I have shown you - the status quo rarely measures up to our ideals.”

The status quo, Qui-gon thought. Code for the Senate, for the Council, for the Republic at large. That much he had figured out, had learned from Rael, whose ability to translate Dooku’s sometimes opaque rhetoric to something more digestible never ceased to amaze Qui-gon.

The status quo. The more years he spent with Dooku - with Rael, when the younger man was around - the more Qui-gon understood. Perhaps he always had a predilection to question, to challenge what was “known,” the dictums etched in stone handed down from the Council to the Council’s Masters to its Padawans. But with Dooku’s guidance, and with his own exploration of the Jedi prophecies, Qui-gon had developed his own sense of right and wrong, of how the galaxy ought to work in consonance with the ideals of the Jedi Code and his own moral compass.

“In that case, I would ask the Force for guidance,” Qui-gon replied, thoughts slipping back to the many hours he had spent in the Archives, poring over ancient holocrons. The Force had provided for the seers of old, why shouldn’t it provide now?

“Perhaps the Force cannot provide all the answers,” Dooku countered, as if reading his mind.

Qui-gon frowned, tilting his head. “Is that not what the Jedi teach, Master? What you teach? To follow the Force?”

“To a degree,” Dooku assented, rare amusement curling the side of his lips. “But the Jedi work in symbiosis with the Force, and even that is within a certain self-imposed definition of what the Force may or may not be capable of.”

Self-imposed definition? Qui-gon ran his hands through the soft grass at his sides, no longer able to keep that perfect stillness now that Dooku had so upset his equilibrium. Had his study of the prophecies not proven that exact point? That the Jedi of now no longer regarded the Force with as open a mind those of millennia ago?

“The Force is more infinite, has more potentialities than the confines of what we could possibly hope to study in a thousand lifetimes,” Qui-gon hedged.

“And so you hope to use prophecy to save these doomed beings?” Dooku retorted with a small wave of his hand. Ah yes, the hovertrain problem, Qui-gon grimaced. He had almost quite forgotten about the whole reason for this conversation.

“I would hope to…” Qui-gon cocked his head, watching a pair of butterflies flutter over a Byrsonima crassifolia, fragile leaves fluttering in their wake. An action - or a lack of action. If he saved one life or saved five. What would the repercussions be? How could he know he was making the right choice? How could the Order know, if not for guidance from the Force, in all its possible iterations?

And yet, the study prophecy of was considered at best, an esoteric hobby - at worst, a dangerous arm of mysticism by much of the Council.

Which is why your Master encourages you to think beyond the dictates of the Council, Qui-gon concluded.

“Yes, then,” Qui-gon stated, suddenly more confident in his answers. “I would hope to ameliorate the situation by using a similar mindset of the prophets. One of openness, wonder, and possibility - to find my way in this situation.”

“And just how far would you be willing to take supposed,” Dooku trained him with an enigmatic expression, “openness?” The word weighed heavy with implication.

Qui-gon started. What exactly is Dooku trying to get at here? Hadn’t it been his Master who had introduced him to the prophecies, to the Force beyond the dictates of the Code? So far, Dooku had not steered him wrong, and yet just as the nearby Byrsonima crassifolia cast a long shadow over the open grass, so did Dooku’s unspoken entreaty.

But before Qui-gon could cobble together an answer, Dooku seemed to break out of his trance, chuckling slightly as he got to his feet. He extended a long arm to Qui-gon, who took it without hesitation, coming to stand at his Master’s side.

“Meditate on the answer, Qui-gon. For now, I believe it is past time for dinner.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Obi-wan Kenobi shifted in the overly-large, overly-plush velvet chair which threatened to swallow him whole. He and Qui-gon had been dispatched to Barstovia, a little-known desert mining planet in the Mid-Rim. A simple mission, really, overseeing a trade deal between Barstovia and Ord Mantell, opening up some shipping lines of the rare fermenium mineral to the Republic. A wholly forgettable mission, if Obi-wan were being honest, except for the fact the diminutive race of Barstovia seemed to prize, of all the unlikely things, oversized, over-upholstered furniture.

While Obi-wan struggled with a crimson throw pillow the size of his torso, his master, Qui-gon Jinn, sat across from him, perfectly serene in his eight-foot tall, royal blue armchair.

“Well, Master,” Obi-wan said, words strained as he punched the pillow to his side with un-Jedi-like ferocity. Of all times for Qui-gon to pull out a thought experiment.

“The prevailing wisdom would say to sacrifice one life to save five - a utilitarian outlook and the most practical, at least on the surface.” Obi-wan pushed down on the seat of his chair, trying in vain to straighten his posture, to lend his answer some form of credence beyond his words. Inevitably, Qui-gon would hold the exact opposite opinion from Obi-wan’s, and while Obi-wan had often kept his feelings to himself under the guise of “picking his battles,” he preferred to express his thoughts while at least looking the part of an almost eighteen-year-old Padawan, and not some child stuck in a chair too large for him.  He struck at the recalcitrant cushion one last time. “But as Jedi, we often prioritize a single being or beings if they hold an important role.” 

“In the short-term,” Obi-wan grimaced suddenly, pulling an impossible second pillow from under his right thigh, “we would lose four lives over one, granted. But in the long-term, that single life lost might mean the eventual deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

“But you do not have this information, Padawan,” Qui-gon replied, a crease of annoyance in his brow. Obi-wan noted there was no accompanying crease in the cushion of his Master’s chair. “All you know is the number of beings.”

Obi-wan bit down on a caustic reply. Yes, I know that, Master. I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. But when did Qui-gon actually ever listen to him?

“Yes, Master, this is true,” the younger Jedi answered, Obi-wan impressed with the evenness of his own response despite his increasing irritation. “Which is why I would endeavor to save them all.”

A beat. a raised eyebrow coupled with a subtle sigh. “Quite the feat, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon finally said, his words laced with skepticism. “How would you accomplish such a thing?”

How in the world is he not drowning in that chair? Obi-wan thought, distracted by his Master’s impenetrability, despite the audacious situation. There was Qui-gon, halfway across the room, composed and neat - well, as neat as Qui-gon ever got - against the regal backdrop of the humorously-sized chair while Obi-wan floundered in a sea of crimson, just out of his Master’s reach.

And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their troubled partnership?

Obi-wan wiped at his brow. “It’s quite simple, Master. The hovertrain could be diverted, or at least impeded by a third party inserting themselves into the equation.”

