#while trying to sleep i was hit with a flash of brilliance and drew this

[n-a-gindustries]

WAITER! WAITER! MORE MONSTER PROM MEN IN DRAG PLEASE!!!!!!! 👗👠💄

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles | Chapter 5

War-Front Redux

A little reunion, a little madness, a little passion on the heels of a brush with death.

Aleksander saw the Inevitable now. He understood it. At least, partially.

When he grasped the tether that evening after hours spent collecting himself and setting his own expectations, it was with deliberate calm and confidence.

He pulled.

She didn’t answer.

He waited an hour but she still had not responded.

He poured himself a drink.

Standing at the window of his study, shoulders straight and head tall, he pulled again.

Minutes passed. Then several more.

No response. No twinge, even.

He swallowed the rest of his glass and set it down.

Cracking his neck to ease the tension, he straightened the buckles of his undercoat and then gave a real tug.

Nothing.

Nostrils flaring, his tossed the empty tumbler. It shattered in the fireplace.

Something flared inside him and looked around.

“…Alina…” his voice loses it’s commanding edge thanks to a wayward hopeful-uplift at the end of her name. He rolled his eyes at himself, his fingers rubbing against the skin of his forehead.

The raw and reopened hollow in his chest pulsed and he searched it for what he knew was also there. That imprint of her. Perhaps she would not come but her feelings were not as easy to hide away from him.

Could he sort out her emotions from his? He had never properly tried.

Seating himself back in the armchair he prepared to search the depths of his soul for the loose scraps of her.

He found an anger there. It was…odd to acknowledge. Anger he knew intimately, but the flavor of this was different. He could not place it.

It must be hers, nevertheless.

She was not coming.

He repeated this fact to himself over and over, forcing himself to come to terms with it.

The disappointment he felt was tempered only by his determination to meet her in a collected manner.

He resolved to give her space.

He tried again the next week. A hardy pull to the line as he leaned against his fireplace.

She did not answer.

Even if he tried he could not have stopped the whip of fury he hurled deep into their connection.

He burned for her to feel his displeasure. How dare she hide herself from him now?

She was hoping to drive him back into insanity, no doubt.

Aleksander forced a deep breath.

He would not succumb. She wanted to play him for a fool.

The continued silence he endured from her still had an added taste of her rage returned.

This was puzzling. Not having seen her for years—what could he possibly have done to earn this disdain?

Redirecting his efforts into war was reflexive. Months were spent wiled away on the war front.

The General was gifted in the field. The ability to think on his feet, to act with precision and merciless retaliation was honed by years of ugly lessons hard-learned.

His best ideas were born from the chaos of the destruction of battle.

It made sense that one such flash of brilliance would be sprung from this environment; his mind constantly worked in the background to resolve this issue with his petulant Sun Summoner.

How would he get the attention of a woman whose whereabouts were utterly unknown to him? One who refused to answer his commands and who responded to his displeasure with her own stubborn anger?

Pleasure. Raw and unrefined desire. Pressed into her very being by him. He would weave a Siren’s song into their connection and lure her to his side.

Honestly he was remiss for missing the obvious sooner. He had direct access to her emotions—enough that he could channel his own into her and light her up like a little lamp if he wanted.

She could ignore his summons as she pleased. Ignore his wrath.

She would not be able to ignore his lust.

It was a risk. Revealing the depth of his lust and his desire was admitting to an obscene vulnerability.

However, he had exhausted his options. He could not very well send her the debilitating ardor and affection he felt for her. She would hold that over his head for eternity.

He would not be dominated in that way.

A twitch of a manipulation to her emotions was not a bad concession. She desired him as well, anyway. Whatever ambivalence she wished to convince him of at this moment, he had experienced her craving for him in return. Had she not once gripped his hair to the point of pain while he drank from her trembling little cunt? He remembered with a surging heat through his body exactly what her lust-filled moan tasted like on his tongue.

This was simply a matter of reminding her.

In the safety of his tent and long after his men retired, Aleksander reclined on his bed.

Alina would not deny this, could not block it nor see it coming. She expected his rage, his resentment and wrath. She would not be equipped to guard against his lust.

He drew on the memories he had of her. Of her lips, of her fervor, her legs clamped around his waist, her thighs against his cheeks, the silk of her wrists enclosed in his hands when he pinned her to the forest floor and placed a tongue to her throat.

All those recollections folded into the same space which stored his future designs. The ones predicated on joining his body into hers and staying in her as long as he pleased. Stripping her down and filling her up again with himself, his body, his power.

Internally, he was accumulating his own ball of light as he knitted memory and fantasy into a single globe that cast tendrils of heat into his limbs.

The swell in his pants begged for attention but he ignored it for the moment, holding his concentration.

When he thought the thing potent enough, he released it, forcing it along his end of the tether and into their shared connection.

He did not need to wait long. When it hit her, he knew. The tidal wave of desire returned to him and on the heels of it, more fury than he had ever felt from her before.

Aleksander tugged. An incessant, needy pull at their connection.

She did not respond.

Under his direction, the Second Army took out camps across the enemy line, the Fjerdan permafrost was painted with wolf blood to draw out their masters and then drüskelle and Fjerdan soldiers alike were slaughtered with the ease of a plow anointing a field.

The dark mood harbored by the General made him vicious and on more than one occasion he left the confines of his tent to enter the battlefield where he personally ripped flesh from bone with disquieting pleasure.

Ivan and Fedyor monitored their General. Hesitant to challenge or even acknowledge the new state of his disposition.

Eventually the lack of intervention caught up with them.

The General, newly emerged from the blackened night with blood and victory splattered across his face, grunted in surprise as a Fjerdan wolf leapt from the shadow and latched to his shoulder. It was Ivan who stood in a panic-induced shock, frozen in place as he watched the attack.

Ivan, who lifted his hands to stop the beast, determined to crush the heart inside it’s savage chest.

Ivan, who in an inexcusable moment of complete ineptitude, forgot that his powers did not work on animals.

A sickening crunch came from the spine of his General before Fedyor stepped into the brawl to sink a blade into neck of the wolf.