Something in Qui-gon’s expression shifted at the statement, earlier annoyance now melting into something closer to concern. The older man leaned forward in his chair, for the first time exhibiting a pang of discomfort as he battled the voluminous material.

“And who might that be?” Qui-gon asked, batting at the tsunami of beige woven blanket at his side.

“Myself, of course.”

Dead silence met Obi-wan’s words.

Wrong answer, Kenobi. Absolutely the wrong answer. Disappointment was written all over Qui-gon’s body language, even emanating from his usually controlled Force signature. Obi-wan fell back into the chair, not bothering to fight the dunes and valleys of velvet threatening to overtake him, averting his gaze to some preposterously-sized side-table and vase. Hopefully, his failure to provide the correct response would be the end of this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Qui-gon would assign him some reading and meditation, and let the matter rest until they returned to Coruscant.

But Qui-gon only peered at Obi-wan with a piercing stare, apparently not ready to give up on the exchange.

“You would sacrifice yourself to save the others?”

Obi-wan found himself mirroring his master’s movements.

“Isn’t that what it means to be a Jedi?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “We are servants of the Republic, of the Force - if our actions can save lives so that Republic may continue in peace - “ Obi-wan’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form the words that would express his devotion to the Order, the Code, his own sense of honor - but found himself gaping like an Ithorian cuttlefish.

Once again, Qui-gon fell into contemplation, back arching against tall, bulbous pillows, brushing his mustache with a single finger. A minute, then two went by, the only sound the clicks of a nearby chrono. Over eighteen feet tall, the clicks sounded more like the steps of a lurking gundark than a timepiece, doing nothing for Obi-wan’s nerves.

Finally, Qui-gon broke the uncomfortable semi-silence. “Don’t be so hasty to throw away your own life, Padawan. As you rightly said, the death of a monarch may cause the deaths of many others down the road. But you cannot know how many lives would remain unsaved if you were to treat your own so lightly.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows rose. That had not been the reaction he was expecting.

“But how am I to know when that sacrifice is necessary?” he asked automatically. Obi-wan would make that sacrifice gladly, although...to be perfectly honest, he would prefer not to die as a seventeen-year-old Padawan. 

“The better question is how you can work to reach a more productive option rather than coming to such a dire conclusion.” Qui-gon’s voice softened. “I am serious, Obi-wan. You have much to offer the galaxy. Don’t let your strict adherence to Jedi ideals extinguish your star too early. Not only would the Republic be at a loss, but…” Qui-gon looked away, staring down at some invisible pattern in the corner of the room. “I would, as well.”

Obi-wan’s mouth dropped open. “Master, I - “

“Ah, Master Jedi!” A new voice squeaked from the gargantuan entranceway. “Thank you so much for waiting,” proclaimed the three-foot Minister of Commerce, Parhary Hatch, bedecked in a long, flowery robe whose velvet train stretched back several feet. “Please, if you would,” he gestured towards the tall archway.

“Yes, of course, Minister Hatch,” Qui-gon replied in his diplomatic voice, jumping neatly off the chair, his landing as elegant as a Coruscanti ice skater.

Obi-wan frowned, joining his Master in a slightly less dignified, but no less effective maneuver. They had been on the verge of…something, some kind of understanding, or at least a truce. Whatever words had remained unsaid between would likely stay so, the moment gone, the trip back to Coruscant, and then to a Hutt outpost taking priority over these types of conversations.

Another time, then, Obi-wan sighed to himself, following the slinking violet trail of the Bartovian minister and his Master into the long corridors of the palace.

[beetlebitchywitch]

Worship

So, a few things:

1. This story involves Scarabee, the Cajun Mafia!Beetlejuice from The Conglomerate, and GodNaga!Beetlejuice, who he worships and gets his magic from

2. This thing is about 5700 words because I have no self control

Enjoy!

WARNING: VERY NSFW, mild blood, monsterfucking

    “You’re sure this is a good idea?” 

    That particular moment was likely not the best time to be asking that question, not when Bee was already leading you through an overgrown jungle, chopping at various vines and thickets with the machete clutched tightly in his hand. You’d been hiking through the trees for about half an hour in silence, eyes trained carefully on the ground for any sight of arachnids or venomous snakes as you made your way away from a well-worn trail and into the thickest portion of the jungle, where no human being had seemingly traveled in years, given the thickness of the vegetation Bee had to slice through. He clearly knew his way, given the deliberate way he traversed the mossy floor, always looking back to make sure you were following closely behind. 

    “Of course it’s a good idea,” he answered almost carelessly, as if trying to deny his own doubts about your choices. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

    “Oh, I don’t know,” you said, the sarcasm in your tone floating heavily through the air. “Maybe because I’m the first person other than you to meet your deity in person and he’s a naga four times my size? What if he decides to eat me?”

    “I told you, he doesn’t eat humans...anymore…” He trailed off softly, pausing on his trek to turn towards you, cupping your cheek with a comforting hand. “Breathe easy now, cher. I’ve been servin’ Beetlejuice faithfully for centuries, and I know him better than anyone. As long as you’re respectful, ain’t no reason to worry your pretty little head about him. Truth is...he’s been askin’ for you. I’ve told him all the stories, how you swept us all off our feet, and he’s curious. He’ll love you, just like we all do. So just be yourself, alright?”

Smiling softly, you nodded, nuzzling your cheek into his hand. Seemingly satisfied, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over your cheek with a fond gleam in his eye.

“Now, eyes on the ground. We’ll be there soon.” And with a soft kiss to your parted lips, he was back to leading you through the jungle, and for a moment, your worries were calmed. However, the closer you got to your destination, the more and more nervous you became. What would he look like? What might he want with you? Those thoughts and more raced through your mind a mile a minute as you finally came upon an imposing structure of black marble and gold, nestled in the middle of an isle surrounded by a vast lake of murky water, nearly black with upturned soil. You wondered how you’d get across until Bee began to mutter in a language that sounded so ancient you felt like you were wrong to hear it. The water began to unsettle at the surface, first in little rings before slowly beginning to part in small waves, rushing out of the way of the small black boat rising to rest at the edge of the lake, a green ouroboros marred with algae and grime emblazoned on the back. Your eyes widened watching the entire display, still not entirely used to the magic Bee had been blessed with by his deity. He turned back to you, holding his hand out with a gentle, encouraging smile, and despite the strangeness of this entire afternoon, you couldn’t help but smile back, nodding your head to steady yourself before taking his hand and allowing him to help you step into the boat, the surface of which was oddly dry despite having surfaced from beneath the lake. You sat towards the back, letting Bee take the helm and, after muttering once again in that strange language, it began to drift on its own towards the temple. It loomed over you the closer you got to it, the architecture strangely unlike anything you’d ever seen and yet still incredibly beautiful, the marble exquisitely polished and carved into odd yet captivating shapes, speckled with flecks of gold and inlaid with chips of precious gemstones. It sparkled in the sunlight and reflected beams of multicolored light onto the surface of the dark water, taking your breath away the closer you got to the temple that you thought truly was fit for a deity. Finally, the boat ran aground against the shore, the large open entrance now directly in front of you, seemingly beckoning you inside. Bee got out ahead of you and once again held out his hand, helping you gingerly out of the boat and onto the soft sand surrounding the temple.

“Is it what you expected, cher?” he asked, rubbing his thumb comfortingly across the back of your hand. You were still staring up at the structure, too captivated by its unusual craftsmanship to look away for more than a few seconds.

“It’s beautiful,” you sighed, tearing your eyes away long enough to send a reassuring smile to Bee. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.”

He chuckled softly in response, giving your hand a squeeze before taking a deep breath and leading you towards the entrance, crossing the threshold into one of the most magnificent spaces you’d ever seen. You gasped softly at the sight of the piles upon piles of gold laying in the different corners of the expansive room, your gasp seemingly bouncing from the arched walls and up to the domed ceiling, painted with rich blues and golds to reveal a map of the constellations. Staring up at it, you almost missed the movement from one of the darker corners, a trinket or two sliding off a pile and skittering across the floor as the sound of scales dragging over the stoned floor slowly approached you. 

“Ssscarabee?” you heard a voice hiss lowly. “Isss that you?”

“Indeed,” Bee replied, holding your hand just a tad bit tighter. “And I’ve brought ma petite femme, as requested.”

You watched in a mixture of horror and intrigue as the naga you’d come there to see finally came into view. He was just as large as you expected, his tail dragging heavily behind him and supporting his massive torso, but he was softer than you thought he’d be, sporting a slightly pudgy belly- however, his arms looked incredibly muscular and the claws at the tips of his fingers sent shivers down your spine. He was handsome, though, you had to admit. His dark black hair was shaved one side and melted into dark green tips on the other, cascading down below his shoulders and hanging across his glowing golden eyes. He was heavily pierced as well, adorned with gold dripping from his ears, nose, eyebrow, and even his nipples. You tried and failed to keep a blush from rising to your cheeks as he settled only five feet in front of you, staring down at you with an amused grin. 

“You’ve done well for yourssself, Ssscarabee,” he said, his deep voice rumbling throughout the expansive space. “You’ve mentioned how lovely she was, but I needed to sssee for myssself. Come clossser, little one.” He held out one of his extremely large hands welcomingly, his eyes glowing almost mischievously as he watched to see what you would do. You immediately looked up at Bee nervously, but he only nodded, trying his best to reassure you as he placed a hand on your lower back and guided you forward. With a nervous breath, you placed your hand in his, surprised by how warm he felt as he pulled you forward, his tail uncoiling and slithering around to curl up underneath you, swallowing you up in a mass of black and white striped scales. You gulped nervously, realizing how much closer you were to the deity’s face, especially since you now got a good view of the sharpness of his fangs glinting in the sunlight as he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. 

“My my, you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he hissed lowly, reaching out one hand to play with the delicate strands of your hair. 

“I...thank you, my Lord,” you replied shyly, avoiding his gaze to refrain from disrespecting him in any way. What you weren’t expecting was for the deity to snort, throwing his head back with an uproarious laugh. 

“There’s no need for sssuch formalitiesss, little moussse,” he chuckled, cupping your cheek with his hand almost exactly the way Bee had in the jungle. You couldn’t help but meet his gaze, shocked to find fondness had softened his eyes as he stared down at you. “It’sss sssimply Beetlejuice. Not even Ssscarabee ssspeaksss to me in sssuch a way.” 

It seemed to be true, given the way Bee was snickering quietly from behind you. You turned around with a stoic glare, causing him to raise his hands up in surrender. 

“This is your fault for not preparing me, you know,” you hissed, only encouraging his laughter further as he took in the blush staining your cheeks. You turned back to face Beetlejuice and felt somewhat comforted by the amusement glittering in his eyes. Clearly, he had no interest in harming you, and so you felt yourself melt somewhat into the comfort of his coils. 

“My apologiesss if my ssservant did not inform you well enough, little one. I assure you he will be punished appropriately, won’t you, Ssscarabee?” he hissed softly, smirking when he saw Bee gulp with widened eyes. You couldn’t help but snort, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips at how easily Bee could be threatened into submission, something you were very much not used to given his usual domineering demeanor. “Now, you mussst ressst from your journey. Ssscarabee, prepare the bathsss.” 

    In an instant, Bee was off to obey his master’s command, leaving you cradled almost lovingly in his coils as he let his eyes drag over your comparably much smaller form. You could see his fangs glinting in the sunlight as his lips stretched into a smile and you gulped, suddenly feeling incredibly warm despite the unearthly coolness of the temple. 

    “You will join usss, won’t you, pet?” he asked lowly, stroking the pad of his large thumb across your cheek in a way that pulled a gasp from deep in your chest. You finally met his gaze for longer than a few seconds and felt your stomach tying itself in knots from the intensity of his eyes. Everything about him was grandiose, from those eyes to his wicked grin to his mere presence, and you couldn’t help but feel taken in by it all. As interested as he seemed in you, you were doubly interested in him, enraptured by the sheer magnitude of...well, everything about him. He was too much to perceive all at once, and yet it was so tempting to try and understand him in his entirety when you knew it would likely be impossible. But you knew that right now, despite his likely brutal nature, he was choosing to handle you gently, and you were incredibly grateful for it. It was enough to tempt you to join him in whatever he wanted of you. 

    “I...alright,” you answered, giving him a soft smile in thankfulness for his hospitality. He seemed pleased by this, given the way his eyes glowed brighter in response. He uncoiled himself and slowly lowered you back to the ground, placing you gently on your feet. 