Healers were called. The General lay quite motionless with a thready heartbeat. The wolf had snapped his spine and when the Healer knitted the bones back together, his eyes shot open.

Ivan watched as his superior stared into the empty snow beside him. He was muttering though Ivan could not make out the words.

After a few moments, his eyes closed again.

When the General woke, it was to a flurry of people around him.

Healers made their assessments, declared him mostly recovered and assigned him to bed rest. He fell in and out of sleep.

Ivan and Fedyor took turns keeping vigil.

Alina was there sometimes, sitting by his feet. His eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes next she stood at the end of his bed. He blinked a greeting at her. Something inside him warmed in her presence.

Though he could not keep himself awake. Again his eyes closed and he only hoped she would be there when he woke again.

A couple days passed before he had the stamina to keep his head held up and his eyes open. He found her seated on his bed, her hand inches from his.

At the sight of her, a smile twisted his face against his will.

He dismissed his lingering guests. Soldiers filed out, unsure if they should follow his orders given the state of him.

Everyone was gone save his sunbeam and the warmth was back. His eyes caught on her lips and he thought if he did not speak he might try to pin her down before she could disappear. He would capture her like a lightning bug in a jar and keep her as a trophy on his nightstand.

“My little Saint has come to call at last. Or…is this still a fever dream?”

He began to edge into a seated position and groaned. She glared at him.

“Are you in pain?” She asked.

He shrugged cautiously and adjusted his pillows for support. “Mostly healed now, I imagine. The rest will pass.”

When his eyes met hers, he found a fire in them. He could not hold her gaze; his brow furrowed.

He fiddled with his bed clothes, eventually pushing them off himself and stacking one leg over the other in repose, hands clasped in his lap to contribute to the picture of ease he was arranging.

“To what do I owe the visit, Alina?” He asked, business-like.

She scoffed. “You do not—I felt it, you fool. You. On the cusp of death. I figured I should come check you kept your pulse.” She spoke with derision in her voice. As if it was appropriate to arrive furious next to someone’s sick bed.

He sneered and looked away.

“Thoughtful of you to pay the courtesy then. However, I am very much alive as you can tell. If that is all, you can run along now—“

She cut him off, “In case you are too dense to pick up on this, I find your latest attempt to get my attention entirely deranged. I am disgusted by it.”

His composure dissolved into disbelief.

“My latest attempt?” He raised his voice at her, “You think I would cut my line at the edge of death just to lure you to my side?”

Her smoldering glare was unmoved. Plainly, she did.

“Am I so desperate for your company that I would gamble my life on a battle field in hopes that I could—what? Endure another five minute row with you across this—“ he gestured between them, “measly connection only to be abandoned by you for a few more years?”

Someone stirred at the tent flap at the sound of his raised voice.

He cast a wall of shadows around them, dense enough to muffle his sounds.

“Forgive me for thinking you would stoop to such depravity.” Alina stared at him, her tone dry, “Your prior attempts at getting my attention were quite dignified, after all.”

Then as if she could not stop the words from flying out of her mouth, “Constant attempts to pull me over, to force me to bend to your commands. And then when I did not answer—it was pathetic to think I would fall prey to some burst of carnal lust for you. As if what you have to offer me is so special.” The fire in her eyes flashed, “Your cock and your mouth are entirely replaceable, I assure you.”

He seethed through the sting of it. “Let us leave my cock out of it considering you have not yet sampled it yourself. And let it be known I tried appealing to your good sense and you would not comply. Was it so wrong to try and tempt your baser instincts?”

“I will not be called on like a dog. Beckoned to your side when you’re bored and looking for someone to torture.” Alina hissed.

He his anger tinged with confusion.

“I was not aware you found me so wholly undesirable. Forgive me thinking it, I must have been misled by all your physical advances in the past.”

She clenched her jaw and looked away. He thought he saw tears and felt even more bewildered.

Alina brushed her hands down her dress and began to get to her feet.

“Now I’ve satisfied myself of your survival, I’m leaving.”

“No.” Aleksander’s hand reached for her shoulder before she could stand. “Stay a little longer. Alina—”

She tried to yank out of his reach, her collar rolling away to expose her skin in the process.

His eyes caught on a cluster of yellowing bruises around her neck. Unmistakable in origin.

She stared at him with a flash of worry, pulling her collar back in place.

His breath seemed to have left him for a moment while his heart ramped up into a jarring pound.

He pushed a short breath through his nose, a rueful smile hung on his face. “Squirreled away a lover, have you? Adorable.” His tone was dangerous.

“You do not own my pleasure, Aleksander—”

“Enough of this. Whoever it is. Him. Her. I don’t care. End it.”

She doubled down, tipping her jaw up at him. “You do not own me, Aleksander.” She repeated.

“You gave yourself to me—“ He shouted, “You were made for me. I endured centuries waiting for you—“ They were both on their feet and his words were snarled as he shook her by her arms.

“I was made to be your balance,” she shouted back. “Not to be your pet. And centuries have done wonders for your maturity—behaving like a petulant child who sets aside his toy and then acts surprised that he’s lost it.”

Alina’s voice trembled with her anger and tears collected in her eyes again. “As if you remained some celibate monk in honor of me these last few years.”

He said nothing.

She shoved his chest, “Well? Have you?” She was screaming at him, eyes blazing and he was sure if they were together right now her light would burn him.

She pushed him again and he gripped her wrists. His chest throbbed and he squeezed his eyes shut against it.

Something clicked into place.

The pounding in his chest when he was with Inna for the last time. The pounding that was foreign to him after years of disuse.

Alina tried to jerk her wrists back but his grip tightened and he kept them, palms still pressed to his chest.

“Answer me—” she demanded, pushing him again where she had leverage.

Aleksander fell back a step. “You were there.” The change in volume made the words practically a whisper to her ears.

“Yes.” Alina growled at him, savage as the wolf who broke his bones, “Thank you, by the way, for inviting me to watch as you fucked some otkazat’sya woman as if your fucking life depended on it.”