    “Follow me then, little one,” he instructed, slowly slithering towards where Bee had run off to. You followed behind, too enraptured by the movement of his muscular tail to take in the rest of the temple as it came into view. You could tell from the echoing of your steps that the space was incredibly massive, somehow larger than you expected given the outside view of the building, but the opulence surrounding you was lackluster compared to the sight of Beetlejuice slithering across the stone floor, so confident, so strong. You tried your best to ignore the blush crawling its way up your cheeks, but Bee certainly noticed it as you both approached the large, steaming pool of water that he stood near, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. You sent a glare his way, mouthing some vague threat as you approached the edge of the baths, the steam perfumed with incense delighting you when it hit your nose. Beetlejuice slithered into the baths without hesitation, stretching out his muscles as his massive coils slid underneath the water. He looked at you expectantly as he settled himself against one of the walls, and you realized you’d agreed to join him. But-

    “I don’t...I didn’t bring…” It’s only then that you look over and see Bee with a smirk planted firmly on his face, already shirtless and quickly shucking his pants 

    Oh. 

    Oh.

    “Isss there a problem, little moussse?” Beetlejuice asked, his glowing eyes like pinpricks in the dim light of the room. You looked between him and Bee, both of them looking back at you with anticipation, waiting to see what your next move would be while Bee quickly slipped out of his underwear and into the bath next to his deity. With both of them watching so closely, you trembled, searching within yourself for the nerve to follow through. Taking a steadying breath, you reached for the hem of your shirt and quickly tugged it over your head. Bee had seen you strip off dozens upon dozens of times, but to have a deity watching so intently as you bared yourself to them made your heart race in your chest. You avoided eye contact as much as you could as you slowly removed the rest of your clothing, feeling goosebumps rising across your newly-bared skin. Trying not to look rushed, you stepped into the bath, comforted by the warm, incensed water and gratefully slipping beneath the surface to hide yourself from their prying eyes. When you felt strong enough to meet their gazes again, you were met with equally lascivious stares, their mouths curled into little smirks as they stared you down. There was no hiding the pink staining your cheeks now, not when they’d both gotten a very good look at every inch of you. 

    “Exquisssite,” Beetlejuice hissed softly, his eyes darting over to Bee. “Your wordsss did not do her jussstice, Ssscarabee.”  

    “They never could,” he replied with a croon, making you squirm where you lounged in the water. “She’s mighty pretty without all those clothes on. Ain’tcha, cher?” 

You felt like your brain was turning to mush as their eyes traveled shamelessly over the skin you still had visible above the surface of the water. You were rather used to Bee’s attention, but Beetlejuice...this was a deity looking you up and down like he wanted to devour you whole, his mischievous eyes alight with a genuine desire that made you absentmindedly rub your thighs together. 

“I…” You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Even if you could, you didn’t know what to say. Was this really where they wanted to take this? Did Beetlejuice want to cradle you in his coils, drag those clawed fingers up and down the softness of your skin, sink those fangs into your neck and pump you full of the venom Bee always warned you not to touch during his rituals...God, you couldn’t deny it. The thought of being with him drove you absolutely wild, and you knew that they likely knew it too. Beetlejuice’s forked tongue flicked out to taste the air, his piercings glinting in the soft candlelight before his lips spread in a wide, wicked grin. 

“I can sssmell your desssire, sssweet girl,” he hissed victoriously. He began to uncoil, the end of his tail unfurling and slithering across the floor of the tub to curl around one of your legs pulling it to the side beneath the water to open you to his sight, causing you to gasp out your surprise. “Do you think thisss water isss enough to hide you from me? I can sssee every inch of you, can sssenssse how wet you’re becoming. What could posssibly be on your mind, little one?” 

Your eyes flew over to Bee, widened in both arousal and fear, but he simply stared back hungrily, and from beneath the water, you could see that he’d grown hard, the head of his cock just barely breaching the surface. He met your gaze and cocked one eyebrow, silently attempting to gauge your interest in what you suspected was a longtime fantasy of his. You knew that Bee and Beetlejuice shared a...special relationship as deity and devotee, but you never suspected to be asked to enter into the fold, let alone that you would actually want to. Because it was true, you could tell despite the water surrounding you that the thought of being taken by this massive deity had caused you to grow wet between your now parted legs. You knew you couldn’t hide it from him...so what was stopping you from giving in? The more you thought about it, the less cons you could come up with for simply allowing them to indulge in you, and allowing yourself to give in to the pleasure you craved.

“I...I’m thinking about you, Beetlejuice,” you admitted with a whimper, feeling the segment of tail curled around your leg relax and tighten, squeezing rhythmically around your thigh. The very tip of it slithered upward, trailing itself lightly between your folds and wrenching a bitten-back whine from your lips, much to Beetlejuice’s amusement. 

“Sssuch a bold little human,” he chuckled, continuing to gather up your wetness before curling the skinniest portion of his tail around your clit, rubbing it in little circles with the smoothness of his scales. You worried your lower lip between your teeth as warm, sweet pleasure spread through your body like molten honey, your whimpers echoing throughout the vastness of the room. “Hasss she alwaysss been thisss daring, Ssscarabee?” 

“She’d have to be, to put up with the five of us,” he chuckled fondly, letting his eyes traverse your body as you trembled beneath the water. “She’s lovelier than a magnolia in May, isn’t she? Go on, ma petite, tell him what you want.” 

You tried and failed to put the words together, every touch from Beetlejuice succeeding in melting your mind just beyond the brink of language production. Just when you thought you’d strung the right sentence together in your mind, could just feel your lips forming around the right words, one absolutely divine touch from Beetlejuice’s tail would scatter your thoughts like dust in the wind. Their gazes felt like fire traveling along your skin as they took you in, both of them reveling in your little whimpers and moans. 

“I-I...please…” That was all you could manage to get out before you succumbed once more to the pleasure continuing to assault you. Beetlejuice softly chuckled and unwound his tail from your leg despite your whine of protest, choosing instead to curl it around your waist to pull you towards him and into his coils, your legs still spread and ready for him. 

“Sssuch a delicate little flower, aren’t you?” he hissed, dragging those perfectly clawed fingers through your dampened hair. “Tell me, preciousss, would you like for your god to take care of you?” 

In your head, he knew he wasn’t your god...not yet anyway. But the thought was delicious, the idea of your deity taking you, caring for you, holding you close and giving you the pleasure you craved...you nuzzled into his touch and nodded, still trembling where you rested in his coils. He chuckled amusedly, turning to look down where Bee was staring up, fully enraptured in the scene unfolding before him. 

“Ssscarabee...come,” he commanded, gesturing to his coils. Bee hesitated for only a moment before he climbed up onto the pile of coils, immediately making his way over to you and wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing reverent, comforting kisses to your shoulder. “I would like for our preciousss girl to join usss in our...usual activity. You know what to do, pet.” 

Bee paused, looking between you and Beetlejuice warily, as if unsure that he’d heard him correctly. When Beetlejuice nodded to reassure him, he sighed deeply and moved out from behind you, crawling up his coils to be cradled against his chest. You watched in awe as Bee presented his shoulder willingly to Beetlejuice, who licked his lips before baring his fangs and sinking them into his skin without hesitation, wrenching a broken cry from Bee for only a moment before it melted into a long, drawn out moan. His cock seemed to grow even harder, if that were possible, and began dripping pre-cum from the reddened, swollen head. Bee reached back and, shockingly, buried a finger inside himself, groaning deliciously as he pumped it in and out. You couldn’t tear your widened eyes away from the display as Bee began to drool, his mouth hanging open around pants and moans as he slid in another finger, stretching himself deliciously and pulling more broken whines from his own lips. You had never seen Bee look so...wrecked. 

“Sssurprised?” Beetlejuice chuckled, letting his clawed fingers circle teasingly around Bee’s nipples. 

“I...yeah. He’s...he doesn’t…” 

“He does with me,” Beetlejuice replied, leaning down to lap up the blood seeping from his bite mark with a happy sigh. “And ssso will you. Come.” 

He maneuvered Bee back onto his coils, and for a moment, you made eye contact with him. You could see the apprehension behind the desire thickly clouding his eyes, so you simply pulled him in for a searing kiss, feeling the way he rhythmically pumped his fingers and reveling in the little noises hummed against your lips. You pulled away, petting a hand through his hair before leaving him, instead taking his place in Beetlejuice’s arms with your back pressed against his chest. Seeing his fangs glint in the candlelight, you trembled, shaking like a leaf as he cradled you against his chest. 

“Not to worry, little one,” he crooned, so deliciously close to your ear that you shuddered even harder. “Thisss will only hurt a little.” 

Before you could even think, he sank his fangs into your skin, assaulted with a white hot pain that pulled a sharp cry from your lips that quickly dissolved into little whimpers because oh God, oh God, it was incredible. True to his word, the pain had lasted for only a split second, melting away into a steady pleasure that had you practically dripping in seconds. Suddenly, you understood Bee’s desperation as the venom coursed through you, setting your nerve endings on fire with a delicious pleasure that had you burying your fingers between your legs without a thought. 

“That’sss it, preciousss,” he hissed, laving his tongue across the seeping wound he’d left behind. “Jussst fill yourssself up for me.” 

You had no choice to obey, not when your body was screaming at you for more, harder, faster, fucking anything to satisfy the ache inside of you. You sunk two fingers into yourself without a care in the world, shocked by the amount of slick your body was managing to produce but still not giving a shit when yes, oh God, fuck yes, it was so good. 

“Y/N,” Bee groaned, already up to three fingers and trembling violently on his knees. “Y...you’re doing so w-well, cher…”

Despite your growing ferality, you couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Bee to still try and be there for you when he himself was falling to pieces. Beetlejuice chuckled as well, stroking his hand comfortingly down Bee’s back as he continued to fuck himself silly.

“Yesss, pet, she isss,” he crooned. “One more finger, preciousss girl. Ssscarabee, you’re ready, come join usss.” 

Groaning with protest, he still obeyed, sliding his fingers out of himself and crawling back up Beetlejuice’s torso. You too obeyed orders, easily slipping in a third finger and keening at the delicious stretch, wondering exactly what you were preparing yourself for, since you’d yet to see Beetlejuice’s cock. You watched, however, as Bee reached below the surface of the water and parted a section of scales just below Beetlejuice’s torso, revealing…

Two. Two dark purple cocks, long and thick and glistening with precum that Bee slicked his hand with as he stroked up and down the upper one. No wonder he’d bitten both of you, you thought, entirely entranced by the piercings on both heads reflecting the dim light as Bee continued to stroke, causing Beetlejuice to hum and sink further into the water. 

“They’re...oh fuck,” you keened, unable to string together words when your fingers were grinding in just right, your legs trembling where they rested against Beetlejuice’s stomach. You wanted to tell him how beautiful they were, how badly you wanted one inside of you, how desperate you were for him to finally take you, but it all muddled together in your mind, utterly bogged down with pleasure until you weren’t even sure which way was up. 

“Shhhh, don’t think too hard,” Beetlejuice crooned, letting one hand cup your chin and slipping a finger inside your gaping mouth. You took it readily, letting your tongue curl around the digit as you sucked dutifully. “Let me do the thinking for you, little one. Fingersss out. Now.” 

You wanted to disobey with everything in you, but watching Bee stroke that massive cock was enough incentive for you to pull your fingers out, feeling so utterly empty that you couldn’t help but let out a long, low whine. The deity chuckled, removing his own finger from your mouth before wrapping his arms around you and lowering you to meet Bee, who’d begun sucking Beetlejuice’s lower cock so fiercely that drool was steadily dripping down his tail. He pulled off once you were deposited alongside him, his eyes so obviously clouded with unrelenting desire that you couldn’t help but pull him in for another kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders just to feel his presence, his warmth. He kissed you back readily, and you could feel how he trembled from his overwhelming desire. From above, Beetlejuice watched you both curiously. Never in his long, long existence had he seen two people so clearly devoted to one another. It intrigued him, to say the least, and he was incredibly interested in what would happen next. 

“Ssscarabee,” he hissed, reaching down to cup his devotee’s face in his hand. Bee stared up at him lovingly, wanting nothing more than to please his deity. “You know what to do.” 

With a thankful nod, Bee scrambled to position himself above his lower cock, and you watched in utter awe as he sunk down, slowly but surely taking every inch inside of him with a long, desperate moan. He looked...incredible. You never thought you’d ever get to see Bee bottom, yet here he was, so desperate to have a cock in his ass that he was literally drooling for it, murmuring his thanks and praise over and over again now that he’d finally sunk down on his deity. It was...you needed him. You needed that cock inside of you so badly you were willing to beg for it until your voice went hoarse. Luckily for you, you wouldn’t have to. 

“Are you ready, little one?” Beetlejuice asked, his voice strained now that he had Bee’s tightness clenching around him. You nodded frantically, already rushing to position yourself above his upper cock, facing Bee and finally getting a good look at his blissed out face. His eyes were rolled back in his head, his cock practically purple and continuously dripping precome as he desperately waited for permission to move. It was this sight alone that got you moaning as you finally sunk down onto Beetlejuice’s cock, stretching deliciously around it as you slowly took him deeper and deeper. It was everything you could’ve wanted, so much that you couldn’t help yourself from taking the rest of him with one fast motion that had you screaming your pleasure up to the domed ceiling. From behind you, you heard Beetlejuice hiss, now with both cocks buried perfectly inside tight, wet heats. 