Her breath was hot on his jaw even as he backed his head away from her challenge. “Was it good for you? Saints, you were desperate for it, I could tell.

“Then you insult me by trying to bring me back to you the next night after? You are pathetic. Petty.” She spat in his face.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t let her go. She struggled.

She could leave at any moment if she wanted. He tried to cling to the fact that she still had not left.

“Alina.” He held her palms to his chest with one hand and pulled her body into his with the other arm wrapped around her waist.

“No—“

“I swear I did not know. I did not mean to—”

She turned her head away and screamed again, “I don’t care I don’t care! I will burn you from the inside out when I see you again, Darkling. I will fill your eyes with the light of a noon-day sun and I will not stop until it comes bursting out of your mouth and scorches your tongue,” She promised. Her hands tried to conjure but he would not let go of her wrists and it would not work over their connection.

They both knew it would not work. She tried anyway.

“You will wish that wolf had snapped your neck and your back a thousand times over while I set your live body on fire with my power. You will burn up like a dry leaf and I will be the one who feels all the pleasure. Just me. Only me.”

Tears were streaking down her face and their eyes were locked and he did not let her pull away.

“I did not know, Alina—I would never have—” His voice was cooling to her temper and he kept a steady gaze on her, willing her to gentle.

The passion she contained never failed to surprise him. That she spoke with ease about eviscerating him should have unsettled him. Instead he found himself drawn deeper into her. The Light within her could strike him anywhere she pleased and he would reform again at her back. He would surround her greedily, his Shadow unable to do anything except press itself to Light. It could not detach. Shadow did not exist except at her mercy. He could accept this now.

“Do not lie to me, Aleksander. I saw with my own eyes. I saw how you touched her. I cannot stop seeing—”

“Wait. Please, wait.” His hand held tight to her wrists, keeping her in place as he crossed spotted his discarded kefta, still crusted with his blood. With a furtive glance at her, he reached for it and sorted through the pockets.

When he stood in front of her again, he held up the blue and gold scarf for her inspection.

“That is mine.”

He nodded.

She touched it and then dropped her hand.

“This means nothing to me. This is a distraction.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “For a little while these last years, I did a thorough job of shutting you out. Letting you go again. It was not easy but it made not being with you more manageable. The day I called out to you—though, I swear I did not know that I did, this was returned to my room.”

Alina flicked her eyes to the scarf and back to him, distrust stubbornly clinging to her face.

“You must have left it in your room at the Little Palace. Seeing a real piece of you, proof of you after years of pretending you did not exist, undid me. What you saw—though I did not and would not ever have willingly invited you to view it—was me trying to shut you back out.” He shook his hair back and met her eyes.

“It did not work. Clearly. I will no longer pretend that it is a possibility, never again. You know what I am. You know what I want. I will possess you as I am doomed to be possessed by you and I will not be satisfied until I stake my claim for the world to see.”

Alina leaned in to him, eyes blazing in want as her fury was cooled by his words. He delighted in how quickly she whirled through emotions, delighted in persuading her.

“You will not skirt your punishment.” She said.

He leaned into her ear, pressing his lips there and whispered, “My punishment only promises your body will be next to me again.”

His hands wrapped around her hips. “I would take your fire and let it consume me if it brought you a hint of ecstasy.” Palms moved up her ribs and his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts.

“There is nothing I would not do to bring you pleasure, Alina.” His lips moved to her neck. He grazed his teeth over her pulse.

His hands were closing in on her breasts; fingers long enough to curl around her ribs even while his thumbs circled over her clothed nipples. A soft moan fell against his chest. Her hands fisted into the black linen of his shirt and he smiled.

“You own my body.” He spoke into her jaw, “I will own yours and you will never want for anything.” Cheeks brushed against each other as she nodded. “I do not share, Alina.” Her hips pressed into his involuntarily. “I will keep you sated to the point of recklessness, insanity. This is my vow.”

His eyes looked into hers and as he sat on the bed, pulling her into his lap. The rigid peak of his clothed cock met her cunt and they both hissed. Aleksander watched as she rubbed herself over him in a slow slide.

He still had not kissed her. As if realizing it in that moment, Alina glared at him, grasping his jaw in her hand and reigning her lips upon his. Her hands kept his shoulders in place even as he fell back on the bed.

He matched her intensity, pulling at her face with his hand while his other adjusted her position back over his cock. The moan she exhaled into his mouth spurred him to lick at the seam of her lips until they opened for him.

They wrestled, rolling over each other a couple times before settling on their sides. Her hands explored his body and his sought the wetness between her legs and when his fingers slipped into her they shared a groan. Her mouth never left his. Aleksander pulled back only far enough to watch her eyes squeezed shut in blunt ecstasy while they panted.

She squealed and quieted and he kissed her lips and slowed his fingers, wiggling them in a test of her sensitivity. The answering smile was lazy.

When he brought his fingers to his tongue, she watched with half-lidded eyes as he made slow laps.

It was not prudent to tell him that she would have to re-do this orgasm when she returned to her body. She stored the memory of his fingers, covered in her slick and cleaned with his tongue.

The promise of insanity did not seem so objectionable.

“This is new.” He brushed his fingers over the glittering scales clasped around her wrist.

She blushed and withdrew her hand. He did not know for certain what it was but he had a strong suspicion.

“A gift, only.” She looked away from his eyes and kissed his jaw. The lie burned between them but he did not mind it. He played on her guilt, calculating that she would be reluctant to lie to him twice in a row.

“Alina, how is it possible that no one yet knows about the Sun Summoner? You bandy about using your powers—presumably anyway because rumors do emerge about you yet no one proclaims your existence with any certainty. It should not be possible.”

Alina shrugged with a secret smile and pressed her lips to his neck. “People believe what suits them best. You know this. The commoners want for a savior so rumors are born. Those in power want to keep it and therefore will not acknowledge a threat even when the evidence is delivered to their doorstep.”

It was casual, brisk even, the way she spoke of herself as a threat. Aleksander could not hide the surge of heat it brought on and descended to her ear where nipped and pulled like a hungry beast.