“My perfect petsss,” he groaned, lounging back in the tub as he watched you both with intrigue. “Fuck...you may move.” 

Clearly experienced in this endeavor, Bee was bouncing on Beetlejuice’s cock before you could even think to move, his head thrown back in utter ecstasy at the way the head of his cock dragged against the most perfect spots inside of him. You couldn’t help yourself from watching, so enraptured in Bee’s pleasure, his desperate moans, the tears dripping down his cheeks, his fucked out babbling as he took his deity’s cock as hard as he could. You too began moving, rising up on your knees and sinking back down with a shuddering groan as the venom continued to amplify your pleasure. Every inch of him felt utterly sublime, so unlike anything you’d taken before and yet so absolutely perfect that you couldn’t help but reach out for Bee, cupping his face in your hands so you could meet his gaze as you rocked down on his deity’s cock. 

“So, ungh, so good,” you crooned, rubbing the pads of your thumbs across the tear tracks tracing down Bee’s face. “You’re doing so good, mari, keep going!” 

“Y/N, ma colombe, ma douce femme, tu le prends si bien, il se sent si bien, oh mon Dieu, je ne peux pas, putain, putain, c'est trop!” You had no idea what he was saying but you revelled in his fucked out rambling, his words slurring together to the point that you couldn’t even tell where one word ended and another began. You let the delicious sound send you spiraling as you rode Beetlejuice’s cock as hard as you could, listening to hear the deity’s own moaning. 

Beetlejuice, of course, was utterly taken with the two of you and your perfect, tight heats as you rode him, but he felt utterly lost at seeing the way you cared for his devotee, the way you yourself were devoted to him and his pleasure as much as your own. This was love, he knew it was, and it was so unfamiliar to a being like him, and yet so completely captivating that he wished he could be in Bee’s place, feeling his face cupped between your hands and hearing your praises directed towards him. He reached out to brush your hair out of your face, placing his hands on your hips to help guide you on his cock. 

“Sssuch good little petsss, look how perfect you are,” he hissed, meeting Bee’s glazed over eyes and grinning wickedly. “Are you going to cum for me, little ones? Are you going to sscream for me? Let go now, sssweet thingsss. Sssing your praisssess to your god!” 

His words took you over and filled you up even more than his cock did, and you couldn’t stop yourself from barreling towards your climax at the sound of his command. You sunk down on his cock fully with a sharp scream and came, clenching violently around him as your entire body trembled violently, the venom serving to amplify your pleasure so strongly that you felt as if you might faint. Vaguely, you could hear Bee reaching his own climax, screaming out something in French as he came all over himself, thick spurts clinging to his sweat-dampened stomach and dripping down to Beetlejuice’s tail. The combined sensations of the two of you clenching down around him sent Beetlejuice panting, moaning, and crying out into his own orgasm, pumping thick ropes of cum inside the both of you until you were all finally still, cum dripping out of both of you in slow, steady streams as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt like they would never open again, not when your entire body was buzzing from the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced. You reached out blindly for Bee, finally grabbing at his hand and lacing your fingers together, rubbing the pad of your thumb across his hand as you felt him tremble and heard his little whimpers. Finally, your eyes slid open, revealing a Bee you’d never seen before- absolutely drunk with his pleasure, eyes still clenched shut and mouth rapidly babbling in French as his cock slowly but surely softened. Beetlejuice reached out and slowly helped him slide up, and your stomach clenched at the sight of a hot rush of cum sliding out of him the second he was fully off his cock. Once he had Bee securely laying against his chest, he reached out for you, and you shivered as his softening cock slid out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing but the cum steadily dripping from your pussy. You reached out for Bee, and Beetlejuice obliged, laying you next to him so you could pull him into your arms, nuzzling lovingly into his chest as you both panted. Beetlejuice held you close and remained silent, letting his sweet, gentle touches do all the praising for him. You laid there for so long you weren’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually, Beetlejuice slowly lowered you both fully into the bath, helping you clean off the cum that was drying on your skin and cleaning your bite wounds with a gentle hand. You felt utterly cared for, and despite the fact that you felt as if you should be serving the deity rather than the other way around, you were grateful for his kindness. After what seemed like hours, you both seemed to be back in your own heads, the effects of the venom having all but worn off.

“That was...God, ma cherie, you were divine,” Bee sighed, resting his head happily against Beetlejuice’s tail. 

“Indeed, little one,” the deity agreed, letting his hand pet lovingly through your hair. “You are welcome back at my temple whenever you ssso choose.” 

Feeling utterly drained of energy, you simply nodded, curling up in Beetlejuice’s coils alongside Bee and, after a brief kiss to his lips, letting yourself drift off, your exhaustion finally claiming you. One thing was for certain. You would definitely be back. 

[tortillastar]

Ribs

She drags the shoe across the linoleum tendu à la second. The offending stockinged leg stares back from the mirror. The creased turnout - just shy of 180 - the lemon-peel crease at the crook of her knee, the tumor bulge of her kneecap, and the limp left toes, hung out to dry like Sunday laundry. Slight, like a pimple dotting one’s brow, yet enough to give it the look of a crooked branch.

She shifts her gaze to the leg and gazes detachedly as the flesh constricts, pulling and stretching into the same strange crests and valleys traced by shadow. A heaviness presses upon her knee, a directive to point is lost in translation, and only then did she realize her feet were numb.

A few streaks of light claw the studio floor, slicing her leg like a loaf of brioche. She nudges her phone with the frayed corner of her pointe shoe. 8:10. Two hours she’d been in the empty studio tucked at the end of the hall, only the hawk-eyes and bitter laugh of the mirror for company.

For the past month, she’d taken to running the exam combinations in some pretense of preparing for the winter final. In ballet, no amount of midnight cramming would shuffle the pecking order. Anna would top the list, Svetlana and Maria eating at her heels a few miles removed. She would powder the bottom, placidly hanging on the brink of expulsion as only one who’d lived bare-necked beneath the guillotine for five years and four months could.

She hadn’t gotten past the first set of pas de bourrées, engaged in a staring contest with the knee she’d hammer straight, the bones she’d melt and remold, the feet she’d shape into the neck of a goose.

She peers at the face in the mirror, fixed with a melted and molded smile, like a wax mask worn in the sun. The janitor would be making his rounds soon. He was a stubby hunchback who reeked of greasy bacon and cottage cheese and picked his teeth with the rusted keys on his belt-sized keyring - one she preferred not to cross.

She wobbles over to her bags and collapses by them, a boney addition to the hobo pile. Practiced hands dig out the knot and unravel the ribbons. They leave red tracks crisscrossing her calves - she’d tied them too tight. Her nails absent-mindedly trace the straw-like veins, some purple, some blue along her feet, peeling off millimeter by millimeter each patch and piece of toe-tape. They pull at her skin and reveal the scabs, the welts, the splotches of red. She slips out the studio, leaving a foot-width slit as the teachers did, a silent dusting of her tracks.

The two-minute trek back to the dorms was enough to stain her exposed cheeks crimson and numb the fingertips poking out of holes in her winter gloves. The knob gives too easily.

No Anna, but the heap of dress and stockings, shed like a lizard's skin at the foot of the bed, confirmed her lurking presence.

Stealing food again.

At this, the girl allows herself a haughty flick of the lead eyebrows smeared to the crown of her forehead. The fading desk lamp huffs out a sickly-yellow glow on the knots of hair, specks of dust, bits of paper, and the torn sole of an unwashed stocking poking forth from beneath the bed. They invaded the edges of her vision, rubbing a crude line around the corners.

The girl picks up a corner of the lilac leotard, the sheer purple skirt would clumsily about the waist and noted with a bitter cornrow twist of the lip the xs tag, the letters faded and cracked, but the jeer no quieter. Hers was two sizes bigger - two sizes too big. A fist-sized patch of sweat bloomed at the chest. She smells in its sticky sweetness, browned toast, and poached eggs. Hands bring the damp clothing closer to her hankering nose. She stumbles at the rusty stutter of the doorknob and flings the dress back atop the pile with a flinch.

Anna slips in, lithe as a cat. She flips the lock shut with a blind hand, balancing in the other a plate piled with the usual - tattered cheese squares and soggy folded between slices of flaking bread heels.

“Back already?” The words are puffy and thick. Two folded sandwiches balloon from her cherry-petal lips; a scrap of ham flags the corner of her mouth. The lilt fills in the rest - given up already?

The girl hums, letting the implication roll off her like a raindrop caught on an umbrella.

Anna flops on her bed, sidestepping the strewn clothes and bunched skirts on impossibly high relevé. A few sandwiches flop open, but no creak of the headboards. A few sticky stabs of the remote control and a projection flickers to life on the far wall, bathing her form in a hazy-blue hue. It flecks her hair, mud brown and unbrushed, but pretty in that careless way only those who didn’t care their appearance seemed capable of. A white collarbone peaks out the collar of her nightshirt, paper-strip legs from the mouth of flared pajama pants. A flat chest and masculine frame suspended her at that blissful age where the body seemed an insatiable black hole, vanishing the food she ate without a trace. The girl stares at the way her kneecaps vanished into the line of her leg, and the natural doming of her foot, even unpointed, and subconsciously shoved her numb toes and bruised legs further beneath her bed.

She was the same once - wolfing down oil-crisp fries and cheese-dripping burgers at the KFC beneath her ballet class, shoving a bag of chips to the tail of the conveyor belt, being chased around the house by her grandmother, begging her to down the last gulp of soup.

It had come about gradually, imperceptibly, like the callouses about her big toe. A few arched eyebrows, a few frowns, and a simple “Katia switch with Sofya” relegated her to the spot by the exit door. The ones who occupied it never stayed long - dismissed, or crushed under the pressure of digging themselves out.

Her fork lingered over the beefsteak, wound an uneasy pirouette, and stabbed into the neighboring mound of greens. That had been easy. The academy canteen didn’t serve much red meat in the first place. Fish was harder, especially the cuts of smoked salmon she slapped on everything from burnt toast to insipid spinach leaves. Eggs went because she forgot to grab one breakfast. Then milk, because the skim milk pitcher had run dry one morning, and if she wasn’t drinking milk anymore why keep up with the yogurt.

She forced down finger-sized carrots, bitter brussels sprouts, and broccoli florets that sunk into her teeth. First with leftover dribbles of salad dressing, then fruit, then nothing at all. She gazed at the squares of beef steak wedged in others’ mouths, trying to taste the greasy, crumbly juices in her raw cucumber slices.

She took to keeping food and water on her person at all times - an orange bulging like a tumor in her clutch, a thermos tucked in the rooster pouch of a holey jumper. It was to avoid starvation, the dull cramp in her stomach that tugged down the corners of her lips and inevitably followed by overeating. She never ate the food but kept bringing it along anyway - on the two-minute walk from her dorm to the academy, the few hundred-step walk from cafeteria to class.

Partly, she derived some warped pride from the fact that she could eat, but would not. Partly, she came to enjoy voicing with a breathy, bogged-down sigh, “I’m too full, anyone want this?” when she spotted a teacher turning the corner, and answering calls of “I’m starving, anyone got a snack?” with granola bars, and too-large apples shoved in her classmates’ faces, smiling an evasive smirk when they accepted.

She scanned barcodes and tallied up the calories, grinning in triumph when she dragged herself through the day at under a thousand - net, of course, she was careful.

“Want one?” She realizes she’d been staring, and by the arch of Anna’s single crow-bar brow, for too long. Without shame, the girl raises her eyes to meet Anna’s pitch-black orbs, poised before an eye-roll she would probably share with her bed lamp.

“No thank you.” Creaks the automatic reply. “I don’t eat bread.” She adds to strengthen her conviction, though nobody would spare a glance at her plate at lunch to check if she’d kept her word.

“Your loss.”

A buoyant, techno tune draws her gaze to the projection. For the night, Anna had passed up the flabby American rom-coms she inhaled under the pretext of learning English. Instead, flappy, armless sleeves, squirming tuber dresses, and pendulum purses paraded down coffee-stained roads, easily avoiding the few puddling gulps dotting the curbs. Towering lampposts, shop signs, wobbly curbstones, each leaf bleached grey. A flap of bat’s wings and the occasional lilting bird whine completes a pretend eeriness ruined by the too-matte paint, the too-smooth roads, the too-new metal benches.