She laughed. A breathy, delighted thing and he smiled against her cheek. All else forgotten.

“Let me come to you. I need your skin against mine. I need your power twisted in with mine. I will have it.”

Her breasts pressed against his chest under the force of his hand at her back. The way her breath quickened was sign enough that she wanted it too. If that weren’t evident, the pull on their tether was so tight it was almost uncomfortable. His forehead fell to hers.

“N-not yet.”

He growled and she placed consoling hands to his face.

“We are dangerous, you and I. And I’ve told you before, I have business to take care of before I can come to you. I will in the end. I swear to you it is in sight, just…be patient for me. Believe me when I say you are mine and I am yours.”

A rumble answered from his throat as his nails scratched at her yellowing love bites. Placed there by some unworthy set of lips and teeth.

Her answering laugh was uneasy.

“They are nothing, Sasha. Nothing to me. You will see.”

He forced himself to change the subject. Even speaking of someone else, someone who had access to the taste of her skin began to spin him.

“We are dangerous? You said just now. Because of the threat we make to the throne. Because together we are the rightful rulers of Ravka. You do mean for us rule in the end?”

She glanced away and he smoothed a thumb through the crease in her brow.

“Not just threats to the throne, no. Not just rulers of Ravka.”

He waited while she weighed her words.

“We are a threat to the world. I am a threat…”

Aleksander watched her lips, waiting for her to continue. She looked small and fearful.

He imagined her as a child, waking in the night from a bad dream.

“I have felt it…when we were together. The only time we were together,” she amended, glancing at him apologetically.

“Within my powers—when they mingled with yours, it was like…like a kind of certainty that if I wanted—” She twisted her face to look at him with the full force of fiery gold eyes, “If I wanted, I could break the whole world open.

“Split everything and everyone and the whole of the universe apart until all that was left was Light and Shadow. Just us. Left in the quiet of it all.”

His heart was racing.

Or perhaps it was the tether vibrating on the frequency of a humming bird's wings?

Both of their breaths became heavy and they sunk closer into the empty space between them.

Alina’s eyes rested on his lips and her voice was breathy again.

“It is ridiculous, isn't it? Thinking I could do that?”

He shook his head, surprised at his inability to string coherent words together.

“Not if you want it, no. If you want it, then it is simply a fact. A truth.”

“It is not what I want.” She whispered.

He nodded in understanding, sinking further into her.

“Is it what you want, Sasha?”

A smirk twitched on his face and then he claimed her mouth again. When he pulled her body over his, running his hands over the backs of her thighs as they opened around his waist, he thought he would not mind it.

If centuries of walking the earth taught him anything, it was how expendable everyone and everything could become, given enough time.

Her Light was creation itself. It lit up within him because where there was light, the shadows would cluster around it; to smother or to worship, he could not be sure. Though he knew it was her Light that began it all.

It would be fitting for her Light to finish it.

His little Sun, expanding around him, swallowing up the whole of the universe in her Light then falling back on him where he could surround her like a cooling Shadow shroud until she decided to burst forth to create something new again.

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #9 - Hurt to Heal

Lush - ‘luxuriant, succulent’

- Warnings of Heavensward Spoilers -

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The darkened chirurgeon’s room did little to help Katsum’s mind rest. The events of the day weighed heavily on her mind and kept her from sleeping, and it kept her mind reeling at even the slightest of sounds. She heard the cold, snowy winds pushing against the windows, the whistling sounding like a howl of agony to her. Somewhere down the long halls of Congregation, she could hear the distant sound of footsteps that seemed to get louder and closer before suddenly stopping, sending her mind in a panic. She knew not how long she laid there, tossing and turning, until she could stand it no longer. With a desperate sigh, she sat up and reached over to the bedside table to light the lamp sitting on it. As its faint glow illuminated the room around, the blonde Miqo’te leaned back against the headboard, looking down at her hands in silence.

She noticed her fingers were trembling like she was still in battle, the memories of fighting with the Heavensward flashing before her eyes. She winced as she remembered the struggle against the knights, the booming of Thordan’s distorted voice ringing in her ears. She did not mourn the Archbishop, only the men he dragged down with him. And then there was Estinien, the thing she truly could not get off of her mind. Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw Nidhogg’s wrath wrapping around him and engulfing him, manipulating his form and twisting it into the shade of the Dreadwyrm himself. She should have known better to give him the second eye; something had told her not to but by then he had already taken it into his hand. Now, he was at the mercy of the dragons rage, powerless to fight against its thrall. Yet another soul she had failed to save, this one just more inches from her.

Katsum’s hands began to tremble violently, her body quivering as her walls began to crumble. There was no one here to see her mask break, and in knowing so, her heart could stand it no longer. She felt a tear slip down her cheek and she bit her tongue to keep from sobbing. She needed to stay quiet so no one could hear her.

Then suddenly, there was a gentle knock on the door, the sound making her jump in place and her fur stand on end.

“Lady Katsum? Are you still awake?”

Her breath shook as she frantically wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to steady her voice before answering, “Ser Aymeric, I did not expect you to still be here this late.”

She heard him shuffle at the door, yet it did not open, “I'm afraid I could not sleep so I thought I would return and see how you were faring.” Again, he shuffled, almost nervously, “May I come in, my friend?”

Her heart dropped along with her ears, panic rising. No one was supposed to see her like this, on the brink of the flood overflowing the walls. She stumbled slightly in her words as she replied, “I-I’m not really feeling up to having any visitors right now.”

“Please. Just a few moments of your time,” He was always so suave in the way he spoke, pleading so gently that she could not refuse him.

Indeed, she certainly couldn’t, “Alright.”

The door creaked open slowly and Ser Aymeric de Borel slipped quietly into the room, closing the door behind him. As he turned towards her, she could see his warm smile lighting up the shadows, his eyes sparkling with kindness as he looked at her. As he crossed the room, she noticed a mug in his hand, a small plume of steam rising from it. He moved around to the side of her bed nearest the bedside table, “After all that has happened today, I have no doubt that the only thing you crave right now is rest. However,” She followed his hand with her eyes as he held out the cup to her, “In light of the most recent events, I thought you might enjoy a mug of tea. It has always comforted me in times of hardship, and I hope it might do the same for you.”

It took her a few moments before she reached out with her trembling hands. She knew he had seen by the way he watched her, but he said nothing as she gingerly took the mug from him, “Thank you, Ser Aymeric.”

He stood there watching her, and so she guessed he was waiting for her reaction, so she looked down at the steaming, caramel colored drink and lifted it to her nose. She breathed in the scent and it was the most lovely tea she’d ever smelled. The aroma of the boiled Coerthan tea leaves that she knew well mixed with hints of vanilla and something like a syrup had her mouth watering. She shakeningly lifted the mug up and took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue. The moment the taste of the tea hit her tongue, her ears twitched upward, and her eyes widened. She took another long sip of the ambrosia-like drink before pulling it away to look back up at the raven-haired Elezen.

He seemed to be chuckling inside by the look of the sparkle in his eyes, “Do you like it?”

“I..I love it. Thank you so much...”

He nodded, then as if suddenly remembering something, he turned and scanned the room. He moved over to a shelf of potions and medicines, searching among them until he found an empty one, stepping back over beside her to the pitcher of water left on the windowsill and filling the empty bottle with water. Katsum watched him curiously, taking long sips of the tea every few moments as she did.

“Master Thancred also gave me this, saying that I should bring it to you, that it would make you feel better,” As he turned back towards her holding the bottle in hand, her eyes widened and her fur stood on end at the flower that now stood in it. A bright red Azyema’s Rose stared back at her, its lush petals and leaves nearly shining through the dark with its own brilliance. He brought it over to her and placed it on the table beside the bed, “I hope it brings you joy and helps you rest.”

She did not answer, only stared at the flower. Memories flooded her mind again, of her childhood and the roses like this one that decorated her childhood home. She thought of her parents and how much she missed them, and how much she missed all that she once knew. She thought of the day she and Thancred investigated the Amalj’aa camps in Eastern Thanalan and she had found the rose on the cliffside overlooking the shrine built for Azyema, how she’d plucked it and keep it with her ever since. Now, another rose shone before her, given to her by a man she had failed entirely by not bringing his best friend home...she did not deserve this…

“I am taken enough of your time. Rest well, my friend. I shall check on you in the morning,” She blinked as he said this, seeing him turn away and she quickly reached out a hand and grabbed his arm, causing him to stop and look back at her in surprise. Yet she could not bring herself to look him in the eye as she tried to hide the coming tears, her heart fit to burst right then and there.

“How...how do you remain so warm and hopeful towards me...when all i did this day was fail you…?” The first tear rolled down her cheek and she clutched the mug of tea tightly as her ears flattened and she bowed her head lower, “I stopped Thordan and his enthralled followers, yes, but I lost Estinien. Lost him to an enemy that we were supposed to have vanquished...How can you still be so kind to me when I did not bring your dearest friend back home with me…?”

She saw him shuffled out of the corner of her eye, then felt his warm hand enclose around hers, the other appearing in her field of vision as he took the tea from her and set it on the table. He then knelt in front of her and held both of her hands in his, “Do not for a moment believe that I blame you for what happened. Estinien knew the risks when he volunteered to go, and he had to follow his heart to do his duty. But I know with all of mine that you did everything in your power to save him.” His grip on her hands tightened and he moved his face down to try and meet her eyes, “You have not failed anyone, Katsum. Not a single person.”

With these words, he broke the floodgates of her heart and set free her emotions, tears streaming freely down her face as she cried out in sorrow. She tugs away her hands to cover her face, yet Aymeric follows her and moves to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly. The warmth of his body felt so safe and inviting, and so she buried her face in his chest and wept. The Elezen leaned his head against hers and whispered in her cat-like ear, “It’s alright. I’ve got you, Katsum. You are safe here.”

She is not sure how long she sobbed into him, not sure how long. They remained in this embrace. She only knew that she never wanted to leave it, hoping time would freeze and she could just stay right here with him, forever. When finally her cries quieted, she drew away from him, moving back to where she had been sitting as she wiped her eyes, feeling exposed and vulnerable, “I’m sorry that you had to see that...”

Aymeric smiles warmly, “I am not. Rather, I am honored that you allowed me the privilege to see,” He took her hands again, reaching up with one to wipe her tears away with his thumb, “You are the strongest person I know of to carry all that you do and not bend or break. To be truthful, I feel more relieved to know that you do let your mask fall every once in a while, letting your heart be free to hurt and to heal afterwards.”

Katsum closed her eyes as fresh tears fell, moving to hold his hand against her hand and lacing her fingers with his. She felt him lean forward for a moment and then stop to ask, “May I kiss your forehead?”

Her eyes flashed open as she registered what he said, looking back at him as a soft blush broke out on her face, for which she was thankful for the dim lighting, “You may...”

Aymeric smiled and leaned in and kissed the crown of her head gently, his warm lips making the blush on her face darken as he sat back again.

Katsum’s eyes flicker around him, looking everywhere but his own as she held fast to his hands, “Could I bother you a bit longer for your company, Ser Aymeric…? Just until...I feel I can fall asleep…?”

The Lord Commander’s smile brightened, “It would be an honor...though I must also ask because I worry...you do like the rose, yes?”

It was her turn to smile - genuinely smile - as she nodded, “I love it.”

[senseless-septic-shambles]

Constrain, bleed

No, I did not go through all the prompts you sent me to find one that would fit the theme of shock collars, why would you say that? 

This got long, and I may end up doing a sequel but don’t hold your breath. This isn’t exactly what I wanted, but I’m pretty happy with it!

Anyway, here we go!

Show Time. 

It was uncomfortable, to say the least. It was loose enough around Marvin’s neck that he could breathe, but tight enough that he always knew it was there - tight enough to feel like he couldn’t properly swallow, or breath, or talk. 

He tried to laugh it off when JJ asked him about it, claiming it was a new part of his costume. JJ didn’t look entirely convinced, but what else could he do? He couldn’t take it off, and he didn’t dare ask for help.