The camera whirled about, favoring a bottom-to-top shot that lent full view to jutting, crooked knees, and bowed legs. The girl frowns at their pastry-thin shoulders, chicken-wing spatula, and pigeon-toed walk. She sees in bed-sheet expressions not aristocratic coolness, but contemptible misery - a silent plea on weighted lips.

“You can become a model if you’re dismissed.” Her smacking lips pork chop the words, her mouth brimmed like her suitcase, its zippered mouth perpetually open in half-hearted surprise. She tears open the final sandwich, nails pressing crescent-moons into the holey bread pockets. The girl lifts a corner of her lip in a wan smile.

The words pick at hardened scabs, no more than a tickle. She’d been suspended on the chopping block from the moment she was accepted, and the sense of urgency had long since worn thin. The studio hours after class was fulfilled out of habit, not any imminent fear of dismissal.

The girl thought it was Anna’s brand of helping - disaster prevention through repeated exposure. They walked the no-man’s-land between friend and stranger on a scaffolding of convenience and pity.

“They have it easy. Just starve themselves, look miserable, parade around clothes slapped with some expensive brand name. And people shower them with praise.” She sucks the tips of her fingers with a pop.

“We have to starve ourselves and look happy doing it.” She stands up with the empty plate. A few dark specks had already seized on the leftover crumbs.

“You’re showering first.” A phrase stranded between question and demand.

The door croaks shut, and her wobbly “Yeah” sinks in the empty room. The bed groans as she stands. She wants to peel off the bark and tear the baseboards but glares dully woodgrains for a few beats before grabbing her shower duffel from the doorway.

The shared bathroom is conspicuously empty. The others had showered after class, she assumed. She twists off her jumper and lets the cold prick at her bare arms, observing each pimpling goosebump. Slowly, she peels off the lilac leotard and rejoices at the wrinkle of fabric bunched beneath the armpits. Cold fingers trace along the ribs, revealed one by one, pressing a chill to each angled, protruding bone. In the mirror - lustrous despite the grimy tiles and cracked sinks, copper wire lips bend into a smile.

[mayhemproduces]

Our next match of the evening was one that appeared to be a head scratcher on paper, but given Dyln Blaine’s recent history with what he considers the “past” generation of wrestlers, Swoggle, another world traveled vet, was here to either shut Dyln up, or, extend some sort of an olive branch to the kid. Lilith Brookes made him worse, but as Swoggle approaches the ring with a case of white claw, it seems Swoggle was going to try a different approach than corporal punishment tonight. Swoggle finished his entrance, coming down the ramp with a full case of White Claws, handing one of the cans to Steve Guy, one of the cans to the referee, before setting three cans aside, throwing the rest of them out to members of our audience. Swoggle grabbed two of the three cans he’d set aside, and kept one for himself, before tossing the other one across the ring to Dyln, who caught it, looking a bit perplexed. Perhaps this was a show of good faith from Swoggle, who cracked his can and held it up towards Dyln. Dyln looked out at the crowd before shrugging his shoulders, cracking his can, and bumping cans with Swoggle, before the two men took a long drink of the alco-seltzer. The crowd cheered the show of sportsmanship, right before it was quickly ruined by Dyln, who spat the drink right in Swoggle’s face, before hitting Swoggle in the head with his can! Swoggle dropped to the mat, and Dyln quickly made the cover on Swoggle! The ref rang the bell and then got down to count!

1...2… Kickout!

Swoggle managed to stay alive, despite taking the can right to the dome. Dyln got up and began to stomp away at Swoggle, as the crowd continued to boo. Dyln then moved to choking Swoggle with his foot, before using the ropes to balance himself as he stood right on Swoggle’s body! Dyln got off and shouted out to the crowd: “This is an embarrassment, and an insult! I deserve better!” The crowd continued to boo as Dyln turned his attention back to Swoggle, grabbing Swoggle by the throat and the seat of his pants, before lifting Swoggle high above his head, looking like he was about to make good on his promise to throw Swoggle into the third row! Before Dyln could, however, Dyln started yelling out in pain, as Swoggle was biting his hand, trying to escape! Dyln dropped Swoggle, who landed on his feet, before winding up and catching Dyln with a chop block! Dyln dropped down to a knee, holding the back of his leg, and Swoggle quickly hit the ropes, before charing back at Dyln and nailing him with a dropkick! Dyln was down! Swoggle covered!

1...2… Kickout!

Dyln avoiding disaster with a quick kick out as the ref’s hand hit for two. Dyln managed to get back to his feet, and before running off the ropes. Swoggle tried to leapfrog him, but didn’t get very far off the ground. Dyln stopped in his tracks as the crowd chuckled a bit at Swoggle’s attempt to jump over him. “Wait! Do it again!” Swoggle said, pointing at the ropes. Dyln huffed and ran back off the ropes, Swoggle attempting to leapfrog him again, and once again failing. “God damn it!” Swoggle exclaimed, causing a louder laugh out of the audience. “One more time!” Dyln didn’t seem to want to play around anymore, but a crowd chant of “One more time! One more time!” Caused him to roll his eyes and turn to hit the ropes again. When he did rebound, however, Swoggle launched a dropkick at his knee, causing Dyln to fall to the mat face first! Swoggle then quickly ran over and grabbed Dyln’s leg, before locking in a calf slicer, putting a tremendous amount of pressure on the leg Swoggle has been targeting thus far in this one! Dyln cried out in pain and reached out for the ropes, trying to pull himself towards the ropes. Fortunately, Swoggle didn’t weigh much, and Dyln was easily able to drag himself to the ropes. The ref forced Swoggle to break the hold, and Swoggle rolled off, before walking over to the corner where he stashed the third White Claw, cracked it open, and took a long sip, before walking over to where Dyln was kneeling, spitting the seltzer into his face, and hitting Dyln upside the head with the can, much like Dyln did to Swoggle at the start of the match! Dyln fell to the mat, and Swoggle looked out at the crowd, before pointing up to the top rope, indicating that he wanted to finish this. Swoggle climbed up to the top rope, and was looking for his Tadpole splash, but Dyln rolled out of the way, and Swoggle crashed and burned! Dyln rolled to his feet, and watched as Swoggle got up, charged him, and blasted Swoggle with a massive Cyclone Kick! Dyln made the cover!

1...2...3!

“Here is your winner, Dyln Blaine!”

Blaine picks up the win, but as Dyln waves Eric and Mikey into the ring, it appears that dyln isn’t done here tonight. It looks like Dyln and his crew aren’t just satisfied with a win, and things could get bad for Swoggle…