Rubbing the tender skin around the collar, Marvin tried not to think about last night, about how Anti had slipped into his room while everyone was sleeping, how he had clamped the collar around him, how he had smiled and said this was for the best. Marvin tried not to think about the pain that coursed through him when he had tried to fight back, leaving him gasping for breath and unable to control his limbs as the shock died.

“Mr Marvin, curtain call in five minutes.” A head stuck around the door caused him to start, pulling his attention back to reality. He nodded, taking a deep breath and turning back to the mirror. He could do this - he just needed to forget the collar. Forget the heavy, constraining, painful collar. 

He snapped his mask onto his face and took a deep breath, pulling the tie out of his hair and letting it flow free, adjusting his cape. 

“Ready?” he asked as he turned to JJ, who nodded slowly, looking a little uneasy. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Marvin said as he gathered the small handful of knives that lay beside the mirror. 

“I said I would, and so I shall,” JJ said firmly. “And besides - I trust you, Marvin.” 

Together they made their way backstage, Marvin testing the knives in his hand as they went. He was nervous - more nervous than he had been for a performance in a long time.  

The audience was quiet but for a few whispers as they came onstage, JJ letting out a nervous breath and waving before moving to his spot against the pole. 

Marvin let out a long breath, closing his eyes as the warmth of the spotlights calmed him. He had done this so many times - he had practised so many times. He had this. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he began, spreading his arms wide. “My name is Marvin the Magnificent and I will be performing amazing feats of brilliance, illusion, and terror.” He tossed a knife in the air at the last word, and it spun in a brilliant circle before blinking out of existence. As the crowd let out a gasp, he returned it to his hand, hidden behind his back. 

“My wonderful assistant has agreed to help me with the first part of our act - knife throwing.” He turned, nodding to JJ, who smiled back. 

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, drawing back the knife and staring at a point just beside JJ’s ear. He had done this so many times. He had this. But the collar on his neck weighed heavily and he swallowed, wanting to rub it. 

“Ignore it, Marvin,” he told himself. “You got this.” 

He drew back his hand, letting out a breath and readying himself. 

A sudden burst of pain shot through him and he gasped, flinging the knife forward, dropping the others as he spasmed, clutching at the collar with one hand. 

It was only short - a brief, sudden shock - and he let out a long breath after, relieved that it wasn’t the ongoing, agonizing pain he had experienced the night before. 

But the crowd was gasping, crying out, shouting. Marvin blinked, shaking his head to clear the last of the shock and looked up. 

JJ had collapsed to his knees, leaning against the pole, one hand pressed to the knife sticking out of his shoulder, blood staining his white shirt. The world seemed to spin for a moment as Marvin stared at him, trying to comprehend what had happened. 

He had hit JJ. He had hit JJ. 

“Jays!” He hurried forward as the crowd called out, people muttering, talking, calling, some walking out. But Marvin didn't care, hurrying to his brother’s side. 

Just before he reached JJ, his whole body shuddered again, and pain burst through him. He let out a shriek, collapsing to the ground, unable to control himself as the collar sent shockwaves pulsing through his body, his limbs flailing wildly, control of his body lost. 

The pain stopped, but he kept twitching, unable to fully regain control, sobbing faintly. He tried to roll over, to push himself up, to make sure JJ was alright, but his arms refused to support him and he dropped back down, curling in on himself, shuddering. 

A hand was laid on his shoulder and he flinched, breathing heavily. JJ was leaning over him, eyes wide with concern as he tried to make out what had happened. The knife was still in his shoulder, blood still leaking from the wound. 

“Marvin, what happened? Talk to me?” 

“S - sorry,” Marvin gasped, still twitching slightly. Without warning, it began again, pain rushing through him as he cried out, writhing, unable to control himself. JJ scrambled back, eyes wide. 

“Wel͠l,͡ well, w̨ell͟.҉ M̧y tw̨o ́f̨avǫurit̢e ̢ṕuppets̢.” 

The voice echoed through the hall as the shock died away, leaving Marvin softly sobbing. Anti was here - he had to be here. JJ looked up in alarm, shifting closer to Marvin as the magician tried to force his body to co-operate. 

“What do you want?” JJ asked, his speech slide flickering with fear. 

Anti stepped into Marvin’s view, crouching over him, a satisfied smile plastered onto his face. He reached over Marvin’s limp form, wrapping his hand around the knife. JJ flinched away, and Anti smirked, pulling the weapon free. Pain flashed over JJ’s face and he cowered back, lifting his uninjured arm to protect himself. 

“Lea-ve him al-al-alo-ne,” Marvin gasped out, managing to shift away from Anti, lifting himself slightly. The pain shot through him again and he gave a gargled cry, collapsing to the ground. 

“D̴o̶n'̀t ͞ta͞lk͟ ͠b̛ac͡k,̀ ҉ļittle̷ pup҉p̴ęt̵,̶” Anti said quietly and the pain stopped. Marvin groaned, not having the energy to flinch away from Anti’s hand on his cheek. His fingers caressed the skin, curling under his mask for a brief moment before Anti stepped back, standing. 

“N҉ơw̢ t́heń - ͜s̷hal͜l ̡wę pla͜ý a ̴g̨am̡e͘?” He asked. “Get̛ ͡h͢ìm̴ u͢p.” 

JJ looked at him in concern, one hand bloody, pressed to the wound in his shoulder. But he obeyed, pain flashing across his face as he shifted, lifting Marvin’s weight. Marvin tried to help as much as he could, but he didn’t have the strength to do more than lean on JJ, his arm over his younger brother’s shoulder. 

“S-s-sorry,” he muttered again, slumping forward. JJ laid a hand on his chest, not looking away from Anti, cold anger unlike anything Marvin had seen him show before covering his face. 

“What did you do to him?” he demanded, his first balling on Marvin’s chest.

“K̸i͏t̀t͏y͝-cats ͘ńęed co̡l͢ļa̕rs -̨ to̸ s̛t́o͏p t͞h͠em g͠et̸ting͟ ̴i͝n̛to t͏hi͏ngs͜ t̡he̶y̕ ̕s҉ho̵ul̢dn̵'t̸,” Anti said with a smirk, moving forward and running the back of his hand down Marvin’s cheek. JJ glared at him, pulling Marvin back. 

“Leave him alone, you fiend,” JJ said, but Marvin could tell he was terrified, could tell he was in pain. His heart was beating rapidly, his speech slide flickering, his fist balled tightly. Taking a shaky breath, Marvin managed to carry more of his weight, standing up a little straighter. 

“You want me, right?” he asked, his breath shaky. “Le-et JJ go.” 

Anti giggle slowly, the laughter bubbling up and taking over. He stepped forward and instinctively Marvin and JJ stepped back together, scared by his presence.

 “Do yo҉u r̷eal͢l͞y t̴hink͘ I̵ w̕o̸ưl̷d do͝ thát,̷ ͞k͞it̷ ̢ķat͡?҉ Es̀pec͜ial͏l̡y ́af͜t̶ȩr͢ y̢o͏u ͏s͏o ki҉n̸dly ̶d͢i̶d ͜h͏a͘l̢f̀ m̷y͢ jo̢b̕ ̴for me.̡” 

He suddenly flickered forward, gripping JJ’s wounded shoulder in his hand. JJ let out a gasp, his support of Marvin vanishing. The magician collapsed to his knees, unable to hold himself up without his brother’s help. 

JJ stumbled back, eyes shimmering with tears as Anti squeezed his shoulder. Marvin bared his teeth, slowly trying to push himself up, magic flowing through him. 

He managed to lift one leg and his arms, magic swirling up his arms. Anti flickered, his head glitching til it was facing Marvin, almost directly backwards. He smirked, running his tongue over his lips. 

“Do҉i͟ng t͡h̨at̶ w͞ou͢l͡d h̢av͝e ̸s̶h̸oçk̢ing ҉c̢o͏ns̴eque͞ǹces - ͏do y̨o͟u rea̵l҉l̷y̸ w͜a͠n̴t to ri͡sk̵ t̛ha͡t ag̴a̸i̶n?̢” 

Marvin stopped, hesitating, not wanting to risk the agony of the shock coursing through him again. JJ let out a whimper as Anti forced him to his knees, both hands clutching the glitch’s wrist, a tear dripping down his face. 

“Stop!” 

A loud shout came from the other side of the theatre and all three turned to look. Marvin let out a gasp of relief as he saw a group of policemen, guns trained on Anti. He let his magic fizzle out and swayed forward, supporting himself with a hand on the floor. 

“W͢el͟l,̛ ̸l̴o̶o̴ks̵ ͢like͢ w̢e'̷l̛l ̢h͜áve t͠o̶ ̷cưt ̀this̴ ͟s̕h͝òr̸t,” Anti said, barely contained anger dancing in his voice. "But̵ g̷ood̶ ͞l̡uc͠k͘ ge̶t͢t̵in̢g̛ ̸t͜ḩat͞ thing̕ ̧off҉,́ ͜kit k͝a͠t.͞” He smirked, shoving JJ to the ground and vanishing. 

Marvin let out a shuddering breath, pulling himself to JJ’s side. The younger ego let out a gasp and threw his arms around Marvin’s neck, pressing painfully against the cold collar, smearing blood on his new costume. 

But Marvin didn’t care. He returned his brother’s hug, burying his face in JJ’s hair, still shaking slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m s-sorry.” 

JJ didn’t answer, shaking as well, silent tears dripping down his face. They sat there, embracing as the emergency response, called by one of the audience when they saw what had happened, circled around them, searching for a suspect they would never find. 

They clung to each other, both shaken, both hurt, but both still alive. 

But the collar still hung heavily on Marvin’s neck, and he had no idea how he was going to take it off. 

[you-want-fuckign-cicadas]

Into The Abyss, part 8

henroy

Felix belongs to @smoresthehalloweenqueen, as does Ink.

More below the cut

It is dark, cold, and wet. Felix would much rather be doing anything but wading around in an ink puddle, trying to find his glasses. But of course that's what he's doing, because why wouldn't this be the perfect time to lose his glasses in a hecking puddle of ink that perfectly matches the color of his glasses?

He sighs and rummages around in the ink. At least I seem to be mostly ink-proof like this. It's still annoying, though.

Lines of ink spread across the walls, first forming intricate patterns and then just becoming small rivers of ink. Felix frowns and steps back a little before continuing to rummage around for his glasses. Stupid glasses getting lost in a stupid puddle of ink. In fact, just stupid ink. Though I do wonder how it's doing that.

Finally finding his glasses, he holds them up triumphantly and inspects them for damage. They seem to be fine, so he wipes the ink off on his shirt (it's probably fine, right?) and puts them back on his face. “That's better. At least now I can see farther than ten feet away.”

There's a thumping noise as something very large realizes that he's there. His eyes widen as the creature comes around the corner and looks right at him.

“Bendy?”

The Bendy tilts his head at Felix, who simply tilts his head back at him in response. They stand like this for a while, a distorted monster and a strange cartoon, until the Bendy makes a rumbling noise and startles Felix, who, in a flash of 'brilliance', dives into a deeper pool of ink in a valiant attempt at hiding.

Just a note, Felix can't swim. At all.

Flailing around, he attempts to not drown in a puddle of ink, and fails, miserably. Instead he just kind of...flops around, slowly drowning and internally screaming at himself for doing something this stupid. That is, until he's abruptly hauled out of the ink and onto land.

He looks up and sees that his savior is the Bendy, who has apparently decided that he's going to keep Felix and is now making a weird purring-like sound. Felix never agreed to this, but as long as he's not being murdered, he's generally fine with it. Though I do wonder what exactly he plans on doing, considering I'm about two times shorter than him and a good deal weaker...wait.

And now he's started worrying. Great. Just wonderful. I really need to stop thinking too much.

As Henry walks the halls of the studio, he notices things. Mostly the fact that it looks like half the studio was swept up in a tsunami of ink. And all the plushies around. He makes a move to grab one, but decides against it and leaves it alone.

His board didn't hold together for too long, breaking apart after he hit a few Searchers with it. So he's weaponless as he wanders around, solving various 'puzzles' and occasionally needing to hit things with chairs. Chairs are surprisingly good weapons, when thrown hard enough. However, they also tend to break when thrown that hard, so maybe it wasn't so good of an idea after all.

Not that Henry cares. At least it gets his anger out and gets the things out of his way. He's not quite ready to die. Nor will he ever be, especially not in this haunted hellhole full of abominations. In fact, it would be great if I just didn't die, period. That'd be fine. Or, well, at least not for a while.

He doesn't notice that he's wandered into a room full of stuffed toys until he crashes into a large Boris plushie. Upon crashing into it, he realizes that he's stumbled into what looks like a plushie death trap, completely with, well, plushie death traps.

The room is covered with shelves upon shelves of plushies, each of various characters. Boris, Alice, Bendy, the Butcher Gang, even a few from that ill-fated merger. Small plushies of various side characters are hung up on the ceiling, surprisingly in okay condition. There's even a few plushies of old studio workers holding something related to their work, probably the ones that were the most memorable, and all of those are in good condition. Henry walks over to the plushies and inspects them. Looks like Shawn's handiwork to me.

The plushies of Grant Cohen and Thomas Conner probably had the most work put into them, with details that Henry himself hadn't noticed about the men when he'd worked with them. (Then again, he hadn't interacted with them much, only seeing Grant when he picked up his paychecks and really not interacting with Thomas at all.) After that, the next most detailed was Norman's, if only because of the projector. Half of the plushie itself is obscured by it. Though half the time Norman was carrying around a projector, so it's not...wrong...

His plushie is holding a pen, and while he admires the fact that Shawn put as much effort as possible into these, he's slightly grumpy that his is shorter. Even if I was one of the shortest workers in the studio, it's still insulting and it's bad enough “Alice” wouldn't stop pointing it out.

Wally's is, of course, holding his ever-iconic broom. However, it is also holding a real set of keys, which Henry manages to wrangle out of its hands without breaking it. He looks at it. “See, this one I just don't understand. Wally almost never held his keys. Half the time they were in a trashcan.”

Predictably, no one answers him, and he moves on to the next plushies, which are of Susie and Allison. They used to be pretty close, until Joey gave the Alice role to Allison. Don't know why, and don't care to know why. Both plushies are holding tiny little Alice plushies and VA mics.

Beside of those two plushies is a Sammy. Even in plushie form, Sammy manages to look grumpy, holding a banjo and frowning as always. The plushie looks like it's one misplaced set of keys away from flying into a rage, which was Sammy's default mode. The man probably had a few screws loose, but he was good at what he did. Too bad he's an ink creature now.

The last one is ripped apart, but it looks like it was of Joey Drew. Most likely, Shawn used (uses?) this one as a way to feel like he's getting back at Joey without doing illegal things.

There's a shuffling noise from one of the other shelves. Henry whirls around, keys raised like he's going to hit someone. (The keys are hilariously dull and won't cut anything even if Henry wants them to, so it's an empty threat.) There's nothing behind him except the shelves of toys, but...I could have sworn that that Boris plushie wasn't there ten minutes ago...and where did that rabbit plush come from?

He walks over to the plushies and pokes them cautiously, half expecting them to attack him. They do not. They don't move. See, they're not alive, he reassures himself. Just your mind playing tricks on you, Henry.

When he turns his back, though, the plushies rearrange themselves again, this time with a muted giggle from the rabbit. Henry turns around again, this time with a chair. “Okay, now I know someone's messing with me. Come out before I hit everything in the room with this chair!”

Nothing.

Not a single thing in the room moves. There's no breathing, no shuffling, and not even a twitch. Henry frowns. “Well?”

Still nothing moves. The silence is stifling, even if there is the noises from the studio now. Henry lowers the chair a little. “I promise not to hit you with the chair, okay? Just come out, please.” Or I think I might go insane, he adds internally.

The shuffling noise comes from behind one of the shelves as a tiny duo of a plush Bendy and Alice peek out. The toy rabbit hops off of the bigger Boris, who stays still but looks directly at Henry. Several other plushies move, though none of them are the studio workers. When all is said and done, there are about fourteen plushies standing in front of him, all staring. (Well, except for the Boris. And the fox plushie, who is the largest of the bunch, is half behind a shelf. But it counts.)

Henry puts the chair down, leans on it, and sighs. “Okay, Joey has a lot to explain, and I'm not keen on asking him after what happened earlier. Mind explaining?”

Meanwhile, the now much-larger army of ink creatures is swarming around the Angel's hideout. Their leader is throwing himself on the door, which is solid steel, and as such not going to be broken by a skinny-ass 'toon throwing himself on the door.

The Angel, of course, is not pleased by this development. “Why are all you rejects banging on my door? Can't you see that a lady needs her beauty sleep?”

“Sleep be damned! Did you kill Felix?” Ink yells, slamming himself on the door again.

“The human is dead?” The Angel asks. Ink simply slams himself on the door again. “How unfortunate. I didn't even get his soul. Have you seen it?”

“No, you bitch, because he's dead! Someone killed him!” Ink says, sitting in front of the door. He's bruised himself from slamming into various objects on purpose, and apparently the steel door has convinced him that it's not going to break. “And I'm asking if it was you!”

“I wish,” the Angel answers. “But no. Most likely it was Joey.”

“Which one?”

“What do you mean, which one?!”

And so begins the most ridiculous argument in the history of the studio.

Meanwhile, Felix is on top of a pipe, trying desperately to reach something above than him. Below him is the Ink Demon, a Swollen Searcher, and two stragglers from the army of Lost Ones, who had been separated from the Mind when they'd been stuck behind some doors.

Needless to say, it was a very strange group.

TL;DR: Felix makes a very tall, dangerous friends, Ink gets angry, and Henry finds living plushies. Also no one dies or gets hurt in this chapter, but don’t get used to it, because next one the army gets very very close...to the wrong person